By Dr Rahim Said
Every marriage has its difficult moments. There are arguments over money. There are disagreements over the children. There are those silent treatments that last longer than parliamentary debates.
And then there is the Unity Government in a state south of Putrajaya, but not too far south.
Just when someone had declared that the state ruling party’s relationship with Team Rocketmen & Women was like “a marriage without a kadi and a divorce without talak,” along came someone from Putrajaya wearing an entirely unexpected hat — that of a marriage counsellor.
The scene almost writes itself. That Melaka someone, looking philosophical, announces that there was never really a marriage in the first place.
So, Team Rocketmen & Women packs its political suitcase and heads for the front door.
And Putrajaya Man rushes in, arms outstretched. “Please… don’t leave just yet. Let’s talk.” One can almost hear the soothing music playing in the background.
Putrajaya Man has the state’s Team Rocketmen & Women to postpone its withdrawal from the state government, saying there were still many things both sides could accomplish together before the next election. Differences, he reminded everyone, were perfectly normal in any coalition.
Marriage counsellors have been saying exactly that for decades.
“Communication is important.” “Focus on your shared goals.” “Don’t make decisions when emotions are running high.” “Think of the children.”
In this case, substitute “development” and “the people’s welfare” for the children.
Politics, it seems, has discovered that coalition management is not very different from marital therapy. The only difference is that ordinary couples argue over who forgot to buy bread. Political couples argue over constitutional amendments.
Ironically, the Man along the Straits of Melaka’s metaphor has created a constitutional paradox worthy of Lewis Carroll of Alice in Wonderland fame.
If there were never any marriage, why is everyone so desperate to save it? If there was never a wedding, why do we suddenly need counselling? If nobody signed the marriage certificate, who exactly is filing for separation?
Malaysian politics has entered quantum mechanics. The coalition is simultaneously married and unmarried. Together and apart. Alive and dead.
That’s Schrödinger’s Government, or a description of a government that seems to exist in contradictory states at the same time, and both functioning and failing,
One suspects that Chief Rocketman now finds himself cast as the long-suffering relative trying to persuade both husband and wife to stop arguing in front of the neighbours.
Meanwhile, the voters watch from outside like curious residents peeping through the curtains whenever raised voices are heard next door.
Every few minutes, someone opens the front door to announce, “Everything is fine.”
The neighbours nod politely. Of course it is. Nothing says domestic harmony quite like holding an emergency meeting.
Putrajaya Man’s intervention is politically understandable. Elections are expensive affairs. Coalition fractures are untidy. Investors dislike uncertainty. Markets dislike drama. Unfortunately, politicians enjoy drama.
After all, politics has always borrowed heavily from the theatre. There are heroes, villains, betrayals, reconciliations and surprise plot twists. The audience merely buys the tickets every five years.
What makes the state along the Straits of Melaka episode particularly entertaining is its extraordinary vocabulary. First, we were told there was no formal marriage. Then came what looked suspiciously like a divorce. Now comes reconciliation. Soon, perhaps, there will be a honeymoon. Without ever having had a wedding.
Only Malaysian politics could produce such an arrangement. Jane Austen would have struggled.
Even Shakespeare, who wrote enough about tragic romances to fill the Globe Theatre, never imagined lovers insisting they had never been together while simultaneously asking for another chance.
Perhaps George Bernard Shaw understood politics best when he observed that “The problem with political jokes is that they get elected.”
In Malaysia, political jokes do something even more remarkable. They attend counselling sessions.
Perhaps the greatest lesson from the Straits of Melaka is that modern political marriages are no longer based on romance, ideology or even convenience.
They are based on electoral arithmetic. Love may be blind. Politics, however, can count.
And until the next election, Putrajaya Man seems determined to keep this “marriage without a kadi” together — proving that in Malaysian politics, even relationships that officially never existed are apparently worth saving.
The views expressed here are entirely those of the writer
WE