In Pursuit of True Democracy

Standing right in front of the historic Merdeka Stadium on July 9, 2011, brought back my school memory of a photographic image in which our founding father, the late Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra Al-Haj, raised his right hand towards the sky, proclaiming the word “MERDEKA! MERDEKA! MERDEKA!”, each time followed by the thunderous echoes of 20,000 fellow Malaysians in the stadium. Sentimentally, I wish I lived that day

by Ron CK Sim

JULY 11 — July 9, 2011, the day a new independent nation was born. Is it the end of the struggle? No, it’s just the beginning. Many challenges lie ahead, no doubt. Nonetheless, it’s a historic milestone that all citizens of the new nation can be proud of. What nation am I talking about? The world’s newest nation, the Republic of South Sudan.

I’ve always dreamt of living in a different age, a different era. More specifically, the era when my beloved nation gained her independence from arguably the greatest empire the world has ever seen.

Standing right in front of the historic Merdeka Stadium on July 9, 2011, brought back my school memory of a photographic image in which our founding father, the late Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra Al-Haj, raised his right hand towards the sky, proclaiming the word “MERDEKA! MERDEKA! MERDEKA!”, each time followed by the thunderous echoes of 20,000 fellow Malaysians in the stadium. Sentimentally, I wish I lived that day.

Before I carry on “sentimentalising”, I was brought back to the harsh, present-day reality. Yes, still standing where I was, I was horrified by the scene along the hilly street leading to the main entrance to the stadium. Red FRU trucks lining the street with scores of FRU personnel (which we’ve not-very-fondly called the “red head army”) in their full gear.

I was wondering for a moment, who were their enemies of the day? The communist insurgents or the Al-Qaeda terrorists? No, their enemies were just the unarmed Malaysians from all walks of life marching for a just cause — to demand for free and fair elections! It’s living proof how much this nation of ours has descended to.

Seeing the scores of brave, unselfish and patriotic Malaysians on the locked-down streets of Kuala Lumpur was a touching moment to behold. They were undeterred by the heavy downpour that greeted them at 2pm.

Under my umbrella I was thinking, the heavy downpour must be a God-given help to the demonstrators to minimise the effects of chemical water and tear gas, reportedly fired at their fellow demonstrators at various locations downtown!

In many instances, I was moved to join in the crowd near the stadium compound, to march and scream along with them. You might be wondering, “Aren’t you one of them?” No, I was not. In fact, I was one of over a hundred “monitors” the Bar Council had called upon to volunteer for the defining event — an event the authorities had warned cannot be mentioned by name or symbolised by its colour!

Our duty was purely to monitor the situation, with a view to record any human rights violations by the police or any violence by the demonstrators, all “without fear or favour”.

Abiding by the spirit of the Bar, I was as impartial as I could ever be. Here’s briefly what I observed during the time I was in and around the stadium compound from 12.30pm to 4.30pm. I witnessed two congregations of demonstrators at two different entrances to the stadium compound, both of which were barricaded by the police using barbwires.

In contrast to other locations in the city, no tear gas or water cannons were used at all to disperse the crowd at the stadium compound — though there was once when the FRU personnel looked like they were getting ready to fire, presumably to intimidate the crowd. The crowd, though in high spirits, behaved peacefully and sensibly. There was not one occasion that I feared violence might possibly break out among the demonstrators.

To my little surprise, I thought the police at the stadium compound acted and behaved reasonably well and professionally (contrary to their counterparts elsewhere in the city I was told). At least they allowed the crowd to assemble, and to shout and gesture whatever they wanted until they started to disperse on their own at 4pm.

The police also allowed political speeches to be made by the likes of Chua Jui Meng, Husam Musa, etc and one high-ranking police officer also spoke gently and politely to National Laureate A. Samad Said. For the most part, I personally did not witness any clear violation of human rights by the police/FRU personnel but all that came to an abrupt end at 4.10pm, when they suddenly charged towards the remaining demonstrators without any warning!

By that time, the remaining demonstrators were just hanging around taking picures, and chatting among themselves. This action by the police/FRU personnel was unprovoked and utterly unnecessary, considering the majority of the crowd had already dispersed, or in the midst of dispersing.

After a while, I saw around six to eight demonstrators get arrested. But the good thing was the police did not beat up any of the arrested demonstrators, though they dragged the demonstrators in quite a high-handed manner. I must also add that all the BC monitors (and reporters/journalists) were allowed access into the stadium compound and literally had a free rein walking up and down the area. We were allowed to snap pictures without any restrictions whatsoever!

The truth is, Malaysians are a peaceful lot. They deserve to exercise their Constitutional rights to assemble peacefully and responsibly. The freedom of expression and assembly is a fundamental right of every “true” democracy. Having free and fair elections is the essence of any state that aspires to be recognised as a “truly” democratic state.

Why wouldn’t our government allow its people to exercise their Constitutional rights but instead chose to clamp down hard on innocent Malaysians? Didn’t our government realise by doing what they did in the past few weeks (well, one might say in the past three decades!), they were radically dismantling the very essence of democracy upon which our nation was founded almost 54 years ago!?

The Most Honourable Prime Minister, isn’t Malaysia a democratic state founded upon the principles of liberty and justice? Didn’t you agree with the late Tunku who proclaimed that the Persekutuan Tanah Melayu “shall be forever a sovereign, democratic and independent state founded upon the principles of liberty and justice, and ever seeking the welfare and happiness of its people and the maintenance of a just peace among all nations”?

Just as July 9, 2011, is a milestone for South Sudan, July 9, 2011, is another milestone for Malaysia in pursuit of being a “true” democracy. Our next milestone? Surely it ought to be our nation’s SECOND proclamation of independence post-GE 13! And where will it be? Where else but at Stadium MERDEKA…

(from the Malaysian Dream)

Yellow fever

We protested together, we laughed together, and when the tear gas canisters started to rain down, we shared salt and water together. 

by Shaun Tan

JULY 11 — “Forget it,” said my father. “You’ll never get anywhere near the city centre. The government’s got it completely locked down. Besides, the police will arrest anyone who even approaches the barricades — didn’t you read the papers? They’re going to be very brutal. They’re sending in the army.”

“I’d like to give it a shot anyway,” I replied.

He shrugged. “You’re wasting your time.”

The next morning he watched my sister, my uncle, my cousins, and I as we ineptly tried to plot a route into the city. Finally he gave an exasperated sigh. “You chaps have no hope of getting in. You don’t even know how the roads connect. You need someone who knows the road system and the different side-streets.”

I looked at him.

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he told us to get in the car.

He got behind the wheel and suddenly he was driving us through the streets of Kuala Lumpur, weaving through side streets and smooth-talking his way past police barricades.

When we arrived at the city centre he walked ahead like an excited child, boasting of his knowledge of the road system and laughing and joking along the way. I saw a side of him I hadn’t seen for a while.

The side of him who hates being told what not to do. The side of him that lets no authority trump his own reason. The side of him that throws caution to the winds and laughs as it blows past. He grinned mischievously and I thought, “Jeez, that’s where I get that spirit from.”

When we finally joined up with a Bersih procession I was heartened to see thousands of people of all races demonstrating peacefully. We protested together, we laughed together, and when the tear gas canisters started to rain down, we shared salt and water together. Like me, everyone else there had work to get back to, targets to meet, and obligations to fulfil, places to go and people to meet. But they came to the rally anyway because they knew it was important.

Despite the many instances of police brutality and their use of tear gas and water cannons on peaceful protestors, I also saw some policemen and women who were willing to meet my gaze not with hostility but with understanding, who were willing to shake hands with protestors, who spoke to me with friendliness and respect, and who acted with dignity and restraint.

These people were a credit to their office and represented the role of the police as it should be. The Bersih rally revealed a lot of ugliness in some, but it brought out the best in many others.

It’s been two days since the Bersih rally, since tens of thousands of us painted the town yellow, and since the BN-controlled press has worked to portray the peaceful protest as an unruly mob, and the lack of property damage as a victory for the government. But I’ll remember the 9th of July 2011 as the day thousands braved tear gas, police barricades, and the threats of arrest, violence, and genocide to preserve our freedom. The day we rejected the illegality of a peaceful rally for clean elections as being incompatible with a democracy.

To our government, I’d say that you know the true victors and losers of the 9th of July no matter what you pretend in the mainstream press. I’d say that despite everything, the people are still willing to work with you if you listen to us. But if you persist in your corruption and brutality, we will continue to embarrass you until we’ve driven you out of office.

And that if you decide to fight us you’ll be fighting your best people, for with us will stand those who are willing to struggle for the good of our country, and those to whom our common humanity matters more than your orders.

Here’s another tip: Take care when using the media. Many of us who turned out at Bersih did so because for years you’ve justified your rule in the language of rights and democracy. For years you’ve told us that Malaysia is a free and democratic country, and that the government is tolerant and moderate. And so on Saturday, thousands of Malaysians assembled to exercise their right to assemble and to speak out despite the ban, as they would in a tolerant democracy. For years you’ve used propaganda as a tool, forgetting that it cuts both ways. The problem with using propaganda though, is that, sometimes, people believe it.

It’s a funny world we live in.

* Shaun Tan is a Malaysian student. Contact him at shaunzhiming.tan@yale.edu

(from theMalaysianInsider)

How Bersih cleansed my Malaysian soul

I also noticed that most of them did not know each other, but had extended a warmth so tangible that I almost shed a tear in regret of all my stupid preconceptions about these people.

by Andrew Chee

JULY 12 — I’m a 28 moving on to 29-year-old man in Kuala Lumpur, the place where in 2008 I decided to get a fresh start. I am originally from Malacca and had been in Singapore for about 4½ years prior to moving to KL.

For the purposes of this story, let’s just say the sum of my life experiences has made me grouchy, surly, disgruntled and yes… RACIST. But I was a funny type of racist; I’m Chinese but have part-Baba heritage with very Westernised conditioning and cannot, for the life of me, speak any sort of Chinese dialect (save to order food).

I disliked the Malays and Indians for the usual stereotypical reasons, and I disliked the Chinese even more for being too “Cina” and I disliked the “lain-lains” for just being “lain-lain.” Sure, I have friends from other races; my very best friends are Malay Singaporeans, and my childhood friend, who is in KL as well, is a Chindian.

My project band which wrote a song for the MyConstitution album consisted of me, two Chinese girls, an Indian guy, a Sindhi, and two Malay guys. We were quite 1 Malaysia. Yet I could not discard my racial prejudices.

I disliked everyone, especially if they didn’t think like me. In a sense, I was a racial nihilist. I believed everyone was just as racist and using the tools of logic and reason, which I am so proud of, I often sought to make people around me admit their prejudices.

Having done so, I would conclude, as I have convinced myself, that we could never be 1 Malaysia or be just “Malaysian” and neither would meritocracy ever prevail in what I perceived in a society that was only a cultural pot of prejudices.

Diverse, yes… in its prejudices and preconceptions. There was a glimmer of hope when Hannah Yeoh tried to register her daughter as “Anak Malaysia” but then a small section of society, as portrayed by the mainstream media, vehemently opposed the temporary registration of her daughter as Chinese whilst she fought this battle. All I thought was: “There you go.” I smiled smugly to myself; I loved being proved right.

When Bersih came about I merely thought, “OK-lah, it’s a good thing-lah I suppose.” I decided not to go as I have exams soon and working while studying here has made me even grouchier, more pessimistic and somewhat depressed.

I felt like a small cog in the giant machine of society, plus I hadn’t quite had the time to prepare for this exam. So going for Bersih was definitely out. Besides, what would it change? This was the one time I was glad to be proven wrong.

My mum had called me in the afternoon that day to ask me where I was and, being concerned about the volatile situation, asked me not to go and focus on my exams. My mum is quite the socio-politically-aware woman but I knew she only had a mother’s concern for her child’s safety in telling me to stay at home.

I told her yes, I’m not going. But the very moment I said that, something urged me to go. My curiosity grew like a calling to fulfil some sort of purpose. In some ways, God, whom I’ve neglected for so long, decided that day to crush my arrogant notions and my supposedly infallible sense of logic and reason.

In a state of mild euphoria, I drove through some lesser-known roads and parked at Brickfields. Absolutely lost, directionless and intimidated by the police presence, I called my friend David, who called his wife, human rights lawyer Renuka.

They had just been tear-gassed in KL Sentral and Ambiga had been arrested. She nonetheless guided me on how to join the march and that she would come get me if she could. But the aftermath of the KL Sentral incident was too thick with tear gas and I instead joined another group which walked to the Chinese temple just outside Stadium Merdeka, which was blocked by a heavy police presence and a few fire engines, and ultimately to Pasar Seni LRT.

I was surrounded by the very people whom I had held so much prejudice against; the Indian uncle, the Chinese Ah Beng, the Malay pakciks and makciks. But this was different, I noticed that most of them were from out-of-town whilst I, who up to the last minute, had decided it was too bothersome to go what with the roadblocks and such.

I also noticed that most of them did not know each other, but had extended a warmth so tangible that I almost shed a tear in regret of all my stupid preconceptions about these people. I had up to this point concluded that most people were simply, out of the burden of city life, selfish and cold.

No, I was the one who was cold and selfish. Throughout the whole thing there were people who attempted to talk to me, seeing that I was rather quiet, perhaps guessing that I may be feeling a little scared. But I kept quiet, still trying to come to grips with what I was observing that day; the true Malaysian spirit.

No one saw me as Chinese or a city dweller or anything but a brother. I always thought people are inherently evil, but in spite of so many opportunities to steal, bully, rob, loot and plunder, I promise you no one even so much as committed a misdemeanour.

I saw my Malay brothers (I now call them brothers in the hope that they and others take me as their brother too) demonstrating their frustration at the injustice suffered, I suspect, not so much by themselves, but for their non-Malay brothers and sisters.

I could tell that many were not out there for themselves. And it was not so much during the chaotic moments that the Malaysian soul manifested, but in the moments in between. In between the chaos, many chattered to strangers and, surprisingly, to a stranger from a different race from themselves.

In the 7-Eleven, a Chinese man from Penang expressed his concern to a Malay stranger from Pahang about the Lynas situation while he in return expressed his admiration for the Chinese man’s effort to come all the way from Penang.

It was the quiet Indian uncles who came to demonstrate their love for the country, not the men who blare so loudly in the coffeeshops about the unfairness they suffer. The 60-year -old Chinese aunties, whom I suspect can barely speak English or Malay, came out with a look of joy and hope in their faces as if they saw a dream fulfilled.

It is with great shame that I confess that the Chinese-speaking youths with their blond hair and their Malaysian kindred had much more empathy and an understanding of unity than I gave them credit for or that I ever had. The love they had in their hearts for the fate of their nation and their brothers and sisters therein for a life and a promise of the idea of “Malaysia”.

I, with a formal education in jurisprudence and an intense penchant for philosophy, was the least among these greats. I had ideas of a socio-democrat Malaysia or of a modified contemporary Marxist/Socialist utopia but I was wrong. I forgot about the true patriots of this country. I was the fascist among these great socialists. They understood society better than I ever will. They understand sacrifice whereas I only understand theory.

I am equally guilty as the current administration for not understanding, and worse, for not even attempting to understand what Malaysia means. For this I am sorry.

Bersih and the tear gas have cleansed my Malaysian soul. I will never forget the moment when the tear gas canister flew over my head, the moment I was happy in this dreary existence. I am most likely to fail my upcoming exams but now I would rather fail it than not have gone for Bersih 2.0.

My Malaysian soul is wiped clean and I will try to rebuild slowly the spirit which my brothers and sisters displayed so strongly on July 9, 2011. And to Annie Ooi, you will always be my most foremost Lady of Liberty. I will think of you if ever my prejudices arise again.

(from theMalaysianInsider)

Hanging my head in shame

I talk big and never have the guts to act. I support Bersih and its agenda but all I can give were stupid comments whereas what they or like-minded Malaysians most needed was physical presence or rather participation in the peaceful walk.

by A coward

JULY 12 — I am a cyber-kaypoh, and I am a coward. I am what people call NATO — no action and talk only. I vent my displeasure only in the form of words and mostly in news portal comments.

I talk big and never have the guts to act. I support Bersih and its agenda but all I can give were stupid comments whereas what they or like-minded Malaysians most needed was physical presence or rather participation in the peaceful walk.

But fear gripped me. I failed to overcome the fear and I am quite ashamed to face my own people, let alone my God. I plough through the news portals and lots of amazing stories have come out, showing citizens taking up their democratic rights so that the country can reform for the better. And in one case, a Malaysian patriot, Baharudin Ahmad, died.

Why did I not participate? Lots of excuses. I stay in Singapore — no time to go back. I have a family to take care of — what will happen to them if I am arrested? I may lose my good-salaried job — who is going to pay the bills? I may get hurt/killed by the police and the likes of Perkasa and other extremists.

Why didn’t you wear the yellow shirt? I didn’t know there was a peaceful sit-in at Hong Lim Park. No yellow shirt. Don’t think lacking one makes any difference. I managed to talk myself out of this. Being a coward and selfish have done me in and kept me “involved” by going online for news in the comfort of my room sitting on my posh sofa.

Meanwhile, the patriots were “fighting” for a better Malaysia so that our children can have a better civil society. I would like to sincerely thank all those “fighters” and their sacrifices. Especially to the family of Baharudin Ahmad who should be considered a hero. Come this general election, I will be sure to vote in a civil government.

(from theMalaysianInsider)

Bersih 2.0 “bersih”ed me!

As we passed a Chinese eating shop, the crowd which by then included a number of non-Malays, waved invitingly to the customers asking them to, “Mari sama-sama!”

by Lt Col (R) Aw Yong Tian Teck

JULY 12 — As I headed for the LRT station to enter the city on the morning of July 9, I was both fearful and determined — fearful that a “May 13” type violence would erupt, and afraid of being arrested. Yet, I was determined to break this shroud of fear that had gained intensity over the last two weeks from reading the newspapers, watching television and listening to coffeeshop talk.

I nervously joined a predominantly Malay group outside the KTM building. From those whom I glanced at a bit longer, I received courteous smiles. I soon started to join them in shouting “Hidup Rakyat” or “Hidup Bersih” and punching the air as we strolled along. When they shouted calling upon “Allah”, I suddenly became conscious of the present controversy concerning the use of the word by non-Muslims, reducing my voice to a murmur.

As we approached Dataran Merdeka, our path was blocked by the police. We were told to sit down on the road, women and children included. Someone started singing, “Negara ku…” then we all joined in.

Despite my 27 years’ service in the nation’s Armed Forces, I never felt so close to Malaysia, my country as at that moment… then the dreadful bell on the top of the FRU vehicle rang, followed by what sounded like gun shots. They were firing tear gas into the crowd!

Completely unprepared and shocked, I was overcome by the painful and nauseating gas. We scrambled and I managed to move to a corner. A Malay man handed me bits of salt and others shared their water with me. The group retreated towards Dayabumi, and as I joined them, visibly shaken, I was frequently asked, “Uncle OK?” by smiling young Malay lads.

Our march through the Chinatown area was another eye opener. As we passed a Chinese eating shop, the crowd which by then included a number of non-Malays, waved invitingly to the customers asking them to, “Mari sama-sama!” At an Indian stall by the roadside, they crowded to buy water; a far cry from the violent, rioting mob that we were told to expect!

The way to Merdeka Stadium was blocked. As the now enlarged crowd retreated through the Chinatown area, we were again attacked by the FRU with tear gas. We scrambled and finally ended up in front of Puduraya, joining a much larger crowd with more non-Malays present. Once again, the police fired tear gas and shot their water cannon at the crowd.

The crowd then regrouped and headed towards KLCC. It was nearly an hour before the police finally came and did their “thing” again. By then, the “order” to “bersurai” was passed around; the rakyat had done their job!

In all, I spent about five hours marching with a largely predominantly Malay crowd. I was soaked and tear-gassed, but in the end I felt liberated, happy and grateful to God! Never have I seen the Malays so passionate about their cause, yet so gentle and mild-mannered under such trying conditions.

They were nowhere like the racially-incited, hate-ridden, property destroying “kumpulan jahat” that we were told to expect — definitely not in the crowd that I had the privilege to walk with that day!

The non-Malays who were there must be commended equally for their belief and conviction, and for their faith in a mature Malaysian society. The policemen whom I spoke to were surprisingly good-natured in spite of the long hours they had been on duty, some expressing concern for my safety. The order to fire tear gas at fellow Malaysians came from the top.

(from theMalaysianInsider)

Tanah tumpahnya darahku

In running, they hit and toppled the barricades that were around KLCC. And to my utter amazement, they stopped, picked up the barricades, arranged it to be how it was like before, and continued running.

by Esther Goh

JULY 12 — “Are you ready to die for the country?” I asked as I walked together with Simeon heading from Mirama Hotel on Jalan Maharajalela to Petaling Street.

My honest answer to my own question was, “No. I don’t believe I should die now. When I’m only 24. There is so much more that I want and believe I can do for my country.”

“But what if it takes bloodshed for people to wake up? What if we were the ones to go — so that people will finally realise the need for change?” was Simeon’s reply.

***

I was driving home on Thursday night when this motorcyclist, thinking I was endangering his life, rode very fast... honking the whole way. And as he approached my car, he bent over and shouted at the top of his lungs at me.

Wow, I thought. If this was how it’s like when there’s NO rally, I cannot imagine what would happen on July 9th.

I thought of chickening out.

***

I flip-flopped the entire July 8th. To go, or not to go? Every time somebody asked me if I was going, I flashed them a nervous smile.

What if I die? What if I don’t die... but end up with a disability? Gaahhh.

But the biggest why was — WHY DO I FIND MYSELF FEARING THE GOVERNMENT? THE VERY PEOPLE WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO MAKE SURE I’M SAFE?

***

I knocked on the door of 608. And after a request for the “Secret Password”, the door was opened to 13 other people. Young people. People I call friends.

I sat amongst them, and we talked late into the night. Of our game plan. How we would run. What we would need to counter the possible attacks we would face.

We slept. And woke to the sound of FRU trucks moving into the city.

You would have thought it was World War III.

***

We packed salt. Prepared bi-carb soda solution. Soaked our towels in vinegar. Prayed. And left in twos and threes.

We walked towards Petaling Street. People we met along the way were silent.. It was the calm before the storm. Grim. None of us knowing what would happen.

As we walked further into the heart of the city, we heard chants.

“Hidup, hidup! Hidup Bersih! Hidup, hidup! Hidup Rakyat!”

And something in me started. It was a growing excitement.

We followed the crowd. Chanting as we walked along.

Deep inside me, I was still afraid. I looked around me. Most people do not have the same colour skin as me. If a riot was to break out, I would have been Peking duck in two seconds.

We looked on. And strategized to join the crowd and be in the middle. Lest anything should happen, at least we were not in the vulnerable fringes.

***

Menara Maybank.

1 Malaysia #1. I met an elderly Chinese auntie. This was not her first rally. The Anti-ISA rally was her first. She was doing it for her children, she said.

Tear Gas #1. We ran helter-skelter.

***

Tung Shin Hospital.

We were waiting with the rest to march to the stadium. But the Men in Blue gave us no rest.

Tear Gas #2. We ran helter-skelter again.

We ran into the shelter, eyes, nose and throat hurting from the gas.

ALL I WANT IS CLEAN AND FAIR ELECTIONS! WHY AM I TREATED LIKE A CRIMINAL?

***

1 Malaysia #2. We ran into the shelter. Eyes still stinging.

Four Malay boys who were standing around offered us salt.

“Rub it around your eyes and put some in the roof of your mouth,” Arif said. “Take this bag of salt, give it to those who need it.”

“Thank you, and please, please, please take care,” we bade him.

***

Rain. THANK GOD FOR RAIN!

***

Still in Tung Shin Hospital grounds.

Tear Gas #3. WE WERE IN THE HOSPITAL GROUNDS, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

***

We ran helter-skelter. And we saw a wall. There was nowhere else to run, as police were chasing with their batons.

1 Malaysia #3. An elderly Chinese uncle stood by the wall.

“Uncle, go first.. go first,” I told him.

“No, no... after you!” And he helped me over the wall. And on the other side of the wall, was another Malay uncle... standing and giving a hand to all of us who were running.

We continued running.

1 Malaysia #4. I came to another wall. This time, this wall had a metal fence. With sharp pointers.

I climbed up the wall. And looked down. There was no way I was going to make it down there unscathed.

A young Malay chap climbed up to where I was. Lifted me, and lowered me down the other side.. his stomach pressing against the sharp metal pointers as he was doing so.

“Are you okay?” I turned back and asked.

“Yes, just run,” was his reply.

***

After having survived three rounds of tear gas... we were still dissatisfied.

This rally is not over!

We heard chants from afar, and decided we would join our fellow comrades in the march to Stadium Merdeka.

***

1 Malaysia #5. As we were heading towards the crowd, we saw three Chinese aunties.

They warned us against heading in that direction, because they just saw the FRUs and the police beating people up with batons.

“Thank you for coming, auntie. For doing this for our generation,” I said.

She looked at me with bewilderment. Took off her hat, and said to me, “Why do you thank me? My father didn’t do this for me. Now I will do it for my children. For my grandchildren. I will march in every state every week — until I see change happen.”

***

We found the crowd. And marched on to KLCC.

“Rasa sayang, hey! Rasa sayang sayang hey! Hey...” was what we heard the crowd singing.

***

We arrived in KLCC. Sat. Made a few more friends.

And ran. Because the police were after us again.

As we ran for our lives, I saw two other people in front of me.

In running, they hit and toppled the barricades that were around KLCC. And to my utter amazement, they stopped, picked up the barricades, arranged it to be how it was like before, and continued running.

***

9th of July, 2011.

I am proud.

Proud to have friends — students and white-collared workers, who would risk being detained and being treated inhumanely to stand for what is right.

Proud to have Malaysian brothers and sisters — this is my pledge. That this will be the last time I refer to anybody by race. Because of the kindness you showed me and my friends today, you showed me that we are CAPABLE, of being COLOUR BLIND.

Proud of the way we behaved during the rally. We were not violent. We were courteous. We helped each other. We pushed on despite being treated like dogs because we kept in mind -- the next generation that is to come after us.

Proud that we showed kindness instead of retaliating when we were provoked.

Proud that now, nobody can call us Third World — because we did not react the way the Middle East did.

And most of all, I am proud — so proud, that WE DID NOT SUCCUMB TO THE TACTICS THAT SOUGHT TO INSTILL FEAR IN US. THAT WE CHOSE TO RISE ABOVE THE FEAR WE HAVE BEEN SO BOUND BY.

***

Negaraku, tanah tumpahnya darahku.

9th July 2011. The day I am so proud of my fellow Malaysian friends.

(from theMalaysianInsider)

Bersih 2.0: Even a four-year-old gets it

“Who are these?” she asked, pointing to an ominous picture of the FRU in a line, shields up, batons at-the-ready. I sighed. How to explain to a four-year-old that the police, supposedly there to protect the rakyat, were in this case, doing the exact opposite?

by Lim Li Ching

JULY 12 — Eyes still smarting from the tear gas, legs aching from all that walking, the first thing that greeted me when I reached home was my four-year-old daughter launching herself into my arms. Immediately, all the anxiety and stress fled from me, as cuddles and kisses abounded.

She asked: “Mama, did you go for the march?”

Surprised, as I had only told her I had gone out to do something important, I answered: “Yes.” Perhaps she had overhead the adults talking.

I showed her the pictures and video clips on my phone, and when I was looking at the news online, she scrolled through the pictures that the websites had posted.

“These are pictures from the march!” she called out excitedly to her two-year old brother. He came hurtling next to us and repeated: “March!” Then, true to his food-loving form, said, “That’s a burger!”, pointing to the fast-food ad banner on the screen.

“See all these people in yellow? They’re good people”, I explained. “They’re fighting for change in Malaysia, so that we can have a better future.”

“Who are these?” she asked, pointing to an ominous picture of the FRU in a line, shields up, batons at-the-ready.

I sighed. How to explain to a four-year-old that the police, supposedly there to protect the rakyat, were in this case, doing the exact opposite?

By the end of that historic day, July 9, 2011, Malaysians were left with no illusions about the police brutality that had occurred, as more and more reports, eyewitness accounts, photos and videos flooded the blogosphere. More than 1,600 were arrested just for expressing their rights peacefully.

Yet, despite the threats, despite the intimidation, despite the fear, despite the roadblocks thrown up, thousands evaded the barriers, braved the heavy police presence and emerged victorious on the streets of Kuala Lumpur.

Six thousand, you said? Dear Mr IGP, were you there? I turned the corner of Jalan Sultan into Jalan Pudu and was greeted by a sea of humanity. The whole road was awash with Malaysians from all walks of life, of every creed and colour, young and old (I saw a brave woman with a walking stick; my sister saw one in a wheelchair. A friend’s 80-year-old father was at the rally, together with his 80-year-old friend).

Turning to the left, a huge crowd, thousands strong, was making its way down the road to join us. Now, I may not be able to do a “head count” as the police were seemingly able to (how does one count a teeming, moving mass?) and I won’t claim to be able to put a figure on the numbers on the street, but I was there at the million-strong march in London in 2003, protesting against the Iraq war, and I think I can tell when numbers are big.

(By the way, our police could learn a thing or two from their counterparts in the UK. That march was incredibly well organised, with routes mapped out way in advance, police and marshals all along the route, to help guide and cheer us on. There, the police were not something to be feared, but people to turn to for help and who actually worked with the organisers. The result: one million took to the streets to protest an unjust war, and there were no incidents of violence.)

“Why did you go for the march?” my daughter asked.

This was hard to explain. I wagered a tentative reply: “Sometimes, there are things that people are unhappy about, that we want changed in our country. So it is our right to assemble peacefully to make our voices heard. I wanted to be there.”

Astutely, for a four-year-old, she rejoined: “Because you are good.” Of course, mothers are heroines in their little girls’ eyes, but I am just an ordinary Malaysian who was at Bersih 2.0 because it was something I believe in, because I want to see change for the better in our country.

Because I was angered by the heavy-handedness of the authorities, of their unwillingness to compromise, of their ridiculous posturing — I mean, really, yellow T-shirts are illegal?

Because the antics of Perkasa and Umno Youth were enough to make anyone throw their hands up in despair and weep for the folly of our country, for in what other place could there be demonstrations against demonstrations, and threats of war waged against a call for clean and fair elections?

Because of the injustices wielded on Parti Sosialis Malaysia, individuals whose integrity, humanity and compassion know no bounds. Oh, if only those in power could be half the (wo)men that the PSM folks are!

Because all Malaysians deserve better.

The list goes on. Electoral reform, yes, of course. But the clear need for such reform is symptomatic of the deeper, systemic change that Malaysia needs.

I believe I was one of thousands at Bersih 2.0 who was there to express the longing for such change.

Malaysians, we can be proud of ourselves for what was achieved on Saturday. We need to seize the moment, press on, and continue the fight. The journey for some started years ago; for others, July 9 sparks the beginning.

Together we can build a better Malaysia, for ourselves and for our children. Because if my four-year-old can perceive that there is good in the cause, then surely we all can.

(from the Malaysian Insider)