Excerpt:
Many Malay guys then went towards them from all directions, catching those shirts and putting them on. Some stall operators also went forward to collect the red shirts. I overheard someone saying that for the red shirts, they had police escorts but for the yellow shirts, they would be rounded up. I didn’t see any patriots, just saw goons!
After hearing hostile words blaring from a loudhailer, we decided not to follow this group. We then moved forward, stepped into a side lane to continue our journey. I prayed for direction as we moved along.
We turned right and lo and behold, we saw a group walking towards us, but away from Stadium Merdeka. We crossed the road, stepped in line with them, not sure why we were heading in the opposite direction. I nudged my husband to ask someone where we were heading.
A tall, bespectacled guy said: “Don’t ask me anything. I know you want to ask me something.” That was quite funny. I wanted to laugh out loud but thought better of it.
To me, not to join in this march of justice would be an affront to the God I love so much. To me, to just watch as others march for the truth would make me out to be a plain empty vessel, all talk and no action. To me, to let my fellow Malaysians shoulder this alone would be sheer irresponsibility on my part. I, too, am Malaysian, I told myself, and I can do this!
We went across the road to get some drinks from the 168 store. They had run out of Coke. A Malay man overheard us telling each other to go to the mamak shop instead. He told us they were sold out, too.
He, then, added that business was brisk and could have been better. He disputed the government’s version of how business could have been badly affected by the gathering at the stadium. Honestly, that was how I saw it, too.
This was my inaugural march, it will not be my last. I wasn’t paid to go. I guess that’s why the red shirts show fizzled out. Perhaps there wasn’t enough money thrown around? Like I said, I wasn’t paid to go. I paid a lot to go. Someone paid with his life.
He, you goons in the government, is the patriot you’ll never be. You goons now stand responsible for his death. I am proud to be Malaysian because of someone like Baharuddin Ahmad. Though words cannot describe your loss, my dear Rosni Malan, your beloved husband’s death will not
be in vain.
You and your family will be richly blessed for generations to come because of his selfless love for his country. He died for his country, he died for a stab at free and fair elections. Like I said, he will not die in vain. We, the rest of us, will see to that.
I am not just proud to be Malaysian. More than that, I’m truly proud of my fellow Malaysians. May God bless you all.
We went across the road to get some drinks from the 168 store. They had run out of Coke. A Malay man overheard us telling each other to go to the mamak shop instead. He told us they were sold out, too.
He, then, added that business was brisk and could have been better. He disputed the government’s version of how business could have been badly affected by the gathering at the stadium. Honestly, that was how I saw it, too.
This was my inaugural march, it will not be my last. I wasn’t paid to go. I guess that’s why the red shirts show fizzled out. Perhaps there wasn’t enough money thrown around? Like I said, I wasn’t paid to go. I paid a lot to go. Someone paid with his life.
He, you goons in the government, is the patriot you’ll never be. You goons now stand responsible for his death. I am proud to be Malaysian because of someone like Baharuddin Ahmad. Though words cannot describe your loss, my dear Rosni Malan, your beloved husband’s death will not
be in vain.
You and your family will be richly blessed for generations to come because of his selfless love for his country. He died for his country, he died for a stab at free and fair elections. Like I said, he will not die in vain. We, the rest of us, will see to that.
I am not just proud to be Malaysian. More than that, I’m truly proud of my fellow Malaysians. May God bless you all.
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