Salleh Ben Joned - Jebat Man Of Letters

 Salleh Ben Joned – Jebat Man Of Letters

M. Bakri Musa

 

Book Review:  Anna Salleh’s Salleh Ben Joned:  Truth, Beauty, Amok and Belonging. Maya Press, Petaling Jaya, pp 254, 2023  RM80.00.

 

 

My future mother-in-law once startled me with a curious query, “Bakri, who are the heroes in your culture?”

 

            Stumped by her unexpected inquiry, I replied almost as a reflex and without much enthusiasm, “Hang Tuah!” Minimal enthusiasm because a few years earlier I had read Kassim Ahmad’s revisionist treatment of the eponymous character in his “Characterization in Hang Tuah,” written for his baccalaureate thesis.

 

            Today I could rattle off more than a few worthy names. One, and with ease together with great enthusiasm, is Salleh Ben Joned, the enfant terrible of contemporary Malay and Malaysian literature. He was of both because of his erudition in Malay as well as English. 

 

            Cartoonist Lat has a more profound take. Lat’s one-line review of Salleh’s Sajak Sajak Salleh–Poems Sacred And Profane, was simply, “It’s like meeting Hang Jebat on his day off!” Jebat is the (now) much celebrated “anti-hero” of Hikayat Hang Tuah.

 

            I learned this gem (and a whole lot more) on Salleh from the touchingly endearing book by his daughter, Australian biologist-turned-broadcaster Anna Salleh. As for Lat’s insightful observation, imagine if Salleh were to be on full throttle! 

 

            Alas, Salleh was not, at least not after 2000. That was when he underwent electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) for mood swings. This too l learned from Anna’s book. Bless her for dealing with such a sensitive topic with love, finesse and empathy. ECT plays havoc on one’s memory, cognition, and creativity.

 

            Salleh wrote many letters to Anna during periods when he was overwhelmed. She has kindly reproduced snippets of those very personal anguishing notes. Those must have been hellish to read. Having worked in a psychiatric hospital early in my career however, those were but plaintive cries for supportive psychotherapy and better management of neurotransmitters.

 

            Salleh left for Australia in 1961 to return a decade later with a degree in English Literature, an achievement sufficiently rare then or even now, together with an Australian wife and daughter (Anna). He was briefly on the faculty at the University of Malaya. The operative word there is “briefly,” for soon he was out free-lancing as a poet and writer. That took supreme self-confidence. An artist at his core, academic tenure and other artificial societal accolades did not interest him.

 

            Salleh Ben Joned died in 2021 at age 81, after a long battle with bipolar disorder. 

 

            Like Salleh I too left Malaysia, for Canada in 1963. Thus my “Malayness” as well as “Malaysianness” were of the 1950s when P. Ramlee commanded the airwaves and Bahasa was devoid of pidginized English words like inspirasi and korupsi. Ilham and rasuah are much more expressive and also definitely more Malay sounding. We also had little need to show off that we knew a few fancy English words.

 

            Salleh’s writings and poetry in Malay are thankfully spared such spurious bastardized vocabulary. Hence his lament on contemporary Malaysiana, specifically Malay writers even or especially celebrated ones, the late poet Usman Awang being a notable exception.

 

            When Salleh’s first book of poems was published in 1987, “there was no response from the Malay literary world, despite the book being two thirds in Malay. For two years there was deafening silence,” as Anna Salleh put it.

 

            That reveals something else, obvious to me who has long been away from my culture, less so to others. That is, to praise a Malay who is well versed in English means that you are also ipso facto denigrating our national language. Another equally destructive strain, to adequately praise someone, it is not sufficient to be super effusive, you must also degrade yourself to the point of humiliation. It is this separation or gulf that counts, Hofstede’s power distance to matters cultural. Thus you praise your sultan to high heavens while at the same time debase yourself as his beta (slave).

 

            Salleh’s disdain for if not outright disgust with this particular regressive aspect of Malay feudalism was palpable. No surprise there as he was born and raised in Melaka, a sultan-less state. On the other hand, many have overcompensated for that. Witness the over-groveling scenes at state functions.

 

            This book is more than an endearing tribute of a loving daughter to her late father. Anna Salleh has brought forth many hitherto hidden gems to his unique personae both as a writer and Malaysian.

 

            She had in 2020 produced a podcast series, “Salleh Ben Joned:  A Most Unlikely Malay.” To me, Salleh is very much my Malay! In a touching poem to his third and last wife Halimatun, “Birthday Pantun For My Love, Atun,” Salleh wrote, “A mind that’s open to life’s sheer variety/And a spirit that knows what not to miss.”

 

            That also describes Salleh. The Qur’anic “soleh” means the righteous son. As stated in his forward to Sajak Sajak, it also means “odd.” Thus Mat Salleh. To me, you are soleh when you open your God-given mind to all His wondrous creations.

 

            Anna Salleh has whetted our appetite for this literary Jebat and great Malaysian Man of Letters. This is part of her “ongoing efforts to curate her father’s literary legacy,” an endeavor worthy of a true anak solehan(fem. salleh).

 

            As intimated by the many photo snippets in this book, Salleh’s scribblings are found on scraps of paper and tattered 555 notebooks. Those offer invaluable glimpses with the same sagacity and spiciness as his formal writings.

 

            I would dispense with what others think of or write about Salleh. I am more into his “Open Letter to Redza Piyadasa on the Art of Pissing,” “The Malay (and Malaysian) Writer’s Dilemma,” and similar commentaries. Those would also fulfill her father’s wish of “Keep me burning, dear God, with the stubbornness of being.” (Songs and Monologues 7.)

 

            Salleh was a Muslim and thus did not believe in reincarnation. However, as a thought experiment, ponder his response if he were to be, to the current increasingly favorable views of his legacy as well as the rave reviews of Anna’s book.

 

            I venture that his response would be an earthy “Poodah.” (Get out of here!)

 

 

Mengenang August 31, 1957

 Mengenang 31 Ogos 1957

M. Bakri Musa

 

Saya masih dalam Tingkatan Dua (Tahun Persekolahan Lapan) di Sekolah Tuanku Muhammad, Kuala Pilah, bila Persekutuan Tanah Melayu mencapai kemerdekaan daripada Britain dalam tahun 1957. Pada jam satu saat lepas tengah malam pada hari Sabtu 31 Ogos, bendera Union Jack diturunkan dan bendera negara baharu dinaikkan buat kali pertamanya. Peristiwa bersejarah itu berlangsung di Padang Kelab Selangor, Kuala Lumpur, satu tempat yang digemari oleh kaum penjajah.

 

            Pengisytiharan dan upacara yang rasmi penuh dengan kemegahan berlaku pada waktu pagi di Stadium Merdeka yang baru dibina. Hujan lebat yang singkat pada pagi itu melambatkan sedikit permulaan upacara tetapi itu tidak melemahkan suasana gemilang.

 

            Kembali kepada saya, selain daripada belajar di sekolah Inggeris, ibu bapa saya juga telah melanggan untuk saya akhbar harian The Straits Times. Mereka berdua guru sekolah Melayu tetapi mengetahui kepentingan Bahasa Inggeris, walau pun itu berkait dengan penjajahan.

 

            Pengarang rencana kegemaran saya pada masa itu ialah Vernon Bartlett. Saya hairan bahawa seorang dari kaum penjajah tidak takut langsung untuk mengutuk dengan kerasnya kerajaannya sendiri. Dalam budaya kita itu dianggap khianat dan dihukum dengan sewajarnya. Perdana Menteri Anwar Ibrahim sendiri tentu sedar atas keadaan pahit itu.

 

       Saya mula membaca karangan Bartlett melalui bapa saya. Dia melanggan akhbar harian Utusan Melayu yang sekarang sudah tidak ada lagi. Penyunting akhbar harian tersebut mempunyai kebijaksanaan yang luar biasa untuk menterjemahkan ulasan Bartlett yang bernas ke Bahasa Melayu. Itu mencerminkan pandangan jauh dan luas mereka, amat berbeza daripada rakan sejawat mereka sekarang yang syok sendiri dan dibutakan oleh semangat kebangsaan mereka yang terlalu.

 

            Melalui Bartlett saya sedar tentang keadaan buruk yang menimpa banyak negara yang baru merdeka. Presiden Sukarno tidak habis menggesa rakyat Indonesia supaya mengakap dan memakan tikus, dan dengan itu sekali gus menyelesaikan dua masalah yang besar, yakni serangan tikus dan kekurangan makanan daging di kalangan rakyat. Contoh yang lebih hebat ialah rusuhan besaran di benua India selepas sahaja ia merdeka.

 

            Bapa saya pernah mengejek dengan bersorak “Mencakar” menggantikan “Merdeka.” Dia berhati-hati membuat demikian supaya tidak didengari dengan jelas. Mencakar sebab itulah nasib yang menanda kebanyakan rakyat negara yang baru merdeka.

 

            Ibu saudara saya Kamariah, seorang ahli UMNO (United Malay Nationalist Organisation), yakni parti yang menerajui Merdeka, telah dengan teliti mengaturkan sewa bas untuk membawa sekumpulan penduduk kampung ke Kuala Lumpur untuk menyaksikan peristiwa bersejarah itu. Seperti yang dijangkakan, minatnya tinggi dan oleh itu dia telah menempahkan dua tiket khas untuk ibu bapa saya.

 

            Beliau terperanjat apabila ibu bapa saya enggan bersama seolah menolak pelawaan itu saolah Itu bersempadan dengan tidak patriotik. Mereka bagaimanapun berjaya menggoyangkan alasan saat akhir: tiada pengasuh. Sebenarnya mereka tidak berhasrat untuk menjadi sebahagian daripada keganasan ngeri yang terlalu biasa yang sering dikaitkan dengan peristiwa sedemikian.

 

            Petang itu menjelang Merdeka, ibu bapa saya dengan pasti memberi amaran kepada kami supaya tidak keluar rumah. Mereka juga telah menimbun makanan dan keperluan lain, untuk berjaga-jaga.

 

            Kami mempunyai radio. Jadi malam itu saya dan abang saya terpaku pada set kami dengan bunyi suara yang direndahkan. Apa yang kami dengar hanyalah laungan “Merdeka!” yang tidak berkesudahan.

 

 

Keesokan harinya ibu bapa saya berasa lega kerana tiada apa yang tidak diingini berlaku. Kerisauannya ialah kerana pada awal minggu dia telah mendengar perbualan di kalangan penduduk kampung tentang bagaimana mereka akan menyerbu banglo mewah di atas bukit yang diduduki oleh kaum penjajah. Kepada penduduk kampung itulah maknanya Merdeka, mengambil balik harta dari pada kaum penjajah dan di serak kepada rakyat Bumi.

 

            Ayah saya tidak menyalahkan mereka dari khayalan mereka. Jika itu akan berlaku, yakinlah bahawa ramai ada orang lain yang mendahului mereka, seperti puak diraja dan mereka yang kemudiannya dipanggil UMNOPutras yang akan mendapat habuan terlebih dahulu.

 

            Pada suatu hari beberapa tahun selepas Merdeka, emak saudara saya datang ke rumah kami. Dia meminta untuk melihat akhbar harian Utusan Melayu. Dia selalu berbuat demikian kerana ingin melihat gambar sahaja kerana dia buta huruf, seperti yang ramai di kampung, terutamanya wanita. Oleh sebab itu terkejut saya apabila dia bersorak dalam loghat negeri, “Den dah boleh baco!”

 

            Makcik saya adalah penerima kelas pendidikan dewasa kerajaan baharu yang berkembang dengan pesat. Bukan itu sahaja. Dalam jarak tujuh batu antara kampung saya dan TMS, tidak kurang enam sekolah rendah baharu sedang dibina. Ibu bapa saya juga melihat perubahan. Walaupun mereka berdua pernah ke Maktab Perguruan semasa sebelum perang, mereka kini didedahkan kepada teknik pengajaran dan falsafah pembelajaran moden melalui kursus ulangkaji yang disediakan.

 

            Bagaimana kerajaan boleh mencari dana untuk membiayai pembangunan tersebut? Baharulah ibu bapa saya menyedari bahawa kerana negara kini bebas dan merdeka, wang yang dulunya dihantar ke Britain kini disimpan di dalam negara. Ini bersama-sama dengan keputusan bijak kerajaan baharu sebelum ini untuk mengadakan Perjanjian Pertahanan bersama dengan Britain memastikan bahawa kita akan terhindar daripada kos memerangi pemberontakan komunis yang masih aktif. Sebaliknya, ramai yang beranggapan bahawa perjanjian merdeka itu hanyalah satu gaya sulit untuk mengekalkan kawalan British, dan kemerdekaan yang berikutnya hanyalah satu penipuan.

 

            Sejak itu ibu bapa saya menyokong Merdeka. Bagi mereka, inilah maknanya kemerdekaan, peluang untuk melabur untuk kemajuan rakyat. Rakyat adalah aset yang paling berharga untuk sesuatu negara.

 

            Itu juga hasrat dan doa saya untuk Kerajaan Madani pada Ulang Tahun Kemerdekaan ke-67 ini–melabur untuk kebaikan rakyat.

 

Diadaptasi daripada memoir pengarang, “Cast From The Herd: Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia” (2016).

 

Remembering August 31, 1957

 Remembering August 31, 1957

M. Bakri Musa

 

I was in Form Two (School Year 8) at Tuanku Muhammad School (TMS), Kuala Pilah, when Persekutuan Tanah Melayu declared her independence (Merdeka) from Britain. At one second past midnight on Saturday August 31, 1957, the Union Jack was lowered and the new Malaysian flag raised for the first time. The historic event took place at the Selangor Club Padang, Kuala Lumpur, the venerable watering hole of the colonials.

 

            Hours later was the official declaration with pomp and ceremony at the newly-constructed Merdeka Stadium. The brief morning downpour delayed but did not dampen the occasion.

 

            Back to me, besides attending an English school, my parents had also subscribed for us The Straits Times. They were Malay school teachers but knew the importance of the English language, its association with colonialism notwithstanding.

 

            My favorite columnist at the time was Vernon Bartlett. Here was a colonialist unafraid to criticize (often severely) his own government. In my culture that would be considered treasonous and treated accordingly. I need not remind Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim of that harsh reality.

 

            I was introduced to Bartlett’s writings through my father who was an avid Utusan Melayu (Malay Courier–now defunct) reader. Its editors saw the wisdom of translating Bartlett’s insightful commentaries into Malay. That reflected their professionalism as well as far-from-insular outlook, a far cry from their current counterparts who are unable to get rid of their nationalist blinders.

 

            Through Bartlett I was aware of the raw brutal realities of many newly-independent countries. Nearby President Sukarno was exhorting Indonesians to eat rats, thus solving two perennial problems:  rodent infestations and protein deficiency among citizens. Then there was the Indian subcontinent’s post-independent partition horror.

 

            My father used to mock by uttering “Mencakar” instead of “Merdeka,” being careful of course not to be clearly heard. “Mencakar” means scrapping for a living, the fate that awaited citizens of many newly independent nations. 

 

            My auntie Kamariah, a local operative in the United Malay Nationalist Organization, the party that spearheaded Merdeka, had thoughtfully arranged for a bus charter to take a group of villagers to Kuala Lumpur to witness the historic event. As expected, interest was high and as such she had thoughtfully reserved two seats for my parents.

 

            Imagine her horror when my parents declined the invitation. That bordered on being unpatriotic. They however managed to wiggle a last minute excuse:  no babysitter. In truth they had no wish to be part of the all-too-common horrific violence often associated with such events.

 

            That evening on the eve of Merdeka, my parents warned us in no uncertain terms not to venture outside. They had also stockpiled food and other essentials, just in case.

 

            We had a radio. So that night my brother and I were glued to our set with the volume turned down. All we could hear were the endless roars of “Merdeka!”

 

            The next day my parents were relieved that nothing untoward had happened. They were not being paranoid, for earlier in the week my father had overheard a conversation among the villagers about how they would storm those hillside palatial bungalows occupied by the colonials. To the villagers that was what Merdeka meant, returning things back to their rightful owners–the natives.

 

            My father disabused them of their delusion. Even if that were to happen, rest assured that there were others ahead of them, like the royalty clan and those later termed UMNOPutras, who would get the goodies first.

 

            One day a few years after Merdeka, my grand auntie visited us and asked for the Utusan Melayu. She did that often just to see the pictures as she was illiterate, as so many in the villages were, especially women. Imagine my shock when she beamed, “I can now read!”

 

            My auntie was a beneficiary of the new government’s mushrooming adult education classes. There was more. In the seven miles between my village and TMS, no fewer than six new primary schools were being built. My parents too saw changes. Though they both had been to Teachers Training Colleges during the prewar, they were now exposed to modern teaching techniques and learning philosophy through their mandated refresher courses.

 

            How did the government find the money to fund those initiatives? Then it dawned upon my parents that as we were now independent, those precious funds previously repatriated to Britain were now kept locally. This together with the new government’s earlier wise decision to have a joint Defense Treaty with Britain ensured that we would be spared the cost of fighting the still-active communist insurgency. Perversely many had viewed that treaty to be but a front to maintain British control and that the ensuing independence was but a sham.

 

            From then on my parents were enthusiastic about Merdeka. To them, this was what independence should mean, an opportunity to invest in your people, a nation’s most precious asset.

 

            That is also my wish and prayer for the Madani Government on this 67^th Anniversary of Merdeka–invest in your citizens.

 

Adapted from the author’s memoir, Cast From The Herd:  Memories of Matriarchal Malaysia (2016).