After a small family celebration of my 75th birthday, quiet moments bring reflections on what ageing may mean.
To each her own as one size cannot fit all, because any human season, whether youth or age, is inflected by gender, culture, social class and other variables like educational background and health condition. Let me begin with a poem by Thomas Hardy reread with even richer resonances recently. Hardy records with his usual honesty, or, what some may name his characteristic mournfulness, the emotional-mental landscape of an ageing protagonist. Here is how the poem goes:
I look into my glass,
And view my wasting skin
And say, “Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin.
For then, I, undistrest
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
With equanimity.
But Time, to make me grieve
Part steals, lets part abide,
And shakes this feeble frame at eve
With the throbbings of noontide.
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The force of the poem resounds in reverberations of the “throbbings” of emotions in the last verse. What is Hardy saying of ageing here? The physical body declines into wasted skin but what of the heart? Would it be imbued with Buddhistic calmness or the peace of other great religions? Would the turbulence of the heart be thinned into tranquil morning mists? Not really, says Hardy, because no one, whatever their age, can possess and exude saintly calmness all the time. The last verse captures the deep emotions that many old people still own. Too often we expect saintly quiet, godly wisdom and mute acceptance from the old and hope that they would leave us untroubled as they become “old and grey and full of sleep and nodding by the fireside” (WB Yeats). Perhaps we should give more time to thinking of old people as very human. Their outward physical decline should not make them of lesser or no account in the moral balance sheet of society.
Recently, Nancy Shukri, the Women, Family and Community Development Minister, announced that the national action plan for senior citizens is being reviewed. In addition, her Deputy Minister, Raj Muni Sabu, says that a bill will be tabled in 2024 concerning the possibility of a law on filial responsibility. The ministry will reportedly study the suitability of the law. Increasing public awareness on caring for senior citizens is timely, as Malaysia becomes an ageing nation by 2023. Speaking of the need for a “universal pension” in his Aliran article, Dr Jeyakumar Devaraj points to the alarming information that “two-thirds of Malaysians over 70 depend on their children for food, accommodation and other basic needs”. Hardship falls on both sides, the children who may face dire financial struggles themselves and the aged who face the helplessness of being a burden. No wonder then that depression can assail all.
It is time for the government to look into the plight of senior citizens. But it will be a herculean task requiring dialogue, feedback, intelligence, logic and commitment. I am both amused and annoyed to read that one MP asked if children’s salaries will be deducted if they do not support their parents. Punitive measures rarely work in areas of complex human relationships. It is near impossible to legislate morality, though one may draft certain definitive laws and hopefully come up with a few clear public policies. A friend reminded me of the tragedy of King Lear. Love cannot be demanded or commanded and Lear learns this tragic lesson. Let me not be mistaken as critiquing the proposed government measures. These are worthwhile steps to take, but being neither lawyer nor economist, I have only a few thoughts on ageing to offer which are drawn from the ebb and flow, the sunlight and shade of human experiences – a dimension which continues to captivate me and engross my attention, given my educational training.
The sad state of many senior citizens is a worldwide phenomenon. While writing this, I am listening to one of my favourite songs, Streets of London, sung in a strong resonant voice by Roger Whittaker so that the haunting lyrics by Ralph McTell move the listener. In that great metropolis, the seat of power both imperial and local, a solitary old man in worn-out shoes wanders into a closed down market, then he goes to an all-night cafe where he nurses his tea for hours on end as if he cannot bear going home to loneliness:
Sitting there on his own
Looking at the world
Over the rim of his teacup
Each tea lasts an hour
And he wanders home alone.
Or, we hear of the old woman, her clothes in rags, her hair matted “carrying her home in two carrier bags”, briskly walking to ward off London’s winter chill.
Asia is no exception to this kind of tragic vignettes. A post from Thai PBS World shines light on the loneliness of some Thai senior citizens. While families celebrate with joy and conviviality the Songkran festival, many senior citizens can only watch in silence. One such lonely elderly lady had spent her entire life caring for her family, both financially and emotionally. A factory worker with paltry earnings – yet she saw her family through many a crisis, devoting her entire life to the ailing, the aged, the schooling needs of her family. After the passing of her mother and her sister from cancer, she fell into depression as her loneliness stares her in the face.
There are many such stories worldwide and, unlike those feminists who may claim that this burden is almost always carried on the shoulders of women, I would like to see it as a human problem because many men also work hard, long days at construction sites or at other backbreaking, risky jobs to bring some financial comfort to families in dire need. Some, male or female, do this even in old age, way past 60 or 65. Before Covid struck, I used to visit a little noodle stall near my apartment and each time I savour my bowl of wantan soup, my eyes would travel to an old lady, probably in her early 80s, who was washing dishes. “Her only daughter earns barely enough to feed her grandkids,” the stall owner tells me, “so she got to work lor. She got pride mah. Won’t take money for doing nothing. My wife says, ‘Aiyah just helplah, give her very light washing.'”
Yes, we often forget that dignity does not fade with age; wrinkles and wasted skin do not diminish the human need for dignity. It is crucial we reflect on how care and help can be embedded with dignity. For this, we must see old people as unique individuals with their own individual personal narratives from which any policymaker may gather valuable insights. Macro narratives rarely work in the complex kaleidoscope of life, which is why I like the late Kassim Ahmad’s insightful words: “Kehidupan manusia adalah lautan yang maha dalam” (Human existence is like the measureless depths of the ocean). Both old folk and younger people have much to learn and can do so with the keyword “balance” as a luminous guide.
At 75, I am only beginning to see clearly some of my own long-held behavioural patterns which are not the best for harmonious relationships. One of these springs from the arrogance of certainty which, crudely put, can mean “my way or the highway”. Perhaps, as Levi Strauss wisely points out, many teachers have the “infantile” mentality of believing they are always right. Now when I teach, I patiently listen so as to learn from the young whose grasp of a fast-changing world is far better than mine. IT, for example, or great leaps in the development of artificial intelligence (AI) fascinate the young and so they can tell me much more about it. And yet “balance” must guide, in the way a more mature view of IT or AI may come from an older person. Such dialogue of old and young yields valuable fruits.
As we age, we may see ourselves as able to solve all problems for those younger, since we have the ‘wisdom’ of years behind us. Perhaps it is best not to act in haste, believing that one can untie all knots. In some situations, one simply cannot find solutions. But one can continue to show concern and caring. The essence of patient listening and of letting go of the ego is an acceptance of vulnerability. What does this mean? It comes from a humble acknowledgement of limits, which does not mean that, as we age, we inevitably lose confidence or resilience. It means an acceptance that we are entering a season when, like it or not, we will experience physical change and, if we are unfortunate, even a slowing down of the mind. We begin to value each day, each delightful moment. Life can, paradoxically, be enhanced.
This delight is very different from the spurious, fake, eternally happy world of feel-good advertisements. Such advertisements are anathema to me because they seduce us into entering a liminal space where reality battles with desire. We then yearn for unchanging good looks, ever energetic bodies with muscles rippling into old age, with sexuality ever potent (the tongkat ali or aphrodisiac addicts may hate me for stating this). I never mean that we do not care about our looks or our bodies in old age. Quite the contrary, we do, but with sanity, logic and tranquil acceptance. We do not waste money and time questing for that elixir of youth, which has eluded humankind for centuries. Simone de Beauvoir warns us of the pitfalls of ageing amidst the myth of Eternal Youth, perceptively noting that women may have it worse. How so? On a surface level, one can point to how older men with grey hair will be admired as “handsomely distinguished”. Do older women with grey hair receive such comforting compliments? I leave you to observe if they do.
As 2030 nears and our country becomes an ageing nation, let us come together in the spirit of Malaysia Madani (Civil Malaysia) to creatively birth new ways of helping our ageing fellow citizens. Here, NGOs and religious groups or other community groups can contribute in many ways. In Thailand, as reported by Thai PBS World, The Mirror Foundation’s volunteer-to-visit project drops in on old people, offering priceless human contact and conversation. Even reasonably well-off or very well-off old people can miss this kind of human touch because their families may live abroad or their children only come home late at night after a frenetic day and are in no mood for conversation. The Mirror Foundation also offers physical support to old people by repairing dilapidated homes, by bringing diapers and other necessities.
There should not be a one-size-fits-all approach as older people, like anyone else, are fascinatingly different. Some in their 70s or 80s still have the sharpest minds and are blessed with steady finances and good education. They, however, may be just as lonely, as their children may have flown the coop. Perhaps they can be encouraged to volunteer time and expertise to mentor the young? Or, they can be productive in an advisory capacity in both governmental or non-governmental organisations.
Such competent, financially able elders should ask, “Do we, in this season of life, still want more money, or do we volunteer gladly and willingly?”
“We still want the acknowledgement of our worth monetarily,” some senior citizens may answer. “After all, who doesn’t want monetary rewards?”
I can only say that money often works like a drug: the more you get, the more you want. But I am optimistic because I have seen many seniors, blessed with good health as well as reasonably secure finances, go out of their way to guide, mentor and assist the young, pro bono.
In a strangely vexatious poem, Shakespeare has this thought: “Crabbed age and youth” cannot come together. As with all of Shakespeare’s poems, the context is important, so the Bard may not mean that the two will ever be at odds. Not at all; the poetic voice merely laments the passing of youthful vigour and states clearly the changes. In fact, public policy framers should go against the sentiment of this poetic line by bringing youths and seniors together in community centres, in public spaces and even in well-planned inter-generational housing. As Anil Netto perceptively noted in his Aliran article on equitable development, the government as well as developers (those who have not buried their moral compass under the rubble of demolition to pave the way for increasingly expensive condos) should factor in affordable housing for old and young alike.
I refer to Jeyakumar’s and the Socialist Party of Malaysia’s (PSM’s) suggestion for a RM500 universal pension for older people aged 65 and above who are currently not receiving any pension. Jeyakumar rightly reminds us that Malaysia’s increase in wealth over the years “did not come magically from the sky”. A significant part of Malaysia’s wealth came from the blood, sweat and toil of countless workers whose low pay attracted foreign multinational corporations. Let us not salve our guilt by dismissing poverty-stricken elderly folk as no-good spendthrifts in youth, as defeatists or mere lazy folk. Instead, let us admit that many were paid a pittance for their work when they were younger and, as a result, have no savings. Let us not salve our conscience by organising grandiose one-off huge charity events like giving hampers during festive days but sincerely, intelligently, compassionately think out productive, fruitful and long-lasting ways to help the aged.
Let those responsible for managing our sovereign wealth fund reflect honestly, compassionately and bravely on how to use our nation’s wealth to help the elderly. Remember that all of us, however powerful, will age and none of us has the ability to cheat Time.
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