KL / Sepuluh Tahun Sebelum Merdeka

I don't like KL. It's filthy, chaotic, and littered with shady characters acting as if they own the place. After sundown, it gets worse. The high-pitched sounds of traffic are replaced by dark desires that rumble in low decibels. The emancipated man at the bus-stop becomes a drug addict in need of fast cash; the shifty-eyed man sweeping floors becomes a sex-starved maniac whose wife is a continent and a half away. You don't need much imagination to commit a crime.

Yet, here is the heart—and soul—of the nation. More pertinently to me at least, here is its arts scene, buzzing and beating harder since The Annexe opened its doors to the public. Twice this month, I've ended up here alone, at night, praying on the LRT that I don't get mugged or raped or assaulted or battered or harassed or decapitated (maybe you do need some imagination after all) while walking the 200 metres or so from Pasar Seni station to The Annexe and back. It's not the wisest thing to do, but somehow the friends I ask to come along always can't make it. Grrr.

Fortunately then, for both my solitary nighttime adventures, my mind came back piqued by a new idea, a new concept, a new insight. In other words, the hassle was worth it.

( |o }===:::

And so I decided to risk my life tonight because a historical documentary called Sepuluh Tahun Sebelum Merdeka by virginal filmmaker Fahmi Reza was being screened. For free. I tend to avoid historical stuff because it has such a powerful effect on me, leaving me snoring and unconsciously sniffing at the next person's shirt, which I can't decide in my sleep is a durian or not, but tonight's doco won The Most Outstanding Human Rights Film award at this year's Freedom Film Fest organised by Komas, while excerpts from reviews, plonked into the promo postcard, all praised it. I am a sucker for ratings and good reviews, so I was sold.

Basically (which means I don't remember the details), the documentary covers the period from 1945-1948 in Malaya, and brings to life a historical nugget missing from our Sejarah textbooks—of how left-wing political parties formed a multi-racial coalition that demanded independence from the British, and came up with a referendum dubbed the People's Constitution. This version of history is gleaned from archived text, historical commentaries and interviews with former leaders and members of these parties. The snappy editing and music choice helped heaps in sustaining interest, and a particularly humorous section comparing this alternative referendum against UMNO/Britain's referendum hit the nail on the head. Oh, and I love the fonts.

But the highlight of this doco is an event that has been blanked out by the authors of our history books. In 1947, after the British refused to cater to the wishlist of the multiracial coalition of Putera-AMCJA, a Brit-educated Baba called Tan Cheng Lock suggested a hartal as a way of getting their attention. Having spent time in India, his inspiration came from Gandhi and Nehru, who were also fighting for independence from the Brits and had used this strategy successfully many times. The idea was tested out in several states, and, having been found successful, thousands of flyers announcing a nationwide hartal for 20th October 1947 were printed by the printing presses belonging to the Chinese merchants (an ally) and distributed. Finally, the day dawned. During this hartal, the rakyat showed their support for independence by closing all shops and staying in. Business came to a standstill, costing the fuming Brits 4 million pounds—a huge sum in that day. It was the biggest single public demonstration our nation has seen, yet most Malaysians don't know anything about it. (Unfortunately, as history has proven, the British Government still did not acknowledge the voice of the rakyat demanding freedom, and only granted us independence 10 years later.)

Even if you're not a history buff, rest assured that this documentary is as accessible as any mamak in Malaysia. And we were lucky to have Fahmi in attendance for a discussion session after the screening. It helped in understanding more about how the Government (the hand that weaves those historical words) either claims a piece of history as theirs, or plays other events down, championing instead their political agendas. Meanwhile, the left-wing leaders who also struggled for independence either ended up in jail or in silence, their sacrifices all but wiped out.

The event left me with several questions and impressions. Would a hartal of sorts work in today's Malaysia, in the event that the ruling Government acted way out of line? Who would organise it? Or even if some left-wing group tried to organise say, a total boycott of government-linked companies like Petronas, would the man on the street be afraid of being openly accused as a Government detractor? What would the effect be of screening this film ahead of the elections to the younger generation, especially Malays, who seek a different Malay role model other than the keris-waving drama queen? The documentary showed progressive-minded Malay leaders of yesteryear, who did not talk all day about racial issues so as to divide and remind us of our differences, but instead focused on gaining independence through unity.

Fahmi also brought up the point of how our textbooks keep emphasising racial divisions, but fail to mention segregation by class, which has had more impact on our nation's state and laws than you and I would probably like to know. It's certainly stuff to think about, and an interesting alternative to those who find it hard to entrust an entire nation's future to UMNO's present leaders, or their ability to write truthful textbooks.

Of Language and Sex

I've been conducting some Top Secret Research in KL for the past two days. This week's schedule ends tomorrow, but the whole of next week is all about shaking hands and disinfecting them with unadulterated brainpower alone, while doing my best to listen attentively.

Since Central Market was en route home, I decided to drop in on some KataGender arts installation thingy and a forum on 'Youth Movement Since Merdeka' (part of the 50:44 event). For the arts exhibit, a bunch of old t-shirts were hung up on several clothes lines, each with a one-line story of gender-related injustice painted on it along with the year on the other side. Honestly, it didn't leave much of an impact on me. I think that if an elaboration of those stories and suggestions on how the viewer-participant could respond (write to MCA, join a club, demonstrate/fornicate outside Parliament, etc) were included somewhere, it would have helped the message. Also, some torn clothes/clothes dumped on the floor might have added a nice touch to symbolise the struggle (and consequences) in issues dealing with gender identity.

Up a flight of stairs, and I found an inconspicuous spot at the Youth forum. Sat down and listened to the first panelist, Hishamuddin Rais, a former student activist who is infamous for his outspoken mind (which has gotten him into a Top Secret Cell). Well, two things he said made sense. Although he said it with activism in mind, these pointers can be applied to whatever message it is you wanna get out.

1. Stop preaching to the converted—get your message out to the unconverted, who need to hear it more, and collectively, are able to make a greater difference. (In tonight's context, the 'lost' youths of Malaysia.)
2. Say it in the language of the masses, i.e. use Bahasa Malaysia. It is not about using BM simply because it is the national language or anything to do with iffy patriotic connotations; rather, we should come to view BM as a strategic language that is essential in communicating whatever our gospel to the masses, bridging the racial divide and changing mindsets.

Thinking about it, I am of the opinion that if we did speak mainly one common language, racial tensions might be less (though a blot in history that proves otherwise is the racial riots in Indonesia between the locals and the Indo-Chinese, and all those incidences of ethnic cleansing).

Anyway, that was pretty good stuff to mull over as I left early enough not to be abducted by KL's 'scruds' (dodgy people, usually men, who like dark corners and bright ideas that pop up when they covertly observe other people, usually women, anxiously clutching their bags, eyes darting, and walking alone).

Tomorrow there's a mass prayer and a forum on the long overdue need for an inter-faith commission (their words, not mine). If you're interested, go to The Annexe @ Central Market, 8pm onwards.

31 August, Merdeka

Jalur Gemilang, Melaka, 2004

Happy 50th Merdeka!!!

A strangely silent pause.

Just what's so happy about it though, I can't tell. I'm sure it's something to do with being free from colonial rule, something-something about being independent, and maybe a lot about not having to sip tea daintily all day (but hey, guess what our national drink is). Don't get me wrong, I'm no deviant, but I am somewhat tired of superficial celebrations where flag-waving and badly lip-synched patriotic songs are the best show our leaders can whip up. And as if to compensate for their lack of nationalistic lustre, we have an international fireworks competition! Yay! Surely that's something for the rakyat to cheer for!

Give me something else to believe in, leaders. Not smoke, fire, or short-lived flames. Give me something that will benefit all Malaysians, for that is what we are—Malaysians.

But who in their right minds would sacrifice such a position of unquestionable privilege and comfort for the sake of the masses?

( |o }===:::

On a livelier note, this Merdeka was probably my most happenin', ever. I purged eight times since yesterday. Knocked out from all the effort, I accidentally fell asleep before midnight and missed all the charades on TV and possible fireworks nearby. Dang.

Oh wait, I feel a ninth one comin'. Gtg.

Neighbours

One rainy Saturday a few weeks ago, I decided to document my neighbours. I must admit, I've never spoken to any of them. My family used to trade New Year cookies for Raya ones with the neighbour on the right, but that tradition dissipated into a mere childhood memory when the 'datuk' from next door passed away.

The neighbours on the right

An old Chinese lady used to live on our left, but a few years ago, she opted out, and sold the place to the management of a printing factory nearby. The management then proceeded to conveniently dump what must have been a hundred and two male Nepalese workers in that house. The feisty, loud-mouthed neighbour two doors down kicked up a big fuss, and recently, the number went down to ninety-nine. I don't have a major problem with them... except for well, perhaps one. There's this young Nepalese chap who thinks it's very amusing trying to peep at me whenever I get down from the car, close the gate, etc. Once I was trying to wash the car, and a bunch of them—him included—just returned from the factory. He grinned, sat down at the porch and proceeded to gaze in my direction as if I were some kind of Saturday matinee Tamil movie. I felt like throwing my dirt-soaked sponge at him, but for the kinky connotations such an action could imply.

The neighbours on the left

My room faces the back, and the dudes at the back are total slobs. I don't waste my time observing their daily routines, but take a look—doesn't it just look like a junkyard? The water drainage pipe is hanging from the roof, and each time there's a thunderstorm, some part of the house creaks and falls away.

Room with a view: the neighbours at the back

And as a bonus, check out this back neighbour's neighbour (pictured below). Is it too much to ask that the people in my neighbourhood be more civilised?

The back neighbour's neighbour

Lina Joy

Triumphant shouts of "Allahu Akhbar"—meaning, God is great—greeted the landmark ruling passed today in Malaysia's highest court. Since 7.30am, 300-odd Muslim supporters from 80 different Islamic bodies had begun joining the concerned and the curious outside the courthouse. Whatever the court's decision (and there were only two possible outcomes), they must have rehearsed their reactions the night before in their heads. Which is why a few hours later, in a 2-1 majority decision (two Muslim judges; one non-Muslim), the Federal Court announced their rejection of Lina Joy's appeal to drop the word 'Islam' from her IC, and spontaneously, unanimously, the circumcised crowd roared.

This Big Issue sets a precedent for future religious-based rulings. It will confirm, to an extent, a nagging suspicion that has bugged our national conscience: How much of an Islamic country is Malaysia? Can citizens still believe in the freedom of religion granted under Article 11 of the Federal Constitution, or is the Syariah Court sneaking up to devour any delusions Malaysians, particularly the minority, have concerning our religious freedom? Pertinent questions to a country that is rumoured to face the voting booths later this year.

My initial thoughts on this case are rather convoluted (which pretty much reflects the state of my mind most of the time). I don't know nuts about the law, and I don't hardly read the papers.

Even if I were to spew my thoughts, and in the process spring-clean my brain, they'd probably just echo popular sentiment. Some examples include:

• There's no hope for Malaysia. We're doomed. The system favours Islam, Muslims and on a lighter note, mamaks (who are Muslim).
• This case really demonstrates how the Federal Court is allowing itself, via the powers that be inside it, to be shackled by the Syariah Court. The recent string on conversion cases show how they conveniently pass the bucket—and their responsibility to uphold justice—to the Syariah courts who greedily lap up their growing power. (Yes I am being judgmental here.)
• Perhaps Malaysians surely couldn't have expected any or both of the Muslim judges presiding the case to say yes to Joy. With Lina's Muslim lawyer getting death threats in the past, such a liberal judge would have had his Merc bombed the moment he stepped into it; his family destroyed.
• It seems like Barisan now wants to attract more Muslim voters compared to non-Muslims.
• If the Church in Malaysia had come together and fervently prayed for the issue, would the decision have been any different?

(Cue commercial break)

As it is very late and I'm tired (tonight and yesterday, I left work at 12.40am and 10.45pm respectively), and also because I had an Angkor (not Anchor) beer courtesy of Rachel and her recent adventures in Cambodia, I will rush on and merely state that with each passing year, I'm becoming more pessimistic about the country I was born in and now reside, and her future. With alternative news sources booming, the rose-tinted image of Malaysia I held as a kid has shrivelled up and died. I read of corruption, nepotism, greed, injustice. Politics is a shit-smeared undergarment that is never washed.

With troubles all around, let's go back to the Lina Joy case. The demerits of the court's decision are obvious to the minority and especially to Lina Joy herself. Ultimately however, what matters is that Joy has the freedom to choose her God in her heart. At the very least, that's something no one can take away.

Ashamed

Today, for the first time in my life, I felt deeply ashamed of my country. Next year, Malaysia's first astronaut will go into space, where he will 'do what no one in space has done before': play 'batu seremban', spin traditional Malay tops ('gasing'), paint batik motifs and make 'teh tarik'. The cost of sending him to space? RM95 million, compliments of taxpayers who have no control over how their money should and should not be used. The Higher Power argue that we're getting this trip for free, after buying some Russian space shuttle. Right. By now, our politicians should know enough about sweeping 'additional' costs under the carpet and charging an arm and a leg for it.

For a leadership that is elected, there should be accountability to her people. Sadly, there is none whatsoever. It is shocking how stupid (I mean this in the most literal way) many of Malaysia's leaders are, brandishing their racist remarks into the microphone over national TV with keris in hand in the recently concluded UMNO General Assembly. And—the reason for this post—how millions can be wasted on a fantastically irrelevant space stunt. Outsiders are even calling us 'Malaysia Bodoh'. Will this be the reason tourists flock by come Visit Malaysia Year 2007? To laugh firsthand at our looming towers of foolishness and waste?

Wake up, Malaysia's leaders. This is not 1969. In 2006, any Tom, Dick and Harry with US$20 million can book a holiday in space.

Faizal

Faizal is five. He has a bright smile, twinkling eyes and a carefree mop of curls. He also has cerebral palsy. But that's not the biggest of his problems.

Last year, when I first visited him in an Orang Asli kampung, he was a mess. Saliva dripped from his grinning mouth unto his T-shirt; grubby palms mixed drool, food, dirt and bacteria in an unholy union. His awkwardly clenched fingers had trouble holding on to things. Including his parents' love.

Faizal was left to his own devices in a toddler's walker that refused to co-operate with his bowed, growing legs. Without proper motor control, he did not know how to negotiate a flat surface on his own. Without proper bladder control, he dirtied his home with human waste.

A few months after my initial visit, a pastor who had been following up on the family decided to take Faizal home to care for him. He is married, with two small children of his own. Aware that Faizal would need round-the-clock attention, he divided the caregiving task amongst family and friends he could trust. A schedule was drawn out. Faizal's future was shared by these individuals.

Last week, when I dropped by Kampung Jus, Faizal looked decidedly more cheerful. He has a new chair that trains him to sit up straight. His clothes are cleaner. I didn't see him slobber. At present, things look more positive.

Yet he desperately needs to undergo physiotherapy soon to learn the things we take for granted. Things like walking and passing motion. His future would be so much brighter if he could at least learn to be independent. Coming of age is certain; what about improvement?

There was a time when Faizal's family stole provisions that were meant for him — fortified milk from the government, to be exact. The clinic eventually found out about it and later, channeled new supplies for Faizal through the pastor. Which father, if a son asks for bread, would give him a stone? Anger at the selfishness of this family is understandable but perhaps uncalled for. There are many things within the Orang Asli culture that leave the average person shaking their heads. Foremost amongst which is a subsidy mentality — certainly not something you can change overnight.

But perhaps there is a slow change of heart. Recently, Faizal's father called up the pastor to thank him for taking care of his son. I don't know what else transpired, but the pastor seemed to think it was a good sign. Does the father miss his son? I don't know. Does Faizal miss him? I seem to recall the pastor saying so.

Yet for now, I know that Faizal is at least in good hands.

Faizal with his new RM400 chair

Pensive

Reaching out for the uncertain, 13 May 2006

Marilah Mari, Pergi Mengundi

"Marilah mari, pergi mengundi,
Jangan lupa kewajipan pada negara"

I finally registered as a voter last Thursday. It was all a matter of coincidence: I went to Carrefour and so did the mobile registration booth. It took all of one minute. I handed in my IC, signed a form and was free to go.

Why did I do it? After all, I missed the last two elections for various reasons.

Do I really care that it's a 'kewajipan pada negara'? No. And what's one vote anyway? Well, multiply that with the number of virgin voters and people who use that as an excuse and you'll find that it's quite a lot.

To me, being a registered voter simply means:

1. My option to vote is open, just in case there's an emergency and EVERYONE'S vote counts.
   
2. Anwar's coming back into politics. UMNO's becoming more Islamic, cosmetically at least. Perhaps (in a lofty dream), there will come a day when some heroic opposition party upholds a vision of Malaysia that I believe in and will vote for. They'd need all the support they can get from sensible and progressive people like me.
   
3. Even if the party I vote for loses and Malaysia becomes further entrenched as an Islamic state (God forbid), at least I know I tried and won't be cursing the day I didn't register at the mobile booth in front of Carrefour.
   

So really. Do yourself a favour and register as a voter so that you don't set yourself up for sleepless nights or complain about the country's governance without first exercising your rights to vote. The country's future is partly in our hands. Or so we'd like to think.