“The best fighter is someone who never has to fight because they control the situation.” – Bruce Lee
SUNDAYS often give me the space to reflect, not just on current events, but on the quieter forces that have shaped who I am. Yesterday, my thoughts returned to martial arts, prompted by Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim’s recent call for schools to establish silat groups.
His appeal was not merely about preserving a traditional martial art. It was about nurturing discipline, spirit and moral strength at a time when society is being reshaped by technology, speed and distraction.
In an era obsessed with artificial intelligence, digital platforms and data centres, Anwar’s message stood out precisely because it addressed something deeply human. Progress, he reminded us, must not come at the expense of values, identity and inner strength.
Silat, as a Malay heritage and a symbol of national identity, deserves preservation. But even more importantly, it deserves to be lived, practised and understood by the younger generation.
Martial arts, whether silat, karate, taekwondo, muay thai, kung fu, hapkido, jeet kune do, tang soo do, kuntau or kalaripayattu, share a common philosophy despite their diverse origins. They are not simply systems of combat.
They are disciplines that shape the body, sharpen the mind and steady the spirit. At their best, they teach restraint before aggression, humility before ego and responsibility before power.
That is why I strongly support Anwar’s proposal. Introducing silat in schools is not about producing fighters. It is about producing grounded individuals.
When taught correctly, martial arts do not breed violence; they cultivate self-control. They instil respect for teachers, for peers and for oneself. A student who understands the consequences of a strike or a lock is often the least likely to misuse it.
Anwar was also right to stress that silat practitioners must uphold good morals, remain rooted in their faith, strengthen bonds of brotherhood and accept the reality that Malaysia is a multi-racial and multi-religious nation. These principles are not optional extras; they form the very foundation of martial philosophy.
Any school-based programme must therefore be guided carefully by responsible instructors and vigilant teachers. Students should be vetted, guided and monitored, and participation should be open to all races, because discipline and values know no ethnic or religious boundaries.
My belief in martial arts, however, did not come from policy statements or academic studies. It came from lived experience; from a time when I was a small-built boy in primary school, often targeted by school and kampung bullies simply because I looked vulnerable. Vulnerability has a way of attracting cruelty, and as a child, I learned that lesson the hard way.
It was during those years that I encountered a man who became my quiet inspiration. Premjit Singh, the Sibu prisons superintendent, lived nearby. To me, he was larger than life. Tall, powerfully built and superbly fit, the mere sight of him was enough to send shivers down the spine of any would-be challenger. But what impressed me most was not his physique; it was his calm authority.
Uncle Premjit was an all-rounder in the truest sense. He held multiple Borneo Games records in discus, shot put and javelin, and was an accomplished martial artist trained in karate, tang soo do, silat gayung and malipat, silambam, boxing and kuntau. He turned his house into a gym, complete with martial arts equipment, and conducted self-defence classes there.
After school and after finishing my homework, I would quietly head to his house and stand outside the fence, watching him train others. I did this day after day, week after week, never daring to step in. I was content just to observe, to absorb, to imagine myself someday standing where those trainees stood.
One day, after weeks of silent watching, Uncle Premjit noticed me. He stopped mid-session, looked in my direction and gestured for me to come closer. My heart raced as I approached him.
“What are you doing, boy?” he asked. “Aren’t you Mr Murugaiah’s son?”
“Yes, Uncle, I am,” I replied nervously. “I want to be like you.”
He burst out laughing. Not mockingly though, but warmly. “Oh, I see! You have a long, long way to go, boy!”
Encouraged, I gathered my courage. “But Uncle, I am willing to learn. I janji I will be your good student.”
His expression softened, but reality soon intervened. “What about your father?” he asked. “He told me you are weak in studies and that he wouldn’t want you involved in sports, least of all martial arts. You better go back home and seek permission from your parents.”
I was crushed. Deep down, I knew my parents would never agree. When I raised the matter at home, my father’s hard stare said everything. If looks could kill, I would not have survived that moment. I got the message and abandoned the dream; at least for the time being.
Years later, after my academic performance improved and I had proven my commitment to my studies, my parents reluctantly gave me the green light. By then, Uncle Premjit’s classes were no longer an option, but the desire had never left me. I enrolled instead in famed taekwondo instructor Dr Henry Toh’s classes.
My motivation was simple and honest. I was not chasing medals or titles. I wanted confidence. I wanted the ability to protect myself. I wanted discipline. Martial arts gave me all three.
I progressed steadily, reached green belt and participated in several tournaments, though I often exited in the early rounds. Those defeats never discouraged me. Winning was never the point. Training itself was the reward.
Eventually, tertiary studies demanded my time, and formal training became difficult. But martial arts never left me. I read widely, collected magazines and books, and trained privately whenever I could.
Nearly 60 years on, that interest has not waned. I still train daily in my home gym, sometimes for two hours at a stretch. That discipline is the foundation of my fitness, strength and mental clarity today.
Even now, I find myself drawn to martial arts clips on social media, studying techniques, appreciating form and sharing them with friends who enjoy them just as much. Learning, after all, never stops.
Techniques evolve, situations change, but the principles remain timeless. Awareness, balance, restraint and readiness are as relevant in defusing tension, facing intimidation or protecting one’s family as they are in the dojo.
That is why the Prime Minister’s call resonates so deeply with me. Introducing silat in schools is not about glorifying combat. It is about cultivating character. In a society grappling with corruption, indiscipline and moral drift, martial arts offer a quiet but powerful corrective. They teach patience over shortcuts, effort over entitlement and humility over arrogance.
If implemented thoughtfully, silat programmes can become safe spaces where young Malaysians channel energy positively, learn respect across racial and religious lines, and discover inner confidence. Teachers and instructors must emphasise ethics, restraint and service, ensuring that skills are never misused for bullying or dominance.
I write this not as a theorist, but as someone whose life was shaped by lessons learned, some inside the training hall, others while standing quietly outside a fence, watching and dreaming.
Martial arts did not make me aggressive. They made me calm. They did not turn me into a bully. They helped me stand tall without needing to overpower others.
In supporting the perseverance of silat, we are not looking backwards. We are anchoring ourselves so that as we move forward into a digital, AI-driven future, we do not lose the human qualities that define us. Strength of character, discipline of mind and respect for others are technologies that will never become obsolete.
On this day of reflection, I can say this with conviction: teaching our children silat, and martial arts in general, is not about teaching them how to fight. It is about teaching them how to live.
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
