Ipoh, Ra’ayat Trading and “Merdeka!”

Pak Sako, the intellectual vanguard, literary giant and freedom fighter

“Give me ten young men, and believe me, I can shake the world” - Soekarno

I never asked Mak why Bapak did not immediately bring the family home to Malaya after the Japanese surrender in August 1945.  There is a gap in my memory about the five year period following the end of World War II (WWII).  Mak might have told me why the family stayed on at Bukit Tinggi ‘til late 1940s but it must have slipped my mind.  However, I am sure that they were there ‘til Abang Hatta was about six and Kak Aida about four for the two children were about that age in the family photo at one of the summits overlooking the scenic Tasik Maninjau and Lembah Harau. 

Bapak must have been reluctant to miss the exciting events that unfolded just days after the Japanese surrender to the Allied Forces.  On August 17 1945, the Indonesians declared their Independence and established the Republic of Indonesia.  They accepted the Pancasila (Five Pillars) as their national ideology and, a day later, adopted the Constitution as the basic law of the land.  Soekarno became the first President and Mohammad Hatta, the first Vice-President.  On September 5 1945, the first cabinet was formed but the Indonesians had to fight a War of Independence that dragged on for five years before they were finally freed of Dutch rule.* 

During the protracted war, the Indonesian freedom fighters went underground and carried out guerrilla warfare against both the Brits and the Dutch.  On December 19 1948, the Dutch forces invaded the capital of Yogyakarta and detained Soekarno, Mohammad Hatta and other leaders on the island of Bangka.  Bukit Tinggi was then made the headquarters by a caretaker government formed under Syafruddin Prawiranegara.  Jawaharlal Nehru of India initiated a meeting of 19 nations in New Delhi and produced a resolution submitted to the United Nations (UN), demanding for total Dutch surrender of control to the Republic by January 1 1950, the release of all detainees and the return of territories taken during the military attacks.  On January 28, 1949, the UN Security Council adopted a resolution to call for a cease-fire, the release of nationalist leaders and Yogyakarta.  The Dutch stubbornly ignored the call and continued to occupy the city.  Soeharto, a Lieutenant Colonel in the National Army, led “the first of March all-out attack” on the Dutch troops in Yogyakarta and occupied the city for several hours.  On May 7 1949, an agreement was signed between representatives of Indonesia and the Netherlands to end the aggression, restore the legitimate government in Yogyakarta and hold further negotiations.  On August 23 1949, the Round Table conference was initiated in den Hague under the patronage of the UN.  It was finally agreed on November 2 1949 that Holland recognize the Independence of the new nation.  At long last, on December 27 1949, the new Republic of Indonesia snuffed the life out of the Dutch East Indies.

I believe Bapak took his family back to Malaya after the nationalists had won the War of Independence.  Excited by the Indonesian victory over the Dutch colonialists, Bapak returned to Sitti’s hometown in Selekoh, Perak, where Siddi had set up his waqf (pious foundation) and madradasah (religious school) in 1918.  Although Siddi and the rest of the family had left for Makkah once again in 1937, his former students must have kept the waqf alive and Bapak’s family may have stayed at an ancestral home or relatives on Sitti’s side.  Once there, he registered Kak Aida’s birthplace as Telok Anson and that was how she was the only sibling who was a Malaysian citizen. 

Bapak’s nationalistic spark was rekindled by the fervent struggle and fiery speeches of the KMM (Kesatuan Melayu Muda or Young Malay Union) leaders who were active throughout Malaya since it was registered in 1938.  He was roped in by some friends* into setting up a publishing and printing house known as Ra’ayat Trading at one of the ground floor shop lots facing the Ipoh Padang.  The young family moved into the three bedroom quarters one floor above the printing press.  Abang Hatta was enrolled at an English school* around the corner while Kak Aida stayed home since she was not of school-going age yet.  It was at that time that Mak went through a few miscarriages and she recounted the days when she took Kak Aida along the shallow Kinta River for her visits to her gynaecologist, Dr Megat Khas, at his clinic nearby.*  On fine days when Abang Hatta got home from school, he and Kak Aida would be frolicking on the wide, green expanse of the padang, resting under the shades of the semarak (flame of the forest) trees and venturing to the wire fence of the Ipoh Club at the far end of the padang. 

Bapak was in his element then, being part of the frenetic publishing and printing operations and living the live of a man about town during the evenings.  Our jaws dropped when we heard the names of his partners* and close friends and their exploits at the night spots of Ipoh and Taiping.  Some of them were sons of rich men (literally Orang Kaya) who had no qualms lighting up fifty dollar notes as cigarettes to impress their buddies and the “taxi girls” (ladies trained in Latin and Malay dances, whom the gentlemen had to purchase tickets and wait in line to dance with) at the cabarets.  We asked Mak if she was ever jealous of his interactions with those ladies, one of whom even sought his opinion on her prospective husband, but she just said: “None of the wives were indignant, so how could I?”  I had a tingling suspicion that she even felt honoured because Bapak had chosen her to be his confidant.                 

But for certain, Mak would well up with pride whenever she mentioned the names of the nationalist leaders and activists - Dr Burhanuddin Al Helmi, Ahmad Boestamam, Ishak Haji Muhammad (Pak Sako), Abdul Rahman Rahim and Jamil Sulong.  Dr Burhanuddin was a trained homeopathy doctor and a schoolteacher in Singapore who wrote letters to the editor to protest against the Israeli Occupation of Palestine.  In 1945, he founded the Malay Nationalist Party (MNP) which succeeded the KMM when it was declared illegal in 1950.  Ahmad Boestamam, the Assistant Secretary of KMM, one of the editors of Majlis (a daily newspaper based in Kuala Lumpur) and one of the founders of PKMM (Parti Kebangsaan Melayu Malaya founded in 1946), was of Indonesian descent.* Pak Sako, Abdul Rahman Rahim and Jamil Sulong were regular contributors to the company’s publications and remained firm friends even after all of them had moved to Singapore and Kuala Lumpur. 

Pak Sako was a true maverick.  A qualified magistrate, he chose to be a journalist and a freedom fighter.  Even before the Japanese occupation in 1942, Pak Sako had covertly gone to Japan to seek help to liberate Malaya from the claws of the British colonialists.  He could have been tried for treason, which was punishable by death, if he were discovered.  Pak Sako’s initiative was followed up by Dr Burhanuddin who held meetings with Soekarno to plan their countries’ liberation from the colonialists.  Alas, the Malayan nationalists failed to proclaim independence on the same day - August 17 1945 - as the Indonesians.  The Brits returned in full force to Malaya and wasted no time in crippling the nationalist movement by detaining leaders like Mustapha Hussain (the Vice-President of KMM) for "collaborating" with the Japanese.* (The President, IBHY, was earlier detained during the Japanese occupation).

Both Pak Sako and Dr Burhanuddin joined PKMM when it was founded by Ahmad Boestamam and Musa Ahmad in early 1946.  The party members would greet each other with cries of “Merdeka!” with their fists clenched and held against their chests.  PKMM’s first newspaper Suara Rakyat was published at Hale Street, Ipoh, which I believe must have been Ra’ayat Trading and that must the reason why their printing press was confiscated.  (PKMM soon opened branches all over the country with its headquarters at Batu Road, Kuala Lumpur).  UMNO (United Malays National Organisation) was formed six months after the establishment of PKMM.  The party was launched with the single aim of challenging the proposed Malayan Union which transferred the powers of the Malayan Rulers to the British Residents.  Unlike the PKMM leaders who came from among the intellectuals and literary writers, UMNO leaders were mostly colonial civil servants who were strongly against the idea of independence because they felt that the poor, uneducated Malays were not ready to govern themselves.  The party member’s salutation was “Hidup Melayu!”  Since the PKMM leaders thought that independence should come first, only then the education of the Malays and the development of the country, there were bad feelings between them and the UMNO leaders.

Kluang Station, 12AM, December 1965

It was about midnight when the train dragged to a halt at Kluang Station, Johore.  It was like any other railway stations that dotted the railway route from Tanjong Pagar to Kuala Lumpur.  Wooden benches painted yellow to match the wooden administrative offices of the Keretapi Tanah Melayu (KTM).  There was a ticket booth and a canteen that served Hainanese style kopitiam food - steamed or grilled white toasts cut two inches thick and splattered with margarine and kaya, half-boiled eggs splashed with soya sauce and kopi kau (thick, black coffee) served in porcelain cups and saucers on round, marble top tables with trunk-like, wooden legs and chairs to match.     

We had disembarked at this station two years ago to spend our December school holidays at Bapak's paddy field in Kahang, about 40 miles away.  Mak had bundled me, Yat and Jamal to spend a week or so at the tiny hut in the middle of the paddy field that Bapak had worked on with the help of his adopted sons, Razali (a mualaf or Chinese convert) and a few others with unusual Javanese or Boyanese names.  We thoroughly enjoyed the simple, rustic life, waking up to even plots of yellowing paddy stalks separated by narrow irrigation drains, filled with sepat, keli and haruan, fresh-water fish that Razali caught and Mak cleaned and cooked in an earthen pot with tamarind juice, or coconut milk, or simply fried or grilled and dipped in soy sauce and cut chillis.  In the mornings after breakfast, we would follow Razali to the river to bathe.  We had to walk through some thickets to get to the rickety wooden stairs that led down to the cool waters of the river.  It was deep on our side and Razali would build a rakit, a flat raft made up of even bamboo poles tied firmly together, to take us to the other side, where there was a swathe of white, sandy bank.  Once we reached the shallow side, we would wade in the water and splash on each other.  Mak would wash our clothes and Razali would swim after pieces of clothings carried away by the currents.  Once we saw a snake in a hollowed space on the other side and heard a tiger's growl.   

There was no electricity or water supply in Kahang and tales of Sang Kelembai (local Bigfoot) and Bunians (fairies) were rife.  One evening when we were taken around the village, our local guide stopped by a grassy clearing, and told us,

“Inilah tapak kampong Bunian.  Dia orang macam kita juga, cuma kita tak boleh nampak dia orang tapi dia orang boleh nampak kita.” (This is the spot of the Bunian's village.  They’re just like us, only we can’t see them but they can see us.)  

All of a sudden, I sensed a strange, sweet fragrant that enveloped the air around us.

“Baik-baik jangan jalan sorang-sorang atau waktu senja.  Ada budak kampong yang dicolek dek Bunian.”  (Careful not to walk alone or at twilight.  There had been village kids kidnapped by Bunians). 

Stories of village simpletons being abducted by the fairy community and married off to their womenfolk were rife.  It occurred to me now that it was rather odd that beautiful fairy creatures would want to wed and breed with village retards. 

Our adventure in Kahang soon ended when we had to return to a new school year.  A few months later, we received the sad news from Razali that Bapak had to give up the venture because he did not have enough help during the harvesting season and the ripe paddy stalks quickly turned bad.  Bapak returned home dour-faced and we all had to tread ever so carefully, especially on the planks of the main house, which was his domain.                         

The main house was bare except for a couple of worn out hideous green vinyl arm chairs, a round wooden table with a glass top and a couple of pandanus mats on the floor of the spacious living room.  In the two bedrooms, there were bug-infested kapok mattresses, faded mosquito nets and rickety closets for our clothes.  I usually slept in the main bedroom with Mak when Bapak was not around, my sisters in the smaller bedroom and my brothers in the living room. 

Spartan as it was, the living room had welcomed many fascinating guests, from endearing male cousins - Abang Aim, Abang Razak, Abang Omar - to Kak Aida’s gallery of suitors – Ariff, Hamdan, Yusuf - and Bapak’s rowdy Indonesian ‘hantus’ (informants).  I used to gape at the sleek scooters and shiny metal contraptions that they parked in front of our compound. 

Fair-skinned, well-built and dashing, Abang Aim normally turned up grinning in his gleaming Triumph Trophy, either to drop off or pick Abang Hatta up.  Even though he was a second cousin, Abang Aim and Abang Hatta were the best of buddies, serenading innocent love songs like Jeanie Come Lately to Kak Aida’s friend Jenny (Zainab) from the veranda, or gallivanting at Central (the closest rows of shops with restaurants, photo studios and a cinema) or picnic-ing at Ponggol, Katong or the many beautiful beaches on their off days.  Abang Razak (Wak Som’s second son) was tall, lanky and funny.  He would usually arrive on foot but would entertain us for hours with his hilarious gags about family scandals and skeletons in the closets.  Abang Omar (Wak Enah’s youngest son) was medium built and subdued, and usually arrived on a modest Vespa, which matched his amiable personality.  He was close to both Abang Hatta and Kak Aida and, once in a while, would show up with Kak Pet (Wak Nyok’s daughter) riding pillion. 

Ariff, Kak Aida’s ardent admirer, was lean, tall and sweet in both demeanour and character, like most decent Javanese boys.  He used to pick up and drop Kak Aida off in a Norton motorbike until his marriage proposal was flatly turned down.  He was heartbroken when he confided to Mak what Bapak had told him: 

“Kalau kail panjang sejengkal, lautan dalam jangan diduga’ (If the hook is short, don’t try the deep sea”).  

Hamdan, the son of the shop owner of a textile shop on High Street where Kak Aida worked, was of Yemeni Arab descent, dark-skinned and small frame with bushy hair and thick moustache like a Mexican character in a Western movie.  Kak Aida was smitten by his flamboyant style and marketing savvy, and regarded him as her knight in shining armour on his modish Vespa.  When his marriage proposal was also rejected by Bapak, they eloped but were intercepted by my cousin's husband, who worked for the Special Branch.  Kak Aida was sent to a ‘Girls’ Home’ in one of the streets near Central, where she spent several months sitting on the iron swing and looking miserable. 

A few of Bapak’s ‘hantus’ too tried to get Kak Aida’s attention by revving up the engines of their sleek Triumphs and Nortons but they would never fit into Bapak’s idea of a suitable son-in-law.  Kak Aida's childhood sweetheart, Yusuf, used to spend his term holidays from his residential college in the northern part of the peninsula at our house but he had left for further studies in the United Kingdom in September last year.  They met when Kak Aida was sent to live with our grandparents in Klang when Bapak was detained from late 1956 ‘til the end of 1958 for smuggling contraband fire arms.  His father worked in the same Religious Department as our grandfather, so they were neighbours.  Kak Aida’s budding beauty caught Yusuf's eye and he started sending love notes through his sister to her.  Their romance blossomed and continued even after she escaped to Singapore from the drudgery and daily bullying of our youngest aunt.  Mak wondered aloud who these louts were who littered our compound and clambered up our spotless stone stairway onto the narrow veranda and into the main house but Bapak bragged: 

“Don’t worry, they’re my hantus!  They provide me with information about what’s happening in Indonesia.  Sukarno is dead set against this idea of a Malay-sia.  Macapagal too supports Maphilindo!” 

Being a third generation Javanese-Bugis in Singapore, Mak agreed that it was only natural to return to a pre-colonial notion of Nusantara.  And she was simply happy too to have Bapak focusing his energy on this nebulous concept instead of turning his anger towards her or the children.  She told us that she was engaged to be married to another young man before the Japanese Occupation but her father was persuaded by his fellow Javanese compatriot, Wak Jalal, who was Siddi’s student and Bapak’s adopted father in Kampong Ubi, to break the engagement and marry her off to Bapak.  She was a protected 18 year-old and he was a 25 year-old who had fled Makkah, where he was born, to join the Navy and return home to Tanah Jawi (Malay Peninsula) to be part of the exciting Kaum Muda (Islamic Reformist) movement in the late 1930s.  Atok Semawi, my paternal grandfather, was a busy man, holding down two jobs as a proof-reader at Utusan Melayu during the day and a Bangsawan director at night.  When Nek Cemplok (maternal grandfather) passed away, Mak was just eight years old and Pak Cik Pom six years old.  They then had to live with Wak Hassan and Wak Som, their eldest brother and his wife, at their house in Jalan Taugeh, not far from Central.  When Atok Semawi married Nek Sapura, they moved in back with him but their relationship with their step mother was unpleasant.

In 1942, the Japanese Military Administration (JMA) was in power and had re-named Singapore Syonan-to.  Girls who were of marriageable age were either hidden in the attics or married off to prevent from being taken away and raped by Japanese soldiers.  Less than two years after her marriage, Mak gave birth to Abang Hatta in October 1943.  Severe food shortages and the state of famine at that time forced Bapak to pack up his young family to Bukit Tinggi, Sumatra, where he worked as an Arabic-Malay translator.  Kak Aida was born there in the middle of 1945 but her birthplace was registered as Ipoh, Perak, where they settled after the JMA surrendered to the Allied Forces.

In Ipoh, along with several nationalist friends, Bapak had invested in Ra’ayat Trading, a printing press located on the row of concrete shop houses facing the Ipoh Padang.  The late 40s and early 50s were halcyon days for Mak, when Bapak lived and maintained his family in style.  They had a nicely-furnished three-bedroom flat above the printer and the two children played all afternoon at the padang.  When she suffered a few miscarriages, she waded across the Kinta River with Kak Aida to see Dr Megat Khas, her gynaecologist at the Ipoh General Hospital.  Bapak was immersed in the publishing and printing business, excited about the anti-colonial materials written by comrades like Pak Sako, Rahman Rahim and Jamil Sulong.  Naturally, it was a damper to his exuberant nationalist sentiments when the printing press was confiscated by the Brits.  They fled to Singapore in 1951 to seek refuge at Wak Jalal’s outhouse in Kampong Ubi.  In early 1952, Jamal was born songsang at Wak Aman’s house on Lorong 37 after Mak had been in labor for 36 hours.  Yat arrived in late 1953 in Kandang Kerbau Maternity Hospital.  By then the family had moved to a rented unit in Lorong K, a few streets away from Central and Wak Som’s house in Jalan Taugeh.     

When Bapak was detained and incarcerated in Outram Jail, Mak was seven months pregnant with me and when he was released, I was about 18 months old.  There was a photo of me as an infant in a short-sleeve ribbed singlet and cotton short pants, seated on the table in the prison’s visiting area between Mak and Bapak.  Mak used to ask me,

“Where’s Bapak?”

And I would point to the sole of my foot, which is ‘tapak’ in Malay.  Mak would bring home-cooked food and cigarettes during her weekly visits.  Bapak’s court trial and arrest, which made the news in the local dailies, was a public humiliation for Siddi, a conservative ulamak.  But Mak stood by his ideals of colonial resistance and a post-Independent construct of ‘Maphilindo’ (Malaya-Philippines-Indonesia), a return to an empowered pre-colonial Nusantara.  After his release, his mood swings worsened.  He was away most of the time, either in Klang to persuade Sitti to sell off a piece of the 114 acres of land belonging to her and Siddi to start a new business venture or at one of his current projects, like the paddy field in Kahang.