This article first appeared in Forum, The Edge Malaysia Weekly on September 1, 2025 - September 7, 2025

“Your pride for your country should not come after your country becomes great; your country becomes great because of your pride in it.” 

— Idowu Koyenikan, Ghanaian author and philantropist

It began with a hush. At the stroke of midnight on Aug 31, 1957, the old flag came down. The Union Jack, which had fluttered for the British over this peninsula for generations, was folded with ceremony. In the crowd, some wept, some held their breath, and many whispered silent prayers of thanks. The British rule in Malaya had ended.

Then, on the same morning, at Stadium Merdeka, as the flag of a newly born nation rose, the word rang out — Merdeka! Once, twice, seven times, each louder than the last until it was no longer a cry from a stage, but an echo in every chest.

For Wan Zaiton, a young mother who had travelled with her infant son from a faraway kampung to witness the moment, it was a memory etched deeper than any photograph. “He was only six months old,” she would say years later, “but I wanted him to breathe the air of freedom on his very first Merdeka.”

For Thinakaran, a Tamil rubber tapper, that morning was surreal. He had worked the same rows of trees his father had, the sticky scent of latex clinging to his hands. But as Tunku Abdul Rahman raised his hand and uttered the word “Merdeka!” seven times, he felt for the first time that his children might not toil as he did.

And for Boon Seng, a shopkeeper’s apprentice in Petaling Street, the cry of Merdeka! meant something quieter but just as powerful: the sense that he belonged. That he too had a place in this land that was now free.

The nation was born in jubilation, but like any new life, it had to learn how to walk. There were trials — turbulences that shook the young federation to its core. The “Konfrontasi” at its borders with Indonesia, the bitterness of racial strife in 1969, and the constant tug-of-war between unity and division. From these wounds, Malaysia learnt humility and caution: that peace cannot be taken for granted, and that harmony must be nurtured like a delicate flame.

Yet alongside the scars grew blessings. The fields gave way to factories, the rivers to highways. Children who once studied by kerosene lamp now sat under clean LED lights in classrooms, learning not just to read and count, but to dream. In kampungs and towns alike, families spoke of education as the boat that would carry their children to brighter shores. And so it did: fishermen’s sons became lawyers, farmers’ daughters became teachers, and the children of hawkers became doctors and engineers.

What Malaysia gained from that night of freedom, above all, was an identity stitched from many threads. The scent of satay smoke drifting into the air of Ramadan bazaars, the red lanterns swaying above Chinatown during Lunar New Year, the glow of oil lamps lining Hindu temples during Deepavali, the pounding gongs of harvest festivals in Sabah and Sarawak — all wove together into a tapestry unique to this land.

And in every generation, the cry of Merdeka! was reborn — not in stadiums, but in small acts of resilience. In neighbours lending each other sugar, in strangers sharing shelter during floods, in students marching for justice, in workers building towers that reached into the clouds. Independence was not only a day in 1957; it was the ongoing choice to believe in a shared destiny.

Nearly 70 years later, Malaysia still stands at a crossroads, as it always has. But its greatest inheritance is not just its freedom, nor its progress, but the quiet knowledge passed from parent to child: that this land, with all its scars and splendour, is worth defending, worth cherishing, worth loving.

Malaysia’s story since 1957 is not simply the tale of a nation freed from colonial chains — it is the unfolding of a people discovering themselves, together. That cry of Merdeka! was more than a declaration; it was a vow whispered by millions of hearts, promising that this soil would never again bow to another power.

This young country carries the weight of hope like a fragile flame, and Malaysia learnt that independence is not just a triumph, but a responsibility. In the clash of races and the turmoil of 1969, the nation saw how easily fire could consume, and how precious harmony truly is. Out of those shadows, Malaysians learnt to rebuild — not only their cities and livelihoods, but their trust in each other.

But the truest wealth Malaysia discovered was its people. A land where the call to prayer can meet the ring of church bells; where incense smoke drifts alongside the scent of curry leaves and satay; where the rhythms of kompang, gamelan, Chinese drums and Indian tablas blend into a harmony no single culture could have written alone. Diversity ceased to be merely a fact of geography; it became the heartbeat of the nation.

And in quiet moments, Malaysia learnt humility — that progress is never final, that unity is never complete, that every generation must renew the promise of Merdeka. For independence is not a single day in 1957; it is an ongoing act of love, resilience and belief that this land belongs to all who call it home.

Thus, what Malaysia has truly benefited from since independence is not only prosperity, not only stability, but a profound understanding of itself: that its strength lies not in sameness, but in the unyielding courage to stand together, through storms and sunshine alike.

Happy 68th anniversary of Merdeka, Negara Ku

Zakie Shariff is executive chairman of Kiarafics Sdn Bhd, a strategy consulting group. He is also an adjunct professor at the Faculty of Industrial Management, Universiti Malaysia Pahang.

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