Previously, the missionary found himself spoiled by a run of little mercies: a beach picnic with sharp-eyed altar boys, hopeful chats about vocations that fizzled under family duty, and then a sunburnt dash by Dakota up to North Borneo. He stayed with quick-witted priests, heard old wartime shadows, and pushed into the cool high country of Kinabalu to track down Frank—only to be shunted on to Ranau, where hospitality meant a floor to sleep on and a clinic bed borrowed in kindness. From there he rattled back to Jesselton and took the odd little timber train inland, bound for Keningau and an old seminary mate, as the jungle closed in and the mission road kept on calling.
At this time the talk was about the attempt to amalgamate all the Borneo territories into one state, combined with Malaya and Singapore. It did not mean much to me. There was little mention of it in Brunei. But here in Keningau, I landed in the middle of it. Desmond had to go to some party involving a lot of VIPs and not wishing to leave me at the mission by myself brought me along. A busy parish priest does not bother too much about the whys and wherefores and just goes along if he is expected to be present. It was actually the Landsdowne Commission, the last of many, the most prestigious and influential in the final run-in to the creation of Malaysia. It was headed by Lord Landsdowne himself, a minister of state of the British Foreign Office. He was there to meet the local chiefs, to ascertain their attitude to this new state and to find out, too, how many people they represented. One can well imagine that no chief was about to underestimate his following; the result probably gave grossly exaggerated figures of those who favoured the new state.
The fact was that Britain was implementing its evacuation of the Far East and wanted out as quickly as possible. It had to leave behind a viable state which could survive in the company of very strong Indonesia and a vibrant pre-Marcos Philippines. It had of course to adhere to its time-honoured tradition favouring Moslems against all others. To tilt the balance against the Chinese they planned to use the native peoples of Sarawak and North Borneo. Malaysia is the product of crude cynicism on the part of Britain; it institutionalises discrimination against the hard-working, wealth-creating Chinese. Fortunately for the well-being of Malaysia, the Chinese prefer work to politics and keep their own counsel with regard to the many restrictions they endure.
Landsdowne was a pleasant person and intent on his work. I had rightly guessed that he was of a Scottish family. They were based in Perthshire, he told me, but the blood of many races ran in the family-even Red Indian. His colleague, Tun Abdul Razak, was then the deputy prime minister of Malaya. I remember he downed quite a few neat whiskies in quick time. He was safe in our company but I doubt whether he would have been able to do that in the present fundamentalist climate of Malaysia. Both he and Tunku Abdul Rahman ( Bapa Malaysia- the father of Malaysia) were aristocrats, educated in England, were very much at home with the British and had worked with them in administration. These two were the first and second Prime Ministers of Malaysia respectively. The transition into the new state went smoothly as between one set of gentlemen and another. The later talk of “our fight for independence against the British” is ridiculous in the extreme. Their successor was of a similar background.
The present Prime Minister Dr Mohammed Mathatir is by contrast from a poor Indian immigrant background, with a decided inferiority complex towards the British which he shows from time to time with his “Asia first” policy and his behaviour over the Pergau Dam in 1994. He is a politician and uses his bullying, aggressive style towards the West to win him points among the folks at home. When one considers that he comes from the least significant of the three races in mainland Malaysia, that is West Malaysia, namely the Malay, Chinese and Indian, he must have had tremendous strength to rise up through the ranks to become the most powerful person in the country. He came up through the Junior UMNO (United Malay National Organisation.). Its parent body forms the strongest party in the coalition government. He was called in to government to inject a youthful image among a lot of elderly statesmen who lived a Western life-style and were slowly becoming alienated from the rah’yat (the common people). He used his position to publish anti-Chinese literature, which so infuriated the Chinese that in the elections held at this time they got together and soundly defeated the Malay government. The Malays who had been spoiled by Britain into thinking that they had a divine right to govern went on the rampage in the cities like Kuala Lumpur, and, assisted and protected by the Malay-dominated police and armed forces, killed many Chinese, looted their property and forced many to flee.
After appeals for calm had been made by Abdul Rahman, who was genuinely liked by the Chinese, the turmoil subsided. In the elections that were held again, Abdul Rahman’s Malay party with support from right-wing Chinese and Indian parties were restored to power. Mathatir was sacked and went into the political wilderness but he had won his “young bloods” spurs. It was not long until he bounced back again and began a much faster climb to power.
Over the years he has not mellowed. When he was Education Minister (the launching pad for the top job) he visited Sarawak and made slighting remarks about the universal use of English; this language was, he said, only for those who worked in the foreign service of the country and not for farmers. This did not go down well with the Sarawak Malay English-trained doctors and lawyers who had made politics their career. At a meeting in Miri, he spoke to the teachers from all the schools exclusively in Malay; this was quite out of keeping with the usual practice of speaking alternately in Malay and in English for the benefit of the Chinese and Indian teachers or businessmen, as the case may be. He is the original hard man of Asian politics. His heart by-pass operations have not succeeded in softening him.
Keningau was the gateway to the hill country of central North Borneo. Most of the priest used ponies to get around. I met one in the corral; it was a real vicious type with a perpetual bad temper. I think it had been put out to grass. Along the coast, the northern shore of Brunei Bay, lived the Bajaus, a Moslem tribe with close affiliation to Brunei. They are expert horsemen and often appear in ceremonial parades. They were at their best on the race track which was a great attraction for the Chinese businessmen in Jesselton. One of the priests in Penampang, of slight build, was quite a good rider and entered the races but this was very much a closed shop and frequently he was jostled and cut out by the others. I suppose too that it must be hard for a gambler to do a deal with a priest jockey.
There were two missions in the interior, isolated, on a track which was later to become part of the Trans-Borneo Highway, running from Kota Kinabalu (known as Jesselton at this time) to Sandakan on the east coast. The locals say that Kinabalu got its name from the newly arrived Chinese immigrants. They are said to have exclaimed when they saw the mountains that it was just like China which they had left, “Kina” (China) and “Balu” (their attempt to say “baharu”, which means new “). I remember the isolation, the austerity but the tremendous cheerfulness of the priests Toboh and Tambunan.
These two missions had a peculiar beginning. For many years, the British North Borneo Company which owned the country had refused permission for the church to start a mission in the interior but after the war in more enlightened times they agreed, on condition that the priests should be English. This same mentality was to be seen in India at the time of the Raj; any padre- Indian, Goanese -was acceptable to the Army provided that he was not Irish. Bishop Buis replied in kind by appointing John Quinn and Martin Connolly. It is not known how the Company reacted to this choice of “Englishmen.”. These men lived with the people, were completely integrated to them and built them up into a community, based on the foundation of Christ.
Visitors used to comment on the difference between the priests of Sarawak and those of North Borneo. The dress in Sarawak was mostly white cotton shirt and long trousers, fresh every day; in the North, shorts and any kind of shirt would do. In Sarawak, the fathers rarely wore cassocks except in church, whereas the men in the North were always popping into beautiful cape cassock and red sash and would never be photographed otherwise. Also, distances were greater in the North, which had to be traversed by horseback or jeep whereas Sarawak, the mission was either in a town or in the interior which involved river travel. Most of the stations were quite isolated. In the North, although the distances were greater, transport was available and the priests could meet more frequently. I suppose there were other differences but it is remarkable that the two communities of Mill Hill could evolve in different directions.
It is strange too that the North never had any problem with the Moslems since the Kadazan Catholics were more numerous. Yet after Malaysia was formed, the Moslem Chief Minister managed to get most of our priests expelled. Then he set about proselytizing among the Catholics, by blackmail, fear and bribery; the few Mill Hill men who remained and the local priests stood firm and encouraged the people in their faith. Mustapha, the Chief Minister, then over-reached himself and imagined that he could do without his masters in Kuala Lumpur; he began to toy with the idea of separating himself from Malaysia and going it alone. Whereupon Kuala Lumpur began the process of string-pulling and he found himself out of a job. He was replaced by a puppet ruler; life became easier for the church and it is said that over the course of time many of the Catholics who had given way returned to the faith. That the church in Sabah (then British North Borneo) has now got another diocese is proof that the faith has survived and made progress.
By the time the school gates shut that December evening, he thought the worst of it was over—just exams, Christmas, and a bit of well-earned quiet—but something uneasy lingered in the air, whispered in rumours and restless crowds. Beyond the classrooms, Brunei was shifting, pulled between old loyalties and new voices, and men like Azahari were no longer content to wait. He didn’t yet know it, but the calm would not hold for long; the next chapter would bring a jolt sharp enough to change everything overnight.
