After 50 years of independence, we are still being told that we are Malaysianas. Watch the Malaysia Truly Asia tourism commercial or look at the giant pitcher plant at Dataran, and you’ll understand. We are told we are an exotic species; that we live in this Fantasy Island, this theme park; that we should constantly grin like ninnies, be perpetually in costume, and dance. Welcome to the Brown and White Malaysiana Show. (Farish A Noor quotes from a sixties tourism brochure in his book From Inderapura to Darul Makmur: Berserah, situated a few miles away from Kuantan is a typical fishing village of the East Coast. Seeing these brown fishermen (sic) in their colourful boats returning with their catch is a sight that only the East can offer.)
I went to the finale of a dance festival a week ago. The last time I saw something like this half a century ago on the TV (and not much has changed). Okay, imagine: Awang, Ah Kow and Mutu prancing about the stage in costumes and face-paint. I am aware that shows like this still exist on TV and in tourism events, but I didn’t think I’d see it at a dance festival. One mat salleh woman gave the performance a standing ovation, while her (embarrassed?) husband sat next to her. I thought I had seen her before; having her photograph taken next to that giant plastic pitcher plant. Maybe she was a tourist. (Look, if they can believe that Juliet was a real person who had a house in Verona, they’ll believe anything.)
Going back to the Bangkung Row session, the one before mine was a book launch with a panel discussion. Except that, it was not much discussion. It was a session with lots of vociferous agreement -- ‘I agree with you more than you agree with me’; lots of righteous outrage – ‘I am more outraged than all of you; and rants that flew across the room in such rapid fire that I took cover behind the seats (and into Milan Kundera’s essays). The topic they were so worked up about? Malaysians and Malaysianess. (I was there for the last 30 minutes while waiting for my turn.) It was nothing new. Pretty much the same old, same old; I am more outraged that thou; speaking to the converted, and all that.
Three Malaysias were thrust into my face last month: one, (apologies Farish Noor) an exotic multi-culti eastern paradise with pineapples thrown in for effect; two, a country in state of rage-filled dystopia; and, three, the Undilah video by Pete Teo, which the Minister of Information has declared ‘offensive’. I know which one I enjoyed the most.
Here are more stories about the Malaysia we all think we know. Browsing through big Malaysian chain-bookshops could make visitors wonder which country he or she is in; as could some of our national newspapers. A story I have told before is about my acute embarrassment when asked about our Malaysian collection (of English books) by an American academic when we first opened shop in 1999. (It was one of the reasons we decided to start our own publishing imprint.) We had about thirty titles on our tiny shelf; ten of them, part of the Black & White Rhino Press series. Now, we have a collection of over 1250 Malaysian titles, an increase of over 4000%, the largest collection of any bookshop in the country, and growing.
The Malaysian publishing industry in the country is experiencing a minor boom, but one will not get an inkling of this from reading our local newspapers. One excuse: we receive so many books from the publishers and distributors, that our cupboards are full. Our reviewers only pick what they like to read. That’s about right. Many are still reluctant to give local books a chance. Another commonly heard theme from local authors is that they do not like to read local books. Why? Do you think Malaysian publishing is not good enough? If you don’t read them, why should anyone read yours? (This is a strange sentiment indeed, considering how much writings from this country are being recognised and sought after internationally.)
Once, back from a short holiday in Sarawak, I met a gentleman (a good friend) who asked if I visited the cultural village in Santubong where they hold the Rainforest Festival every year. When I said yes, he went on and on about how wonderful he thought it was. When he finally let me get a word in, I said, “Did you notice that the Iban long houses in the show-village are built using steel nails?” He didn’t quite get it, and I was surprised that he didn’t. I thought the whole show-village was touristy and tacky, including the ‘Malaysiana’ cultural show that was complete with face-paint and polyester costumes.
Maybe, the problem is me. My wife says I get insulted too easily. I guess I do, but I can’t see why that’s a fault, though.
Anyway, watch the Undilah video and enjoy. We do take ourselves much too seriously; this is 'a laugh a minute' country.
