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shy-projectwickedproblems · 11 months

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References

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kmukeshkumar · 1 year

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Thank you for everything you have done for Malaysia. Despite countless trials and tribulations your determination and spirit never once wavered. You continue to inspire many to fight for a better future. Happy 82nd birthday, Sdr. Lim Kit Siang. (at Penang Island) https://www.instagram.com/p/Co4aut4vM_3/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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iamprometheus · 7 months

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August hadn't expected much from his announcement of return.

It had been the only thing he could think of doing. It hadn't been thought out. It hadn't been planned.

He hadn't even known at first. He avoided anything of the games like a plague, these days. He'd tried to keep up when he first left; there were still friends, after all, who were there, who were a part of it.

It didn't last long. He couldn't bear it. The very same excitement he'd once reveled in–– the excitement he drank in like air, the crowds he'd lived for, the adrenaline that kept him fed, kept him satiated–– it all felt poisoned. It choked him.

And so he shut it out. The same as he did Sok Leng. The same as he did Nathaniel. The same he did anything and everything that reminded him of it. Of before.

And so, when he learned (finally) (almost too late) of Nathaniel's decision –– his son's stupid, stupid, horribly understandable decision–– it hadn't been a choice. It hadn't been planned. It had been sheer, unadulterated, panic.

It had almost been too late. If it had... he didn't think of it. He didn't dare. It wasn't something he could.

August felt, sometimes, that he would spend anything he had left in this life and everything he had in the next making up for it all. For Kit Siang. For everything that followed. That he would grovel at Sok Leng's feet if she would let him.

(She never would. She was always so much fiercer than Kit Siang. It was why he had loved her, why he still did, why he always would. He hoped she knew that.)

And so he did the only thing he could. The thing he should’ve done all the way back then. He took his place.

It’s terribly familiar and yet not, being ushered into far-too-fancy shuttle after fancy shuttle, being pushed and prodded and made to be perfect for an audience yet again. He can't believe he used to relish in the feeling of being preened by these people. Now it all seems so artificial, so manicured, so terribly unbearable. He feels like he's being squeezed into a mold like a plastic toy.

But he did. He used to love this shit. He used to love to pose for the audience like a doll. Now it just feels like throwing glitter on a gravestone.

He supposes that's what being old does to you. He feels like he's surrounded by children. The makeup artist can't be over twenty-five. He wants, just a bit, to tell him to get out of this business before it's too late. He can't tell if it's over-dramatic. He supposes he's allowed some eccentricity in his old age, if it's eccentricity at all or just trauma.

He tries to ignore it, and ignores how the flash of the cameras makes him jump.

He gets the message when he’s heading back to the hotel the Syndicate’s hooked him up with for the night. His heart pounds as he reads it over and over and over. Almost out of his control, he hastens his pace towards his room and almost clumsily unlocks the door.

It’s been too long since he’s seen Sok Leng. Far too long.

He told her once he would just look at her all day long, if only she would let him. He still feels that way.

She stands in the middle of the room, her back turned to the door. Her hands are clasped behind her.

He stops to stare, for just a moment. Her hair is longer than it used to be, if just a little. He doubts anyone else would notice. She's wearing the same sort of slacks she's always preferred–– after he introduced them to her, that is. She always used to steal his clothes.

He knocks on the door frame, and she turns.

Her face is inscrutable. He used to be able to read her when no else, not even Kit Siang, could. It's his own fault he can't anymore. He bites his lip.

“It's good to see you,” he says, and it's true. It's always been true. He's certain it always will be.

Her expression relaxes, if only slightly, as if she's just confirmed something she didn't want to. As if it's comforting, all the same.

“It's good to see you, too,” she responds. “It's been some time.”

There's a little vitriol, there, because she was always, always one to hold a grudge. It's nothing that he doesn't deserve, and far less than he does. He nods his head in acceptance.

August doesn’t remember much of the weeks after Kit Siang’s death.

He doesn’t–– and he will never, ever admit this to anyone–– remember it happening. He doesn’t remember how Kit Siang died, or when he noticed, or Sok Leng’s or his reaction.

He remembers something akin to a haze, a trance, in the hours following. He remembers being ushered away from the crowds after the game ended. He remembers neither of them speaking, but how Sok Leng gripped his hand on the ride home, so hard it hurt, and how he didn’t pull away.

Nathaniel was four turning five, and terribly confused about it all. August’s not sure if anyone explained to him. That must have been when August first started to fail him.

He remembers how exhausted he was that night. Sok Leng stepped into the shower the moment they got home, spitting about how she couldn’t bear his–– his, because that was the beginning of not being able to say his name at all–– blood on her. He remembers noticing, then, for the first time, that he was covered in it. He remembers it flaking off his hands onto their carpet and thinking that he should be feeling something more than the haze.

But, most of all, he remembers waking early the next morning and realizing, Oh. This is my fault.

And it was. He’s watched it back so many times now, the exact moment he turns his back and leaves Kit Siang open, the exact moment he was showboating instead of fucking protecting him.

He pulled himself out of bed that morning like he was on fire, like he was going to infect Sok Leng with it all, like if he didn’t get away from her he might kill her too.

So no, he doesn’t remember much of those next few weeks. What he does remember is thinking, over and over and over, My fault. My fault.

With their family. My fault.

With Sok Leng. My fault.

With Nathaniel. My fault.

He remembers trying to leave the funeral and being accosted with hoards upon hoards of reporters, and in the midst of trying to push through he remembers someone asking, point-blank, voice alight with the excitement of finding a good story, “Mrs. Phua! Mrs. Phua! Do you blame your husband?”

He remembers flinching away like he’d been struck, jerking his hand away from Sok Leng’s like he’d been burnt, and he remembers the expression on her face when they were away from the crowds. Like he’d failed some kind of test.

They never talked about it. They hardly talked at all, after that.

Sok Leng quit the games the day after. She tried to get him to leave too. He didn’t.

He supposes there was some part of him that still wanted everything to return to normal, because maybe he could stop thinking about these things if it was normal again, if everything was normal again.

His next game didn’t go well. He doesn’t think about it much. He left after that.

He kept waiting for grief. He kept waiting to collapse in tears and sob until he felt better. That never happened.

But guilt ate him alive. Guilt ate him until there was nothing left but bones.

“I came to thank you,” she says. He realizes he’s still standing in the doorway, and quickly ducks in to shut it behind him. He still hovers awkwardly just inside, a hand poised on the door handle as though he'll need to make a hasty exit. He feels just a bit as though he's been cornered.

“There’s no need for that,” he says, and holds up a hand when she opens her mouth for a rebuttal. “But it’s appreciated anyways.”

He wonders when they became so stiff around one another, so formal. It must have been somewhere in the midst of them getting old. He knows neither of them ever expected that.

She opens her mouth, then closes it. “Still, let me thank you. Not because I need to. Because I want to.”

She smiles a rueful smile. “I know Nate doesn’t see what you’re doing for him, but I do. I want him to be spared of… all of this. Everything.”

“It’s the least I can do. Could do.”

“I know,” she says, and it’s a bit relieving to hear it, finally, to hear her just say it. “I know it is. And yet.”

“And yet,” he agrees. And she smiles, and hands him a box.

They didn’t fall apart through hate, through arguments, through raised voices. At the very least he’s grateful for that.

In some ways, he wishes it had been dramatic, but it was not. There was no inciting incident, no clash, no screaming match that ended in slamming doors and packed bags.

It was like this: before he knew it, he had spent all his time at another house on another planet and it had been a year since he’d seen either Sok Leng or their son, and he had new things, his own things, and their lives were separate, and he hadn’t noticed.

He always thought he would go home, that he’d return home soon. He’d just stay away until he could look at his family without seeing Kit Siang, without seeing him covered in blood, without seeing him unmoving in his casket. He’d just stay away until he could go to sleep without a finger of whiskey. He’d just stay away until he could it all sorted, dammit, so stop asking.

And then his home was elsewhere. Without his family. Without any reminders of the games. Without anyone at all.

It never occurred without that he would never see them not covered in blood, that he would never stop drinking, that it would never get sorted. Maybe it occurred to Sok Leng. She stopped asking, after all.

And so time passed. And so he grew older, and Nathaniel grew up, and so no one saw him, and he saw no one.

He festered, alone, and it felt just a little like retribution. Or maybe he just pretended it was something other than self-flagellation in service of a man who was not alive to see it.

(Kit Siang always forgave more than he should. That was perhaps the only reason why he stuck by August when everyone else was tired of his antics.

Even Sok Leng. Especially Sok Leng.

Kit Siang would've forgiven him in a heartbeat. Everyone always forgave him. That was what happened when you were a celebrity, when you were rich, when you were granted eccentricities from status.)

It was up to him, to punish himself. Or so he told himself. Maybe it was all just an excuse to feel awful for as long as he wanted and far longer than he wanted.

For all her fire, for all her sharp jabs and the very same insults he fell in love with her for, Sok Leng was always far gentler than she let on. It was what he continued to love her for.

And so she was far too kind.

She never confronted him. Never demanded he come home. Never screamed at him, much as she deserved to. She simply stopped calling.

Maybe she knew it was what was most painful. Maybe she was cruel after all. He never asked her.

There was no divorce letter in the mail. They were still married on paper, after all these years. He still thinks of her, privately, as his wife. He expects he likely always will.

“I always knew the only thing you were built for was this,” Sok Leng says, more gently than he wishes she would. “I always knew, and I loved you despite. I loved you because of it.”

It feels like a gut punch. It feels like forgiveness. It feels like confirmation that he will never escape the games. They are a part of him, and he is a part of them, and this is something undeniable.

He wants to, all the same. Deny it. He has always had too much pride to do anything else.

He doesn’t.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. It’s the only thing he can say.

He’s not sure when he pulled his head out of his ass, if he ever did. Maybe one day he simply looked up at everything and realized, Oh, fuck.

It was too late, of course. Anything he’d wanted to say died on his tongue, and all he was left with¬–– all he was ever left with–– was lackluster apologies.

He has never done anything by halves. Be it the games, be it punishing himself.

And one day he realized, Oh.

It was a bitter, acrid feeling, like burning in his stomach and throat and head, something he wouldn't wish on anyone at all, to realize he'd wasted years, years, doing nothing at all but rotting away until there was hardly anything left

And so he scrambled, clawed at remnants, trying to repair something that was shattered in pieces on the floor and left to gather dust.

Sok Leng had built her own life, a life for her and for Nathaniel, and he had built nothing at all. He still had built nothing at all.

They had moved. She'd given up getting in touch. He remembers the slice of fear in his gut when he realized her contact had been changed. He had to go through her family. He had to beg them for a chance to apologize. He was not above begging.

He apologized so much it should have lost meaning, and yet it didn't. He meant it every time.

In the end, things were much too broken to be fixed. He knew that, going in. He, certainly, would not have acted as gracefully in Sok Leng’s place. She was not known for her patience, nor for her forgiveness. And yet.

(The best of them was Kit Siang.)

He still doesn't know how she found it in her. And he's asked, many times. Asked over and over again until she told him to stop.

"Don't you want it?" She asked, and he's not even sure.

Perhaps it would have been easier, if the bridge had been really and truly burned. If she had damned him just as he'd damned himself. If she had cast him aside entirely.

Or perhaps it wouldn't have been. Certainly, with Nathaniel, it was not.

The fear he felt when he learned of his son's choices was like a stab to his gut. It knocked the wind out of him.

He, certainly, was not one to be giving his son advice. Was not one to be trying to tell him what to do. Nathaniel was an adult, after all. He could make his own choices.

And yet, this was not one he could allow him to make.

He knew entirely what it would bring. More hatred, more ire. Nothing he did not deserve.

Everything he's ever done has revolved around the games. It makes sense that the only thing he can do for his son is return to them.

A part of him protested like a scared child. It screamed that he should not, could not return. Every nightmare he's had for the last thirty years has been the games.

This he squashed, too. He spent twenty years hiding in fear. He would not spend more. Not when he could save someone, finally. Not when he could save his family, finally.

He opens the box, and he can't quite ignore the sort of wounded keening noise he makes when he realizes what it is.

Gently, delicately, as though he's going to break them, he takes out the glasses and holds them gingerly in his hands.

He remembers when Kit Siang first adopted them. He doesn't quite remember where they came from, but Kit Siang showed up to the arena one day and he and Sok Leng simply could not stop mocking him. They both found them so silly, so gaudy, as though they weren't wearing twice as ridiculous sponsored trash on the daily.

Kit Siang was not dissuaded. He thought they were cool, he said, and they had cost him an arm and a leg besides. August had told him he'd been scammed, and he shrugged it off.

And they became his shtick. The audience always loved stupid shit. August loved them too, with time.

Now, he cups them in his hands.

It was the only thing Sok Leng kept of his things. Everything else was tossed, or donated, though August scrambled to save absolutely everything he could. There's more than one closet in his mansion crammed with everything from his shoes to trophies from the games, and August hates every single piece, hates the way they glare at him like living remnants.

He's not sure Sok Leng knows of everything he kept. Her parents had been more than happy to give him anything he could want, and he treasured it then like he could simply conjure Kit Siang from the dead if he grouped enough reminders.

And she kept the glasses. He knows she did, and yet.

And yet, here they are.

“I want you to wear them,” she says. He almost starts, so lost in memory. When he looks up, her eyes are glassy but so, so alive.

“As a reminder,” she continues. “Of why you’re doing this.”

He nods, a bit too choked to say anything else for a moment. When he clears his throat: “For Kit Siang. For our son.”

She smiles, steps forward, cups his face.

“Goodbye August,” she says, and her voice is full of so much emotion he almost feels the need to look away from her, like she’s too bright a light. Her lips brush his, for just a moment, and then she pulls away.

“Goodbye,” he murmurs. He reaches up and squeezes her hand, and then lets it drop. She smiles one more time, a bittersweet, brittle thing, and then she’s gone.

He’s alone with a box holding his dead best friend’s glasses. He puts them on, and they fit perfectly. He sighs. Reminds himself why he’s doing this. Reminds himself who it’s for.

Reminds himself it’s worth it. And it is. There are things not too broken to fix.

#this is also on my ao3!#bro i'm so happy with how this turned out! please read it if you're into apex and/or angsty character studies #.original #.txt #.ballistic #apex ballistic #ballistic apex #august brinkman #sok leng #kit siang #nathaniel phua #apex legends #apex legends fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #archive of our own

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kazifatagar · 5 months

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Kit Siang in a War with Anthony Loke

A war is being fought within the DAP and we all know that, with the successive removal of the former deputy CM of Penang, Prof. Dr. P. Ramasamy s/o Palanisamy who has now formed his political party. But now, it is implemented by Lim Kit Siang who is at war against Anthony Loke. This is what Umno Information Guru, Dato’ Lokman Adam says in a video on X. Very interesting arguments indeed, besides…

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#dirty politics #kit siang versus anthony loke #Ramasamy

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igindagah · 1 year

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Aku menculik diri ku dalam badan yang lain

Pergi kesebuah tempat dengan seseorang yang kamu ga pernah duga adalah sebuah ke randoman hakiki menutup tahun 2022 ini.

Desember ini dapet info kalau partner aku bakal mutasi ke Malaysia.

Tinggal nunggu visa dan tiket aja (doakan please guys, urusannya lancar!) Tapi jauh sebelum itu aku emang lagi pengen random keluar Jakarta. Bagian yang menuntut aku untuk lebih pelan pelan dalam menjalani kehidupan sedang butuh di tenangkan, Jakarta sedang tidak cocok dengan aku. Ada ada saja yang bikin kurang nyaman.

November 2022, aku memutuskan untuk membuat rencana kabur ke Solo. Sekedar kepengen sarapan disana, sambil menghirup udara Solo sebanyak banyaknya. Ga penting jadwal trip selama di Solo, aku cuma pengen keluar dari Jakarta.

Tapi Qadarullah, ternyata Solo sedang ramai bukan main, mulai dari pagelaran Muktamar Muhammadiyah di Solo, hingga Munas HIPMI yang katanya berujung ricuh, ditambah tiket kereta ke Solo kok harganya cukup mahal.

Akhirnya memutuskan untuk kabur ke Jogja.

Dimulai dari pesen tiket, sambil siapin pindahan dari Mampang ke Pamulang, sambil deadline aplikasi harus launch di Desember, jadi segala trial error di percepat, lalu dilanjut drama gajian terlambat wakakaka.

Qadarullah ada jalannya.

Pesen tiket kereta DONE! Dramanya adalah, mau berangkat jam berapa, mau sampe sana jam berapa, cuti apa engga. Abis dapet tiket berangkat terus pusing, terus rebahan, ngobrol ga jelas di video call, udah gitu cerita cerita ga jelas, tidur, bangun bangun malah kepikiran tiket balik huhuhu, dasar komplotan problematik XD

Lanjut ke bagian Pesan hotel, hotel harus cari yang paling deket dengan tempat tujuan. Akhirnya kesepakatan untuk nginep di sekitar Marlioboro. Akhirnya dapet lah Capsule Hotel Marlioboro. Karena kita emang belum pernah sama sekali nginep di hotel kapsul.

“Sayang, inget ya. Kita kesana buat liburan, apapun budaya disana yaudah, kita sebatas menghormati”

Desember Hari kedua di Duaribuduadua!

Kabur dari kantor, dengan alasan super random “bantu tante”

Lagi lagi mungkin jalannya sudah seharusnya seperti itu, jadilah berangkat dari rumah jam 8 pagi, partner ku sudah nunggu di halte busway Jati Padang, supaya kita ga bolak balik, jadi nunggu di titik yang sudah di janjikan aja deh. Di sepanjang perjalanan menuju stasiun, aku bergumam dalam hati.

“Ndah, ini liburan kamu ya, ini hari kamu, kamu hari nikmati ini. It Yours!”

10.00, kita sampai di stasiun Pasar Senen. Sambil cari tempat buat nunggu kereta kita, kita sarapan dulu. Kebetulan tante bawain aku makanan buat aku dan partner ku sarapan. Ada satu bekel besar isinya nasi, nugget dan ayam 2 potong, aku gatau kenapa tante bawain aku dua potong ayam, padahal aku ga ada bilang sama sekali kalau aku akan berangkat berdua. Satu tempat bekal kecil, diisi dengan udang potong dan kacang panjang yang ditumis. Makan paginya menyenangkan ga lupa mengenyangkan juga.

11.00 kami siap masuk ke ruang tunggu ke dua, 40 menit lagi kereta kami tiba. Antrian sudah mengular, wajah wajah tidak sabar menunggu kedatangan kereta sudah terlihat jelas di wajah partner berangkat ku kali ini. Kebetulan beliau memang belum pernah naik kereta jarak jauh dan lintas provinsi ini. Anyway, sepertinya aku cocok menjadi tourguide.

11.40, kereta kami tiba, Gerbong Ekonomi 1, dengan kursi 3A/3C

Duduk berhadapan dengan seorang ibu yang hendak pulang ke rumahnya setelah lama tak pulang katanya, melepas rindu dengan alasan cuti kantor, karena sangat tumben tidak dapat tiket kereta di hari Jum’at sore. “Habis kayanya mbak, padahal ini bukan musim liburan loh”.

Sepanjang perjalanan, terus bercerita, mulai dari hal seputar kantor, orang rumah, Yeyen, Zaki, mama. Cerita soal Riki, Tegar Nafiis hahaha seru banget. Aku mau denger semua ini memang, kata ku dalam hati. “Aku degil banget memang yakan, aku pernah nyuri besi ayahku yang ditaro di gudang, terus uangnya aku pake buat main ps”

Seru memang ceritanya.

Makan siang dengan di sponsori ayam stasiun, sambil melihat ke arah kaca, bener bener nikmatin moment. Kita semua terkurung dalam waktu dan tempat yang sama, kita bisa nikmatin ini bareng bareng ternyata.

“Sayang, love you!”

“Sayang, ehehe makasih banyak!”

Kamu mau liat ke arah keluar gerbong ga? Kita berdiri di sela sela gerbong ini

“Hah? Apaan? Engga deh, serem!”

Itu di belakang pintu ini ada toiletnya ya, toiletnya bersih, kita berdiri di deket situ yuk

“Engga deh sayang, disini aja”

Galama sewaktu aku ajak ke pantry, taunya kesenenengan dan minta ga mau balik ke kursi.

Sholat di musholla kecil deket pantry, udah itu duduk duduk dan ngobrol sama strangers wekekeke.

“Nek muleh to mbak?”

“Turun neng ndi mas?”

Ohh turun di Jogja pak

“Ooh, kalo saya turun di Kutoharjo”

“Saya dulu di Jogja tahun 92 mbak, Jogja belum serame sekarang, setelahnya saya ke Jakarta”

Aku dan partner menyimak setiap obrolan hari itu.

“Maghrib berapa menit lagi mbak?”

5 menit lagi pak

“Wah keburu ini saya maghriban dulu sebelum Kutoharjo. Mas, Jogja itu masih 2 jam lagi, santai saja sembahyangnya”

19.20

Yang lagi kliyep kliyep ketiduran sesaat mau sampai Jogja.

“Udah mau sampe hehe, bangun bangunn”

19.35

Kereta sudah berhenti sampai di Stasiun Kota.

“Omaygat aku officially sampai Jogja”

Welcome to Jogja ya

“Akhirnya aku bisa pakai lagunya Adithya Sofyan, Sesuatu di Jogja nih, aku seneng banget akhirnya aku sampe sini, makasih banyak :’’) “ sambil terharu kegirangan, kelihatan jelas di wajahnya.

Kita langsung taro barang aja ya ke capsule, udah itu kalau mau jalan jalan ya gapapa

“Okeeee T_T” kebayang ga sih ngajak anak kecil kegiarangan dibawa jalan, huhuhu gemash.

20.20

Makan di angkringan, coba sate bekicot, wakakaka

21.00

Di gedung DPR kayanya ada wayang

“Tapi kenapa kita ga boleh masuk sih, kita duduk duduk aja kali ya”

Ternyata duduk duduk di pinggir Marlioboro sambil minum wedang anget seru banget ehehe

22.15

Kamu jadi mau nonton wayang?

“Kita pulang kekapsul aja kali ya, aku ngantuk banget”

Wkwkwkwk, seru banget sesama jompo piknik dan kabur

1 note · View note

chawsl · 1 year

Text

Is Anwar Ibrahim government the beginning of a new political era or is it a false dawn?

Lim Kit Siang

This is the most important question of the 15th General Election on November 19, 2022.

I fully support the DAP Secretary-General Anthony Loke in taking a stand prior to the formation of Anwar Ibrahim’s coalition government, pledging DAP’s unconditional support to the Pakatan Harapan chairman Anwar Ibrahim as Prime Minister.

But I can understand the frustrations, unhappiness, and disappointments from DAP members, supporters, and voters who felt that there was no fair reflection in the Cabinet composition based on DAP’s voting and parliamentary representation, and this must be noted.

I was not a candidate in the 15th General Election but I have been to eight states and clocked some 15,000 kilometres in the two weeks of the election campaign, and everywhere I went, I did not come across any anti-Malay, anti-Chinese, anti-Indian, anti-Dayak, anti-Kadazan or anti-Muslim, anti-Buddhist, anti-Hindu, anti-Christianity sentiment on the ground, confirming that Malaysians are the most tolerant and sensitive of people.

But during elections, there are political parties and personalities who want Malaysians to believe that the Malays and Islam are under threat and face extinction.

Why is this so? Who want to threaten the Malays or wipe out Islam?

I am optimistic about the future.

If the Anwar government can last five years, and we can explain that the fear that the Malays and Islam are being downgraded is a figment of the propaganda and the toxic politics of lies, fear, hate, race, and religion of irresponsible politicians in the information age, we stand a good chance to succeed in our mission to reset nation-building principles and policies as set out by nation’s founding fathers, which include the first four UMNO Presidents, for Malaysia to be “a beacon of light in a difficult and distracted world”.

I always believe that Malaysia can be a great plural nation because Malaysia stands at the confluence of four great civilisations ⁠— Malay/Islamic, Chinese, Indian, and Western ⁠— and if we can leverage on the values and virtues of these four great civilisations, Malaysia can be a great nation, better than the countries in the Middle East, China, India and Indonesia.

The most important challenge of the Anwar Ibrahim government is to ensure that it marks a new political era to reset the national agenda to return to the original nation-building principles of the nation’s founders, and that it is not a false dawn.

Now that I have withdrawn from the frontline of the DAP leadership, I will like to read the book “Why Nations Fail” which my friend, Kalimullah Hassan have given me many years back but I have had no time to read it.

I will like more leaders and academicians to discuss why Malaysia had failed in the last six decades to maintain her position as first-rate world-class nation to become a second-class mediocre nation, and how Malaysia can avoid becoming a failed, divided and kleptocratic state on Malaysia’s Centennial in another four decades.

The blurb on the book, “Why Nations Fail: The Origins of Power, Prosperity, and Poverty” by Daron Acemoglu and James Robinson, said:

“Brilliant and engagingly written, Why Nations Fail answers the question that has stumped the experts for centuries: Why are some nations rich and others poor, divided by wealth and poverty, health and sickness, food and famine? “Is it culture, the weather, geography? Perhaps ignorance of what the right policies are? “Simply, no. None of these factors is either definitive or destiny. Otherwise, how to explain why Botswana has become one of the fastest growing countries in the world, while other African nations, such as Zimbabwe, the Congo, and Sierra Leone, are mired in poverty and violence?

“Daron Acemoglu and James Robinson conclusively show that it is man-made political and economic institutions that underlie economic success (or lack of it). Korea, to take just one of their fascinating examples, is a remarkably homogeneous nation, yet the people of North Korea are among the poorest on earth while their brothers and sisters in South Korea are among the richest. The south forged a society that created incentives, rewarded innovation, and allowed everyone to participate in economic opportunities.

“The economic success thus spurred was sustained because the government became accountable and responsive to citizens and the great mass of people. Sadly, the people of the north have endured decades of famine, political repression, and very different economic institutions–with no end in sight. The differences between the Koreas is due to the politics that created these completely different institutional trajectories.

“Based on fifteen years of original research Acemoglu and Robinson marshall extraordinary historical evidence from the Roman Empire, the Mayan city-states, medieval Venice, the Soviet Union, Latin America, England, Europe, the United States, and Africa to build a new theory of political economy with great relevance for the big questions of today.”

The Anwar Ibrahim government should mark the turning point of the country from a failing state to reset nation-building principles to restore our original dream to be one of the first-rate world-class nations in the world.

0 notes