Last time, he found himself dropped into the uneasy politics of North Borneo, where talk of a new Malaysia swirled round mission houses, government men and village chiefs alike. Though he’d only meant to serve quietly, he was pulled close enough to see how power moved behind polite smiles, while still learning the rough, isolated life of the interior—its horse tracks, lonely missions, cheerful priests and stubborn faith. All the while, he watched a land on the edge of change, where empire, religion and ordinary people were being folded into something new, whether they liked it or not.
The ill-starred Suez Campaign of 1956 was not the cause of, but it helped to speed up, the formulation of Britain’s “East of Suez policy; she was no longer able to maintain any worthwhile presence in the Middle and Far East. The newly independent vast sub-continent of India with its military and naval bases and unlimited man-power was no longer available to protect the long lines of communication stretching out to the Far East. Worn out after its exertions in World War 2, Britain was still engaged in a seemingly endless campaign against the Communists in the Malayan jungle. She had to let go of the Malayan States, Singapore, Hong Kong and the Borneo territories consisting of Sarawak, British North Borneo and the Protectorate of Brunei. Yet she could not just up and go. There were two newly independent nations, Indonesia and the Philippines, in themselves rich in raw materials, yet with huge populations to feed, looking eagerly for a favourable outcome to themselves of British difficulties. Of the two, Indonesia offered more of a threat since it shared a land frontier with both Sarawak and British North Borneo; only the narrow Straits of Malacca separated her from Singapore and Johore, the most southerly territory of the Malayan peninsula. It was thus that some kind of timetable had to be drawn up both to effect a satisfactory withdrawal and to provide some alternative form of security for these territories.
First, the United Kingdom had to bring the war in the Malayan jungle to a conclusion in order to provide peace in the territory -Malaya- which would necessarily have to be the lynch-pin of any regional grouping. Huge quantities of men and materiel were used up, finally under Sir Gerald Templar, to effect this; there was resettlement of villages which denied food and other supplies to the Communists. In the Vietnam War the US tried this without success. These incidentally were the men who kept the Japanese at bay throughout the war and were honoured by Britain in the 1946 Victory Parade. Now they were pilloried as bloodthirsty terrorists. In those days “Communist” was the blanket description of anyone who took arms against a colonial government.
In this context, the simple demands of the Chinese population were brushed aside to ensure that the ensconced status and privileges of the Malay sultans and their subjects were left undisturbed. And these were the very ones who welcomed the Japanese invaders in 1941 and collaborated actively with them throughout the war. The Arabists of the British Foreign Office have shown a remarkable steadfastness of purpose in favouring Islam during the centuries; Moslems over Hindus, Arabs over Jews. That with the Anglo-Saxon fascination for pomp and splendour as exhibited in the courts and palaces of the sultans would also be a good enough reason for supporting them against the singlet- and vest-clad hardworking Chinese. That it was the Chinese who produced the wealth for the sultans to squander never entered Whitehall calculations.
The task had now to be tackled of creating a state out of all this divergence. Whitehall needed little coaching from the Malay leaders to categorise all Chinese with being more loyal to China than to their adopted land. The Malay Peninsula is a land of many races; the Chief Minister of the Malayan Federation was of Siamese origin; the present Prime Minister of Malaysia is of Indian extraction. Malacca is the home of people with Portuguese and Arabic blood; Javanese and Sumatrans have for centuries gone back and forth. Northern Malaya has a land frontier with Thailand. On top of all this, there are the Chinese whose ancestors arrived from south China in continual waves throughout the centuries. The Chinese of Malacca, the “Babas”, speak their own form of Malay and know no Chinese dialects. Although they maintain their customs, traditions and only rarely marry outside their race, they have little connection with China and would not support any political system that interfered with or in any way restricted the free flow of wealth.
Nevertheless, the Chinese were designated by Whitehall as politically unreliable and their rights had to be denied lest they jeopardised those of the so-called native Malays. Even today, to attempt to define who are natives and who are incomers would be a pointless, foolish task. The plan was now for the Malayan States and Singapore to be joined, with the addition of the Borneo territories of Sarawak, British North Borneo and the State of Brunei. Here the large numbers of native tribes and Malays would outnumber and outweigh the influence of the Chinese in mainland Malaya.
In general the Borneo Malays were happy to be a part of a scheme, which would unite them to their big powerful Moslem brothers on the mainland. The native chiefs were suitably rewarded to assure the acquiescence of their subjects. The Chinese politicians, all business-men, stood for anything that provided a peaceful transition, keeping their misgivings strictly to themselves. Brunei, after some initial agreement, preferred to keep all of its oil revenue to itself. Besides, the Sultan, Sir Omar Ali Saiffudin, had a great personal attachment to Britain. In the centre of his capital, he had built a museum, highlighting the blitz on London, complete with the All-clear siren and recordings of Churchill’s wartime speeches, with some of his personal items. Outside there is a statue to his hero, in pork-pie hat, with cane and cigar. Among a huge collection of cars was his favourite-a London taxi. The Brunei decision to remain outside did not halt the advance of the great plan and on the 31st August, 1963, there was declared the new State of Malaysia, formed out of the Federated Malay States, Singapore, Sarawak and Sabah ( the new name for British North Borneo). Hong Kong retained its colonial status.
There was however a legacy of disappointment among the Brunei people when they found that they were not to be part of the big new state. The battle cry of freedom being heard throughout south-east Asia had no answering echo in Brunei. It was and is today a feudal state. The Sultan could not possibly absorb all that was going on around him.
There were other things to distract him. The Brunei sultans like every other Moslem has a right to four wives and concubines; the offspring of these marriages were allowed the honorific of “Pengiran” or even we might say, “Prince.” Through the centuries, there has accumulated a superfluity of people claiming royal ancestry. Now that good times had come to Brunei, with the oil money, they too hoped for a share. The Sultan was equally determined that the money should be kept inside his own immediate circle. This is not to say that he was uncaring of what happened to the people. The opposite was true. He embarked on a big school-building project; hospitals, clinics, roads were built. He instituted a pension scheme for the over -60s. It was known that he appreciated the school work of the missionaries and decreed that a quota of 7 priests could stay in the state. He is rightly called the Father of Modern Brunei. When it became fully independent in 1983-4, under his son, the present Sultan, all the wisdom, prudence and store of goodwill left by the father were squandered mindlessly.
As a young man, in the days before the oil wealth, the Sultan had to work for his living as a junior officer in a government department. He was familiar with working with expatriates and, on succeeding his brother, he continued the tradition of employing British officials, even to the highest level. For his middle level positions, he recruited from Malaya, Singapore and Philippines; he knew from his personal experience that his own people, both Malay and Chinese, lacked the experience and education to cope with the rapidly expanding bureaucracies in his newly-rich country. The locals were familiar with the sight of Europeans holding the big jobs and had no trouble accepting the reality of the situation but they turned in resentment against the Asian incomers.
But another newcomer had arrived unbidden on the scene. No one seems to be quite sure of his origins but probably with some Indonesian connection. For a failed businessman, he seemed never to be short of funds. Ch’gu Azahari with his neat pointed beard was an engaging speaker, who could tell the various sections of the discontents what they wanted to hear. He travelled throughout the state, speaking in the villages, outside the mosques, seeking to convince the resentful royal cousins, the failed Malay businessmen, the disappointed pro- Malaysians that they should have a say in how to run the country, and how to spend the oil-money. He succeeded in interesting a sufficient number to form a party, which predictably was called the Parti Ray’at, or the People’s Party.
A Brunei Sultan who is completely isolated from his people would never know the fears and aspirations that they nourished; the Sultans have always treated the country as their own backyard. In such a situation he was completely lost and did not know how to tackle this question of “politics”. It was easy therefore for Azahari to corner him into promising to hold elections. The Sultan’s candidates, mostly his relatives and old friends, were no match for the glib People’s Party candidates, who swept to victory. The Sultan, amazed at such an unexpected turn of events, immediately reacted by declaring the elections null. Thus ended Brunei’s first and last foray into democracy. Years later the present Sultan in the process of courting media attention in the West was interrogated on why he never held elections. “Well”, he said, we had elections once; it was a bit of mess really; they all voted for different things, so we had to bring it to an end.” And this from the ruler of a country that sits at UN, at ASEAN and at the Commonwealth meetings.
After the failed elections, there was an air of unease everywhere, which grew into lawlessness. Football was the popular sport among Malays; every government department fielded a team for the various tournaments. Now for the first time violence became commonplace on the field; the Public Works Department had the largest local labour force and they would vent their grievances on the other teams. The Police Teams were most often the subjects of attack. The referees were intimidated and gave up apart from a few bravehearts among the European and Eurasian Shell employees. Our school withdrew its teams from all competitions. In a place like Seria where entertainment was minimal, football the great pastime had almost died out. Rumours raged that food stocks were rapidly disappearing, that all the green cloth in the bazaar was being bought up for uniforms: that the frogs were doing battle in the drains: that the head-hunters were on the move in the interior.
With so many rumours going around, each more outlandish than the previous one, we chose to ignore all of them; I was busy in the school preparing for the Senior Cambridge exams (equivalent to a year beneath the present day “O” levels). I had had a wonderful year and had never been so content. I had worked really hard to get the boys ready for their exams and now I left them in God’s hands. The staff, Catholic, Moslem, Buddhists, Hindus, organised little classroom parties to remind us of the coming of the great feast of Christmas. The school gates were closed with relief on Friday, 6th December 1962.
Next time, he would learn that the silence was only the beginning. With the rebels tightening their grip and the truth of that strange morning slowly coming into focus, what had first seemed like a brief scare was turning into something far more dangerous. And shut inside the mission, with rumours spreading and no way of knowing what might come next, he could only wait for the story to unfold.
