For several mornings leading up to the conclusion of the trial, Jazlan had been arriving to court on time. His self-driving express car, rented but out-modelled by newer versions that had priority on fast lanes, was now identifying the quickest route to court. "Fastest route identified. Extra toll charges: RM17. Expected time arrival 14 minutes and..."
"Accept. Go, just go," jerked Jazlan.
Jazlan is a journalist for The Imperial, a Malaysian local, yet regional aspiring news agency of the new age. Like all the other journalists of his generation, the job is simple. Bring the fist-sized "identifier" device, turn it on, and point it at wherever the action is taking place. The AI tech would do the rest.
It's Jazlan's ninth year as a journalist, his father had been a journalist back in the early 2010s. Their relationship took a turn for the worse when his father first learned that Jazlan was joining a new age platform agency, one where "journalists" just pointed their "identifier", recorded what they saw and had AI tech analyze, write up and report what was happening. In its most ideological form, makers of this tech saw it as the solution to biased reporters and unbalanced reporting.
When the technology first penetrated the journalism industry, one that had been dying since the early 2000s, people were skeptical. Some couldn't really believe that the articles they were reading was written by an AI robot. But no one could argue it wasn’t factual.
"For the first time, no fingers were involved in the writing of today's' news," was the motto of The Imperial when it first began. They’ve since changed it for something even less meaningful.
Jazlan's express car was now making its turn into the court house. A crowd was already forming at the old tall black gate. Eager eyes looked to Jazlan's express car to see if it was the man they were waiting for.
It wasn't.
Other journalists were already ready for Tengku Kassim's arrival. Thankfully the politician hadn't arrived yet.
Jazlan quickly jumped out his express car. Received the receipt on his phone but ignored the notification for later. Slightly jogging towards the courthouse staircase, the other journalists noticed Jazlan and smirked. "Got your spot!" teased one journalist, an old guy from a relatively small agency.
Jazlan wasn't too bothered.
Today he wouldn't be standing in his usual spot. If his gut feeling was right, Tengku wouldn't be making his routine standing press conference. If things go south today in the court ruling, Tengku could be facing years in prison, not to mention the inability to contest in future elections.
Tengku Kassim. What a politician.
Deemed the "tiger of the North," Tengku Kassim rocked the political scene when he first ran for election as an independent in 2034. His timing could not have been better.
Leading a wave of youth candidates, Tengku Kassim understood the silent majority's frustration at the usual government and opposition parties. "One's a snake and the other's a wolf. One will slither around bushes and kill you when you least expect it whilst the other will eat your face straight off," Tengku Kassim famously said as a political rookie.
For many, he clicked.
For many, he was a symbol of change. And for a long time, as Malaysia's youngest ever Prime Minister, he reiterated that belief. Overseeing Malaysia's acceleration into a digital technological hub, transforming the economy into one that fully utilized AI technology. Cars, roads, taxes, television, journalism, even schools became more AI dependent. Malaysia was now governed through unbiased data, math and probabilities.
No more the human error that, for decades, had corrupted the Malaysian system with its personal greed and personal favors. Critics fear-mongered that this dependence on AI would increase Malaysia's unemployment. What would people do if robots were taking all the jobs?
But like any issue, Tengku Kassim had a solution. And boy was it popular; universal basic income.
Apparently this had been idealized for years, but Tengku Kassim was the first to really do it. Even economists from Western countries came to observe the economic phenomenon.
Universal basic income revolved around a simple but effective idea. Everyone, regardless of your race, your current job, or the weight of your wallet, received RM 2000 every month.
Homelessness was eradicated in a month. People who had been stuck in a job they hated, quit overnight, started their own business and pursued their own dreams. Students began studying subjects they were really interested in rather than ones they thought they could live off of. Alcoholics stopped being alcoholic. Drug addicts stopped being drug addicts.
It was a true economic and social revolution. Rightfully so, Tengku Kassim became a world icon, the West, ever eager to label things they never really comprehend, named him "Malaysia's modern Mandela."
Yet ironically, Malaysia's Mandela was now facing jail time, for likely the same amount of time that Mandela did; 27 years.
With the morning sun now outstretching its orange heat on the coffee injected crowd of journalists, Tengku's VIP express car was finally spotted arriving at the courthouse. The crowd of supporters outside the gate cheered. Some from opposition political parties began jeering.
Zooming his recorder in the direction of the car-door, Jazlan could already see Tengku's features through the tinted windows. As always, he was wearing the iconic songkok. His beard seemed trimmed. His body looked stiff as the car made its final turn.
At the side, Jazlan could also see the reaction of Tengku's supporters. All eagerly waiting to catch another glimpse of the man who had changed their lives so much. Most of the supporters were on the old side, breaching their 60s, voters who were the most likely to live through Tengku's economic revolution.
Yet all of them must be thinking to themselves, 'how could he have done such a heinous crime? How could this have happened for so long, for all these years, without detection? Was it a conspiracy?'
But Jazlan knew the AI tech back at HQ wouldn't bother reporting on how these ordinary people were feeling; the confusion they must be going through. AI-led news was strictly about reporting on what was happening, the tangible truths, facts, not emotions; unbalanced, unbiased.
As Tengku stepped out his express car, his head still looking down, he paused, right in front of the court house stairway. Tengku's dark jacket made it almost undetectable, but Jazlan's sharp eye noticed the long, deep breath that Tengku was taking. Slowly, Tengku began walking up the stairs, followed by his closest circle. His wife and children were nowhere to be seen, probably directed to stay at home. All members of his close circle were wearing the same shade of black, probably tailored.
As Tengku slowly walked up the stairs, the crowd of supporters outside the courthouse gate erupted in louder cheers. Jazlan could barely hear his own thoughts. But suddenly, like a flick of thunder, things went silent. Half-way up the stairs, Tengku Kassim stopped. He turned, looked at the crowd, waved with a downhearted smile, and finally, unexpectedly, shared a glance at Jazlan.
For a moment, the world seemed alright. Even with the considerable distance between Tengku and Jazlan, Tengku's stare seemed to grab hold of Jazlan. As if the politician was grasping at Jazlan's shoulders, screaming at him, possibly even hoping that they could switch places, or start again, wherever that may be.
Jazlan was now too far to confirm it, but in his heart, he was convinced that he saw a teardrop trickle down the Tengku's face. How did it all go wrong, he must be thinking.
The last time he'd ever see a morning sunrise in open air perhaps. Downcast, the Tengku turned to face the courthouse again. He continued walking.
The Imperial:
Written by AI. 3.2.344
Tengku Kassim Halim today arrived at the courthouse to face his final day at court. The former Prime Minister was 12.43 minutes late. There was a crowd of precisely 243 people outside the courthouse, excluding police. Tengku said nothing. His representatives said nothing. He walked into court at 8.14 am.
More to come.
End
* The writer is from the centre for governance and political studies.
**The views and opinions expressed in this article are strictly of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of Astro AWANI.
