The taps were dry when Cikgu Hashim tried to shower that morning. "Not again," he muttered disconsolately. Indeed, three interruptions in a week were too much. Anyone would think that this was Malaysia, 1920 rather than 2020. But, being resigned, he washed as best as he could with a towel and a standby bucket of water.

As he dressed, he wondered at the audacity of the privatised water company that combined exorbitant charges with deplorable service. KL Water was owned by powerful UMNO politicians, so it could well turn a deaf ear to the pleas of its unlucky consumers. Indeed, a couple of persons had recently been jailed for organising a petition for improved service, charged with attempting to incite unrest. Cikgu Hashim tried to drown his disgust with hot coffee. It was just the reality of life under Barisan Nasional, although Omar, his eldest son, always grew impatient whenever he heard such cowardly sentiments. "We can't just let them get away with it, Pak," he would say. 'We must always speak up for truth and justice." Omar was fearless, Parti Keadilan's most prominent MP, one of the very few Opposition MPs in Parliament. But where had his fearlessness landed him? Cikgu Hashim brushed aside the painful thought by silently reciting a few words of prayer for his beloved son.

Outside, the morning was warm and bright. The roads were choked as usual so, although the school was only a few kilometres away, it would take him nearly an hour to get there by a crawling bus. If he were younger, he would have preferred to walk. Motorists, mostly in Proton Semut - a tiny but expensive car no bigger than a large box, prone to breakdowns - showed their displeasure with the usual cacophony of horns. They had a right to feel annoyed, Cikgu Hashim thought, for the road was heavily tolled, as were most roads in Malaysian cities. Another instance of greedy cronyism at work. However, on an elevated roadway above them, luxury cars sped effortlessly along to the envy of those closer to earth. The astronomical toll for this overhead roadway made it the preserve of the very rich.

The route took him past the Petronas Twin Towers III, a pair of monoliths that were currently the tallest structures in the world, carrying on a Malaysian obsession with height that had started with the Petronas Twin Towers I. Cikgu Hashim could never pass by them without a flutter of emotion for the colossal waste of public funds for, like its predecessors, the Towers were half empty. What was the point in having the world's tallest building, the world's longest shopping mall and the world's largest airport when those living below the poverty line kept increasing from year to year and the city had deteriorating water and electrical infrastructures? If only the public had a voice, if only Parliament wasn't just a rubber stamp, if only the government were more transparent, if only, if only �

His ears caught an item of news from the radio at the front of the bus. A group of Chinese businessmen had withdrawn their application to build a Chinese cultural centre in KL because of opposition from UMNO Youth, whose chief could be heard at this moment, denouncing the project as being blatantly chauvinistic. Next, the MCA President came on air, describing it all as a waste of funds and a politically inappropriate expression by the community. He sharply criticised those who had put up the proposal. Cikgu Hashim felt sorry for the Chinese who had become increasingly marginalised over the last twenty years; after all, what could be wrong with a Chinese cultural centre? Wasn't Malaysia a multi-cultural country? Well, Omar would have spoken up for the Chinese businessmen because he did not care about race, only about justice, but Omar was in jail.

Again, Cikgu Hashim said a silent prayer to quell his beating heart. May Allah the All-Merciful protect his son from harm. He sighed deeply. The last time he had been allowed to see Omar, the latter had seemed thin and weak and, moreover, bore visible signs of beatings on his face, neck and arms. Oh, what had they done to him? With the menacing security guards in the room, he had not even dared ask, only shaking his head in unspoken grief and holding his son's hand. Naturally, there was nowhere to complain. The prison authorities had even refused Omar permission to see his mother just before she died. What kind of a cruel, inhuman and uncompassionate society have we become? The old man brushed a tear from his eye.

Omar was in prison only because he had criticised the attorney general's handling of a case involving the rape of an underaged Chinese girl by the President of the MCA. The latter was never charged, despite DNA proof that the rape had occurred but, instead, Omar was sentenced to three years' jail for sedition. Cikgu Hashim recalled a case twenty two years ago when a Chinese Opposition MP had been jailed for exactly the same non-crime; in this instance, he had criticised the handling of a case involving the rape of an underaged Malay girl by a powerful Malay politician. Strange that history should repeat itself with different characters. After twenty-two years, the Judiciary and the AG's Chambers had become even more corrupt. Back then in 1998, a lot of people had expressed their outrage over the travesty of justice. But now? It seemed that no one dared voice the abhorrence they surely must feel. For, deep in our hearts, surely we are still the same despite what the regime has done to us? Cikgu Hashim looked at his fellow passengers on the bus, remembering a time when people did not look so sad or so timid.

He was pleased to reach the primary school's flowered compound and had half an hour's rest in the staff room before taking his first class: geography to the standard six pupils. Cikgu Hashim loved teaching for its own sake, but the geography textbook he was forced to use was revolting. It denigrated foreign countries, especially western countries, highlighting their evil society and social ills, and making unfavourable comparisons with the Malaysia which the late Prime Minister, Mahathir Mohammed had forged. A smiling picture of this prime minister - no favourite of Cikgu Hashim - hung in every classroom in every Malaysian school and, indeed, school children started their day not with Negara Ku, but with a song praising Mahathir, the father of modern Malaysia.

But if Cikgu Hashim personally loathed this historical personage, not a word of it escaped his lips in front of these kids for the simple reason that every classroom in Malaysia was fitted with a spy camera. You had to be careful, or else � he had heard of teachers disappearing suddenly and never being seen again.

Today, the lesson was on Australia, and Cikgu Hashim glossed over the lurid descriptions of Australian cities as dens of drugs and prostitution in the text to concentrate on more mundane facts such as the economy and the natural resources. A boy asked if Cikgu had ever been to Australia? He said no, he would have liked to, but it was difficult to get a passport from the authorities. "Is it really full of prostitutes and drug addicts?" the boy asked. Cikgu Hashim was glad that at least one student had questioned the official text, but his normal caution was such that he said he did not know and changed the subject. There were teachers who fell in with the government line as a means of rapid promotion - the spy camera was actively monitored and its recordings would be analysed - but he had never been one for poisoning young minds and so preferred to be passively neutral.

As his eyes wandered out of the window to the sunshine on the coconut palms, he caught sight of someone motioning agitatedly to him. It was his good friend, Cikgu Ali. He signalled for Ali to come in but the latter apparently would not enter into the camera's range. So he excused himself and strode outside. His friend's face was heavy with foreboding and there were tears in his eyes.

"What's the matter Ali?"

Ali's voice was only a whisper. "Unfortunately there's bad news. Very bad news. It's just come over the Internet. Your son Omar. He's dead. The prison authorities says it's suicide but of course it's not suicide."

"Impossible!"

"It's true."

"Impossible!"

But the old man knew that it was true. The terror of it had lain unspoken at the back of his mind from the moment that Omar was incarcerated. He drew back, his face a complete devastation and, for a moment, might have fainted.

"Come with me. Right now. We'll find a way for you to get over this shock."

But Cikgu Hashim stood stock still, as though turned to stone. In vain did Ali tug at his hand. Then, the broken lines on his face appearing to recover in strength, Cikgu Hashim said in a strange voice: 'Go back to the staff room. I'll meet you there. After my lesson.'

He returned to the classroom and it seemed to him now that everything was the same, yet everything was different, the paint-peeled walls, the desks, the chairs, the students whose faces he loved. And, as he looked at them, it seemed to him that he had never loved them more. They fell silent, noticing the expression on his face.

And, into this silence, Cikgu Hashim's voice rang out, loudly, clearly. He said:

"Boys, I want to tell you a story, a true story, but one that you have never heard before. We were not always so afraid like this. Once we were free, really free. In 1957 the British gave us our independence. That was the time when we were truly free and happy, under the first Prime Minister Tunku Abdul Rahman. There was great hope for the new country.

"Then someone else came to power - his name was Mahathir, the person whose picture hangs behind me, the same person of whom you sing praise every morning. You have been taught to love him as though he is your father. But he was not a good man. I shock you by saying this, but I am telling you the truth.

"Slowly, he took away our freedom. Bit by bit, so slowly that most people didn't even notice. He took control of all the newspapers, the radio and television stations so that they were only allowed to say good things about him. He took power away from the King and the Sultans. He controlled the judges and used them to punish his enemies. He used the police to beat and frighten his enemies. He had a law called the ISA which he used to arrest anyone he didn't like and put the person in prison without trial for as long as he liked. He and his supporters stole a lot of the country's money. But, for a long time, people did not care because the country was developing and getting richer."

Suddenly, the spy camera emitted three warning beeps but Cikgu Hashim did not care. He continued:

"Then, one day, Mahathir went too far. He sacked his deputy Prime Minister, a man called Anwar Ibrahim, whose name you have never heard because it has been deleted from the history books. Even his face has been erased from all official photographs. Mahathir lied to the nation, saying that Anwar had committed terrible crimes. But, in fact, Anwar had only protested at the corruption in the government. He had Anwar thrown into prison and beaten. And then he had his false judges say that Anwar really did these bad things, and the judges ruled that Anwar had to spend the rest of his life in prison.

"The people were really shocked because they loved Anwar and did not believe Mahathir. They protested in the streets but Mahathir had his police beat them, tear-gas them and spray them with chemical water. Then he accused these peaceful protestors of rioting. It was a very sad time for the country."

Again, the spy camera emitted three warning beeps and, again, Cikgu Hashim ignored it. But his voice was now trembling with emotions and the tears were now streaming down his face.

"Then came the elections. The people had a chance to get rid of Mahathir but, unfortunately, Mahathir's control of the newspapers, the radio and television stations was too strong. These media were used to say bad things about those who wanted to change the country for the better, they were said to be violent people who rioted all the time. He put a lot of pictures in the newspapers showing them rioting, but the pictures were really of policemen dressed up. So Mahathir frightened the people into voting him back to power with a big win. So the people's chance was lost. That was in 1999, a time that historians overseas describe as the Junction of Malaysian History.

"After the elections, things got very bad for anyone who had gone against Mahathir. He had them arrested, beaten and jailed. Many were tortured and killed in prison. Others lost their jobs or were expelled from the universities. Mahathir set up a system whereby no one would in future dare to go against him and the system was continued by his successors to this day. Only a few very brave men and women dared to go against the system. My son Omar was one of them. I hope some of you will grow up to be like Omar, fighting to liberate the country from tyranny."

At that point, the FRU burst into the room with their guns and balaclava-clad faces. Cikgu Hashim was knocked unconscious with one swift blow to his head. A stream of blood gushed across the floor. The students rose with loud cries of terror, all rushing to cower at the other end of the room.

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