The late Tun Daim Zainuddin, an enigma as complex as a Shakespearean character, leaves behind an unpublished book, its contents now sealed in silence.
I would have hoped for a better ending, one that befits a man of his stature. He was, after all, one of the greatest Malaysians of his generation.
What I have in mind is certainly not those images of a frail old man on a wheelchair at the court defending himself from what many believed a prosecution with nefarious intent.
Nor the punishing rituals of going in and out of hospitals in the last years of his life. He succumbed to his sickness on the morning of Nov 13 at the age of 86 years, six months and 14 days.
The late Tun Daim Zainuddin was to many people an enigma, not unlike the most complex of a Shakespearean character. He was inscrutable, hard to fathom. He was more than just influential; in politics he was the whisperer to prime ministers and to others a puppeteer whose intricate moves changed the political narratives.
Little wonder he was perceived as the most powerful man next only to prime ministers. Daim was loathed, adored and feared, perhaps in the same breath.
He had been in the political, social and corporate scene since the 1970s.
He was not an Umno outsider when he was appointed Minister of Finance by Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad in July 1984. He came in amid some of the worst financial scandals the country had ever seen at the time. There were financial crises involving BMF, Pan-El and deposit-taking co-operatives, to name a few. Many banks were in bad shape, resulting in the dipping confidence of Malaysia’s financial regimes. He was already a wealthy man when he joined the cabinet.
This newspaper featured a lead story on July 15, 1984 with the headline “Tycoon Daim Takes Finance.”
Daim soon faced the full impact of the financial global meltdown of the mid-80s. At that time, it was not uncommon for foreign publications to cast dire predictions on the state of Malaysian economy. One even declared that Malaysia “is at the verge of economic collapse.”
Daim’s fiscal policy at that time was severely criticised. A weekly news magazine had this to say: “Malaysia’s economy is in pell-mell retreat and its government fiscal policy is in complete disarray.”
Daim soldiered on, making tough and unpopular decisions.
But there was another dark cloud hanging over the political sky – the Umno crisis of 1987. Mahathir was challenged by Tengku Razaleigh Hamzah and Tun Musa Hitam.
Umno was on the verge of a major split, at that time it was the biggest crisis ever in the history of the party. The formidable three – (Datuk Seri) Anwar Ibrahim, Daim and the late Tan Sri Sanusi Junid – famously abbreviated AIDS – were the pillars of Mahathir’s defence in facing his well-oiled and well- organised opponents. Mahathir narrowly won the 1987 challenge.
From then on, Daim became a force to be reckoned with. He was everywhere and in everything, or so said his detractors. But he left the ministry in 1991, giving way to Anwar Ibrahim, the designated heir to the throne of Umno. But Daim was still the Treasurer of Umno, a post that by tradition should be held by the Minister of Finance.
I was toying with the idea of “Man of the Year” for Dewan Masyarakat the moment I was appointed the head of the magazine division of Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka (DBP) in October 1988.
Dewan Masyarakat was one of the better known magazines published by DBP. The magazine became the talk-of-town when it ran a four-series investigative reports on Maria Hertogh, better known as Natrah.
The magazine that had an average monthly circulation of 25,000 copies suddenly became a best-seller, hitting 100,000 copies by the time we published the second part of the tragic story of the Dutch girl raised by a Malay woman in Terengganu whose marriage to Mansor Adabi was declared null and void by the court in Singapore.
Dewan Masyarakat’s circulation even surpassed the biggest selling entertainment magazine at the time. We had made our presence felt. The editorial team decided on the then Datuk Paduka Daim Zainuddin to be the magazine’s first Man of the Year.
We contacted his office and he agreed to be interviewed. I was warned by friends about his no-nonsense approach, his little tolerance towards irrelevant matters and that he was fierce. I was prepared for the worst.
The interview was slotted for an hour, it went on for almost two. He too had done his homework, enquiring about what happened to Natrah and how I was smuggled into Afghanistan in the spring of 1989. Before we published the interview, I requested that he wrote a line or two about our choice of Man of the Year. He asked, how many words? About a hundred, we told him. He ended up penning 281 words as a response to our selection.
I showed him the cover of the magazine, which said, “Daim: Dibenci, Dihormati, Dikagumi”. (Daim: Hated, Respected, Adored). He gave his signature smile when he said, “You start with the word hate (benci).”
Our path crossed many times after that. I was appointed Chief Editor of the Utusan Melayu group in November 1992. I left the group on July 14, 1998, at the peak of the Mahathir-Anwar fallout.
Before the days of social media, the two most powerful newspapers in Bahasa Malaysia (Utusan Malaysia and Berita Harian) and the influential private TV station TV3 had to be cleansed of “Anwar’s friends.”
I knew what was coming. Daim had told me a month before my firing that my position had become untenable. “You will have to leave,” he said.
After I left, I met him and his advice was clear, “Stay away, leave the country.”
I was one of Anwar’s key men the police would want to talk to. I knew President B.J. Habibie well and many of the members of his Indonesian Association of Muslim Intellectuals or Ikatan Cendekiawan Muslim Indonesia (ICMI). I represented Anwar in many of their functions.
Many of the members were writing for my newspaper and the newspaper associated with them, Republika was a partner to Utusan Malaysia. At the peak of the Reformasi movement, a lot of ideas about change were in the air.
When things had somewhat calmed down, Daim called to ask me if I was interested to join any organisation. I said no. I was a reasonably successful banana farmer at the time. Besides, I told him, I wasn’t “kosher” yet, the stigma against me lingered on. He understood.
But I met him with Datuk Kadir Jasin occasionally in his office or at his favourite restaurant at Jalan Chantek in Petaling Jaya. He would order roti canai garing (crisp roti canai), half of which he passed to whoever was next to him, and asked for a glass of plain water. We always found it amusing for someone whom they say was as wealthy as he was.
There were times when he took us out of town. We’d bet among ourselves that he would take us to a warung (stall), which he did. And he’d take the leftovers back to his private plane! Talk about being thrifty! He hated being wasteful.
Some time in May 2014, I was told to come to his office. He shoved me a manuscript. The title was Crisis, Crisis, Crisis. “I couldn’t find the right title for now,” he said.
“I want you to go through the text. Make corrections on dates and facts.”
“What is it about?” I asked.
“The office will send the copy to you,” he said. “This is my only copy.”
I received the manuscript with a letter dated May 10, 2014. The short letter had a line, “Most likely I don’t think I will publish but I wrote this book for the record.”
What a manuscript it was. Daim revealed his complex, unique and nuanced relationship with Mahathir and Anwar in his own words. He did have problems with Mahathir, but not for the reasons that many people thought. He acknowledged the talk about the Daim-Mahathir fallout in 2000. He even addressed the rumours about him plotting against Mahathir.
The truth is it was not about his attempt to save his cronies as alleged by some that provoked Mahathir’s angst. It was the letter he wrote in the aftermath of Lunas by-election that happened on November 29, 2000. In that letter, he wrote about what he called “the Lunas Debacle.” He reminded the Prime Minister that only he (Mahathir) could reinvent Umno.
And in the same letter, he politely reminded Mahathir of the need for a succession plan. Mahathir was livid.
But that was Daim; never mincing his words, saying his piece for he believed the truth despite hurting is the saviour of circumstances. He was known to speak his mind when it mattered. And people listened.
Daim had an equally unique relationship with Anwar. Both needed each other. They supported each other during the best and worst of times. But 1998 changed all that. Daim believed that Mahathir and Anwar thrived on each other. They have contrasting styles but that did not matter over the years despite the fervent conspiracy theories and exceptionally active rumour mills.
The Asian Economic crisis, according to Daim, provided an outlet for the differences to build up and boil over. Even then, according to him, the contrast was pretty harmless without political aims and trigger-points.
Daim wrote substantially about Anwar in the manuscript, mostly with care and respect, as the friends they once were. He was a colleague and a friend, he kept repeating. He reserved his criticism on Anwar on professional grounds, never personal.
Daim was frank to me and some of his close friends about those troubling years when he was in the government, and after. And of course the aftermath of Anwar’s sacking in 1998. After he left the ministry the second time, he really wanted to stay clear of politics.
But then 2018 came and he was leading Malaysia’s Council of Eminent Persons to sort out the mess of the previous government.
He admitted to friends that he found no solace in that. It was a job that needed to be done. And he knew it was a thankless job. But even so, he confided that getting things done, even without a word of appreciation, is in itself fulfilling.
People may have their opinions about Daim, but let’s not forget his contribution in steering the nation’s economy during the most tumultuous of times, not once but at least twice. And for planning the ecosystem for Mahathir to realise his dreams of a more prosperous and equitable Malaysia. He will always be remembered for that. He must have had his failures and he admitted that.
For a few others and I, it was a privilege to see the other side of him, real and unplugged, and at times with his guard down. We will always remember his signature laughter, his cynical smile and his favourite roti canai garing. He certainly had a lot of stories to tell, some he’d carried to the afterlife, others recorded in a manuscript that he didn’t want to publish.
Al Fatihah.
The writer is a National Journalism Laureate. He was chairman of a media company. The views expressed here are entirely his own.
