Archive for the ‘Malaysia Stories’ Category

while elsewhere….

America, Go Away! There’s Nothing for You Here


The problem with the above is, in New Malaysia, that’s been flipped around: It is America, welcome! Take our tongues, even our souls.

New Malaysia, in the persons of, in particular, Saifuddin Abdullah, Rais Hussin, Tian Chua, Hannah Yeoh, Joseph LGE, Dennis Ignatius, Phar Kim Beng, Tommy Tomato, and Steven Gan and his Malaysiakini editors; they have embraced America, taking on the lives of the latter, even their gods, their thoughts and ethical values (vengeful being most prominent today), taking their money, and importing their politics and ideology, system of governance, everything.

Perhaps that’s inevitable when Bangsa Malaysia has no intrinsic identity its own, so they imitate, foremost of which is Anglo-Saxon culture and its language. Anglophiles everywhere in Malaysia, colonizing Malaiyoos and those Penang motherfuckers, America taking Malaysia is a done project from the start because now Hannah Yeoh doesn’t have to apply for an Australian Green Card. The Green Card comes to her.

Australia doesn’t give Hannah the card, she makes a copy of it for herself — and sell the rest to other Anglophiles.

Annie of the Valley who, after the mamak Fareed Zakaria, believes America is such a wondrous world to live in doesn’t have to bother to emigrate. She might as well make an America in Malaysia, start with painting her backyard mosquitoes and her father’s Malaiyoo coconut trees in the colors of the stars and stripes.

Yet elsewhere, before and now, America, as Ana Teresa Toro notes in her essay below (it originally appeared in LitHub), are like “birds of prey…pecking you in the arms.” Puerto Rico’s unfortunate history is that it is too close to America and white people.

Now, America is after the South China Sea in the name of ‘freedom’, their ‘freedom’ of course, the same excuse English colonial writers used: freeing, unshackling natives from their Primitive ways, bringing in civilization, their civilization. But we’ll see…. We Chinese have our own civilization and which is far more superior; and we are not Puerto Ricans nor Malaiyoos nor were we raised and taught like the Annie Anglophiles of Malaysia to just roll over like poodles and say, “Fuck me! Hard!”

Neo Colonialism in New Malaysia


https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/ana-teresa-toro-100x100.jpgAna Teresa Toro, a Puerto Rican journalist, writes for El Nuevo Día.


America in New Malaysia. Anglophiles of Puerto Rico

When colonialism makes you end up, hating


Our colonial mindset bothers me every day. The country is full of managers, but not that many business owners. In our system, it cannot be any other way. When you don’t feel like the decisions are in your hands, you’re probably not going to feel free to take bigger risks. This is a blow to the self-esteem of the citizen, who believes he or she is the only one to blame for the failure of this political project, a project that once was seen as the shiny shop window displaying the success of the American way of life in the Caribbean, in contrast with the Cuban project. Colonialism, when successful, in a way makes you end up hating yourself. And yet, sometimes, I believe Puerto Rico is resistant. We have defended our language and culture. Other times, I think we have succumbed. Like during these last months when people went out and said on the streets: We deserved this.

We did not. Insisting on this is the little decolonizing gesture we can do deep in our minds.

Our feeling of harassment and abandonment is 120 years old; it traces back to the U.S. invasion of 1898. In the words of General George Davis, one of the island’s first military governors, “The island was occupied by force, and the people have no voice in the determination of their own destiny.” In the last months of 2015, Puerto Rico vs. Sánchez Valle affirmed that nothing had changed. The United States Supreme Court confirmed that the Estado Libre Asociado of Puerto Rico does not have sovereignty separate from the United States; that is, Puerto Rico cannot charge someone with the same criminal actions the U.S. federal government is already prosecuting, or vice versa. The fragile illusion of self-government was killed. Our colonial status was again fully exposed.

To that we must add the refusal of the United States Congress to allow the island to declare bankruptcy. Under the Puerto Rico Oversight, Management, and Economic Stability Act—the deeply uncomfortable law with the tone-deaf acronym PROMESA—an unelected board oversaw austerity measures designed to allow repayment to creditors. In response to this economic crisis, masses fled Puerto Rico for the United States over the past ten years. In the middle of this long siege, María came to see our foggy existence of a country—because we are a nation in all the symbolic meanings, but a nation that cannot actually be independent. We are the island and the castaway all at the same time.

It is cruel when every possible cliché becomes your reality. That is also what a hurricane does.

It was then, when no one came, that the flags started to appear. First were the truck drivers. They started putting small Puerto Rican flags in their windows, and little by little a lot of people followed. When someone saw one of those flags, which grew bigger and bigger, they honked the horn and waved. In that gesture we started realizing that we were still here, even though no one was listening. We were here, a reflection of one another; we existed because we recognized in each other the same solitude. We became living islands again.

But now there were fewer of us in the streets. The estimates said that 77 Puerto Ricans left the island every day, and most of them wouldn’t be coming back. And as the island started to empty, and there were more and more abandoned houses and businesses and streets and shadows of a past when we were able to occupy our space with our bodies, we had to start asking the impossible questions. Why wouldn’t we want to live in paradise? When did we stop wanting to inhabit our island? When does living in exile stop being a curse and become an ideal?

And then again, we are back in the endless spiral. Because aren’t Puerto Ricans U.S. citizens? Don’t they feel American? Some do, others don’t, and in a way it is useless and too hard to keep trying to define something that is unique. Academics love to talk about identity, and as I am a writer and journalist, you can find this topic all over my stories, but when it comes to living it, it might not make any sense to define it. In any case, I will speak for myself.


We are a nation in all the symbolic meanings, but a nation that cannot actually be independent. We are the island and the castaway all at the same time.


As a girl, I grew up idolizing Puerto Rican nationalists. I went with my father to every major event of commemoration of our patriotic heroes. I even neglected my English as a way of loving and honoring my Puerto Rican identity. I chose to love Frida over Madonna, to study Latin American literatures and cultures in Spain and not in the U.S. (although it was an American university, which makes it all the more confusing). Of course I knew there were masters and writing idols in the English language, but I did not want to know about them. Not out of ignorance or disrespect, but out of loyalty.

This means that I have always belonged to a minority. Because Puerto Rican politics are generally divided between those who want to maintain the status quo and those who want statehood. There is of course a political left who advocate for the ideal of independence, but, for a variety of reasons, these lefties are the smallest and weakest political force at the present time. As a girl, and as a young woman, I remembered fearing statehood. I started to fear the death of my identity. I feared disappearing.

That’s why, when I made new American friends, it took me more time than usual to deepen those relationships. I resisted them, and I was unfair. Because I have met amazing human beings from Minnesota and New York, San Francisco and countless other cities in the States. Also I have realized that we have a lot in common, because even though it was not my decision, and not my country’s either, American influences have shaped my life and education. And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. But even when I could see all of that, when I could reconcile and fight with my own colonized condition, I still feared the disappearance of my point of origin.

When the hurricane hit, what I had feared for so long came to pass. First it was the landscape. There was no green anymore. No more idyllic colors, either, no more beauty to blind the eyes. It looked like a bomb had fallen and burned everything. We did not abandon our country; it was the land itself who left us. And then, the response to the emergency by the government—both local and federal—was just another reflection of the vulnerability of the island, of our ambiguous political reality. No one came, because no one felt they should.

My father, who distrusted everything American—except the country’s cars—told us something he never would have said before: “Go away. There is nothing for you here.”

I had never seen such defeat so intimately.

Then the birds of prey started circling. From Europe, Asia, North America. You feel them pecking you in the arms. They are buying businesses, houses, buildings, schools, land, “windows to the beach” (undeveloped beachfront property that, when privatized, limits public access). They are buying everything they can, at a price that competes with that of the smelly fish in an old market. Will this place remain Puerto Rico for Puerto Ricans?

People are angry, and have started protesting. On May 1st, some people threw rocks at the police. The governor was infuriated and held a press conference with a rock in his hands. As I watched it, I finally understood: that is the same stone that all of us have carried inside our guts since our elderly started losing their pensions; since our youth dream only about leaving the island; since the privatization agenda—in education, health, security, and other essential services—that has failed in so many places all over the world has been implemented; since the illusion of social mobility has disappeared. Since Mother Nature razed us and left everyone to see what now seems like a concerted plan: empty the island, impoverish it even more, so that those of us who stay will serve the new owners. There will be no more Puerto Rico for Puerto Ricans. That’s the invisible slogan of those who have planted that stone in our stomachs, that heavy pain and weight that is compressing our breath.

When we first learned about paradise as children, we thought that leaving it was the punishment we must endure in exchange for knowledge. Ignorance was no longer the bliss we needed; science, creativity, freedom, and adventure awaited us. But now, abandoning paradise seems like a matter of survival. From that shipwreck I write these words. We, the ones who are still here, will have to decide whether we can live in the bitter literalness of this cliché of abandonment. To live under the hot bright sun, alongside the replenished exuberance of green and turquoise, drinking the snake’s juices and standing still, marveling at and fearing the dazzling solitude of all islands everywhere.




This is just fun stuff so the SCMP bananas and their white editors can stop making editorial and biblical, white morality out of it. Like Stevie Wonder Gan and those Anglophiles in Malaysia. What a bunch of motherfuckers, cocksuckers — and losers.

I am waiting for Jian to try the same. Tripping over and falling for shampoo at the beach!



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Helen Ang in happier days, above. As she ages, alone and decrepit on her arse, she grows to become increasingly like the DAP people she hates: bitter, irrational, grumpy, endlessly complaining (even after winning), and egomaniac. Imagine the like minded together: one racist ketuanan white guy named Brett Kavanaugh (below) and Aku Cina Ang. As they say, what has the world come to? Or maybe not.

Wait a minute, this Republican guy is the equal of Barisan? Shouldn’t it be Joseph Lim Guan Eng? This Helen Ang, so bitter, that she has got her brains stashed in her arse. Holy Pinanglang shit…


Talk about disinformation. These Malaysian Anglophile media hacks are so clumsy.

For Helen Is-not-Christian-name Ang, it wasn’t good enough just to watch white America tear itself apart (cheer if you must), that crucible of Christian, white and racist bigotry. She had to play victim, a victim of Malaysian politics. Worse still, doing it by equating Harapan = Democrat and then hanging on that compare herself to, of all persons, Brett Kavanaugh, Donald Trump’s judge nominee to the Supreme Court. Here, below, would be Rebecca Solnit’s rebuttal, without her permission though and which was excerpted from here. What do people say about growing old and becoming Angst?

For more on Kavanaugh, reliably, see this for example.

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America Don’t Want You to Know


I wrote an essay this spring called “Nobody Knows” about how those regarded as nobody are treated as people without voices and rights; what those considered to be somebody who matters do to them they do to nobody. Nobody knows what you did, there are no witnesses, because this black person, this poor person, this child, this woman cannot bear witness; their word does not matter; their testimony has no consequences. Too many elites think that what they did to people who are no one is, categorically, nothing. And thus they are justified in claiming they did nothing and indignant w hen told they did something. I am not saying this is the case with Kavanaugh, but I am saying it is common.

Even our laws have enforced the nullity of some of us, not only as lacking rights but lacking the right to witness. In the notorious People vs. Hall case, California’s supreme court let off a murderer by ruling that the testimony of the three eyewitnesses—all Chinese—was inadmissible by an 1850 statue declaring that “no black or mulatto person, or Indian, shall be permitted to give evidence in favor of, or against, a white person.” Truth and the ability to have our voices count is still something to which we have unequal access; #MeToo and Black Lives Matter are both movements to rectify this. The Republicans have demonstrated their commitment to rape culture, to a culture in which the voices of women will be ignored no matter regardless of the facts, in which men will be believed no matter how much evidence there is against them; and the racial equivalencies are everywhere we look, if we choose to.

This unequal status is what has allowed so much sexual assault to be perpetrated, in the Catholic Church, in families, on campuses, so much sexual harassment and abuse in the workplace. It is a direct consequence of the suppression of knowledge and the right and capacity of all of us to have it, to speak it and be heard, and to have consequences for our speech. Equality is one of the fundamental values of this country, delivered in small doses since 1776, and sometimes large ones—the freeing of enslaved people, the granting of voting rights to women, citizenship for Native Americans, the right to educational equality, the Civil Rights act, marriage equality.

That Kavanaugh is not a nominee for a normal job makes this all the more grim and outrageous than it would be otherwise. The job of a Supreme Court justice is to fathom what is true and right, to defend that principle of equality under the law, to pursue justice through an honest quest for truth, to be nonpartisan.

Kavanaugh, like so many of his kind, appears to be bound by loyalties to his elite organizations and to male privilege, white privilege, and the privileges of the wealthy, and to the party committed to all this, the Republican Party—whose ruthlessly partisan player he was and is. Often, membership in the clan makes its members themselves indifferent to the larger society and the rights and interests of other kinds of people. This loyalty also overrides their loyalty to truth and knowledge. It’s an ethos in which the power that resides in the elites stays in the elites, and what is known by outsiders stays outside.


安妮, Pssst… say nothing. I got even for you. And so it’s on you, my next dedak beer. Will WhatsApp when I’ll be collecting. BTW, give it straight, Yes or No: Have your Assholes been bitching to you behind my back?

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ISIS offers 72 virgins, Jesus promises 100 wives for every one you abandon.

Which will you take? (Below.)

Image result for sacrifice his son bible

Abraham, another crackpot pre-dating ISIS, about to cut the throat of his son Isaac, ISIS style, in order to demonstrate his commitment to a voodoo Middle Eastern superstition.


ISIS in the Pakatan Government


From the Good News Bible, New Testament, Matthew 19:29

And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life.

Some years ago the Hong Kong government of Donald Tsang, the Christian chief executive (now in jail for corruptly accepting free renovations for his house, a charge not unlike Joseph Lim Guan Eng getting a discount for his Penang house) used an archaic administrative media law and ordered a publisher to seal wrap its magazines. This law, according to the government, prohibits photos and language or word descriptions that depict sex, violence, war, brutality, carnage, that sort of a thing. Because this law clashes with the principle of freedom of press and information both of which were imported from the UK, of course, a solution was reached. Seal the publications in clear plastic cover.

Within a month of the edict, the government received sacks of letters, thousands, nearly all written in Chinese, each one detailing in chapter and verse the exact same violation of the law from one publication, just one, and it is written in English. Guess which? Some department bureaucrat counted so that the individual violations when added up total more than 5,000. In other words, the book violated another Christian law, a media, language law, 5,000 times over. Being the good fucking Christian that he is, Donald’s government argued that the law didn’t apply to the Bible since it is regarded (by who, he didn’t say) as works of a ‘classical’ nature such as paintings and religious text. Ah! There we go… Anglophile tongue twisting on their hypocrisy, one rule for them, another rule for us.

Matthew 19:29, cited above, is special, more special than Anglophile, Christian double standards. Why?

For one thing, it means that there are now, inside the Pakatan government, people who by their own admissions clearly believe in the ISIS madness and doing it even better than those Muslims crackpots. If you do whatever God does, say, burn down whole towns that God considers as Sodom and Gomorrah, you will be rewarded with 100 wives instead of 72 virgins. Such a follower must, like Abraham, be also willing to kill his own son Isaac so as to prove loyalty. There are in Malaysia more than 2 million such followers, and this is just Christians.

For another, Matthew 19:29 is like ISIS, encouraging people to desert their homes and family so as to go on a crusading rampage. That, in its turn, breaks numerous moral and criminal codes in the statues of many countries, and let’s start with houses:

  • Arson, if a man burns down his house to follow Jesus;
  • Desertion of aged parents (Singapore law);
  • Child abandonment, hence abuse (most countries);
  • Polygamy, 100 wives, holy shit (Anglophone countries);
  • Sexism, women and sex are treated as objects of reward (Christian and Muslim countries); and,
  • Discrimination, women won’t get 100 husbands, (Christian and Muslim countries)

Here, then, who are these ISIS people, both Christians and Muslims, in the Pakatan government?

No, as Malaysian, you don’t deserve the government you voted in, you deserve the government you cultivated. It was Anglophiles who seeded then cultivated this country, its system of government and the apparatus to go with it, all the opposite of, say, Chinese law such as during the Qing and Ming dynasties. Then, we treated family as sacred, and made punishable offense if any adult especially abandon old parents and kids. To Christians and Anglophiles, it’s become noble to kill the family instead. Small wonder Christian preachers for decades routinely fuck young boys, and that under the cross of the churches. After which, they put on a ‘holy’ garment, label the Bible as a ‘Good News’ book, and talk of Christian compassion and charity.

Consequential to this hypocrisy, you read in the pages of Malaysiakini, typically, this daily outpouring of irrationality, contradictory rules, absurd policies, and propaganda lies. Only a Pakatan government could have this capability.

There is, in the Chinese, no script nor character equal to the word ‘evil’ which connotes Satan and the devil. In the Chinese thought-world, there are assholes who are ‘bad’ and people ‘good’. But never evil nor holy for the reason we don’t believe in Middle Eastern superstition nor desert voodoo talk. Evil (or holy) is purely a Christian word, conception and idea, available in the western languages, carrying the baggage of Judeo-Christian traditions, English in this case, that only DAP Christians and Anglophiles have copied and so routinely use to label the ex-Barisan government and MPs. Hilter is often called evil as a portrayal of beast and an un-human combined, though Hannah Arendt (in ‘Banality of Evil’) disputes this label. In other words, Hitler was perfectly human — Nietzsche’s ‘Human, All Too Human’ — but the Bible lied about a man created in the likeness of god so that such a person could have only come out of such a Christian society.

Only a Hannah Yeoh or a Maszlee Malik could dream, think, and drum up evil deeds because that’s the sort of society and environment they grew out of and now seek to promote and cultivate. Syed Akbar Ali at Outsyed the Box can’t understand why it is Islamic school teachers routinely abuse children. But why is that a mystery given a society that talks about evil as if that’s a fact and truth, after which to instruct such values as how to whip your wife, even stone her to death (an act repeatedly found mentioned in the Old Testament Bible that double-standard Anglophile Hong Kong refused to hold legally responsible and so ban the book). We Chinese say, Grow beans, get beans; grow melons get melons.

Now, you see why people like Mahathir Mohamad, Hannah Yeoh, Joseph Lim, Yeo Bee Yin and Maszlee and the Amanah MPs are dangerous people. They are mad. It’s just that they hadn’t yet had the chance to turn their madness into law and into administrative practices and rules. No, you deserve the government you cultivated — in Malaysia, in your La Salle, church kindergartens, churches, Sunday ‘worship’ halls and classes and in your fucking tahfiz schools.

May God, since he is such a great, compassionate destroyer, destroy Malaysia; it’s a lost cause. And you have only to read Malaysiakini for daily reaffirmation to that conclusion. It’s an Anglophile viper’s pit for ISIS insanity.


The ISIS in…


ISIS Christian cunt holes: leading the crusade.

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ISIS Bersatu, midget is everything.


ISIS Amanah.

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ISIS Keadilan


Hannah Yeoh the Satan


Above, Hannah Arendt, philosopher and political theorist (Origins of Totalitarianism), 1906-1975, born Hanover, German parents, stateless for several years until she migrated to the US in 1950. Her rebuttal to Hannah Yeoh would go something like this:

For Hannah Yeoh to say Najib Razak is evil, like Hitler is evil, like the devil is evil must mean that Hannah Yeoh, the speaker and knower of that evil, had been to hell and back and, therefore, she knows all about evil and recognizes it. Who else would recognize evil unless that person can claim to be God? That, or the person is Satanic. Since there is only one God, so Hannah Yeoh must be a devil and so possesses the satanic characteristics of evil as well.


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In conversation: Today bookkeeper, born Malacca son of a Lim family pig-farmer meeting an envoy descendant of the Yellow Emperor. Listening in, at Lim’s right, are a Cheras butcher, part-time tontine racketeer, and a Ayer Hitam snake oil salesman.


林冠英: 欢迎来到马来西亚

王毅: 有点忙  应该早点来

林冠英: 这也是好事 时间  榴莲季节 你试过榴莲吗?

王毅: 我不是花一天时间旅行 来吃榴莲

林冠英: 但是非常好吃 最好是在彭亨 我们的猫山王

王毅: 是的闻起来像屁  你几岁啊

林冠英: 五十八 这么哪

王毅: 没这么 我比你大七年 你的老家是哪里

林冠英: 出生马六甲

王毅:  看起来你不知道什么是老家

林冠英: 我知道 但我不是华人 我是马来西亚人

王毅: 是的 扁说了同样的话  老家人说一头猪喝水  不知道水从哪里来

林冠英: 什么意思

王毅: 无所谓  你没有老家 就不必来  我们先去吧  你慢慢喝

林冠英: 哦。。。?


I long for nothing but the Love in my Motherland



Seventh day on the seventh month: 七夕qixi in the era of Google.

I am the cowherd and she is the weaver girl. I’m south and she is north.



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The Orang Asli of Taman Negara

Malay government policies (especially since Mahathir Mohamad) towards them were identical to English imperialism: Write down your demands on a piece of paper called the ‘Federal Constitution’, teach the Orang Asal Malay then convert them to Islam. The Orang Asal have never been the same since.

Anglophile cunts like Helen Ang call that sort of colonial-styled conversion and suppression “assimilation”.

Coming from another side against natives are other Anglophiles (people like the PJ preacher-reporter Bob Teoh who went to Sarawak), seeking supposedly to protect the Asal aboriginal way of life. Instead they do the same as the Malay government, and more. Bobbie would sell to Sarawak natives his English language and Jesus Christ in the name of Christian charity — a colonized mind selling the colonizing language and culture within himself. Thus Bobbie continues the work of white imperialism in neo-imperial form.

The natives caved in to Anglophiles, people like Bobbie, Mahathir, et al, because their numbers are small and their political and intellectual foundations weak. It will not happen to the Chinese. Never! Even the once proud Japanese have given in to the West. We Chinese are the Last Man (Fukuyama) in the world, literally, standing up to neo-imperialism in all its forms, particularly of the mind.

Malaysian neo-imperialism has produced the like of motherfuckers from Kadir ‘Mad Dog‘ Jasin to Helen ‘Aku Cina‘ Ang, and more and more and more. Small wonder Malaysia is so fucked up.


The colonialist of the mind

When speaking and writing in English, Mahathir Mohamad and Lim Kit Siang and Anwar Ibrahim show how they are permanent features of imperialism’s tyranny. Worse for that, they don’t know it. Imagine, hence, all the (mostly dire) results they would wring out of Malaysia, a country and a cultural milieu so unsuitable to English ways of thinking and doing things.

Now, to the English language, add Christianity (Francis Yeoh, Joseph Lim), you produce the like of Stevie ‘Wonder’ Gan, the Anglophile extraordinaire. Into the cauldron, go farther, throw in Islam (Zakir Naik) and the Arabic language (Hadi Awang)….

As if not content with that state of affairs, successive Malay governments, in the guise of ‘national unity’ and ‘loyalty’ have forced the Chinese to learn Malaiyoo. This colonialism of the mind runs parallel to English imperialism: Most pertinently, it compares to Malays sequestering, first on paper, the Constitution, the native Orang Asal title, calling themselves ‘bumiputra‘. With that title, land was expropriated from the aboriginal people, from Johor and Kelantan to Sarawak and Sabah, a seizure justified, by Takiyuddin Hassan, for example, as  (Malay) ‘government’ land, a government right. How? It’s the Constitution, they say.

Here is one of Malaysia’s most fundamental problems: What you learned as a child cannot be unlearned. That is imperialism’s starting point and is contained in the warnings from Kenya’s Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, below. Native languages and cultures must be preserved at all cost, at any cost.

If people want to assimilate let white people assimilate. Helen Ang or Hannah Yeoh are even welcome to lie with and assimilate to dogs.



The Kenyan author Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, 2018


Decolonising the Mind

From the Tyranny of Language by Francis Wade in comments on ‘Decolonising the Mind’ (Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, 1986, Heinemann) :

Thirty years after graduating from his missionary-run high school near Nairobi, the Kenyan author Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o had gained enough distance to reflect on the lasting effect of colonial education policy in Kenya. “Behind the cannon was the new school,” he wrote in Decolonising the Mind, the 1986 exposition on cultural imperialism in which he examined how the colonial classroom became a tool of psychological conquest in Africa and beyond. “Better than the cannon, it made the conquest permanent,” he wrote. “The cannon forces the body and the school fascinates the soul.”

The Alliance High School, which Ngũgĩ attended, was built in the 1920s and is now one of Kenya’s top-ranking schools. Like so many of the institutions that foreigners “gifted” to the colonies, it was seen by its founding patrons as a benevolent, civilizing instrument for Africans. It instructed in English; children who spoke in the local Gĩkũyũ tongue were beaten. English was the language of power, rationality, and intelligence; Gĩkũyũ, which Ngũgĩ would write in again only decades later, signified backwardness—an Africanness that, for the good of its carriers, had to be exorcized. A gun alone wouldn’t do the job; it needed, in Ngũgĩ’s words, to be “supplemented by the power of thought.” Decolonising the Mind, his attempt to examine how the mental space of colonized peoples came to be invaded and appropriated, is considered a seminal text on how language can be manipulated and pressed into the service of power.

The lectures that formed the basis of the book were delivered in Auckland in 1984, during that year’s Maori Language Week. I met with Ngũgĩ in May this year on his third trip to New Zealand, where we were both speaking at the Auckland Writers Festival. Clear-eyed and articulate at eighty, he recalled an encounter he had during those 1984 lectures that broadened his analysis of the relationship between language and power. A Maori woman had approached him soon after he left the podium. “You were not talking about Kenya,” she told him. “You were talking about us Maori people.” All the examples he had given were taken from Kenya or elsewhere in Africa, drawn from his teenage years in the Alliance High School and the creeping realization in the decades afterward of its insidious influence. “But she saw the Maori situation in it,” he told me. “The condition for acquiring the glory of English was the humiliation of African languages. This was the same in every colonial situation—in New Zealand, too.”

“The African bourgeoisie that inherited the flag from the departing colonial powers was created within the cultural womb of imperialism,” Ngũgĩ wrote in Moving the Centre: The Struggle For Cultural Freedoms, a collection of essays published in 1993. “So even after they inherited the flag, their mental outlook, their attitudes toward their own societies, toward their own history, toward their own languages, toward everything national, tended to be foreign; they saw things through eyeglasses given them by their European bourgeois mentors.”

Frantz Fanon, who died three years before Ngũgĩ published his first book, had issued similar warnings. He foresaw, accurately, a bleak future for societies in which a post-independence middle class, now in power, had—through clientelism and the hoarding of wealth—widened the socioeconomic fissures opened by the colonial project, and was thus in the process becoming the native face of the imperial enterprise. “Seen through its eyes, its mission has nothing to do with transforming the nation,” Fanon wrote. “It consists, prosaically, of being the transmission line between the nation and a capitalism, rampant though camouflaged, which today puts on the masque of neo-colonialism.”

Much of the thinking today about the enduring effects of colonial rule is imbued with a sense that many once-colonized nations still feel a need to validate themselves in relation to the West. Macaulay and his contemporaries saw Western values and achievements as a gold standard to which the rest of the world should aspire, and the architects of colonial language policies, in particular, developed their curricula of control in accordance with that standpoint. Secondary school literature syllabuses in many of the elite African schools still tend to be front-loaded with works in English, because the English canon is still held aloft as the ideal. African writing thus becomes an appendix, and little space is given to studying the oral traditions that were once the primary medium for communicating stories.

A momentum has developed to counter this: cultural theorists working in the postcolonial Asian setting, for example, are advocating a stronger field of inter-Asian studies, while at the same time examining the many discreet ways in which power imbalances between onetime colonizer and colonized are quietly perpetuated today—through the act of literary translation, for example. Propelling this movement is the belief that as long as the West continues to be a, if not the, normative pole of comparison, decolonization will remain in a state of arrest. In Ngũgĩ’s eyes, those validation efforts persist, while the “transmission lines” that Fanon wrote of, whereby post-independence governments serve as intermediaries between Western business interests and exploitative local ventures, are still clearly intact. This speaks to the durability of the psychological component of imperial conquest, one that didn’t announce itself with cannon fire and could not be repelled by force. …




Mindfucked in the USA

by Rachel Yoder

I had actually been fucked in the head years earlier, some might say, by my religious upbringing in a Mennonite commune. Or perhaps it was after I became involved with a charismatic man of dubious intent who convinced me of the failings of my religious upbringing and with whom I eventually made my iconic trip West. I contend the mindfuck really hit its pitch in Arizona, though, where, throughout my twenties, I committed myself to all things new age, therapeutic, and 12-step. My father had told me I would always be Mennonite; I could never change, and, moreover, change itself did not even exist. The therapists I saw later had been all about changing whenever I pleased, from troubled Mennonite girl into a secular, self-actualized über-woman-self.





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…and Destroyed Umno


Neither Umno nor Malaiyoos nor Mahathir seem to know what’s happened to them, those poor, stupid bastards. They just don’t get it, even when you spell it out in a sign poster: Disrupt, destroy, new beginning then another new. We didn’t miss anything, did we, Joey?


Born to Chinese parents, raised in Penang, educated in Wharton, can’t read Chinese (like Helen Ang, Hannah Yeoh, Liew Chin Tong et al), Low Taek Jho 刘特佐 or 劉特佐 is the quintessential Malaysia-Singapore Anglophile.

This Anglo-Christian quality has a morality dimension — greed, power and hypocrisy — that is best expressed in politics, he aligning with the Malay polity personified in Najib Razak as Lim Guan Eng did with Mahathir Mohamad.

Thank you Joey boy.

He was the key in bringing back Mahathir and, thence, to destroy Umno: the Malay kills the Malay in mutual self-destruction and behind all that a Chinese Anglophile oiling the process.

Next, wait for Mahathir to destroy the remnants of the Malay political forces, with much help from Guan Eng’s DAP, of course. Reason: Malaiyoos believe DAP Anglophiles are better to be trusted than the ‘ultra’ Chinese; they themselves are Anglophiles after all, Mahathir, Rais Hussin, Kadir Jasin, Syed Akbar Ali, Ahi Attan…. They are, in another way of saying the same thing, victims of their own anti-Chinese propaganda and Anglo self-delusional narcissism, believing that the true Chinese are a godless heathen, inferior to them, therefore, immoral and cheats.

But, like Joey, the banana Guan Eng-DAP, too, must be sacrificed, to die, for our sake, rightfully, necessarily, justly. Anglos call it poetic justice. We Chinese call it dao. Buddhists call it karma. You see it happening already.



The day she came down the mountains

The way she says it, this, in sequence, is what probably happened the day eight years ago she left her mountain home. It was an early autumn day, sun still behind the trees, clouds gathering in the horizon…

We returned recently to find that life had changed little, the road up and down, the cypress forest, the solitude, the fields grow, the old trees chopped for firewood. You can tell, everybody was glad you are back though they never say it. We brought back enough pork to feed a whole village, with which is served sweet rice wine on 30 plus percent alcohol. That night we slept under the stars and with the wide-tail nightjar hooting away somewhere. Soon Fall will come — in these mountains it’s always early — and it will be nine years to that day that changed not just our lives, Jian and I, but everyone else as well.

It worries us sick that we could lose this happiness. Cities give and cities take; they have such dangers lurking.




This just came in…

In Liaoning, next door to north Korea:

There is a movement in China calling on villagers to build houses like the one above, cheap, local timber, fast to build, easy to maintain and renovate, instead of a 10-room mansion that is empty for 11 months in a year.


In Henan, home of the Xi’an terracotta warriors:

All made in China: Bugs before, bugs after… the tree you see is the Chinese fir. It is, really, not bad. Tastes like fried Kentucky, without the salt.



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If this keeps up for 10 years, I will shut down this blog for the next 100. Maybe even masuk Malaiyoo or turn into a Banana and declare my eternal allegiance to the Father, Son and Holy Hannah.


中文不错  谁写的? 您?

















TRX statement (minus the Chinese version)

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