#Education Malaysia : Formal Mondays

A page from a student guide detailing a typical dress code enforced by schools in Malaysia

IN one of those “through the looking glass” moments I get being an expat in Asia, I was handed a student guide last week which outlined the enforcement of a “Formal Day” every Monday at the university in Kuala Lumpur I am (thankfully) leaving soon.

The  rules of Formal Monday instantly struck me as being directly juxtaposed to what schools and offices in the US would encourage: Casual Fridays. You can pretty much flip any inherent norm attributed to an American Casual Friday, and you’d have yourself a pretty well outlined “Formal Monday” in Malaysia. As shown above, anything resembling “casual” dress is forbidden, and subsequently punishable by formal (there is that word again) warnings and “one-on-one advice.” Reeducation, after all, can be a facet of education.

Doning flashy duds does come by default to some cultures in the Far East (China and Japan come to mind), as even when joining the most friendly outings they convey strictures of prestige, affluence and, to a lesser extent, power. Dressing in sandals and in faded T-shirts with some off-base phrase or picture connotes the opposite. What’s the difference in this Occident/Orient divide you may ask? For a man, not dressing to expectations in Asia would mean that he is perhaps not well-born and probably poor, whereas in the West there is collective memory that serves us and says: This is not nessecarily the case. For women in Malaysia’s case, as some of my Western expats friends have noted, lets just say it wouldn’t draw the right kind of attention. How Chinese Malaysians get by in this context I have yet to discover.

#Lynas : The Rare Earths Ruckus in Malaysia

A momentary deference of impartiality for a photo op during the Bersih 3.0 rally. Sometimes they are just too hard to resist.

Until recent debate gave life to the sodden term, the only thing rare about rare earths was the existence of general knowledge surrounding the commonly occurring 17 “tacked-on elements” found at the bottom of the periodic table. China’s current grip of the market, responsible for producing 95 to 97 percent of the metals necessary for a host of modern technology, ranging from LCD televisions and smart bombs to “green technology” such as wind turbines and solar panels, has spurred governments across the globe into a scramble to secure access to steady sources while citizens increasingly question the containment procedures of its low-level radioactive by-products. The US, once a powerhouse for rare earths production before it began systematically being undercut by China, and Malaysia are set to bring new processing plants online.

Next June, Lynas, an Australian rare earths mining company, will open up a refinery in Gebang, Pahang, in Peninsular Malaysia, which will be the largest of its kind in the world. The Gebang plant will weaken China’s stranglehold by supplying one-fifth of the world market. But possible excitement over this news has been drowned out by the vehement “Stop Lynas, Save Malaysia” (SLSM) movement, who incense themselves with the memories of the radioactive poisoning caused by a rare earths refinery in Bukit Merah nearly three decades ago.

At the massive Bersih 3.0 rally last month, anti-Lynas protestors made their presence visible, dotting the sea of yellow shirts with green — the chosen color of their cause. In the kerfuffle of the well-documented afternoon, I spotted a placard held by a young ethnic Chinese man which read: “Lynas, Go back to Australia!” For many, the Australian mining company’s Gebang project feels like a reiteration of policies past to move dirty industry into the so-called Third World.

Lynas has made attempts to allay fears using social media, stating on their Facebook page that Malaysia was chosen for logistical and economic reasons.  However, the fact that international law forbids the cross-border transportation of radioactive waste (a law eagerly signed by Malaysia at the time) in the wake of the Fukushima disaster hasn’t helped to impart a sense of safety.

At the top of the list of demands being made by SLSM is the need for a “permanent” waste storage facility. While a long-term contract for an above-ground facility lined with high-density plastic and a clay layer has been agreed upon with the Parliamentary Select Committee (PSC), protestors have explicitly expressed that this does little to ensure the prevention of contamination. This has lead to accusatory rhetoric being lobbed at Lynas, which in turn has taken up legal action against SLSM for unlawful defamation.

Elemental Irony 

So why the giant fuss? The abstrusely named 17 chemical elements (lanthanum and neodymium, for example) at the center of the issue happen to be necessary in the production of modern electronics, including “smart” military technology. Without these refined metals, miniaturized magnetic motors in gadgets wouldn’t spin, colors on LCD televisions wouldn’t pop out, and hybrid car batteries wouldn’t have the capacity they need to run a vehicle.

Perhaps most ironically, the generation of radioactive waste is intrinsic to the production of hybrid cars and other so-called “green technology” such as solar panels and wind turbines. What the equivalent output of radioactive waste is for a field of solar panels or wind power farm is doesn’t get its due attention in the media yet.

Until an alternative solution is found for refining these metals, the best consumers can do is to call for safe storage of waste. That or take a step back from our “smart phones” and “green technology” and realize that these evocative labels of modern technology are more clever wordsmithing than sustainable solutions.

#BersihStories : Tear Gas Hits Police, Lynas Protesters Make Visible Presence (PICS)

A cloud of tear gas wafts into Bersih protesters in front of Masjid Jamek just after 3 pm, Saturday, April 28

Recap

The Malaysian political wheel was splashed with shades of yellow and green last Saturday when an unprecedented turnout for Bersih 3.0 claimed downtown Kuala Lumpur, congesting street after street as groups of protesters from around the country converged on Merdeka Square. Upwards of 250,000 people are said to have attended. Despite an abrupt end to the rally, which occurred when tear gas and chemical-laced water cannons were fired upon wily protesters who broke a court order by stepping into the square, the opposition movement is viewed as having gained renewed clout in their call for electoral reforms.

PM Najib Abdul Tun Razak’s ruling party, Barisan Nasional (BN), which has technically been in power since independence in 1957, is accused of offering citizenship to immigrants who register to their party, on top of lending but a deaf ear to previous demands made during Bersih 2.0 last June (the second of the Bersih protests), which include the appointment of impartial observers to oversee polling stations and the use of indelible ink on ballots.

Observations

At first the atmosphere was festive: large inflatable yellow balls bounced about the crowd like a scene from a rock concert; protesters waved around gag signs and props in jest. The scene only turned sour when police reacted to protesters an hour before the rally was due to end at 4 pm (though it was widely expected to end with tear gas regardless). A police car was overturned and several were left injured. Local media has since been absorbed by an ensuing fracas of figure pointing over the premature crackdown.

Ethnic Chinese hold up signs reading 'Give us a clean choice' and 'Police chief, please respect democracy'

Malays, Chinese and Indians from across the country were represented, but ethnic Chinese were the most visible. Some could argue that they have the most to gain by unseating the powerful Malay incumbents.

Police lined up next to the Central Market

There was a smattering of police presence around the center of the protest. This group later ended up getting hit by tear gas from special forces.

Lynas protestor mixes some green with yellow

Green-clad protestors decried the dangers of Lynas, an Australian rare earths refinery planned to open outside of Kuantan this June. Rare earth production creates low-level radioactive material that, in the wake of Japan’s Fukushima disaster, has spooked Malaysians.

Protesters flee from tear gas

Ensconced away in the only restaurant I could find open, I watched protesters trip over each other to escape blasts of tear gas, leaving water bottles and sandals in their wake. In the above picture, a woman falls on the sidewalk in the middle of the chaos. I managed to suck up some gas myself, though thankfully not more than a little bit of irritation. Other protesters hiding out in the restaurant had red blotches around their eyes and face, as if they were suffered from a cold.

The crowd in front of Masjid Jamek, the closest I got to Merdeka Square

The heat of the Malaysian sun and mass of humanity made walking through this crowd unbearable.

Police hit by tear gas

The police pictured above were also hit by tear gas.

Riot police suited up and ready next to Merdeka Square

With the Orwellian gas masks and gear prepped, riot police stand ready to push back protestors. This picture was taken after tear gas was released at the other entrance to the square. Protestors I spoke with were already preparing by putting on surgical masks and placing their electronics in plastic bags.

A protester looks out over the street that leads to Merdeka Square

Malaysia: ‘Street Rally Guide For Beginners’ Published Before Bersih Protest (PICS)

Ground zero? / Source: www.travelfish.org

A Malaysian friend of mine caught glance of a great piece of social media flutter today on Facebook that is just begging to be posted here. Suaram, a human rights organization in Malaysia, has published a ‘Street Rally Guide For Beginners’ just in time for the much-trumpeted Bersih 3.0 sit-in protest planned for Merdeka Square this Saturday.

Last June, Bersih 2.0 (the second of the Bersih protests) rallied 10,000 to 20,000 people in downtown Kuala Lumpur — though numbers vary even more than that — clogging major roads which led to clashes with government forces who used high-pressure water hoses and tear gas to disperse the crowd. Bersih (‘clean’ in Bahasa Malayu) protests began in ’07 when the group first began calling for election reforms and transparent democracy.

Perhaps wielding a bit of foresight for the events that lay ahead, Suaram’s comprehensive (and at times comical) guide offers basic safety tips and sensible advice for protestors. If you plan to join the Bersih protestors (or any rally for that matter), do yourself a favor and scroll down through the selection of pages I’ve taken out of their guide.

Never know when those running shoes will come in handy

Police will appreciate the fresh breath too

Watch the old folks... Not much different than being in a Chinese tour group

Don't stray from the herd. Haven't you ever watched Animal Planet?

Think zen

Beware of gas

Beware of water too

If it's 'UM - NO' -- then walk away

Be obdurate, be vague

And most importantly... Stay vigilant

Myanmar/Burma: And the Sanctions Come A’tumblin’ Down

Two Burmese checking lottery tickets in Yangon

International media has been afire with Myanmar news this month, also known as Burma, beginning with pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi’s landslide victory in by-elections on April 1st, leading up to the suspension or easing of financial and/or travel restrictions on Myanmar by Australia, the EU, the US and most recently Canada.

The choice of these Western powers to disassemble the dam (if cautiously) around the pariah nation shows approval and encouragement of the “civilian” government’s sudden aberration towards reform policies. If all parties work to keep the carrots coming, the Golden Land  could be heading for a Golden Age.

Despite the National League for Democracy’s (NLD) boycott of parliament’s first session over a row concerning the wording of a lawmakers’ oath, optimism is still in the air: parliament will hold an “ongoing session” while kinks are being worked out; Ms. Suu Kyi will be making her first trip outside of Myanmar in 24 years, first to Norway then Britain.

Why Myanmar — still called Burma by those in protest to the legitimacy of the military junta — has decided to take such an uncharacteristically magnanimous road is under debate. Did sanctions actually work? Or has this been a more “organic” transition? Personally — I think that the approval for Myanmar to chair ASEAN in 2014 would not have been given without these reforms. After decades of sanctions imposed by the West, Myanmar’s opening up was likely instigated at the behest of powers within the Southeast Asian community. Malaysian Prime Minister Najib Addul Tun Razak believes this as well.

Last November, I went to Myanmar and subsequently wrote a travel piece for CNNGo that detailed how these reforms were affecting tourism. However, so swift have been the changes that I feel the need to provide an update on their progress.

1) Myanmar finally got rid of it’s idiotic two-tier currency regime and decided to float the kyat, starting at 818 kyat per dollar. Black market currency exchangers, the only place to previously get a proper exchange rate, will likely have to ply a different trade.

2) ATM installations are growing. Recently local news reported that private banks are “starting to roll out ATM machines in shopping centers, convenient stores and gas stations in addition to their own branches.”

3) In the run up to by-elections, the once eerily quiet front gate of the NLD compound became abuzz with campaigners selling posters of merchandise. In recent memory this would have been a crime punishable by detention.

More Myanmar stories to come… Stay tuned.

Songkran: Thailand Water Festival Do’s and Don’t's

This qualifies as front page news for the Bangkok Post during Songkran. The caption reads: Sarawut Suparb, a 19-year-old transvestite, shows a police document after answering a charge of indecent exposure in Ayutthaya yesterday. He was accused of dancing provocatively in front of a crowd of Songkran revelers, taking his top off and revealing his breasts in downtown Ayutthaya on Friday. He was fined 500 baht and released.

During my recent trip to Bangkok, exiting my hotel at the end of Sukhumvit Soi 3, where Little Arabia hands the sidewalk back over to Thailand, it was a feat of wit and dexterity to out-maneuver the gauntlet of often freezing water being discharged from hoses, water pistols and occasionally chucked from buckets. Little children and elderly grandmothers alike stood armed at corners, often staring down and then chasing unprepared Middle Eastern visitors and businessmen dressed in thawbs. For the first two days, black party buses with at least 20 people on top whizzed around the city unleashing a torrent of cool water at anyone in their range.

Every year streets across Thailand big and small turn into a giant water war that soaks the country for three days — or longer. Songkran, the Thai water festival which marks the Thai new year and falls in the hottest month of the year (also celebrated in Myanmar, Cambodia and Laos), is a major holiday in the Thai calendar, a time for family reunions, rest and relaxation and — yes — getting sloshed.

Songkran madness: Injuries down, deaths up / Source: The Nation

During the Songkran festival, Bangkok’s sois (alleys) are flushed with street vendors, salon girls and your average Thai breaking open bottles of whiskey where ever they may find themselves and practically inhaling the stuff out of the bottom half of cut water bottles, often while splashing water about.  By the time night falls, many could be considered clinically dead from alcohol poisoning. This year (see chart), deaths from road accidents rose y-o-y to 88 while injuries fell to 824.

Drunken carnage aside, Songkran is generally publicly managed across the country; non-alcoholic areas are set up in cities, such as Silom in Bangkok, but there is always somewhere to find a drink if you look hard enough. Bar and club districts such as Khao San Rd. and RCA turn inside out, creating a long file of revelers thronging the streets getting soaked to the bone by each other and those raining down water from hoses and buckets above.

There is plenty of in-the-moment learning going on for a first-timer, so I feel compelled to put out a Songkran do’s and don’t's list, not only for those readers who look forward to joining it in years to come, but for myself to reference when the holiday rolls around again and calls me back.

Do

1) Get a plastic bag for all your electronics, and put them in it before you hit the streets. Alternatively, there will be numerous hawkers peddling plastic pouches that are great for keeping cash and a mobile in.

2) Wear comfortable clothing or even a swimsuit, especially if you plan to hit up a bar or club. If you participate in the latter, you will get soaked to the point where if feels like you walked into a pool.

3) Keep a bottle of water handy. Thais use white powder during the festival which is said to make your skin cooler. However, this stuff is also great for creating acne. The extra water can be used to wash it off.

4) Expect to get wet anytime while walking outside. Party buses, small trucks and tuk tuks will not show any hesitation when wetting you; people from balconies and those hiding in corners can surprise you with buckets of ice water that, while sadistically refreshing in 34F heat, are also shocking — especially if you aren’t dressed for it.

Don’t

1) Walk across roads without being alert. Drunk driving during the holiday leads to record injuries and even deaths.

2) Expect katoeys (lady boys) to be on their best behavior. They are out in great numbers and invariably wasted, incessantly aggressive, wet and wearing white T-shirts.

3) Think cabs will be easy to find at night. You’ll have to do some walking, searching and extra bargaining to get out of certain areas.

4) Worry. It’s Thailand. Chill out. Enjoy the water. You’ll miss it once its gone and you’re once again stuck in the sweltering heat without respite.

I’ve undoubtedly missed some points in this list, so if any come to mind just leave a comment below.

Getting doused on Sukhumvit Soi Nana (Soi 4)

Soaked to the bones

How Sanctions Are Affecting Iranians in KL — And Why Nobody Cares

Source: fineartamerica.com

Stroll down the painstakingly polished corridors of the Pavilion shopping mall in the heart of Kuala Lumpur, and you’ll undoubtedly brush past crowds of Iranians: the men donning their perennial five o’clock shadows, the women with their excitedly applied make-up. But unlike most of the other Middle Eastern faces around and outside the main entrance on the clogged sidewalks of Jalan Bukit Bintang, the majority of the Persian population isn’t on holiday.

There are over 130,000 Iranians working and studying in Malaysia, according to a source of mine that interviewed Anifah Aman, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. In recent years, the Persian community in Malaysia has mushroomed due to relaxed visa regulations and a common bond between the countries for halal food and other Islamic norms. Exiles and opportunists alike have flocked here with grand ambitions in mind, designating Malaysia as their first stepping stone towards more social and economic freedom. However, with the recent round of EU-backed sanctions, effective as of Saturday, March 17, 30 Iranian banks have now been barred from using SWIFT, the international money wire service based in Brussels, tangling opportunities abroad by rerouting remittances for students’ fees and loans into the hands of both illegal and legal money exchangers (depending on the case).

Those shopping in Pavilion now take great care to no longer attempt payments with an Iranian banking card, avoiding any possible awkward dismissal from the cashier. Just across town in trendy Bangsar, an Iranian restauranteur siting in her dining room amongst paint cans and wooden planks in various stages of construction wonders how she will muster up US$100,000 to finish the renovation.

I spent a good month intermittently researching and interviewing people for this story, but in the end was unable to gain any traction. Time has written a very humanistic piece on the Iranian population in Malaysia, but during my research I found some conflicting data and areas that could be developed. Compounded with the experiences of Iranian business owners in Kuala Lumpur, an update about the effects of sanctions on the Persian community in Malaysia should be considered a relevant topic for Westerner readers. The ripples created by the political warheads lobbed at Iran are devastating and humiliating for Persians, and Americans especially should realize just what is being mulled over in the corridors of power when these weapons are used.

But the information chasm will persist. All of the media outlets I write for answered me in a similar, terse fashion: “Sorry, it’s a budget problem.” Sure, that and worries about capturing readership. I understand. Not everyone cares. But nonetheless it is disquieting to run into this wall. Journalism’s pocket money has been on the decline, and budget woes beget greater concerns with appeasing advertisers. But in the end, I may be coming off too idealistic. Who really wants to listen to the tribulations of their “enemy” anyways?

Yet sanctions are only effective at achieving the desired diplomatic pressure about 30 percent of the time. The author of Economic Sanctions Reconsidered, Gary Hufbauer, was recently on NPR’s Planet Money discussing “successful” examples. These countries are small, lack a strong network of secret police and usually devoid of primary natural resources. However, where the political wishes of Western cabinets have been fulfilled, instability tends to take up camp.

In Iran’s situation, and indeed in many other countries, the first thing sanctions succeed in is further entrenching a despotic regime. But when given the choice between war and sanctions, many governments find consensus in applying the latter first — though the situation may disintegrate into war regardless, as was the case with Iraq. Self-righteous governments will continue to ply unruly regimes with sanctions in hope that one day the people will take action or the autocrats themselves have an anomalous epiphany that leads to a detente. In this way, Myanmar is becoming the archetype. Let’s see how long it will last.

Discovering the ‘other’ Bali in Ubud

A bastion of alluring art and drama, Ubud is Bali’s cultural epicenter and gateway to the island’s enchanting heartland, where village streets are stitched together by temple after temple of a syncretic religion overlaid with as many unique characteristics as the Balinese themselves. This is the ‘other’ Bali. While conversations about the island tend to arouse images of idyllic surf and turquoise tides, that is only part of the story. On my recent jaunt there — I quickly found out — Bali is as much a cultural trove as a palm-fond paradise.

The most indelible moments of travel are never expected. And it was the mere existence of Ubud that caught me off guard. Maybe I wasn’t looking in the right places, but I had never thought that the Balinese (and their island) were embodied by such mystery. Even the sense of time here, as proven by the their capacity to pass on rituals every 100 years, is intangible to the world as we have come to know it.

A quiet street in central Bali, just outside of Ubud

Let me try to paint the picture: In the small town of Ubud, moss is a natural color. It carpets the facades of buildings, the nooks of every stone-scuptured alleyway. The jagged gateways to temples, palaces and homes are still as much a part of surroundings as the chic hotels that have since sprang up to cater to travelers, a good portion of which come for yoga retreats (where I stayed if you were wondering). When I was there, every road in Bali — especially central Bali — was lined with decorative bamboo stalks from a recent festival that draped over traffic as if in welcoming the return of some conquesting king. Traffic circles are more often than not designated by large stone statues of gods both known and unknown to the Hindu sect.

The Balinese live in compounds where every member of there family can congregate around a communal temple and open-air living space. Titles — comparable to Mr. and Mrs. — are given according to order of birth: the first is known as Wayan, Gede or Putu; the second Made, Nengah or Kadak; the third Nyoman or Komang; the fourth Ketut. After the fourth, it goes back to the beginning.

Every morning I found myself waking up to palm leaf baskets stuffed with an assortment of flowers, food and even candy, topped with a stick of incense. These are canang sari, the daily offerings made by the Balinese that bear more animist qualities than Hindu. For you see in Bali’s brand of Hinduism, these offerings are used to placate the evil spirits below the ground — though most of them end up as ant or monkey food.

Bali is home to some of the best traditional acting I’ve seen in Asia. (see video above) Jerky movements from characters in ornate costumes are synchronized with music perfectly. There was no word for ‘art’ in traditional Balinese because it came so naturally. To this day, everyone can play at least one instrument and sing. Hypnotic chants of the island so engrossed a German traveler in the 1930s that he decided to stay and turn the kecak kecak dance into a drama (see video below).

A Balinese offering in front of my hotel room

On my last few nights, zipping down the narrow streets on the back of a scooter, I noticed floodlit temples with what appeared to be large, half-bulit paper mache statues. If I had known what these splintered mannequins were meant for earlier, I would have considered moving my flight ahead.

If you have a chance, the Balinese new year is not to be missed. In the weeks leading up the new year, Nyepi, young Balinese gather together to design, construct and decorate giant statues of Hindu demons as an offering to their elders and to scare away evil spirits. The ogoh-ogoh, as the statues are known, are paraded through the streets on new year’s eve and then burned. It is rumored that foreign travelers, upon seeing the pain-stalking work that goes into crafting an ogoh-ogoh, have started buying them up. Though this would be considered apostasy, that it is happening is a sign of the changing of values on the island, whose many secrets and charms still remain cloaked to the outside world like the moss that clothes the corridors of their homes.

Facebook Addiction Disorder in Malaysia, Newsweek (Japan)

Hope you can read Japanese

While waiting for Facebook’s astronomically dizzying IPO, I started to do some research about FAD (Facebook Addiction Disorder) in Malaysia. After making a pitch to my Tokyo contact for Newsweek (Japan), I was assigned a story to be printed in an issue that, perhaps unfairly at times, does a bit of social media demonizing. Nonetheless, Malaysia makes for an intriguing case study in social media addiction and privacy norms.

Below I’ve reproduced the article which was printed on February 22 in Japanese since their site doesn’t have an English language page. Originally meant to be 500 words, I pushed it so I could jam a bit of extra information into what is quite a broad topic. (Note: Japanese translation may not exactly reflect English text.)

Update: Newsweek (Japan) published this story online on April 23.

Malaysia’s FAD

The global growth of social networking sites (SNS) has changed how we connect, allowing us to instantaneously converse about where we “share,” what we “like,” and who we “follow.” But increased interconnectivity is not without its pitfalls, as many avid users are finding out. On a medium where many young Asians find comfort in expressing private thoughts, personal information can unknowingly become public and public sentiment can quickly turn personal.

A recent study concluded that Facebook addiction amongst university students is prominent in Malaysia, especially with females. Facebook Addiction Disorder (FAD) is a term that was first conceived by American psychologists to describe those who take the leap from social networking to social dysfunction, a trend purportedly on the rise. Last month in Kuala Lumpur, Dr. Nivashinie Mohan, a neuropsychologist, held a FAD forum at Gleneagles Hospital. The event received an inundation of media attention.

The problems born of the social media landscape tend to be varied. “One of my clients was hooked to Facebook games,” Dr. Nivashinie said, “and this interrupted their day-to-day work.” Couples are citing Facebook as a major cause of their break-up, Dr. Nivashinie also noted. Finding messages from paramours or suspicious photos creates friction. And at the rate Malaysians engage in SNS it wouldn’t be hard to discover. Malaysia was dubbed the country with the most social network friends in 2010, and Facebook accounts for 77% of social network users. For Malaysians, online friendships appear to be blossoming.

Since this is a new phenomenon it is easy to go undiagnosed, which may exacerbate already serious conditions. “Many teenagers are using [Facebook] as an avenue to express themselves and get caught up in the extra attention,” Dr. Nivashinie explained. I had one client who was distressed when he concluded that “his real life did not match up to his Facebook persona, which led to his depression getting worse.” This then turned into “suicidal ideation” – or the formation of suicidal thoughts.

Taken in moderation, experts realize that social networking is a legitimate form of communication. However, in Southeast Asia, where social media enjoys a wide following and some of the highest penetration worldwide, it has been proven that it is possible to share too much.

Last month, two students were detained in Malaysia following separate incidents for allegedly writing threatening messages about Malaysian Prime Minister Najib Abdul Razak on Facebook. The 20-year-old university female student who was part of the second incident had her hand phone and computer seized by the police. The students likely learned a similar lesson: on Facebook, where unknown persons can see your comments without consent, a sarcastic quip can become virulent.

Yet many Malaysians enjoy sharing personal musings and indulging in political discourse. According to Burson-Marsteller, a PR and communications firm based in Singapore, 42.2 percent of Malaysian Internet users are on blogspot. Timothy Tiah, the 28-year-old Malaysian co-founder of Nuffnang, Southeast Asia’s largest blogger community, has seen his company expand rapidly thanks in part to added traffic from Facebook and Twitter. So when it comes to those in his community endangering themselves, Tiah takes a step back to explain his perspective on privacy. “In our Australian market, bloggers are more concerned about privacy so they blog much less about their personal lives,” Tiah said. “In Malaysia though, the vast majority of blogs are personal lifestyle blogs because we’re generally more open about our lives. It’s not that we don’t care about privacy. Maybe it’s just a bit less of a concern to [Malaysians].” Perhaps in rapidly developing Malaysia, where new technology quickly supplements shy tendencies, expressing yourself behind a screen is more favorable than standing face-to-face, despite the hidden risks.

Thaipusam, Batu Caves: A Burdensome Path

View from halfway up the 272-step staircase at the Batu Caves on Thaipusam

I won’t pretend to understand everything that Hinduism stands for. When faced with such a foreign belief as this, I’m inclined to fold. That’s how attending Thaipusam made me feel at least: present, yet oddly unaware. Since moving to Malaysia about eight months ago, I had etched out in my mind a specific set of questions I wanted to know before seeing the festival, but few answers prepared me for what lay ahead. On the full moon of the Tamil month Thai, a legion of devotees in Kuala Lumpur end a 48-day fast by embarking on an arduous march; skewered through their cheeks with metal spears known as vel, bearing hooks and pins on their back, chest and arms, they set out across the city in trance while entirely barefoot.

Before I surmise the images, sounds and smells that this festival entails, I feel compelled to share with the reader a nugget of wisdom I carried with me to the Batu Caves on that day, site of the ritualistic denouement where devotees relinquish themselves from trance and unhook their kavadi, burdens borne for the sake of imploring Lord Murugan, the Tamil god of war and victory. In his book Post-American World, Fareed Zakaria observes:

Every family forges its own distinct version of Hinduism. You can pay your respects to some beliefs and not to others. You can believe in none at all. You can be a vegetarian or eat meat. You can pray or not pray. None of these choices determines whether you are a Hindu. There is no heresy or apostasy, because there is no core set of beliefs, no doctrine, and no commandments. Nothing is required, nothing is forbidden.

While not applicable to Thaipusam whole cloth, Zakaria’s understanding is helpful to have when participating in any Hindu festival. It is in essence the rough outline of a belief that is ambiguous, a formula that allows open doors for foreigners like me to intrude into moments both intimate and raw.

Man carrying a milk pot (paal kudam)

It is said that devotees take up this onerous ritual only if there is something climactic and/or catastrophic happening in their lives. To have Murugan’s blessings, they need to evoke him, and this display apparently gets his attention. There are several ways worshippers do this during Thaipusam, most of which usually require carrying or hauling something: light half-circle structures that are hoisted on the shoulder; milk pots (paal kudam) placed on the head; larger five-meter alters (kavadi) that weigh approximately 55 kilograms and resemble parade floats that are strapped to the shoulders and waist of a devotee. Then – the most gruesome burden in my opinion – there are those who are held by numerous cords hooked through their back to kavadi or, alternatively, by another worshipper that reins them in like a musher driving a dog sled.

Starting from before dawn, the precession needles through Kuala Lumpur; it’s already 10am by the time I reach the first gateway, and a mob of local and foreigner onlookers numbering in the thousands congests the narrow pathway that leads up to the 272-step staircase at the base of the limestone caves. From afar, the peacock feathers adorning the top of kavadis seem to bob in the crowd like dark lime green shuttlecocks caught in the current of a shadowy sea. Next to the staircase, a 42.7 meter golden statue of Lord Murugan – the largest of its kind in the world – overlooks the mass sagaciously, as if he were shepherd keeping tally of his flock one-by-one.

The smell of acrid incense hangs heavily in the air. Indeed, some devotees are being flagellated with lit sticks as they advance in a somnambulistic daze under constant assault from the oppressive sun. After entering the fray, I move forward, tailing worshippers banging drums to a hypnotically melodic tempo. Without music, a Malaysian Indian colleague had informed me, their trance would be broken. To add to the hysteria, the monotonous droning of the drums occasionally gets lost in the air by competing stalls pumping Top 10 Hits like carnival game booths vying for attention. Amid the cacophony there is a certain festive atmosphere that disguises the otherwise shocking display of punctured flesh with the high spirits of a sporting event. Worshippers are visibly amused; there are food stalls selling snacks, plenty of places to rehydrate (water is offered to devotees for free) and even a booth advertising Air Asia tickets. The path to the staircase is already littered with trash of the thousands who have passed before me.

Devotee being flagellated with incense

Man taking a break from carrying his kavadi

I manage to mount a small clipped iron-rod fence and jump into a well-trodden patch of grass alongside the precession route. From this vantage point, I watch the blur of sweat and strident color pass. Over music, the paced chatting of vel vel pierces the air as the crowd cheers the devotees onward. Some devotees, as if being kicked from behind, move forward in elastic jolts; others swirl and hop. A gaunt middle-aged woman masked with maroon powder makes a sudden shrieking howl in mid-turn. She is summoning the spirit of a monkey I am informed. Her teeth click and her jaw clatters as she sways in a circle, all the while balancing a milk pot on her head with one hand. Trudging down the path behind her, a young man with eight hooks strung to his back approaches in continuous – albeit sporadically slow – motion, sometimes leaning so far forward that if the blue cords pulling the skin of his back weren’t being held by another worshipper, he would fall down. Both tongue and face are covered in an electric red powder making him a ghastly sight to behold. Occasionally Indian participates stand in front of him and grab his hands, pulling and pushing each other in a sadistic tug of war that belies its intended amusement. All the while the young man’s flicking tongue and darting eyes shift in erratic directions as if individually possessed by separate spirits. For a moment I shiver; not physically, mentally.

Covered in red powder, a devotee marches with his tongue and eyes flicking about

It is a scene filled with such violent hues that — viewed through Western lenses – it bears an uncanny resemblance to The Passion of the Christ. When witnessing Thaipusam for the first time, it is not uncommon for onlookers to feel nauseated – whether local or foreign. But the likelihood of getting sick from this sight, I realize, isn’t the only thing that we share. Showing obeisance to a maimed figure stapled to wooden planks that is hung in a house of worship must be equally shocking to the unfamiliar. Who are we, I lapse into a moment of detached thoughts, to call one religion cruder than the next?

At the summit of the staircase, devotees cross the spiritual finish line. Plastic chairs are placed inside for those shouldering kavadis to sit while the artifice is unscrewed.  I spot a pair of devotees with tens of limes and oranges hooked onto their chest and back collapse to their knees from exhaustion after the last step. The two are greeted by a man holding a silver tray full of hand-rolled temburni leaf cigarettes and white powder. These items are part of the final ritual. Devotees only partake in them after their burdens have been carefully removed, vel and hooks unattached. Deeper within the dimly lit cavern, men line up in front of priests and worshippers holding these trays and waiting their turn. When they’re up, some greedily inhale several cigarettes, disappearing behind a cloud of smoke that stream across a trickle of sunlight leaking through the top of the cave. A priest approaches and presses his forehead against theirs. Both let out a guttural roar that resonates through the caverns and the devotee faints upon the sticky surface of the milk- and dew-covered floor, lying their several moments, eyes closed, before mustering the strength to stand up again. Hinduism being ambiguous as it is, there are “no core set of beliefs, no doctrine, and no commandments” stating how you have to fall or if you have to scream or if you have to smoke cigarettes: the individual holds primacy. Across the low-lying center of the cave, some devotees faint into contorted, arguably aesthetically regressive poses; others lay supinely in intense ramrod figures. A foreign photographer taps the shoulder of a wide-eyed devotee with a large trident vel through his cheek to ask for a photo. The devotee responds, exhaling an exasperated hiss at him through his teeth, eyes unblinking.

Peace at last

After the dramatic show is through, priests and/or worshippers wipe white powder on the parts of the body that were pierced. I watch and wait to see how much blood, if any, appears, standing behind a larger man with a rolling gut to watch the proceedings: hooks unattached, cigarettes smoked, scream, faint. White powder is applied to his back as he stumbles about to his feet. I wait not even a minute before three freckles of blood seep through the dense, chalky layer. But that is it. Several more moments go by and the extent of his visible blood loss has reached its climax.

A bright saffron sheet is then wrapped around devotees’ bodies as if they had just gotten out of the shower. Spirits now pacified, their faces portray the mind of someone finding solace within themselves, impervious to the din of fellow followers around them being released from trance.

The statue of Lord Murugan watches over those coming and going from the caves