To those of you who don’t know about P Ramlee and his impact on Malaysia in the early days of our nation, listen up.

To those who do know him and love him (I don’t think there’s anybody alive who claims to know him but does not claim to love him), I have this to say: strip P Ramlee of his Tan Sri title!

I also want to know the names of those who gave him this and other titles and road names and other accolades and continue to glorify him, especially those who are also his contemporaries.

Because to all these people, especially his contemporaries, I want to tell them this: you all suck! You should hang your heads in shame. As in the Malay saying that goes “as if giving flowers to monkeys”, you are the monkeys.

P Ramlee died 48 years ago in 1973. I was in Secondary Three then, and I remember crying when I heard the news. He’s in an exclusive club for whom I shed tears upon their passing, in the company of my own parents (and John Lennon).

I was in Penang during a school term holiday later in the year, and attended a tribute concert at Dewan Sri Pinang. It was sad but when they ended with Di Mana Kan Ku Cari Ganti, the whole hall bawled their eyes out. For Di Mana Kan Ku Cari Ganti indeed.

P Ramlee impacted us through multimedia before the word was invented, through movies, songs, music, comedy. To the young people wondering what’s all the fuss about, I’ve two things to say: 1. He reminded us of a simpler time in our life, when we were less stressed or angry or judgmental and there wasn’t much else competing for our attention; and 2. Go away.

My memories also include that of my elder sister going on bus holiday trips (called “bas rombongan” in Malay then) to Singapore and KL in the sixties. They would stop by to see P Ramlee and his family because she’s married to somebody from P Ramlee’s old Caunter Hall neighbourhood in Penang.

Ahh, her excitement! I remember her exclaiming in amazement: they spent RM10 on food per day! An amount that typical village folks would take a few days to earn then, if at all.

By all accounts, P Ramlee wasn’t spending that when he died. He was in penury, reduced to singing at weddings and close to begging for food.

He was overweight, didn’t take care of his health, was under tremendous stress and those in all likelihood killed him through a broken heart that manifested as a heart attack.

The years he spent in KL were wasted years. His best years were back in Singapore, in the golden days of Malay cinema, to which he was the biggest contributor. A good book waits to be written about his unfortunate return to KL, but it won’t make you smile.

I’m perfectly happy to accept, should someone show proof and evidence that P Ramlee wasn’t a perfect human being, that he had many faults and defects and maybe even that I wouldn’t want him as a brother, friend or even neighbour.

I somehow doubt that’s the case, but I wouldn’t be fighting to preserve the “purity” of his memory. All the hagiographies on him, especially post-mortem, belong to the dustbin. Pure and perfect people, if they exist at all, are boring.

Because he certainly was not pure nor perfect, and hence not a boring, human being. I’m sure he had his share of issues and faults and demons inside him.

But he was also an artiste and a genius. None of these people ever come perfect, many have huge imperfections, and as the price of being a genius, often more than their fair share of failings.

My problem is this: when he came back, why didn’t we take better care of him? Why didn’t some idiot say he’s indeed a national treasure and we should do everything possible to help him continue being a productive genius?

(Perhaps he should’ve returned to Penang instead. We would have taken good care of him there. Better than what the baboons did to him in KL anyway).

Why did we treat him like a leper instead of rolling out the red carpet and opening doors for him? Why was it that people without enough talent to lick his shoes were glorified and rewarded while he was shunned and forgotten?

I think what happened then was an early version of Malaysia Boleh, of the rise of the incompetent, the mediocre and, over time, the corrupt who viewed any spark of genius and independence as a potential competitor for people’s hearts and minds, and hence a threat.

Those traits, as we all know, have gone into overdrive and we’re now truly a nation that treats our best and brightest horribly — because they’re inconvenient and dangerous reminders of how mediocre so many in power are, and hence are a threat to those who hold power.

And the sad part is that in both instances it wouldn’t have happened if we, the rakyat then (and now) hadn’t allowed it to happen. We’re also responsible and culpable. We, too, should hang our heads in shame.

The slide that brought us to where we’re now began long ago. The dumbing down of our society, whether through kneecapping our education system or sabotaging those who show the slightest amount of creativity, genius, independence or even mere competence, has had a long run.

For those people who see life as a series of battles to defeat the “other kind”, and that everything is justified in these battles, remember, we do this to our “own kind” too.

Back to P Ramlee. Strip him of his Tan Sri title. Don’t call him Seniman Agong. Rename the roads that have been named after him for some politicians or VIPs.

Because those who did this, who gave him titles and honours and glorified him after he died, don’t deserve to even be in the same city as him. They don’t deserve to vicariously but dishonestly bask in the glow of his memory now that he’s conveniently gone.

He’ll remain, to me, plain P Ramlee, the greatest artiste the Malay world has ever produced.

Even after decades, I remain angry remembering how he was treated, and how we wilfully missed out on a great opportunity to celebrate and learn and promote greatness.

Perhaps the anger is due to the fact that I see the same things, possibly even worse and more widespread and perhaps irreversible, going on today in Malaysia Bolehland.

Di Mana Kan Ku Cari Ganti indeed.

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.