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It was an irony that I—like many modern leaders—eventually learned to live with: You never looked as smart as the ex-president did on the sidelines.

Barack Obama himself remarked on this political truism, when describing how he sought the help of former President Bill Clinton to explain the details of a particularly contentious tax deal to the skeptical public. One has to wonder, though, if he isn’t also referring to the present day, when we’re still trying to contend with the toxic legacy of Donald Trump’s tumultuous time in office.

That brings us to the central question of this discussion: how do we review Obama’s biography without also reflecting on his presidency?

I pondered the issue while writing this blog post, but in the end decided that it was just impossible to separate the two. To do so would be to take A Promised Land out of its context, instead placing it alongside Dreams from My Father and The Audacity of Hope, written before Obama’s time as POTUS. He is clearly a different person now compared to who he was before his presidency. But what kind of person exactly?

Read on to find out…

The Time Chooses You

One of my favourite passages in the book came early on, when Obama was still thinking about running for the presidency. He approached Ted Kennedy, the Senator from Massachusetts, for advice and was told this:

…I can tell you this, Barack. The power to inspire is rare. Moments like this are rare. You think you may not be ready, that you’ll do it at a more convenient time. But you don’t choose the time. The time chooses you. Either you seize what may turn out to be the only chance you have, or you decide you’re willing to live with the knowledge that the chance has passed you by.

Seize the moment!

Obama did, and what an adventure it turned out to be.

A Promise Fulfilled

I am not a politician, nor do I want to be one. But I know enough about the business of governing to appreciate that it is often a marathon rather than a sprint. The process of trying to get the Affordable Care Act (ACA) passed was one such marathon. In the end, the 906-page piece of legislation was, in Obama’s own words, “dense, thorough, popular with only one side politically, impactful, and surely imperfect”.

Yet in order to get to that point, he had to overcome all sorts of obstacles, not only from Republicans but also from Big Pharma, insurance companies, and even his fellow Democrats.

The selfish part of me can’t help but wonder: why would anyone subject himself to such an ordeal?

But then my mind turns to my own experience as a doctor. Contrary to popular opinion, the pay is relatively poor, the hours long and punishing.

The experience, however, is rewarding.

Seeing the smile on a patient’s face, watching the relief amongst their family members upon knowing that their loved one will be OK…these are the moments that make all the hard work worthwhile.

The night after the ACA passed, Obama described his feelings as follows:

For me, this was a celebration that mattered. The night we’d had in Grant Park after winning the election had been extraordinary, but it had been just a promise, not yet realized. This night meant more to me, a promise fulfilled.

And in the next paragraph:

I thought about Ted Kennedy, and I thought about my mom.

It was a good day.

Indeed, we live for days such as these.

On The High Wire

The final chapter of A Promised Land deals with the events surrounding the killing of Osama bin Laden. To me, one moment in particular illustrated the extremes faced by people in positions of leadership. Obama wrote:

…despite the knowledge that McRaven would soon join the SEAL team in Jalalabad and could likely launch the operation within hours, I’d have to do my best to act like everything was normal in front of a ballroom full of reporters.

Imagine having to do so, knowing that a single misstep could spell the end of your career, trigger violent reprisals, spark political turmoil, and generally be a diplomatic nightmare all over the world.

No pressure, Mr President…

Speaking of balancing things, perhaps my only criticism of the book is that large parts of it felt scripted, as if Obama had a checklist of people he had to mention, one that he had cleared with a bunch of lawyers before putting his thoughts into writing. Typically, these passages would read something like this:

1. Introduce the person by name
2. Say something nice/cute about their background
3. Give a generous description of their contribution

Sometimes I wish Obama was more combative!

A Failing Land

Ultimately, however, it is impossible to flip through the pages of the book without wondering: how on earth did it come to this?

How did we go from Obama, with his calm, cerebral demeanour, to Trump, with his…with his…I can’t even…

When I look at America nowadays, I struggle to see the so-called Promised Land that Obama keeps mentioning. All I see is a failing union, one in which people actively despise one another because of their political beliefs, egged on by politicians who really should know better.

Look, I really do admire Obama. I am a fan of his professorial style and his consensus-building approach. Plus, he seems like a really cool guy. I’d love to be able to chat with him over coffee!

But is all this mayhem part of Obama’s legacy?

I hope not. I sincerely wish that people can overcome the years of conflict, moderate their views, and come back to their senses. Whether that will come to pass remains to be seen…

I wanted to try something different for the site and so decided to switch to a darker colour scheme for the time being. The white background from the previous version made reading difficult because of its brightness and strong contrast.

Either that, or my eyes are just getting old…

Mostly I am happy with the new design which is based on the Exford theme from Automattic, although I still need to tweak a few things related to colours and font sizes.

Anyway, let me know what you think in the comments.

I am not a runner. I would much prefer flying my epic 310% speed mount in World of Warcraft going to the gym. The most I’ve ever accomplished in terms of running is probably contributing a couple of points to Sulaiman House after (barely) finishing the annual cross-country event in Kuala Kangsar.

So yeah, running’s not exactly my forte.

Occasionally, however, with much ‘encouragement’ from my lovely wife (thanks dear!), I gather enough motivation to drag my fat ass off the couch, put on my sports shoes, and go out for a run.

And on days like today, when I arrive early enough at the park (which is just next to our house by the way) that there are very few souls around, I am rewarded with glorious views of the landscape bathed in the golden light of the rising sun.

While out on my run this morning, I came across an unoccupied bench in the park and sat there for a while, absorbing the view and appreciating the tranquility around me. I think it’s a shame that in our world today, we seem to have lost any appreciation for the simple act of being alone with our thoughts. Our days are filled with Zoom calls, Spotify playlists, YouTube videos…it’s rare to have a moment of solitude.

But moments of solitude are very important, especially if you get to spend it in nature. They remind us that the world doesn’t revolve around us, that there is something bigger, and more importantly, that the world is in God’s hands.

I like this quote from an article by Andrew Sullivan entitled ‘I Used To Be A Human Being‘:

The reason we live in a culture increasingly without faith is not because science has somehow disproved the unprovable, but because the white noise of secularism has removed the very stillness in which it might endure or be reborn.

Sitting on that park bench earlier, I couldn’t help but recall these verses from Surah Ali ‘Imran of the Qur’an:

There truly are signs in the creation of the heavens and earth, and in the alternation of night and day, for those with understanding, who remember God standing, sitting, and lying down, who reflect on the creation of the heavens and earth: ‘Our Lord! You have not created all this without purpose– You are far above that!– so protect us from the torment of the Fire. 

Surah Ali ‘Imran [3:190-191]

Sometime in 1996, I remember being asked to step into the headmaster’s office at my primary school in Subang Jaya. There, I was told that my teachers wanted to apply for a residential school place on my behalf. All I had to do was answer a simple question:

Which school did I want to apply to?

“MCKK”, I replied, without thinking too much about it. After all, I had more important issues to deal with back then. My rival (and also good friend) Wong Wai Kit was in danger of overtaking me in the class rankings. Plus, I needed to figure out what cards to put in my latest Magic: The Gathering deck. Also, the Backstreet Boys had a new song and I still hadn’t memorised it! Ok I’m just kidding on the last one…or am I?

Anyway, it was only in December of 1996 when I started sweating about my spur-of-the-moment answer a few months earlier. I had yet to receive any news regarding the outcome of my application. All I had was an offer from a religious school, Sekolah Menengah Agama Medan Harun (I tried to Google it today but couldn’t find any evidence that it still exists). I was tempted to accept the offer, you know, just for the novelty of it. Thankfully, the long-awaited letter offering me a place at the Malay College Kuala Kangsar (MCKK) arrived a few days later. I was ecstatic!

My parents and I arrived in Kuala Kangsar on 12 January 1997. It was a Sunday, and as we made our way to the Kuala Kangsar Rest House, I got my first glimpse of the school. There it was, the Big School, with its Graeco-Roman columns, looking totally different from any other school building I had ever seen. To a 12-year-old boy like me, it was like a vast castle, one that I somehow got to call home for the next 5 years.

As for the rest house itself, it was cosy enough, and we even met a few other families who were there to register their sons. These days, the rest house has been refurbished and is now known as the Lanai Casuarina, but back then it was a much more modest establishment.

Registration Day

The next day, 13 January 1997, I stepped into the Hargreaves Hall for the first time as an MCKK student. Huge boards on the walls listed down the names of former Best Students, Scholars, and Head Prefects. Our teachers waited eagerly at the front of the hall.

We listened to a speech by the Headmaster Haji Baharom Kamari (who sadly passed away recently on 1 January 2021, innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raaji’uun). Afterwards, I made my way to the Prep School where I was directed to my new home, Dorm B. Dorm B was one of the smaller dormitories there with only 16 boys in it (laundry numbers B27-B42). We slept in double decker beds, complete with mosquito nets that we had to tuck in (perfectly) every morning. My bedmate was a kid from Taiping, Faiz a.k.a Bugs, who always seemed to have a supply of tomato juice in his locker. Knowing what life in a dormitory is like, perhaps that was the only drink that no one else wanted, which guaranteed that he could consume it in peace!

Another dorm-mate, who’s now an Orthopaedic surgeon, wasn’t so lucky; everyone knew he had a steady supply of biscuits in his locker. What usually transpired was that the poor guy would try to open his locker door quietly by just a few inches, and fish around blindly for some biscuits. Someone would inevitably spot what he was doing and a few seconds later those biscuits would be gone, passed around from one person to another in the dorm.

Back to 13 January 1997…

Starting life in a new environment is always a nerve-wrecking event. This was no exception. I looked around and noticed another kid in the top bunk of the double decker bed next to mine. Amid the hustle and bustle of people settling into their respective dormitories, he was busy studying.

I was impressed!

I even remember the exact book he was holding: it was the ‘Sejarah’ (History) textbook, and he was reading it as if it was actually interesting, you know, like a Dragon Ball comic or something.

“Damn!” I said to myself, it’s going to be really hard to do well here! These kids are so motivated! How the hell am I going to survive? Maybe this was not such a good idea after all.

Living The Good Life

Thankfully, all my worries were put to rest by the multitude of self-improvement activities imposed upon us by our helpful Prep School Prefects. Of course, by ‘self-improvement activity’ I really mean torture. And by ‘helpful’, I mean ‘sadistic’! Ha ha ha…

Throughout the year, we were subjected to all kinds of punishments: push-ups, knuckle push-ups, running laps around the dining hall, sleep deprivation, hauling a big-ass roller around the Big School field…we had to do it all! Our bleeding knuckles were testament to the amount of ‘love and care’ showered upon us by our seniors.

Even so, there were many light-hearted moments during these ‘motivational’ sessions. I remember one night in particular when my batchmates and I were doing push-ups in the area next to our dormitory called the Grey. It was probably around 3am or so, and to make matters worse, it was raining and we were shivering as we had been ‘involuntarily exercising’ for quite some time. The cold rain kept on falling, running in mini-rivers around us. That is, apart from one brief moment when the water miraculously turned warm as it flowed around our hands. Someone clearly had neglected to go to the toilet before lights off. And as Dr Ian Malcolm says in Jurassic Park, “When you gotta go, you gotta go!” Until now, I have no idea who the culprit was, but thanks anyway bro!

Times have changed, and I suspect if anyone tried to replicate this sort of educational environment nowadays, they would get in serious trouble with the school. Not to mention the inevitable leak that will go viral in countless WhatsApp groups everywhere. As any modern day philosopher can tell you, Hell hath no fury like a bored netizen!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not condoning the practise of physical punishment just for the sake of it, but speaking from personal experience, neither am I saying that it has no value either.

I sometimes ask myself, do I resent being the ‘victim’ of ‘torture’ at the hands of our Prep School Prefects? With the benefit of hindsight, my answer is…not at all. On the contrary, I am indebted to them for making me, and my batchmates, who we are now. To their credit, it couldn’t have been easy to look after 100+ boys from all kinds of backgrounds. We were the sons of farmers, doctors, rubber tappers, engineers, businessmen, teachers…all forced to somehow learn to become independent, but at the same time, to become part of a larger community, a band of brothers. If anything, the experience taught us to look beyond our petty concerns. We were constantly reminded that being there was a privilege, and that privilege came with a responsibility to contribute towards society.

Kolej istimewa
Didikan untuk semua
Keluar membimbing negara
Maju terus mara

So to Foodle, Zarox, Mon, (Allahyarham) Annuaruddin Mustofa a.k.a Onek, Azam, and Buana…my sincere thanks to you all.

We’re One Big Family

It’s been 24 years since these events took place, and I can honestly say that 1997 was one of the best years of my life. It was the year I got to know a bunch of strangers who would go on to become my friends and eventually, my brothers. Together, we make up MCKK’s Class of 2001. In our WhatsApp group, we sometimes joke about who was in the first intake, who came in during the second intake etc. So in anticipation of these jokes, let me say this once and for all:

It doesn’t matter whether you joined us on 13 January 1997, in February that year, or in 2000. Nor does it matter if you left the school in 1997, 1999, or 2001.

You’re part of our big family. Always have been, always will be.

Fiat sapientia virtus.

B34
13 January 2021
Oxford, United Kingdom