Prelude

In a 2014 interview with The Malaysian Insider, cultural activist Eddin Khoo of PUSAKA said that the Malays would go mad without their culture.

“Culture and sanity go together; any society that has no culture has no sense of self, and any society that has no sense of self has no soul and hence i

Sometime in late August this year, a video of a Kuda Kepang performance went viral on social media and instant messaging apps such as WhatsApp. The reactions were swift and intense.

For some God-fearing Malays, the performance confirmed long-standing views that many traditional Malay arts are heretical, base or remnants of an uneducated working-class culture.

There were also Malays who kept silent, feeling that the practice was neither right nor wrong, but they may be lacking the knowledge and language of culture and religion.

Then there were other Malays, including cultural enthusiasts like me, who viewed the episode with bemusement—aware that dismantling a traditional healing practi

This essay is the writer’s thoughts on how the Kuda Kepang performance is not just about religious orthodoxy but also a people’s anxiety about urbanisation, economics and the erosion of the Malay identity.

Controversy, Yet Again

Immediately, the Johor Islamic Religious Department (JAINJ) and the police were instructed to probe and take action on the performance believed to contain non-Islamic practices in Parit Raja, Batu Pahat.

A few days later, JAINJ announced that they would draft guidelines that ensure no syncretic elements would be engendered in cultural performances, sports and Malay martial arts, or silat. Many Malays concurred with the authorities: the traditional art of Kuda Kepang should be abolished, as it involves a communion with the spirit world through trances.

In the last 20 years, there have been more calls by Muslim preachers and communities to monitor the “unIslamic” practices that Kuda Kepang seemingly embodies and practices.

This is not a new thing. Carol Laderman, Teren Sevea and KM Endicott have noted the increasing influence of Islam in rural Malay communities back in the early 20th century, where more and more bomoh (shamans), pawang (masters), and dukun (witch doctors) had to adjust their healing practices to something more palatable to the religious community. The alternative was to move away somewhere else. However, even with such an unsavoury prospect, the practice of Malay magic was still open. What was performed in Johor recently was not dissimilar to earlier practices of Malay magic. However, the backlash was more potent owing to its stark contras

Magical Performance

But what is a Kuda Kepang performance really about?

It is a hobbyhorse trance dance introduced by Javanese immigrants to Singapore (and Johor) that has been localised by local Malay practitioners and become a unique expression of the Malay identity.

Kuda Kepang, which has its roots in Java, Indonesia, is a colourful, sensual and fascinating performance to observe.

It is more than the popular folklore of seeing men eating glass and falling into trances; it is about a celebration of and an ode to the saints of Java – the Wali Songo – who came to spread Islam in the island’s interiors. The public gets to see the performances at weddings, special performances brought in by cultural groups such as Pusaka and when the community sees fit to hold them.

The performance incorporates trance in its performance. It serves many functions, such as entertainment, an expression of camaraderie as well as a cleansing ritual.

On the latter, indeed, Kuda Kepang “was performed to cleanse the village of evil spirits. It is an effort to engage the spirits, both malevolent and benevolent, to acknowledge their presence in an attempt to rationalize the interaction of the real and the nether existence. Also, it is to exhibit the prowess of the shaman to interact with a different level of mystical existence. When performing as a ritual for thanksgiving or to exorcise evil spirits or negative energy from the village, the dance involves the invocation of spirits from the nether world, thus focusing on its mystical and metaphysical aspects. As such, the trance aspect of the dance becomes the integral focal point and core element of the performance.”

The trance part of the performance agitates the public: does this not mean involving the spirits and allowing them to take possession of the body, which is all wrong in the name of Islam? That it has been said that performers ingest drugs and other substances to get into this state is another no-no.

My goal is not to expound on the rights and wrongs, or discuss Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh) as well as the policing of Kuda Kepang. I am more curious about how this will (and has) impact the Malays of this country.

The Urban Myth of Home

When IMAN Research started publishing its findings in the Malaysian media sometime around late 2023, many corporate-type Malays – and also Islamic-thinking Malays – asked why the Ordinary Malay turned to traditional performing arts and healing practices.

According to them, these practices were based on khurafat (superstitions), old-fashioned, unscientific and rather provincial. All these probably encouraged them to assume why the average Malay was poor and backwards.

In 2024, 79.2% of Malaysia’s total population lived in urban areas and cities. This figure is expected to increase, as people from rural areas migrate to urban areas due to employment opportunities and as the economy continues to shift from agriculture to industry and services.

The urbanisation rate in Malaysia had increased from 28.4% in 1970 to 75.1% in 2020, contributed by natural population, migration and demarcation.

Malays were also more likely to migrate to urban areas than Indians and Chinese. “Over the period of 1991 to 2020, the migration rate of Malay ethnic was the highest except in the early 1990’s [sic] and 2001. According to Peng (2012), large numbers of Malays moving to the more developed areas were due to the implementation of the New Economic Policy (NEP) which aimed at restructuring society to eliminate the identification of race with location and occupation, and the creation of a Bumiputera Commercial and Industrial Community.”

Many Malays came from somewhere, i.e. kampung (villages). For young professionals and working-class Malays, entering the concrete jungle that is Kuala Lumpur – where very few relatives and friends from their homes are – is a jarring experience.

Even if they had fantasised about moving to the city in pursuit of wealth and work, the Klang Valley is almost a different country. It heaves with people from all around the world – expatriates, refugees, migrant workers – and opportunities abound, but it is still very unsettling for the newborn urban settler.

So, what do they do? They turn to traditions they practised at home to find comfort and solace as they endeavour to belong in their new homes, which is not easy due to competition with migrant workers and those who come from other rural areas as well.

Vanishing Magic

The move

One example would be the angkat rumah (house lifting) tradition, where family members, friends and members of the village would literally carry the house to a new location. The reasons for doing so are many, but in most cases, it is a much-beloved home of a family who want the house they grew up in in the new area they reside in now.

Just like angkat rumah, Malay performing arts or healing traditions are a source of comfort as well, though whether the people believe the spell (jampi) works or not is another question altogether.

The more modern family, who is first-generation urban, look at former rituals as old fashioned, the more they link them to hardship and poverty; thus, their association with kampung. Meanwhile, the older generation living in rural areas bewail the loss of a heritage.

Let us not go far. In The Malay Settlement: A Vanishing World?, the authors remarked on how modernisation caused a loss of Malay carpentry skills in Malay settlements and that artisans would lose these skills in the local Malay community, which will result in the loss of their cultural identity.

“The concept of culture has shaped the Malays’ minds and souls, influenced by religious interests, culture, and traditions. According to Kling (2000), these factors have shaped the Malays’ character and identity. Urbanisation has destroyed the Malay community’s cultural wealth.”

Reflections

Is it bad? To believe and follow syncretic beliefs?

I personally find Malay magic (or, quite honestly, any variant of it, whether Thai, Indian, Chinese or others) to be colourful and fascinating. While as a Muslim I am to acquiesce to Muslim healing rituals, such orthodoxy is too minimalist of healing for me. No limes, no incens

These “tools” have roles to play in he

The Malay community is increasingly becoming more polarised: it is not just economics and class but also clashing religious ideologies—urbane Islam, Wahhabi vs Sufism etc., which could constitute another essay altogether.

If we go back to the topic above, the policing and “restructuring” of Kuda Kepang and other Malay performing arts – all done in order to incorporate Islamic practices and obliterate syncretic rituals – will be one of the channels that may just destroy the Malay identity.

After all, Kuda Kepang and its other siblings are about “communal psychic therapy rather than the healing of individual illness. This is the healing of the angin (vibes) rather than any physiological or psychosomatic illness.”

And it is also about a community, and village, be it in a rural or urban area. And yes, a country.

Introduction

When I wrote Returning To Our Roots: The Anger and Heartbreak of Young Malay Men on these pages in 2021, the sight of young Malay men wearing tanjak (traditional Malay male headgear) caught the imagination of (non-Malay) Malaysians.

We were smack in the middle of a global pandemic and grasping the political realities of the country at that time.

These young men in Bangi, Taman Tun Dr Ismail and various other locations throughout the Klang Valley sparked discussions on who they were and what identity politics was looking like in the country.

Friends intrigued by the sight asked me: were they with the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO)? Parti Islam Se-Malaysia (PAS)? Parti Keadilan Rakyat (PKR)?

Today, men donning tanjak, even in casual wear, are almost ubiquitous—the sight of them in the public space is no longer as jarring as before. What was considered fringe is now becoming part of daily conversation, even among the Malays of the business and professional elite who previously would find this phenomenon an oddity.

In fact, last year there was a tanjak exhibition in Pavilion Damansara Heights, a mall in a high-end location catering to Malaysia’s rich.

At a recent reading event of my book, Malayland, at Riwayat bookshop on 3 May 2025, one of my panellists was Tengku Ahmad Ridhaudin or Ku Din, who is known in the silat (Malay martial arts) and keris (Malay weaponry) circles. He enthralled the audience with his theories on DNA, Malay identity and Malaysia, while wearing the full Malay traditional regalia. The audience may not have agreed with whatever he said, but they were intrigued nonetheless.

Malay Majority Authoritarianism Is Here to Stay

Not that “Malay-Malaysia” has ever left the public consciousness, but as Malaysia pursued its economic and development goals throughout the years, Malay culture and tradition fell by the wayside for a while.

Once in a while, interest groups would make a ruckus; in 2008, Hishamuddin Hussein Onn wielded a keris in his symbolic attempt at defending the Malay supremacy.

Lately, Malayness has come back to roost in its country, making a resurgence in great earnest post-2018, when Najib Razak and Barisan Nasional lost their hold on the country.

The year 2018 was the watershed of Malaysian politics; Malaysians since then have seen nation-shaking political breakups.

My colleagues, Dr Nicholas Chan and Dr Hew Wai Weng, wrote about how the “Green Wave” was a right-wing turn in Malay-Muslim majoritarianism. The pooling of Malay support is a strategic move by the Green Wave, which saw many Malay voters (and some non-Malay ones!) voting for Perikatan Nasional (PN).

PAS has always enjoyed a well-deserved reputation for understanding grassroots needs and demands, and PN banked on this leading up to the last general election.

Together with religious elites of the country, they are also able to capture the Malay-Muslim imagination on anti-liberal, anti-minority (especially gender and sexual minorities) and anti-pluralist takes on social issues, culminating in a huge culture war against the secular, liberal elites.

One example would be the recent Sisters in Islam fatwa appeal, an organisation that conservatives have deemed a deviant group.

One (personal) takeaway I get, after reading the news and comments by readers, is that this was a fight between elites—the religious and liberal. The religious elites are seen to be fighting on behalf of the ordinary Malay Muslim, who are not just wanting Islam and Malay rights to be upheld but also battling bread and butter issues.

Optics-wise, it is a great propaganda: skull-capped mullahs defending Muslim Malay rights versus a row of free-haired daughters of Malaysia’s political henchmen—Zainah Anwar, Marina Mahathir and Rozana Isa.

Why Do Malays Feel under Siege?

This has always been asked and bandied about from the day I entered the media as a journalist and editor in the early 2000s. How could a demographic that was a majority in this country – that had policies and benefits tailored for them – say that they were neglected and persecuted for being Malay and Muslim?

To understand any ethnic community in Malaysia, and everywhere else, is to learn about their lived realities and environment. In Jon E Fox and Cynthia Miller-Idriss’ paper titled “Everyday Nationhood”, one’s national identity and connection to nationhood are shaped primarily by their environment and everyday life.

The “Ordinary Malay” is not part of the upper echelon of Malay society—he or she is working as part of the middle class. Even

However, they are not blind to the realities of life: working at all sorts of jobs to support families, seeing job applications rejected because of language and educational barriers, facing the perception that Malays are lazy, and not having the social networks that could lift them out of their dire lives.

Bumi discounts? They would be lucky to get it.

They also have witnessed decades of being wronged by governments that have only been using them for votes and political support. And when elections are over, they go home to joblessness and uncertain futures.

The Bumiputeras, the majority ethnic group, account for 70% of the bottom 50% of the income bracket. Interest groups cherry-pick on such statistics, citing historical income inequalities.

It is undeniable that poverty eradication has been impressive, but the global Covid-19 pandemic reversed some of these gains, causing the absolute poverty rate to increase to 6.2% in 2022. When examining ethnic groups, the Bumiputera community has consistently shown higher poverty rates compared to Chinese and Indians, despite the narrowing of the income gap among these ethnic groups.

The Edge reported that “…researchers found ‘the differences between poor and rich Bumiputera are much larger than the differences between the average Bumiputera and the average non-Bumiputera’, noting that a comparison of the average income between different ethnic groups or between different states ‘masks differences within groups’, which are far more significant because the ‘economic differences within ethnic groups and locations are far more important than differences between them’.”

The class clash between the better-off, more connected Malays and their lesser brethren is stark. It is also a war between the non-Malays, who are presumed to have more than their Malay counterparts.

Threatened Men

If we stretch this further to the dimension of gender, economic hardship could partly explain the rise of toxic masculinity among Malay men.

I think one of the reasons why Malay men feel the pressure to express their masculinity and – in some cases – embrace extreme ideas of manhood is because they feel their foundation as a man is being threatened.

This should not require too much imagination. Men are culturally and traditionally expected to be breadwinners. And when this role is not sufficiently fulfilled, they feel a major aspect of their existence missing.

It is easy for Malay men to feel under siege. While there is a decrease in (Malay) women in leadership roles, there has been an

On Threads, many Malay women acquiesce to traditional roles, though many more of their peers demand their rights and justice. Malay women also appear to be woke, in spite of their conservative attire, so they will give the men on social media a good trashing. The few Malay men who fight back against these women on Threads tend to have less than 100 followers and are anonymous.

The bottom line is this: the beleaguered Modern Malay Man now has to play many roles: father, husband, lover, abang sado (muscular man) and sex god. And when women challenge these roles, his psyche might break.

My research in the past five years was spent talking to young Malay men of differing classes and backgrounds. In the past two years, I have met a few crypto boys who may be westernised – clubbing, drinking, sleeping around – all disavowed by Islam, but they are here to make money.

There is this one guy I met quite regularly. He is fit, lean, soft-spoken but masculine and in his 30s. He is a young man; hence he is naturally assumed to be virile. We met on social media because we wanted to legalise medical cannabis for health. After a few months of talking about this, he invited me to follow his personal Instagram.

Kaboom. Bentleys. Chivas. Every day there was a cigar.

His parents are M40 professionals, and he went to a local college. But he is sharp—he read up on all the English books he could find. Because he came from Johor, he speaks English well, with his grammar nearly perfect. His whole life was in his laptop, ledger, passport and QR codes.

“There’s no hope in Malaysia,” he said to me.

“What do you really do?” I asked.

“I fix things for clients, wherever they are. I guess I am a trader. One day, I will live across borders. You should get to know us,” he said.

So I asked: “You are gonna be like the Malays who left Malaysia to work as a professional or at a menial job?”

He was shocked. “I’m not going to be a waiter or janitor, if that is what you mean.” He looked at me and smiled. “I have money. I’ll see you in August.”

However, for all the sophistication, when it comes to gender dynamics, they want traditional wives. The crypto world is only for hard men—men who live in a parallel universe, where crime is blurred and darkness protects them. Still, the idea of eking out a living and coming home to a welcoming wife with a dinner spread is attractive. It is an appealing image—a hijabi wearing a scarf with its entrails/ends flapping in the air (here the writer envisions a penanggal), a house smelling of scented candles, cooking the best daging salai, waiting for her husband, the Alpha Malay Man.

Our politics have failed (the Malays). The Malay Man is threatened. The economy sounds promising, but he is not seeing it. The kids are always hungry. His parents and wife need money; how can he ever hope to be a lelaki jati (real man)?

The Weak Malay Man

If the crypto boys were sexy, then you also have the disenfranchised working-class Malay boys.

In Malayland, my book that was published by Ethos Books and Faction Press last year, I mentioned an interview with a young Malay man – who at one point considered himself a socialist and activist – but who was now right-wing like his friends.

They perceive that everything they fought for went south. That they were unable to even support their parents, families and even themselves was a serious blip on their masculinity. They could not even be proper sons, let alone men, in a country that was supposed to put the Malay agenda first.

The text below is derived from our exchanges on WhatsApp and email dated 3 March 2021.

Masculinity today, my friend said, was a mess. Malay men do not even know what is toxic and manly anymore. “To be a man is an honour,” he replied, but the examples he and his friends had were dishonourable.

“Kita sekarang dalam post-masculinity. Post-masculinity ni ialah di mana kualiti lelaki yang berani, yang kuat, yang tegas, yang tidak suka menjadi lemah, tidak dilihat sebagai satu kelebihan untuk meneruskan kelangsungan hidup.” (We are in the era of post-masculinity, where men who are brave, strong and disciplined and who do not want to be weak are not seen as assets in life.)

That was also why they were against homosexuality—to them, a real man’s job is to procreate and spawn future leaders, and homosexuality would be the death of procreation. A woman is “needed” to give birth to children, and two men in a relationship would not be able to have that. Meanwhile, gender fluidity threatens the idea of an alpha male.

Today’s men are weak, and their masculinity is questioned. For him and his friends, whethe

“Lelaki Melayu kena ada satu code of honour. Mungkin ada flaw, tapi ada isu yang lebih besar—macam isu politik identiti ni yang perlu diutamakan. Lelaki Melayu heartland atau Melayu suburbia merasakan nilai bushido Melayu semakin bercelaru. Dan aku rasa isu ni serius, sebagai seorang lelaki. Entah, setiap kali aku melepak dengan awek Bangsar bubble dulu, isu ni adalah isu turn off awek-awek ni. Kenapa ciri-ciri toksik macam kaki curang, kaki rogol, kaki raba, mat pet, budak shuffle, mat rempit, dan macam-macam lagi, dilabelkan hanya pada Melayu heartland dan Melayu suburbia? Kenapa semua ni tak dilabelkan pada Melayu Bangsar bubble? Takkan semua benda dalam dunia ni salah lelaki Melayu Islam?” (Malay men need a code of honour. Maybe there is a flaw, but there is a bigger problem— our political identity must be prioritised. The Heartland Malay men, or suburban Malay, sense that the Malay direction is confused, and it is a serious matter for them as men. I do not understand why each time I hung out with my girlfriends, who were part of the Bangsar bubble, this issue of weak men was such a turn-off. Now, why are toxic traits like infidelity, rape, molestation, and bad boys the purvey of the Malay heartland and suburbia only? Why not Bangsar bubble Malays? It cannot be that everything wrong in the world is the fault of Malay Muslim men?)

He continued, “Sebagai seorang lelaki, kalau kau tak rasa kita dalam krisis maskuliniti, aku tak tahulah apa aku nak cakap? Kita dah jadi generasi yang leka. Bila kita leka, kita lemah. Lelaki dilemahkan fikiran dengan tohmahan macam-macam, tambah pulak ada ramai lelaki jahat macam Imam Muda.” (As a man, if you do not experience this crisis, I do not know what to say. We have become a careless, mindless generation. That is why we are weak. [Malay] men are weakened by thoughts and perceptions, which is further exacerbated by bad men like Imam Muda.)

If the West turns to misogynists like Andrew Tate and Jordan Peterson, younger Malay men have their very own idols, one of which is in the form of Azri Walter, a Malaysian Tate lookalike, right from the bald head to the beard.

With a well-oiled, buffed body, Azri urges his followers to be smart at business and when dealing with women. “Show them who’s the boss!” he said in one of his social media posts.

Oddly, examples of masculinity Azri offers are borrowed from the West—ones that are incongruous to Malay manhood but are accepted by his followers. (Even Azri’s surname is Western. We are not too sure whether this is by design or whether it is bona fide.)

You have to give it to him; he is motivated and motivating, he is open about his past cha

I do not know if the friend I interviewed and his friends were Azri’s acolytes, but looking at the comments on TikTok, Azri is riding on a zeitgeist, and his followers – hapless Malay men – are listening.

Masculinity and Politics

Malay(sian) politics have al

Toxic masculinity, characterised by the reinforcement of traditional gender roles and aggressive leadership, appeals to voters and these young men I met, who were threatened by social change. It also discourages female and non-conforming participation. These, however, deepen gender divides in politics and shape views on power and authority.

After all, in Islam, the role of the male in a household is stressed on being a good leader and provider. In an increasingly modern and woke world, where the male identity is challenged, asserting their role and rights as a Malay man – and Muslim too – is all too attractive. This is a global experience that we are all observing now, as we witness genocides across the world and trigger-happy older men in power ordering strikes against the innocent.

Populism is already mainstream, cementing itself in Malaysian psyche as the country grapples with perceived weak leadership. Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim is facing challenges; he is unable to address concerns relating to Sabah and Sarawak – including religious freedom – as he seeks to regain support among Malay voters in Peninsular Malaysia.

East Asia Forum also reported on why Malaysian voters and civil society are turning on Anwar. The public trust deficit is apparent, as Malaysians vented their grouses on the Facebook page of the Yang DiPertuan Agong (YDPA).

The recent Parti Keadilan Rakyat (PKR) election, which saw Anwar’s daughter Nurul Izzah Anwar winning the vice president post, rankled many, including the Malays. (However, the media recently reported that Anwar’s approval rating has increased  since 2024).

To the Ordinary Malay, there is no (Malay) leadership that Malaysians can bank on. The only individuals and organisations that are demonstrating a way out into a better future are nationalists and Islamists, who are seen as dependable and united. The Ordinary Malay wants out of the mess, and the only way to do so is by embracing its true nature—as a nationalist Malay who puts religion and ethnicity first. I had mentioned “Everyday Nationhood” earlier in this essay; lived realities often shape the worldviews of the Ordinary Malay (likewise for many others), and clearly the past decade has affirmed to them that the Malay(sia) they inhabit is cruel to them.

Introduction

Dina: “Betul ke hok Ya cakak tu? Ya betul betul hamba? Dari Ethiopia?” (Is it true what you said? You are really a slave? From Ethiopia?)

Ya: “Ye. Betul, patik dari Mesir. Asal usul patik… pernoh dengor Ethiopia. Tapi patik duduk kat Mesir, dulu pah tu Mesia lama do-oh.”(Yes. I’m from Egypt. I think my roots are from Ethiopia. But I used to stay in Egypt before moving to Malaysia.)

I met Ya about three times in 2006. She called me on the telephone, telling me to hurry, hurry, time was flying past fast, so we had better get cracking. I flew back each time she called and dashed to the kitchen where she always waited.

One time, she wanted to show that she could dance the tango. She sashayed in the room to an imaginary song and said“Kalu patik dok jage umoh ne, patik jadi pelakon kat Amerika tu! Pelakon favourite patik… Marilyn Monroe. Nok dengor cite Ya, Ku Dina? Ingak ye, lepas tu buat pilem Ya.” (If I were not a caretaker of this house, I would have become an actress in America. My favourite actress is… Marilyn Monroe. Do you want to hear about my story, Ku Dina? Just remember to make a movie about me later.)

Ya stood up and acted out a Hindustani film love scene. She pretended she was behind a tree, wooing her lover. I was delighted.

Ya continued. “Patik nok semboh cerita kat Kak Dina. ini lah cite patik. Orang umoh panggil patik, Ya, Mariam, tapi nok senang, panggil patik Ya. Tapi, nama sebenar Ya, Desta. Bonda patik bagi nama tu kak patik. Itu la hok patik bol

Our interviews were recorded and the excerpts would be shared on this platform here from time to time, just like in chapter one of this series.

Whispers of Ya’s Past

There are many truths to Ya’s story. Family members said she was sent to work for Almarhum Sultan Muhammad Syah II and was accepted as part of them later on.

Another family member and the late Ku Ah had heard that Ya’s aunt had persuaded Ya’s parents to allow her to work for a rich Malay family. What we unanimously agreed on was that Almarhum was a pious man, who abdicated the throne in protest against colonial rule.

“Zaman tu, patik banyak kena belajar. Bahasa

keluarge baru, patik tengok dalam umoh, macam istana. Ramainya cucu ketua umoh tu! Ada tukang masok – baik orang dia – dia ajor patik masok, jaga umoh, semua lah! Baik-baik belaka. Lepas kerja, mereka ajok patik main. Macam macam main kita semua. Masok masok, guli guli. Ya masa kecil-kecil di Mekah, main tutup mata, cari orang. Kalau jatuh, jatuhlah! Budak-budak di Mekah bermain macam budak-budak di sini juga.

“Patik kerja kuat. Patik buat apa yang disuruh. Semua untuk patik dapat lupakan hidup patik dulu. Oh, Ku Dina. Bila matahari terbit kat kampung patik dulu, macam masuk syurga, cantik. Bila dah petang tu, macam alam lain.”

(During that

I worked really hard. I did everything I was asked to do. I did everything to forget my past life. Oh, Ku Dina. When the sun rose in my old village, it looked like paradise. When the sun set, it was as if you have entered a different realm.”)

Ya was not the only young child to work for the family. Safar, Berserah and one young boy who remains unnamed joined her and they became fast friends. According to my cousin and late grandaunt Ku Ah, Safar had a tragic story.

Beyond Servitude

Safar was walking in the desert alone, aways from her home when she noticed something. Safar saw a comb of bananas, which appeared out of the blue, all yellow and ripe, on the sand. She looked at it curiously. Prior to this, her sister and friends had been taken away by slave traders. Her mother and father cried and called to the gods to get them back.

The bananas enticed Safar. Then, the bananas moved – probably tied to a string – and the young girl followed it. In an instant, a sack was thrown over her head and she was taken away.

In her adult years, she had expressed great regret that she had not stayed home.

Then there is the story Ya whispered to me, of how some of the young boys who had gone out to play in the desert found a trail of flowers not native to their country. Like all young people, curiosity won out and they met their fate.

It was when they arrived in Malaya that they recognised the flower: bunga mawar Melayu (Malay rose). That was the story I was told.

Despite the fact that they had become a part of the family and the local landscape, they were still enslaved people. Their truths and memories would always be disputed and silenced by their masters and their descendants.

In the time we undertook this research project, we have learned one thing: truths were manufactured to protect reputation at the cost of the innocent.

We found documents from the British Archives that reveal the base character of certain personalities, which led to rigorous discussion. Whose truth are we to show in the would-be documentary?

In two emails sent to me by my late cousin Tengku Ismail Su, the songket maker, dated 21 September 2007 and 14 April 2008, he wrote: 

Ya recalled as it was yesterday. “I was playing games with my elder sisters and friends further away my house when a band of Arab slave traders raided our village”. This happened so sudden we were caught by surprised with those noises of gun fire really stunt us which hamper our movement of escaping from the life of slavery. We were rounded up and handcuffed, forced to walk for nearly a week to the nearest coast, were then transferred into a dawf crudely made Arab wooden boat to a slave trading collecting centre near the port of Aden at the tip of Arabian Peninsula.   

I came from a noble tribe my father a handsome and tall, a village chieftain. Our village is somewhere between the border of Ethiopia and Somali the horn of Africa. Being captured and handcuffed is a terrible ordeal for us. We were first auctioned at a slave market and bought by an Arab slave merchant, then taken by camel across vast desert to Jeddah slave market. With my exotic beauty was spotted by the head Nubian eunuch from the household of the Sheriff Hussein. Luck is on my side I and my parents and sisters were bought into this illustrious family the descended of Prophet Muhammad, the Guardian of the two Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina. The slave merchant make a handsome profit from us, it is always a custom for them to take a great care of their newly captured slave from being sexually abused such rape in order to fetch a good price. I was presented as a gift to the ex-Sultan Muhammad who was at that time a state guest of the Sheriff Hussein. Unlike other Nubian slaves bought by your grandmother and Tengku Maimunah directly from trader”

He continued, “Ya traced and managed to find her family again in 1935 during ex-Sultan Muhammad second pilgrimages to Mecca. She was welcome to go back to her family but she prefers to be with her master handsome prince living in Singapore and country palace of Gon

“Mariam or Ya affectionate know in the family quiet passed away at the age of 85 years old in rundown Istana Gong Kapas where h

The email above has been replicated verbatim from the email.

Slave Trade

Before we begin Ya’s story, we need to tell you that Ya and her friends are not the type of slaves that we have known.

For many of us, slavery belonged to the White, Western world, especially in America, where Africans were taken from their homes to work on American and Caribbean plantations. The story we wish to tell is not Alex Haley’s Roots: The Saga of An American Family.

However, the transatlantic slave trade has dominated public imagination, knowledge and even academia. Slavery, in all its varieties and forms, has been in existence since antiquity. It seems perplexing, but, ever since, something has always compelled human beings to take each other into forced captivity. It has been a human practice since time immemorial.

This is not an attempt to justify it—nor is it necessary to provide moral justification for this abhorrent practice. To us, it is important to unpack and understand the nuances of how slavery was different in different contexts.

A loaded term, “slavery” carries so much weight and has many definitions, depending on time period, geography and perspective.

In colonial times, the Portuguese had the honour of being the first modern human traffickers, trading in hundreds of thousands of humans from the west coast of Africa for their plantations and colonies in the New World.

Such a history has not been easy to face, and Portugal has, for the most part, avoided acknowledging its “pioneering role” in establishing and participating in the transatlantic slave trade that lasted for about four centuries. Only in 2021 did Portugal install a public monument called the Memorial-Homage to the Victims of Slavery.

The lucrative trade soon saw the participation of the British, the Dutch and the Spanish. Local agents were also involved, bartering their own people for profit.Indeed, even before the arrival of Europeans, there was already an African slave trade.

For centuries, small kingdoms and large empires existed in West and Central Africa, divided along cultural and ethnic lines. Frequent conflicts led to captives who became part of the local trade system, which formed the basis for the transatlantic slave trade.

War for Profit, Profit from War

The grand ancient civilisations of Egypt, Mesopotamia, Rome, Greece and Persia had slave

From these ancient times, Roman gladiators who were often slaves come to mind—glamorous (and glistening) fighters combatting for entertainment, their freedom and, ultimately, to return home. In reality, however, many slaves – and their families – lived, worked and died in captivity, some under hard circumstances working in construction or hard labour.

Slavery is complex—Ya and friends came to work as house servants and then were absorbed into the Malay families who took them in, eventually becoming one of them.

Ya, in fact, settled in the royal household of Sultan Muhammad II of Terengganu. She and her friends were known to be Muslims, and when they moved to Terengganu, in some ways, they masuk Melayu.

The Arab-Muslim slave trade has long been in existence, especially from Africa. Black Africans were the earliest type of slave known to Arabs. One of them, Bilal, who became the first muezzin, was an Abyssinian who was owned and freed by Abu Bakr, Prophet Muhammad’s father-in-law.

With the advent of Islam came the Arab conquests, which saw the spread of the Muslim-Arab armies to different parts of the region, from Persia to North Africa. Once they conquered the Sahara, Arab merchants bought Black Africans to be traded.

While Islam taught tolerance and the importance of knowing each other despite differences of clan and skin colour, Arabs subjugated Black Africans into slavery anyway.

Africans who were brought into slavery were sometimes bought, taken or born into it. Some were bo

The locals in Terengganu called Ya and her friends hamba habshi, possibly because they came from Madinah and Mecca. The Metropolitan Museum of Art explained that “… Habshi is the Arabic term for Abyssian, a nationality known today as Ethiopian. This term is used to describe the Africans who came to live in India, arriving as merchants and fishermen as well as slaves. Sidi (‘my lord’) is another Arabic term to identify the same group, but connotes an elevated status.”

Ya did tell me that her origins were from Ethiopia, which coincides with the definition above. However, she was seen as a local Meccan, as her family had settled in Mecca.

At that time, they were regarded as locals but of African origin. Identity was fluid before and now: people move to seek work and some fortune and integrate into the local landscape. (Another question that we will address in the future: what is truth and memory?)

We were told that her aunt had spoken to her parents about a good future and brought her to meet the new family. She stayed with the family and their descendants until the end of her life.

At least, that was what we were told.

—

When I first met Ya in 1996, at the entrance of the house she lived in, she had a cloth/towel on her head. Many years later, my third cousin Ku Mei and third aunt – the now deceased Tengku Halipah, whom we called Bonda Ku Ah – told me that when hamba habshi arrived in Terengganu, they took to the cloth and various versions of the selendang because they felt embarrassed by their hair. It had nothing to do with religion. I was told that one or two of them resorted to hanging durian fruit from their hair in a bid to straighten it.

Most of them took to living quietly and in the shadows, even if they were popular with the locals, because they knew they looked different. Their skin was darker. They were tall too. Ya and another lived with their adoptive families, while the others lived and worked in the royal fortress—Dalam Kota Istana Maziah.

The cursory Malay(sian) reader may find this as positive ammunition for populism: Ya and friends had assimilated into this new, strange society, where Islam and Malayness were upheld, but when the team and I heard this, it broke our hearts. They were so young then – they had not even reached puberty when they reached Singapore and Terengganu – and had to figure  out assimilation as well as acculturation on their own. That they had this awareness of how different they were from the new country they lived and died in is heartbreaking.

When we met in 2006, Ya asked me if I was the writer-granddaughter of my grandparents, and whether I knew who she really was. When I offered that I thought she was a tall Indian woman, she laughed.

“Patik dulu… hamba. hamba habshi.  Pelawok budok ni sunggoh. Patik bukang orang India. Dari Mesir! Afrika!” Ya remarked. (I was… hamba. Hamba habshi. You are such a joker! I’m not Indian. I’m from Egypt! Africa!”).

What struck me when we conversed were two things: she spoke fluently in the Terengganu dialect and in Bahasa Istana (the palace language). I then called out for my mother, who had entered the kitchen, and motioned for her to join us.

While my mother spoke to the other inhabitants of the house, Ya and I stayed in the back. I was entranced by her: she was tall, lanky and most animated. She told me I had to write a film about her life—she loved films and wanted to be an actress. She made me promise in the back of the kitchen – an amanah – to tell her story to the world.

She stood up, waving her arms in the air, with her sleeves rolled back to her elbows. Her arms were the colour of dark chocolate and the skin was almost parchment-like, with deep creases I fancied as details of life. Age. I was struck by the fairness of her palms and said so. She smiled and said it was because she took wudhu (ablution) all the time.

“Ye lah. Patik kuak semayang. Ni kalu ambik wuduk sokmo, kulit ceroh. Same dengan selawat. Baca banyok banyok kali pah tu usap muka. [Ber]seri.” (Of course. I pray all the time. This is what happens if you always take ablution: your skin will shine. Same with reciting salawat. Do that a lot and then rub your face. It would glow).

This is how Ya sounded. This is a snippet from an hour-long audio.

Enslavement in Malay Society

Understanding the lives of slaves within the royal household encompasses several key elements. Firstly, it requires contextualising the practice of slavery within the Malay world, considering its religious, cultural and class dimensions. Secondly, tracing the movement of slaves from their places of origin to their destinations is essential for gaining insight into their experiences. Finally, it is important to consider the nuances of their lives within the domestic sphere, where strong familial ties often played a significant role.

In the Malay world, slavery was practiced, but its definition and concept differ from Western understanding. Slavery in Southeast Asia (including in the Malay world) is fascinating to observe. This is because of the interaction between various concepts of slavery, such as Islam, Hinduism, Chinese, European and local beliefs.

The institution of slavery was a societal practice that had been observed in the region since the time of the Malacca Sultanate. Slaves symbolised the influence and wealth of a nobleman during that era. The more slaves a nobleman owned, the higher his status in society and the stronger his economic position.

For example, Tun Mutahir owned so many slaves that he himself did not recognise the slaves he acquired. This indicates the vast wealth he obtained, surpassing even the wealth of Sultan Mahmud Syah of Malacca. Occupying the lowest stratum of society, they could not act according to their own desires because they were controlled by rules and orders determined by their owners (masters).

However, slavery in the context of the Malay world is not solely seen in terms of economics and slaves as property. Practices resembling slavery in the Malay world are more focused on the concept of indebtedness.

The concept of indebtedness in the Malay world extends beyond monetary debt. According to Gullick, the concept of indebtedness in the Malay world encompasses economic interests. “It is clear… that debt-bondage, although in the form of an economic institution, was in substance a very mixed complex of several elements. The Chief acquired and retained bondsmen as a means of augmenting his power and prestige. The bondsman might expect the creditor to provide him with a wife….”

For Malay royalty and aristocrats, the institution of slavery played a role in contributing labour to the economy and granting status to their masters.

Slaves can be divided into three main groups: hamba raja (royal slaves), hamba hutang (debt-slaves) and hamba abdi (abdi slaves).

Originally, hamba raja were disobedient individuals such as prisoners of war or convicts who committed crimes but were successfully apprehended and later pardoned by the raja. The status of hamba raja is higher compared to other slaves. This group receives special legal status compared to other slaves. Fasal Ke-lapan dalam Undang-undang Melaka states that the law for killing hamba raja should be reverted back to the killer.

They receive protection from the government and are also known as biduanda, dayang-dayang, beti-beti, and perwara (female slaves). Hamba raja and their descendants perpetually served their royal masters.

There is more, but we will continue in the next few chapters of this story.

The GKC Collective is seeking funds for the Malaysia leg of research. Please contact us at gongkapaspictures@gmail.com

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GK Pictures is a collective of researchers and creators who wish to bring Ya’s story to life. We are seeking support and funds for research that will take the team around the country, Europe and the Middle East prior to production. You may contact us at gongkapaspictures@gmail.com.

Introduction

In the tome Terengganu Darul Iman 1881-1936, written by Muhammad Yusoff Hashim, he wrote:

                Bersuka-sukaan di sana ia

                dua tiga orang matinya sahaya

                dibeli pula yang maha mulia

                beberapa cariat muda belia.

                Kulitnya hitam warna gelat

                berkilat pandang seperti shakhalat

                kedua mata putihnya bulat

                rambut seperti di sarang ulat.

                Gemar melihat mahkota negeri

                kulitnya hitam tiada berperi

                diajar pelayan di dalam qasri

                sangat dikasih muda bestari.

                Tiadalah hamba memanjangkan cerita

                di sana tidak lama sang nata

                lepas mengambil haji yang nyata

                kembalilah ia semua serta.

                Di negeri Terengganu tempat sedia

                menderulah datang hamba dan sahaya

                serta kaum kerabat dia

                mengunjungi datang di tanah bahagia.

Hashim wrote about the arrival of dark-skinned slaves, who aroused the curiosity and later acceptance from Terengganu locals. Was this just a story, or were there bondsmen from the Middle East and Africa who lived in the state?

–

When I was a child, my holidays in Gong Kapas, Terengganu, were marked by imaginary adventures or passive curiosity of the neighbourhood. I would stay with my grandparents and their youngest children – and of course my mother – while my father worked abroad. As I grew older, any holiday or reason to go back to Terengganu would see us there.

At that time, in the 1970s and 80s, Gong Kapas was green and lush. My late grandparents’ home was covered with mango and rambutan trees, and behind the house was a wall with an opening to the house behind us. Cats and kittens scampered about. From time to time, goats sauntered in and out of the compound. My late grandmother employed quite a number of maids and help who cooked, massaged, and observed the goings-on in the house. The people from the back of the house trooped into Toknda’s house too to exchange gossip, news and – of course – food.

I was quite young that time, but I was always at the back of the house, because the cats and food were there. My babysitter and the maids would congregate to talk about their men and ghosts. Occasionally, a tall, dark-skinned woman would pop her head in, speak softly, and leave. We never spoke. But I remembered that

—

By 2006, I was in my mid-20s. I visited Terengganu a lot while my grandparents were still alive. One evening, I was in the garden – which was now a rather strange rock garden – and went inside for a drink. That was when I saw the tall lady, waving at me from outside her window, motioning to me to meet her. I left the kitchen to meet her at the back entrance of her home, thinking throughout the whole process about how very tall she was.

She asked me if I was the grandchild of (now deceased) Tengku Asmak, who was a writer. I nodded.

She asked me to come into her house

She smiled and told me she was an African slave, who

Terengganu in Brief

To understand Terengganu is to understand its history, which scholars such as the abovementioned Yusoff Hashim have explored in detail.

In his book Terengganu Darul Iman: Tradisi Pensejarahan Malaysia, he describes T

The Terengganu Sultanate traces its origins back to the 18^th century, with 17 sultans ruling since its inception. Mubin Sheppard (1949) details its founding, linking it to Johor’s Bendahara dynasty. In 1718, Sultan Abdul Jalil of Johor was exiled by Raja Kechil, who claimed descent from Malacca’s Sultan Mahmud Mangkat Dijulang. Sultan Abdul Jalil took refuge in Terengganu but was assassinated in 1721. His son, Tengku Sulaiman, allied with Bugis warrior Daeng Perani to reclaim Johor. According to Tuhfat Al-Nafis, Sultan Sulaiman, with Bugis support, appointed his uncle, Tun Zainal Abidin, as Terengganu’s first sultan in 1725.

Patani tradition states that he fled to Patani after his adoptive father, Wan Derahman, was wrongly executed and was sheltered by the ruling Queen Nang Chayam. During Sultan Abdul Jalil’s visit to Patani, an agreement was made to divide Johor’s territories, with Terengganu assigned to Tun Zainal Abidin. After Abdul Jalil’s death, Patani honoured the deal, sending Tun Zainal Abidin and 80 Patani families to Terengganu, where he was installed as sultan. He further strengthened ties by marrying the queen’s cousin, Che Puan Besar. The settlement, Kampong Patani, still exists today.

One of the most well-known rulers was Sultan Zainal Abidin III who ruled from 1881 to 1918. His reign marked Terengganu’s transition from a nominal vassal of Siam to an Unfederated Malay State under British protection. He was known for his charisma, personal adherence to Islamic law and efforts to modernise Terengganu. Breaking from isolationist policies, he embraced reforms and welcomed foreigners. He maintained Terengganu’s independence by showcasing historical manuscripts proving sovereignty and resisting British interference. With the support of religious leader Tok Ku Sayyid Paloh and noble Haji Ngah Muhammad, he opposed colonial control.

Despite his efforts, the 1909 British-Siamese Agreement was signed without Terengganu’s knowledge, placing the state under British influence. Sultan Zainal Abidin III countered by introducing Itqan al-Muluk (Terengganu State Constitution) in 1911, ensuring leadership followed Quranic principles and upheld Malay-Islamic identity. He passed away on 26 November 1918 at the age of 54, deeply mourned by his people.

His successor, Sultan Muhammad Shah II, was born on 1 May 1889 in Kuala Terengganu to Cik Khalthum binti Haji Daud, also known as Cik Istana. His reign was short-lived due to British pressure. The 1918 Bucknill Commission investigated his rule, citing mismanagement, particularly in land and mining concessions. British officials deemed him illiterate and temperamental, justifying their intervention. In 1919, he was forced to accept a British Adviser, officially integrating Terengganu into the British Empire. Struggling under colonial oversight, he abdicated after 18 months in favour of his brother, Sultan Sulaiman Badrul Alam Syah, to take control.

Sultan Sulaiman’s rule (1920–1942) saw Terengganu fall further under British control. British-backed officials attempted but failed to install Tengku Besar Mahmud, a prince of full royal blood (meaning both his parents were of royal descent), as sultan. His reign was marked by natural disasters, including the devastating 1926–1927 floods, and peasant uprisings led by Haji Abdul Rahman Limbong against British taxation policies. The Japanese invasion in 1941 worsened conditions – he died in 1942. His son, Sultan Ali, was later dethroned in 1945 due to a series of alleged misconducts – from holding wild parties, associating with unsavory women, to being pro-Japanese – and was replaced by his uncle, Sultan Ismail Nasiruddin.

The early 20^th century was a turbulent period in Terengganu’s history, marked by frequent shifts in power. Foreign pressures from British colonial administrators and Thailand played a significant role in shaping the decisions of Terengganu’s rulers. The legacy of Sultan Zainal Abidin III endured, as three of his sons became sultans, each navigating the challenges of British colonisation and governance. The evolution of Terengganu from an independent sultanate to a British protectorate, and eventually a part of Malaysia, was deeply influenced by the strength, or weakness, of its rulers. Ultimately, Terengganu’s history is inseparable from the story of its sultans, whose leadership defined its fate.

The Slave Trade in the Malay World: A Global Context

The story of slavery in the Malay world is a truly global one. It is one that can be told alongside the story of how trade and ideas came from the Middle East to the people of Southeast Asia. It is a tale of intricate networks, of characters from all walks of life, told within a wide context that sees the overlapping of religion, local and international geopolitics and economics.

By looking at slavery in a Malay(sian) context, we gain insight into a new history, one that brings together themes that are familiar to us. We are talking about European imperialism, cosmopolitanism, trade networks, Islam, Malay identity and even Malay power. It also involved non-Europeans and local traders who were heavily involved in the trade of slaves, namely from East Africa.

For decades, scholarship on slavery has mainly concentrated on the Atlantic trade. In recent years, however, scholars are looking at other geographical contexts for slavery, especially eastwards, from East Africa, through the Middle East, down the Indian Ocean and to the Malay Archipelago.

The Indian Ocean has emerged as a new context of study. This mass body of ocean has been a witness to the movements of peoples and goods, facilitating travel, trade and even colonialism. Scholars such as Amal Ghazal and Fahad Bishara have contributed to this field by examining the trade networks that connected various points along the Indian Ocean, from Zanzibar to the Indian continent. Slavery scholars are also beginning to look at this context to broaden the global scope of slavery’s history.

The demand for slave labour from East Africa stemmed from the expansion of European-controlled plantations in the 18^th century. In the French-held Mascarenes islands (the group of islands of which Mauritius belongs to), slaves from the East African coast were trafficked to the sugar plantations there. Plantations owned by Arab Muslims growing cloves and dates in the East African islands of Zanzibar and Pemba in the Persian Gulf region also increased the demand for slaves. Demand increased even further with the growing dominance of the British in the region who wanted to maintain their imperial control by propping up slave dependent economies. Slaves did not only appear on plantations, but also in other places too, from factories to the household.

When the European powers arrived, they took slaves from the eastern part of Dutch East Indies (Indonesia) and southern India as a labour force for their newly conquered and established cities in Asia. The Dutch relied extensiv

The African slave trade started in the 15^th century, when European powers expanded their lands in the Americas. They traded with local African leaders along the Western coast of Africa, gaining slaves to be brought across the Atlantic to work on European-owned plantations in the Atlantic coast of the Americas and on the Caribbean islands. However, it did not take long until the Europeans started trading slaves from the eastern coast of Africa eastwards for their possessions in the Indian Ocean.

For instance, the Portuguese were the first to bring slaves from Mozambique and Madagascar over to South Asia. Hundreds of thousands of Africans were taken and forcibly resettled on this route, as claimed by Shihan de Silva Jayasuriya. Termed Afro-Asian communities in India, they can be found in Gujarat and Karnataka, the two coastal states facing the eastern coast of Africa.

However, slavery in Southeast Asia cannot only be understood within the context of European imperialism. As noted by Anthony Reid, there was a “fluid spectrum” and conditions of bondage. He pointed out the ambiguous, if contradictory, position of slave – both as a property and person – as part of the household but also an outsider. In the Southeast Asian region, the concept of bondsmen, as opposed to slaves as property, had been in existence for centuries. In the Angkor court, slaves would be taken from less fixed pop

Furthermore, when examining slavery in Southeast Asia, it is also important to consider the role played by Islam. Stephanie Cronin has urged to move away from viewing slavery within a Eurocentric lens and to understand the institution of slavery within a religious-ideological framework. Much of how Islam and slavery is understood has been through a post-abolition Western discourse that is orientalist and othering in its approach.

In the Middle East, slavery had been in existence since ancient times. The arrival of Islam provided a new legal framework for slavery, but the practice did not die out. While domestic slaves and such were commonplace in the Muslim world, so too was the rise of elite slaves, who were taken by Islamic leaders to hold high positions in the government and military. In some cases, such as the Mamluks in Egypt, they even went on to overthrow their leaders and rule.

Muslim traders had been coming to the Malay lands along tried and tested routes through the Indian Ocean, even before the arrival of the Europeans. They were also active in the trade of slaves from East Africa. These African slaves who were brought over to Southeast Asia lived in a more open slave society, as compared to their Atlantic counterparts. Scholars such as Titas Chakraborty and Matthias van Rossum have urged the need to emphasise the local character of “Asian” slaveries. Many married into the local population and assimilated relatively well into the local population. Islamic law stipulated for fair treatment for slaves, disallowing exploitation, cruelty and prostitution. They were entitled to a formal contract and had the right to access legal aid and protection. Arab leaders took slaves from a variety of communities, including Christians in the Balkans and Africans. In Southeast Asia, local laws, from imperial Chinese ordinances to laws of the Melaka sultanate covered the rights of slaves.

Through studying the presence of African slaves in Southeast Asia, we thus gain insight into a long history that encompasses different geographic spaces that are united by trade, networks and religion across the Indian Ocean.

This Year’s Ramadhan was Difficult for Malaysians

Selamat Hari Raya Aidil Fitri from Malaysia, stratsea.com.

The past few months have been terrible for Muslims all over the world, as they watched helplessly at the genocide and violence faced by fellow Muslims in Palestine, Syria, and Yemen, for example.

At the time of writing, Iran had just hit back at Israel in defence after its consulate was bombed in Syria, which saw 12 people killed. Israel’s war on Gaza just seems to expand bigger with each passing day.

Meanwhile, in Malaysia, identity politics have intensified. Socks bearing the name of Allah have caught the ire of Muslims, which saw a couple of the supermarket franchise, KK Mart, attacked with Molotov cocktails. Shoes that some people saw seemingly had “Allah” stamped on their soles have been taken off the market, despite calligraphy experts saying that there was hardly any resemblance to the word Allah.

Even an Opposition politician, Bersatu Youth Chief Wan Ahmad Fayhsal Wan Ahmad Kamal said in a post on X that Muslims should not be so paranoid as to think that everything is an act to challenge Islam.

Indeed, this year’s holy month of Ramadhan kept all of us in Malaysia on our toes.

Malaysia has in a month become a paranoid state, with non-Muslims preferring to discuss sensitive issues in private. It is the same for moderate Muslims, except that the conversation is often led by angry nationalists. The question that begs to be asked would be this: are we being overly paranoid or is our anger justified?

The “war” against non-Muslims have long been drawn, but this time around, it has become more volatile.

A Shift in the Region’s Identity Politics

Being Malay in the past decade has become even more urgent for many Malay-Muslims who feel that they truly are at siege. Israel’s war on Gaza, the way Muslims are being

As previously argued, the Malay identity supersedes almost everything else in our country – Malayness is about Malaysia’s politics, religion, governance and business.

In a significant display of cultural assertion amidst the political milieu, members of parliament from

This unprecedented move resonates deeply within the political landscape of Thailand, especially considering the historical emphasis on adherence to Thai identity codes, as introduced by former Prime Minister Phibun Songkhram in 1941.

This step by the seven parliamentarians aligns with their efforts to support the revitalization of Malay identity among the local community in Patani, a cause that has long been championed by grassroots movements.

Kamolsak Liwamo, a Member of Parliament representing the Narathiwat constituency, emphasized that the decision to wear the Baju Melayu during the final days of Ramadan was aimed at reshaping the government and security forces’ perceptions regarding its association with separatist activities. He is also the Chair of the Parliament’s Committee on Law, Justice, and Human Rights.

“We aim to clarify to the authorities, particularly the military and police, that wearing the Baju Melayu is a common practice within the Malay community and does not entail separatist elements,” asserted Kamolsak.

This trend coincides with efforts towards peaceful dialogue in southern Thailand between separatist factions and the Thai government, which are driven by three key factors. Firstly, the government’s willingness to facilitate the re-emergence of Malay identity. Secondly, the readiness, especially among the youth, to shape the future of Patani in the background of the peace talks. Thirdly, the concerted efforts to strengthen Malay identity, supported by various stakeholders including youth activists, NGOs, religious leaders and local political figures.

However, Dr. Ahmad Omar Chapakia, Deputy Rector of Fatoni University in Thailand, while welcoming this trend, cautioned that it should be approached with care to ensure that the surge in Malay nationalism does not impede ongoing peace processes or exacerbate sensitivities within the country.

“This is a positive development, as Malay identity previously existed under a subtext, but when the government allows an open space to manifest Malay identity, it is a significant step forward for the promotion of Malay identity,” stated Dr. Ahmad.

“However, we must pay attention to this trend because if left unchecked, it may become excessive, and I believe it is the role of politicians to ensure that this trend does not beco

The Gaza Question Lingers

On the other hand, Israel’s war on Gaza has raised temperatures among Malay-Muslims. Historically, Malaysia and its leadership has always been sympathetic to the Palestinian cause. This w

Over the decades, the Malay-Muslim society expressed solidarity through rallies, aid and boycotts that flared up every time Israel conducted a major attack on Palestinians. This time around, this sentiment has sustained for longer due to Israel’s extended military operation in Gaza. Malay-Muslims have dug their heels deeper into the boycotts, affecting both McDonalds and Starbucks’ Malaysia’s revenue so much that it pressured both companies to appeal to Malay-Muslim consumers to stop the boycotts. Malays have also taken to shaming and denigrating other Malay-Muslims or non-Muslims who are not seen to be boycotting.

The intensity of this sentiment did not intensify in a vacuum. Since the fall of the Barisan Nasional government in 2018, Malay anxieties and fears have been incited by right-wing groups. This had led to increasingly tense relationships between Muslim and non-Muslims, based on perceived attacks towards Malay political hegemony and the sanctity of Islam. This is the backdrop that further intensifies Malay-Muslim sentiments during Israel’s war on Gaza this time around, with parallels drawn between the plight of Palestinians and the possible downtrodden future of the Malay society.

Conclusion

We all live in our bubbles, especially so when we live in Southeast Asia, far away from Gaza, Sudan and Congo, where atrocities are a daily fact of life. However, the implications of events in these far-off lands will impact us as Muslims and citizens of the countries in this region. The recent Iranian retaliation has far-reaching effects to our region, including Indonesia. In fact, all of the aforementioned controversies do.

The intensification of the Malay-Muslim community’s sentiments towards global issues affecting the Ummah has forced the government to respond to these sentiments, sometimes in unproductive ways. A recent example: the Malaysian government’s response to the community flare-up towards the KK Mart socks issue has been incredibly lukewarm.

Little has been done to rectify or moderate ties between Malaysian Muslims and non-Muslims, at the perceived cost of losing electoral support among the Malays. This is, in effect, a government held hostage by a growing far-right movement. Too afraid of moving to the middle, lest they be seen as non-committal to the Malay-Muslim cause.

If this is how the government reacts to domestic issues, it raises concern to how they may react to important issues in the region. We must be careful that the above agendas are not co-opted by parties that may misuse the cause.

Introduction

In 2020, as the world faced the Covid-19 pandemic, Malaysia saw the resurgence of the Malay narrative. This is not unusual as annually, politicians and far-right nationalists demand for Malay rights to be further reinstated and entrenched in public policies. Sparked by the cover of a book edited by Kean Wong, “Rebirth: Reformasi, Resistance, and Hope on the Road to New Malaysia,” Malay anger bayed for the blood of the writers and the editor. What fascinated political observers such as myself, was that moderate and observant Muslims such as Asyraf Wajdi bin Dusuki, who is the Youth Chief of the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO) and is admired as a reasonable politician, and his ilk joined in the vicious fray over the book.

Overnight, sales of the Malay headgear, the tanjak, significantly increased, and many Malay politicians and activists took to donning the Malay costume.

The Rise of Tanjak Power and Malay Pride

Sometime during Malaysia’s first Covid-19 lockdown in 2020, I decided to write a book and also return to my original research plan of studying Malay youths. I was supposed to have pursued a postgraduate path and then IMAN came up, so Covid-19 in many ways was a blessing. The book, which is a collection of interviews conducted over Zoom and in real life, was about young Malay voices who wanted to have their voices heard.

To be a Malay these days is contentious; not just among non-Malays but also within the Malay demographic. I wrote the following as a Linkedin.com post which I had tried submitting to the Malaysian media but it was deemed too sensitive:

“Firstly, this return to Malayness, ajaran, agama Melayu, started making its presence known in 2018. During the

As time went on, I observed and noted the following: they were Malay nationalists, but not really supremacists. As entrepreneurs, they were self-sustaining in the name of race and religion, and independent from the state, gave back to charity. Wresting back this identity that had long been politicised and hijacked by the powers that be and political actors, and it solidified and increased their social capital and confidence, and provided a personal and professional ‘Hala tuju’ (direction).

As more and more groups of young men and women popped up on social media, promoting Malay traditional wear, and selling mystical books on Malay healing (as opposed to Islamic healing known as ruqya), I realised that this was more than just a trend, but a spiritual journey of an identity they felt was disappearing.

This (trend) was a pushback against what the state has deemed Malay identity and the Arabisation of Nusantara Islam, especially Wahabism and Salafism. Tanah Melayu seems to be in a constant state of colonisation; we had white masters before and now we have been living through Salafisation/Wahabi-sation of our language, culture and faith. It would be unfair to accuse our Arab forefathers of destroying ourselves as Islam Nusantara was also influenced by the arrival of the Hadramawt traders. The Malay Narrative must be brought back to the fore.

On social media, books on perubatan Melayu, (Malay healing) are popular.  There is a spike in sales/demand and interest. E-commerce platforms like Shopee and flea markets report brisk sales of such books. More local ustazs, those who are not as famous as Ustaz Don Danial for example, are creating their own groups, teaching perubatan Melayu, meditation, and practices with silat elements, zikir and Quranic verses. People are eager to learn about Malay cultures, rituals and traditions. They are made up of professionals, academics, the silat wannabe and the lost lambs seeking an identity.

While this phenomenon is nation-wide, it would seem that it is more apparent in urban areas in the Klang Valley, and it is predominantly young men. This coincides with IMAN Research’s ongoing findings: the number of unemployed graduates who are young men is increasing, and many do not complete secondary school. Every time the team goes to the ground, and even in my interviews with these young men during the lockdown, we are told that Malays lack social capital. It made me wonder: 60 years of independence, Malay privilege and inequity, and we still demand social capital. How did we get here? Are these imagined fears?

To understand this anger, we will need to refe

In The Beginning

In 2016 leading up to 2018, IMAN Research (IMAN) began a nationwide study on how (Malay Muslim) youths viewed their identity as Muslims and young Malays and their sympathy towards ISIS (Islamic State of Iraq and Syria.) The project revealed issues of identity, lack of social capital and angst, and these findings spilled over into IMAN’s next study in 2019, “Believing in Extremism: What Drives Our Youths.”

We asked Malay Muslims between the ages of 18 to 35 who came from four different locations in Peninsular Malaysia. They also had varying degrees of education and socio-economic status. We chose this demographic because they represented 66% of the total population in Malaysia then, and were politically astute (there was 83% youth turnout for the 13th General Elections). They were also technologically savvy: 47% of them had more than one mobile phone, and heavy users of Facebook (13 million used the platform).

While Malaysian youths represented 62.8% of the total workforce, there was negative growth in mid-income jobs. Many were unemployed. Their income was 40-50% less of the national average. 28% did not complete secondary schooling and juvenile crime was high. At school, they did not mix with other races.

At the time of our focus group discussions, 200 Malay Muslims had joined ISIS, surpassing Indonesians. More than 120 individuals had been arrested since 2013 from either trying to join ISIS or returned from fighting. There were also many educated Malay-Muslim women who sympathized with Syria and jihadists. Many could not differentiate between Syria and ISIS.

Not only were Malay youths resentful of the non-Muslim communities’ economic successes, they were also not comfortable with successful Malays. “They probably had connections with powerful people/They come from money, hence it is easy for them to gain employment,” were some of the comments.

They also felt immense pressure to assimilate religiously and ethnically, through language and religion and were brought up under strict religious doctrines which may be xenophobic in nature, hence the reassertion of Islam as the only identity they have. Many commented on negative perceptions of Malays, “(We) Malays are seen as lazy, corrupt and weak. We do not want to identify with that, that is why we see ourselves as Muslims first.”

There certainly was anger towards the state and what they felt was an aggrievance towards society.

UNICEF’s Families on The Edge, May 2021

Talking to Young Men

When you look at social media, the trolls tend to be young men.  The anger that I sense has been seething a long time.  I started asking around for angry young Malay men. Most had strong views, but seemed resigned. Nami, a writer, was more elaborate.

In a short email interview, I asked him whether this anger was directed towards the Malay elite.

“Not really,” he said. “Right now, we (Malays) are living in Malay postmodernism, when at the same time we are looking forward to our own identity to be defined from outside influences such as Arabisation or Westernisation.”

“Look. The majority of Malays are really sick of those who use religion to benefit them, but at the same time, they will not tolerate current Western norms such as LGBT. Malaypolitik is like our neighbours’ in Asia, – warlords and all, where political parties exist not because of an ideology but of a person.”

His journey that saw him leaning left and then experimenting with the right, attending gigs and dating girls whose views warped his mind, wasn’t any different from his peers. They were and are young.

“It’s not about being left or right pun (also). It’s because I want to defend the identity before it fades away, after the effects of globalization.”

Nami may be concerned about the impact of globalization on Malay identity, but he may or may not realise, his anger like his friends are shared by other angry young men around the world.

A group I follow on Instagram is Bangsa Bertauhid which promotes Malay pride. Now, one of the things the founder talks about a lot is how Malays have always been at the lower rung of the economic ladder, and that they now can wrest power from the elites and non-Malays by investing in themselves and their businesses. It was also a call to wear Malay national costumes, a pushback from outside influences, such as colonisation, Western powers, and Arabisation. I thought and still think this is fan

What Malaysia is seeing as hate from nationalist parties, the far-right movement and pro Malay groups, is a manifestation of what is going on in the country right now.

Tengku Ahmad Ridhaudin, a postgraduate student, keris enthusiast and collector, who hosts a lively Facebook page spoke to me about this surge of Malay narratives. “The problem is that our idea of Malayness is coloured by Eurocentric views of our history. And strange ideologies entrenched in Malay society. The whole human body is evidence of the existence of God. “Manusia ni tau mereka sentiasa ber-Tuhan.(The Malays cannot run away from God) but their knowledge is limited, and this was seen as an opportunity by the Orientalists to redefine Malayness. Ada fardhu ain, cukup. Kalau cikgu salah, you tak berdosa, cikgu yang dosa. (It is enough to have farduh ain, obligatory acts that must be performed by each individual Muslim. If the teacher has faulted, you would not have committed a sin, instead the teacher has sinned) The knowledge in Islam is accumulative, but Wahabbis ni (these Wahabbis) send doubt, hence the person’s faith falters.”

He disagreed with how some Malay writers write about our paranormal myths as they all come from an Orientalist perspective – “it’s not from the Malay roots. The problem is that the Malays themselves don’t read Malay manuscripts written in Jawi. Who said Malays don’t write? Who said they didn’t have the documentation?”

Another friend said this to me, “There is a desire to reclaim what was lost to the breakneck speed of modernity and industrialisation and the recurring ‘reform’ efforts that garbaged all that is Malay into the tahyul mahyul (superstitions) and asabiyah (social cohesion) boxes. In the end, Mat Salleh’s (Westerners) catch you with your RP English and ask if you’re not from around here, and Arabs stare at your sparse beard, and decidedly un-Arab multi-coloured jubah. We need to land on that ‘somewhere’ and not the imagined ‘elsewhere.’”