JULY 31 — There are patriots you see on TV — flags waving, rifles carrying, speeches thundering, parades marching to the rhythm of history. And then there are others — quieter, less photogenic, sometimes not even sure if they count.
I personally used to think patriotism had to be loud. That it had to come with a dramatic gesture: becoming a PGA soldier protecting the country in Sarawak, climbing Gunung Kinabalu with the Jalur Gemilang, shouting Tunku’s “Merdeka!” cry at just the right pitch for a theatre performance, or reminiscing the sacrifices made by our soldiers by organising a trip to Tugu Negara. Maybe with a drone shot thrown in for the group photo.
But over time, with different groups of people and many kopi sessions and slow walks across this imperfect, beautiful land, I’ve grown curious about another kind of patriot. The kind who doesn’t post on their socials about Merdeka, but still pays the utility bills on time every month. The kind who returns their tray at non-Ikea food courts, who holds back an eye-roll and speaks kindly even when dealing with difficult customers, who sees one more student after the lecture ended on late Friday afternoons, even when the body says no and the weekend is calling.
These are not grand acts. They won’t make it into any Petronas Merdeka video. But they carry something important: a quiet, persistent belief that this country is worth showing up for.
Take, for example, the man who repairs your broken brake lights without overcharging you, even when he knows you won’t check the bill and don’t know the actual cost of the parts. Or the civil servant who wears batik on Thursday because she wants to, not because she’s told to. Or the fresh grad who stays in the country, despite all the enticing offers of higher salary in that neighbouring country.
The truth is, most people I know are this kind of patriot. They don’t wear their love for Malaysia on their sleeves — partly because sleeves are already rolled up doing the actual work. They don’t go viral for what they do, and frankly, most of them wouldn’t want to. — Oliver Hale/Unsplash pic
None of this is glamorous. But then again, neither is nation-building. Most of it is unglamorous. It’s late nights, slow systems, second-guessing policies, working with people you didn’t vote for. It’s fixing what’s broken without waiting for permission. It’s trusting the process, even when the process feels like a queue at a viral nasi goreng place just opened in Bukit Bintang.
I reckon we’ve been taught to expect patriotism as a spectacle — flags on cars, fireworks in the sky, trending hashtags and recitations. And that’s fine. But maybe, just maybe, we can also recognise the ones who don’t march, don’t shout, but still love this land like it’s their only one.
They are the ones who check if the elderly neighbour’s bin has been brought in. Who still feel pride when hearing the Negaraku, even if only under their breath.
They’re not waving flags. They’re holding the line.
The truth is, most people I know are this kind of patriot. They don’t wear their love for Malaysia on their sleeves — partly because sleeves are already rolled up doing the actual work. They don’t go viral for what they do, and frankly, most of them wouldn’t want to.
And yet, it’s these quiet gestures that give this country its backbone. They’re the reason your street gets cleaned, and your parcel eventually arrives (even if two days late and slightly squashed). They’re also the reason some of us still believe we can get better — not because we’ve reached perfection, but because we know people who haven’t given up.
I sometimes wonder what it would take for us to change the way we talk about patriotism. Maybe we should start counting not just the medals and moments of glory, but also the mundane acts of care. The things done without fanfare. The daily kindnesses. The grit to stay.
We’re told often enough what’s wrong with this country. And truth be told, there’s plenty to fix. But maybe in the midst of that fixing, we can take a moment this August to notice the ones who are quietly holding us together. Who are still choosing, every day, to stay. To help. To care. To build something better — even if it’s just in their own little corner of Malaysia.
Because sometimes, patriotism isn’t loud. Sometimes, it’s just…
Consistent.
* Ir Dr Nahrizul Adib Kadri is a professor of biomedical engineering at the Faculty of Engineering, and the Principal of Ibnu Sina Residential College, Universiti Malaya. He may be reached at [email protected]
** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
