MALAYSIA
is known as Bolehland by Malaysians inclined to snigger at heavy-handed
bureaucratic efforts to propel the nation into Òfully developedÓ status
by the year 2020. Boleh means ÒableÓ or Òcan doÓ in Malay. In the
late 1990s, having spent several decades Ð and a massive amount of
financial reserves Ð on infrastructural development in single-minded
pursuit of rapid industrialization, the Malaysian government began to
realize that Òclothes do not a man make,Ó no matter how exclusive the
brand. Thus the ÒMalaysia BolehÓ campaign was launched to bolster
national self-esteem Ð and there was a grudging acknowledgment that
cultural output is perhaps a more meaningful measure of a societyÕs
maturity than multimillion-dollar monuments and car factories.
Having been part of the British
Empire for over a century, the post-colonial Malaysian remains
Anglophilic to a noticeable extent. English is still the preferred
language of the middle and upper classes, despite strenuous attempts to
promote Malay as the official first language. Although Malay has been
the language of instruction in schools and universities since the late
1960s, and all young Malaysians today can claim fluency in the official
language, the majority of non-Malays persist in using either English or
their mother tongue Ð or both Ð especially in the arts.
This has given rise to a
multicultural parallelism in that each language stream tends to exist
and operate along its own lines Ð rarely, if ever, intersecting with
the others. The worlds of Malay, Chinese, Tamil, and English theatre,
for instance, are distinct and separate realities. The same holds true
for Malaysian literature Ð there is, in fact, no such entity as
ÒMalaysianÓ literature, unless one classifies all literary works by
Malaysian citizens or permanent residents as being ÒMalaysian.Ó In
locally made films, the dominant language has been Malay, but there are
signs that the new generation of independent filmmakers are
experimentally crossing boundaries, if only because their low-budget
productions are targeted at a more international audience (and film is
one medium in which language barriers are easily overcome by good
subtitles).
My
own cultural perspective may be described as eclectically cosmopolitan
- with a residual American influence which, like the reek of cheap
perfume after a busy night at a bordello, is rather difficult to deny.
I was born Chinese, in 1950, to middle-class, English-educated parents.
My childhood in a small, mercantile town called Batu Pahat was spent
soaking up Hollywood movies (my father was a health inspector and had a
free pass to all the cinemas, which I exploited with utmost glee). At
17 I spent a year in a New Jersey high school as an exchange student.
Ironically, I returned from that experience fairly disenchanted with
mainstream American culture, although I did acquire a taste for funky
subcultures. This explains why an otherwise ÒnormalÓ Malaysian kid
would be so au fait with American subcultural icons like Jack Kerouac,
Allen Ginsberg, e.e. cummings, Bill Burroughs, Lawrence Ferlinghetti,
Lenny Bruce, Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, Jimi Hendrix, Tim Leary,
Baba Ram Dass, Buckminster Fuller, and Tiny Tim.
My personal involvement with
literary and theatrical affairs took shape during my year at West Essex
High School: I got a tremendous amount of positive feedback from my
Creative Writing, Drama, and English teachers. I earned a lot of
A-pluses while I was studying in America (but only in subjects I
enjoyed). Anyway, it was inevitable that I would channel my passions into
writing, theatre, and music. So these are the specific areas of culture
I can discuss Ð particularly the more ÒwesternizedÓ artistic output
aimed at the English-speaking Malaysian middle class.
The Literary & Dramatic Hall Of Fame
There are more good writers in
English than can be counted on both hands Ð but Malaysians are not
generally renowned for their interest in reading. A national survey in
the 1980s concluded that, on the average, each Malaysian reads only
half a page of literature per annum, apart from newspapers, textbooks,
and magazines. I wonder if, twenty years later, the statistic is still
valid. At any rate, itÕs virtually impossible to earn a living as a
full-time writer here Ð unless one hacks it in advertising, public
relations, or TV sitcoms.
Nevertheless, A Malaysian Journey by Rehman Rashid
(self-published in 1993 because no publisher wanted to risk official
disapproval) enjoyed record sales and was reprinted several times. The
book itself deserves a place in every home: each chapter is a masterful
vignette of the Malaysian ethos, in all its glorious perplexity. Journey
earned Rehman Rashid enough to buy a Pajero, but he has since returned
to full-time employment as a leader writer and editor at the New Straits Times.
RehmanÕs superb command of the language and his incisive intelligence
are a potent combination. However, his patriarchal bias and the
Apollonian bombast of his political columns often reveal him as an
apologist for the establishment. In any case, Rehman Rashid
richly deserves his reputation as a Titan among notable (and
exportable) Malaysian writers.
Salleh Ben Joned
is a living legend in Malaysian letters. His swashbuckling style belies
a fierce dedication to spiritual and intellectual freedom. One of a few
truly inspired bilingual writers and poets, Salleh achieved national
notoriety with his acerbic column, As I Please, which ran sporadically in the New Straits Times
Ð and which has twice been published as a collection of essays:
erudite, witty, and often risque. A second collection of his spicy
essays and columns was published in 2003 under the title, Nothing Is Sacred.
In recent years Salleh Ben Joned has become a godfather figure of sorts
to a whole new generation of punks and disenchanted urban youth who
flock eagerly to his poetry readings. Educated in Australia, Salleh
returned to lecture in literature at Universiti Malaya, where his
passion for words earned him iconic status with his students,
especially the female ones. Salleh Ben JonedÕs genius has never been
acknowledged in Malay literary circles (perhaps they arenÕt amused by
his affecting the Hebraic ÒBenÓ in place of the Arabic ÒBinÓ). Indeed,
Salleh has endured venomous attacks by Malay sasterawan
(literati) whose ethnocentric concerns and smug mediocrity grate
against him. His readers, however, are grateful for the hilarious
spoofs Salleh has penned, inspired by these parochially-inclined,
poetry-declaiming sasterawan. I would unhesitatingly classify
Salleh Ben Joned as a national treasure.
Actor/director/playwright Huzir Sulaiman
Ð enfant terrible and prodigy nonpareil Ð wrote a dozen brilliant plays
before he turned 30, and has tried his hand at filmmaking. Graduating
summa cum laude from Princeton in literature and philosophy, Huzir
successfully integrates his Ivy League education with an intrinsically
Malaysian sensibility. Among his most noteworthy achievements are Atomic Jaya, Hip-Hopera, Notes on Life & Love & Painting, and Election Day.
Fortunately for those who missed these superb plays when they were
staged, Eight Plays, a collection of HuzirÕs highly readable
playscripts, was published in 2002 by Silverfishbooks.
Disenchanted by the lack of official recognition and inadequate funding
of the arts in Malaysia, Huzir relocated to Singapore a few years ago Ð
and now that heÕs married the beautiful and talented actress, Claire
Wong (ironically, another Malaysian-born cultural ŽmigrŽ), it would
appear that MalaysiaÕs loss has been SingaporeÕs gain.
Anybody who has seen more than six plays in Kuala Lumpur would surely know of Jit Murad
Ð a scintillating luminary of the performing arts, commuting between
acting, stand-up comedy, and playwriting. Apart from his puckish and
ageless charm, Jit is endowed with the mind of a sage and the wit of a
court jester extraordinaire. He returned in the mid-1980s from the U.S.
where he studied acting and stagecraft, and almost immediately began to
make his mark on the local theatre scene Ð initially as a superb
character actor with a distinct genius for comedy and, subsequently, as
a playwright when his first major play - Gold Rain and Hailstones - was staged. His most recent play, Spilt Gravy On Rice,
won the Cameronian Arts Award for best script of 2003 and was later
performed in Singapore. JitÕs sympathetic insight into the Malaysian
psyche, his verbal sophistication, his madcap but gentle humour, and
his warmth-of-soul have made him one of the best-loved performers and
playwrights in the country. Jit Murad is a founding member of the
outstanding Instant CafŽ Theatre Company (currently led by the immensely gifted actor/director Jo Kukathas), and he is also associated with DramaLab, which he co-founded with well-known actor/director Zahim Albakri.
Another ÒYoung TurkÓ of Malaysian culture with an American education is Amir Muhammad, who started contributing waggish arts critiques to the New Straits Times
when still an undergrad abroad. After establishing his reputation as an
exceptional essayist, Amir began flirting with theatre, and then film.
Together with James Lee and Osman Ali,
Amir instigated an independent film movement which has rapidly grown in
momentum, riding on the advent of affordable digital videocameras. His
first low-budget feature, Lips To Lips,
was a refreshing breakthrough despite patches of sophomoric humour:
Amir roped in some of the best acting talent to add lustre to the zany
proceedings. His next video venture was 6 Shorts Ð a quirky attempt to translate 6 essays into cinema. Most recently, Amir struck a resonant chord with The Big Durian,
which earned wide acclaim and has toured the international video
festival circuit. He also edited the first Silverfishbooks anthology of
New Writing. Amir Muhammad is, in effect, a formidable young man about
town on the cultural front.
Now,
from the partial inventory above of significant personalities in
MalaysiaÕs literary and dramatic life, it can be noted that they
possess Malay names (except, of course, Jo Kukathas who deserves a book
all to herself, and James Lee whose dogged determination is worthy of
more detailed documentation) Ð but not necessarily the typical Malay
psyche, even though some of them may be full-blooded Malays. Rehman
Rashid, for instance, is only one-quarter Malay; the rest of his
genetic makeup consists of Portuguese, Indian, and Pathan. Huzir
Sulaiman is part Malayalee, while Jit Murad is half-Welsh. Salleh Ben
Joned can claim to be a full-blooded Melayu from Melaka, but he has
publicly adopted the philosophical stance of the apostate, and greatly
admires Salman RushdieÕs work. IÕm not sure about Amir MuhammadÕs
genetic lineage (he may have a dash of Javanese, Thai or Chinese blood)
- however, his wide-ranging love of world literature and his
early exposure to cutting-edge arts in America have taken him far
beyond ethnocentric perspectives. Why do I pause for a moment to
reflect on this question of ethnicity?
After the May 1969 Òrace riotsÓ
(which, in truth, were instigated as a cover for a long-planned
political coup) Malaysia entered the era of the NEP (New Economic
Policy), which subsequently led to the NCP (National Cultural Policy),
and the constitutional legitimization of the doctrine of ÒMalay
SupremacyÓ (Ketuanan Melayu). Not only was the population divided arbitrarily into Bumiputera and non-Bumiputera (literally, Òsons of the soilÓ and ÒmigrantsÓ), special privileges and preferential quotas for Bumiputera
were enacted into law. The tightly-controlled mass media would decide
whom to glorify and whom to ignore. Thus it was immensely advantageous
to sport a Malay name, since the creation of a new breed of cultural
heroes was very much aligned with the political thrust towards
ethnocentric nationalism. A handful of Chinese, Indian, and Eurasian
names was, of course, permitted entry into the game, if only as tokens
of racial tolerance and cultural diversity.
I am by no means implying that
those I have mentioned thus far did not deserve their recognition; on
the contrary, their individual talents are impressive indeed and make
the whole issue of ethnicity irrelevant. Nevertheless, from 1970
onwards, it was certainly more Òpolitically correctÓ to promote the
cultural achievements of someone with a Malay name over any other sort
of name. Other reasons for the relative scarcity of non-Malay cultural
heroes can be cited: the Chinese stereotype of materialistic pragmatism
that would make them opt for more ÒsolidÓ professions (like
architecture, engineering, medicine, or business management) than a
career in the arts; and, among the Indians, the pronounced preference
for law, accountancy, and academia as career choices.
Thus we have a scattering of non-Malay poets and writers who initially began as academics, bankers, and lawyers: K.S. Maniam, university lecturer turned novelist and playwright with a specific focus on the Tamil ethos; Wong Phui Nam,
who broke away from a successful career in banking to produce poetry,
essays, and short stories characterized by a rarefied mandarin
aesthetic; Shirley Geok-lin Lim, professor of English literature in California who has earned international recognition for her prolific writings; Chuah Guat Eng, who withdrew from a lucrative career in advertising to write and publish her first novel (Echoes of Silence, 1994, a metaphysical whodunnit); Kee Thuan Chye, who leads a triple life as an editor, actor, and occasional playwright; and we must certainly mention Cecil Rajendra, lawyer and soccer enthusiast, better known for his polemical poems (which have never been published or promoted in Malaysia).
Going back to a slightly earlier era in MalaysiaÕs cultural history, there was Lee Joo For
Ð academic turned playwright turned painter Ð who subsequently
emigrated to Australia. He was certainly an inspired pioneer and might
have lingered on had he been given the recognition he deserved. Another
academic turned writer and filmmaker, Patrick Yeoh,
was gravely disenchanted by the lukewarm reception he received from the
Malay-dominated local film industry in the early 1980s, even though his
maiden cinematic venture, Kami (which starred the late Sudirman in his first film r™le), proved far more interesting than the banal and formulaic films of that period. And, of course, we have Lloyd Fernando and Krishen Jit Ð
two academics who threw themselves heartily into the new Malaysian
cultural nationalism of the 1970s, only to be rebuffed as ÒoutsidersÓ
by territorial ethnocentricity. However, Krishen proved an indomitable
force (abetted by the artistic ambitions of post-modern
dancer-choreographer Marion DÕCruz
whom he later married), tirelessly plodding on to carve a dramaturgic
niche for himself as the venerable and celebrated doyen of Malaysian
theatre. Krishen and Marion assembled three other colleagues and
founded the Five Arts Centre
in 1983 Ð and, though their artistic output has tended to be ingrown
and incestuous, their sheer stamina and perseverance are impressive.
[IÕm
tempted to include myself in the above list, but it would be somehow
inappropriate, as my own literary output has been sporadic, to say the
least, and extremely idiosyncratic. In any case, my ÒculturalÓ
contributions are too diverse to be encapsulated: some know me as a
theatre reviewer, some as a cartoonist, essayist, and poet; some as an
actor who dabbles in screenplays and photography; others as a musician
whose output ranges from folksy ballads to the electronic avant-garde.
I have always been sceptical of specialization and have thus opted to
remain a multidisciplinary autodidact and professional amateur. So what
if some dismiss me as a dilettante, I just like to have fun.]
Sounding ÒMalaysianÓ On Stage
When
I moved to Kuala Lumpur in 1970, the local English-language theatre
scene was still dominated by amateur groups like the Liberal Arts
Society and the Selangor Philharmonic Society, which had been around
since the British colonial era. These were also the last days of Malay Bangsawan
Ð a popular theatrical style akin to vaudeville Ð but I confess to only
the skimpiest knowledge of this subcultural zone, although a deeper
scrutiny is bound to unearth a colourful and intriguing history.
The post-colonial cultural hangover
was experienced largely by the urban, middle and upper middle class
membership of the amateur dramatic groups, who clung to old habits by
staging and restaging well-worn theatrical and musical hits from the
West End. Those were the days when Indian, Chinese, and Eurasian actors
and actresses endeavoured to speak BBC English on stage, playing mostly
English or European r™les. KL theatre was dominated by the likes of Bosco DÕCruz, K.K. Nair, Leslie Dawson, Mano Maniam, Faridah Merican and Krishen Jit.
Bosco and K.K. were already giants in the fringe Malayalam theatre
fraternity Ð and both were comfortable commuting between
English-language theatre and the vernacular.
The early 1970s also witnessed the advent of culture heroes like the brilliant cartoonist Lat (DatoÕ
Mohd. Nor Khalid) whose work refreshingly and coherently depicted the
emerging ÒMalaysianÓ ethos, breaking through previous ethnocentric
barriers. More than any other cultural icon, Lat succeeded in
articulating a truly syncretic Malaysian perspective Ð and his
influence can be seen in the rise of a new genre of satire with a
distinctly Malaysian flavour and a spicy cross-section of
Malaysian accents Ð and even some political bite. In the mid-1980s, Thor Kah Hoong (LatÕs colleague in the New Straits Times) staged an engaging sitcom series Ð Caught In The Middle
- in which a handful of promising young actor-comedians were featured,
among them Jit Murad and Jo Kukathas who, a few years later,
inaugurated the infamous Instant CafŽ Theatre Company.
ThorÕs Caught In The Middle
series would have been a smash hit on local TV Ð but he was bogged down
by various political constraints pertaining to TV programming. The
ruling party has always tolerated a modicum of political satire Ð so
long as its audience is confined to the major urban areas which have
traditionally voted for the opposition. However, TV reaches into almost
every household in the rural heartland, the ruling partyÕs main voter
base. Thus, as has also been the case with The Instant CafŽ Theatre,
what might have been an immensely successful TV sitcom series (ˆ la Monty PythonÕs Flying Circus, Not-The-Nine-OÕ-Clock News, or Yes, Minister) was deliberately confined to sporadic stage productions catering to a comfortable and complacent urban elite.
To achieve this degree of control
over public performances, Malaysian law has armed itself with a
plethora of antiquated legislation left over from the Communist
Insurgency era (1948-1960): all TV stations are government-owned and
closely monitored by the Home Ministry, or operated by those with close
friends in high office; every play staged must have its script vetted
by City HallÕs censorship board and the Police Special Branch; and any
public assembly of more than five adults can be arbitrarily classified
by the police as illegal and forcefully dispersed. And, of course, the
Internal Security Act (which allows the government to detain anybody on
mere suspicion, without trial, for an indefinite period) is handy as an
Òultimate weaponÓ against any and all species of political dissent.
Nevertheless, from the mid-1980s
onwards, dramaturgs began experimenting with local plays about local
folks speaking English with Manglish accents. Today we have consummate
actors like Huzir Sulaiman, Jo Kukathas, Jit Murad, and Zahim Albakri
portraying a kaleidoscopic chorus of characters, employing a colourful
spectrum of local and foreign accents. Finally, Malaysian theatre has
come of age, having outgrown the usual incubation period of Òcultural
cringe.Ó
The establishment of the Actors Studio in 1989 by veteran actress Faridah Merican and Lebanese-Australian actor/director Joe Hasham
has been an important factor stimulating the development of
professional stagecraft in Malaysia. Faridah and Joe not only share a
passion for theatre, they are both also major players in the
advertising business Ð and are thus in a powerful position to promote
their art with sufficient marketing savvy to make an impact on the
public consciousness. Their positive links with the corporate sector
and officialdom enable them to move mountains where others can hardly
move molehills, as demonstrated by their most outstanding achievement
to date: the inauguration of KLPAC
(Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre) - which will house several
theatres and auditoriums as well as a performing arts academy, thereby
serving as a national hub for ongoing cultural ferment.
Facing The Music
It
may be said that all culture is derivative to a lesser or greater
extent, but when one considers the musical front in Malaysia, scarcely
any originality is audible. Even ÒtraditionalÓ Malay court
music is a legacy of Hindu-Buddhist influences: the Sri Vijaya and
Majapahit Kingdoms extended from Sri Lanka to most of Malaya and
Indonesia, between the 7th and 16th centuries. Indigenous music is an
integral element of healing rituals and consists, for the most part, of
chanting accompanied by pitched bamboos. It goes beyond ÒoriginalÓ to
ÒaboriginalÓ in its basic organicity, content to generate repetitive,
trance-inducing aural mandalas of timeless enjoyment. Aboriginal tribes
traditionally do not perform for ÒoutsidersÓ Ð although in recent days
some groups have adapted to the concept of public performances. To my
knowledge, only Akar Umbi Ð an
ethnic fusion group based in Ulu Selangor Ð has released an album for
commercial distribution and, even so, the market for such music is
negligible.
In terms of pure technique,
however, Malaysia has produced an impressive number of excellent
musicians who can hold their own anywhere in the world. I know of a few
classical soloists who would be welcome in most orchestras; and when it
comes to jazz, we can boast the likes of Michael Veerapen, an ace pianist whose chief inspiration has been Bill Evans. Paul Ponnadurai is perhaps one of the top blues guitarists alive, MalaysiaÕs very own B.B. King (I used to call him P.P. King). Sunetra Fernando
is an ethnomusicologist specializing in gamelan music; her ÔRhythm In
BronzeÕ ensemble has set new standards of performance for contemporary
gamelan. We even have well-known names in avant-garde composition: Saidah Rastam
gave up law to devote her energies to exploring a different musical
aesthetic. Her work Ð quirky, evocative, sophisticated - has been
showcased in major theatrical productions, film soundtracks, musical
revues, Malaysian Philharmonic Orchestra performances, contemporary
dance, and she recently scored a full-scale opera called M! with a production budget in excess of a million ringgit.
Among the new generation of
music-makers youÕll find grunge, garage rock, techno, hip-hop,
ethno-fusion and metal groups - alongside electronica and
techno-ambience freaks who perform with laptops. These fringe
performers havenÕt been around long enough for me to remember all their
names Ð but some exciting work has emerged from Bernard Goh and Deborah Tee, who did the original score for the Actors Studio production of Rashomon; Goh Lee Kwang often collaborates with Chinese avant-garde dancer Lee Swee Keong, churning out trance-inducing tape loops and arty soundscapes; and Weijun,
a dynamic young dancer-choreographer-composer-audio engineer, returned
from Australia a few years ago bursting with ideas and energy. Jerome Kugan
is another dynamic young presence: writer, critic, electronic composer,
and songwriter. Malaysian musicians, for the most part, tend to
gravitate towards either pop or the Òindie undergroundÓ (which has a
surprisingly large following among the urban youth).
Jazz musicians who have ventured into ethnic fusion include Lewis Pragasam, whose group Asiabeat was
perhaps the first to combine exotic percussion and oriental instruments
(like the shakuhachi) with western jazz modalities. Unfortunately, our
radio stations are not interested in pushing the musical envelope and
prefer to play it safe by airing only commercial mainstream sounds.
Breaking into the world music circuit isnÕt a simple task either,
especially with absolutely no support from MalaysiaÕs notoriously
ethnocentric cultural agencies. Local record companies are
predominantly interested in making money by distributing international
recording artists, especially those topping the pop charts. In short, a
great deal may be happening on the Malaysian musical front Ð but few
have been exposed to it.
My own experience with attempting to introduce novel sounds into the local music scene has made me uncharacteristically
pessimistic. In 1984 I produced a solo album with folksy ÒprotestÓ
songs on Side A and ambitious avant-garde soundscapes on Side B. The
album (Solitary Vice & Other Virtues) received highly favourable reviews Ð but no record company was interested in a distribution deal. Indeed, one of the songs (City Hall) was played on the radio once or twice before the DJ (Patrick Teoh)
was told to stop by the programmeÕs corporate sponsor. Still, I was
able to recoup my modest production costs over the course of a year or
so, and actually sold out my limited stock of 600 cassettes.
Subsequently, I released only 500 copies of my second album (2nd Coming)
which was almost entirely instrumental. Again, it received generally
good reviews, but no offers of distributorship. Record companies are
happy selling 150,000-200,000 copies of a popular Malay album; why
should they waste their time trying to promote a complete unknown,
writing songs in English, to a potential market of less than 10,000?
A decade later, Amir Yussof encountered similar problems with his groundbreaking debut album (Some of this is Real)
Ð which won awards for best local album (in the English song category)
but sold no more than 5,000 copies. His second and third albums met
pretty much the same fate, although they all achieved new levels of
musicianship and technical excellence. Amir has since dissolved his
record label and was last seen working as entertainment manager in the
KL Hilton before migrating to Sabah where he has shares in a restaurant. More recently, Sabahan Pete Teo released an arty album called Rustic Living For Urbanites
which he has been marketing independently as well as over the internet.
The prospect of exporting Malaysian music is hardly bright, simply
because much of it does sound like already well-known western music: in
Amir YussofÕs case, he has been compared with Mark Knopfler, Cat
Stevens, and Sting; while Pete Teo often sounds like his heroes,
Leonard Cohen, Lou Reed, and Tom Waits. Vatudu? (as they say in Malaysia) Ð nobody knows what ÒMalaysian musicÓ ought to sound like!
Stepping Lightly Into Dance
I could say a few things about the dance scene in Malaysia Ð if only to include Ramli IbrahimÕs
name in this overview. Much has already been written Ð even a
documentary film made - about Ramli Ibrahim, who has attained godlike
status as a cultural mover and shaker. Ramli began dance lessons in
Australia where he was studying mechanical engineering. Inspired by Chandrabhanu
(a native of Perlis who changed his name from Zamin Haroon after he
embraced Classical Indian Dance and its attendant philosophy, and
migrated to Australia), Ramli started out with Bharatanatyam and Odissi
when he returned to Malaysia in 1983, and later extended his
choreographic scope to Contemporary. Two decades later, Ramli IbrahimÕs
Sutra Dance Company is
dynamically alive and well Ð and the man himself has got involved with
acting, playwriting, painting, and sociocultural commentary, besides
being an energetic and urbane impresario. I once described Ramli
Ibrahim as ÒMalaysiaÕs answer to Diaghilev and NijinskyÓ Ð which
greatly pleased him. Sadly, as a Malay performing and promoting
Classical Indian Dance, Ramli has had to battle accusations of being a
cultural traitor; until fairly recently, he received virtually no
official support for his laudable work.
It was western classical and jazz
ballet all the way till the mid-1980s when postmodernism was introduced
to Malaysian dance audiences by Marion DÕCruz,
co-founder of Five Arts Centre, who studied under Martha Graham and
later delved into Javanese dance. Nobody was doing stuff like this at
the time, so Marion managed to get a fair amount of mileage out of her
Òavant-gardeÓ choreography. In the 1990s, dancer-choreographer Lena Ang
brought buto to Malaysia and it infected the likes of Lee Swee Keong,
whose talent as a performer greatly surpasses his ability as a
Òcutting-edgeÓ conceptualizer.
In 2003 Sutra hosted a Contemporary Dance Festival which showcased several exciting new talents in Malaysian dance Ð among them Aida Redza,
who has been spending a lot of time in Copenhagen, and whose wild,
unpredictable, and shamanic choreography is always thrilling to watch. Syed Mustapha Syed Yasin is another innovative Òtrance-dancerÓ whose company Tandak Dance Theatre explores the magical roots of Malay culture in a highly theatrical modern context.
Interestingly, political events in recent years have significantly impacted on the cultural scene. The Reformasi
movement led by sacked deputy prime minister Anwar Ibrahim spawned huge
street protests against the Mahathir regime in October 1998, and these
continued sporadically for a couple of years until almost all prominent
opposition leaders, particularly the younger ones, had been arrested
and detained without trial under the anachronistic ISA (Infernal
Security Act). The ruling Barisan Nasional party banked on the
Chinese votersÕ desire for business-as-usual (and fear of abrupt
political changes) to stay in power during the 1999 general election -
which deliberately disenfranchised about 700,000 newly registered
voters who might have dethroned the despotic Mahathir from his 18-year
run as prime minister. A significant spin-off from Anwar
IbrahimÕs arrest, mock trial and subsequent 15-year jail sentence has
been that a large number of arts practitioners began to get involved in
political activism Ð with quite a few, like conceptual artist Wong Hoy Cheong, actually joining opposition parties or campaigning on their behalf. Artis Pro Activ (APA)
was formed in 1998 as a response to the escalating political oppression
and continues today as a virtual forum for the arts community, even
though most of the steam has been discharged with MahathirÕs retirement
on October 31st, 2003.
What became increasingly clear was
that the greatest threat to the power structure came not from the
Chinese and Indian minorities, but from among the new generation of
Malays. After more than three decades of special privileges, a large
section of the Malay population had become sufficiently educated and
self-confident to demand more accountability from their public
servants. Recognizing this in late 2003, the new administration led by
Abdullah Ahmad Badawi proactively began to promote the notion of
multiculturalism and multiethnicity Ð rather than foolishly attempting
to suppress languages and cultures other than Malay. Indeed, the
Tourism Ministry began its ÒMalaysia, Truly AsiaÓ campaign, promoting
Malaysia as a colourful microcosm of Asia. This Òrainbow of culturesÓ
marketing strategy was accompanied by a series of government-funded
concerts featuring Chinese, Indian, and Western cultural performances.
A positive upshot has been the
reversal of narrow prejudices, and the relaxation of ethnic tensions.
The Barisan Nasional government became acutely aware that it needed the
loyal support of the ethnic minorities to remain in power; while those
in opposition discovered that the desire for justice and good
governance transcends all racial boundaries Ð particularly when they
found themselves arrested, interrogated, tortured, and detained
alongside their Chinese, Indian, and Eurasian compatriots.
Nevertheless, it is also true that
within the ranks of the predominantly Malay bureaucracy, there is a
great divide between the more cosmopolitan and westernized faction, and
those still carrying a provincial, parochial chip on their shoulders.
Thus, a welcome surge towards liberalization of official policies
and active encouragement of the arts is often followed by a reactionary
backlash Ð invariably instigated on quasi-religious grounds, in
self-interested defence of Ketuanan Melayu
(Malay supremacy). A recent case in point would be the Kuala Lumpur
City HallÕs heavy-handed attempt to punish the Instant CafŽ Theatre (by
revoking their performance permit) for mercilessly lampooning the
flat-footed bureaucracy. This ill-advised move backfired when Malaysia
became a laughing stock on the global stage, with ICTÕs banning
mentioned on the BBC World Service and snidely commented upon in the Far Eastern Economic Review, the International Herald Tribune, and Time
magazine. In the end, the mayor of Kuala Lumpur personally intervened,
allowing the show to go on. However, a few months later, an ad hoc
censorship committee was set up to vet all future theatre productions.
And so, in typically Sisyphean
fashion, a few steps in the ÒrightÓ direction are often nullified by
several steps in the ÒwrongÓ direction. However, the artistic impulse
cannot be thwarted or stopped, at least not for long Ð and those who
would stand in the way of cultural evolution and intellectual maturity
are doomed to terrible disappointment Ð unless they open themselves to
a spontaneous awakening, and begin to embrace a deeper, broader, and
wiser worldview.
[This brief overview was originally written for the Goethe-Institut archive, Kuala Lumpur]