The passing of businessman and badminton patron Datuk Seri Andrew Kam Tai Yeow should be remembered for more than the RM2 million gold bar he once promised Malaysia’s first Olympic badminton champion. It should also force Malaysians to confront a harder question: why are some communities better at building their own support systems than others? Kam, who died at 64, was known for putting his money behind badminton through the Kuala Lumpur Racket Club, providing an alternative platform for players who were outside the national setup. His involvement was not based on race, and players from different backgrounds benefited from the structures he helped create. That is precisely why his story matters. The lesson is not that one ethnic community should only support its own, but that strong communities do not wait for the government to solve every problem. They organise, raise funds, identify talent, create institutions and build systems that survive beyond one individual.
This is something the Malaysian Chinese community has historically done well in many areas. From education and welfare to business associations and sports, there is a strong culture of building networks around community needs. When a school requires funding, committees are formed. When a hall needs to be built, businessmen are approached. When students need assistance, alumni networks are activated. When sporting competitions require funding, sponsors are found. It is not perfect and certainly not universal, but the structure exists, and that structure matters more than occasional generosity. Malaysia has many wealthy businessmen, but what we have fewer of are businessmen willing to become long-term patrons of institutions. There is a difference. Giving RM10,000 to an athlete after he wins a medal is generosity. Funding coaching, equipment, competition fees and development for 10 years before anyone knows that athlete’s name is institution-building. The second approach is what produces champions.
The Malaysian Indian community should take particular notice. For decades, discussions about the community’s development have often centred on government allocations, political representation and whether enough assistance has been provided. Those are legitimate issues, but there is another question that deserves equal attention: what have we built ourselves? The community has businessmen, doctors, lawyers, engineers, politicians, temple committees, NGOs, foundations and professionals in almost every sector. Yet when a talented young Indian athlete requires RM5,000 to participate in an overseas competition, the response is often a desperate fundraising campaign on Facebook. Somebody knows somebody, a politician is contacted, a businessman is called, a poster is circulated, donations are collected and the problem is solved for the moment. Until the next tournament. That is not a system. It is crisis management.
If the community truly wants to produce more national athletes, there must be a proper pipeline. Talent must be identified at school level, promising athletes should be tracked, qualified coaches should be connected to them, equipment and tournament fees should be supported, and their development should be followed over several years. Assistance should also continue during injuries, academic transitions and difficult periods when athletes are at risk of dropping out. There should be thought given to what happens after their sporting careers end as well. That is how an ecosystem works. It is not about one cheque, one politician, one businessman or one viral fundraising post. It is about creating continuity.
Malaysia also has a strange relationship with sporting success. Everybody appears after victory. When an athlete wins a medal, congratulatory posters flood social media, politicians rush to take photographs, associations organise dinners and corporate sponsors suddenly discover the athlete. But where was everyone when that athlete was 15? Where were they when the parents could not afford equipment? Where were they after three consecutive defeats? Where were they when the athlete considered quitting? It is easy to support winners. Building winners is harder. Andrew Kam appeared to understand that distinction. His contribution through KLRC showed that private initiative could provide opportunities even when athletes were outside the conventional national system, and that may ultimately be more important than his famous RM2 million gold-bar offer.
There is also a tendency in Malaysia to become uncomfortable whenever ethnic communities organise themselves. We should be careful not to confuse community organisation with racial exclusion. There is nothing wrong with Chinese associations helping Chinese schools, Indian organisations developing Indian youth programmes or Malay organisations supporting disadvantaged Malay athletes. The problem arises only when such structures deliberately exclude others or promote hostility. Strong community institutions can actually strengthen Malaysia. An athlete may receive his first opportunity through a Chinese school, an Indian association, a Malay foundation or a Sabah community club, but once that athlete wears the national jersey, he represents Malaysia. Community identity and national identity do not have to compete. One can strengthen the other.
Malaysia also needs to move away from the belief that every solution must begin with a ministry. Government has an important role in sport, and national associations have an important role, but neither should become excuses for communities to remain passive. Not every badminton court requires a minister, not every athlete needs to meet an MP and not every tournament requires a government grant. Communities with financial resources should be capable of building their own sporting foundations. Imagine 100 successful businessmen contributing RM10,000 a year. That immediately creates a RM1 million annual development fund. With proper governance, that money could support coaching, travel, equipment and scholarships for dozens of young athletes. Repeat that for 10 years and you have something far more valuable than another annual dinner. You have an institution, and institutions create continuity.
Andrew Kam will inevitably be remembered for the gold bar because it was colourful, dramatic and guaranteed headlines. But perhaps his greater legacy was demonstrating what private individuals can do when they stop behaving merely as donors and start behaving as builders. Malaysia does not only need more successful businessmen. It needs more patrons, more mentors, more foundations and more people willing to support talent before success arrives. The best tribute to Andrew Kam is therefore not another condolence message, but for every Malaysian community to ask itself one simple question: when the next talented 12-year-old appears, will we have a structure ready to help, or will we wait until that child becomes famous before claiming we supported them all along?
