Breaking for bread

Dr M was sprayed with mace yesterday morning. I feel dreadful and sorry.

And yes, also because the act caused him to gasp for air and his eyes hurt from the chemicals. Turns out he's fine, eating well, although by his own admission it was a scary affair.

I feel dreadful and sorry because as updates unfolded, even as he energetically spoke from the podium at the Perdana Hotel that same afternoon, the whole affair was proving itself to be a farce.

As some may have speculated, genuine national interests may not be quite the concern of this groundswell of support for Dr M. They hung buntings and banners, launched websites, Hidup here, Hidup there. But sans words and a hazy spray of mace, the simple message that thundered across the nation was this: Mahathir makes bread, and I want a slice of it. The loaf is a big hit.

The official version – paraphrased – says the incident happened because two groups supporting the ex-PM had wanted to be the official chauffeur (among other savoury limelight responsibilities). They couldn't reach an agreement even as Dr M stepped off the plane at Pengkalan Chepa. They pushed and shoved to usher him – my car better, my Pajero better. They pulled the 81-year-old man this way, then that.

Assuming the official version was accurate to an extent, how would a genuine leader of the people feel? How would a genuine leader take to the notion that it isn't so much his wisdom they're concerned, they just want to carry his balls. Conceivably, they're worth more than their weight in gold. Wouldn't a genuine leader change the angle of his speech and address this present and pressing issue instead – that we are frighteningly mired in tribal practices? That the puak mentality poses the biggest hurdle to this country?

But no, with double-dose of mace and pepper spray Dr M's speech predictably ridiculed the Pak Lah administration. He may have his points, I do not know. I'd like to, but I cannot. He never took the trouble to provide proof; he doesn't care. And the tribes, they don't care either, do they? Stoke the fire, man, stoke the fire. Let's make bread.

I'm no fan of Mahathir, never been. And I have lost faith in Pak Lah way back when he announced his Cabinet reshuffle. Subsequent government policies give me no reason to change my mind.

For all this and more, and proven yet again by the 'pffft' of a RM25 canister of mace, I feel dreadful and sorry. Termites, those cellulose-munching creatures under your house, have a better social structure than us.

I turn off the lights, lie back in bed with my ears trained to the wet darkness outside. The geckos are quiet, crickets dormant. Puak-puak-puak, puak-puak-puak – so goes the sound of frogs in the coconut shells.