Geography is destiny

This is the first chapter, ‘Origins‘, of Batam and the Riau Islands published in 2011 by Yayasan Bali Purnati and edited by Leonard Lueras, who kindly contributed the chapter to this archive of Dave’s writings.

(A review of the book was published in Tempo Magazine (English) with a testimonial to his “sterling and unique contributions” added by the editor. Read it here.

We believe that this is Dave Jardine’s final essay. There may be other notes and completed writings to be added here, but they will be backdated so that this essay remains on this page as a testament to his impeccable research and always coherent writing.

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Geography is destiny, manifestly so. If in times before mass communications and air travel you lived on remote islands, such as, for example, the Seychelles far, far out in the middle of an ocean your contact with the wider world would have been both sporadic and minimal. If in those times you lived on a group of islands so strategically placed as the Riau and Lingga at the swing point of the Straits of Malacca, the Java Sea and the South China Sea the chances of inter-action with travelers, itinerant merchants and other adventurers would have been that much greater.

And so it has been throughout history. The Riau and Lingga have in their own way had a seriously important, although not necessarily high profile, role to play. Their position athwart the routes of early human migration, trade routes from early in the Christian era (AD) and, as we shall see, lanes of militarized naval movement is of the greatest significance.

This story brings together a whole variety of human groups, Malays, Chinese, Arabs, Indians, Japanese, Europeans and others who criss-crossed the Southeast Asia region for various purposes.

Which of them were ‘foreigners’? It really does depend on what you mean by the term. If, as the French historian of Southeast Asia Paul Michel Munoz says in ‘Early Malay Kingdoms of the Indonesian Archipelago and Malay Peninsula‘ the peninsula itself was not peopled until the last millennium BC then by definition the first incomers at that time were ‘foreign’.

Clearly that would apply to the neighbouring and adjacent islands such as the Riau and Lingga.

If we accept Munoz, there had indeed been earlier movements of hominids (any of a family of erect, two-legged types, including ‘homo sapiens’) through the region. These would have included so-called ‘Trinil Man’, who takes his name from where fossils were found on the banks of the Solo River in Central Java. ‘Trinil Man’, however was an evolutionary dead-end.

The first human groups to arrive in the region may well have been of Veddoid South Indian stock. Their last descendants are the small tribal societies of the Kubu and Sakai of Sumatra and Malaysia, hunter-gatherers still. There is no evidence that they were in the Riau islands, although it is possible if we recognize that sea levels have varied over time and even for non-maritime peoples the crossing would have been more feasible from time to time.

The human migration that should interest us most to begin with is of the Malayoid peoples. These form the bulk of the peoples of western Indonesia as well as, of course, the Malay peninsula. How long the process was of their settlement of the region it is difficult to specify but let us say it took place over a very long period.

Again, much would have depended on maritime skills, including of boat-building and knowledge of winds and tides.

Over the first two millennia of the human presence outside or ‘foreign’ influences were absorbed from China and India. These included, perhaps needless to say, religious influences, most particularly Buddhism and Hinduism , both from India.

Buddhism was first on the scene, probably in its Therevada form, as known today in Thailand and Sri Lanka. Hinduism appeared in its Vishnu and Shiva varieties.

In the first millennium AD the Buddhist state of Srivijaya, based on modern Palembang, was pre-eminent in the region and exacted tribute from far and wide. The Riau and Lingga islands were obviously not exempt from Srivijayan power, nor indeed were north coast Java states such as Banten and Demak.

Srivijaya attracted the devout from as far away as China to study in its schools and temples so there is every reason to believe that Chinese ships carrying Buddhist devotees passed through Riau and stopped off there.

One of the earliest records of a Chinese traveler through the region is of the seafarer Fa-Hsien who made the journey from China to India in 413-414 AD.

Srivijaya, it might be noted, fell in the eleventh century AD to the Tamil Chola kingdom of southern India so we can reasonably surmise that the Tamils were also in Riau and Lingga.

The Arabs probably were amongst the earliest visitors. Any of them discovering the Sunda Straits and heading east and then north would have passed through Riau and Lingga.

Arab knowledge would have been passed to the Romans. Were they here? “The geographer Ptolemy, who lived about the middle of the second century AD, under the reigns of Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius, describes the limits of the earth as far as they were known in his time,” says one account. “Soon after Ptolemy’s time the whole coast of Malacca and the Siamese Sea was explored (by whom, it is not stated) and the Romans appear to have had some knowledge of the Indian archipelago and its great islands, Java, Sumatra and Borneo.”

If that is so, did they acquire it first-hand?

Fa-hsien, it must be said, reported that “the waters of Southeast Asia are full of pirates“. Piracy has a long, long history in and around Riau and Lingga, the many islands providing a multitude of bolt-holes.

Chinese travelers were especially wary of “these bandits of the sea“. Merchants plying the waters in search of valuable commodities such as Sumatran gold and  pepper had every reason to be so wary.

Pepper, incidentally, still plays a role in the economy of the Riau islands, notably the white variety cultivated around Muntok on the island of Bangka.

Piracy was noted over a millennium later by the Portuguese Tome Pires in ‘Suma Oriental‘ (1515) when he drew attention to the Bajau Sea Gypsies, a people very familiar in the Riau. Pires may have been in error here if we are to believe the modern historian of piracy, the Swede Stefan Eklof who says, “In contrast to many other ethnic groups in the region the Sea Gypsies do not have a strong tradition of violence and only rarely carry firearms.” Indeed the Bajau today rank high amongst the victims of armed piracy.

The Bugis of South Sulawesi would come to play a major role in piracy in all the waters of Southeast Asia, especially once the Europeans established themselves in the spice trade whose routes crossed the Riau and Lingga waters. So feared were they in time that the name Bugis spawned the English expression ‘bogey man’!

As one observer puts it, “Often pirates were entrusted by the rulers to ensure security within the region.”

Indeed, the Bugis have been highly influential throughout the western Malay world and in the early nineteenth century played a pivotal role in the power struggles within the Johor-Riau-Lingga sultanate.

It must be noted that piracy, whilst it certainly came to have an anti-colonial dimension as the pirates haunted the shipping and ports of the European powers, was not exclusively a local phenomenon, not at all. The Portuguese and the English certainly indulged in it in Southeast Asian waters.

Piracy was tied up with slavery. All the islands of the region were subject to raids by slave-taking pirates and Riau was no different. Sailors from Magellans ships left stranded in Southeast Asia were known to have been sold into slavery.

If the presence of the Romans in the region is debatable, then that of a much later Italian, the Venetian traveler Marco Polo is not. Polo is probably the most famous of all pre-modern travelers. Making his famous journey to China in the thirteenth century, he returned from there via the Straits of Malacca and could very well have stopped off in Riau.

The Venetian famously reported he had seen a unicorn in Sumatra. It is not difficult to surmise that this was a Sumatran rhinoceros, then much more plentiful than today.

He is also reported to have introduced the Italians to the business of noodle-making, which skill he is said to have picked up in China, but the writer Peter Robb in his excellent ‘Midnight in Sicily‘, essentially a treatise on food, argues that he witnessed on the island of Bangka locals making noodle-type food from the substance of the sago plant. Italian noodles, as we know them, came, Robb argues, from the Arabs.

It would be more than two centuries after Marco Polo that Europeans arrived on the scene. The first were the Portuguese, who overran the Sultanate of Malacca in 1511 and proceeded to maraud on both sides of the Straits and of course the Riau and Lingga.

This was, of course, highly consequential. The Sultan of Malacca fled across the peninsula to east coast Pahang and then with his entourage made his way south to pitch camp in Bintan in the Riau, establishing influence over this and neighbouring islands and from 1528 heading the Sultanate of Johor, which would later become Johor-Riau-Linnga.

There are some deep ironies involved here. The Catholic Portuguese had been spurred into finding a route to the Orient and its source of spices, including of course the “trinity” of cloves, nutmeg and mace by insistent pressure from the Church, which had condemned commerce with the Muslim Ottomans as “sinful”. It was the Ottomans who at the beginning of the 16th century controlled what Europe knew of the spice trade.

Equally, it is ironic that the navigational means that would bring the Europeans to parts of Southeast Asia recently converted to Islam had passed to the Portuguese from Muslim science. In particular, note the astrolabe, the “salient emblem of Islamic science“, as it has been called.

The Sultan of Johor was not one to let the Portuguese have an easy ride and Bintan became a base for Malay raids on Malacca and on Portuguese vessels in the waters nearby. The Portuguese, inevitably, retaliated, where, in fact, they did not initiate the violence and razed the settlement on Bintan to the ground.

The next Europeans to put in an appearance were the English (as opposed to the British, the unification of the English and Scottish crowns coming at the beginning of the eighteenth century), who did not scruple in plundering Portuguese cargoes. Piracy pure and simple was their modus operandi, as Francis Drake had so ably demonstrated off South America. Indeed, the English monarch Elizabeth 1 dubbed Drake mine own pyrate.

Riau and all the neighbouring islands began to take on a higher and higher commercial profile, especially from the eighteenth century on and we see that there was a huge increase in the number of Chinese vessels trading in the ports of the archipelago during that century. Chinese junks carried away crop products such as Muntok pepper, the areca or betel nut grown locally (it was also traded to India) as well as gambier, a common ingredient used by Asians in chewing betel nut. It was to process this last crop that Chinese laborers were recruited to the Riau, thus increasing the ethnic Chinese presence in the region greatly.

Tanjung Pinang today has a strong Chinese presence that owes something to that influx.

As British naval power increased in the eighteenth century so did British influence in the region and thus competition with the Dutch East India Company (VOC).One source of interest to the British in Riau was tin, mined on the island of Bangka for centuries. The British Orientalist William Marsden noted in his (1811) ‘History of Sumatra’, Tin is called ‘timar’ and is a very considerable article of trade & many cargoes of it are yearly carried to China, where the consumption is largely for religious purposes. (The historian does not say what these latter purposes were.)

Tin mining remained an important industry on Bangka until recent times. Indeed, one of the principal Japanese war aims in Tokyo’s attack on the colonial powers in Southeast Asia in 1941-42 was seizure of that industry and they duly headed straight for Bangka.

Competition between the VOC and the Calcutta-based British East India Company increased further with the unraveling by the English clockmaker John Harrison of the problem of the measurement of longitude and in due course many more merchant ships appeared in the Riau and elsewhere.

The VOC went bankrupt in 1799. The Netherlands was subsequently under the occupation of Napoleonic France and this caused a major shift in the European power balance in Southeast Asia which was also consequential for local powers such as the Malay sultanates. These of course included Johor-Riau-Lingga.

When in 1811 Thomas Stamford Raffles was appointed Lieutenant Governor of Java by the East India Company (this following the defeat of a French army at Meester Cornelis, now Jatinegara, Jakarta) British power was projected across the region. Raffles held the position for five years until the end of the Napoleonic War when Britain restored Dutch colonial rule.

The Dutch were anxious to consolidate themselves in the region and in 1818 signed a treaty with one of the competing factions in the Sultanate of Johor-Riau-Lingga, giving recognition to one Abdul Rahman as Sultan in exchange for his recognition of their Riau trading post.

Raffles, meanwhile, had returned from London, where he had been cleared of corruption charges, to a post in Bengkulu, Sumatra. Alarmed at Dutch intentions, he then took a sharper interest in the islands of the Riau and in early 1819 brought off the deal with the Sultan that secured a British trading post on the island now known as Singapore.

The rest, one can safely assume, is widely known. British merchant and naval power became the pre-eminent force in the region.

It is a matter of some conjecture how different Southeast Asia would look today if the Dutch had negotiated a deal for Singapore.

As we have noted, the Japanese swept into the Dutch East Indies, forcing a Dutch surrender on March 8 1942. Bangka was one of their principal targets, along with the oil installations of Kalimantan and Sumatra. The island became yet another location for a Japanese prison camp, this one at Muntok, and the waters of the Bangka Strait a graveyard for Allied shipping as the Japanese sank dozens of vessels fleeing Singapore.

Most notoriously, however, it was the scene of a massacre by the Japanese Imperial Army of Australian women nurses who had escaped Singapore aboard the ‘SS Vyner Brooke’ as well as retreating British troops. (see Captain Judith Spence ‘Return to Bangka Island‘)

Riau and Lingga, needless to say, have not moved. They still occupy the same strategically important position they have always occupied.

Theirs is a record rich in stories. The spice trade, piracy, slavery, Malay, Chinese, Arab, European and Asian interventions.

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Street Credibility

Selected portraits of Jakarta’s itinerant street vendors – tales of strength in adversity rather than despair and defeat.

NINETEEN
Text by: Irfan Kortschak
Publisher: Mercy Corps 2008

It would take a remarkably dumb visitor to Indonesian cities not to notice hawkers of all sorts, buskers, roadside kiosk holders, scavengers, ‘ojek’ motorcycle-taxi drivers, sex workers and others that go to make up what Australian author Irfan Kortschak here calls ‘the informal sector’. Many, if not most, are self-employed.

You encounter these ‘informalistas’ everywhere, men, women, and, with sad inevitability, some children. All are trying to earn a living by means that place them outside the ‘formal sector’ of civil service, factories, hotels, banks, stores and offices.

Some, of course, have a foot in both camps, young factory workers from the footwear trade doubling up in ‘the world’s oldest profession’, schoolteachers ‘moonlighting’ as ‘ojek’ men.

What author Korschak has done here is to press into very effective service his good command of Bahasa Indonesia and marry it to considerable interviewing skills. He has through very admirable transcriptions given his subjects real and substantive voices of their own, and I do not detect a false note at all.

Hidden from history these people could very well be but for this fine effort.

Illustrated by Josh Ersey’s photos, especially the black-and-whites, Nineteen is a number of slices of Jakarta life in which the 19 ‘informalistas’ have been willing participants. Why ’19′ I can hear some readers ask? Isn’t that a bit arbitrary? Well, of course it is but if, say, the author and publisher had hit on 33 the result would have been rather unwieldy, I think. The result here is a good cross-section.

We meet both those whose income is a bare subsistence and those like Cahyan, a tahu gejrot seller from Cirebon whose Menteng stall brings in enough for him to employ a number of workers to produce the ‘tahu’. We meet a poor Chinese woman who scratches a living from a sparse snacks stall, an ex-political prisoner from the Dark Ages of Suharto’s New Order repression who makes a solid income from the herbal medicine he has largely taught himself, a young blind woman who lost her sight at age 2 to meningitis who twins some massage with a trade in shrimp crackers, and an apparently talented young fellow who lost his factory job on account of his defense of labor rights.

What would Jakarta be without its itinerant hawkers, men and women? Not only those hardy souls who pad the streets with their ‘kitchens’ bamboo-yoked to their shoulders but the familiar jamu ladies with their bottle ‘pharmacies’ strapped to their backs dispensing traditional medicines.

So, perhaps fittingly, the first ‘informalista’ we meet is a jamu lady called Srimudjeni (Eni), 30-ish mother of two and working her beat around the wharves of Sunda Kelapa and the neighboring fish markets. She estimates her monthly income at Rp2-2.2 million for “four hours a day”. If I am not mistaken, that is about the take-home pay of a TransJakarta Busway driver.

Eni tells us, “When I first came to Jakarta, I had a few different jobs… a while as a sales promotion girl… had to wear a miniskirt …harassment I got from rich businessmen was far worse than I get from the boys in the dockyards…”

No surprise there for me in the harassment, that is!

Eni feels that by not working on a commission as she did as a sales promotion girl and by ‘building up her own clientele’ she has developed a sense of independence and thus greater self-esteem.

What comes across in many of these portraits is a facility to fit into the nooks, niches and interstices in a way that the ‘rich businessmen’ Eni pours contempt on would do well to study for lessons in humility.

In a portrait of Wati, at the time of interview just 15, a junior high school student “who sells soft drinks from a tray to car passengers”, the author writes, in “Senen, a place where the paths of the rich and the poor frequently collide…”

It is a hard-scrabble area with many preman criminal elements working around the market and the bus station, just the sort to extract tong from a hard-working schoolgirl making money to support her family and put herself through school. The conditions that people who, like Wati and her family, live in alongside the railway line would bring tears to the eyes of a brontosaurus, but Josh Ersey’s photo of this young lady tells us much about the best of the human spirit, a flashing smile and great personal poise.

I recently got on the wrong train from Bogor and found myself passing through the Senen-Kemayoran area and the poverty trackside was gut-wrenching, an object lesson in humility for me. But officialdom and the so-called ‘developers’ do not always see it that way, do they? The former with their big-stick, big-booted public order raids and the latter with the malaise of malls they have inflicted on the city in the interests of ‘development’ seem to live in a separate universe.

I would have been tempted to use the book as a platform to attack them but Irfan has probably been that much wiser by allowing his interviewees to tell us in their own way about how life works for them. In any case, it would take a fool not to see the glaring social inequalities and iniquities described here.

As the great English poet P. B. Shelley has put it, “The Iron Rod of Penury still compels Her wretched slave to bow the knee to wealth and poison with unprofitable toil a life devoid of solace…” Well said, but despite all the privations and tribulations described here what comes through is the quiet tenacity and dogged persistence of all the subjects. In all, the message here with all its well-caught nuances tells us of strength in adversity rather than despair and defeat.

I have asked the author if he knew of the great American oral historian Studs Terkel who died recently aged 93. No, he said. Terkel was one of the finest practitioners of oral history and a man dedicated to allowing ‘ordinary’ people to tell the stories of their working lives. Irfan Kortschak belongs to that tradition and I recommend that he extends the project to other sectors, to farmers and fishermen, say, or to those ‘helots of Sparta’ who work the sulfur mines of the Ijeng Plateau.

I might have added, as I have already suggested to him, some characters very familiar to me such as Oni the tirelessly smiling blowpipe-as-souvenir seller who has patiently patrolled Jalan Jaksa for years in the hope of a sale or two. But I respect the author’s choices and commend this book as a fine social statement. It ought to be compulsory reading for city governors, bureaucrats and ‘developers’ alike.

(pub. Tempo No. 18-19/IX/Jan 06 – 12, 2009)

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A Dissident Malaysian Voice

Journey through Southeast Asia: Ceritalah 2
Author: Karim Raslan
Pub: Times Books International
237pp

If you have read Sabri Zain’s Face Off: A Malaysian Reformasi Diary 1998-99, Karim Raslan’s highly articulate dissident Malaysian voice does not come as much of a surprise. (It might come as something of a surprise, however, to the author to be described as a “dissident”.)

This is not to belittle it in any way, only to emphasize the existence among a younger generation of Malaysians of thoughtful, worldly people with both courage and integrity.

Karim Raslan, like Sabri Zain, is a bumiputera (native) of the generation that grew up post-May 1969 and thus a beneficiary of the New Economic Order that set out to level the playing field for the Malays. A Cambridge University-educated lawyer, Karim’s mother is Welsh, which gave him a culturally bipolar upbringing, notwithstanding which he asserts a Malay identity throughout.

Here is the voice of a Muslim who believes passionately that his religion is compatible with both modernity and democracy, a proper democracy that is, not the ethnic-orientated system of caucuses that has ruled Malaysia since independence and which is entrenched in UMNO, the MCA and the MIC.

The many very worldly references he makes clearly differentiate him also from the likes of Parti Islam, which now rules the states of Kelantan and Trengganu; in the latter the ruling party intends to institute hudud*. It’s extremely hard to imagine the Chief Minister of Trengganu unabashedly using the phrase “Bloody hell!” in a newspaper column!

Karim believes that Malaysia is a workable multi-ethnic, multi-religious democracy. And why not? There are precedents. Much as the ruling elite would like to ignore examples from the past of successful multi-ethnic political parties, they exist.

The municipality of Ipoh, a major center of the world tin mining industry was once ruled by the Democratic Labour Party and widely acclaimed for the quality of its public services.

Here is a writer with some considerable courage.

“Politicians,” he says, “should never be allowed to write their own memoirs.” He then goes on to examine the virtues of Ho Chi Minh, whom he describes as “a reluctant Communist”, a rather brave assertion in a country with a considerable paranoia for anything on the Left.

He vigorously defends the organization, Sisters in Islam, and several journalists against the charges of Persatuan Ulama Malaysia and denounces PUM for its “intellectual terrorism”.

Indonesian readers will be most interested perhaps in the pieces here on their own country. He writes sympathetically about the fate of Chinese-Indonesians.

In a piece titled Malang and the Indonesian Chinese Predicament, he describes them as “vulnerable, isolated and only marginally richer than their neighbors”. Elsewhere Karim’s expositions on Indonesian artists and their interpretations of a rapidly changing world are thought-provoking and readable.

Sabri Zain set out to record the tumultuous events in Malaysia in 1998-99, and, for me as an expatriate who lived four years in the country and began to believe people were irredeemably docile, lifted the scales from my eyes.

Karim Raslan has further confirmed to me that among Malaysia’s brightest and best the machine politics of UMNO is not the only pole of attraction.

(pub. The Jakarta Post 27th October 2002)

* ‘hudud’ – In Islamic (Sharia) law hudud usually refers to the class of punishments that are fixed for certain crimes that are considered to be “claims of God”. – Administrator

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Rigorous research on WWII brought together

War and Memory in Malaya and Singapore
Edited: P. Lim Pui Huen and Diana Wong
Published: The Institute of Southeast Asian Studies

The Singapore-based Institute of South-east Asian Studies is an excellent source of material of all sorts on this complex and varied region, and in this volume they have brought together some very rigorous research on World War II and the memory of it in Malaya and Singapore.

This, needless to say, covers the period of the defeat of the British in 1942, the Japanese Occupation and the return of the British power in September 1945.

It is the story of the effect of the Japanese Occupation on the three major ethnic groups in the British colonies, the Malays, Chinese and Indians. As P. Ramasamy says in his piece on the Indians, “Wars mean different things to different people.”

Indeed, they do. Each of these groups had experienced a different type of interface with colonial power and the Japanese themselves had different expectations of them.

The Chinese, for example, knew instinctively that they would be targeted and scapegoated. The Overseas Chinese had pre-war been a major source of funds and moral support for their mainland kin when the Imperial Japanese Army overran parts of China in the 1930s. Chinese men in particular had much to fear and so it proved.

The Japanese, who renamed the island Syonan-to, mounted sweeping operations known as sook ching and many Chinese males were unlawfully executed in them. No wonder then that the Malayan Anti-Japanese People’s Army had a very large Chinese component – it would be a mistake, however, to view it as a single-race fighting force.

Many Chinese resisted in other ways, and here it is something of a disappointment to find that none of these essays gives a separate mention to a heroine, Elizabeth Choy whom the British later decorated with the O.B.E.; a remarkable woman. Nor does the Eurasian doctor Sybil Karthigasu, G.M., who is buried in Ipoh’s Connolly Road Cemetery and who left Japanese interrogation semi-paralyzed, merit an individual mention.

The Malay scholar Abu Talib Ahmad has done an excellent research job on “The Malay Community”, having interviewed many older rural Malays for their recollections of the Occupation.

Whilst acknowledging that more of the Malays were acquiescent, Abu is also insistent that many resisted. The writer points out Malay peasant resistance in the form of a refusal to plant anything other than their family plots.

The Indian experience is nuanced by the very real influence of Chandra Bose’s Indian National Army among them. Its anti-imperialist “modus operandi” was to collaborate with the Japanese around the slogan ‘On To Delhi.’ As Ramasamy says, anti-British agitation and the memory of heavy work on the plantations prompted many Indians to prefer the Japanese vehicle, and after the war their anticolonial sentiment became evident in widespread Indian support for the Malayan Communist Party.

This is an extremely thoughtful but occasionally overwritten series of essays about the immediate effects of the Japanese Occupation and its consequences for post-war life. After reading it, I am left, yet again, wondering why there is no memorial to the Asian slave labor that died in the tens of thousands on Japan’s ‘Death Railway’ in Thailand.

(pub. The Jakarta Post 22nd March 2001)

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Malaysian Reformasi

Face Off – A Malaysian Reformasi Diary (1998-99)
Author: Sabri Zain
Pub. Options Publications Pte Ltd, Singapore, 2000
Paperback, 198pp

Hashanuddin Rais, a Malaysian filmmaker, makes the bold claim on the back of Face Off that after reading this collection of Sabri Zain’s Internet pieces, “Malaysia will never be the same again.” Another film director, U-Wei bin Haji Saan, asserts, “Sabri Zain is an original.”

Face Off vibrantly describes the movement that swept Malaysia after the 1998 arrest of then deputy prime minister Anwar Ibrahim and the infamous assault on him by the police that followed. “Reformasi”, of course, was the cry first heard here in Indonesia when the students and others took to the streets to demand an end to Soeharto’s New Order regime. It fired the imagination of many Malaysians of all ethnic groups who were tired of what they perceived as corruption and abuse of power by Dr. Mahathir’s entrenched political machine.

The Malaysian opposition movement, which has not gone away, took many people by surprise, both inside and outside the country. There was a widespread impression that decades of political quietism and increased prosperity had deadened the real opposition to Barisan Nasional, the coalition of parties that binds together the political elites of the Malays, Chinese and Indians that have run the country since the interethnic disturbances in 1969. But, still waters run deep and even the most politically passive peoples can, if goaded enough, resist perceived injustice.

Sabri Zain used the Internet, on which he built up a big following, to great effect by putting together well-written, witty and informative pieces that relayed the anti-Establishment views of that resistance, the means by which they were expressed and the often brutal response of the state. (It might be remembered here that the Indonesian students were galvanized to a great degree by the free flow of opinion and information on the Net.) Malaysians could find in Sabri’s pieces an alternative to the mendacious propaganda of such newspapers as The New Straits Times, surely one of the stuffiest progovernment publications in the region.

The Malaysian police come out of this very badly indeed, and for someone like myself, who lived for four years in Malaysia and was always impressed by their apparent restraint and lack of hubris, the feeling is very strong that Mahathir has done a very great disservice by politicizing them so.

The wide spectrum of people that took to the streets was a refreshing antidote to the years of ethnically orientated party politics and a reminder that the Chinese and the Indians also believe themselves to be loyal Malaysians, loyal to the country. Sabri’s writing makes this point at almost every turn.

We have just seen a popular movement in the Philippines oust a corrupt president. Perhaps the winds of change will blow again in Malaysia.

Certainly, it is hard to believe that articulate, intelligent people like Sabri Zain will simply fade away or hide their faces when they see perceived wrong in their land.

(pub. The Jakarta Post, 4th February 2001)

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Malay excellence – a transcending legacy

The Malays Par ExcellenceWarts And All; An Introspection
Authors: Ismail Noor and Muhammad Azaham
Pub. Pelanduk Publications (M) Sdn Bhd, Selangor
Paperback xvii + 166 pp

Having lived for four years in predominantly ethnic Malay areas of Malaysia, I came to this book, I must admit, with some well-formed opinions about them as a people. Two years teaching Malay children in Kelantan, Malaysia’s idiosyncratic north-eastern state followed by two years teaching in Perlis over the mountains have given me a pretty close view of their community.

Kelantan, of course, is known for its religious fervor and the Kelantanese, who do not merit a separate mention in this book surprisingly, for their barely concealed hostility to outsiders, even other Malays. Having seen this first-hand and having had west coast Malays complain to me of a certain Kelantanese tendency to keep them at arm’s length, I have to confess to a certain reluctance to believe in Malay unity as a transcending force.

Nonetheless, it is important to see how others view themselves. Ismail Noor and Muhammad Azaham have set out a Malay view of their own people and a Malay view of history and, although one might beg to differ on certain points, is an affirmative statement of self-belief. This is no re-hash of Dr. Mahathir’s The Malay Dilemma, which was both a scathing look at Malay faults and a call to action on their behalf, but an honest look at what makes them tick.

It has often been the case that the Malays, most of whom are easy-going, self-deprecating people (Mahathir a major exception), have been overlooked and the authors blast the British for just this in their treatment of the people. The colonial British did have a condescending attitude towards them for which they paid rather dearly.

Failure to recruit sufficient Malays into the forces pre-WW2 was a crucial factor in the rapid collapse of the colony when the Japanese attacked in 1941-42. That the Malays were indeed good fighting men, contrary to British opinion, was proved in spades by the heroic stand of the Malay Regiment at Kent Ridge in Singapore, a stand made all the finer by the fact that many others deserted the front.

If one wants to take exception to anything said here it must be with the assertion that the New Economic Policy, initiated in the wake of the 1969 inter-ethnic riots that rocked Malaysia to its very foundations, is “bold and dynamic”. There may have been a serious need for affirmative action to lever the Malays up economically but it is fair to wonder aloud whether the NEP is past its expiry date. Having witnessed first-hand the featherbedding of Malay students in the secondary school system, I cannot help but feel that certain aspects of it are deeply unfair to the other ethnic groups including other ‘bumiputera’ such as the Dayaks.

Ismail and Muhammad do make a courageous assessment, nonetheless, of some of the faults of the Malaysian education system. “Several situations of imperfect and relatively unwholesome years in primary and secondary education become compounded by the problem of time-constrained social maladjustment at university level,” they say. A bold assertion.

The authors have provided a catalog towards the back of the book of distinguished Malays, many of whom are unfamiliar to me. Indeed many Malays have distinguished themselves in various fields, not least UN military service, where their traits of collective loyalty serve them well, but I was disappointed to note the absence from the list of scholars of the historian of the Malays, Syed Hussein Ali, an important voice of dissent in Malaysia.

This is a worthy attempt, however, to put a people’s point of view.

(pub. The Jakarta Post 28th January 2001)

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Strange Fruit

A trained anthropologist takes up her first assignment in the Kalimantan jungle.

A Taste For Green Tangerines
Author: Barbara Bisco
Publisher: Black Lotus

The subtitle of this novel should have been enough to alert me: A Romp in the Rainforest. Nobody romps in rainforests, except, of course, loggers, legal and illegal, oil palm-idiot businesses and the like.

Alerted to what? Well, to a pretty tedious story, not well-told.

Bethany Parker, young, a little footloose although she does have a ‘boyfriend’ (why are adults referred to in the western world as ‘boyfriends and girlfriends’?) back home in London, is a trained anthropologist itching for her first assignment and when the chance of one comes up in Borneo (Indonesian, Kalimantan) she jumps at it and gets it.

How is an anthropologist trained, if not on the job, meeting the ‘exotic’ people or tribe of fancy? That this should ordinarily mean in western minds forest-dwelling or island-dwelling people is of course no surprise but anthropology ought to encompass every human group in existence. ‘Exotic’ would then cover everyone from Wall Street bankers to arms manufacturers to, well, spear-chuckers and those who pierce their private parts, which practice does get something of a mention in this novel; it’s the Borneo Dayaks, of course.

Bethany is one of those names that has fairly recently come into fashion in the United Kingdom like Tracy, Mandy and Sharon, so, I guess, that brings it up to date. And Beth is certainly up-to-date, jetting off to some place she has little clue about to pursue an ideal.

To be fair to Barbara Bisco, I recognize the syndrome. I suffered from it myself, way back in late 1979 when I applied for a teaching job in those lonely, lovely islands, the Seychelles and went there to live in a small fishing village called Baie Ste. And where, frankly speaking, I was something of a fish out of water. Some things I enjoyed, yes, the marvelous cuisine (mainly fish, chicken and, at the weekends, pork), the music and the nightly stellar magic of the constellations, but, it was hard work socially…  did not have much in common with people. And quite soon a tropical ennui set in.

Beth Parker soon finds the same, irrespective of her initial idealism. She is pitched up on an eco-tourism project in Central Kalimantan, a project that has brought together project directors, zoologists and others from a number of western countries, all hoping ‘to do good’, which is exactly what I wanted to do all those years ago.

I have not been in Kalimantan for perhaps 10 years so it is difficult for me to say with any degree of precision how much deforestation has gone on since that time but most reports would say a lot. Beth’s destination, as it happens, is both within a remaining expanse of forest and not very distant from logged-out areas…and that does sound believable… anyone who has flown over Riau and Lampung will recognize just how close in flying time thick-canopy forest is to the moonscapes the loggers create.

Pitching up amongst complete strangers on such a project demands a certain degree of personal maturity that a life spent in racy London can hardly prepare you for. As I found in the Seychelles perhaps the most difficult part of all is adjusting to the other expatriates, and worst of all, sometimes, to your fellow-country folk. She finds this out very quickly.

Her job is to bring the local Dayaks, the Maloh (a group I knew nothing of before reading this), onside for the purposes of the project. She arrives with rudimentary Indonesian language skill – this is where ‘rudimentary’ equates to ‘precious little’ – and is sent to a Dayak longhouse community (how many are there left?), where her much-prized British sense of privacy means zero. Her expatriate co-workers all have their own agendas… nothing new there for me! It is all a bit disorientating.

I would have found this easier to read if there was less of the ‘F’ and ‘S’ words usage, not that I am necessarily offended by that but because the whole prose style seems to devolve on that kind of thing. Pity! It’s a nice idea. I have had expatriate friends here down the years doing ‘good work’ in conservation projects, three Brits on tiger protection work in Sumatra and an Aussie on national park management consultancy and I very much admire their idealism… perhaps they will get to the quick of the story sooner than I did.

(pub. Tempo No. 28/X/March 10 – 16, 2010)

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