During the hour-long Grab ride from Damansara to KLIA, I found myself in an unexpectedly deep conversation with the driver—a man whose tired eyes reflected the weight of daily struggles, yet also an unmistakable spark of hope.

His story unfolded not as a polished speech, but through candid words and heartfelt truths that gripped me, inspiring a reflection on what it truly means for Malaysia to rise again this Merdeka.

“Look, boss,” he began, glancing at the bustling city lights fading behind us, “I’ve been driving these streets for years now. From early morning until late, stuck in jams, dodging potholes, trying to make enough.

“You think this is easy? I’m just like the farmer out in the paddy fields, or the rubber tapper working in the dark—all working hard, but what do we get?

“Nothing from all the politicians shouting and fighting. Empty promises. Not even a decent school or hospital for our kids.”

He paused, then laughed bitterly.

“That’s the truth. When I pick up passengers, race or religion don’t cross my mind. I only want the fare to pay for fuel and the next meal. We’re all Malaysians first, right?

“But those in power? They slice us up into ‘votes’—Chinese votes, Malay votes, Indian votes—as if we are just numbers in their game. It’s ridiculous. I feel like they forget we’re people, with dignity and dreams.”

I nodded, sensing the frustration beneath his calm voice. “So, what do you think needs to change?”

He exhaled slowly. “First off, we need leaders who actually serve, not perform. This political theatre—the shouting, the posturing—it’s like a show for cameras.

“But it doesn’t fix the roads I drive on or the hospitals where my kid needs medicine.

“When leaders put on those big acts, it doesn’t help us put food on the table or send our children to good schools. We need sincerity—leaders who sweat for us, not those who seek applause.”

The cityscape blurred past as he continued, voice gaining fervor.

“And we must stop treating Malaysians like pieces in a puzzle sorted by race or religion.

“The farmer in Kedah, the hawker in Penang, the fisherman in Terengganu, and me—driving Grab in Johor—none of us want to be boxed into those categories.

“We want equal chances. No child should be denied because of the color of their skin or the faith they follow.

“I think it’s about time we see everyone as just Malaysians—real citizens—not just votes to be won.”

He grew quieter, then added thoughtfully, “You know, all this race and religion stuff… our leaders use it like weapons. They fan the flames to keep themselves in power, but in the end who suffers? We do.

“The nasi lemak seller doesn’t sell more because someone stokes fear between groups. The fisherman catches the same fish no matter what you yell in parliament. And the rubber tapper—I’m sure he’d rather not worry about politics, but about how to earn enough to feed his family.

“I see it clearly: when politicians fight over race and religion, the country breaks apart a little more. Investors run away, prices go up, and we suffer.”

He leaned back, voice heavy with disappointment.

“That’s why unity is so important. Without it, Malaysia is nothing. But with unity? We can be everything.”

This Merdeka is about more than history; it’s a call for justice, dignity, and unity.

As we hit a stretch of smoother highway, he shifted gear and his tone sharpened with bitter clarity.

“Then there’s the corruption, boss. 1MDB? That wasn’t just theft—it was stealing from our children’s future.

“Imagine billions meant to fix schools with leaking roofs or having proper computer labs, or to buy better tools for farmers or high-quality seeds, or to help guys like me with fuel costs—it all went to luxury yachts and fancy jewelry. While the rakyat labor, the thief’s parade around acting like heroes.”

He sighed, almost defeated.

“I remember thinking, if that money had been used right, I could have saved enough to buy a better car, maybe even open a small shop for my family.

“The farmer could work less, harvest more. The hawker could finally get that loan to grow her stall. But instead, innovation was crushed, empowerment denied. All we got was a court cluster that still walks proud, as if redemption is theirs to claim.”

As the airport signs appeared in the distance, his voice softened to a near whisper.

“Boss, listen. The politics of race and religion—how many times have they filled a belly or paid a school fee?

“The nasi lemak seller doesn’t care what language you speak; she just wants customers who can buy food. The fisherman doesn’t ask about faith; he wants fair prices at the market. And as a Grab driver, I don’t care what race sits behind me. I just need enough fare to keep going.”

He gave a small, hopeful smile.

“For decades, leaders distracted us with these fights. Meanwhile, life got harder for ordinary people. This Merdeka, maybe we can rise above it all.

“Remember that ‘Anak Malaysia’—child of Malaysia—that’s a title bigger than race, religion, or where you come from.”

He looked at me through the rearview mirror.

“This Independence Day, I want to bury all that rot—the corruption, the self-serving elites, the racial politics, the religious manipulations. I want to see fresh hopes in every Malaysian’s eyes. Fireworks aren’t enough. We want full stomachs, dreams that don’t die in traffic jams or in leaking classrooms.”

I was silent, moved by the raw honesty. “So, what now?” I asked.

He smiled, a mix of weariness and courage.

“Now, we rise. We demand leaders who are honest, united, and brave enough to put the rakyat first. Malaysia is already blessed—with its land, sea, and people’s talents.

“What we need is leaders who respect that blessing, and work for every Malaysian, like all of us matter.”

The taxi slowed as we approached KLIA, the hum of the airport buzzing around us.

As I reached for my bag, I realized this wasn’t just a ride or a casual chat—it was a powerful reminder.

This Merdeka is about more than history; it’s a call for justice, dignity, and unity.

And the people—the farmers, hawkers, fishermen, and Grab drivers—are waiting. For change.

For hope. For a Malaysia that finally lives up to its promise.

“Thank you, boss,” he said softly, as I stepped out. “Don’t forget us.”

I didn’t need to…Salam Merdeka to Every Malaysian.

(Ravindran Raman Kutty is an active social worker.)