He is the only Prime Minister I’ve ever shaken hands with.
It was 2004, and I was a young lecturer—ambitious, uncertain, and just beginning to find my footing in academia. I had volunteered (read: forced) to help organise an international conference, more for the experience than anything else. On the day of the opening ceremony, as the guest of honour arrived, there he was: Malaysia’s 5th Prime Minister, Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi. He stepped out of the car with a calm presence, gentle smile, and the kind of warmth that didn’t require speeches or slogans.
And then, quite unceremoniously, we shook hands.
It was just a brief moment—polite, formal, as expected in these events. But last night, as news of his passing fills my screen, that memory surfaces with unexpected weight. I find myself returning to that simple gesture, and the quiet man behind it.
Tun Abdullah Badawi, or Pak Lah as many affectionately called him, was never the loudest voice in the room. In a political landscape often driven by volume and bravado, he offered a different kind of leadership—thoughtful, measured, soft-spoken. Some may see this as a weakness. But I’ve come to believe that his quietness was not a lack, but a strength. It allowed space—for listening, for reflecting, for sincerity.
Looking back, I think that handshake stayed with me not because it was with a Prime Minister, but because it marked the first time I met someone who embodied a value I’ve come to hold close: to be of benefit to others.
Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) once said, “The best of people are those who bring the most benefit to others” (Sahih al-Bukhari). Pak Lah, in many ways, exemplified this. His tenure as Prime Minister may not have been the most dramatic, but it was defined by a sincere attempt to build, to nurture, and to serve—not for personal glory, but for the good of others.
I don’t think I fully appreciated it then. At that time, I was more interested in papers, presentations, and figuring out where the coffee breaks were. But over the years, that moment kept coming back to me—especially during moments of doubt. Am I doing enough? Is my work meaningful? Does any of this matter?
And somehow, the answer kept circling back to that same idea: do good work, and use it to do good for others.
It doesn’t have to be big or heroic. You don’t have to be a Prime Minister to lead, or a professor to inspire. You just need to pick a vocation, strive to be your best at it, and ask: who am I helping with this?
That spirit—of quiet service, of purpose rooted in benefit—seems to resonate even more in moments like these. When someone like Pak Lah leaves us, we remember not just their positions, but their posture. Not just their achievements, but their attitude. His kindness, his humility, his willingness to serve without needing the spotlight—those are the things that remain.
And perhaps that’s the lesson I didn’t realise I had learned from our brief encounter. That being someone of benefit doesn’t always come with applause or headlines. Often, it’s quiet. It’s in the background. It’s in the decision to lead with integrity even when it’s unpopular. It’s in showing up, doing the work, and going home with a clear conscience.
It’s in the handshake, not the speech.
I am not saying Pak Lah was perfect—no leader is. But in a world often dazzled by charisma and theatrics, his calm decency was refreshing. Reassuring, even. He reminded us that leadership can be gentle. That strength doesn’t always roar.
Last night, as we offer our prayers and condolences to his family, I find myself grateful. Not just for his contributions to the country, but for that one small gesture—his outstretched hand to a young lecturer, who didn’t know then how much it would come to mean.
So if you’re reading this, and wondering how to move forward in your own journey—whether in your career, your relationships, or just in life—perhaps the answer is this: pick something you care about, give it your best, and let it be of benefit to someone else. You never know whose life you might quietly touch.
Or what small, unassuming moment—like a handshake—might stay with them forever.
Dr Nahrizul Adib Kadri is an associate professor of biomedical engineering at Universiti Malaya, and a father to three boys. He can be reached at nahrizuladib@um.edu.my.
