We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.
– George Bernard Shaw, English playwright
Some politicians retire from office and, almost overnight, seem to retire from people as well, but Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Dr George Chan Hong Nam has never struck me as belonging to that species. At 90, the former deputy chief minister is still doing what he has always done remarkably well, enjoying people, enjoying life and, apparently, frightening golf holes into surrender.
Just one day before his 90th birthday on Sept 24, Dr Chan stepped onto the New Course (Forest) at the Singapore Island Country Club and produced the sort of birthday present money cannot buy. From 112 metres at the fourth hole, he sent the ball straight home for the seventh hole-in-one of his golfing life, an achievement that would delight a golfer at 30, never mind one standing on the doorstep of 90.
I confess I was amazed, although perhaps I should not have been, because Dr Chan has never been particularly interested in behaving according to what his age supposedly permits. Many people approaching 90 would be perfectly entitled to spend their days in front of the television, playing with grandchildren or great-grandchildren and discussing aching knees, but Dr Chan is still out there swinging a golf club and making national headlines.
Golf, of course, is not merely exercise to him; it is friendship, fellowship and another excuse to remain engaged with the world around him. He remains president of the Senior Golf Society of Sarawak, and when returned unopposed for the 2025-2027 term, he spoke about keeping senior golfers active while enjoying fellowship and camaraderie as they grow older.
That philosophy tells us quite a bit about the man I have known for decades, because whether in politics, golf or retirement, Dr Chan has always been a people person. I knew him particularly from the period when he succeeded Tan Sri Dr Wong Soon Kai at the helm of SUPP after the political upheaval surrounding the 1996 state election, and for journalists covering Sarawak politics then, Dr Chan was almost heaven-sent.
We journalists have a simple description for politicians like him: “a friend of journalists”, and the phrase is not bestowed merely because somebody smiles nicely when cameras appear. Dr Chan answered telephone calls, responded to questions, explained complicated issues and, more importantly, understood that a reporter asking an awkward question was usually doing his job rather than declaring war on the politician answering it.
He also had a wonderful habit of giving you more than you asked for because he wanted the journalist to understand the background before writing the story. Then would come his classic warning, delivered in that unmistakable Dr Chan manner: “This is off record. Am giving you this info so that you understand what I am saying. Don’t publish or I will look for you.”
We knew exactly what he meant, and that relationship was built upon trust, something increasingly precious between politicians and journalists. He trusted us to respect an off-the-record conversation, while we trusted him not to hide behind layers of press secretaries, aides and carefully manufactured statements whenever a difficult issue arose.
Even today, long after the ministerial cars and Cabinet meetings disappeared from his daily schedule, his affection for the media has remained, and that says far more about him than any public-relations exercise could. He still invite journalists to his home for dinner and a chit-chat, and I always enjoy those occasions because the conversation inevitably travels far beyond politics into Dr Chan’s childhood, medicine, family, old friends and the strange turns that eventually thrust him into public life.
I particularly enjoy sitting with him at his beautiful home and listening as the former deputy chief minister temporarily disappears and Dr Chan the storyteller takes over. There is something refreshing about hearing history from somebody who actually lived it, especially when it comes without the pomposity that sometimes afflicts retired politicians who suddenly begin remembering themselves as having personally invented everything.
His own journey was substantial enough without embellishment, beginning with medicine at the University of Sydney under a Colombo Plan scholarship before he returned to practise as a doctor in Miri for 17 years. He entered public life as chairman of the Miri Municipal Council in 1981, became an MP in 1982 and entered the Sarawak Legislative Assembly in 1983, eventually joining the state Cabinet and becoming deputy chief minister in 1996.
For 15 years he served as deputy to then chief minister Pehin Sri Abdul Taib Mahmud while also carrying major responsibilities including industrial development, tourism and heritage, and leading SUPP through a difficult political era. His political career ended dramatically in the 2011 state election when DAP newcomer Alan Ling defeated him in Piasau, a result that would have been emotionally crushing for any politician after so many years at the top.
There were claims and whispers at the time about internal problems and sabotage, but what matters historically is what Dr Chan himself did next: he accepted political responsibility and did not seek another term as SUPP president at the party conference that December. He moved on.
That ability to move on may be one of the finest lessons from his life, because politics can become an addiction for those who confuse public office with personal identity. Dr Chan instead returned with enthusiasm to golf, travel, family, friendship and the freedom of being able to look back upon politics without needing another election to validate his existence.
He also put some of those reflections into print with his 279-page book ‘What Now?’, launched in 2011 by then prime minister Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak during SUPP’s triennial delegates conference. Characteristically, Dr Chan was prepared to confront uncomfortable questions about SUPP’s decline in the urban constituencies and what the party needed to do to regain support.
The book has since been translated into Chinese, and I understand he has been contemplating an autobiography, which I sincerely hope he completes. Dr Chan has accumulated nine decades of memories spanning colonial-era Sarawak, medicine, the transformation of Miri, Cabinet government, SUPP’s triumphs and troubles, election battles and personalities who shaped modern Sarawak, and those memories deserve to be preserved in his own voice.
Yet, perhaps his most attractive legacy cannot be measured by ministries held, elections won, books published or even seven holes-in-one, because it is found in the friendships he has carried with him. At his 88th birthday celebration, he said the most important things in life were happiness and having many friends, adding that when everybody is happy, the world becomes a happier place.
Those words could sound sentimental coming from someone else, but Dr Chan has lived them, including in the way he continues to welcome old friends and journalists into his home with his charming spouse Datin Patinggi Datuk Wira Lorna Enan Muloon Chan. In 2022, when media practitioners gathered at his residence for an early birthday celebration, he spoke warmly about how much he had wanted to meet his old media friends again, proof that retirement had not erased relationships formed during his political years.
And now, at 90, the doctor who became a politician, the politician who remained a friend of journalists and the retiree who refuses to retire from living has supplied us with another irresistible story. One swing, 112 metres, one little golf ball disappearing into one little hole, and suddenly Dr Chan was making headlines again without holding a press conference, contesting an election or saying anything controversial.
Happy 90th birthday, Tan Sri, and please keep swinging, travelling, laughing, writing and inviting us journalists over for those dinners and conversations. As for an eighth hole-in-one, I would never bet against you, because if there is one thing 90 years have apparently failed to teach you, it is how to grow old.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at rajlira@gmail.com.
