"Do as I do. Look what I have done. Above all, do not be ashamed. I am not ashamed. And just look at the things I have done. Don't be concerned that none admire you. You must be prepared to deal with your enemies. All of them. Every last one of them. Make them fear you. Threaten them. If they do not obey, fire them, arrest them on false charges and keep them in jail.

"The important thing is to stay in power. No one can get anything done if there is no power. It matters nothing what manners you have. History will exonerate you. In the long run, who will remember the wives and children of your opponents? A few sacrifices are always necessary. Ignore your critics. Especially ignore ethics, as weakness will destroy you. Do what you must, but always talk of honesty and trust in public. Watch me, how I do it."

Like a drone bee, the prime minister of Malaysia stays aloft and aloof, logging more air time than most airline pilots. He has gone to Cuba to hug the beard of Castro. He admires Castro. He finds in Fidel Castro a man he can respect. Castro has taken the Cuban people from the bondage of Batista, giving them a healthy sports arena instead. He has delivered them from the capitalists, giving them a communist paradise of development. He has nationalised the industries in the name of the people, reminding them of this necessity in daily speeches that go on and on and on.

Castro likes to talk. Many of his speeches are over four hours long. Naturally the crowds are large. Day after day they stand in the hot sun in awe of his rhetoric. He never tires, and they better not either. It has been this way in Cuba since 1959. There has been no change in the leadership. Castro is the leader. He is fond of olive drab dungarees. Especially the cap. He is mentally still in the mountains, blowing up trains.

The prime minister admires both the height and the tenacity. His has taken to the same military fashions, as have his grooms. Like Castro, he believes power is everything. Or he once thought so. Now, close to the end, he is finding that it tends to make life a one-room affair. After a day of playing the part of pharaoh, the parody is relieved by the company of a successful and sympathetic family. Friends are not necessary. The big rooms are full of carpets and one's own self. For a big ego, that is sufficient company.

It is available for export. The nationalised companies, on a short leash, are spreading like bread mold to the rest of the world. Africa is ripe for exploitation, and the Malaysian empire sends its tentacles into new telephone lines and oil wells. There is no country too small. A dealership for the national car will squeeze in, don't you think? The trade minister is sent to open the talks, to find local operatives with shining eyes.

But it had to happen eventually. Proton has hit a pothole in Germany. The dealer objects to a price hike, refusing to buy any more cars. Malaysia insists that there was an agreement, a contract, and this must be honored. So the matter is taken to court. But which court? A Malaysian court? Oh, no you don't!

You see, Proton is in the clutches of Petronas now, part of the on-again-off-again policy that parades locally as privatisation of public property. Petronas is the plaything of the prime minister, who knows a thing or two about the courts. He has friends there, very helpful to a politician of his persuasion. The courts are protected by the police, so things are cozy within the confines of Kuala Lumpur and Putrajaya.

But Germany is not in Putrajaya. In Germany a contract is still a contract, in spite of the prime minister's protestations. The contracts of Petronas/Proton are at the whim of the prime minister in the local polluted waters. Though the Commonwealth law of contracts is under the prime minister's pillow at Putrajaya, he cannot sleep there.

The palace has too many ghosts, it seems. So the prime minister withdraws each maghrib to the modest mansion he maintains in Country Heights. There he finds solace to sort such simple strategy until a solution surfaces. The nearest neighbor's house is on yon hill. Those fellows you spot thereabouts are the security. They keep the obnoxious opposition at a distance while he amuses himself with global contract matters.

Oil, cars, ships, airplanes. Toys are fun. What is a little contract between friends. Let's go to the USA. We might sell them more bonds. They still buy some of our electrical goods. The market is wide open. They don't buy from Cuba. Castro nationalised the properties of American companies forty years ago and still hasn't paid up.

Maybe American companies will move to Malaysia. We can give incentives. No unions. Free land. No taxes. Low wages. Affordable bribes.