In Defence of our foreign Minister

We huddled long into the night. The shopkeeper kept topping up our teh tariks and left us alone. He knew the seriousness of our discussion. He gave the occasional stare in our direction, hoping perhaps for an inclusion into our midst. We disappointed him and what we discussed disappointed us even more.

The nastiness was unbelievable. The gutter comments came forth like a waterfall. Anifart. Orang Utan. The whole cyber world was watching with mirth, glee and disbelief. How low and uncultured we have become. From the cafes of Santiago to coal pits of Inner Mongolia to the back lanes of Aberdeen, we have exposed ourselves. Now we have to clean up the mess at home. How could this have happened?

A lawsuit was promised. A cavalier response came immediately. No doubt people from the homegrown legal fraternity will soon wave papers in front of TV cameras. A week later, the matter will be half forgotten. It may or may not resurface at some distant date. Often it will just disappear, much like chucking a rotten mango into a surging river.

We however, of the coffee-shop-analyst fraternity, had a duty to ourselves. This was no ordinary or unknown bloke from the heartland of the ruling class that was besmirched. This was our friend!

Never mind the fact that he claimed to have made his millions by the time he was 25. It did not matter to us whether he proudly declined an offer to take care of untold thousands of scheming taxi drivers and speeding buses. We focused our attention as to how a friend from a railhead town that gets flooded several times a year was called upon to hold the 4th most important political job in the nation.

To his credit, the Washington top dogs whistled in his direction and waved him to come for a quiet chat. He wasted no time. In a new diplomatic departure, he took foreign relations a notch higher by taking swipes at his domestic enemy.

Howls of disapproval and abuses came flying in cyberspace and in untold coffee stalls across the nation. We decided to go deeper. We were in agreement that given his own admission of his deep pockets, he would have paid for everything connected to the trip just for the opportunity for a pow wow with someone as important as Monica’s competitor. After all, we had a prime minister who paid a go-between several millions just to secure an appointment with the guy who caused much havoc in Iraq. These were important people, we kid you not.

We discounted the possibility that he banged the PM’s table and uttered threats to cross to the enemy with his large group of loyal friends as the reason for his securing such an important job. We agreed, however, that he would have had the capability (and the gall) to do so.

We discussed the shoot-from-the-hip, gung-ho attitude, the dapper disposition, and the expensive Havana cigars. We concluded that some of these aspects might have helped. But in the end, we all agreed that no one in the ruling class could string 3 sentences in ENGLISH! We were shocked and extremely disappointed by this discovery. In the age of the internet, the ruling class cannot speak an important international language.

No "towering Malaysian" as hoped for by a previous prime minister who could be a beacon, an example, for us and our neighbours to emulate. Our top diplomat has to have class. He has to be debonair. Most of all, he must have the ability to speak ENGLISH.

Since members of the ruling elite failed miserably in this aspect, it fell on our English-speaking friend from a rail-head town beside a muddy river to take the mantle and tell the Americans and those who listened by accident, that lousy enemies of the country were busy blackening our name.

Since these listeners have a very extensive spy network operating everywhere, we agreed that what our friend had to whine about was generally not believed.

We parted feeling disappointed by our unsavvy ruling elite but felt good for our friend. At least he got to confirm that his host did not have Botox injections.

By Hj Ramlee Dua, KADAYAN JOURNAL