OCTOBER 22 — The car broke down at THE junction in “Junction” last weekend. This interrupting town — almost equidistant — between Kuala Sepetang and Taiping is unceremoniously named Simpang, meaning junction.

We were into the fourth hour of our five-day trip involving four stops (Kuala Sepetang, Ipoh, Butterworth and George Town) in two states. A bunch of workshops, outreach sessions and dialogues were planned out. By the main road in Simpang looking at the smoke from Suzy — my Proton Saga — things were looking iffy.

Most people are aware of Taiping, but if Kuala Sepetang does not get your heart racing, this might help, it was formerly Port Weld — one end of the first train line in Malaysia launched in 1885 to connect to Taiping. Its name in Malay now means “An evening at the estuary”, and to sweeten the fishing village’s allure further there are dolphin sightings near where the seawater begins.

It was after dark and my dreams of a Kuala Sepetang prawn mee for breakfast the next morning started to look grim. The mechanic assessed the broken fan as straightforward to replace but being 8pm on a Saturday, he would only be able to buy one unit and affix it Monday.

And as they say, when at a junction you have to ask yourself, where are you going? Which also leads to the obvious query of where have you been, and whether it has been worthwhile.

In the current climate of political dysfunctions and widespread hopelessness kneeing us collectively in the groin with every ringgit spent, democratic outreach efforts do not seem the most tantalising or rewarding.

Meanwhile, Simpang was in no rush to see us go.

It gave us board at the over-elaborately named Casavilla Hotel — where they sell razors and instant noodles next to the reception counter. It’s just across the junction from Kamarol Azli’s workshop where Ami the foreman works deep into the night while cabbies banter in a ramshackle stall and also play chess.

A social media session with constituent service centre operators in Kuala Sepetang on October 18, 2015.

In Simpang’s defence, it had a KFC, McDonald’s and Mamak Midin — you heard it right, and the murtabak ayam is grade-A even if the Maggi soup is actually Cintan noodle — side by side. 

We decided to carry on with the programme, no matter with or without car.

The U in power

My organisation KUASA (power) works towards increasing voter interest and eventually voter involvement in the electoral process. Not about who wins or loses — deservedly or otherwise — but championing the idea behind representative government.

Mindful that as a species it has taken us several millennia to accept that every man and his idea matters regardless of the size or character of the social construct he exists in. It is belatedly being universalised. That it has taken us so much time to get to this point only reinforces the need to celebrate the advances and remain vigilant to shoo off regressions.

Imagine telling the following to the first people to land in Plymouth seeking a New World, or even in Simpang at the height of the tin industry pre-war 1930s?

It must be mind-boggling to be told how things operate generally in societies today:

We as a people choose who govern us. We interact with those elected, even if they did not get our vote, and express continuously our views and expectations throughout the elected cycle not just on election day. They are our conduits,not our masters. They live off our judgement of them and their worth. Our friend the media picks up views, thoughts and even the vilest opinions if it is backed by numbers. Schools pass the knowledge that authority is not absolute and reason is what drives progress. Regularly, the powerful are asked to explain themselves. Being powerful is almost a curse in that manner of things.

They’d absolutely flip. Couple it with the Internet’s contribution in the form of access, rights to publish and peer not state driven content, men from the past would look completely Neanderthal.

So democracy outreach is not altogether frustrating when thought in this fashion.

And KUASA is just a small jigsaw piece to the amazing work so many other organisations and social enterprises have brought to communities, slowly but surely edging people to the realisation that they are ultimately society’s owners.

We find our incentive when we hear the prime minister on TV saying that people should clam up because there is the ballot box every five years.

Because he is wrong.

It’s a large country and enough people in it. The futures of those people are too valuable to be at the mercy of a single transactional event twice in a decade.

Democracy, or the rule of the many, must be apparent in our daily lives. If it appears too noisy to a ruling class used to quashing dissent then I’d strongly encourage them to buy ear-plugs.

Every day is a winding road

That’s how I see these many trips to the nooks and crannies of this wonderful country — a chance to engage people about their democracy and see how much they disagree with me. There is so much fun to be had with disagreements.

The car has been sorted after a bit of difficulty which includes waiting perpetually for the cabbie Muniandy from Terong who has an Ilaiyaraja song as his ringtone. The prawn mee was had, the Ipoh meeting went a little flat and thanks to an office-stationery deliverer I am informed that there are inadequate number of loading bays at Komtar, not so the case at Prangin Mall.

The toilet at the restaurant by the under-construction Butterworth bus terminal is worrisome but the food is top notch. I found my old housemate walking up the island’s Chulia Street and I know that Burma Road does not lead to any other Asean-like street.

Along the way we talked to so many interesting people and encouraged them to discover their democratic space and heard them tell us what’s gone wrong — it can be quite the list.      

We completed this trip and will be off again next month. I see ourselves as travelling salesmen of the yesteryears, except instead of products we bring ideas.                                                                                                       

So friends ask me whether it’s really worth the time, going out talking to people who rarely are interested in political processes and may not have the patience to sift through information and collate it to a purpose in a situation where misinformation dominates.

What they really mean to ask is why bother with people who don’t care to vote?

I say, unless they care the vote means less as a whole. They are not failing the system, the system is failing them. And we all don’t move forward till enough of us understand why we need to move forward.

Plus, there is a selfish reason too, for me at least. I see my country, more and more of it, all its little idiosyncrasies and delights. A broken fan is the least of my concern.

*This is the personal opinion of the columnist.