A Flag Is Lowered
By Usman Awang
Translated by Chang Shih Yen
Translator’s Note
The events in this story take place at the Selangor Club, now known as the Royal Selangor Club, a social club in Kuala Lumpur founded by the British in 1884. It was at the club’s cricket grounds that the Union Flag was lowered at midnight and the Malayan flag hoisted for the first time on 31 August 1957. This field is now known as Dataran Merdeka. The Secretariat Building mentioned in the story is a historic building opposite the grounds of the Selangor Club. It is now known as the Sultan Abdul Samad Building. It was built in the late 1800s as offices for the British colonial government, and has a large clock tower in the middle.
I chose to translate this short story because I really love it. I love its sense of optimism at the birth of a nation. This story always brings a tear to my eye when I read it. Personally, I think that every Malaysian should read this story, and I hope this English translation will make the story even more accessible to a wider audience. The late Usman Awang was best known as a poet, and the language that he used in this story is very poetic, adorned with alliteration. I have tried my best to capture that quality in translation. I would also like to express my thanks and appreciation to the family of Usman Awang for granting me permission to do this translation.
(A story about the moments just before midnight, 30 August 1957)
On the field of the Selangor Club a few seconds before the stroke of midnight 30 August 1957…
I could not remember when I had come to stand there. But the humans were like a flood. A great flood, a historic flood that swept away the stumps of colonization, that swept away the rubbish that was suffocating the lives of the people.
I was stunned for a moment. Around me I could already hear shouts of “MERDEKA”. The voice was loud and thunderous, mixed together with the voices of youths, girls, mothers, old people with children.
A few more seconds, the stroke of twelve midnight would sound.
The flood of humans was increasingly suffocating. The human wave broke through all the barriers and control of the peacekeeping team. The situation was becoming frenzied, reaching fever pitch. In the sky, stars were twinkling and smiling. The wind from the country and village, from the hill and mountain, came to play, following the people who were flocking there. But my body was sweating. Maybe from the heat rising from so many human bodies, maybe also from the pulsing of the blood in my chest.
Ah, a few seconds more and the chime of the stroke of midnight will sound. And in a few more seconds independence will be proclaimed. Yes, my brothers, just a few more seconds and our beloved homeland will be independent! All eyes were turned towards a flag. A flag that for a long time had flown proud, as a symbol of the colonization of our motherland. Now the flag is still flying. It is still proud and the wind of the homeland blew strong until the flag was flying, fluttering, and flapping. Maybe, it was being blown for the last time, maybe also the waves were telling it to get down now, to leave the motherland immediately.
I didn’t realize that I was already near the flagpole. It seemed the people behind me were increasingly clamouring, increasingly pushing to the front, to be near the flag.
There were a few youths who could not hold in their stormy spirit and shouted, “Take down the flag! Take it down now!” After that the shouts of “MERDEKA” echoed throughout the space.
The well-mannered wind of the homeland gave its breath to all who were on its earth for all this while, blowing on that flag. Thus the tremors of the flag raised the spirits of the youths who were there. The shouts repeated again: “Take down the flag of the colonizer! Take down the flag of the colonizer! Take it down! Take it down!”
Shouts of “MERDEKA” echoed again.
One second more to twelve o’clock. That flag was still flying. It didn’t understand. It didn’t realize that the humans all around it were asking it to be lowered. Because of that, it still flew as it had flown in the past, flying as if it was respected by its rightful heirs and also respected by its illegitimate heirs—who were not its real heirs. It still flew, like the time when it was surrounded by its armed forces that attacked the warriors from the time of our ancestors, who had defended the independence of the motherland. It still flew proudly, like the time it passed by the dead bodies of the warriors who were held in their mothers’ laps. Yes, it flew now as it had done in the past because it didn’t understand the situation, because for all this while it had been respected and it was accustomed to being respected still.
At that moment, I remembered the warriors who knelt and bowed to the ground, stiff in their mother’s arms, while from their bodies red blood flowed to water the motherland, just to defend it, so that the flag would not replace the flag of the motherland.
One by one, the faces of the warriors of the motherland who had been lost long ago appeared before my eyes, as if they were standing strong in front of me.
They appeared before my eyes as if by chance at that moment. Look at them, from the time of Tun Tuah, Hang Jebat, Bendahara Tepok, Tun Fatimah, through to Orang Kaya Bahaman, Dato’ Dol Said, Tuk Janggut, and many others.
Suddenly, the situation was silent, still. It was as if the shouts and cheers and echoes of human voices had been swallowed by the earth. Everyone was silent and all was still.
It was at that very second the big clock on the Secretariat Building (now the head office of the Selangor government) chimed, signifying the stroke of midnight. And suddenly all the lights went out. The lights went off and the world was dark. Before I could think anything, shouts of “MERDEKA” thundered, great like lightning, as if the world would be split by it.
It was the voice of youth, the voice of girls, the voice of mothers and fathers, yes, my brothers, it was the voice of the people. People who were hungry and suffering, people who were oppressed, who were cursed and born enslaved in body or soul.
At that moment I was pushed to the front, almost falling over. The many youths rushed towards the flagpole. The English flag they wanted to snatch.
“MERDEKA! MERDEKA! We are INDEPENDENT! We the people are INDEPENDENT!” Thus the shouts were heard everywhere, recited from mouths, flowing from a chest full of spirit and also a feeling of being overwhelmed.
My throat felt clogged. A girl who was holding the hand of her mother could be seen wiping her eyes. A youth who was gripping knuckle dusters shook his fist in the air while saying: “MERDEKA!”
Then he dried his eyes, which were wet. When the bright lights were turned on again, the flag that earlier had been flying proudly was not there anymore. As a replacement, a new flag fluttered, a different flag, an independent flag, with stripes and further glorified with stars and a moon.
A drop of water dripped from both my eyes. The water felt hot, flowing down my cheek. My throat felt blocked, while my chest was heaving. I was holding back tears. I was overwhelmed, overwhelmed to witness this event that was happening between historic moments.
My motherland, you have returned to us. Even though we don’t fully understand your return to us, even though the ties are still there, even though the scraps of colonization can still be seen and leave a mark. As your son, I welcome you back with my heart!
My motherland, even though foreign forces are still in your territory, even though there are agreements that bind you, we are on a journey to a brighter world. The fog is still thick. But, a dawn is awakening and the sun will surely rise. It is its rays that will nourish the lands of the motherland, that will overflow with happiness and justice, peace and prosperity spread evenly, evenly to everyone, all the people, to each member of our society.
Stay safe, my motherland, beloved homeland!
Utusan Zaman, 7 September 1958
About the Author
Wan Osman Wan Awang (1929-2001), better known as Usman Awang, was named Malaysia’s third National Laureate in 1983. He also wrote under the pen name Tongkat Warrant. He is best known for his poetry.
About the Translator
Chang Shih Yen is a writer and translator from Malaysia. She has a Master’s degree in Linguistics and speaks English, Malay, Chinese, Spanish, and Portuguese. She is the author of a collection of short fiction entitled Around The World: Short Stories by Chang Shih Yen, and a work of nonfiction, Chang Shih Yen’s Pandemic Diary: Surviving Covid-19 lockdown alone and without internet. She has also written a children’s book, Putra and his Silver Keris.
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According to his translator Atar Hadari, the late Israeli poet Avraham Chalfi was “a character actor, a clown, a dandy, and a man about town in Tel Aviv.” He was also a poet beloved by the people for his romantic and mystical verses.