A Doctor in The House: A Memoir of Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad (12 page)

Just days after I sat for the Junior Cambridge Examination for Standard Eight in 1941, Japan attacked Pearl Harbour on 7 December and the British and Dutch-ruled territories in Southeast Asia on 8 December. By then the Germans also appeared to be gaining ground in Europe, with Hitler invading Russia that June after France had surrendered in July of the previous year. An Empire patriot, I never doubted that the British and their allies would eventually prevail. My history lessons had taught me that when Napoleon attempted to conquer Russia, he had been defeated by the Russian winter. I had no idea what winter was like, but I was convinced that it would again beat back the Germans.

Encouraged by Germany’s successes in Europe, the Japanese decided to enter the war and attacked the United States by bombing Pearl Harbour. I remember thinking that it was foolhardy of the Japanese to attack America. I could not imagine a small nation like Japan invading and conquering a huge country like the US. In the end, all they succeeded in doing was to force the US to enter the war on the side of the Allies. From the imprudent Japanese attack I learnt a crucial lesson that served me well in later years when I entered politics: never add to the ranks of your enemies. If you must take on another foe, do so only after tackling the first successfully.

I had never imagined that the Japanese would invade Malaya, but the collapse of France had enabled them to station their troops in French Indochina. The US had imposed sanctions against oil exports to Japan which, even then, was completely dependent on fuel imports. By then, the British were worried enough to station Blenheim bombers
[1]
 and the East Surrey Regiment
[2]
 in Alor Star. Gurkha troops, whom I initially mistook for Malays because they wore the pill-box caps then worn by Malay policemen, also appeared.
 

The Government initiated civil defence preparations and the Air Raid Precautions (ARP) included tacking black cloth over windows, switching off street lamps, and sirens to warn of air raids. I joined the Auxiliary Fire Service and was proud to wear the khaki uniform, with an axe hanging from my belt. We were trained to handle hoses and to evacuate casualties by rope through windows—which was no great feat since the houses in Alor Star were only two storeys high. Incendiary bombs were used to show us how to handle the fires. Once, one was thrown from a temporary observation platform built on the roof of the main government building, but it failed to explode. When someone instructed me to pick it up and take it back to the platform, I did just that, completely unaware that the bomb could have exploded in my hand. Later, when I realised the danger I had placed myself in, I literally broke out in a sweat.

Around this time British troops began appearing in droves in Alor Star. There had never been so many white men in town. They frequented the local coffee shops, drinking beer and making loud, disparaging remarks about the Japanese. British propaganda in Malaya was very strong and the 
Straits Times,
[3]
 the Penang 
Straits Echo
[4]
 and Radio Malaya all declared Britain’s ability to eventually defeat the Germans. The hasty retreat from Dunkirk was made out to be a tactical withdrawal and a great victory. The Battle of Britain, in which the Royal Air Force shot down dozens of German Messerschmitt
[5]
 fighter planes and Junker bombers,
[6]
 was reported at great length.
 

Before Japan entered the war, its ties with Malaya were both minor and friendly. In Alor Star, a number of Japanese shops sold toys. One of them was K. Shiba on Jalan Raja. As the leader of the tiny local Japanese community, the owner Mr Shiba was always invited to the Sultan’s birthday ceremony. But when war broke out, all Japanese residents were arrested. It was said that a Japanese photographer in Alor Star, Mr Miyamoto, had taken pictures of the Alor Star airport where the Blenheim bombers were parked. When the Japanese landed in Songkhla, in Thailand, and in Kota Baru, Kelantan on 8 December 1941, not a single British warplane was in the air. Those bombers, it seems, had been withdrawn to fight in other theatres. A flying club plane, which was used to observe the Japanese troop movements, was shot down over north Kedah.

The Japanese troops advanced rapidly and quickly overcame the so-called Jitra line, made up of a series of “pill-boxes” or defensive entrenchments near the roads north of Alor Star.
[7]
 From the town, people could hear the sounds of guns shortly after Japanese troops crossed the Siam-Kedah border. But when I went to the town centre after the Japanese had occupied Alor Star, only a few shop houses had been destroyed by shellfire—the British troops’ quick retreat had saved Alor Star from extensive destruction. My father’s family was still staying in the Seberang Perak house when the sounds of guns signalled the Japanese advance. We decided to evacuate to my sister’s home in Jalan Kota Tanah, about a kilometre away. Looking back, the measures we took to protect ourselves were quite amusing. We felt that moving one kilometre would make all the difference and keep us safe. Meanwhile, those who lived there moved another kilometre away. These were hopeful gestures more than strategies. On hearing a loud explosion, we guessed it was the Wan Mohamad Saman Bridge, a beautiful, old-fashioned structure over the Kedah River, that had been blown up. We had earlier seen the British soldiers wiring it in preparation for its detonation. It was only two kilometres away and we later found that pieces of concrete from the bridge had fallen through the roof of our neighbour’s house in Seberang Perak. Luckily, they too had evacuated.
 

Rain fell and the earth road next to my sister’s house was thick with mud. We watched, anxious and fearful as weary British troops trudged through the sludge and rain to escape the advancing Japanese. It was a shock for me to see the 
Orang Putih
 being defeated, and by Asians at that. We heard of stragglers who somehow got left behind. One British soldier hid in the Royal Theatre in Alor Star, while another was found near the Lower Court, close to where the Wan Mohamad Saman Bridge had been. The Japanese did not bother to take the two soldiers prisoners and bayoneted them on the spot.

I often thought of them, especially the one who had been found near the old bridge. Here was this young Tommy, thousands of kilometres away from home. What were his last thoughts as he was pushed to the ground, a Japanese bayonet pointed at him? To this day, I can feel his fear and the pain as the bayonet was thrust into his body. People said later that they had heard him screaming before there was an abrupt silence. His body was kicked into the river and when I went to the spot later, I could still see his blood. I found it hard to imagine being killed so far away from home and family. I thought of myself dying at that age, and how horrifying it must have been for him moments before his excruciating death. The cruel wasteful wars I have seen since then always take me back to that day, to that frightened lone soldier, and it has only increased my abhorrence of war.

Several days after the Japanese had driven the British out, the people of Alor Star began to emerge from their homes and hiding places. The town centre was deserted. Terrified of being targeted by the invaders, the Chinese shopkeepers had fled and looting soon began. People used axes to break down shop fronts and for some time after, looted goods were referred to as 
chap kapak
 or “axe brand”. A week after the British left town, we returned to our Seberang Perak house. We had evacuated in a great hurry yet found the place just as we had left it, but with the food rotting on the plates.

We had heard of the atrocities that Japanese soldiers had committed against local populations elsewhere. Many Malayans, especially the Chinese, had been put to death and we were afraid that they would rape our women and kill our men. Many young girls hurriedly cut their hair very short and hid above the flimsy ceilings of their houses. But the Japanese were apparently too busy fighting and for the most part the horrors we feared did not take place. But throughout the Occupation we lived in fear of the 
kempeitai
, the Japanese military police. They detained people suspected of supporting the enemy, of being spies or being involved with the anti-Japanese guerrilla movement. Before the Occupation some of those arrested had been involved in helping China against the Japanese. The 
kempeitai
’s favourite method of torture was to force water through a prisoner’s mouth with a high-pressure hose. The stomach would expand and then the water would be forced out by stomping on the abdomen. After a few times, if the prisoner was not dead, he would certainly confess.

Yet, the number of people killed during the Japanese Occupation of Malaya was relatively small. The Japanese even recruited Malays for their 
heiho
, a paramilitary force. Proud young Malay officers strutted about in their uniforms, which included curved swords just like the Japanese officers’. I became firm friends with one of these 
heiho
, Azahari Taib, who later became a member of the Kedah State Council and then Member of Parliament after Independence. Later I learnt that Tan Sri Azahari (he has recently passed away) did not become a member of the 
heiho
 to fight for the Japanese. He was a Malay patriot and nationalist and was among the first to join the struggle for Independence. Jobs were scarce and joining the paramilitary force meant he could get food.

Others joined the 
heiho
 because they were anti-British. I was very surprised that there were Malays who felt that way. There was, for example, the Kesatuan Melayu Muda (KMM), or Young Malays Association, started by teachers who were trained at the Malay Teachers Training College in Tanjung Malim, Perak. I heard that they actually aided the Japanese invasion by arranging goalposts in the form of arrows pointing towards British military installations. There was also close collaboration between the Malayan and the Indonesian 
heiho
, which formed the core of the Indonesian Army of liberation. With their friends in Java and Sumatra, the KMM radicals planned to form Indonesia Raya, which would have included the Malay Peninsula. Sukarno,
[8]
 the leading activist for the independence of Indonesia, visited Malaya during the Japanese Occupation to meet with leaders of the KMM. But the majority of Malays were wary of this nascent independence movement. They wanted the Allies to win the war against the German, Italian and Japanese Axis.
 

They also welcomed the involvement of the US, seeing them as liberators. Most Malays were very pro-American. I myself was in awe of Americans, whom I had seen only on cinema screens before the war. They were big people who always fought and won against the Indians in cowboy films. As the yelling Indians were shot off their horses, falling like nine pins and dying, I cheered. Today such films are no longer acceptable. Roles have changed, as have the attitudes of filmmakers and audiences, and it is no longer unusual for Westerns to portray Native Americans and African Americans as heroes. We are also less likely these days to cheer the Americans as they seek out and take on their enemies worldwide.

With the Japanese invasion, the Government of Kedah ceased to function and all my brothers and brothers-in-law who were working with the state government suddenly found themselves unemployed. The Straits dollar was still valid but very soon we had gone through all the money we had. Something had to be done urgently, so my brothers decided to sell bananas on the street. We had no shop so we just spread mats on the road in Jalan Pekan Melayu and laid the bananas out for display. Food grew scarce despite our best efforts and we began having to skip meals. Very quickly, we sank into poverty.

Our daily diet consisted of rice and shrimp curry with long beans. We lived near the coast so shrimp was plentiful and cheap. Even so, I would first eat the rice mixed with curry and beans, saving the shrimp for the last mouthfuls. For years after that, I kept to the habit of saving the choicest morsels for last. Meat and chicken were scarce; there was no coffee or tea and above all, there was no sugar. Fortunately, rice was plentiful in Kedah. In fact, during the early part of the Japanese Occupation, there was an excess of rice as it could not be transported to other parts of Malaya.

Yet we were poorly nourished and many suffered from beriberi,
[9]
 which caused their bodies to
bloat. Others developed suppurating sores, while a number contracted fever and died. My parents were concerned about us catching a fever because there was no medicine available. The only treatment was to be sponged down with a cold compress, or to take a bath in hot water in which herbal leaves had been boiled.
 

Meanwhile, the Japanese began forcing the staff of the Malayan Railways and other civilians to join a workforce that was building what became notoriously known as the Death Railway
[10]
 in Burma to transport troops, weapons and other war materials to the Indian front. Those conscripted had to live and work in mosquito-infested jungles with little food, clean water, or a proper place to sleep. Many Malayans died working on that railway. When the war was over, the survivors walked all the way back from Burma. A few of my relatives and their friends who worked on the railway stayed with us for a few days before continuing their walk home. They were emaciated and sick, with festering sores all over their bodies. Thankfully, after a few days of nourishing food and rest, they began to recover.
 

Since there was no school during the early days of the Occupation, I stayed at home. I ransacked the house and found the books from the Reader’s Library belonging to my father which I had already read. I read them again, having nothing else to do. Later I found some American business magazines that someone had thrown away, probably out of fear that the Japanese would object to them. Deciding that the soldiers would be busy with more serious things, I took all the magazines home and read every page thoroughly. I read through everything I could get my hands on, except for one thick volume I had found called 
The Wandering Jew
. It was about the misfortunes which befell any community that the title character visited, but it was so dull—and so very long—that despite my determination, I could not make it to the end. It remains the only book in my life that I have not been able to finish.