Hey, Mr Pink Lips, have a nice cup of tea…
Smug arrogance and supercilious pomposity bring out the nasty streak in me. Try as I might over the last 28 years, I have never been able to look upon Mahathir Mohamad with the compassion and empathy all living beings deserve.
Same goes for Najib Razak and his dad, Malaysia's 2nd prime minister. Thirty-three years ago when I read that Tun Razak had died of leukemia in London, I felt an irrational surge of joy. At the time I wasn't at all interested in politics and had no personal reason to dislike Razak – but on the subconscious level I must have detected his inherent racism and his fascistic agenda to institutionalize repugnant, reactionary doctrines like Ketuanan Melayu.
Indeed, evidence has since emerged that reveals it was Tun Abdul Razak who masterminded the 13 May 1969 coup d'etat – camouflaged as a post-electoral outbreak of racial violence – which forced Tunku Abdul Rahman to resign, thus paving the way for Umno's young turks to implement divisive and destructive social engineering agendas like the New Economic Policy and the National Cultural Policy. But all that is blood and water under the bridge
