Excerpt #33: A Change of Direction

Excerpt # 33:  A Change Of Direction

M. Bakri Musa (bakrimusa.com)

That following Monday morning I was back at the Ministry. This time I told the officer in as calm, flat and controlled voice as I could garner that I wanted to be out of KL by yearend. My message took a while to register. People did not ask to be transferred outof KL; they lobbied hard to get there.

            Just to make sure that he did receive my message, I rephrased it. I told him that I was not tied to the government. All I needed was to give 24 hours’ notice and I would be gone.

            That grabbed his attention. I had been in the government service for less than a year. I could not by statute enter private practice. That meant I would be leaving the country. There had been plenty of recent headlines of professionals leaving Malaysia, enough that even the Minister of Health commented on it at that meeting of specialists earlier in the year. I was sure the official was very much aware of that as he was now much more accommodating.

“Give us a few days.”

            The next week I was back. The mood was different this time; all smiles from the same officer. There was good news. The Trengganu state surgeon had just resigned (to emigrate?) but I would be too junior to be posted there. Besides, that position was “Superscale F” and I was not yet even Superscale of any alphabet. It would have meant a major double promotion, first to Superscale G (the lowest) and then to F. Not possible, by GO.

            Instead they offered that position to the junior surgeon in Johor Baru (JB). Since it would also be a promotion for him (from Superscale G to F) the official assured me that he did not anticipate a negative response. Nonetheless I should await this surgeon’s decision.

            Two days later I received a phone call from the Ministry. Sensing its sensitive nature, I took the call in the privacy of my office. Yes, that JB surgeon had agreed to his transfer and I would be taking his place in JB. Since it was late in the year, my transfer would not be until after the Chinese New Year, the following February. I was not about to quibble for a few weeks’ delay. I had never been to JB before. The furthest south I had been on the Malay Peninsula was Muar when my family visited my brother who was posted to his first teaching job there.

            Soon after, my secretary knocked on my door and tiptoed in. “Are you leaving us?” as she put her fingers to her lips and closed the door behind her.

            How did she know? That call was from the ministry’s establishment officer. That could only mean a promotion and transfer. I confirmed her suspicion and added that it won’t be until the new year.

            The next morning at clinical rounds I was confronted with somber faces. I confirmed their very first query, trying hard to be casual as if it was expected and routine, adding “It won’t be till months from now!”

            That morning’s rounds went fast; the spark was gone. They were in no mood to discuss the cases at length. Later at coffee break I tried to be as upbeat as possible, spinning my leaving as a promotion and an opportunity to see another part of the country. They knew that I was faking it. While not a lie, it was not the whole truth either.

            That afternoon Mahmud came to my office and like my secretary earlier, he quietly closed the door behind him and gestured with his finger that he wanted a private conversation. Before he could ask what had happened, I apprised him of the situation, making no reference to my disappointment with the Ministry. He confessed to his jitteriness about our teaching program without my being around. I assured him that the unit now was not like it had been in January when I came in. Now it had three surgeons, and I reminded him of his earlier announcement of another one who would be coming early the next year. Satisfied, he assured me that I would love JB but reminded me that it was a royal town. He must have sensed that I was not enamored with matters royal. Or perhaps he truly remembered me from our Malay College days in Kuala Kangsar, also a royal town. I was among the few who purposely avoided functions on campus involving royalties.

            A few days later Ramli dropped by. He waited till late in the afternoon when no one was around. He was my best friend in school. You do not lie to your best friend, present or past. I unloaded on him my frustrations. He told me that he could have predicted the Ministry’s reaction towards my program proposal. To those guys, Ramli sniffed, if they didn’t think of it, then it could not be worthwhile. As for the promised promotion with my transfer, don’t count on it, Ramli warned. I would be stuck with my timescale pay for at least five years. He knew the “GO” inside out.

            Ramli confided that he was just buying time till his bonds with the government was fulfilled. He was a scholarship student; he had to serve seven long years. He had a couple more to go.

            I may have successfully rationalized my decision to leave GHKL to protect my ego, but there was no denying that my move would take me further away from my cherished aspiration to be an academic surgeon.

            Many years later I would read Portrait Of A Thousand Smiles:  Academician Tan Sri Dato’ Seri Dr. Salleh Mohd Nor, the autobiography of the distinguished former Head of the Malaysian Forestry Research Institute. He related his own frustrations in dealing with the local bureaucracy. It took him over ten long years before he could free his institute to become a statutory body, free from the strictures of the civil service and the stranglehold of those petty, incompetent civil servants.

Freed from the constraints of the civil service, Tan Sri Salleh was instrumental in producing over 100 PhDs in his field, a productivity unmatched even by local universities. Of even greater significance, most of them were Malays.

Reading his book, I was humbled by the man’s unbelievable patience and enviable endurance. Likewise today I cannot help but feel a tinge of envy on seeing Datuk Jefri Abdullah’s success with his Neuroscience Institute at USM in producing dozens of Malaysia’s neurosurgeons.

Both Malaysians have not only distinguished themselves with their sterling “resume virtues,” they have also accomplished what must surely be legendary “obituary virtues,” to use New York Times’ David Brooks’ phrase. What a legacy!

Next:  Excerpt # 34: The Power of Prayers

From the writer’s second memoir, The Son Has Not Returned. A Surgeon In His Native Malaysia, 2018.