APOCALYPSE OR EPIPHANY? (Updated)

Something from the personal archive, written in January 2003 and published on this blog 2 December 2006; dusting it off now that ten years have elapsed...

Richard Dawkins, author of The God Delusion

Musings at the edge of eternity

The World of Appearances moves visibly towards a series of possible Apocalypses. Now as never before, I am doing all I can to maintain a clear focus on my innervision of heaven on earth - which does NOT include the triumph of Big Brotherism in some dystopic New World Order Fourth Reich!

With Galactic Alignment done and over with (read John Major Jenkins’s 'Maya Cosmo-genesis 2012' for the mind-boggling details), massive shifts in consciousness and spiritual maturity will bring about a rapid meltdown of dysfunctional institutions and societies. All that is mechanical and regimented will abruptly run out of political charge. The “princes and principalities” won’t surrender without a desperate fight, in the vain hope that they can at least drag everyone else down to “hell” with them.

However, Mother Earth herself will no longer support their piratic adventures as she attains to full awakening. Those governed by fear and greed and trapped in egocentric skepticism will be subject to their own Twilight-of-the-Gods scenario - despite all efforts to help them experience a paradigm shift. The rest of us will bear witness as self-governing sovereign entities to the birth of a New Octave of Consciousness wherein beauty and truth will replace money and military might as focal points of endeavor.

(All this won’t happen in 2013 itself, but this is a pivotal year in which each incarnate soul will consciously cross a threshold, towards true individual freedom or deeper enslavement in the Matrix.)

But what happens to all the encrusted egos hellbent on keeping the Duality Scam going? The Fear Merchants, trading in terror and scarcity conditioning, clinging tenaciously to ancestral privilege or ruthless ambition - are they a nightmarish mass delusion that’s absolutely no concern of mine?

I can see bits of myself embedded in these primitive programs going by descriptions like Neo-Darwinism. Survival of the Fittest, indeed. How is “fit” defined? The ones gifted at making money, or the ones with universal empathy? Is it possible to accumulate wealth as measured by consensus - and still feel a tender compassion for all life?

The way I see it: since I already feel oceanic ripples of deep affection for All That Is, I need only gain access to unlimited wealth to be in a position to answer that question truthfully. It’s easy to dismiss money as a spurious concoction of the banking fraternity, but so long as it’s in use, I’d love to have a huge pile fall in my lap. I could get the entire contents of my rusty filing cabinet published, release some sonic dreamscapes I recorded twenty years ago, potter around with a digicam and put together experimental movies, visit friends in Europe, lounge around on a Thai island for weeks.

How about The Vision? Well, it’s all part of it. My definition of heaven: infinite possibilities (where merely knowing that every desire can be fulfilled is enough). Hell, of course, is utter impossibility (where the woman who excites me most begrudges even a smile).


Do I envisage a Vegetarian Future?

It’s not what we do, it’s how we do it that changes the essential equations. Having lived amongst hunter-gatherers who generally prefer to get their protein by fishing and snaring wild game, and who are content to subsist on tapioca leaves and dried anchovies the rest of the time, I’d be glad to see an end to commercial exploitation of the animal and vegetable kingdoms. It’s not meat-eating, per se, that constitutes a problem - it’s industrial farming methods that treat other lifeforms as mere commodities to be processed and sold which greatly saddens my soul.

Times when my atoms were oscillating at close to light speed, I have been able to sustain myself for days on prana and photons - which is why I’m sympathetic to breatharians, though I lack the ascetic impulse to wilfully embark on such a course. I eat to live as a matter of habit, and I bless and enjoy whatever’s on my plate. Food is NOT the issue. Famine is invariably the unhappy result of ecocidal human activities driven by scarcity conditioning. The fact that “developed” countries have problems with anorexia AND obesity reflects a deep spiritual imbalance.

Speaking of food, I received an internet joke some years ago with a timely teaching. It’s called “God’s Test”:

God put the angels and the devils to a test. He set up a huge banquet hall with a wonderful feast. First He invited the devils to the feast. They were delighted until they found out that they couldn't bend their arms at the elbows! How were they to eat all the delicious food when their hands wouldn't go to their mouths? They tried eating off the plate, which was messy and undignified. They tried throwing the food in the air and catching it in their mouths. Nothing worked very well. After 15 minutes of this mayhem, God told them that time was up. They trooped out cursing Him.

Next, He invited the angels into the hall. A fresh feast was laid out, and the same thing happened - they couldn't bend their arms at the elbows. The angels all looked at each other and burst out laughing. "What a great game!" they said as they fed each other.

If you happen to be an atheist - don’t worry, so is God. In 2013 I’ve decided to revert to my original name. From now on, don’t call me Antares - “Allah” will do.

Just kidding, folks. I have enough problems trying to cash cheques as “Antares.”

© Antares, January 2003 (updated October 2005, February 2010 & August 2013)

Return of the Son of the Incurable Dr M? (recycled)

I wrote this essay on 31 October 2003 to commemorate the long-overdue retirement of Dr Mahathir as prime minister. On November 1st, 2003, the whole country breathed a huge sigh of relief to see the smiling, avuncular face of the new PM "Pak Lah" on the front pages of all the dailies. Interesting to revisit my thoughts and feelings on that occasion. Especially now that many are heaving another huge sigh, this time of utter weariness, at seeing the ghost of Mahathir attempt to kill the ghost of Altantuya...


TRICK OR TREAT? Saying "Hallo" To Changes On Halloween

ON OCTOBER 31ST, 2003, I awoke with a big bellyache - something I rarely experience as my guts are pretty resilient. I had to skip breakfast, my favorite meal of the day, and meditate on where the problem might have originated. Was it something I ate? I recall feeling a slight unease in the stomach area as early as yesterday morning but it subsided enough for me to ignore it.

Then I thought about the incurable Dr M. He’s scheduled to “retire” today... isn’t he? Hard to believe he won’t still be calling the shots from behind the curtains, he’s such a power junkie, we’ll have to watch this space.

And I remembered that not so long ago, a large number of us were real mad at him for sending his goon squads out to intimidate, beat up and incarcerate all those clamoring for political change by going out on the streets. Things got so heavy national laureate Shahnon Ahmad felt compelled to publish a novel called SHIT - a sort of post-colonic polemic against stubborn old turds that won’t make way for younger hotshits. I didn’t make it past the first chapter but the book was indeed a provocative artifact documenting the acute constipation of our political process. [Umno backbenchers raised a big stink and Parliament quickly passed a motion to revoke Shahnon Ahmad's national laureateship, which led to his joining PAS.]

Uneasy stomachs are an indication that something’s not quite right. Could it be simple greed? Did we eat too much junk food too fast? Perhaps the buffet wasn’t all that fresh? Did we eat the mussels - they looked so tasty - maybe they were a bit off? Did flies lay eggs on the sambal belacan? Did someone slip some arsenic into the nasi lemak?

The stomach is the seat of the solar plexus, home of the ego. When someone complains of sakit perut, the cause is often ego insecurity. Why should we be egoically insecure, just because our Great Leader has announced his departure from the prime ministership? Isn’t the ship of state in capable hands? Surely, the tragic tale of the Titanic isn’t about US?


Is it possible that a sizeable number of Malaysians support the status quo because we see in Dr M the sort of chest-thumping alpha-male gorilla we secretly want to be? He has been performing all his daredevil feats on the nation’s (or at least his sons’) behalf - frogmarching the economy out of the IMF’s way through the fiscal crises of 1997-98 while singlehandedly beating back the angry mobs marching out of mosque gates and into the streets, scaring shopkeepers, tourists, and Umnopotentiaries.

This sort of acrobatics certainly takes a whole lot of gall and sheer guts to pull off. Indeed, one is reminded of the Baobab in St Exupery’s Le Petit Prince which sucks up all the nutrients from the soil, so nothing can grow in its monstrous shadow except the most unscrupulous weeds.

Perhaps there have been moments when the indomitable Dr M was forced to wear rubber liners so no one would notice his nervous diarrhea: bringing Anwar Ibrahim to trial was indeed a hairy and scary affair. True, Mahathir had 17 years of political incumbency in his favor - plenty of time to create a whole generation of bureaucratic drones. Still, you had to have skin as tough and thick as a rhinoceros to call yourself a judge or attorney-general or the chief of police in Dr M’s regime. Even playing head of medical services required a stiff shot of Chivas three times a day after meals, what more being assigned the unenviable task of editor-in-chief of a national daily?

Never in the nation’s memory since 1969 has the horizon of decency been so totally obscure - and this isn’t something like the annual smog we can pin on the Indons. The moral murk simply won’t blow or wash away, despite disastrous flood-bringing monsoons. It’s something every proud Malaysian has had to accept and live with - if he or she isn’t particularly keen to have PAS rise to power and separate the sexes by hudud and turn the country into another Iran - thereby replacing a secular tyranny with a religious one, O the Irany of it all!

Then along came Dubya and the Neocon White House in 2000 - even as the world sighed in short-lived relief that we had rolled over into Y2K without apparent mishap or a cybernetic apocalypse. In very short order, the astonishing behavior of the world’s remaining superpower, New Rome aka the USA, began to eclipse financial and political improprieties closer to home.

But soon it began to dawn on a sleepy-eyed humanity that carpetbagging and skulduggery are as pivotal to power plays as Rodgers and Hammerstein or Lerner and Loewe to musical plays. With the benefit of hindsight and increased historical insight, we recognized that the inheritance and maintenance of earthly power has been an outrageous scam from the Year Dot, regardless of what costumes the players wear. Politically, the rakyat are still wearing balls and chains in Plato’s Cave, mesmerized by the wayang kulit extravaganza put on by a wily priesthood of black magicians, today known as doctors of spin (because they love making the masses dance to their tune).

Dr M’s pointed tirades against the Bush push for Global Empire were excellent PR. They served to distract local yokels from the stench of unwashed urinals at home and unify them against what was clearly seen as a larger threat - the Return of the Ugly American.

“We must outlaw war on earth,” the Brilliant Statesman declared to the international press on the eve of the barbaric bombing of Baghdad. And a week later he would mollify his discomfited generals with a fresh order of jetfighters or submarines.

“The Jews rule the world by proxy,” he would remark at the OIC conference with stunning political incorrectness, while throwing another rubber bone to the baying Ketuanan Melayu faction, to keep them from burning down the Chinese Assembly Hall (where industrious little yellow Jews are manufactured under licence from the Awakening Dragon).

And once again we have to admire, even if reluctantly, his absolute foxiness and firm grasp of statecraft. What better way to win hearts and consolidate the Islamic world at a time when most of us are speechless with horror at Ariel Sharon’s unimpeded Palestinian holocaust. For the first time in 22 years, I find myself feeling almost proud that our beloved country has spawned such a feisty uncrowned monarch.

Now if his final act as prime minister is to unconditionally release Anwar Ibrahim from wrongful confinement in a gesture of clemency and reconciliation, even his worst detractors will soon stop calling him Mahafiraun Zalim (the Cruel Pharaoh) and regale his reign as one of monumental achievements amidst tumultuous uncertainties.

The good news is that I sometimes see myself in all these strutting and fretting manifestations of Macbeth - and therefore cannot persevere in my righteous indignation at their perceived misdemeanors. At the end of the day, they are no more inhuman than any of us who has ever been irritated to the point of destroying a particularly troublesome ant colony. For these are colossal, demiurgic egos who view the great unwashed as only good for casting ballots or shooting bullets at official enemies.

Well, here’s more good news: modern incarnations of ancient gods are a dying breed and will soon become extinct - unless they evolve into ethical aesthetes and use their innate charisma for artistic purposes, to produce beauty and truth - instead of more fear and greed and ecocide.

This Halloween, I make my peace with Dr Mahathir [again!]. For all the unsympathetic judgments I have passed on his actions as a prime minister - and for all the unkind thoughts I have held in my heart as regards his well-being - I privately and publicly apologize.* He has only tried, like his precedessors, to be a Father to the Nation; and, as is inevitably the case within every family, there will always be a rebellious son or daughter to contend with, who won’t buy Bapak’s little lies and who can see only his feet of clay.

My own dad used to think fluorescent tubes are a wonderful idea - I vigorously disagree. Some of my best friends are convinced that the 3D Matrix is all there is to existence - I absolutely disagree. Most of the world still believes that Time is Money and that Money is the Bottom Line. As for me, I stubbornly believe (like José Argüelles) that Time is Art and the Bottom Line is Truth - Truth tempered with Love.

There comes a time when every prodigal son or daughter becomes a parent in their own right - and we are suddenly confronted by a thousand grey areas, a million-and-one anxieties, an infinitude of conflicting agendas to balance and juggle against a tidal wave of unforeseen changes. Suddenly, we see the futility of blaming our parents for the way we turned out. We stop hating them for having been overly harsh, heavy-handed, too busy, too ignorant of or totally indifferent to our emotional needs.

Who we are and what we shall become are entirely in our own hands.

But it certainly helps to first reconcile, redeem and heal our past with compassion, understanding and non-judgmental love. Then it would no longer seriously concern us who’s steering the ship, driving the bus or piloting the plane - unless they happen to be power-drunk on duty and their bad performance puts us at risk, in which event it should be a simple matter to get them sacked at the earliest opportunity. Just as you don’t normally want to know the cabbie’s name unless he cheats you or is unacceptably rude, why should we worry whether the prime minister’s name is Anwar, Archibald, Balbir, Chee Cheong Fun, Dorairajah, Delilah, Elijah, or Nurul Izzah?**


Happy Halloween, folks! Don’t be so easily spooked. Remember, politics is just a bunch of rowdy kids in scary costumes out for some tricks or treats.

Antares
31 October 2003

-----
* Hard to keep my promise. That Metallic-voiced Megalomaniac is so goddamn irritating, I'll have to deliver one more tight slap before I apologize all over again.

** Notice I deliberately omitted the name Mukhriz. No way this land can survive being ravaged by TWO Mahathirs. And that smug-faced Son of the Monster Magnet doesn't have a single original idea in his head anyway.

[First published 31 October 2008]

How Music Works ~ with Howard Goodall

[Brought to my attention by Henry Cheong]

Thanks, Frank!

With thanks to Solo Goodspeed who alerted me to the first video.

May the festive spirit of Hari Raya Aidilfitri strengthen our resolve to begin anew!

To all those celebrating with their loved ones,

please drive safe & return with spirits refreshed.

This beautiful & bountiful land

is ours to reclaim from

falsehood, injustice & tyranny!

George Duke, weaver of dreams, a musician's musician, has gone home...

It has been confirmed that veteran jazz, R&B, funk and fusion keyboard virtuoso George Duke has died aged 67, after battling and being treated for chronic lymphocytic leukemia. This news comes after a difficult period for the acclaimed keyboardist and composer whose wife Corine passed away just over a year ago. Duke's record label Concord-Telarc have confirmed he died on 5 August in Los Angeles, his passing coming after he had just launched his latest album, DreamWeaver, which he’d dedicated to his wife’s memory and had debuted at #1 on Billboard's Contemporary Jazz Chart. Mark Wexler, General Manager of the Concord-Telarc Label Group has stated: “We are all devastated by the sad news of George’s passing. He was a great man, a legendary, one-of-a-kind artist; and our hearts go out to his family. George will be missed by all.”



George Duke’s career spanned jazz, funk and fusion beginning with his modern own jazz group in the 1960s backing the likes of Sonny Rollins and Dexter Gordon, but he was soon moving into the fusion terrain that would define much of his career as he began a longstanding musical partnership with violinist Jean-Luc Ponty in the early 1970s. He was invited to join Frank Zappa’s ground breaking band The Mothers Of Invention and worked with them from 1969-1975, while also going on to work with Sonny Rollins and co-lead a band with Billy Cobham. His solo career began to take shape too as he released a number of classic albums for MPS and Epic including Faces in Reflection, I Love the Blues, The Aura Will Prevail, Brazilian Love Affair, Master of the Game and Thief In the Night.



In the 1970s his producing credits also began to mount up and included work with Raul de Souza, Dee Dee Bridgewater, and A Taste of Honey as well as many funk and R&B artists such as the Pointer Sisters, Smokey Robinson, 101 North, George Howard, Gladys Knight, Najee, Take 6, Howard Hewett, Chanté Moore, Everette Harp, Rachelle Ferrell (his key collaborator in the early-1990s), Gladys Knight, Keith Washington, Gary Valenciano, Johnny Gill and Anita Baker. The 1980s saw him team up with bass icon Stanley Clarke in their ongoing Clarke/Duke jazz fusion project as well as sessions with Miles Davis, while the 1990s and 2000s saw Duke focus on his solo career as producer/composer and performer - leading one of the leanest and meanest live bands around.

Duke had recently returned to form in the studio and remained a hugely popular live draw at festivals and jazz clubs around the world. He will be sorely missed by his legions of fans from both R&B/soul and jazz-fusion worlds.

[Source: Jazzwise Magazine]



Featuring George Duke on keyboard & lead vocals

Two bombs killed nearly 250,000 people 68 years ago. Never, never, never again!

The first deployment of atomic weaponry in war: Hiroshima destroyed on 6 August 1945

The atomic bombings of the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan were conducted by the United States during the final stages of World War II in 1945. The two events are the only use of nuclear weapons in war to date.

The aftermath of "Little Boy" (code name for the atomic device that leveled Hiroshima)

"Little Boy" - innocuous name for
a diabolical device that claimed nearly
170,000 lives 

Following a firebombing campaign that destroyed many Japanese cities, the Allies prepared for a costly invasion of Japan. The war in Europe ended when Nazi Germany signed its instrument of surrender on 8 May, but the Pacific War continued.

Together with the United Kingdom and the Republic of China, the United States called for a surrender of Japan in the Potsdam Declaration on 26 July 1945, threatening Japan with "prompt and utter destruction." The Japanese government ignored this ultimatum. American airmen dropped Little Boy on the city of Hiroshima on 6 August 1945, followed by Fat Man over Nagasaki on 9 August.*

Within the first two to four months of the bombings, the acute effects killed 90,000-166,000 people in Hiroshima and 60,000-80,000 in Nagasaki, with roughly half of the deaths in each city occurring on the first day.

Mushroom cloud over Nagasaki
as "Fat Man" is detonated
on 9 August 1945, killing at least
80,000 civilians

The Hiroshima prefecture health department estimated that, of the people who died on the day of the explosion, 60% died from flash or flame burns, 30% from falling debris and 10% from other causes. During the following months, large numbers died from the effect of burns, radiation sickness, and other injuries, compounded by illness. In a US estimate of the total immediate and short term cause of death, 15-20% died from radiation sickness, 20-30% from burns, and 50-60% from other injuries, compounded by illness. In both cities, most of the dead were civilians, although Hiroshima had a sizeable garrison.

On 15 August, six days after the bombing of Nagasaki, Japan announced its surrender to the Allies, signing the Instrument of Surrender on 2 September, officially ending World War II. The bombings led, in part, to post-war Japan's adopting Three Non-Nuclear Principles, forbidding the nation from nuclear armament. The bombings' role in Japan's surrender and their ethical justification are still debated.

[Source: Wikipedia]

Hell on Earth: a scene from Dante's Inferno following the blast

Victim of radiation burns in Nagasaki

Isn't it ironic that Japan was forced to agree never to arm itself with nuclear weapons - even though it was clearly not the aggressor in this instance? Today the two most warlike nations with nuclear capability are the United States and Israel (an undeclared nuclear power).

The tragic aftermath

Nameless, blameless victim of human insanity

Children who miraculously survived the bombing of Hiroshima

Hiroshima & Nagasaki: A Zionist Experiment?

*It was only after the war that the American public learned about Japan's efforts to bring the conflict to an end. Chicago Tribune reporter Walter Trohan, for example, was obliged by wartime censorship to withhold for seven months one of the most important stories of the war. In an article that finally appeared August 19, 1945, on the front pages of the Chicago Tribune and the Washington Times-Herald, Trohan revealed that on January 20, 1945, two days prior to his departure for the Yalta meeting with Stalin and Churchill, President Roosevelt received a 40-page memorandum from General Douglas MacArthur outlining five separate surrender overtures from high-level Japanese officials. (The complete text of Trohan's article is in the Winter 1985-86 Journal, pp. 508-512.)

This memo showed that the Japanese were offering surrender terms virtually identical to the ones ultimately accepted by the Americans at the formal surrender ceremony on September 2 - that is, complete surrender of everything but the person of the Emperor. [Read the full report here.]

THE ATOM BOMB AND HOW IT AFFECTED PEOPLE

If I were a secret policeman...

After a few of my friends got thrown into Kamunting during Dr M's infamous Operation Lalang in October 1987, I became rather paranoid about the Malaysian police, especially the Special Branch or Malaysian secret police. Every time I heard a crackle or mysterious whir while talking on the phone I immediately suspected my line was tapped.

It wasn't a healthy state of mind, to be living under a dark cloud of Orwellian fear.

My clearest memory of the Mahathir era is how afraid people were to talk politics in public places. Every time the name "Mahathir" was mentioned, everyone would quickly look around to see if there were suspicious SB types in the vicinity. That was Dr M's greatest contribution to the nation - he turned it into a police state akin to East Germany during the Cold War period.

Talk to Dr Munawar Anees about this, if you think I exaggerate.

Don't point with cretinous pride at the KLCC Twin Towers or the colossal architecture of Putrajaya. Any tyrant with unlimited access to the public purse can build any number of monuments to their own pharaonic megalomania.

I love elephants - but not when they're painted white! Do we really need an "official residence" for our top civil servant that costs the public RM9 million a year to rent and maintain? What an atrocious scam that is!

Anyway, I decided it was stupid to live in constant anxiety about the secret police. It's true the army and police ultimately exist to protect the privileged few from the wrath of the exploited multitudes whose toil and drudgery support the system; and so long as the masses remain asleep, the status quo remains unthreatened. However, the situation dramatically changes when a few leaders become enlightened and realize the unsustainability and inherent instability of any top-heavy feudalistic social hierarchy.

One day I stumbled upon a small shop in the Chow Kit area selling trophies, medals, military insignia, and police paraphernalia. I bought a PVC wallet emblazoned with the PDRM logo and began pretending I was an undercover cop. It was astounding how swiftly that altered my perception of the police force. Each time I spotted a cop on the street or driving around in a patrol car, I experienced the pleasant buzz of bumping into someone from your hometown when you're traveling abroad. Soon, I began to harbor friendly feelings towards the police, rather than hostility.

This simple game had far-reaching consequences. I began to relive my childhood fantasies of being an undercover cop (I had been deeply impressed as a 9-year old by the Hollywood glamorization of the FBI in a movie called The FBI Story, starring James Stewart).


As a teenager I relished a long-running series of vivid dreams in which I featured as a top-ranking Bond-style secret agent and death-defying commando, narrowly escaping the most harrowing situations and invariably getting to kiss the leading lady.

Never underestimate the power of the imagination. I experienced a major shift in my attitude towards security personnel. Now, each time I was on the phone and heard some static, I'd simply assume my colleagues in Bukit Aman were on the job, recording my wit and wisdom for posterity.

It's been some years since I played this little game, but I can snap into this mode of consciousness anytime I want. It allows me some insight into the mind of the secret policeman and an empathetic glimpse of the policeman's intrinsic humanity.

In any case, as I grew older I began to see through the façade of the power structure and realized that there was no government on earth worth killing and dying for - they were all fronts for an invisible network of demented and bedeviled plutocrats. If I were a true-life James Bond, I'd opt to join the rebel forces or drop out completely.

Around that period, I had an unexpected encounter with a Special Branch officer planted in the middle-class audience at a British Council screening of Terry Gilliam's cult classic, Brazil. As the lights went on after the show, my companion expressed a bit of confusion about the whole point of the movie. I told her it illustrated the stupidity of governments. As we filed out of the British Council (which was then located near Bukit Aman), a mild-mannered Indian gentleman tapped me on the shoulder and asked if he could have a quick word with me.

"Sure," I said, and told my companion to wait in the car for me. My suspicions were confirmed when the guy introduced himself as a Special Branch officer. Our conversation lasted no more than 15 minutes but what he essentially wanted to communicate to me was that I ought to be more careful what opinions I expressed in public.

"Walls have ears," the SB guy said, which elicited a sermon from me about the questionable morality of serving an immoral government. I could sense that this guy was actually a decent bloke, just a bit jaded from having been a copper almost his entire life. He was due for retirement in a couple of years. Finally, the guy confessed to me that he was utterly demoralized by the dirty politics he had seen in the line of duty. "Sometimes I wish somebody would just press the red button and blow up the whole world. It's already too rotten to save!"

"It's sad to see you've become such a nihilist," I said. "I can understand your viewpoint, but I believe change is the only constant, and that the status quo is really not quite as static as most people believe."

We parted with a friendly handshake but our little unscheduled chat left me with much food for thought. I could see myself in his predicament. A decent bloke stuck for years in an indecent job, carrying out stupid orders from superiors he had no real respect for. The only way he could deal with his disillusionment was to become a crusty old cynic.

Of course, he could have quit - like my friend Johnny Goh, a former SB officer who told me he was due for a promotion in 1998, but he felt so sickened by the manner in which the police were being used against Anwar Ibrahim, he decided to resign and start a stationery business. Not everyone has the wherewithal to begin anew after decades in a particular job.

And not too many have the balls to blow the whistle on the evils inherent in the system. Nevertheless, the few that do have the clarity of mind, the courage, and the strength of their conscience to do so may well be Malaysia's only hope at this point.

I know that for every crooked cop in the PDRM, there must be at least 500 who are still straight; who still believe that the police ought to be a force for the public good, not a bunch of uniformed thugs serving a handful of white-collar gangsters. Indeed, there would be absolutely no way out of our present mess if there weren't ultimately a lot more honest citizens than criminals in our country.

Call me a perpetual fool, if you will, but I remain convinced that there will always be an inner core of decency to be found in any institution - even one that has been corrupted and twisted by years of despotic misrule. Most times, the decent chaps choose to earn their wages and keep a low profile, convinced it's beyond their power to reform their workplace, safer to simply serve out their time and collect a comfortable pension.

So let me dedicate this blogpost to my friends and fellow warriors in the Special Branch, some of whom have been diligently monitoring what I say and occasionally leaving cryptic comments on my blog. I'm sure many of you love this country as much as I do. I'm sure many of you would like to see real change happen - especially regime change, even if you may be a bit uncertain as to what these changes mean in terms of special privileges for the Malays and whatnot.

May I suggest you pause for a moment and look at the situation from a purely HUMAN perspective - forget about bangsa dan agama for a minute. I bet most of you have enough intelligence to know that sort of talk is complete hogwash anyway. Your big bosses aren't particularly religious people - they only believe in the unholy power that money buys - the money stolen from all of us.

You guys (and gals) are merely pawns in their evil game. Same as anybody else. Think on that, please, and act on what your heart prompts you to do.

Remember how the Marcos regime finally ended in the Philippines? Ferdinand's downfall was triggered by a small group of women hired by the Election Commission to monitor the vote-counting process. Realizing someone had tampered with the computers, they decided to blow the whistle by fleeing the Election Commission headquarters and running across the street to seek sanctuary in a church - where they were greeted by the international media who were only too happy to broadcast abroad the news of gross electoral fraud. Within days, Marcos had to flee Manila with whatever he and his acquisitive wife Imelda could carry by hand.

[First published 15 April 2009 as part of an essay series titled "Where Malaysia Is Headed..."]