#NST180years: NST at 180 - A story still unfolding
Before the Internet, and during the formative years of this nation, the NST was an integral part of daily life. Its pages found their way into countless homes, delivering what we now call "trending news"... stories that sparked conversations, debates and gossip in living rooms, boardrooms and coffee shops across the country.
The NST continues to publish, proudly standing as the country's oldest newspaper still in print. It has evolved with the times, from broadsheet to tabloid, black-and-white to colour and now, with a fully digital presence complemented by active social media engagement.
In the era of the 24/7 news cycle, meeting public expectations for a physical newspaper is exhilarating and demanding. It's a world where deadlines reign supreme and the next big story is always just a news alert away.
The newsroom is far from glamorous. Deadlines are relentless, the pressure to be fast and precise never lets up. And when mistakes happen, they play out in full view of the public. But the rewards are immense. Working in the NST newsroom comes with a rare sense of purpose, a front-row seat to history as it unfolds, moment by moment.
The NST has played a vital role in nation-building, all the while navigating the challenges of addressing the sensitivities of Malaysia's diverse, multiracial communities. The NST has always been more than just headline news or a daily read. It has also been a tool to enhance English language skills in many homes.
Here's to 180 remarkable years, and to many more still to be written.
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New Straits Times
a day ago
- New Straits Times
#NST180years: From Jalan Riong and beyond
THE semester break of 1977 was unlike any other for me and three other journalism undergraduates from the then Institut Teknologi Mara (ITM). We stepped nervously into the building on Jalan Riong — Balai Berita — ready to begin our internship at the New Straits Times. It was a mixed bag of nerves and excitement. At last, we were about to put into practice the Five Ws and One H we'd drilled into our heads during our journalism class. Even more thrilling was the chance to meet the people behind the bylines whom we used to admire in the broadsheet editions of the NST — copies of which I used to fight over with my late father at breakfast. Each morning began at the desk of the late Pak Cik Dahari Ali, a stalwart figure whose big assignment book dictated the order of the day. If you were lucky, you'd be sent out with a photographer to cover a press conference or a human interest story. On slower days, you'd stay behind chasing follow-ups on the phone — or scour for "fillers", those small but vital stories that filled the blank corners of the newspaper. This was the pre-Google, pre-artificial intelligence. Before any assignment, for research, we had to sift through thick files bulging with newspaper clippings we had to pre-order from the library. The newsroom had its own pulse. Deadlines loomed large — stories had to be filed by 4pm as the subs prepared to "put the paper to bed." Around this hour, the atmosphere on the third floor often turned electric, sometimes even tense enough to make the air turn blue. One afternoon, returning from an assignment, I searched for a typewriter — a rare commodity in a newsroom teeming with deadlines. I spotted one and was midway through pounding out my intro when a booming voice shouted across the room: "So you're the one who &^! my typewriter!" That was the voice of Allington Kennard, one of the last of the English senior writers at the NST. It was both terrifying and hilarious in hindsight — a true newsroom baptism. That internship would become a rite of passage. By the time I did my second practical stint, I was relieved to find that NST had acquired new high-tech terminals called Atex — a forerunner to the laptops we now take for granted. Stories typed on Atex were sent directly to editors, sparing us the red-pencil fury of Pak Cik Dahari — or worse, the indignity of having your story skewered on the metal spike atop his desk. It's worth remembering that NST was a pioneer in newsroom technology. In fact, it was among the first media organisations in the region to implement Atex, and even The Telegraph in the United Kingdom reportedly requested to learn from its newsroom systems. That, undoubtedly, was a feather in NST's cap. A byline was a badge of honour. And true to NST tradition, when a reporter earned their first byline, the entire editorial floor had to be treated to a round of teh tarik. Mine was a shared byline — with the late Ishak Nengah and Kek Soo Beng — but it was a proud moment all the same. After graduation, we returned to NST, this time as full-time staffers. I was posted to the Penang bureau, located in a small, charming building along Light Street. Thanks to the strong ties between NST and the School of Mass Communications at ITM, many of us were fortunate to secure positions immediately after completing our studies. We had been well-prepared by an impressive roster of guest lecturers: NST's Chief Sub Editor Chandra Putra Laxsana taught us Layout and Design; Saad Hashim from Berita Harian trained us in Translation in Journalism; and Wan Hamid from the photo department guided us through the principles of photojournalism. Sadly, we missed out on sessions by the late Tan Sri Samad Ismail, who taught our seniors before his arrest under the Internal Security Act. The Penang bureau was a world of its own. In that tiny office, we'd queue behind the teleprinter, waiting for our turn for the operator, Cheng Kui, to punch in stories destined for the printing press. It was there I first encountered the word "flong" — the moulds used in printing — which were flown by Cessna across the channel to the factory in Seberang Prai. If one was lucky, there'd be a seat on the Cessna on its flight back to Kuala Lumpur. Court reporting in Penang was among the most exhilarating parts of the job. The courthouse was just a stone's throw away, and it had some of the most interesting cases mostly involving drug trafficking and murder. The court was considered the best training ground for any journalist. You had to capture every word, every nuance, without the help of a tape recorder. All you had were your ears, your shorthand and instincts. And if you are lucky, the court clerk would lend you the fact sheets. I usually looked forward to courtroom showdowns whenever deputy public prosecutor Muhammad Shafee Abdullah (now Tan Sri) and the late Karpal Singh made their appearance — their wit and sharp legal minds often lit up the proceedings. Their verbal sparring was riveting, sometimes bordering on theatrical. Those early court assignments in Penang proved invaluable training for trials far beyond Malaysian shores. Years later, I found myself reporting on high-profile cases such as the match fixing case in Stratford, a gruesome murder case in London's Old Bailey and Southwark Crown Court, and even further ashore from a court in Stockholm. My move to London happened during the NST's heyday — not as a journalist initially, but as the wife of a journalist. My husband, Wan Ahmad Hulaimi, had been tasked with opening the NST's London bureau. I was on no-pay leave, but journalism wasn't about to let me go that easily. This was another milestone for the NST — the opening of the London bureau marked a final separation from the Singapore Straits Times. The two media offices, under the same roof, was managed by Harry Miller until 1979. It was for 11 years that I was with the BBC Malay Service of the World Service, broadcasting live via shortwave to Malaysia until the service was eventually shut down. While radio brought its own thrill, my heart remained with print. Eventually, I joined the small but close-knit Malaysian press corps in London during the 1990s, a time when most major Malaysian media had correspondents based there. I returned to my first love, contributing regularly to the NST and was especially proud to be entrusted with columns like London Buzz, I Am Every Woman, and Postcard from Zaharah — each with a different lens into life abroad and life as a woman in journalism. As a correspondent, the job took me across the UK and beyond — not only covering official visits by ministers and royalty, but also pursuing deeply human stories: the aftermath of the MH17 tragedy, the achievements of Malaysians abroad and the shifting pulse of our diaspora. The NST had always given me that opportunity to seek out stories and share. But challenges abound. Working to tight deadlines — especially with the time difference — was just one. The digital revolution brought new tools, but also new pressures. As social media surged and ministers began tweeting their own stories, the role of the foreign correspondent changed dramatically. Journalism became a race against algorithms. The industry that had once relied on trust and legwork now demanded speed and virality. Post-Covid 19, financial constraints added another hurdle. For someone who'd spent nearly five decades in the profession, fighting to stay relevant became harder. All in all, from the days of cradling a phone between my shoulder and ear while pounding away at a clunky Remington taking stories from stringers, to filing stories on a smartphone still destined for the newsroom at Jalan Riong, it has been quite a journey worth cherishing.
The Star
4 days ago
- The Star
A guiding hand: Sabah retiree spends her mornings teaching stateless kids
KOTA KINABALU: On her morning jogs, a retiree would frequently come across children playing or loitering when they should be in school. She did not think much of it at first, thinking that they were either waiting for the afternoon school session or playing truant. After several weeks, she asked them why they were not in school. 'It was only then that I realised they were stateless and could not attend school owing to a lack of documents,' said the 68-year-old, who asked to be identified only as Leong, when met recently. In her heart, she said, she felt as if she were being nudged towards extending a helping hand. Eventually, this turned into informal learning sessions for the children, aged seven to 12. More than six years later, Leong continues to spend her mornings teaching stateless children their ABCs, counting, simple arithmetic, some Chinese and Bahasa Malaysia, and even singing. As a result, some manage to memorise the alphabet from A to Z, count from one to 10, sing simple songs, say their names in English, and respond to greetings. 'I feel that life has been unfair to these innocents. They did not ask to be born stateless or without documents. 'As a mother, it breaks my heart that they have to go through the cycle of being born, left to fend for themselves, grow into adults who basically can't read, write or count, and just have to run all the time,' Leong said. She hoped the basic lessons she imparts could be a starting point for them to develop their knowledge and find jobs. 'I have friends who know about what I do, so they give me their children's or grandchildren's used bags, stationery and books to share,' she said. Sometimes, these sessions can last up to two hours, but most of the time, they would span 30 minutes to an hour because of short attention spans, she added. "It is quite difficult to get them to focus but sometimes, when they are in the mood, they will stay for up to two hours," she said, adding that she occasionally uses candy and other treats to hold the children's attention. "Just so that they would listen and spend a little bit more effort learning,' she said. Given their families' constant movements, she said some children would stop coming after a while, but newcomers would take their place. 'I hope the community will have more sympathy for these children, and for the government to have a strong will to solve this issue because children are the future leaders of this nation,' she said. She urged the authorities to provide these children with the same opportunities as citizens, because they had potentially just as much to contribute to society as the more privileged.
New Straits Times
6 days ago
- New Straits Times
Development goals progress insufficient, says UN
NEW YORK: Ten years after the United Nations (UN) adopted its Sustainable Development Goals, it said more people now have access to the Internet, but major issues like hunger have worsened. UN member states committed in 2015 to pursuing 17 goals that range from ending extreme poverty and hunger to pursuing gender equality and clean energy by 2030. In a report published on Monday, the UN said 35 per cent of the objectives were advancing, while around half had stagnated and the rest were heading backwards. This scorecard, it said, showed that the progress was "insufficient". Among the most successful was improving access to electricity, with 92 per cent of the world connected by 2023. Internet usage has also risen from 40 per cent to 68 per cent worldwide in the last decade. Some 110 million more children and young people had entered school since 2015, the report said, while maternal mortality had fallen from 228 deaths per 100,000 births in 2015 to 197 in 2023. But some goals have receded despite this progress. In 2023, 757 million people (9.1 per cent of the world's population) were suffering from hunger, compared with 713 million (7.5 per cent) in 2019, the report said. More than 800 million people, around one in 10 people worldwide, are living in extreme poverty. "Eradicating extreme poverty by 2030 appears highly unlikely due to slow recovery from Covid-19 pandemic impacts, economic instability, climate shocks and sluggish growth in sub-Saharan Africa," the report said. UN chief Antonio Guterres warned that the world was facing a global development emergency. It was, he added, "an emergency measured in the over 800 million people still living in extreme poverty. In intensifying climate impacts. And in relentless debt service, draining the resources that countries need to invest in their people". However, Guterres struck a positive tone on the UN Sustainable Development Goals, saying that if they didn't exist, "many of these achievements would never have been reached".
