Bersih Stories

8/3/2019 Bersih Stories

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MY STORY @ BERSIH 2.0

The Collection of Bersih2.0 stories (from various sources)

compiled by Anonymous



Table of Content

A Day Before ‘The Day’

Hii Tiong Huat - The Braveheart of Malaysia 6

709

The Difference Between Bersih 1 & Bersih 2.0:“I lost My iPhone”9

Saya rasa selamat bersama orang PAS 15

Air mata saya mengalir demi tanahair ini 18

I am not alone 23

The day I lost my fear26

Yellow fever 30

In pursuit of true democracy 33

I am proud to be Malaysian 37

Bersih 2.0 “bersih”ed me! 44

When the ordinary became extraordinary 46

Truth is inconvenient 49

I Was There 54

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Table of Content

‘Lady of Liberty’ at Bersih march draws online support 59

Lessons learnt in a walk with friends 62

I was afraid, therefore I walked 63

Was it worth it? 65

How Bersih cleansed my Malaysian soul 70

The days of gatekeeping are numbered 74

Tanah tumpahnya darahku 76

Fortress KL: How did Bersih 2.0 slip past? 81

Dataran Maybank has become my Tahrir Square' 85

Merdeka when I was six, true democracy at 60? 93

We walked in peace until… 97

An amazing experience [NEW]101

If only every day was July 9 [NEW] 110

Thank you, rakyat Malaysia [NEW] 113

Bersih 2.0: Arrested and sent to Pulapol [NEW] 117

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Table of Content

HomeHanging my head in shame 125

* [New] = newly added in 2nd edition

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A Day Before‘The Day’



Hii Tiong Huat - The Braveheart of Malaysia

8 July 2011, Hii Tiong Huat, clad in his trademark yellow T-shirtprinted with his name, appeared at Petaling Street alone this

afternoon holding up a self-made signboard and a Malaysia flag.

The yellow signboard depicted a set of handcuffs beside the word “Bersih”, followed by “Kotor (dirty) OK?”

Waving both the signboard and flag, Hii repeatedly shouted, “Bersiharrested, Kotor OK,” attracting the attention of many peopleincluding foreign tourists. Several vehicles also sounded their horns

to show support.

Malaysiakini learnt that the activist has been putting up the samegimmick in Sibu city for the past two days but had been ignored bythe local police as they are used to his eccentric behaviour.

He flew to Kuala Lumpur today and went to Petaling Street with hisgimmick as soon as he touched down.

In less than five minutes, three police officers on motorbikesarrived at the tourist area and attempted to stop him.

A heated argument broke out between them, attracting morebystanders to stop and watch. Some of them started to record theincident with their camera while several shouted, “Policedisturbing!” and “Is this an offence?”

Hii demanded that the police promise not to confiscate his MyKad before he would show it, but after police gave in, he only showed hispassport, claiming that his MyKad had gone missing and the related police report was not with him.

When one of the policemen informed him that they had beenordered to arrest him, Hii, with his arm grabbed by the policeman,shouted back angrily: “What is my crime? Police, don't be rude! Why

do you arrest me?”arresting me?



Policeman: I'm discharging my duty based on orders. You should know that you can't show a Bersih signboard.

Hii: You should work for the people because your salary is paid by

the people. Why are you arresting me?Policeman: I will bring you to the police station first, then myofficer will tell you the reason.

Hii: What is wrong with showing a signboard?

Patrol car arrives

Shortly after that a police patrol car arrived, and the two policeofficers got out and politely requested Hii to get in, repeating thatthey had received orders to arrest him.

“Then you go back and bring the order here to me. I promise I willwait for you here,” he replied.

He then complained that the police officers, who confiscated hispassport, had cheated him because he had been promised he could retain his passport.

All five police officers, obviously trying hard to end the war ofwords as the number of onlookers grew, compromised and handed him the passport.

Hii, however, refused to take it and wanted the police officer to put

it back into his back pocket.

Finally, after the officer had done so, Hii flashed a smile and agreed to get into the police car.

But before doing so, he waved to the crowd and called out “Bye-bye”with a grin.

He was then brought to the Dang Wangi police station. It was learntlater that efforts are being made to bail him out.By Kuek Ser Kuang Keng

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709



The Difference Between Bersih 1 & Bersih 2.0:“I lost My iPhone”

I was one of those guys who lost my iphone to the cops for takingextensive photos & video shots. Was it worth it, you may ask? It isworth it if it is for my country and our future. Oh hell yes! Even now, I am not sulking at losing the phone, but theMoments of History that I captured with fellow Malaysians whoposed for me and the awesome video of songs sang by all thosepeople. So here I am venting my frustration in paper instead ofphotos.

What are the differences between Bersih 1 and Bersih 2.0, someoneasked me (which I feel is a lot).

My journey began in KTM which I was worried will not make it toSentral because I timed it to coincide with the Rally (2pm), instead of arriving early and getting arrested for being a loner in thewrong place. The trains after mine were delayed. So - lucky me.

Nobody spoke in the train. It was eerily quiet. Just smiles. Mostpeople were heading for Sogo/Jamek area but my instincts told meto get down in KL Sentral.

Reaching KL Sentral, life seemed normal there except for thePresence of cops everywhere but more outside than inside. I wentinto McD to sit down and buy time and got news Ambiga, Anwar and many more were in Hilton just beside KL Sentral. It was raining

heavily there and within minutes unexpectedly there was a hugebooming, cheering and shouting of thousands of people! MALAYSIANSI was shocked at the sizable number of Indians and Chinese. Thiswas not a scene from Bersih 2007. The Chinese were no longer shy ofRallies. Not afraid of Perkasa or Ibrahim frog, in fact most wereupdated and ready for anything. The Indians were alert on National

issues. It was no more only for Hindraf or Indian issues; most whoturned up were ready for national service. Ambiga was the newUthaya. The Malays were the highest in number but it is no more just



the PAS Malays who turned up but those from every walk of life. TheMat Sallehs, the Indian tourists, Japanese and Korean people whoalso walked along.

Many aunties and uncles, professionals, lawyers, kampung folks,even government servants, so many youngsters were there. This wasthe facebook revolution!

These were the conversations I had with folks who turned up:"We are here for our Children's Future" - most of them agreed onthis point."if Ambiga is a lady and she could do this - what's wrong with me, aMAN?" - Malay uncle."I have done worse things, I would go to jail for Ambiga!" - Indianguy who looked like a bouncer."Are you one of them (cops)?" - youngster."If this was their brother or sister, would the police hurt us?" -Indian aunty."BN has to go!" - Malay aunty."There is democracy and there is *democracy*" - Mat Salleh."Where is the racial riot???" - another question by general public

while smiling at each other."Show us the Parang" - random shout to the police."We are the ones who lost the most due to the degrading of the judiciary"- a lawyer who exchanged his namecard [he has his ownlaw firm!]

Nothing prepared me for what I saw across the Klang river when Ireached Pasar Seni LRT station; tens of thousands of people across

the river. That was a safe haven for me as I joined the crowd butwas greeted by tear gas being shot non-stop from Central Market. Itwas crazy. Tear gas canisters were falling every 2 minutes but thepeople kept on regrouping. Surprisingly, food stalls were open.Thanks to KFC and 7-Elevens which were open and allowed peoplein and out even though the managers chained their entrance withpadlocks.

Pakatan sabotage?

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The Rally belonged to the people through and through. Bersih was incharge, not Pakatan. I didn't see the unit amal nor the organized political party type of people. It was a random crowd. Pakatan leaders only came to the rescuewhen there was no leadership in the crowd. Pakatan MPs/Aduns did not interfere. For example, YB Manika (Kapar) was at Pasar Seni but just standing and watching the crowd with his team; never did hetake over from the Bersih steering comittee. Wong Chin Huat was there. When Wong Chin Huat commanded acrowd of 10 thousand people at Pasar Seni Station and was readingthe memorandum at the Top of his Voice and a reddened face fullof energy, everyone was impressed by his leadership. He screamed atthe Top of his Lungs "Kita Tak Mahu RASUAH!" and "Jangan-jangan -Jangan rasuah". His lengthy speech ended with singing Negaraku 3times. There were tears in many eyes. Some sobbed openly unable tocontrol their feelings. Everyone just stood there and sang inUnison ... Malay-Chinese-Indian-Punjabi-Kadazans-Asli and more.

A walk in the Park Through Petaling Street to Stadium Merdeka, everywhere was packed to the maximum. It was a sea of people. Never had I imagined somany people would turn up through the propaganda and barricadeand fear of riots being unleashed. Protestors just stood there and were communicating with the cops.How do you expect us to go near Stadium Merdeka if you intend topaint the whole road blue with uniforms? At this juncture, I sawmany friends sitting together and taking photos in the middle of

the road. Dancers, singers, picnic-goers in the crowd just enjoyingthemselves. So this must be the Walk in the Park suggested by Datuk Wong Chun Wai of The Star? To irritate him further, "Datuk pleasetake a look at how much we enjoyed ourselves with fellowMalaysians. People paper, ka? Come and see the Real People labraderr!" And please take note of this new trend which emerged from Bersih 2.0 - PLANKING. I am laughing out Loud seeing allthose Planking photos and videos online!!

Survival of the Fittest

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It was temporary joy as the crowd which was dispersing was given awarning shot and the FRU started marching in. Before you know it,they started chasing the crowd. The weakest or slower ones werecaught immediately and arrested. We were running at top speed. I

wish I had this speed while at school. Next was a one hour worth ofCat and Mouse game around the KL Selangor Chinese Assembly Halland Wisma Tun Sambanthan!! Thanks to the 7-eleven there, I went in the guise of a customerbuying a drink. The Police never chase people who hold theirposture and look composed. Hmm, maybe this was a good strategy.Nevertheless, I met my friend who was a Special Branch agentdressed in jeans with his team who advised me not to provoke. Hesaid, "There are vans marked with CID officers. They go for thecatch. The rest of us remain on the ground. The cops with camerastake photos of provocateurs (for evidence) then the rest go for thekill. But pity those people in the fringes, else they get caught." Heassured me the cops are on our side of the struggle and are stuck between the public and a corrupted government.

Let us Go HomeWhen I thought it was finally over and time to return, there was abigger crowd waiting in anticipation! As we ran, walked and panted away, we were greeted by friendly stationed police. This time, theyeven stood and smiled and posed for photos. One guy evenmentioned, please make sure it comes out on Facebook!!! But justbefore we could thank our lucky stars, a few FRU trucks came inbetween Brickfields and Petronas and blocked our way back!!!People started screaming away, let us go home. We were dispersing

but alas, this time we were not lucky. They were hell bent ontrapping us and getting hold of us. After the harassment and another round of merry go round, we managed to get back to KLSentral only to realize no trains were leaving from KL Sentral and the LRT was totally shut down.

The DifferencesFirstly, the Government is now fully prepared for Massive Rallies by

creating Massive Roadblocks and creating Massive Traffic Jams. Fouryears is a long time to prepare and with heavy propaganda and vilification, the process is much more extreme.

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The Government has learnt much, but the people have learnt more. Sub-contracting racism to Perkasa, whom we can daringly call

cowards since they didn't turn up for the Rally, didn't work. The May13 Bogeyman and racist conflicts don't work. The Communist tag toBersih doesn't work (hello we have seen you tag Hindraf to LTTEterrorists, you think we believe you?) Have you read the bedtime story called "The Boy who Cried Wolf"? After the 3rd time, nobody believed the boy. You are the Government for heaven's sake!!! Be responsible. We have seen too many 'Gempar', 'Derhaka', 'Jahanam', 'HARAM'headlines from Utusan, NST, Star etc. to really bother.Planting shiny parangs and well-preprared molotovs and taking usfor rides do not work.

Khairy, who described Bersih 2007 as "beruk-beruk di jalanraya",became a Beruk himself. His comment that he was doing it becausehe did not agree with Bersih's method doesnt add value. All the

more to beat the "Beruk", he became a Beruk himself. Where was PPPand MIC youth as claimed by him?

Facebook and Twitter were unheard of during Bersih 2007, but inBersih 2.0 Facebook played a heavy role to garner support. Otherthan that, the after effects of Bersih are going Viral. Bersih went withAmbiga and came back with 65 year old Anne. Just look at AuntyLiberty and how famous she has become! Check http://

www.facebook.com/pages/Malaysian-Lady-Of-Liberty/227295033969781 and also Twitter account #bersihstories (or at http://bersihstories.wordpress.com/)

Planking: For the 1st Time we see a huge number of Malaysianshaving fun at the Rally by Planking. Go figure.

1Malaysia: This was the theme at Bersih 2.0: Masyarakat majmuk, all

the slogans and posters mean nothing. The heartfelt togetherness atBersih, the people that our government is trying to keep apart gottogether again. It was indeed 1 Malaysia.

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http://bersihstories.wordpress.com/


http://www.facebook.com/pages/Malaysian-Lady-Of-Liberty/227295033969781











Pakatan Rakyat: Didn't exist before the last rally, so we have amore formidable opposition / government in waiting. This is a fact.Pakatan gave support to Bersih, but Never did they Sabotage Bersih or

Hijack the rally. Anwar could have been the Man in 2007, but Now itis Ambiga.

May 13: We realised more it was UMNO unleashing its demons againstus. Yet there are more Malay brothers and Sisters who are on ourside and will defend us before those who are against us will be ableto touch us. That is why since 2008, no racial riot has happened eventhough many have tried to evoke it and the rakyat provoked. Malaysare with their Chinese and Indian brothers and sisters. It is no MoreUs vs Them!

Lies: Too Many lies have been told that the rakyat doesn't believethem anymore. What more when the Prime Minister renegades hispromise. We thought Najib will do a Badawi but he did worse. Hedidn't stick to his promise! It is worse when the very institution you continue to uphold, the sovereignty of the Malays Rulers are beingtrampled upon - People can see this.

Felda Folks - I travelled home with folks from Felda who wereupset BN didn't listen to the king. They said they will spread themessage to Felda. Money may be given but in the long run, it is wewho will lose this country to corruption, lies and injustice.

Malaysians - For all who missed Bersih in 2007, now was their timeto be part of History. No, we are not looking for Justice like in

Tahrir Square but just peace-loving Malaysians who want Free and Fair Elections. Is that so Difficult to understand?

By vetrivel

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Saya rasa selamat bersama orang PAS

.. Seorang pakcik yang berkopiah menuju ke arah saya, "Di manakahstadium?" Saya menuding jari ke depan. Lantas beliau berjalan ke

arah sana, tanpa sebarang keraguan. Saya merasakan diri saya amattidak berguna pada ketika itu. Mengapa tidak saya bertindak sebagaimana pakcik itu? Berarak adalah hak kita. Mengapa pulasaya takut? Saya tetap berdiri di situ, menyaksikan bagaimanaorang tua itu dihalang polis, dan kemudian beliau terus berjalan kedepan.

Kemudian saya berjalan, dan terserempak dengan seorang polismuda. Beliau bertanya untuk apa saya berada di situ, saya sekadar jawab, tak ada, cuma jalan-jalan. Beliau menunjuk ke arah JalanSultan, mengarahkan saya beredar dari situ, atau saya akanditangkap. Saya tahu beliau cuba menakutkan saya. Masih awallagi, saya tidak mahu timbul hal, maka saya pun beredar.

Saya nampak sekumpulan orang di kedai KL Commercial Book Co.,

semacam orang PAS, maka saya berjalan menuju ke arah mereka.

Pada hakikatnya, saya amat yakin dengan mereka. Saya rasa dirisaya berselindung di dalam kelompok mereka pada ketika itu. Ya,saya rasa sangat selamat.

Pada kira-kira jam 12.20 tengah hari, kelompok di sini hanya kira-kira 20 orang. Tiba-tiba kami dengar jeritan orang, dan kamibergegas ke situ dan mendapati kira-kira 2,000 orang. Merekamuncul entah dari mana, sungguh ajaib! Tapi kami masihmenganggap bilangan ini terlalu sedikit!

Pada kira-kira jam 12.30 tengah hari, saya tak berapa ingat lagi. Kami nampak sekumpulan manusia menuju ke arah kami melaluiJalan Sultan, sambil melaungkan slogan. Bilangan mereka terlalu ramai berbanding kami. Ramai orang tua yang bertanya, PERKASA? Pemuda UMNO? Kami berdiri di situ dan memandang, gagalmendengar apakah yang dilaungkan.

Tiba-tiba, ada yang bertepuk tangan, berkata "Tengok, Cina ada,



India ada, bukan PERKASA, bukan Pemuda UMNO, orang kita!" Kamibertepuk dengan gemuruh, berarak ke arah mereka untuk berkumpulbersama. Kami seolah-olah dapat membentuk pasukan kami, dantidak lagi keseorangan atau kesepian.

"BERSIH! BERSIH! Hidup BERSIH!" Ribuan yang membanjiri JalanSultan. Orang berada di tengah dan di tepi jalan, warga tua danwarga muda. Maka kami terus berjalan, tidak memasuki jalan kearah Stadium Merdeka. Saya sedar, bilangan kami masih tidak mencukupi. Kami menuju ke arah Pudu Raya, dan di situ telahdibanjiri lautan manusia yang lebih daripada 10 ribu.

Abang saya menghantar sms kepada saya, memberitahu bahawapasukan di Hotel Hilton telah mula bertolak. Dengan serta-mertasaya berkongsi maklumat ini dengan orang yang berada di sisi saya.

Kira-kira jam 1 tengah hari, kami nampak satu pasukan yang lebihbesar, kemas susunannya berarak dari arah Hospital Tung Shin. Kemudian, muncul lagi satu pasukan dari Kota Raya. Tidak berhentikami bertepuk tangan. Kami menjerit sepuas-puasnya. Saya nampak ramai yang menakung air di matanya. Saya amat terharu. Saya

kini berada di tengah-tengah belasan, malah puluhan ribu orang. Saya tidak kesepian, kami tidak kesepian!

Terharu kerana dibantu orang yang saya tidak kenal langsung!Kami berkumpul di depan Menara MayBank. Saya tak dengar apayang diucap pemidato. Tapi saya hanya seorang penyokong. Sayahanya menyorak bersama kelompok manusia, bertepuk tanganapabila semua orang berbuat demikian.

Kemudian saya mendapati trak FRU. Seorang warga tua, mungkindari PAS, memesan agar saya undur dahulu. Tidak lama kemudian,FRU melepaskan gas pemedih mata, dan meriam air kimia yangberwarna biru. Saya rasa macam tersengit. Baunya sangat tidak menyenangkan. Orang di sisi saya (sahabat dari kaum lain)menuangkan air ke atas kepala saya. Ada seorang yang menyapu

minyak angin di bawah kelopak mata saya.

Ada pula yang memberigaram kepada saya.

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Saya teringat, air mata saya mengalir pada ketika itu bukandisebabkan gas pemedih mata, tetapi mengalir kerana terharu dengan bantuan yang dihulurkan oleh orang-orang yang saya tak kenal ini.

Pada ketika itu saya nampak polis, kononnya, menangkap orangramai di depan Menara MayBank. Ramai yang memanjat ke atas dicerun pada mulanya, kemudian mereka melompat dari tembok yangtinggi. Saya sangat marah ketika itu, kerana saya nampak ramaiwanita dan warga tua. Dan mereka yang kononnya polis itu dicemuh dalam hati saya, "Bukan manusia!"

Saya berehat seketika. Saya menjangkakan bahawa orang ramaiakan menuju ke Jalan Sultan. Maka, saya berjalan dahulu ke arahsana. Apabila berdekatan dengan KFC, hujan mulan turun. Seorangpeserta yang tua berkata kepada saya, "Komunis pun tak macam ini!" Saya tercengang seketika, gagal memberi apa-apa jawapan....

Matlamat sama..Pada sebelah malam, saya dimaklumkan bahawa kawan dari kaumMelayu amat terharu dengan kehadiran kami. Mereka berkata, "Itu

kebanggaan kami apabila kamu muncul bersama. Kamu duduk belakang sikit, biar kami yang hadapi peluru (gas pemedih mata)dan keganasan di depan!"

Nota: Akhirnya saya sedar, mengapa saya berselindung dalamkelompok orang PAS. Mereka membuktikan dengan tindakanmereka, itu yang membuatkan saya terharu dan berasa selamat. Lain kali, saya tetap akan bersama mereka, berada di garis depan,

untuk menghadapi peluru (gas pemedih mata) dan keganasan.

Terima kasih, sahabat semua. Walaupun kita tidak berkenalan, tapimatlamat kita sama. Dan ini hanya boleh dirasai mereka yanghadir dalam perhimpunan.

Saya menyeru agar lebih ramai bangkit dari tidur, dan mereka yangsudah sedar, biarlah bertindak.

Chen Shu Yong

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Air mata saya mengalir demi tanahair ini

Saya seorang paderi, malah seorang paderi perempuan.

Walaupun saya tidak pernah menyertai perhimpunan sebelum ini,namun saya amat prihatin terhadap senario negara. Lebih-lebih lagi,negara kita seakan-akan keparahan sejak beberapa tahunkebelakangan ini. Kemarahan meruap-ruap dalam hati saya. Makasaya mula mempertimbangkan sama ada turun ke jalan raya atau tidak kali ini.

Demi masa depan negara, dan supaya saya tidak kesal kemudian,maka saya mengambil keputusan untuk turut serta. Ia berlaku duaminggu sebelum tarikh perhimpunan berlangsung. Hati saya tidak tenang sejak itu.

Saya meronta-ronta dalam hati saya. Ketakutan, kontradiksibergelut dalam diri saya.

Ini kerana identiti saya. Sekumpulan artis berada di bawah jagaansaya. Mereka juga tersentuh dengan keadaan sedemikian, namunmungkin ada yang menganggap mereka tidak sesuai untuk hadiraktiviti sedemikian kerana identiti mereka sebagai orang awam. Dan mungkin ada yang menganggap saya sebagai seorang paderi,hanya perlu menasihat agar mereka berdoa dalam rumah.

Namun demikian, selain identiti sebagai artis, mereka adalah wargasivil negara ini juga, dan mereka bertanggungjawab untuk mempertahankan negara ini.

Air mata saya mengalir...Dalam dilema sedemikian, saya berdiam diri ketika berdepandengan mata mereka yang mahu mendapatkan jawapan daripadasaya. Saya tidak menggalakkan secara langsung, tapi juga tidak menghalang secara terbuka. Di samping itu, saya mendidik mereka,

berkongsi dengan mereka senario dalam negara kita. Apa itu BERSIH 2.0? Apakah lapan tuntutan tersebut? Apakah tujuan



perhimpunan tersebut...

Saya berharap mereka akan memahami sepenuhnya, menggunakankematangan diri untuk menilai dan membuat keputusan, sama ada

hadir atau tidak.Sehingga sehari sebelum perhimpunan, dua orang artis menyatakankeputusan mereka untuk menyertai. Dan saya pun mendedahkanhasrat saya untuk hadir. Mereka agak terkejut, kerana paderi yangtidak menunjukkan pendirian pada hakikatnya sudah bersediauntuk berdepan dengan apa yang mungkin berlaku.Pada hakikatnya, saya bukannya berani, saya juga ketakutan.

Malam sebelum perhimpunan, hati saya tidak tenang. Tak lena tidursaya. Ketika saya berdoa untuk tanah air yang mana saya lahir danmembesar, air mata saya mengalir. Hati saya berat sekali.

Saya bangun dari tidur pada jam 5 pagi, 9 Julai. Sayabersembahyang, mendoakan agar perhimpunan aman ini berjalandengan lancar.

Pelan A,B, CPada jam 9 pagi, saya bersarapan dengan dua orang artis, sambilberbincang bagaimana menembusi sekatan ke dalam bandar, malahkami mempunyai pelan A, B, dan C! Akhirnya kami mengambilpelan A, masuk ke bandar dengan kereta, dan pergi ke rumahseorang kawan yang berdekatan dengan Stadium Merdeka.

Tanpa diduga, polis memberi laluan kepada kami. Hallelujah!

Tuhan mendengar doa kami!

Kami memasuki sebuah bandar yang sepi, lancar, dan dingin. Rasanya cukup pelik.

Orang ramai menyuntik semangatKami singgah di rumah kawan sehingga kira-kira jam 1 tengah hari,kemudian bertolak dengan resah dan gelisah. Kami tiba di

bangunan Chan See Shu Yuen (bertentangan dengan DewanPerhimpunan Cina KL-Selangor), mendapati jalan memasuki StadiumMerdeka telah disekat dengan dawai besi, dan beberapa orang polis,

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pemerhati dari Majlis Peguam berada di situ. Kami tidak nampak orang ramai di situ.

Kira-kira 20 minit kemudian, hujan turun dengan lebat. Pada

ketika inilah kami nampak kumpulan orang berganding tanganberjalan dari arah Masjid Negara dan Jalan Petaling menuju ke arahkami. Walaupun orang tidak ramai di pihak kami, namun hati sayadisuntik semangat setelah nampak mereka. Kami menyambutmereka dengan tepukan.

Tiba-tiba saya menjadi cemas pula. Saya memanjangkan leher sayauntuk melihat apa yang berlaku, walaupun dengan ini saya yangberteduh di bawah jambatan akan dibasahi hujan.

Namun, tiba-tiba mereka berhenti, dipercayai dihalang polis. Sayanampak ramai orang berganding tangan dalam air hujan yangmencurah. Hati saya panas, dan mengeluh, apa yang telah kitalakukan? Mengapa negara ini bertindak sedemikian terhadap rakyat jelatanya?

Sejenak kemudian, mereka bergerak lagi ke depan dengan

perlahan-lahan, dan akhirnya berdiri di hadapan dawai besi. Kini,polis juga berganding tangan menjadi satu barisan, bersemukadengan peserta demonstrasi. Jarak mereka adalah dekat, bolehmenyentuh satu sama lain jika menghulurkan tangan. Mujurkedua-dua pihak berjaya mengawal diri, dan tidak berlaku kejadian yang tidak diingini.

Kawal diri

Pada ketika ini, hujan semakin lebat, semua orang basah kuyupdibuatnya. Namun kita terus melaungkan slogan. Ada yangmemakaikan baju kuningnya. Kita hanya mahu menunjukkan kuasarakyat.

Pada masa itu, saya berhubung dengan kawan saya yang berada diHospital Tung Shin. Beliau berkata keadaan di sana sangat sengit. Gas pemedih mata dan meriam air berkimia dilepaskan. Saya amat

gelisah dan tidak berhenti mendoa.

Malah ada seketika kawanyang berada di hujung talian panggilan sana menjerit, kemudiantalian putus. Hati saya menjunam, hanya mendoakan agar ini tidak

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berlaku apa-apa terhadapnya. Hati saya lega apabila beliau memanggil balik untuk melaporkan bahawa dirinya selamat.

Demikianlah yang berlaku di tempat saya berada pada 9 Julai. Hati

saya terkapai-kapai.

Cemas, lega, kemudian resah... Hanyuttenggelam mengikut perkembangan yang berlaku. Tiada rempuhan,tiada bahasa kesat dikeluarkan di tempat saya berkumpul, malahseorang pemimpin mengulangi peringatan bahawa perhimpunan iniadalah aman.

Ada masanya sesetengah yang berdoa, dan kami pun menyertaibersama. Biarlah kita serah kepada Tuhan untuk menentukan. Hatisaya kembali damai. Semoga Tuhan bersama kita untuk berdepandengan segala ini.

FRU muncul untuk menangkap orang ketika kami bersedia untuk bersurai. Keadaan menjadi cemas ketika itu. Artis saya menarik saya untuk menyeberangi jalan. Kasut saya rosak pada saat-saatitu. Tapi saya tidak peduli, berlari untuk meninggalkan tempatkejadian. Mujur kami tidak ditangkap. Tercungap-cungap kamidibuatnya. Perhimpunan BERSIH 2.0 berakhir dalam suasana cemas

berbaur ghairah.

Hati saya masih tersentuhSetelah kembali ke rumah, saya melayari laman internet. Gambar,tulisan, klip video yang dimuatnaikkan ke laman internet tetapmenyentuh hati saya. Rupa-rupanya tempat saya beradakemungkinan tempat yang paling "aman". Tiada gas pemedih matadan meriam air berkimia, dan tiada keganasan yang berlaku.

Namun, saya tetap marah apabila mendapati keganasan berlaku ditempat perhimpunan yang lain. Mereka hanyalah rakyat jelata tanpasenjata, mengapa dilayan sebegini? Apakah polis tidak mempunyaisaudara-mara atau adik-beradik? Bagaimana mereka sampai hatiuntuk menggunakan kekerasan sedemikian?

Untuk saya, tujuan perhimpunan ini bukan sahaja menyedarkanmasyarakat Malaysia, malah menarik tumpuan seluruh dunia. Ini

perhimpunan aman, tiada kereta yang dibakar, tiada kedai yangdirompak, tiada seorang pun anggota polis dicederakan, tiadaorang yang menangguk di air keruh. Yang ada semangat tolong-

21



menolong ketika berdepan dengan serangan tanpa simpati. Kitamengawal diri dengan baik. Bukankah ini makna sebenarnya Satu Malaysia?

Sebagai seorang paderi, saya gembira apabila mengetahui ramaipenganut kristian yang hadir dalam perhimpunan. Saya harap lebihramai penganut kristian akan tampil ke depan, mencintai negarakita dengan tindakan kita!

Di sini saya ingin merakamkan penghargaan kepada dua orang artisyang bersama saya. Keberanian mereka, semangat patriotik mereka,telah diterjemahkan kepada tindakan, bersama menyaksikan sejarahini. Semua pejuang yang berani, dari semua kaum, terima kasihkerana keberanian anda, membubuh tanda noktah yang sempurnadalam perhimpunan ini, semoga Tuhan memberkati anda semua!

Paderi

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I am not aloneLast Saturday, (I shall call the day 9711), I made a sudden decisionto drive to Kuantan from my house at Bukit Jalil. Knowing what I

could face along the way if I travelled via the city or if I took theMiddle Ring Road 2, I took the longer route.

I entered the LEKAS highway in Balakong and drove all the way toKuala Pilah, then to Bahau and Serting. From there, I used theMuadzam Shah trunk road to Kuantan.

The journey took me two hours more than the usual route but I washappy. I took the pleasure of gorging on masak lemak daging

burung puyuh (quail) and masak lemak telur itik (duck egg) inKuala Pilah. At Serting, I indulged in a few durians by the roadside.

The six-hour journey took me along many kampungs and valleys,palm oil estates and padi fields. I felt blessed and I envied thosevillagers who seemed to me less bothered about what was going onin the city that day. I wished I could live in one of those kampungsat that time. I really did.

In Kuantan, I checked into one of the riverside hotels. By dusk, theview of the river was breathtaking when everything turned gold incolour. From the eighth floor balcony, I felt truly blessed for beingthe citizen of this country.

The call of the muezzin from the State Mosque nearby coupled withthe recorded sound of swiftlets from the many swiftlet-breedingshacks at the rooftops of old shophouses was priceless. It was to methe definition of peace.

But the peace that I enjoyed that day may not last long, if wecontinue to forget our history, and we continue with our diverted path.

When the people took their anger and frustration to the streets, ithad to be for a reason. I am sure it must have been the mostdifficult decision of their lives. They were going to leave theircomfortable lives, their families, children and friends behind.

They understood the risk of doing so, the threat and harassmentfrom the authorities, the pain and suffering endured from the tear



gas, the beatings and water cannon spray. They knew that they could be injured or captured or even tortured. They could lose their jobs,isolated from their friends, relatives and even from their ownfamily for taking a stand so radical and different.

Yet against all such disadvantages, they rally forward for one thingand one thing only… to lend a united voice, that for the sake ofthis beloved country, the current leader must listen and take noteof!

I am one of those people who felt the same (I just didn’t have theguts to join the celebration), who appreciate peace and harmony,who value the good things in life and who really want to dosomething good for my country.

I am against corruption, misuse and abuse of power. I want the taxmoney that I have religiously paid to the government that I haveelected, to be properly used and distributed for the benefit of mygeneration and the generations to come.

I want peace most importantly, to be able to trust, to work and playtogether with my neighbours and friends regardless of their skincolour, economic status and faith. At the same time, I want anassurance that the status of the Malays and the status of Islam areguarded, while at the same time protecting the rights and freedomof others.

You see, I am a very simple Malaysian with very simple requests.

I believe I am not alone. The 6,000 or 50,000 who took their beliefsto the streets were truly the brave ones and I am jealous of them. Ican almost guarantee that this country will remain free and

prosperous if the brave ones continue to be seen and heard.I want to remember the plight and fight of my ancestors who gaveeverything including their very own lives simply to ensure theirfreedom and the freedom of their generations (me included).Allahyarham Tok Janggut, Hj Abdul Rahman Limbung, Dol Said, Tok Gajah and so many others whom I am slowly forgetting, if it werenot for you…

I am not alone.There are many others like me and we are watching, so very closely...

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Mohd Rizal Jaafar

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The day I lost my fearOn Saturday, July 9, thousands of ordinary Malaysians thronged intovarious spots around central KL to demand a just electoral system.

The government had tried its best to suppress the rally throughvarious means, but ultimately failed to stop it from going ahead.

With the previous week’s cat and mouse game played by thegovernment in agreeing to the rally and the roadblocks tointimidate citizens, the fact that the rally even materialised is amoral victory for the cause and major slap in the government’sface. Obviously shutting off the entire city centre and major trafficarteries failed to paralyse the movement of protestors into the city.

I decided to join the rally for a host of reasons. Primarily it wasthe cause; it is a cause I believe in and a cause worth fighting for.This was my way of showing support. The government’s attitudetowards Bersih 2.0 and its obvious bad faith in handling the matterhad raised the stakes from just electoral reform to everything elsethat is wrong with this country today.

This rally was fast becoming one of the most significant events in

recent Malaysian history and I felt that this was a watershed moment in our nation’s history. I wanted to be a part of that.

Most importantly it is my right as a citizen to assemble peacefully,and demand justice and fairness; it is a right guaranteed to me bythis country’s Constitution and no government has a right to decidehow I may or may not exercise this right or how I may or may notexpress my legitimate grievances.

I had stopped believing in the “proper channels” a long time ago. Ifthese so-called channels did work, there would have been no need for a rally in the first place. To me these “proper channels” arenothing more than the mythical pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

I was with the crowd at Jalan Pudu near Tung Shin Hospital whereseveral thousand were in tense standoff with the Federal ReserveUnit who formed riot lines at both ends of the street. I could smellthe acrid stench of tear gas wafting over as the winds blew them

towards our direction. As we were in a group that also included awoman friend, we decided to play it safe and move towards TungShin Hospital to avoid the cops charging and their tear gas.



Police helicopters were circling above us menacingly and I wasnervous to say the least. It is one thing to be tear gassed and doused with chemicals, but my immediate concern was the safety ofmy friends with me. But as the crowd perked up facing the FRU and

chanting, my spirits lifted up a wee bit. Then there was a rousingrendition of the Negaraku by the protestors that we proudly joined in (I have never felt that fired up before singing the nationalanthem).

The cops then moved in with more tear gas and we went deeper intothe Tung Shin Hospital car park seeking shelter from the gas.

A hospital seemed a logical and safe choice to seek shelter, and loand behold, I saw a canister headed our way and we started running towards the back of the building. We failed to see thesecond one coming until it landed about three to four feet awayfrom me right in my escape path and we had to turn back and runuphill amidst all the chaos and confusion. The three of us held eachother’s hands and ran into a dead-end and a virtual trap.

Choosing between arrest and tear gas, we decided to brave the gasinstead and ran back towards the direction of the spot where the

canisters landed still holding onto each other. At this point Iaccidentally inhaled the gas and exposed my eyes to it and found myself temporarily blinded and having difficulty breathing. “I amblind!” I shouted and my woman friend hung on to my hands and dragged me to safety in front of the hospital’s main entrance.

Running blind and barely able to breathe is quite the experience. Forstarters, you aren’t sure if you will make it, and secondly, it isdisorienting and scary as hell. I swallowed a large pinch of salt

(instant relief to the throat and nose) and washed my face withcold water we brought along with us just in case. It took us a fewmoments to reorient and regroup in order to get to safety witheveryone accounted for.

We escaped using a back wall where other protestors were helping usover and guiding us to safety. At this point anger took over me, thefact that the police could so callously fire tear gas into a hospitalcompound was disgusting and stupid to say the least. A Chinesegentleman, noticing my eyes still red from the gas, offered me

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some water and some words of encouragement; we high-fived eachother and parted ways into Jalan Pudu Lama.

Having been gassed I lost all the fear that I carried with me to therally; it was a toxic baptism and, ironically, a liberating experience.

I realised I had nothing to fear anymore and being gassed thoughunpleasant wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

We moved along to Chinatown and eventually made our way back toBukit Bintang via Pudu. Along the way I saw the countless bravesouls who were arrested being placed on the pavement before beingshipped away in police Black Marias.

We boarded the LRT and made our way home, glad that everyone in

our group was alright and safe. Of course that wasn’t the end of it.As we exited Kelana Jaya LRT, there were FRU personnel there too,riot shields and all, stone faced and bored. Whatever were theythere for? We just walked past them without a care in the world.

Was it worth it? That is a question many have asked; I think it is. Westood our ground, proved to our government that some issues are just beyond the ethnic interest of any ethnic community. Mostimportantly we can come together as one people to demand what isrightfully ours, in the face of a regime who rules us by dividing usin order to rule. I guess the thing that spooked them the most wasthat this was a multiracial grouping thinking along nationalisticand not racial lines.

So we failed to deliver our memorandum to the King, but we proved our point. We proved that Malaysians still care about their countryand are still a patriotic lot. We proved that young people aren’t as

apathetic as we thought them to be. We proved to them that enoughis enough and unless real reforms are made there are only so manycarpets to take the dirt, before we run out of them.

I am proud of the fact that I stood at Jalan Pudu that day with myfellow citizens demanding what is rightfully ours. When we sang ouranthem there in the face of the riot lines, tear gas and chemical-laced water cannons from the police, it was my proudest moment asa Malaysian.

Moments later when innocent protestors and bystanders were teargassed in the compound of Tung Shin hospital meters away from the

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building’s main entrance, that was indeed a shameful moment.Fellow Malaysians gassing their countrymen in a hospital compound,sad but true.

Will I do it again? If the need arises again, I most certainly will.

There is nothing to fear anymore. Sometimes in life you have tostand your ground and be counted. There is this quote I got fromthe movie The Boondock Saints that I feel best illustrates my point“…we must all fear evil men. But, there is another kind of evil whichwe must all fear most … and that is the indifference of good men!”

Golongan Kiri

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Yellow fever“Forget it,” said my father. “You’ll never get anywhere near the citycentre. The government’s got it completely locked down. Besides, the

police will arrest anyone who even approaches the barricades — didn’t you read the papers? They’re going to be very brutal. They’resending in the army.”

“I’d like to give it a shot anyway,” I replied.

He shrugged. “You’re wasting your time.”

The next morning he watched my sister, my uncle, my cousins, and Ias we ineptly tried to plot a route into the city. Finally he gave an

exasperated sigh. “You chaps have no hope of getting in. You don’teven know how the roads connect. You need someone who knowsthe road system and the different side-streets.”

I looked at him.

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he told us to get in the car.

He got behind the wheel and suddenly he was driving us through thestreets of Kuala Lumpur, weaving through side streets and smooth-talking his way past police barricades.

When we arrived at the city centre he walked ahead like an excited child, boasting of his knowledge of the road system and laughingand joking along the way. I saw a side of him I hadn’t seen for awhile.

The side of him who hates being told what not to do. The side ofhim that lets no authority trump his own reason. The side of himthat throws caution to the winds and laughs as it blows past. Hegrinned mischievously and I thought, “Jeez, that’s where I get thatspirit from.”

When we finally joined up with a Bersih procession I was heartened to see thousands of people of all races demonstrating peacefully. Weprotested together, we laughed together, and when the tear gascanisters started to rain down, we shared salt and water together.Like me, everyone else there had work to get back to, targets to



meet, and obligations to fulfil, places to go and people to meet. Butthey came to the rally anyway because they knew it was important.

Despite the many instances of police brutality and their use of teargas and water cannons on peaceful protestors, I also saw some

policemen and women who were willing to meet my gaze not withhostility but with understanding, who were willing to shake handswith protestors, who spoke to me with friendliness and respect, and who acted with dignity and restraint.

These people were a credit to their office and represented the roleof the police as it should be. The Bersih rally revealed a lot ofugliness in some, but it brought out the best in many others.

It’s been two days since the Bersih rally, since tens of thousands ofus painted the town yellow, and since the BN-controlled press hasworked to portray the peaceful protest as an unruly mob, and thelack of property damage as a victory for the government. But I’llremember the 9th of July 2011 as the day thousands braved tear gas,police barricades, and the threats of arrest, violence, and genocideto preserve our freedom. The day we rejected the illegality of apeaceful rally for clean elections as being incompatible with a

democracy.To our government, I’d say that you know the true victors and losers of the 9th of July no matter what you pretend in themainstream press. I’d say that despite everything, the people are stillwilling to work with you if you listen to us. But if you persist inyour corruption and brutality, we will continue to embarrass you until we’ve driven you out of office.

And that if you decide to fight us you’ll be fighting your bestpeople, for with us will stand those who are willing to struggle forthe good of our country, and those to whom our common humanitymatters more than your orders.

Here’s another tip: Take care when using the media. Many of us whoturned out at Bersih did so because for years you’ve justified yourrule in the language of rights and democracy. For years you’ve told us that Malaysia is a free and democratic country, and that the

government is tolerant and moderate. And so on Saturday,thousands of Malaysians assembled to exercise their right toassemble and to speak out despite the ban, as they would in a

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tolerant democracy. For years you’ve used propaganda as a tool,forgetting that it cuts both ways. The problem with using propagandathough, is that, sometimes, people believe it.

It’s a funny world we live in.

Shaun Tan

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In pursuit of true democracyJuly 9, 2011, the day a new independent nation was born. Is it theend of the struggle? No, it’s just the beginning. Many challenges lie

ahead, no doubt. Nonetheless, it’s a historic milestone that allcitizens of the new nation can be proud of. What nation am Italking about? The world’s newest nation, the Republic of SouthSudan.

I’ve always dreamt of living in a different age, a different era. Morespecifically, the era when my beloved nation gained herindependence from arguably the greatest empire the world has everseen.

Standing right in front of the historic Merdeka Stadium on July 9,2011, brought back my school memory of a photographic image inwhich our founding father, the late Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra Al-Haj, raised his right hand towards the sky, proclaiming the word “MERDEKA! MERDEKA! MERDEKA!”, each time followed by thethunderous echoes of 20,000 fellow Malaysians in the stadium.Sentimentally, I wish I lived that day.

Before I carry on “sentimentalising”, I was brought back to the harsh,present-day reality. Yes, still standing where I was, I was horrified by the scene along the hilly street leading to the main entrance tothe stadium. Red FRU trucks lining the street with scores of FRUpersonnel (which we’ve not-very-fondly called the “red head army”)in their full gear.

I was wondering for a moment, who were their enemies of the day?The communist insurgents or the Al-Qaeda terrorists? No, their

enemies were just the unarmed Malaysians from all walks of lifemarching for a just cause — to demand for free and fair elections!It’s living proof how much this nation of ours has descended to.

Seeing the scores of brave, unselfish and patriotic Malaysians on thelocked-down streets of Kuala Lumpur was a touching moment tobehold. They were undeterred by the heavy downpour that greeted them at 2pm.

Under my umbrella I was thinking, the heavy downpour must be aGod-given help to the demonstrators to minimise the effects of



chemical water and tear gas, reportedly fired at their fellowdemonstrators at various locations downtown!

In many instances, I was moved to join in the crowd near thestadium compound, to march and scream along with them. You

might be wondering, “Aren’t you one of them?” No, I was not. In fact,I was one of over a hundred “monitors” the Bar Council had called upon to volunteer for the defining event — an event the authoritieshad warned cannot be mentioned by name or symbolised by itscolour!

Our duty was purely to monitor the situation, with a view to record any human rights violations by the police or any violence by thedemonstrators, all “without fear or favour”.

Abiding by the spirit of the Bar, I was as impartial as I could everbe. Here’s briefly what I observed during the time I was in and around the stadium compound from 12.30pm to 4.30pm. I witnessed two congregations of demonstrators at two different entrances tothe stadium compound, both of which were barricaded by the policeusing barbwires.

In contrast to other locations in the city, no tear gas or watercannons were used at all to disperse the crowd at the stadiumcompound — though there was once when the FRU personnel looked like they were getting ready to fire, presumably to intimidate thecrowd. The crowd, though in high spirits, behaved peacefully and sensibly. There was not one occasion that I feared violence mightpossibly break out among the demonstrators.

To my little surprise, I thought the police at the stadium compound

acted and behaved reasonably well and professionally (contrary totheir counterparts elsewhere in the city I was told). At least theyallowed the crowd to assemble, and to shout and gesture whateverthey wanted until they started to disperse on their own at 4pm.

The police also allowed political speeches to be made by the likesof Chua Jui Meng, Husam Musa, etc and one high-ranking policeofficer also spoke gently and politely to National Laureate A. Samad Said. For the most part, I personally did not witness any clear

violation of human rights by the police/FRU personnel but all thatcame to an abrupt end at 4.10pm, when they suddenly charged towards the remaining demonstrators without any warning!

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By that time, the remaining demonstrators were just hanging around taking picures, and chatting among themselves. This action by thepolice/FRU personnel was unprovoked and utterly unnecessary,considering the majority of the crowd had already dispersed, or in

the midst of dispersing.After a while, I saw around six to eight demonstrators get arrested.But the good thing was the police did not beat up any of thearrested demonstrators, though they dragged the demonstrators inquite a high-handed manner. I must also add that all the BCmonitors (and reporters/journalists) were allowed access into thestadium compound and literally had a free rein walking up and down the area. We were allowed to snap pictures without any

restrictions whatsoever!The truth is, Malaysians are a peaceful lot. They deserve to exercisetheir Constitutional rights to assemble peacefully and responsibly.The freedom of expression and assembly is a fundamental right ofevery “true” democracy. Having free and fair elections is the essenceof any state that aspires to be recognised as a “truly” democraticstate.

Why wouldn’t our government allow its people to exercise theirConstitutional rights but instead chose to clamp down hard oninnocent Malaysians? Didn’t our government realise by doing whatthey did in the past few weeks (well, one might say in the past threedecades!), they were radically dismantling the very essence ofdemocracy upon which our nation was founded almost 54 yearsago!?

The Most Honourable Prime Minister, isn’t Malaysia a democratic

state founded upon the principles of liberty and justice? Didn’t you agree with the late Tunku who proclaimed that the PersekutuanTanah Melayu “shall be forever a sovereign, democratic and independent state founded upon the principles of liberty and justice, and ever seeking the welfare and happiness of its peopleand the maintenance of a just peace among all nations”?

Just as July 9, 2011, is a milestone for South Sudan, July 9, 2011, isanother milestone for Malaysia in pursuit of being a “true”democracy. Our next milestone? Surely it ought to be our nation’s

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SECOND proclamation of independence post-GE 13! And where willit be? Where else but at Stadium MERDEKA

Ron CK Sim

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I am proud to be MalaysianOn Friday, after checking into the Swiss Garden Hotel at around 5pm, I sent an SMS to my good friend Kim which said: “Just checked

into the Swiss Garden Hotel for my second honeymoon. Going for apicnic tomorrow at 2pm at Stadium Merdeka. Please pray for all ofus gathered there, that everything will be peaceful.”

When asked whether he wanted a room with single beds or one witha king-size bed, we were requested to check into the Residence aftermy husband asked for the latter. Later, we took a stroll down BukitBintang Road and I was rather surprised at how things havechanged.

I do go to Pavilion once in a while, but I’ve not strolled down thestreet of Bukit Bintang since my varsity days back in the earlyEighties. It’s kind of sleazy now. I’ve since told my kids not to gothere on their own!

After taking our dinner at the cafeteria in Lot 10, my husband and Iwent to Pavilion. After half an hour, we made our way back to theResidence. I was dead beat as I’d been awake since 4am, leaving

Malacca at 5am for KL, my second home. Since there would be alock-down at 12.01am on Saturday, I had to get into the city beforethen, hence the necessity to book a room at the Swiss Garden.

Just before I knocked off that Friday night, my husband read to mea posting on Haris Ibrahim’s blog about a 75-year-old Pak Mat whohad to do what he thought was his duty despite pleas from his wife.My husband’s voice quivered and it was choked with tears evenbefore he reached the end. I think I fell into a slumber then, but my

sleep was interrupted now and then by sirens somewhere in thebackground.

The next morning, my daughter, who kept watch at our other homein TTDI, SMSed us to say that the Swiss Garden Hotel was amongthose hotels raided. She couldn’t join us because she was on standbywith the Urgent Arrest Team of lawyers. I had quite a good sleep,considering that I woke up only after 8am that Saturday morningwhen I usually am up and about after 6am on most days.

We checked out at noon, then headed for Bukit Bintang again forour lunch. On our way to Lot 10 to use the washrooms, we saw the



press and some burly Malay guys loitering around the shops oppositeMcDonald’s.

Most of them were sitting on the pavement outside shops that had closed for the day. That was around 1pm. We met a friend’s daughter

who was there with a colleague. They were covering the event aboutto unfold, supposedly at Stadium Merdeka. We told her we would follow her.

However, after a second visit to the washrooms, we lost her. Threepatrol cars then came and lined up across the road facingMcDonald’s. A short distance away was a pick-up truck with guys ontop of it. They were throwing red shirts with the word “Patriot”emblazoned across the front.

Many Malay guys then went towards them from all directions,catching those shirts and putting them on. Some stall operators alsowent forward to collect the red shirts. I overheard someone sayingthat for the red shirts, they had police escorts but for the yellowshirts, they would be rounded up. I didn’t see any patriots, just sawgoons!

After hearing hostile words blaring from a loudhailer, we decided not to follow this group. We then moved forward, stepped into aside lane to continue our journey. I prayed for direction as wemoved along.

We turned right and lo and behold, we saw a group walkingtowards us, but away from Stadium Merdeka. We crossed the road,stepped in line with them, not sure why we were heading in theopposite direction. I nudged my husband to ask someone where we

were heading.A tall, bespectacled guy said: “Don’t ask me anything. I know you want to ask me something.” That was quite funny. I wanted to laughout loud but thought better of it.

Another two guys were ahead of us. My husband approached thetaller one who said: “We are going to Dataran. The stadium was justa red herring.” I thought that made sense. We exchanged pleasantries. The tall one asked us why we were there. My guess waswe looked like tourists.

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I replied: “Because I’m a Christian.” Both of them then shook ourhands and said: “We, too.” I wanted to add: “Because I’m Malaysianand my fellow Malaysians shouldn’t have to walk alone.”

I actually joined the “Bersih for fair and free elections” march out

of a sense of guilt, especially after reading the holy book whichreiterates this: “Fear is a bad adviser; it turns cowards into violentpeople. God comes to the rescue of the person who confronts thecrowd for God’s sake. The fear of acting is an insult to God.”

To me, not to join in this march of justice would be an affront tothe God I love so much. To me, to just watch as others march forthe truth would make me out to be a plain empty vessel, all talk and no action. To me, to let my fellow Malaysians shoulder thisalone would be sheer irresponsibility on my part. I, too, amMalaysian, I told myself, and I can do this!

So, I said to my husband: “Let’s march.” Of course, he was game. He,too, loves God just as much if not more than me. He loves hisfellow Malaysians, too.

As we approached Hentian Puduraya, I saw my friend’s daughteragain. She had been tear-gassed. The crowd was now going in theopposite direction, yet there was no panic. I saw a Malay boy rubbinghis eyes. Both his eyes and face were inflamed. I handed him a pack of tissues. He took a piece and returned the rest. I told him to keepit. That made him smile.

Later, as calm set in, we started to move towards Hentian Pudurayaagain. This time, with me was a kakak from Penang. We struck up aconversation. She said: “Kita tidak boleh berundur. Dia orang tak tau

kita betapa susah.” To which, my husband replied: “Saya tau, sayaboleh nampak.”

Kakak is in her sixties. She walked slowly, aided by her daughter ather side. There was also a regal-looking Chinese man behind me. Helimped along with a walking stick. He could easily have been 70, yethe was unaccompanied. Their courage put me to shame.

Kakak was really cute. When Dr Tan Seng Giaw came, she nudged measide. She wanted to shake his hands. She was blind, colour- blind! Ilost sight of kakak after a series of tear-gassing. I even lost my

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handphone, while running away from my fourth or so shot of teargas.

It was a disaster waiting to happen. I was texting and updating mykids and my friend Kim now and then. While my husband did the

shouting, I texted.At the foot of the slope below Tung Shin Hospital was a smallcompound where we took a breather. Before that we were tear-gassed left and right. That was when some of us ran towards the hospital.Someone shouted to us to just run through and not stop.

I prayed like crazy. I pulled my cap down, covering my eyes as Iran, beside my husband. We decided to leave a bag of supplies back

at the Residence when we read that police were checking backpacks.So, we were without towels and salt but we had water.

The pain was sharp but momentary. My husband remarked that myeyes weren’t so bad. That was when a young Malay man offered myhusband some salt. I took a pinch though the pain had somewhatsubsided. We saw an old Malay man beside the young man. He wasrubbing his eyes with a towel. Both of them had really inflamed eyesand faces.

My husband poured water onto the old man’s towel, then gave theyoung man the bottle. He washed his eyes and face, then returned the bottle to me. I told him to keep it. He asked: “Auntie,bagaimana?” I told him I still have another bottle, so it was OK.

Then another tear gas attack came. We had nowhere else to run toexcept up the slope into the hospital. It was still raining and theslope was slippery. However, two knights in shining armour in the

guise of a Malay man and an Indian were at the top of the slope tohelp us up.

We went into the hospital where we managed to use theirwashrooms. We hung around in their waiting lounge for a while and decided it was not safe to remain there, too. As we were leavingTung Shin, we saw Irene Fernandez, seated in her wheelchair,surrounded by five youths.

We asked if she was OK, to which a girl laughingly said she wasbetter than the rest of them. Irene was smiling throughout. Nothing

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was going to get her down! My husband cautioned them to movealong and not be the last one to remain behind.

We watched from the balcony when someone shouted it was all rightnow to go down. They, as the police and the leaders of the

movement, were negotiating. So down we went. At that point, we wereat the junction where a lane to the left led to the Church of StAnthony.

Some young boys opted to sit down on the road while “they”negotiated. Then we were told to occupy only one lane, the onefurther away from the hospital. We were told the police would let usthrough if we did that. So, we happily obeyed and even sang the“NegaraKu”. At all times, we obeyed.

When it was calm, we were told to move slowly, which we did. Whensomeone shouted something out of the norm, we were told not toaggravate, to which the shouting ceased. We were well-behaved, allof us were. After a good 10 minutes of waiting, I heard a youngMalay man say: "Jangan-jangan kita ditipu lagi. Mereka selalu menipu!” So young and so disillusioned! I felt almost sorry forhim. Where’s Perkasa now? This young Malay man surely does not

believe he’s a “Tuan.” He has no faith in those purportedly fightingfor his interests. He’s so lost!

To my left, another two young Malay men washed their faces, then,rolled out their mats to pray. I, too, said a little prayer, that God will protect His little ones from all evil and harm. Suddenly, we sawwater gushing towards us. They were firing chemical water at us. Likethe tear gas, this water was targeted directly at us. They meant tohurt. How could they?

As we ran towards St Anthony’s, I saw another two young Malay menkneeling down to pray on my right. They would not know what hitthem. Poor guys! My husband told me then, when you write aboutthis, don’t forget to say that our government betrayed us!

He was rather emotional when he said that, was rather angry, too. Asfor me, I felt really sad. I make it a point to remind my kids nowand then, to always forgive others; to always give them more than a

second chance. I believe that everyone deserves more than a second chance. I don’t know if he would throw me a punch at me if I said that, then! Guess things don’t always work that way.

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At the gate of St Anthony’s, the caretaker was already unlocking thegate for us. He ushered us to the back gate to escape. On the way, wesaw a grotto where we stopped to pray and asked Mother Mary tointercede for us to her Son for protection.

We had to cross over a 2ft-high brick fencing to get to the back gateto escape. I heard a loud thud. Someone had fallen. It was mybeloved husband. Running away from tear gas and water cannonswas a breeze for him but he had to fall as we strolled through thechurch.

The rest of the people there were shocked but not me. I had to stiflemy urge to laugh because it was just like him to be injured oversilly stunts. He jokingly wanted to shout: “Police brutality!” I had toshut him up. We were already laughing for I knew we were alreadysafe.

How can we not be safe in the house of God? By the way, myhusband’s right cheek, elbow and shin now bear some scratches dueto that fall. He’s telling his friends that it was all worth it and thathe would gladly go through it all over again.

It took us another three minutes to reach our hotel. In fact thewhole charade happened just down the road. It was about 4pmthen. We changed, logged onto the Net to see what was happeningelsewhere when suddenly the police in front of the hotel dispersed.

We went across the road to get some drinks from the 168 store.They had run out of Coke. A Malay man overheard us telling eachother to go to the mamak shop instead. He told us they were sold out, too.

He, then, added that business was brisk and could have been better.He disputed the government’s version of how business could havebeen badly affected by the gathering at the stadium. Honestly, thatwas how I saw it, too.

Had we been allowed to picnic on the Stadium Merdeka grounds,how can business in the city not be better? We would have to buy ourstuff from the stores here, in Bukit Bintang Road. Business would have been roaring!

This was my inaugural march, it will not be my last. I wasn’t paid togo. I guess that’s why the red shirts show fizzled out. Perhaps there

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wasn’t enough money thrown around? Like I said, I wasn’t paid togo. I paid a lot to go. Someone paid with his life.

He, you goons in the government, is the patriot you’ll never be. You goons now stand responsible for his death. I am proud to be

Malaysian because of someone like Baharuddin Ahmad. Thoughwords cannot describe your loss, my dear Rosni Malan, your beloved husband’s death will not be in vain.

You and your family will be richly blessed for generations to comebecause of his selfless love for his country. He died for his country,he died for a stab at free and fair elections. Like I said, he will notdie in vain. We, the rest of us, will see to that.

I am not just proud to be Malaysian. More than that, I’m truly proud of my fellow Malaysians. May God bless you all.

May Chee Chook Ying

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Bersih 2.0 “bersih”ed me!As I headed for the LRT station to enter the city on the morning ofJuly 9, I was both fearful and determined — fearful that a “May 13”

type violence would erupt, and afraid of being arrested. Yet, I wasdetermined to break this shroud of fear that had gained intensityover the last two weeks from reading the newspapers, watchingtelevision and listening to coffeeshop talk. I nervously joined a predominantly Malay group outside the KTMbuilding. From those whom I glanced at a bit longer, I received courteous smiles. I soon started to join them in shouting “HidupRakyat” or “Hidup Bersih” and punching the air as we strolled along.When they shouted calling upon “Allah”, I suddenly becameconscious of the present controversy concerning the use of the word by non-Muslims, reducing my voice to a murmur.

As we approached Dataran Merdeka, our path was blocked by thepolice. We were told to sit down on the road, women and childrenincluded. Someone started singing, “Negara ku…” then we all joined in.

Despite my 27 years’ service in the nation’s Armed Forces, I neverfelt so close to Malaysia, my country as at that moment… then thedreadful bell on the top of the FRU vehicle rang, followed by whatsounded like gun shots. They were firing tear gas into the crowd!

Completely unprepared and shocked, I was overcome by the painfuland nauseating gas. We scrambled and I managed to move to acorner. A Malay man handed me bits of salt and others shared theirwater with me. The group retreated towards Dayabumi, and as I

joined them, visibly shaken, I was frequently asked, “Uncle OK?” bysmiling young Malay lads.

Our march through the Chinatown area was another eye opener. Aswe passed a Chinese eating shop, the crowd which by then included a number of non-Malays, waved invitingly to the customers askingthem to, “Mari sama-sama!” At an Indian stall by the roadside, theycrowded to buy water; a far cry from the violent, rioting mob thatwe were told to expect! The way to Merdeka Stadium was blocked. As the now enlarged crowd retreated through the Chinatown area, we were again attacked



by the FRU with tear gas. We scrambled and finally ended up infront of Puduraya, joining a much larger crowd with more non-Malays present. Once again, the police fired tear gas and shot theirwater cannon at the crowd.

The crowd then regrouped and headed towards KLCC. It was nearlyan hour before the police finally came and did their “thing” again.By then, the “order” to “bersurai” was passed around; the rakyat had done their job!

In all, I spent about five hours marching with a largelypredominantly Malay crowd. I was soaked and tear-gassed, but inthe end I felt liberated, happy and grateful to God! Never have Iseen the Malays so passionate about their cause, yet so gentle and mild-mannered under such trying conditions.

They were nowhere like the racially-incited, hate-ridden, propertydestroying “kumpulan jahat” that we were told to expect — definitelynot in the crowd that I had the privilege to walk with that day!

The non-Malays who were there must be commended equally fortheir belief and conviction, and for their faith in a matureMalaysian society. The policemen whom I spoke to were surprisinglygood-natured in spite of the long hours they had been on duty,some expressing concern for my safety. The order to fire tear gas atfellow Malaysians came from the top.

Lt Col (R) Aw Yong Tian Teck

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When the ordinary became extraordinaryI’m as ordinary as it gets. I live in a decent-sized condo, in afairly popular middle-upper class neighbourhood. I married my

husband in my early 30s. I’ve got a decent job in a well-regarded private corporation, where I’m middle management.

No children just yet but we’re trying for the average number of two.On the weekends, we do what most Malaysians in our circumstancesmight do — head to the cinema, have a meal at one of KL’s manymalls, catch up with family and friends.

Recently, I had to answer a little profile write-up for work. When

asked “what’s your biggest achievement?”, I could think of nothingI’d done so far that qualified. Yes, I’m that ordinary.

This ordinary Malaysian grew up in a normal household. My fatherwas a university lecturer, my mother a secondary school teacher. Weweren’t poor, nor were we rich.

Luckily for me, my parents watched their money and saved enoughto send me to a good university in the US. They were also fairlystaunch Opposition supporters and I grew up apathetic about ourgovernment.

I came back after several years away to take care of a sick father.He passed on, I ended up staying. Though I disliked how there wasincreasing affirmative action for the majority race, it didn’t affectme enough to leave. I got a pretty good job, and my life wascomfortable. I made sure I kept myself minimally informed ofpolitics and the development of our country because it made no

difference to me and would only upset my even keel.Several years ago, just before the 2008 political tsunami, thingsbegan to change. I felt more and more upset as I saw my youngersister — top scorer, award-winning athlete, board of prefects, captainof her house — being passed over again and again for any sort ofeducational aid, because we weren’t the right race. And it got worse.Church burnings, the cow head incident, being told that as aChristian I couldn’t use the word “Allah.”

I got more and more angry. And I wanted to talk about it. But Iwas told by all the powers that be that it wasn’t in our culture to



voice dissent or question any “sensitive” issue. In this multi-culturalnation, it’s amazing that we can claim there’s a single type of culture– aren’t our differences in culture and way of life precisely what wesell to the tourists?

But I was still angry, so I’d complain, although only to familymembers or friends who I knew for a fact had the same opinions asme. Like many Malaysians, I complained about everything – the risein crime, the lowering education standards, the racist statements ofsome quarters in government, the inability of the Opposition leadersto see eye-to-eye. I complained all the time. But I didn’t doanything about it. Just like most people. After all, what could I do?It would be too much effort anyway.

And then Bersih 2.0 came along, and I suddenly felt this need totake action. I knew this was the moment to do more than justcomplain. So I decided I wanted to be a part of it. Was I worried?Heck, yeah! Even up to the morning of July 9th, a part of me washoping the rally would be cancelled or that my mum would beworried enough by our government’s intimidation tactics to ask menot to go.

Neither happened. With a small group of friends (two Eurasians, oneChinese, two Indians, a Muslim East Malaysian – yes, we were “1Malaysia”!), we braved the police at our first LRT stop at TamanBahagia, then at KL Sentral, and at the entrance to Stadium Merdeka,at Dataran Maybank, and finally at Pudu. We faced a stand-offwhere we were fired at in the compound of Tung Shin hospital (yes,our Health Minister and top cop are both blatant liars). We weretrapped by FRU trucks on both ends of the street but finally found a

side alley to escape to.I was terrified throughout the ordeal, knowing and seeing first-hand how our police cared little for the safety of the peaceful,innocent supporters. But it was worth it. Because for the first time inmy life, I felt like a real Malaysian. For the first time in my life, Ifelt united with my fellow citizens regardless of race, religion, age,gender or where we came from. For the first time in my life, I felt Iwas part of something bigger.

For the first time in my life, I could finally answer the question ofwhat my biggest achievement was: it was to be united with tens of

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thousands of men and women, in spite of our physical differences,because we held a common belief.

Was it a life-changing experience? It certainly was. Will it be enoughto bring about the changes in elections and in the way things are

run that we want? I can’t say for sure. But I do know that thisordinary Malaysian is humbled by the many other ordinaryMalaysians who believe in something better. And who will stand upfor our rights no matter the potential price, but always in a peacefulmanner.

I’ve never been prouder to be simply Malaysian.

Scuba gal

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Truth is inconvenientIt’s the first time in my life I joined a demonstration. Do I likedemos? No way. Was I scared? Of course; it’s no “walk in the park,

picnic on the grass”; you know what to expect when it has beendeclared illegal and everyone is being warned by everyone elsefrom the King to the church to well-meaning friends to stay homeand be safe.

Actually that was what I intended to do as a law-abiding citizenand obedient sheep; at least it was until I was challenged by myown children with certain thought-provoking questions like... “Ma,where would the world be if Martin Luther King just prayed and

didn’t march?” “Ma, where were the Christians when six million Jewswere systematically led to slaughter by an evil dictator?”

And this final shot from my teenager son, “Ma, you know, evenMalayan Union got march for independence?” (well, at least he’sstudying something right for SPM!)

And I recalled myself, didn’t Jesus cause demos everywhere He went — demos of God’s power, grace, love, healing? Didn’t the early church

“turn the whole world upside down”? — all for a cause greater thanthemselves.

Still I dithered, because I didn’t “really” want to get involved in thismessy business of demos; I was already figuring how inconvenient itwould be; trying to get past road blocks, maybe having to walk along walk into the city centre, besides what purpose would all that“noise and clatter” serve, not to mention the risks involved... well,again it took my kid to pointedly tell me off (nicely) — whether or

not the demo gets results isn’t the point, Ma. It is simply whether you choose to make your stand in support of it. I guess it’s like voting — it’s your choice; even if the one you chose didn’t win, it’s ok, you made your choice to vote this or that person because of the idealshe/she represents.

So there’s that all-important word — choices. My kid asked me whatmade me change my mind last minute to join a rabble (read rebel)crowd. I guess the final straw was when I was told our weeklystreet-feeding for the poor/homeless had to called off because the



food couldn’t be brought in due to the road blocks all over theplace.

And that’s when something clicked inside. I felt angry, angry at allthe things that are happening in this land. Everyone knows, everyone

complains, there are tonnes of emails floating around on all kindsof stuff which we shake our heads at and yes, certainly pray over. Anemail sent to me said to pray for good sense to prevail. Of coursewe are to pray. Duh. Well, that’s fine and good; only problem is you can only talk good sense to people who will listen to good sense.

At the end of the day, i had to answer myself 1 question: if Ibelieved in justice and righteousness for all, how much am I willingto show it? Some friends sms’ed me that I was very brave to go outthere, when I asked for prayer support for my family.

My reply is I am not brave. It’s just that there comes a time ineveryone’s life when each of us have to make a choice about thethings we say we believe in — that’s a very personal decision. Well,my day had come. So I found myself smack in the midst of a crowd of I-dunno-how-many thousands, marching along with them on July9, 2011. A day that will forever be etched in my memory....

A day when I saw total strangers of all ages, races and religionsgathered under the skies and facing a big red monster truck firingtear gas just because the crowd was formidable in size. There wereentire families, people from same kampungs, from outstation states,even someone on a wheel-chair. And it was total strangers who wentall out to help one another, without any qualms or calls needed.

When the tear gas started, and some took shelter in a car park, a

man opened up the fire-hose reel there and sprayed water overeveryone to wash away the sting. When people had to run into thebushes surrounding a private hospital, everyone was extending handsto each other to haul and push each other up the slippery slopes.

With the authorities chasing us all the way into a church compound,somebody opened up the back gate for people to climb over.Someone offered me salt to ease the throat. Another was handingout zip-lock bags, telling me “Aunty, better keep your hand-phone

inside this, if not get wet by the rain”. Still another old man offered to share his umbrella with me. This is 1 Malaysia in action, no need for words or banners to proclaim it.

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But what shamed me personally was a non-Christian group whospontaneously started a prayer meeting in the heavy rain. I watched as people just stepped out from their shelters and ran to join themin the open.

Was there violence? Yes — tear gas, water cannons. That was aboutthe only actual violence I saw in my group (I can’t say whathappened to other groups spread all over, because of the blockadeswhich separated us).

But well, if you want to call making lots of noise and chants and singing Negara Ku and shouting “Daulat Tuanku” several timesviolence, I guess we were pretty violent. My group didn’t have any“famous faces” to lead us, but whoever was shouting instructions weobeyed — so obediently we sat when told to sit on the road, wewalked when told to walk, regrouped when told to regroup. (Ofcourse, we didn’t need to be told when to run), so where’s theviolence?

In fact when someone got a little bit too enthusiastic and started running down to the truck which was parked in front of us on theroad, people were shouting at him to come back and not provoke the

authorities. Violence? Quite the opposite, there were some very happypeople that day — the mamak stall-operators, McDs and 7-Elevenstores which dared to stay open — they were doing roaring business;did anyone bother to interview them about loss of income caused byrioters? Did they get looted?

Was there inconvenience? Of course. So we can put up with all sortsof traffic jams every “normal” day of our lives and for this one daywe say we are so very inconvenienced? The funniest thing is when

we wanted to disperse, we couldn’t! Talk about deliberateinconvenience.

By 4pm, most of us were tired, and all we wanted to do was gohome and take a bath after being pelted with tear gas and soaked to the skin by rain. Someone was asking like a typical Malaysian,where got makan arr? Yet there was still that big red bully truck monster hogging the road, and they were not allowing anyone wholooked Malaysian through the barricades.

So unless we suddenly grew blond hair and blue eyes, we werestuck. I approached a policeman and asked if I could just walk

51



through alone. He was very nice and said yes, so hurray, off Itrooped only to be stopped two minutes later further down the road and turned back with a very sarcastic, “You orang buat kecoh,sekarang tahu rasa kecoh lah.”

Geez, what a sour lemon. So I had to take a very very long and roundabout way back to the LRT station, only to find it closed.Great... now all those who simply want to call it a day can’t get outof KL!

I am still wondering, hey, man, what’s the logic? I thought the ideawas not to let people gather around in “illegal” assemblies; yet whatdo you expect people to do if you stop or hinder the very meansthat’s meant to disperse them? — you get illegal assemblies at theLRT and bus stations some more lah! To be fair though, I have to“tabik” the police for being even-handed with all the opposing sidesinvolved.

Was there politics? Of course. But surely whether we like it or not,politics is politics. And surely concepts like justice and righteousness don’t exist in a vacuum. There is supposed to be justiceand righteousness in politics, in economics, in social affairs, even

in private affairs; in fact they are meant to work in the very fabricof human life, isn’t it?

So how can we divorce these ideals from the realities of life? And Iguess that’s what I joined the rally for — to make my stand forideals which are surely God-ordained for all of humankind. Othersmay join the rally for different reasons, rightly or wrongly, butthat’s not my concern.

Was it worth it? Yes. Being there on the spot exposed the falsity ofmany of my (our) facile assumptions. What has been “manipulated”into our psyche is the threat of what-could-happen. And I realised,hey, it’s all hyped-up — the threat turned out as unfounded shadows.

As it goes, from the behaviour of the crowd, if only they had beenallowed to make their “noises” in a stadium, all the inconveniencescould have been so much reduced and better-controlled.

Unfortunately we have been ingrained to fear violence, we assumeall strife = violence and violence = bad. Therefore, we will not getinvolved in any strife situation; we will pray for peace. Yet what is

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peace? As someone puts it, “Peace is not the absence of strife.” Jesus,the Prince of Peace, slept in the midst of a terrible storm — that’speace, even though strife was all around Him. At the height of it all,when people were running all over, and tear gas was stinging my

eyes and throat, and I was wondering what if I get arrested, what ifI get trampled in this rush? — I had God’s peace.

I faced the fear by His grace, and survived it. So did my children,though we were never together at all. My eldest was up close and personal to the front-line action, doing her reporter’s beat, tweetingreal-time reports into her office. My No.2 didn’t even want to gowith me. Ended up she had to walk all the way from/back toSentral. (Hey, that’s still better than the woman who walked from Mid

Valley!)I got back home, finally after they opened back the LRT at about5.15pm. None the worse for wear and tear, thank God, except forachy achy feet. Looking back, I think perhaps above all, thisexperience is for me, a test of how prepared I will be when the daycomes when God calls me to give up my life literally (notfiguratively) for a bigger cause than myself, would I still balk atbeing “inconvenienced”? Would I choose to “be safe” than run risks

for God’s sake?? Ahh, million dollar question. I think I am betterprepared to answer it after July 9 2011.

Christine SK Lai

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I Was ThereI was there, and no matter what the Malaysian government says — from their ownership of a vast majority of the mainstream media,down to the insensitive and/or untrue (mostly both) statementsmade by ministers or the Polis Di Raja Malaysia (Royal MalaysianPolice or PDRM) — no matter how much they want to deny whathappened in Kuala Lumpur (KL) on Saturday, July 9th, 2011, theycannot deny my words.

I was there.

I was there from the first Light Rail Transit (LRT) train in themorning at 6am, travelling and watching the clear roads, where

there was hardly any traffic due to aggressive road closuresenforced by the PDRM. At the last station, I got down to havebreakfast, and bought a copy of the New Straits Times,The Star and Utusan Malaysia.

I was there.

I was there fuming, and trying hard to control my anger, at theblatantly one-sided depiction of the scope of events leading to July

9th. At how Bersih, a coalition of NGOs who wished to send a list ofsuggestions for freer and fairer elections to the supreme head ofthe country, was demonised by the mainstream government.

I was there.

I was there on the train again at 8.30am heading back home,planning to leave again for the hotspots around noon. On the train,I met up with the LRT security guards whom I have known over the

past 13 years from riding the LRT almost everyday. They weredressed in their Polis Bantuan (“Auxiliary Police”) uniforms. Ichatted with them, and held my tongue when I discovered to myshock that they were sincerely against the gathering, and that thepolice were merely keeping the peace instead of threatening apeaceful group with arrests and implicit manhandling. I wished them well as they got off at their designated stations, and continued the journey home.

I was there.

http://bersih.org/

http://bersih.org/



I was there back at Wangsa Maju in record time as the trains ran atbetter-than-peak-hour efficiency. I promptly went to the cybercaféto read what the independent Internet media had to stay, as well asfollow the progress on Twitter. At around 11.20, I walked back home,

bathed again and went back out on the LRT. I headed out back toKL, and saw the huge gathering of people outside the old trainstation. Alighting at KL Sentral, I purchased a small bottle of water,which proved to be very useful later on. Stopping for lunch at theYMCA — all the while observing a small but very steady stream ofpeople walking towards Jalan Petaling — I made my way towards thesame venue at 1pm.

I was there.

I was there when a virtually-unbroken line of people a kilometrelong made its slow but steady way towards Stadium Merdeka. Despitea small but very vocal number of active agitators, the line was quietand dignified, with occasional bouts of cheers. I walked fromBrickfields towards the train station, then the main post office and crossing over to the Pasar Seni LRT station, which had already beenshut down.

I was there.I was there amongst the crowd that moved from Petaling Streettowards Jalan Pudu, bumping into my friends from work. I was notthere as a worker though, even though I would have been within myrights to be there as the journalist that I am. Lack of support frommy editor-in-chief was the reason why I was not there as a reporteron the scene. But I was there, as a citizen of Malaysia, which was theonly justification I needed.

I was there.

I was there when Malaysians of all colours and ages walked peacefully towards the Puduraya Bus Station, and I was there as weall revelled in the fact that there were definitely more than 20,000people standing all around — on the roads, in and around the busstation and Menara Maybank itself. I was there at 1.50pm when I metJames Pollard, a British tourist from Bristol who was wondering

what was going on. And as I gave him a continuous explanation, theFederal Reserve Unit (FRU) brought out water-cannons (laced withchemical irritants and not just harmless water) as well as the CS

55



tear gas rifles, shooting both at the crowd. A small police forcestarted running and catching people, kicking and beating some of those they caught in broad daylight.

I was there.

I was there as the crowd managed to push back the FRU for amoment before making its ways down Jalan Pudu to inch towardsthe stadium. James and I moved towards the bus station and roseup the ramp to get an elevated view. That was when the FRU decided to fire the tear gas above at the unarmed and non-participatingspectators — in short, the innocent bystanders.

I was there.

I was there when I got hit by tear gas for the first time in my life.It was excruciating in a manner beyond mere words; the skin and the eyes burn and sear, as does the nose and throat, producingcoughing that only serves to make the victim inhale even moreirritants. I was racked in pain, unable to do anything but struggleto breathe and vomit. A concerned citizen tried to give me somesalt to counter the effects, but I was too much in pain and discomfort to want it even though I knew it would help. It took awhile, but the effects wore off, leaving me weak and feelingwretched.

I was there.

I was there when all my fellow Malaysians showed concern for oneanother, helping each other, not a single of whom were shouting orbehaving in a manner befitting of hooligans. So unlike the police,strutting arrogantly with their weapons and numbers which were

puny compared to the crowd, shouting insults and belittling the verypeople they had supposedly been sworn to protect and serve.

I was there.

I was there when they confronted the people who sat on the road,with nary a weapon of any sort in their hands. They only used theirvoices, and even then it was merely a wall of cheers and vocalisations. I saw it all from the overhead pedestrian bridge of

the bus station when they fired tear gas again into the seated crowd. Another British friend I had made, Sam Franklin, got footageof the whole scene. Of course, being at the scene meant that in the

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKnWF5vBX7U&feature=share








rush to escape the gas, I got stuck, and got another stronger blastof the CS gas. It was even worse the second time around, due to thehigher concentration. But again, I survived.

I was there.

I was there down on the street with James and Sam when there was a final ceasefire, and the MP for Subang R Sivarasa was negotiating with the police. And we then moved off to get a drink and recuperate — and therefore missed the Tung Shin hospital incident,which was reported brilliantly by my work colleague and friend, Max Koh. I have never been prouder of a friend than I am of Max for his concise, excellent account of what happened. This article isnot meant to compete with his account — but I am the first to admitthat it can never compete with its brilliance.

I was there.

I was there with my new-found friends who later took me back totheir hostel to recover — with James; Sam; Kaya from Taiwan; MikeO’Connor from New Zealand; Tay Franssens from Holland; and BenQuigley from the USA — and I sat down with them as they watched Sam’s videos, and answered their questions as best as I could. And Itold them not to just take my word for it, but to ask around. Theydid — and all agreed that even the contrary points of view (of whichthere were many, either from the police forces or from ordinaryMalaysians, who for some reason did not understand nor supportthe Bersih movement) reinforced what I had told them. And reinforced what they had seen.

I wasn’t there for some things.

I wasn’t there when the deputy inspector-general of police denied that the Tu ng Shin Hospital compound was both attacked with tear gas and sprayed on with the chemical water, despite photos and videos to the contrary already up online. And I certainly wasn’tthere when the Prime Minister of Malaysia Mohd Najib Abdul Razak made fun of people who were weaklings for their reaction to “alittle tear gas”. Most definitely, I wasn’t there — because if I was, Iwould have spit at him.

But I was there.

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=Dd9slh1Y4Ug



https://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=10150230749755509&comments




http://www.theedgemalaysia.com/in-the-financial-daily/189472-a-display-of-the-peoples-spirit.html




















I was there that day, on the ground where brute force was used tosubdue peaceful citizens who had every right to be in the capitalcity. Mohd Najib, where were you? You and your wife were out beingwined and dined the whole day in luxurious comfort, as you always

have been. And you have the audacity to speak about and belittlethings that you obviously do not know about.

Well, I was there.

I was there, and I survived. You who call yourself a pemimpin(“leader”, literally “one who guides”) are not fit to pimpin me or anyone of us anymore. And so I say that I am determined to continuefighting the good fight for freedom, truth, fairness and equality — even if it kills me. As the great Mahatma Gandhi once said: “Theymay torture my body, break my bones, even kill me, then they willhave my dead body. NOT MY OBEDIENCE!” — and the same goes forme. As the old and beautiful song Tanah Pusaka goes: “Biar putihtulang, jangan putih mata.” (Literally “Better to show that your bonesare white, better not that show that your eyes are white”, ie “Tis betterto be dead than to be willingly blind”) You can take away almostanything from me — but you can never take away my dignity.

I was there.And I am still here.

Ahmad Azrai

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‘Lady of Liberty’ at Bersih march draws onlinesupport

Quiet has settled over Saturday’s chaos but one image is still makingwaves on the Internet — the picture of an elderly woman in yellow,drenched in rain and chemical-laced water, walking away from riotpolice while clutching on to a long-stemmed flower and a near-empty mineral water bottle.

She is Annie Ooi, a 65-year-old retired English teacher who took abus from Setapak in the early morning of July 9 to join thousands

of others in Bersih 2.0’s march for free and fair elections. Anunknown man had offered her the flower in the morning and shewaved it like a flag throughout the four-hour march.

Netizens have dubbed her “Aunty Bersih”, and even Malaysia’s “Lady ofLiberty”, for placing her health and safety at risk to join a marchthe government had declared illegal.

Pictures of the diminutive Ooi strolling in the war zone that Kuala

Lumpur had turned into are all over the Internet, inviting messagesof awe and wonderment from netizens across the country.

On Facebook, at least three fan pages were set up in dedication toOoi immediately after the event. One page called “Malaysian Lady ofLiberty” attracted 17,176 “likes” as of 9am this morning.

Ooi was one of the few who dared to turn up in yellow to mark theoccasion, despite earlier warnings that those with clothes indicating

support for the outlawed Bersih 2.0 coalition would be arrested.Speaking to The Malaysian Insider through her daughter overFacebook chat last night, Ooi confirmed that she had been teargassed four times and sprayed with the water cannon once duringSaturday’s pandemonium.

She said she was unsure of what time the rally was scheduled tostart or where, but was determined to support its cause byparticipating in it even if she had to do it alone.

“She took the bus to General Hospital because the roads into townwere blocked,” her daughter related. “She walked to Chow Kit, Maju









Junction, went into the back lane of Little India to pass Masjid Jamek, avoiding cops, heading to National Mosque but was stopped at Dayabumi.”

There, Ooi was interviewed by one uniformed policeman and four

others in plainclothes. They asked for her IC and recorded herdetails, then asked her why she was dressed in yellow. “Why can’t Iwear yellow?” she asked in return.

According to a post by a blogger who claimed to have spoken to Ooibefore the march began, the feisty retiree had asked other protesterswhy they did not turn up in yellow as well. “Why do we have to feelso scared in our own home land . . . and by own countrymen,” shehad reportedly said.

A newbie at street protests, Ooi also did not know what to do in theevent that she got gassed, and had not brought anything to protectherself, her daughter said.

“She wasn’t prepared for any of the attacks,” her daughter said. “Shewent without protection; no goggles, no masks, no salt, nothing. Itwas horrible . . . the coughing, and didn’t know how to stop thediscomfort and pain. After the second gassing, she was offered saltby someone and it helped a lot.”

Despite this, eyewitnesses claimed on the internet that Ooi had marched on determinedly during the protest and despite the chaos,even yelled at others not to run.

When told to ask her mother if she would dare to brave anothermarch for the same cause, her daughter said, quoting Ooi, “Without a

doubt”.“There was a very strong oneness in spirit which she had never feltbefore in this country,” added the daughter again quoting Ooi.“Especially from the younger generation which have their yearsahead of them yet marched on despite the possibility of ruiningtheir lives by getting arrested.”

Ooi was among the thousands of protesters who took to the streetsof Kuala Lumpur on Saturday to march in support of Bersih 2.0’s

demand for electoral reforms.

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More than a thousand people were arrested, and chaos broke out atmidday after the police fired tear gas canisters and sprayed watercannons to break up the crowd.

Clara Chooi

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Lessons learnt in a walk with friendsLike all others who came alone for Saturday’s Bersih rally, I found that I needn’t haveworried. In the confusion and chaos with each blinding onslaught, we reached out and found each other. The strong supported the overcome, the sighted helped the blinded and

in the fog of it all, we were one.If anything, the rally brought to light that our lives, whatever our race may be, areinterconnected. Malaysia is woven of the different strands, where in the tapestry of ourdestiny and shared experience, there can inevitably be only one outcome.

For those who wanted to make Bersih about the Malays and the non-Malays, they weremisguided. Out on that day, as we walked alongside, we knew that it was the system and the proponents of such a system, not the people who had divided us.

Bigotry, ignorance and fear were all the result of the policy of systemic indoctrination — all learnt states of mind. How can we lay blame when we were brought up to believe innothing else?

For those who believed that Bersih was about Anwar, they were mistaken. Unwavering faithin our ability to prevail -- that is bigger than any one individual. The rakyat walked asone because we realize that this nation is more than any hero or idol, or martyr whochampions the cause for justice, and true liberty. They may be focal points initially, butultimately, these ideals are the hallmark of any true democracy and free nation. And byGod, Malaysians deserve this!

For those who argued that Bersih was about BN and PR, they were wrong. Political partieswax and wane but the rakyat remain. Our personal investments by being responsible and

productive citizens of this nation and the hopes for a better future for our children remainsteadfast in the vagaries of change. For those who were absent, driven back by thepsychological warfare preceding the event, we were your representatives from both politicaldivides as we share the same hopes for a progressive and truly democratic nation.

For those who contended that anarchy would supplant peace, they were erroneous. Howcould there be anarchy when there was nothing but comradeship? We took heart in thegenuine concern shown as we cared for each other; we are indignant for those who werebrutally assaulted and injured; and we grieve for the one man fallen. Pak Baharuddin paid with his life and the rakyat mourns the loss of one of us.

But, there is also jubilation. For the first time in my life, I felt that I belonged. Thatalthough she doesn’t show it often enough, Malaysia loves me.

1 Malaysia? Vision 2020? These slogans are cheap, but the love is real. I believe it now.Thank you to everyone who walked and to those who supported us. I thought I walked forchange but instead it changed me.

Sheila Santharamohana



I was afraid, therefore I walked I almost didn’t make it. But I went.

The week leading up to the Bersih 2.0 rally on July 9th, I was likemost of my friends; poked fun at the BN government’s decision toban yellow outfits and Bersih T-shirts on my Facebook, changed myprofile picture to a bright yellow Sponge Bob, showing my support toBersih online. But it was all talk only.

Although I was angry with the highhandedness of the government inhandling the Bersih rally, I never really thought about going. Didn’tgo the last Bersih rally either. Not that I was afraid (the May 13th

thing doesn’t scare me a bit, it only infuriates me), or didn’t agreewith the principle of the Bersih rally (especially after what had happened in the Sarawak election, I am all for the Bersih principles),I just thought there would be enough people going; the NGOs, theactivists, the politicians.

After all, I am but just one person.

Although a political science graduate myself, I was never anactivist. For the most part I am a tax-paying, law-abiding citizen (Idon’t even offer bribes to the police officer for traffic offences).Besides, I had to do my laundry, my grocery, spend quality timewith my four-year-old boy, and I wouldn’t want to get caught in thetraffic jam which is the last thing you want on a weekend.

But on the Wednesday before the rally, as a result of excessiveroadblocks by the very paranoid police and the administration, Iended up sitting in a massive jam cursing the government and then

I thought about Ibrahim Ali’s racist threat and remarks, and all of asudden, I also became very upset with the fact that I was denied theright to wear yellow even though the only yellow item I have in myentire wardrobe is a tiny yellow belt.

By then, I was seriously thinking about making my way through thetraffic to join the rally on July 9th.

On Friday, just a day before the rally, I realised I did not have to

worry about getting caught in the traffic because all roads leadingto Merdeka Stadium would be blocked. So instead of risk gettingcaught in a jam, it was worse, no access to town. I had to figure a



way to get to town. So, once again, I was back to contemplating, togo or not to go, because I really don’t know how to get to townwithout a car or a taxi which is the only means ofpublictransportation that I am familiar with.

The whole night I was mad and frustrated, how can the governmentstop me or any Malaysian from moving freely within our owncountry? How can they stop me from wearing yellow? How can theylet Ibrahim Ali go free with all the threats? And the arrests, souncalled for. And then I became worried, I worried about anaborted rally because no one could make it to town.

If not enough of people are going, who is going to speak up for me? That was the moment I knew I had to go, I had to help make up forthe number however little my presence may represent, I had to speak up for myself and my family. I had to help build a bigger voicedemanding a clean election, so that my voice can be heard throughmy vote for years to come.

So it was the fear that got me going. I walked not because of mylittle yellow belt, not because of Ibrahim Ali (well, a little bit), Iwalked because I feared that the intimidation from the government

would silence the very people I relied upon to speak up for me. Thefear of not being heard pushed me to the rally, even if it was justme walking alone in town.

On July 9th, I went despite not knowing how to get there. What theysay is true, where there is a will there is a way. Somehow I managed my way to Tung Shin and what a relief when I saw so many peopleof different gender, religion, ethnicity, age were at the rally. All myfears were gone, and whatever happened on that day only made me

a stronger person. To the people who instill fear in me, thank you, thank you for

releasing all the courage that I never knew I had. I am nowfearless because of you.

Celine Yong

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Was it worth it?It has been 12 days since I have seen my wife, my son (who has justturned three) and my one-month-old daughter, sweet little Lana

girl. If I don’t go down to see them this weekend, I will not seethem for at least another week.

Three days ago my wife and I celebrated our fourth weddinganniversary, whilst we were apart. I had a choice to go back toPenang and be with them for the weekend, but instead, I chose togo down to Kuala Lumpur to support Bersih 2.0.

I arrived in KLIA at about 10.30am. The airport looked eerily

deserted. As I travelled light, I literally ran to get an ERL ticketand jumped onto the train. As my excitement grew, I looked around to see KL as a ghost town. Even on Hari Raya holidays, you’ll seemore cars on the Sungei Besi Highway compared to this particularSaturday.

Walking out from KL Sentral, I was shocked to see a huge presenceof FRU units and police. I assumed this was to “manage possibledemonstrators who might alight in KL Sentral and walk towards

Masjid Negara.” I proceed to my hotel, which was just across from KLSentral.

Coming out from the elevator I was greeted by two cops who werestationed there. I told them I was there to check in and they let mepass. I did notice more police in the lobby but I was still naïvelythinking that they were only there for general safety. I checked in,went to my room and changed into something more comfortable,(not the official T-shirt though) and walked back to KL Sentral.

I was surprised when I was still managed to get a ticket to Masjid Jamek. As soon as I was in Masjid Jamek LRT station, I could feelthe atmosphere. The party was definitely ON. I remember thinking tomyself that being alone may not help at all. Thus, I sought a groupto join.

Within five minutes, I noticed a crowd of about 30 people gatheringat the junction of Amanah Rakyat Building. As I joined them the

leader started to give a speech. A journalist told me it was Dr HattaRamli from PAS who was giving the speech and he would lead thisgroup to Stadium Merdeka.



We managed to walk to Menara Maybank without any trouble. Bynow the group size had grown to the hundreds, as we were now joined by other political figures such as Tony Pua from DAP.Suddenly, without any warning, teargas and chemical-laced water

were shot and sprayed towards us. The effects were immediate and were more than I could bear.

As this was my first face-off with such hostility, like many hundredsaround me, we ran to seek shelter. We climbed the stalled escalatortowards the main entrance of Menara Maybank and worn out and almost defeated, we crumbled to the floor for a decent breath.

The teargas effects were agonizing and thanks to the expertise ofFRU chemical unit, the chemicals were burning my skin. There were anumber of mak ciks hand in hand with their teenage daughters.Although people were outraged, we remained civil and this was whenI learned my first two lessons of the day.

Despite the anger, frustration and pain, all of us were civil. Verycivil. I instinctively knew that it wasn’t a good time to break and thrash everything that was in front of us.

Although vandalism is part of mass rallies everywhere else, it wasn’there. Not one person vandalised anything. True unity is in action.People genuinely cared for each other regardless of ethnic, religiousor status differences. Everyone was ONE. Malaysians. With all duerespect, Datuk Seri Najib Razak, this is 1 Malaysia with substance. Notthe kind of crowd with free 1 Malaysia T-shirts waving the Malaysianflag whilst thinking of the free food which will be provided later.

Was it worth it to join the rally? Definitely, I have no doubt in my

mind. I felt a sense of solidarity with all those around me, in away which is almost unexplainable.

After 30 minutes of a break and recharging myself with a can ofRed Bull, I rejoined the masses. I found a huge group just in frontof our newly renovated Pudu Raya Bus Terminal.

By then, the marchers had already experienced rounds of tear gasand water cannons. I watched in shock, as water ran down thestreet like a flash flood. Somehow, I managed to sneak into thecrowd. Someone told me how MP Sivarasa Rasiah was negotiating

66



with the police, and whilst he was negotiating, I had the pleasure ofexperiencing something I will never forget for the rest of my life.

Despite the drizzling rain, the uncertainties and the risk of being hitby another round of tear gas, the crowd spontaneously started to

sing Negaraku. It was such an awesome moment in my life, that Ihad goose bumps.

Later Sivarasa informed us that the police were allowing us to marchon one side of the road towards Jalan Sultan. Deep down inside, Iwas like, “Yeah, right.” Less than 10 minutes later, he and a couple ofother negotiators were whisked away by the police (they were laterarrested) and all hell broke loose. Rounds of tear gas and spraysfrom the water cannon forced the majority of the group into theTung Shin hospital compound.

I initially thought it was a safe bet to be in a hospital compound.Boy oh boy, it was a perfect trap for us. Yes, they did shoot tear gasinside the parking compound of the hospital. Being cornered withnowhere to run, no fewer than 30 guys and girls were arrested,including me. I was handcuffed with some sort of cable tie (which Iuse wildly in my job), but the only difference being, this one is

much larger.The cop who dragged me from Tung Shin Hospital compound all theway to Menara Maybank was very civil, but not the FRU personnel,who were standing along the street. At least five of them made nastyremarks about my disability. I was grouped with not less than 50other detainees in Menara Maybank waiting for the famous Black Maria.

At this moment, I learned my next two lessons whilst waiting for theBlack Maria. I first met the now most famous Bersih 2.0 figure,“Aunty Bersih”, whilst the crowd were singing Negaraku. She sangalong. Despite her fragile state and clearly suffering from earliertear gas attacks, she held on to the flowers. Determined and courageous, just like Datuk Ambiga Sreenevasan.

This auntie came around to the staging area where we were held and with full respect, she bowed in front us — the official

detainees. It was so touching. I learned that this is a fight foreveryone. This is a fight for the future of our kids. The fight to savethis beautiful nation.

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Not fewer than five Good Samaritans came around and passed usfresh bottled water. They bought it and brought it to us. For some ofus whose hands had been tied behind our backs, they even held upthe bottle whilst we took a sip. Who are they? Politicians? Nope.

Suhakam? Nope. Just another MALAYSIAN. I learned that this is whowe are. What we are. Utusan Malaysia, Datuk Ibrahim Ali and theirfellows surely have no idea what it is like to be on the ground.

Was it worth it to join the rally? Hell, yeah!

After being held for almost an hour, we were taken to Pulaupol.Man, the place was set up for a carnival. A number of makeshifttents, mobile lavatories, temporary suraus and, being Malaysians,buffets included.

This is surely a good PR job by PDRM. My estimation is no fewerthan 500 detainees were in there at this time. It was tough and asthis was my first time being detained, I was calm, as I knew thatbeing tense will not help anything at all.

Our Mykad were taken away. We were allowed to use the lavatoryand suraus but not allowed to use the mobile phone. Despite this, Icontinued to text my brother and other friends. I was informed thatthe lawyers were not allowed into the Pulaupol compound. Within anhour, all the formalities were done. No statement was taken.

The chaos really began when the cops started a roll call to returnour Mykad. Imagine a guy with loud speaker calling out name aftername. Somehow, this was a blessing in disguise. During this roll call,every time a non-Malay name came up, the crowd cheered for himloudly, followed by a big round of applause. At about 8pm, my

name was called and I hitched a ride on a PDRM bus which ferried the released “detainees” back to KL Sentral.

I got off just outside the main entrance of Pulapol and joined mybrother and his colleagues. A few minutes later somethingunexpected happened. Haris Ibrahim was walking out calmly fromthe main entrance of Pulapol.

I couldn’t help myself and called out his name loudly. I went up tohim and embraced him. I did see a kind of joy in his eyes knowingall his efforts had paid off and I am sure he could see in my eyesthe kind of satisfaction I had, because I had joined this rally.

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Was it worth it? Do you need to ask me again? What’s next, my fellowbrothers and sisters?

Abdul Haleem

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How Bersih cleansed my Malaysian soulI’m a 28 moving on to 29-year-old man in Kuala Lumpur, the placewhere in 2008 I decided to get a fresh start. I am originally from

Malacca and had been in Singapore for about 4½

years prior tomoving to KL.

For the purposes of this story, let’s just say the sum of my lifeexperiences has made me grouchy, surly, disgruntled and yes…RACIST. But I was a funny type of racist; I’m Chinese but have part-Baba heritage with very Westernised conditioning and cannot, forthe life of me, speak any sort of Chinese dialect (save to orderfood).

I disliked the Malays and Indians for the usual stereotypicalreasons, and I disliked the Chinese even more for being too “Cina”and I disliked the “lain-lains” for just being “lain-lain.” Sure, I havefriends from other races; my very best friends are MalaySingaporeans, and my childhood friend, who is in KL as well, is aChindian.

My project band which wrote a song for the MyConstitution album

consisted of me, two Chinese girls, an Indian guy, a Sindhi, and two Malay guys. We were quite 1 Malaysia. Yet I could not discard my racial prejudices.

I disliked everyone, especially if they didn’t think like me. In asense, I was a racial nihilist. I believed everyone was just as racistand using the tools of logic and reason, which I am so proud of, Ioften sought to make people around me admit their prejudices.

Having done so, I would conclude, as I have convinced myself, thatwe could never be 1 Malaysia or be just “Malaysian” and neitherwould meritocracy ever prevail in what I perceived in a society thatwas only a cultural pot of prejudices.

Diverse, yes… in its prejudices and preconceptions. There was aglimmer of hope when Hannah Yeoh tried to register her daughter as“Anak Malaysia” but then a small section of society, as portrayed bythe mainstream media, vehemently opposed the temporary

registration of her daughter as Chinese whilst she fought this battle.All I thought was: “There you go.” I smiled smugly to myself; I loved being proved right.



When Bersih came about I merely thought, “OK-lah, it’s a good thing-lah I suppose.” I decided not to go as I have exams soon and working while studying here has made me even grouchier, morepessimistic and somewhat depressed.

I felt like a small cog in the giant machine of society, plus I hadn’tquite had the time to prepare for this exam. So going for Bersih wasdefinitely out. Besides, what would it change? This was the one timeI was glad to be proven wrong.

My mum had called me in the afternoon that day to ask me where Iwas and, being concerned about the volatile situation, asked me notto go and focus on my exams. My mum is quite the socio-politically-aware woman but I knew she only had a mother’s concernfor her child’s safety in telling me to stay at home.

I told her yes, I’m not going. But the very moment I said that,something urged me to go. My curiosity grew like a calling to fulfilsome sort of purpose. In some ways, God, whom I’ve neglected forso long, decided that day to crush my arrogant notions and mysupposedly infallible sense of logic and reason.

In a state of mild euphoria, I drove through some lesser-knownroads and parked at Brickfields. Absolutely lost, directionless and intimidated by the police presence, I called my friend David, whocalled his wife, human rights lawyer Renuka.

They had just been tear-gassed in KL Sentral and Ambiga had beenarrested. She nonetheless guided me on how to join the march and that she would come get me if she could. But the aftermath of theKL Sentral incident was too thick with tear gas and I instead joined

another group which walked to the Chinese temple just outsideStadium Merdeka, which was blocked by a heavy police presence and a few fire engines, and ultimately to Pasar Seni LRT.

I was surrounded by the very people whom I had held so muchprejudice against; the Indian uncle, the Chinese Ah Beng, the Malaypakciks and makciks. But this was different, Inoticed that most ofthem were from out-of-town whilst I, who up to the last minute, had decided it was too bothersome to go what with the roadblocks and

such.

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I also noticed that most of them did not know each other, but had extended a warmth so tangible that I almost shed a tear in regretof all my stupid preconceptions about these people. I had up to thispoint concluded that most people were simply, out of the burden of

city life, selfish and cold.No, I was the one who was cold and selfish. Throughout the wholething there were people who attempted to talk to me, seeing that Iwas rather quiet, perhaps guessing that I may be feeling a littlescared. But I kept quiet, still trying to come to grips with what I wasobserving that day; the true Malaysian spirit.

No one saw me as Chinese or a city dweller or anything but abrother. I always thought people are inherently evil, but in spite of somany opportunities to steal, bully, rob, loot and plunder, I promiseyou no one even so much as committed a misdemeanour.

I saw my Malay brothers (I now call them brothers in the hope thatthey and others take me as their brother too) demonstrating theirfrustration at the injustice suffered, I suspect, not so much bythemselves, but for their non-Malay brothers and sisters.

I could tell that many were not out there for themselves. And it wasnot so much during the chaotic moments that the Malaysian soulmanifested, but in the moments in between. In between the chaos,many chattered to strangers and, surprisingly, to a stranger from adifferent race from themselves.

In the 7-Eleven, a Chinese man from Penang expressed his concernto a Malay stranger from Pahang about the Lynas situation while hein return expressed his admiration for the Chinese man’s effort to

come all the way from Penang.It was the quiet Indian uncles who came to demonstrate their lovefor the country, not the men who blare so loudly in the coffeeshopsabout the unfairness they suffer. The 60-year -old Chinese aunties,whom I suspect can barely speak English or Malay, came out with alook of joy and hope in their faces as if they saw a dream fulfilled.

It is with great shame that I confess that the Chinese-speakingyouths with their blond hair and their Malaysian kindred had muchmore empathy and an understanding of unity than I gave themcredit for or that I ever had. The love they had in their hearts for

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the fate of their nation and their brothers and sisters therein for alife and a promise of the idea of “Malaysia”.

I, with a formal education in jurisprudence and an intensepenchant for philosophy, was the least among these greats. I had

ideas of a socio-democrat Malaysia or of a modified contemporaryMarxist/Socialist utopia but I was wrong. I forgot about the truepatriots of this country. I was the fascist among these greatsocialists. They understood society better than I ever will. Theyunderstand sacrifice whereas I only understand theory.

I am equally guilty as the current administration for notunderstanding, and worse, for not even attempting to understand what Malaysia means. For this I am sorry.

Bersih and the tear gas have cleansed my Malaysian soul. I willnever forget the moment when the tear gas canister flew over myhead, the moment I was happy in this dreary existence. I am mostlikely to fail my upcoming exams but now I would rather fail itthan not have gone for Bersih 2.0.

My Malaysian soul is wiped clean and I will try to rebuild slowlythe spirit which my brothers and sisters displayed so strongly onJuly 9, 2011. And to Annie Ooi, you will always be my most foremostLady of Liberty. I will think of you if ever my prejudices ariseagain.

Andrew Chee

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The days of gatekeeping are numbered Wong waved his hands in the air. “The tear gas canister was right infront of me!” he said.

The 22-year-old working adult was one of thousands of youngMalaysians who went to Saturday’s rally that saw tens of thousandsof people in the city centre.

Some of them weren’t die-hard supporters of Bersih’s call for cleanand fair elections. Some like Wong were there “just for the fun”while others were relentless in their pursuit for the “perfect” photo.

Thousands of protestors and onlookers were at the rally with their

cameras and snapped away at everything they saw. Some gung-hoones even stood between riot police and protestors eager to get agood shot.

Sun, an avid photographer and a student at a local college,followed a reporter around so he wouldn’t get into trouble.

All that just so they can upload their recordings of a moment inhistory on their Facebook and Twitter accounts.

Bersih 2.0 leaders have said the 2007 rally attracted mostly middle-aged supporters and Malays. This time, the crowd was younger and more multi-racial.

Call them citizen journalists or just plain “kaypoh”, the informationwhich these people, such as Tan from Petaling Jaya, gathered and put online has given an alternative but important view of the rallyitself. It has crippled the ability of bigger, politically-controlled

news outlets to shape public opinion.The common perception is that these citizen journalists areactivists. But Chong from Setapak, who attended the rally right afterwork on Saturday, said she is no activist.

“I’m here to show my support,” she said. Chong uploaded photos and updated her status on Facebook throughout the rally.

After the rally, some Malaysian netizens went further than justphotos and videos. They created new campaigns in their socialnetworks.



New Facebook groups such as “100,000 People Request Najib TunRazak Resignation,” “Wearing Yellow and Walking Around KL causeyou’re a fearless bastard,” and “Boycott all running-dogs media forUmno/BN” sprouted up and attracted thousands of “likes.”

On Twitter, a popular new hashtag is #bersihstories. Bersih rallyparticipants are still tweeting their experiences and feelings. Theseinclude “once I thought migrating would be the only option, now Iknow running is no longer the agenda, I will stay & fight!” and “AMalay man who opened his hotel room to us as we ran from teargas attack said, ‘anak muda semua kaum semangat kuat’.”

Online social networks were also primary sources of informationfor those going to the rally.

Wong, who joined the rally without his parents' knowledge, said hefound out about Bersih 2.0 from Facebook.

“People come to this rally because of online media, they(Malaysians) don’t trust the print media anymore,” said Wahab, anactivist who works in a government agency.

He said information from news sites, blogs and social media allows

Malaysians to compare what they read or watch in newspapers and television.

“If everyone listened to the mainstream media, this rally wouldn’thappen,” he added.

It is unclear if citizen journalism and social media activism will befruitful in changing policies at the institutional level. But the rallyshowed that both were critical to changing how and what kind of

information is spread and consumed.But like a Facebook-er aptly put it: “They (government) can stop allmainstream media, but not us.”

Alexis See Tho

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Tanah tumpahnya darahku “Are you ready to die for the country?” I asked as I walked together with Simeon heading from Mirama Hotel on Jalan

Maharajalela to Petaling Street.My honest answer to my own question was, “No. I don’t believe Ishould die now. When I’m only 24. There is so much more that Iwant and believe I can do for my country.”

“But what if it takes bloodshed for people to wake up? What if wewere the ones to go — so that people will finally realise the need forchange?” was Simeon’s reply.

***I was driving home on Thursday night when this motorcyclist,thinking I was endangering his life, rode very fast... honking thewhole way. And as he approached my car, he bent over and shouted at the top of his lungs at me.

Wow, I thought. If this was how it’s like when there’s NO rally, Icannot imagine what would happen on July 9th.

I thought of chickening out.

***

I flip-flopped the entire July 8th. To go, or not to go? Every timesomebody asked me if I was going, I flashed them a nervous smile.

What if I die? What if I don’t die... but end up with a disability?Gaahhh.

But the biggest why was — WHY DO I FIND MYSELF FEARING THEGOVERNMENT? THE VERY PEOPLE WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO MAKE SUREI’M SAFE?

***

I knocked on the door of 608. And after a request for the “SecretPassword”, the door was opened to 13 other people. Young people.People I call friends.



I sat amongst them, and we talked late into the night. Of our gameplan. How we would run. What we would need to counter the possibleattacks we would face.

We slept. And woke to the sound of FRU trucks moving into the city.

You would have thought it was World War III.

***

We packed salt. Prepared bi-carb soda solution. Soaked our towelsin vinegar. Prayed. And left in twos and threes.

We walked towards Petaling Street. People we met along the waywere silent.. It was the calm before the storm. Grim. None of us

knowing what would happen.As we walked further into the heart of the city, we heard chants.

“Hidup, hidup! Hidup Bersih! Hidup, hidup! Hidup Rakyat!”

And something in me started. It was a growing excitement.

We followed the crowd. Chanting as we walked along.

Deep inside me, I was still afraid. I looked around me. Most peopledo not have the same colour skin as me. If a riot was to break out,I would have been Peking duck in two seconds.

We looked on. And strategized to join the crowd and be in themiddle. Lest anything should happen, at least we were not in thevulnerable fringes.

***

Menara Maybank.1 Malaysia #1. I met an elderly Chinese auntie. This was not herfirst rally. The Anti-ISA rally was her first. She was doing it for herchildren, she said.

Tear Gas #1. We ran helter-skelter.

***

Tung Shin Hospital.

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We were waiting with the rest to march to the stadium. But the Menin Blue gave us no rest.

Tear Gas #2. We ran helter-skelter again.

We ran into the shelter, eyes, nose and throat hurting from the gas.ALL I WANT IS CLEAN AND FAIR ELECTIONS! WHY AM I TREATED LIKEA CRIMINAL?

***

1 Malaysia #2. We ran into the shelter. Eyes still stinging.

Four Malay boys who were standing around offered us salt.

“Rub it around your eyes and put some in the roof of your mouth,”Arif said. “Take this bag of salt, give it to those who need it.”

“Thank you, and please, please, please take care,” we bade him.

***

Rain. THANK GOD FOR RAIN!

***

Still in Tung Shin Hospital grounds.

Tear Gas #3. WE WERE IN THE HOSPITAL GROUNDS, FOR CRYINGOUT LOUD!

***

We ran helter-skelter. And we saw a wall. There was nowhere else torun, as police were chasing with their batons.

1 Malaysia #3. An elderly Chinese uncle stood by the wall.

“Uncle, go first.. go first,” I told him.

“No, no... after you!” And he helped me over the wall. And on theother side of the wall, was another Malay uncle... standing and giving a hand to all of us who were running.

We continued running.

1 Malaysia #4. I came to another wall. This time, this wall had ametal fence. With sharp pointers.

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I climbed up the wall. And looked down. There was no way I wasgoing to make it down there unscathed.

A young Malay chap climbed up to where I was. Lifted me, and lowered me down the other side.. his stomach pressing against the

sharp metal pointers as he was doing so.“Are you okay?” I turned back and asked.

“Yes, just run,” was his reply.

***

After having survived three rounds of tear gas... we were stilldissatisfied.

This rally is not over!

We heard chants from afar, and decided we would join our fellowcomrades in the march to Stadium Merdeka.

***

1 Malaysia #5. As we were heading towards the crowd, we saw threeChinese aunties.

They warned us against heading in that direction, because they justsaw the FRUs and the police beating people up with batons.

“Thank you for coming, auntie. For doing this for our generation,” Isaid.

She looked at me with bewilderment. Took off her hat, and said tome, “Why do you thank me? My father didn’t do this for me. Now I

will do it for my children. For my grandchildren. I will march inevery state every week — until I see change happen.”

***

We found the crowd. And marched on to KLCC.

“Rasa sayang, hey! Rasa sayang sayang hey! Hey...” was what we heard the crowd singing.

***

We arrived in KLCC. Sat. Made a few more friends.

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And ran. Because the police were after us again.

As we ran for our lives, I saw two other people in front of me.

In running, they hit and toppled the barricades that were around

KLCC. And to my utter amazement, they stopped, picked up thebarricades, arranged it to be how it was like before, and continued running.

***

9th of July, 2011.

I am proud.

Proud to have friends — students and white-collared workers, whowould risk being detained and being treated inhumanely to stand for what is right.

Proud to have Malaysian brothers and sisters — this is my pledge.That this will be the last time I refer to anybody by race. Because ofthe kindness you showed me and my friends today, you showed methat we are CAPABLE, of being COLOUR BLIND.

Proud of the way we behaved during the rally. We were not violent.We were courteous. We helped each other. We pushed on despitebeing treated like dogs because we kept in mind -- the nextgeneration that is to come after us.

Proud that we showed kindness instead of retaliating when we wereprovoked.

Proud that now, nobody can call us Third World — because we did not react the way the Middle East did.

And most of all, I am proud — so proud, that WE DID NOT SUCCUMBTO THE TACTICS THAT SOUGHT TO INSTILL FEAR IN US. THAT WECHOSE TO RISE ABOVE THE FEAR WE HAVE BEEN SO BOUND BY.

***

Negaraku, tanah tumpahnya darahku.

Esther Goh

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Fortress KL: How did Bersih 2.0 slip past?

Roadblocks, negative reports and incessant warnings from theauthorities did not stop thousands from swarming downtown Kuala

Lumpur to demand clean and fair elections.

The busy junction in front of the Puduraya bus terminal became thefocal point of yesterday’s protest as crowds snowballed from 500 innearby Petaling Street at 12.40pm to a whopping 10,000 just half anhour later.

And while the protesters faced off with the police at Jalan Pudu,

just round the corner, mere metres away an estimated thousand more were turned away from the original planned gathering pointStadium Merdeka, which was barricaded by police with barbed wire.

But with so many obstacles in place and the entire city practicallylocked down with roadblocks and closure of key LRT stations, howdid the protesters give the police the slip and organised themselves?

The answer, perhaps, is still a mystery to Bersih 2.0 and possibly eventhe police who had placed much of its strength at key rally points inJalan Tunku Abdul Rahman, Pasar Seni, Masjid Jamek and Masjid Negara, leaving Petaling Street relatively unguarded.

Petaling Street catalyst

Having conducted mass arrests at pre-announced gathering points inMasjid Negara, the old railway station nearby, Sogo and Masjid

Jamek, the police somehow left Petaling Street alone where theprotest grew.

Small clusters had gathered at the Chinatown market as early as11am when suddenly, applause broke and the group started marching.

As the group crossed Jalan Tan Cheng Lock and further down to

Jalan Petaling, it grew from 500 to 1,000, believed to includeanother few hundreds that were chased out from Masjid Negara,Pasar Seni and Dayabumi building.



As they moved down Jalan Petaling, the group, by chance, wasbolstered by PAS supporters who had escaped arrest in the areaaround Masjid Jamek and Masjid India.

Within 15 minutes, the march had snowballed to about 4,000 people,clogging up the entire stretch of Jalan Sultan, about 750m awayfrom Stadium Merdeka.

By then, the procession had taken a rather carnival-like atmosphere,with urbanites carrying flowers and Malaysian flags, singing songsand chanting “Bersihkan Piliharaya” (Clean up the election).

Young, multiracial crowd

Notably, the crowd was made up of many Malaysians in their 20s whowere first-time demonstrators.

Ibrahim Suffian, director of independent research house MerdekaCentre, dubbed this group as the Facebook generation. “Other than the usual opposition supporters, I noticed a lot ofnewcomers this rally. This may signify that Bersih 2.0 has managed tospark something through Facebook to galvanise this kind ofsupport,” said Ibrahim, who had also walked yesterday.

While several marshalls were spotted, the crowd mostly moved organically, strangely stopping at corner of Jalan Sultan and JalanTun HS Lee when they could have marched all the way up to the

stadium to confront the riot police defending the historicallandmark.

Herd mentality somehow led the crowd of 4,000 to Jalan Tun Perak,where about 1,000 from Masjid Jamek who had gathered in front ofthe Maybank tower, near the recently renovated Puduraya busstation.

It was then that the first real leader of the demonstration emerged in the form of PAS election director and former Bersih steering

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committee member Dr Hatta Ramli, who ominously announced onloudspeaker, “If you have a yellow shirt, this is the time to put it on.”

A diverse group, one common cause

Moments later, the first barrage of tear gas began raining in and pandemonium broke lose.

Tens of thousands of people started running towards Pudurayawhile those on the hill slope by the Maybank building climbed gatesto get as far away from the stinging gas as possible, crowding afountain to wash their faces.

The tear gas split the group into two, one which regrouped at JalanPudu where a protracted stand-off with the police took place, whilethe remainder joined a smaller crowd from Kuala Lumpur SelangorAssembly Hall which had earlier marched to Stadium Merdeka.

In the end, this Bersih 2.0 group led by national laureate A Samad Saidmanaged to get only several hundred meters away from theIstana before they were stopped, failing thus to hand over their the

movement’s petition to the Agong.

But despite being foiled from its original plan, Bersih 2.0 had succeeded in getting ordinary Malaysians from all walks of life -from the trendies to the skull-cap wearing conservatives - to cometogether for a common cause.

And unlike other protests before, it was a multiracial crowd that at

4pm, when unexpectedly informed that police would allow them tomarch to Jalan Sultan, it was met by rounds of “thank you” and thecrowd broke into an impromptu rendition of the national anthem.

Police brutality

In comparison, Malaysiakini reporter Ahmad Fadzly Esa reported that only 20 Perkasa members were spotted for their “stroll” in

Taman Titiwangsa lakes, when they had initially promised about15,000 for a counter-rally. The group had called it off after failingto secure a police permit.

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http://www.malaysiakini.com/news/169414







Meanwhile, a counter rally by Umno Youth in Bukit Bintang attracted 500 ‘patriots’, slightly over a third of the 1,400 people arrested yesterday.

On the same note, police brutality remains a concern as heavy-handed measures were employed to disperse what was a peacefulmarch until the water cannons and tear gas were deployed.

Bleeding protestors were carted off by police personnel, while a manspotted on the ground with a fracture and his wrists bound inpolice-issued plastic handcuffs.

He had boot marks on his pants and claimed that several policepersonnel had pinned him to the ground and kicked his leg.

The police brutality will remain fresh in the minds of many overthe coming weeks and would likely undermine many of thegovernment’s transformation policies which are gradually beingrolled out.

Aidila Razak

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'Dataran Maybank has become my TahrirSquare'

EYEWITNESS November 2007, I joined Bersih 1.0 as a young man inmy twenties. The cause and objective were simple - reform for cleanand fair elections with four demands.

At Bersih 1.0, the Chinese were the minority among the peacefulmarchers. Even if there were Chinese around, they were mainlymiddle-aged males.

Four years on, I am now in my early thirties and I participated in

Bersih 2.0.

I am not affiliated to any political party or any NGO, I am just acommoner who wish to live in a peaceful and harmonious country.

However, frustration has grown over the years when we see ourcorrupted government playing with race and religion to divide therakyat.

When Bersih 2.0 was first launched a couple of months back, withoutany doubt, I knew that I would need to answer this call as a Bersihveteran.

I had since then played my part by creating awareness of BersihthroughFacebook.

The day when the Bersih secretariat was raided, I was at the scene, Iwanted to go and buy my Bersih 2.0 T-shirts for myself and someother supporters.

My anger grew stronger when Bersih was accused with all kind ofabsurd allegations when its fair and reasonable demands are merelyto ensure a clean and fair election.

Later, all kind of threats and intimidation flooded in from Perkasa,thugs, silat groups.



Bully abuse

Since young, I had been vocal, I could never tolerate bully abuse. Ieven got myself into trouble when I tried to fend off some gangsterin high school. Call me stubborn, but the tougher the opponent I get,the stronger I will rebound.

That is the principle of my life and that is how I grow up. Sensingpotential threats, with my limited martial art knowledge. I was noweven more determined to be the "guard" of Bersih supporters.

I believe that a true martial artist shall never use any force againstgood and peaceful citizens.

On a Friday evening, I spent two and a half hours to travel fromKlang to City Centre, through three road blocks.

Dressed in a a yellow stripe shirt earlier during the day, I decided to change to a black T. My objective was simple, to make it to town

and be present during the march.But I needed to sneak in a low profile manner. I was lucky enoughto secure a room in a budget hotel near Times Square and I spentmy whole night on cyberspace trying to encourage more supportersto come.

I didn't get much peaceful rest that night, I must be thinking toomuch, I called home to wish my parents well. I told my mum that I

won't be home tonight as I would be running errands out of town.

Nerves were tense, blood was boiling, but deep down in my heart, Iwas still afraid. Should I be afraid more of the threats from policeor other unknowns? The sting of tear gas and water cannon sprayfrom Bersih 1 was still fresh in my mind.

And with all the stern warnings from police to stay away from this

rally, I could foresee there will be more tear gas and water cannonawaiting my revisit.

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The showdown

I woke up early on 709 and decided to take a walk to the BukitBintang area. It was around 8.30am, there were already bunch of

reporters around Mc'D on stand by.

The town was extremely quiet and I overheard a resident saying thatthe town would only be this quiet during Chinese New Year or HariRaya. I hope that this was not a sign of the calm before the storm.I also saw a familiar face walking in around.

After reading her blog today I can now confirm it was Marina

Mahathir (left).

Everyone in the restaurant looked kind of tense as the Patriotgroup was supposed to show up at 10am. However, it was laterconfirmed that Patriot had postponed their gathering till 1300.Tweeter informed that there were some supporters hanging around the Pavilion food court.

I decided to take a walk to Pavilion to check out our comrades.Not much police personnel around except a few plainclothes copsaround.

Finally reached Pavilion food court and spotted a bunch ofyoungsters, we looked into each other, we didn't see yellow clothesat all, but we do see the yellow flame in our eyes.

Final showdown

It was around 11 now, I decided to walk back to hotel to charge myphone and take a shower for the final showdown.

By the time I checked out the hotel, it was noon. I walked back toBukit Bintang area again, I passed by Time Square, and I didn't seeany yellow.

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But I do see some lost souls wondering around these areas. In thefear that they could be plainclothes or potential silat or Perkasamembers, my instinct told me not to exchange words with them.

I was kind of lost that time and did not know where to go to meetmy fellow yellow warriors. I read a tweet that DAP members weregathering around Pudu Plaza.

But I somehow trusted my instincts and headed towards Kota Raya.Now I see more people around, consisting of all races, walking insmall groups of twos and threes. They do look 'Clean', I wonder ifwe are on the same side.

It was almost 13.00 now and I had finally reached Kota Raya. I sawa group of Malays with red arm bands around. I was terrified atfirst, was Patriot not supposed to gather at Bukit Bintang?

I was so worried that I would end up at the wrong place. Still alittle bit confused,

I then heard chanting coming from Jalan Sultan side.

I walked towards them and I know I am in. I can hear the crowd chanting Bersih Bersih, Hidup Rakyat.

So emotional

The joy of meeting up with my comrades feels like reaching home,so emotional. I joined in the crowd and took out my Bersih 1 shirtand put it on immediately.

The crowds all cheer for me. A lot of young people, both Malay and Chinese took pictures with me and keep asking me where do I gotmy Bersih T from. I proudly told them, "saya dari Bersih 1.0".

They were now even more excited now and we all joined hands and marched to Dataran Maybank together.

While enjoying the spotlight earlier, I was trying to observe thedemographics of the supporters. I am not so good with crowd

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numbers, but I am very sure is more than 5-6k as claimed by IGP.Young Malaysians

To my surprise, there were many young Malaysians. And from thesemany young Malaysians, I was even more surprised to see a lot ofyoung Chinese from both genders.

The crowd started growing, we were all getting excited, someleaders gave speeches, I can't remember who. My friend called me onthe phone to check on the situation and I told him that the crowdscould be as good as Bersih 1.

I have never been to Tahrir Square before, but Dataran Maybank now

is a Tahrir Square to me. I see hope, I can see young people now docare about politics and upholding our rights, this will be the birthplace for a better Malaysia.

Just like old times, we had water cannons laced with chemicals and the tear gas treatment.

Everyone dispersed and gathered again, and we were now pushed toJalan Pudu, right in front of Plaza Rakyat.

When the police fire the first round of tear gas, everyone was sodesperate for water.

The gas stung our eyes so badly and even if we did have a piece ofcloth, it was still dry so it was basically useless.

Those who have water and salt just shared it out to everyone around regardless of race and religion.

We gathered again and wanted to march towards Pudu Jail but thepolice were blocked the other end and we were now being cornered from both sides.

I can't exactly remember how many more rounds of tear gas had been launched at us.

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Rain by God's grace

As predicted by weather forecast, rain came by the mercy of God. Atleast the rainwater helped wash away the tear gas. At that juncture, Iwas taking a break on a lorong right opposite of Tung Shin hospital.

That was the time we saw tear gas fired into the hospital compound.

A Few young girls in front of me were getting so emotional and they started crying.

Who on earth would fire tear gas into a hospital compound? This isa totally insane and unforgivable act, yet it was denied by the IGP.

Now that we have all the pictures and video footage as proof, whatdo you say now?

Evidence being doctored? Or you want another royal inquiry todetermine the authenticity of the proof??

The street was almost empty now as most had run into the hospitalcompound for shelter.

We were now on a dangerous spot where police could easily chargeat us from both ends. We were then instructed to run across theroad and go into the hospital compound. We sprinted in and Ithought that we could be safe for now.

Five minutes on, we had been told to plan our escape as quickly aswe can as police would be charging into the hospital compound toarrest people soon.

On my side, there was a tall gate, locked. Everyone helping eachother to climb over the gate, we ran through the back lane ofTongkat Tung Shin and we saw another group of 30-40policemenjust around the corner.

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I am not sure if they spotted us, but we did managed to sneak pastthem. Totally exhausted, I really felt like giving up. Really thoughtof taking off my Bersih T and just walk away from the crowd.

But my conscience told me that the battle was not over yet, we mustregroup again.

Those who managed to escape from the hospital gathered togetheragain and marched towards Bukit Nenas. I do not know how manypeople were arrested within the hospital compound, I could onlypray for their safety.

The rally goes on.With few thousand of us remaining, we walked

through the streets of Tongkat Tong Shin, Changkat Bukit Bintang,Jalan Nagasari, Jln Sultan Ismail, Jalan Ampang and Jalan DangWangi junction.

We made a U-turn later and marched all the way back to JalanAmpang heading to KLCC and finally stopped at the junction infront of KLCC and Public Bank. Crowds grow again over our journey as a lot of onlookers decide to join in our peaceful march.

Honking as sign of support

A lot of passing vehicles were all giving us honk as a sign of moralsupport. Throughout the journey, everyone chanted the Bersih sloganrepeatedly. Here I would like to pay my special respects to a youngIndian lady.

She had been chanting "Bersih Bersih, Pilihan Raya" throughout thewhole journey. Her determination shook me. I hope her throat isrecovered by now.

It was almost 16.00 now, we were now seated at the junction infront of KLCC, we sang the national anthem in high spirits, followed by a short speech by two or three politicians. Before we could disperse peacefully, the FRU were there again and started giving

chase to us.

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We ran towards KLCC Park and everyone started to disperse on theirown.

It was already close to 16.15pm.

I then took a solo walk back to Times Square again. I had a lot toreflect upon.

I met a lot of people and heard some inspiring stories. I alsowitnessed how amazingly courageous some individuals were.

I saw the ‘Lady of Liberty' (left) during the march, I walked with

someone on the wheelchair.

There was also the energetic flash mob group trying to cheer peopleup.

There were also the smiles and the tears on everyone's face.

The war is not over yet.

It will be ongoing until we achieve our objective to have a cleanand fair election.

Patrick Oh

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Merdeka when I was six, true democracy at60?

When the Tunku raised his hand to the cries of "Merdeka", I was onthe cusp of turning six.

On 9 July 2011, as I approach 60, I was among those who rallied atthe Bersih 2.0 carnival. Yes, it was a carnival. And what a carnival!The atmosphere couldn't have been more convivial and peaceable.

The gathering was diverse, emblematic of the Malaysian identity -Indian, Malay and Chinese; young, middle-aged and old; priest and

laity; rich and the not-so-rich; politicians, NGOs and the ordinaryvoters.A truer representation of what Malaysia represents would behard to replicate. We came because we wanted to - for love of ourcountry.

It was as simple as that.

I was initially hesitant about joining - ever the armchair critic,

preferring to bemoan and criticise from the air-con comfort of myhome while watching drama unfold on my flat-screen.

Impelled by conscience

This time it was different. Conscience impelled me to go. It wasp a r t l y b e c a u s e m y d a u g h t e r w a s am o n g t h e B a rCouncil"permerhati" (observers) for the rally. But even otherwise, Iwould have gone. I just had to.

My wife was keen to go as well. But getting into town was theproblem. One of us had to drive the other to the LRT station. So shewas the driver. (And she was so sad to have had to miss out).

I took the Putra LRT from Bangsar to Masjid Jamek at about 12noon. From Masjid Jamek I had planned to take the Star LRT toHang Tuah.

But that station was closed. The plan was to meet a group of friendscoming from Puchong at the Hang Tuah station.



So I decided to walk. We agreed to meet at Jalan Sultan (outsidethe old Rex cinema, now a budget hotel).

Just as I approached the meeting point, a seemingly endlessprocession of people came marching and chanting. Cries of "Bersih,Bersih" filled the noon air.I thanked God I had come.

The faces were of the Malaysia I know and love - the Malaysia Igrew up in, way back in the dim and distant 60s.

The atmosphere was celebratory, the heavy police presencenotwithstanding.

Since my friends were delayed, I decided to join the processionand meet them at another location.

After chanting and mingling for a about 20 or so minutes at theMenara Maybank, the crowd moved in an orderly fashion downJalan Pudu heading toward the Merdeka Stadium. The jovialatmosphere prevailed.

My friends joined me at Jalan Pudu in front of the Tung Shinhospital. We took pictures and had some biscuits.

Then the FRU personnel, moved in and formed a human barricade,three or more deep and in full riot gear, across Jalan Pudu nearJalan Robertson junction (the road which turns into St Anthony'schurch) The procession was stalled. With another FRU barricade atPuduraya, we were caught in the police "pincer".

Now things began to get a bit nervy. Soon, the skies opened and rain began to fall. We hailed it as a good omen.

Showers of blessing

To the priest in our group, we said it was God sending showers ofblessing to cool us in the afternoon heat, not to mention soak upthe tear-gas and dilute the chemical-laced water cannons that wereto come.

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True to script, and with no provocation or warning, the FRU thenturned their water cannons from the Puduraya end. The tear-gasfollowed soon after. The crowd dashed for the Tung Shin Hospitalcompound.

We clambered up about five feet of slippery muddy slope to reachthe compound. The ones already up, me included, gave a hand tothose who were behind.

The sight of Malaysians of diverse backgrounds reaching out, inpouring rain, to literally pull their fellow Malaysian away from thetear gas was, pardon the pun, enough to bring tears to the eyes. It isa sight I shall forever cherish. Who needs the empty 1Malaysia

rhetoric?

We waited in the porch of Tung Shin as the rain pelted down. Wethought we were safe in a hospital compound. Wrong.

Within minutes the tear-gas was shot into the compound - yes rightinto the compound. One landed within five feet of me.

We scampered to toward the light belukarto try to escape in theMenara Maybank direction. We had to negotiate another slippery

muddy slope, down this time, hanging on the tree vines. I slipped and fell despite holding on to the vines. Not hurt though, thank God.

Then police appeared in the opposite direction chasing some whohad made their way down earlier.

We backtracked up the slope. It was not easy - but we made it back to the Tung Shin compound. The crowd had begun to thin. Our pointhad been made. So I decided to call it a day.

Hard fall

I trudged down the slope from the Tung Shin compound toward Jalan Pudu holding on to a young Malay lad. I slipped and took a

hard fall. The young man called out with concern, "Uncle, ok? Uncle,ok?" I was touched. I said, "I'm ok. Terima kasih".

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I walked toward the Masjid Jamek station, hoping to take the LRTback to Bangsar, but Putra had stopped services.

So I took a leisurely walk in muddied wet clothes along Tun Perak,toward the Royal Selangor Club, over the Jln Kuching flyover toward Masjid Negara, past Muzium Negara, KL Sentral and on to BangsarLRT station.

On my long trek home, other than for the large clusters of policepersonnel and their trucks at various points, I was the about onlyliving soul around. It was eerily like something out of the twilightzone.

I stopped twice to ask the police if it was okay for me to take theroute I did. They very politely told me it was fine. The police had a job to do.

At the Bangsar LRT my dear wife picked me up and drove mehome. I must have looked a state - soaked to my skin and slacksall muddied.

I was very tired; but very exhilarated. I wouldn't have missed it forthe world. My wife envied me.

On the verge of turning 60, my prayer is that this beloved land ofmy birth has come of age.

Allen Lopez

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We walked in peace until…The night was quiet. The usual buzz that surrounds KL on a Fridaynight was missing. I walked from Masjid Jamek LRT station to the

hotel through Masjid India bazaar. Not many police were sighted and business was still operating as usual. The crowd was mainlytourists. I met up with Padma, Jo and Kavilan in the hotel. My roommateswere Albert and Bakri – Haris Ibrahim’s younger brother. As the nightwas still early, Padma, Jo and I chilled out at the hotel’s rooftopcafé. From above, Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman (TAR) looked deserted. Streets were empty. So were Jalan Raja Laut and Jalan

Kuching. The police had barricaded and blocked access into KL,advised people to stay at home. A helicopter with spotlight was seenflying low every 15 minutes around town, inspecting every inch ofit. KL was on a self-imposed curfew.

In the midst of our conversation, we got news that some hotels werebeing raided by the police. We decided to go back to our rooms.Albert, Bakri and I were cautious throughout the night. Soon sunrisecame.

The “hide and seek” began

From afar, we saw that Dataran Merdeka was sealed off. There wereoccasional sirens wailing and FRU trucks moving. Police werecombing Jalan TAR and its adjacent alleys and there were reports ofarrests in Sogo. We spotted three Special Branch (SB) officers havingbreakfast at table beside us. We decided to go back to our rooms.

While waiting in the room, suddenly, the phone rang! A man waslooking for May and said that her friend from Singapore was havingtrouble downstairs. But there was no May in our group! Albertreplied and hung up. Subsequently two more calls came, this timeanswered by Bakri and he managed to get the name of the caller –Azman. Bakri gave him the same reply and finally, he said “Then canI speak to Padma?” Bakri told him to check with the receptionistand hung up. I told Bakri that it could be the SB “fishing” and hemade a few calls to the rest of the group. We gathered and wedecided to move to Pasar Seni.



We walked along Jalan Ampang towards Jalan Hang Lekiu. Streetswere empty. Masjid Jamek LRT station was sealed off and FRUtrucks were in position. We saw pockets of people along the way; ingroups of twos and threes. Some were sitting by the curbside. About

seven to eight FRU trucks were stationed in front of Pasar Seni. Wealso spotted a lot of SBs in Pasar Seni. We then decided to move toPetaling Street. Petaling Street — where the party begins

As we reached Petaling Street, we noticed small groups had alreadygathered. Noticeably, the crowd was largely youths. I bumped intosome friends, fellow Loyarburokkers among them – Justine, Ka Eaand June. The SABM-ers sang Negaraku and the crowd cheered.Spirits were getting high. We decided to walk to Stadium Merdekavia Jalan Hang Jebat. As I turned the corner, I saw a sea of peoplemarching forward; about 2,000 at least. I stood still for a moment.No words could describe my feelings. We are not alone!

Within minutes, the crowd grew; more joined the marching crowd (out of nowhere!). By the time the group reached the intersection toJalan Hang Jebat, there were at least 4,000 people. I lost sight of

Padma and Jo in the midst of marching. The atmosphere wascarnival-like (http://twitpic.com/5nj7yy) so I was not too worried.The group wanted to march up Jalan Hang Jebat to StadiumMerdeka. But there was a police blockade; just outside Rumah BP!

Rather instinctively (I don’t know what the hell got into me!), I jumped in front and told them “No! We don’t confront! We came fora peaceful walk and we don’t want a confrontation!” The fewleaders/marshals looked at me stunned, and agreed. The group then

turned back and headed towards Kotaraya. The Jalan Sultan crowd joined another group that had alreadygathered at Jalan Tun Perak, in front of Maybank Tower. The crowd had already swelled to at least 20,000. More and more were alsowalking in from Jalan Sultan. I was already helping with crowd control by now; urging those at the back to join the crowd. Thecrowd size continued to grow tremendously; it was nearing 30,000. Attention was suddenly thrown towards Jalan Pudu during Dr HattaRamli’s speech. There was a large group marching forward. I ranforward to check if the crowd was another #Bersih group. To my

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http://twitpic.com/5nj7yy





relief, I saw Alex (Bukit Bintang MP Fong Kui Lun’s son) leading thepack. This is the group that marched from Pudu! The two groups joined and by now, it was a 50,000 strong crowd. The FRU spring into action! Without warning, suddenly an FRU truck came charging towards thecrowd in front of Sinar Kota and started shooting water at thecrowd. The crowd panicked and retreated; as some youngsters whowere clearly angered and provoked tried to charge at the FRUs. I ran in front again (I still don’t know why the hell I did that!)and shouted like a mad man, asking them not to confront. SomePak Cik and uncles also tried to hold the line as well. Then “Poom” “Poom Poom” “Poom Poom Poom”; tear gas was fired atthe crowd. The massive crowd retreated back to the intersection infront of Puduraya. By now, we were almost split into two smallergroups; 1 retreating backwards to Jalan Pudu, some to Pudurayawhile the other group moved backwards to Jalan Sultan. “Garam Garam Garam”… “Air Air Air”… people were sharing salt,pouring water into each others' towels. A few youngsters were seen

helping a Pak Cik who seemed to be having breathing difficulties ashe sat by the curbside. I spoke to a leader and we decided to group everyone together atPuduraya. The Jalan Sultan crowd started moving, slowly. Suddenly,the FRU came charging again from Jalan Tun Perak. This time withblue chemicals. The crowd retreated further back; clearly breakingthe group into two.

At the same time, the FRUs from Pasar Seni moved up to PetalingStreet junction. I urged the crowd to move back into Jalan Sultan. Agroup of youngsters then emerged from Jalan Tun Tan Siew Sin and ran towards Jalan Sultan. “Poom Poom” “Poom Poom Poom”… TheFRUs near Kotaraya fired! A few brave youngsters kicked away thegas canisters to change the smoke direction! God answered our prayers

And as if God was watching us, rain came! It poured! The rainwashed away the tear gas smoke. I saw a teenage Malay boy; his eyeswere inflamed and red but he soldiered on. I asked if he was

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alright; he pointed skywards and washed his eyes. We smiled.Surprisingly, the earlier police blockade in front of Rumah BP wasgone (maybe they were scared of the rain); as the crowd marched towards Stadium Merdeka. I managed to meet up with my brothers

there.

The crowd only managed to walk to Changkat Stadium, where theFRUs had already put up barbed wires. Here, the FRUs and policeobserved restraint. They left the crowd alone and were onlyobserving. As the rain continued to pour, the crowd chanted and sang Negaraku. Down the road, a carnival-like atmosphere filled thecrowd again. People were seen busy buying ice-cream from a bicyclevendor. I met up with Yvonne, Karen and Jonson and we moved along withthe crowd towards the Chinese temple opposite Kuala LumpurSelangor Chinese Assembly Hall. We met a few others there; KwangChen, Nathaniel Tan, Edmund Bon and Zain HD. I called Padma and was glad to find that both she and Jo were alright (They managed to get into Stadium Merdeka!). The crowd dispersed peacefully at4pm.

Walked for a noble causePeople say you will know who your true friends are during yourtimes in need. On July 9th, we, fellow righteous Malaysians whobraved all the obstacles walked together for a cause that webelieved in. There were no Malays, no Chinese, no Indians, noSabahans, no Sarawakians and no Orang Asli. Just Malaysians! OnJuly 9th, the real Malaysia emerged, and we walked in peace until…

Adrian Ng

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An amazing experienceI woke up like many Malaysians on Saturday morning, resolute toattend the rally in Kuala Lumpur, but, also like many Malaysians,

worried. Worried I could not make it into the city, worried that Iwould be detained, worried about the new depths which the policewere willing to sink to this time around. After all, the pre-emptivemeasures taken to prevent this rally from happening up to that pointhad been without precedence. I would not have been surprised if thestringent roadblocks exposed Osama Bin Laden, had he not alreadybeen killed by the US.

I decided I could not forgive myself if I did not go, so I took a

Komuter to KL. The station I boarded (a minor train stop, really) had three police officers manning a guard post and another walkingaround the station. It looked a bit like a scene from a WW2 movie,but I did not carry any bags with me so as not to arouse suspicion.

I carried all I was advised to carry in a six-pocket baggyquarterpants. I even had a dental appointment card as an “alibi.” Asmuch as I wanted to wear yellow and don a Bersih headband, Ineeded to get in the city to make it count. So instead, I wore a T-shirt saying “Stop Following Me”, and hoped the police would do asthe T-shirt said. But as expected, it didn’t really help.

In the train, there were another three cops seated in the samecarriage as me. It was quite early in the morning. Another copwalked up and down the coaches, looking at the passengers’ faces. Iwasn’t sure what facial expression to wear to not arouse suspicion, soI just pretended to be asleep with my best “muka duh.”

Luckily for me, at the next station, some familiar faces boarded.They were NGO and PAS activists. One sat opposite me. I “woke up”and greeted the guy, “Pagi, bang.” “Selamat pagi dik.” Almostknowingly he asked me, “KL ke Sentral?” I replied, “KL.” With a smile,I asked “Jalan?”, and his answer came quickly, “Mestilah.” A fewseconds later, perhaps as an afterthought seeing the cops nearby,“Cuaca baik, best bersiar-siar kat KL.”

Another group boarded the train and it was apparent that they allknew each other. The policemen were either worried about the coachbeing entirely made up of would-be protestors, or were sympathisers,



or were just generally upset over the fact that we would get a buffetif we were arrested as opposed to their crappy “nasi bungkus”rations. One by one, the cops exited the train.

As the crowd in the train swelled with would-be-protestors, the

chatter got louder and louder and inevitably turned towardscriticising the government. By this time, all the cops had alighted.We passed by security blockades on the road that were probablytighter than the Israeli blockade in Gaza.

The guys on the train were very well co-ordinated (they had evensent out “scouts” in the morning to see the extent of the roadblocks)and generally awesome, fun people.

I arrived at about 10.15am at the main KL railway station. Aftertalking to a few people, mainly PAS supporters in the station,realised we had already been barricaded in. I met my old friend,the Klang PAS secretary who had just given AFP an interview (inwhich he called Malaysia a future police state to be governed by aPM/IGP). I found out from him that they had earlier performed morning prayers at the mosque where their numbers had beenthinned by a few rounds of “police and thieves”, or in this case

“police and protestors”, with the cops.Hardly a few moments after I walked away from my friend, thepolice moved in and started rounding up the crowd, herding usonto the platform area, clearing out the lobby.

I then updated my Facebook status to “Locked in at KL station.” Thisgot some friends panicky as they thought I had been arrested, whichled to a panicked friend of mine from Singapore furiously SMSing

an extremely confused me, “Do you need me to call a lawyer? Whichstation? Did they arrest you or detain you? Are you in van or inbalai?” After explaining to her (and rewording my status update) shecalmed down.

Soon after, a young serban-ed Muslim man, who was sleeping on thetarmac floor with his bag as a pillow, was asked to remove his bagand upon checking it, the policemen found a yellow T-shirt, and hewas dragged through the crowd. This agitated the people in the

station and I found myself in the middle of shouts of “Takbir” and “Allahuakbar.”

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This made the policemen move onto the platform and to preventany injury, we all sat on the platform. Unaccustomed to PASdemonstrator norms, I clumsily sat cross-legged and soon realised everyone else had assumed the kneeling position common in Muslim

prayer. The guy next to me smiled and asked: “Anak bukan orangPAS kan?”

I took one good look at myself, black T-shirt, utility quarterpantsand sneakers with no socks, and confirmed to myself that I could never pass for a PAS member ever, despite having a brown face. Inodded sheepsihly at him and he smiled back: “Takpa duduk sini,kalau keluar bahaya.”

Before I had any time to “correct my posture,” the cops moved inagain, this time chasing us away from the platform. Apparently, theydon’t really like seeing protestors resting. So we were, this time,chased out of the station. There our cat-and-mouse game with thecops began. Two attempts to march to the National Mosque were metwith about 10 per cent of the crowd being shaved off by men-grabbing FRU trucks.

Now I know how dogs must feel when the municipal trucks come

for them. I made a silent promise to myself to be nice to myneighbourhood strays. The third time around, an officer grabbed myarm when a group of PAS folk came from the back and more or lessrescued me from the clutches of doom.

Now I was sort of safely back at the station entrance. I was told thePAS group planned to wait and march to the National Mosque at1.15pm for zohor prayers.

Having earlier realised my non-PASness, this was pretty muchterrifying news for me. You see, I could not see any other non-Malay in the station at that time, other than a few reporters. I wasalready imagining prison food, as per YB Teresa Kok’s experience, Iwould be given spoilt curry and a half-boiled egg (at this point,information that I would be treated to a “RM25 briyani buffet” inPulapol was not yet available), as I would be a fat sitting duck when the cops saw me lingering like a hobo outside the NationalMosque.

Suddenly, two people caught my eye, a Chinese woman and the guynext to her, who looked kind of Malay, like me. Something made me

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quite certain he wasn’t Muslim (men don’t wear gold chains, thanksUstaz Nazri Nayan from PAS Youth for that lesson!) and I quicklymade friends with this doctor from Ipoh (whose clinic is apparentlyvisible from the highway) and his friend.

As if on cue, a travelling group of Chinese women, a family and two young men whom I later would come to know as Eugene and Brian, from Penang and PJ, and I quickly joined this crowd beforeI was left as an easy target for harassment. We had to keep moving.

A few moments later, DAP lawyer and friend Way Kheng calls me tofind out if I am OK as she just read that many people were detained in the train station and had read my status updates. Over 100apparently. All I could think of was, “I hope the guys who justhelped me are OK.” I then got a call from Klang DAP chief Ivan Howho told me many DAP members were stuck in HQ.

This made me worried and determined at the same time. Worried because these were my friends. Determined because I felt now, morethan ever, I had to make it there.

I called my best friend to find out where he was and to my initialrelief and later annoyance, he had been wolfing down burgers and sipping coffee while checking out chicks all morning at McDonald’swhile I was doing a forced morning jog around the train station.We agree to meet at Petaling Street as he and the friends with himtried to pass the police checkpoints from there.

In Petaling Street I met up with the journalist/thespian/writer Irespect most, Kee Thuan Chye. We spent a few moments talking and posing for photos as my friend tried to make his way from Kota

Raya, trying to avoid the FRU-mounted blocks. There were manyNGO representatives whom I had previously met and we used thefew minutes we had before the police marched in to catch up and drink some soya bean milk.

Apparently tourists in Petaling Street either did not know or did notcare about the rally as we saw many walking around. Perhaps theyare not aware of the existence of tear gas and water cannons inrallies, or probably thought those giant trucks were meant for food

and water distribution for hungry demonstrators later?

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The group from Pasar Seni and Medan Rakyat joined us and suddenly the crowd at Petaling Street swelled into the thousands. Wesaw helicopters by a TV station widely and commonly disliked byBersih supporters and they were repeatedly booed. The FRU moved in

at this time.And when the FRU blocked the other side, we found ourselveswalking up the road. This continued a few times before a sensible,and I imagine tired, protest leader shouts for us to sit down. And we sat down for a while before another protest leader shouted forus to stand up. This happened a few times.

It appeared the protest leaders were not always agreeable onwhether we should sit down or stand up. Anyway, the police seemed to have relaxed their blockade at the entrance of Jalan Pudu so webegan marching there. We were joined by two large crowds, onecoming from each side of the road, and converging in the middle.Suddenly we were in a sea of people spanning three roads and entire sidewalks. We had arrived at the rally. This was it. This wasBersih.

There were Malaysians of all walks of life, of all races, of all

backgrounds. All gathered for the singular goal, to support Bersihand its eight perfectly legitimate claims for a cleaner, fairerelections. All had gathered for a better Malaysia. We listened tosome people reading poems, a guy took out a guitar and started playing.

A few protestors started planking for photos. People were breakinginto random groups, making moving speeches in all languages.Motorists were high beaming and honking and some wound down

their windows and yelled words of encouragement. The mood wasenergetic but peaceful. To me, this was Malaysia coming together.

That all shattered when all of a sudden, canister after canister oftear gas was fired into the crowd. One canister exploded near me,in front of a group of Muslimat protestors wearing telekungs.Impressively, these brave women ran with their telekungs and face-covers intact. Their faith was not about to be shaken by tear gascanisters.

In contrast, for all the bravado and silat-laced threats earlier,another group who threatened to protest had stayed home. The

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Chinese also apparently did not stock food that day, and came outto join the rally.

The crowd, previously orderly and organised, started running asour eyes started to smart, skin started to itch and breathing became

difficult. However, this impressively brutal act brought out an evenmore impressive side of Malaysians. Malaysians were leading fellowMalaysians out of the chaos.

People were not allowed to fall because other people pulled them upand kept them going. Youngsters formed human chains to allowwomen and senior citizens and a few disabled people, who bravelytook a stand with us, to get through safely. The police did not savethese people that day. Their fellow Malaysians did. The police’s onlycontribution was to cause the unnecessary panic in the first place.

While we regrouped, I noticed that many activists from outside KLwere here, and saw the legendary Dr Chen Man Hin and managed togreet him and Kak Marina Mahathir who stood in the crowd.

While people were still reeling from the effects of tear gas, watertrucks moved to spray high-pressured blue chemical water atpeople. We ran along the road, and miraculously no one wasseriously injured though they were tens of thousands on the road that day. Shuttered shops opened up their doors for us to wash oureyes and faces and get rid of the literally, bad taste in our mouths.People were sharing their water, salt, soap and pain, weaker oneswere quickly led away to fresh air, the crowd literally took care oftheir own. It was beautiful.

As if on cue, it began to rain. The effects of the tear gas and

chemical water quickly wore off and people started to regroupagain. The crowd burst into an impromptu rendition of “Negaraku”.The rain was heavier now and for a while the police and protestorsboth stood their ground. When the rain subsided a little more,however, they started firing tear gas canisters again.

This time the police moved in with trucks, and my friends and Iran into the nearby parking lot. Cops on foot gave chase toprotestors and we ran into the back lanes, climbed a few small hills

and were separated from the main group. We walked till we reached the KLSE building and rested in the car park underground with

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protestors who had been gassed near Tung Shin, and a few whoescaped Jalan Pudu.

There’s something magical about the bond that tear gas brings. You instantly become friendlier and start talking with everyone. All

walls vanish and you’re all friends all of a sudden, driven by acommon goal. Yes, ultimately electoral reforms, but at that moment — to get away from the tear gas!

Come to think of it, perhaps assembling all BN component parties inPWTC and gassing them silly could solve the answer to theirinternal conflict, but I digress. Anyway, here we met a few activistswho had come from Sarawak Election Watch. We smelt tear gas againand had to get moving. We looked for a way to rejoin the maingroup, but failed as all roads were cordoned off by cops and wewere basically alone.

We explored the back alleys and lorongs looking for a way to rejointhe crowd only to have police meet us at every turn. Frustrated, wedecided to try and grab a monorail to Jalan Maharajalela and walk to the stadium from there as, ultimately, everybody was trying to getthere. As we somehow managed to sneak into Jalan Raja Chulan, we

rejoined a smallish crowd of people, at least for a few secondsbefore FRU trucks rolled in and we smelt tear gas again.

We were chased like stray dogs again down Jalan Raja Chulan,from both directions — one side from Jalan Pudu, the other fromGod-knows-where. The crowd that was trying to call out to us to join them seconds ago ran helter-skelter down Jalan Raja Chulan,Jalan P. Ramlee while we ran into the open parking lot bordering theBukit Nenas Forest Reserve.

There an elderly woman came to the gate of her house and asked us to run into the jungle to hide from the helicopters (which, if you recall, were TV3 helicopters). I am unsure when was the last timethis woman has been out of that house, but I put it somewherebetween the first and second communist emergencies.

She, however, overcame her fear of people in face masks and offered to open her gates to us should we be chased by police. Tear gas

canisters were being fired and as we were isolated, we thought itwas best to keep moving to try and head for Jalan Maharajalela.

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We had to skip two Monorail and LRT stations due to heavy policepresence and finally made it to Dang Wangi. Here, to our dismay wewere told ALL stations in KL had been locked down by management,including KL Sentral, which meant we could not make it to Jalan

Maharajalela by train. To our further dismay, we were told even thisstation was being closed and all trains were being grounded afterthe last one.

I called a friend who told me Ambiga had been detained and Anwarinjured, and that they were soon dispersing. We then decided toleave first, as there appeared to be nothing more we could do at thatpoint. Disappointed that I could not be there for that last part, I wasstill happy I at least made it into the city, joined the rally and for

at least half the time, was part of the people’s movement called Bersih.

In all the excitement, fear, exhilaration, anger we felt that day,throughout the emotional roller coaster ride, there was a deepersense of purpose, a poignant, reflective realisation that we were partof something far greater than ourselves.

We somehow managed to slip past police and saw that quite a few

of the Pasar Seni crowd was still locked in and so was the Klangbus stand crowd. After getting down at Bangsar and walking toAbdullah Hukum, I finally boarded a train headed home. A group inthe train seemed to eyeball me suspiciously and though they looked much like the PAS activists I saw earlier in the morning, they did not look “brutalised” enough to have just participated in Bersih, and so I kept to myself, worried that they were a group of SBs, or worse,silat exponents who wanted to beat me up.

Soon enough though, someone from that group asked me if I had come from the Bersih rally. When he found out I had, he happilycalled out to his friends and a small crowd gathered.

Apparently they were part of the Bersih group who had come late and were locked in earlier at KL Sentral, missing most of the day’sevents. At the end of it all, when they found out the number ofpeople who had made it and how the crowd was mixed, and howeven the old, physically-challenged came out in full force, the guywho spoke to me earlier shouted, “Takbir!” and three-quarters of thecoach replied with “Allahuakbar.”

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Yes, my friend, 50,000 made it despite the insurmountable oddsstacked against them. God is indeed great.

Emmanuel Joseph

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If only every day was July 9Many people were surprised that I attended the rally despite all thehoo-hah and clampdowns. Someone who describes me as “soft

spoken” commended me on my “courage” and “strength.”The truth is that I am a little surprised myself. I am, by nature,non-confrontational. Street rallies are not part of my usual Saturdayafternoon routine.

The first time Bersih was held in 2007, I was completely oblivious.Until I had to rush for a wedding dinner that evening ... and trafficwas at a standstill “due to a rally in town.” I was so annoyed at the

“inconsiderate” people. How dare they inconvenience the rest of uswith their little parade?

It has taken four years, but I think I have gained a deeperunderstanding of what Bersih stands for, why it’s so important, and why it affects every Malaysian.

Still ... I didn’t really jump at the chance to participate in Bersih 2.0.Let the activists do what they’re good at. I was happy being the silentsupporter, the background cheerleader.

Then they started arresting people wearing yellow T-shirts. And thatpretty much changed things for me. I didn’t want to see peopleintimidated by force or threats. I didn’t like the idea of a peacefulrally being the source of such ugly attacks. And I sure didn’t likehaving someone dictate what we could or couldn’t wear.

So I started following the news more closely. And, honestly, everyday brought more bad news and threats. But reading the “WhyBersih” tweets on Twitter were very inspiring. Even online, you had asense that people were coming together for something bigger thanthemselves. They were putting aside their differences. They werelooking toward a brighter future with a hope that I had almostforgotten existed — a fresh change from all the migration talk thatis all so common nowadays.

I was still in two minds about the rally for a long time. Part of me

was very afraid about what could happen. It was the type of feelingwhen one gets a negative medical report from a doctor or whengoing through an exceptionally turbulent flight. I prayed about it. I



counted the cost. I wondered how long I would be willing to stayin jail. I hugged my children harder and longer.

Yet part of me, a self-confessed diehard Malaysian, knew that allmy talk would amount to nothing if I didn’t walk. And maybe this

was the tipping point the country needed for change. I figured, theway things were going, it would be easier to rebuild than to wait forit to self-implode. My three great loves — and the three things Iwould be willing to give my life for — are Jesus, family and country. And somehow on July 9 I felt it was a combination of allthree.

So before I could chicken out, I made plans on Friday to go. Thank God for my family who, despite their own fears and concerns, wereextremely supportive and encouraging — siblings, cousins and parents even came along, making it a family affair of sorts. Specialshoutout to hubby who stayed behind to jaga anak and to be onstandby to bail any of us out.

I made sure I went in early on Saturday morning instead of“waiting and seeing”, which would probably deter me. Yes, there wereroadblocks and police checks (which were pretty uneventful if you

weren’t clad in yellow and acting antagonistic). And yes, we weregassed. And yes, it stung like crazy. And a total stranger gave methe last few salt crystals he had so I could suck on them.

Honestly, the feeling of being surrounded by so many people of alldifferent races, backgrounds, ages, etc is indescribable. I have neverfelt safer walking on KL roads. I felt so proud seeing all thesepeople (many of whom took time off so they could come into thecity a few days earlier) braving water cannons and tear gas and

arrests and carrying on the march. I met old friends and chatted with fellow sojourners. And singing the national anthem right thereand then with everyone just filled my heart with so much joy. Iwished that we could all be as united as this every day.

Reaching home several hours later, we were all tired out. Butsomehow deliriously high. (I don’t think there was any laughing gassprayed.) Reading #bersihstories on Twitter, I get the feeling I’mnot the only one feeling this way. Also, knowing that globallyMalaysians abroad are rising up too in a dozen other peacefulrallies in major cities was truly heartwarming.

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So why Bersih? So that my kids can be proud to be Malaysians. Sothat they won’t have to take to the streets next time. And so that theywill have the courage and strength to do so if the need arises.

Joey Sze

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Thank you, rakyat MalaysiaI grew up in one of those households that affirmed a specificstereotype for a specific race. The Chinese all stuck together,

clannish is the word I think my family called them. The Malays had it easy with all the help it got from the government and that left us,the Indians to fend for ourselves (as it was a well known fact thatIndians never really helped one another). I believed that despitebeing a Malaysian citizen, I was born into an unfortunate situation.

My mother constantly spoke about migration and how we had to goin search of a better life, one Malaysia could not secure for amiddle class Indian family like ours.

Like every other Indian family, it began with studying abroad. Butas much as I enjoyed the freedom of a foreign land, I always feltthe pull of Malaysia and returned after a long stint away.

I never worried myself over our economy, our government, ourpolitical leaders. I grew up understanding that the odds werealready stacked against me, that some things, despite my citizenshipwould just never be available to me. But that never stopped me from

complaining.From as soon as I could form my own thoughts, I’ve beencomplaining. Every hurdle I ever came across, I attributed to foulplay or inequality of the Malaysian system. I considered myselfnothing more but a victim of the system.

But the time finally came for me to stop complaining and pointingfingers and to do something about it. The tremendous momentum of

the Bersih rally managed to even garner my-never-read-the-newspaper attention. There was this sudden uproar demanding justice, and I felt an overwhelming need to support it.

The ludicrous statements churned out by our prime minister mademe foam at the mouth. How could they pull such dirty tricks at anational level and think they could get away with it? That musthave been the moment I decided that an arrogant and bullishgovernment was a government that didn’t deserve to rule further

and I was going to do everything in my little way to ensure it.



I told my mother that I had to attend the Bersih rally, and much tomy surprise, she didn’t try to stop me. She even packed me and mysister raincoats to keep the anticipated chemical-laced water fromthe water cannons off our skin.

I remember praying that morning. Apart from asking God to helpme not get arrested, I prayed that this peaceful assembly would result in a new Malaysia, one that I could be proud of.

My sister, her friend and I made our way to the Pasar Seni stationand were met with fear as we saw FRU trucks and countless men inuniform. The mood was tense and the lack of non-Malays made menervous. I feared standing out like a sore thumb.

By 1pm, we had begun to march down Petaling Street. Weimmediately felt safe in a sea of what can only be described as amultiracial crowd of Malaysians. People were passing around flowers, snapping photographs and even blowing up balloons to tossaround. Photographers on rooftops summoned the crowd to look upand in turn we flashed our biggest smiles.

This street carnival atmosphere erased some of the tension thatmost of us had been feeling earlier, when we arrived at whatappeared to be a ghost town of Kuala Lumpur. Fear was the furthestthings from our mind as we sang “Bersih, bersih” to the tune of Ole-ole. Due to a blockage at one of the streets leading up to StadiumMerdeka, we made our way instead towards Menara Maybank. This iswhere I witnessed a whole new Malaysia. Malays, Chinese and Indians were smiling, laughing, waving at people in the LRTs

together. No one uttered curse words, no one showed the FRU thefinger (I checked when a police helicopter flew by) and no oneseemed inclined to any kind of violence, except for the FRU thatis. That precise moment of Malaysian harmony at its finest was metby canisters of tear gas and so began what has become a trulyhistoric day.

My sister, her friend and I clutched each other tightly and ran forour lives. There are no words to describe the fear of being attacked

by your own police. The protectors of our country, the defenders ofthe weak were hell bent on hurting little ol’ unarmed me.

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Once we had been cornered at Jalan Pudu, I started to worry. Thiswas all getting too dangerous for my liking and as fate would haveit, we could see no possible exit strategy. A cloud of tear gasengulfed me, each breath like needles into my nose, throat and

worst of all lungs. I clutched on to my sister's backpack as wesummoned ourselves to run blindly out of harm’s way.

I could barely open my eyes and my heart raced like it was aboutto explode. I felt nauseous and dizzy all at once, I could barelystand upright let alone sprint anymore when it began to rain heavily,soaking us all while washing remnants of the tear gas off ourburning skin.

We ran into what appeared to be an open space next to the Tung ShinHospital. As I gasped for oxygen, I was met with the sincere concernof other rally participants, all offering water and salt to minimisethe effects of the hazardous gas.

I remember what I saw then very clearly (despite the tears runningdown my cheek) as it has changed my mind of Malaysia. Malaysianswere sharing water, salt and towels. Malaysians were helpful and considerate. Malaysians were praying together for the violence to

cease.Choked with emotion and lungs still hurting from the tear gas, wewere on the run again. In the distance I could see the FRU chargingat us, batons waving threateningly in the air. We were now faced witha 12-foot wall. This was no ordinary wall, it was red earth cut at analmost 90 degree angle. There was no way to climb this wall unlessyou possessed the acrobatic skills of a Chinese circus artiste.

But a group of Malay men had made a hole in the fence of theneighbouring Chinese school and in an orderly fashion were pullingpeople up over the wall. I waited patiently (despite the horrid yelling of the FRU behind me) for my turn as a kind gentlemansummoned the strength of the gods to single handedly pull me tosafety. Before I knew it, my sister and her friend were over theledge too as more tear gas canisters exploded around us.

Out of sheer instinct, your body only knows to run. So run we did.

We followed the crowd to what was another hole in a fence, thistime down a slippery slope. A Chinese man and a Malay man held their hands out for me to trek down carefully, yet again, all in an

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orderly fashion. I held on to anyone who was within reach forbalance and offered the same for the ones trapped behind me. Thebarbed wires of the fence ate into the flesh of a Malay man thatheld the opening for us to pass and seemed unfazed by the fact the

the FRU was so close. It was clear that he was leaving no Malaysianbehind. As I made my way through the broken fence, a young Malay boywhispered, “Ingat BN saja boleh buat jalan, kita pun boleh buat jalan” and winked at me. I laughed. With the FRU hot on our trail, Imanaged to savour the moment, just stand there and laugh. Then westarted to run again.

Now that the burn of the tear gas has left my body, and the ache ofthe chase is long gone, what remains fresh in my mind is the spiritof unity Malaysians showed me. Our solidarity was undeniable.

To see the lies reported in the newspapers makes me mad but givesme hope to believe that maybe everything else I’ve read in the newsbefore this were lies too. After all I did not see clannish Chinese,easygoing Malays or selfish Indians, I only saw Malaysians, eagerfor peace and justice.

I would like to thank that very kind Malay gentleman who hauled me up almost 12 feet. I wish I had taken the moment to look you inthe eye and thank you for being the Malaysian we should all aspireto be.

July 9, 2011 is the day when I finally stopped being an Indian inMalaysia. I am now proud to be simply a Malaysian.

Kashini Krishnamurthy

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Bersih 2.0: Arrested and sent to Pulapol

On July 8, 2011, my doctor friend SMS-ed me and said he was notsure whether he would be able to get into Kuala Lumpur by the next

day. I was also not sure whether I would be able to get nearStadium Merdeka on July 9. But I had to go and see.

On July 9, after work in the morning, I drove to the Pavilion,parked my car there and took a taxi to Petaling Street to meet myfriend. He got into KL without any problems. He introduced two otherpeople to me.

We went down Jalan Petaling at around 11am and came to a cornerfacing Central Market. There were police trucks lined up, with rowsof police and other blue-uniformed people in front of CentralMarket. A helicopter flew overhead. I took some pictures and video shots.There were a few people, and no commotion.

A plainclothes police officer with a walkie talkie came up behind me, together together with a policeman in uniform. He looked at mein a stern manner and asked me, “Why are you here?” “Oh! This isan important day,” I replied. “Why is it important?” he cocked hishead and asked. "This has never happened before. This is very important. This is ahistorical day!” There was no time to think, and it was withouthesitation that I replied calmly and emphatically, straight from myheart. He asked me for my identity card, and after taking my IC, he said,"Okay, be part of history," and with a wave of his hand, he signalled to a uniformed police officer to escort me and my friend to thepolice truck.

As we walked towards the truck, there were plenty of photo-snappingby uniformed and non-uniformed people. “This is no good. These

goons are going to have a file on me,” I thought. “But I’ve got to saywhat I’ve got to say!” and I was glad I did.



We got into one of the trucks and were joined by many ordinaryfolk, all cooperative, no noise or gestures of defiance or protests. After the truck was filled, the doors were closed and padlocked from outside. Off we went in a convoy, at a fairly high speed and

escorted by a traffic police car.

I looked, and all around were ordinary folk, 90 percent of whomwere Malays: workers, students, elder citizens, some with whiteskullcaps, some with checkered turbans, and people that I don’tordinarily see in the city. But they all had warmth in their eyes. We shook hands and a bond was established. We might have had different backgrounds, but atthat moment, I knew we were one people. Trucked to Pulapol

We were taken into the Pusat Latihan Polis large compound, knownas Pulapol. My friend and I phoned our families. My wife was a little excited,

even though she knew I was going to KL and to Bersih 2.0.

She supported me, but still she could not contain her feelings, judging from the shrillness of her initial response. I reassured her“nothing will happen”.

She fell into calmness quickly. I knew she felt reassured. She hasalways trusted my judgment. In the days leading up to July 9, we

had already decided: “Arrest, arrest lah, how many can they arrest?”

At the camp, we peeked out of the truck and could see more truckslined up, one by one, about 10 at that time. The trucks stopped at alarge building to disgorge the detainees, one truck at a time. Wewaited for like an hour or so for our turn. The waiting was interspersed with spirited shouts; tidy, resonating

and in unison. Next to the large building was a large open aircompound, part of it fenced up with barb wire and with police

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trainees standing behind the barb wire in a disorderly and slack manner. The barb wire and the truck line-up reminded me of Dachau, just

outside Munich, but without the chill and atmosphere of suspended doom. The police trainees reacted to occasional jeers or mockery. But theywere largely spared. They looked so young. It occurred to me, whilewaiting, that the danger we were in was if the truck caught fire, wewould most probably perish. There was no way we could have brokenout of the double layered metal mesh construction of the truck. That danger passed as we disembarked and took our seats insections designated to hold us. One officer told us to switch off ourhandphones and we asked for a last call to our families. Again we called our families and kept them updated. When our turncame, we took our seats in front of rows of individual tablesbehind which sat old policemen.

They took down my name, MyKad number and address. Then ontothe next section. Again tables, but this time there were young policetrainee women seated behind the tables. They were a little nervous and not stern or confident. Again theytook my name, MyKad number, my address, my wife’s name (told mywife later, may be she will get knocks on the door at night, but shesaid she was not scared), how many children I had, what my work

was and where was I when I was arrested, and why I was where Iwas.

I told her I am a doctor and opened my back pack to show hergauze, rolls of bandages, plaster casts and bottles of water and said that I could help at the front line. She was a little startled and told me she believed me. She asked whether I knew about the rally. I said yes, the rally was to be at thestadium.

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She wrote some things on the paper, but did not ask me to sign. Shethen told me that was all and I was to join the rest of thosearrested in the fenced-up area. We were able to phone, SMS and email our families and shoot videos without any obstruction at all,

as if what it were all meant for us to video to our hearts content.

By the thousands

My wife told me she had given our names to the lawyers. We had many people who came up to us to shake hands warmly. We chit-chatted with one another and shared our stories. Ordinarypeople, ordinary folks. I looked at their tan, their dress, their eyesand expressions. I wondered how much they would have spent justto get to KL. And here they were, by the thousands! Teachers, students, olderpeople, women, traders, security guards, workers, politicians,religious teachers, wise men. There were many more, and I have no idea what they did for a

living. It was of no importance what their profession or work was.The thing that was of importance was we were all there for onereason. We were one people. There were no barriers. It was a wonderfulexperience. It set me free. Free from fear. Free to feel thebrotherhood, and the nationhood of brothers. Merdeka!

The long wait for our MyKad was punctuated with a few incidents.Often, when a fresh batch of detainees arrived, there was rousingwelcome shouts of the melodious 'Allah u-akbar'. The women with tudung got one of the loudest welcomes. Faced with so many ordinary folks, the trainees appeared somewhatawkward and different from the hardened and seasoned old policemen.

Then, there was this young but big sized man who arrived in anambulance truck. Apparently emotional and perhaps traumatised, he

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seemed to be hyperventilating. Oxygen tension (sPo2) on room airwas 100% and soon he settled down. Some detainees arrived handcuffed behind their backs. Some had

red marks on their wrists from the plastic handcuffs. Some had muddied shirts. The only tense moment was when a police car brought a big man inred T-shirt. Oh man! That was an absolutely crazy and stupid idea. When people saw the red shirt, shouts rang out and the section ofpeople who were aware got up from their seats or the floor theywere sitting and started to move nearer the entrance, to the barbwires and the rows of policemen. The atmosphere became tense. I feared for his life although Idislike red shirt guys. The policemen who brought him hesitated outside the camp and then bundled him back into the police car and sped off to the jeers and shouts of the detainees. It was the proverbial waving of a red cloth in front of a ragingbull.

With the red shirt man removed, the camp settled into calm again.Some food came. Fried ikan kembong, mixed vegetables, white rice,bottled water. I estimated the cost about six ringgit at market price.

Nice tents, nice chairs, fans, surau, portable toilets, four taps,makeshift Red Crescent tents. If you have flowers you could kahwinthere too! It soon dawned on me that this was a publicity effortthought of by cunning, crafty and sly people to project a pseudo-

kind image.

Inefficient and slow

At various time, a police officer with a megaphone would come and stand here or there and call out names and giving out the MyKad. The crowd just packed around the officer in a dense circle tryingto hear whether their names were being called. Those answering the

call had to fight their way into the centre, where the officer wasstanding, to take their MyKad.

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I thought even a school teacher could do a better job to line uppeople in rows and to have walking lanes in between the rows. Theprocess was inefficient and slow, as the officer had to call out thenames twice with intervals between for responses. As the sky became dark, the crowd became restless. Then, anotherofficer with another megaphone appeared. He positioned himselfabout 20 metres away from the first officer and started to call outnames. The crowd was startled and turned 180 degrees to try to hear thename call. It was very comical to see the heads turning left whenone megaphone called, and then right when the other megaphonecalled, like a yo-yo. It was so inefficient that it was soonabandoned. After we got our MyKad, we called our families. We were not surewhere we were heading as there were initial rumours that we had toexit from Cheras police station. Those who got their MyKad were driven away in batches, in luxurious

coaches. I thought to myself, luxurious coaches on a Saturday night would cost RM1,000 per bus per trip at least. Those with contracts to ferrydetainees would surely make a bundle. As we were driven out of Pulapol, there were family members and members from the public gathered outside. They showed their solidarity by punching the air with fists and waving away, chanting and displaying the warmest of smiles,seemingly proud of us although we had not done anything except to just be there.

We were dropped off at KL Sentral. There were thundering shouts bypeople already at the station before us, as detainees disembarked

from the buses.

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We shook hands like alumni, war comrades and parted ways,exchanging deeply felt ‘bertemu lagi’. The expressions of ourcomrades were unforgettable. I felt my life enriched.

We shared a few hours, we didn’t even know one another’s names.But that was enough. In those hours, we had lived to the full. We asked ourselves what we could do to help ourselves, and acted.

At 58, I will not run any more and I must turn to confront mydestiny. What a day!

CL Shue

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Home



Hanging my head in shameI am a cyber-kaypoh, and I am a coward. I am what people callNATO — no action and talk only. I vent my displeasure only in the

form of words and mostly in news portal comments.I talk big and never have the guts to act. I support Bersih and itsagenda but all I can give were stupid comments whereas what theyor like-minded Malaysians most needed was physical presence orrather participation in the peaceful walk.

But fear gripped me. I failed to overcome the fear and I am quiteashamed to face my own people, let alone my God. I plough

through the news portals and lots of amazing stories have come out,showing citizens taking up their democratic rights so that thecountry can reform for the better. And in one case, a Malaysianpatriot, Baharudin Ahmad, died.

Why did I not participate? Lots of excuses. I stay in Singapore — notime to go back. I have a family to take care of — what will happento them if I am arrested? I may lose my good-salaried job — who isgoing to pay the bills? I may get hurt/killed by the police and the

likes of Perkasa and other extremists.Why didn’t you wear the yellow shirt? I didn’t know there was apeaceful sit-in at Hong Lim Park. No yellow shirt. Don’t think lackingone makes any difference. I managed to talk myself out of this.Being a coward and selfish have done me in and kept me“involved” by going online for news in the comfort of my roomsitting on my posh sofa.

Meanwhile, the patriots were “fighting” for a better Malaysia so thatour children can have a better civil society. I would like tosincerely thank all those “fighters” and their sacrifices. Especially tothe family of Baharudin Ahmad who should be considered a hero.Come this general election, I will be sure to vote in a civilgovernment.

A coward



End? It isnot. It isonly the

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