From: Sabri Zain <asabri@pc.jaring.my>

Memorandum

September 19th, 1999

When we arrived at the Central Market around noon, I knew something was

going on today - it's not every day that you see three truckloads of FRU

riot police parked there.

The significant other looked worried as we walked past the three red

trucks on our way to the taxi stand - she had seen what these guardians

of law and order could do to innocent by-standers who got in their way.

"Stay close to me," I assured her. "Stay close to the Reformasi

journalist?" she remarked cynically. "That's good advice!"

As our taxi took us past Dataran Merdeka, we spotted even more of the

red trucks parked along the perimeter of the square. I had a bad feeling

about today.

By the time we were dropped off at the National Mosque, the road leading

to its main entrance was already closed off by barriers, water cannons

and police trucks. A police officer was waving pedestrians away. "Kalau

betul-betul nak sembahyang, boleh lalu. Kalau nak berdemo, pergi

baliklah!" ("If you've really come to pray, you can pass. If you've come

to demo, go home!")

Inside the blocked-off road, hundreds of FRU troopers were forming

ranks, their plastic shields and shiny red helmets gleaming in the

searing midday sun. Some were checking the barrels of their tear gas

guns or casually swinging their batons, some of which were gaily painted

red for the occasion. The road was filled with the shouts of officers

barking orders, and the crackle of walkie-talkies as they received

instructions from their unseen masters. A water cannon menacingly

trained its turrets towards the mosque courtyard. A police helicopter

was buzzing noisily above.

It was certainly not the kind of tranquil environment ideal for praying

to the Creator.

Despite the massive police 'tour de force', though, the courtyard was

already a sea of people, perhaps ten to twenty thousand, with a few

thousand spilling across the road into the Railway Station and Dayabumi

complex. It seemed more like a massive picnic than a demonstration.

Children were playing catch around the trees in the courtyard, as their

parents sat on mats eating cakes and drinking tea. Young students were

sitting under the shade of the trees, reading the latest issues of

Harakah, while elderly men in skull-caps were quietly smoking as they

watched the police columns maneuvering on the road below.

And I am sure I have never before seen so many Chinese within the

courtyard of the National Mosque before. Today, there was a cause that

transcended the racial barriers that once divided us. I suppose tyrant's

whip does not distinguish between the colour of your skin, the language

you speak or the faith you hold.

At 1.45 p.m., prayers started and ended with the voice of thousands

roaring "Allahuakbar!" three times, rattling the chandeliers of the

packed prayer hall and sending echoes reverberating among the marble

passages of this sacred place. Almost on cue, the crowd broke into the

familiar chant of "Reformasi! Reformasi! Reformasi!" as banners sprouted

like mushrooms among the crowd and the courtyard became awash with a sea

of Malaysian flags, Parti Keadilan flags and PRM flags fluttering in the

wind.

The police on the street below grew restless as the chanting grew louder

and louder. Limp batons suddenly stood at attention, as officers marched

up and down the ranks shouting orders and gazing nervously at the

chanting crowd. The helicopter flew lower and started making even

smaller, tighter circles around the swaying masses in the courtyard. An

FRU officer stood on the water cannon turret taking photographs. I

didn't think he was taking holiday pictures of the National Mosque to

show their families at home.

>From the upper courtyard, Malek Hussein addressed the crowd with a

megaphone. "We are gathered here to take a memorandum to our King!"

"Daulat Tuanku!" "(Long live His Majesty!") the crowd responded loudly.

"Mahathir says demonstrations are not part of our culture," Malek

continued. "Are lies and slander part of our culture?"

"Tidaaaaakkkk!"("Nooooo!") the crowd roared.

"Is beating up people in prison and on our streets part of our culture?"

"Tidaaaaakkkk!"

"Is robbing the people's money part of our culture?"

"Tidaaaaakkkk!"

Parti Keadilan Liason Head Ruslan Kassim repeated Mahathir's

enlightening views on freedom of assembly. "He says it's not part of our

culture. But he holds 'demonstrations' every few days  and calls it "PM

Bersama Rakyat"! ("The PM Meets The People!")

"And we don't need teenage bimbo pop stars for our gatherings!" someone

shouted from the crowd.

"The people are just bored, sick and tired with the cruelty they have

seen," Ruslan continued. "We haven't gathered here to make enemies. We

haven't gathered here to start fights. We have gathered here to bring a

message to our King! And that message is: we want justice! We want an

end to oppression! We want peace!"

"Did UMNO hold demonstrations when they opposed the British in 1946?"

DAP Youth Leader Teng asked.

"Yaaaaaaa!!!!!"

"Do you think they got a permit from the British?!"

"Tidaaaaakkkkk!" the crowd replied, to howls of laughter.

"But they did it anyway. Why? Because it is the right of the people to

assemble!"

"Hidup demokrasi!" ("Long live democracy!") the crowd shouted.

Parti Keadilan Youth head Mohd Ezam Nd Nor then appeared in a black baju

Melayu and songkok, to shouts and cheers from the crowd. "We are here to

gather and march peacefully," he reminded the crowd. "Those of you with

cameras, take lots of pictures. Take pictures of anyone who starts any

trouble!" The crowd cheered and clapped loudly.

There was a stir of excitement and the cheers became louder and faster

as the Princess of Reformasi, Nurul Izzah, took to the podium. "Nearly

one year ago, I came here with my father," she said, referring to

Anwar's massive rally at the mosque last year, just hours before he was

arrested. "We are gathered here again!"

"The people can no longer be patient!" her young voice cried out, full

of emotion. "We demand that the Prime Minister takes full

responsibility! This is the second attempt on my father's life!"

"And the Public Prosecutor must apologise in public to our family for

accusing us of poisoning him! His statement was insolent and humiliated

the family!"

"Throw that dugong back into the sea!" someone shouted, alluding to the

Public Prosecutor's most recently-acquired nickname. Peals of laughter

erupted among the crowd.

"Great to see that people are all for freeing wild animals," a marine

biologist friend of mine remarked jokingly. "Looks like we're becoming

more environmentally aware as well as politically aware!"

The crowd proceeded to leave the mosque compound, with the delegation of

party youth leaders leading the vanguard. The mood was jubilant and

hopeful. A few young girls carried roses to give to the FRU. Some even

shook hands with FRU troopers in the trucks as they inched their way

towards the main road.

The significant other and I were just about 20 metres away from the

front line, trapped on the staircase leading down to the road as

thousands of people funneled into the narrow gate exit of the mosque. We

couldn't move either forward or backward as more people joined the

crush.

Suddenly, without any warning, the front line of youth leaders were

surrounded by FRU troopers. "Sit down!" one of the troopers ordered PRM

Youth leader Faizal Sanusi. He complied and the trooper's baton came

crashing onto his shoulder. "Stand up!" the trooper ordered, and as soon

as he did so, another baton blow struck his ribs. "Go back!" the trooper

barked. As Faizal turned around to join the crowd, another baton blow

struck the back of his head.

The other youth leaders were similarly attacked. A PAS youth leader was

struck repeatedly on his arms as he avoided blows aimed at his head.

Tian Chua was hit repeatedly on his hands and thighs. PRM's Hassan Karim

managed to deflect the blows with his arms.

The crowd shouted in a rage as they saw the columns of FRU troopers

batter the group. Shoes, banners, flags and motorcycle helmets started

flying in the direction of the attackers when suddenly shots were heard

and gas canisters billowing with smoke shot into the air and descended

upon the crowded masses.

Within seconds, it became utter pandemonium. A wave of people surged

before me as the crowd retreated and I was lifted off my feet by just

the sheer weight of bodies stampeding towards the sanctuary of the

mosque. I stopped momentarily to help a young student who had fallen

down - in the panic stricken stampede, he could have easily been crushed

underfoot as thousands of people rushed through that narrow gate to

evade the marauding policemen and exploding gas canisters.

As soon as I got the bruised student on his feet, I quickly looked

around and suddenly realised, to my horror, that the significant other

was gone from  my side.

Before I could move, hundreds more people rushed past me and I was

pushed by the sheer numbers into the mosque compound, like a paper boat

being carried along the crest of a tidal wave. The next few minutes was

a scene of terrifying fear and confusion as hundreds of people rushed

past in all directions, tear gas canisters exploded all around us,

shouts and cries filled the air and the choking mist of tear gas

enveloped us all. A  man ran past me carrying his screaming little girl

in his arms, while his wife ran behind, their baby wrapped around her

arms in a shawl. A few youths picked up the smoking gas canisters and

hurled them right back at their assailants.

A jet of water spurted out of the water cannon towards our direction but

the fountain of acid fell short of the crowd and splashed impotently on

open road. Frustrated at having missed their target, the water cannon

operators wheeled their turret around towards the mosque's outer

compound and shot at another crowd that was looking on in horror at the

attack. They too scattered towards the safety of the mosque, amid the

screams of women and the cries of children.

Within minutes, most of the crowd was already in the mosque. A misty,

abandoned no-man's land lay between the frightened demonstrators in the

mosque and the walls of police shields just outside the mosque gate.

Fearing that the significant other could be still somewhere between the

mosque and the gate, perhaps unconscious, I proceeded to go into the

deserted no-man's land. "Oi! Nak mati ke?" ("Oi! Do you want to die?")

said a demonstrator as I walked alone towards the Red Helmets in the

distance.

My heart was beating wildly as more canisters started falling around me,

hitting the ground with a metallic clink. The wall of red shields was

now only 10 or 20 metres away. The area was blanketed in tear gas and

the ground strewn with discarded shoes, flags, banners, bags and

smouldering gas canisters. But, to my relief, she was not among the

scattered debris.

By now, my eyes and skin were already stinging with pain. By the time I

returned to the refuge of the mosque, my lungs were already choking for

air and my eyes were blinded with tears. For a few minutes, I literally

could not see anything but faint shadows moving around me. When I

recovered some visibility, the scene around me was like a war zone.

Some people were walking around like blind men, arms forward, with their

friends and loved ones guiding the way. Others were walking around with

soaked handkerchiefs covering their faces, in a vain attempt to lessen

the effect of the tear gas. Small children were sprawled on the floor

crying, their mothers frantically washing their faces with mineral water

and trying to soothe the terror in their cries. Elderly women were

squatting on the grass, vomiting from prolonged exposure to the tear

gas. Others were tending to bloody cuts and bruises they had got while

escaping the FRU charge and clambering over the two or three fences that

lay between them and the safety of the mosque. Everyone was coughing

badly.

All around, there was only the sound of children crying, women wailing,

persistent coughing and the moans and groans of the sick and wounded.

Above us, the buzzing of the police helicopter sometimes drowned the

cries of pain.

For fifteen minutes, I ran from one end of the tear-gas filled mosque to

the other, looking out for the familiar black-and-white stripes of the

significant other's blouse. I finally found her walking in a daze at the

far end of the courtyard. She had apparently been carried by the

retreating crowd into one of the inner courtyards of the mosque. Frantic

with fear and worry, she just sat down on the stairs and burst into

tears. A group of women comforted her and lent her a handphone to

contact me. I must have been too dazed and confused to hear the phone

ringing, and she had to leave a message on my voice-mail.

I heard the message later. "Sabri …. Sabri …. Sabri … Hello … Hello …

Where are you? …Hello … Sabri…", she pleaded, in between sobs, with

shouts and crying in the background. I don't think I will ever delete

that message.

Thousands of people were still milling in the mosque - they refused to

leave. Upstairs in the prayer hall, people were lying under the marbled

splendor of the mosque dome - some asleep with exhaustion, some just

lying down moaning in pain, some meditating in silent prayer, some

comforting their terrified children. Others were just sitting down,

talking and reflecting on the afternoon's events - some with excitement,

some with anger, some with disgust and shame, some with hope.

"I'm ashamed to be Malaysian today," another friend said. "Those people

who attacked us are no longer human … even animals won't do this." His

voice quivered with rage.

Another friend disagreed. "We should be proud to be Malaysians today.

Those people outside the gates - they are not Malaysians. These people

sheltering in this mosque - they are true Malaysians. After 42 years of

independence, only now are we struggling for the true spirit of

independence, the true spirit of freedom."

Despite the pain from his wounds, Faizal marveled at his athletic

abilities. "I had to sprint and jump over three fences in almost under

ten seconds - and all this while I was blinded with tear gas! I am the

complete  athlete! Now I know for sure I can qualify for the Olympics -

as long as there are FRU chasing me from behind!"

At about 3:30 p.m., rain descended upon our besieged mosque.

"Alhamdulillah!" ("God be praised!") people cried, as the soothing

waters from the heavens cleansed our bodies of the sting from the tear

gas. Across the road, around the Dayabumi complex, a large crowd had

gathered, cheering and chanting the thousands of people left in the

mosque, while another crowd cheered from the Railway Station. A column

of a few dozen FRU and a couple of trucks was sent to the far side of

the mosque to monitor the Dayabumi crowd. A young girl in the mosque

courtyard threw a rose at the FRU as they formed ranks outside the

mosque fence and grimly faced our cheering supporters across the road.

At 3:45 pm, an announcement was made. "Nurul Izzah and Mohd Ezam Nd Nor

have successfully delivered the memorandum to our King!" The news was

greeted with shouts of "Reformasi! Reformasi! Reformasi!" as the sea of

people came alive again in a frenzy of joy and celebration. Discarded

banners and flags were picked up on the ground and were waving and

fluttering again among the seething crowd as they reveled in the news of

their victory. They had been attacked, the air in their lungs had been

poisoned, their limbs beaten, their bodies bruised and battered - but

they had delivered their message of the day.

By about 5:00 pm, the crowd began to disperse and droves of people

flooded out of the rear entrance of the mosque, as the front entrance

was still blocked off by columns of red helmets, shields and water

cannons. But the crowd has barely left the mosque for a few minutes when

we suddenly heard the shrill "Ting! Ting! Ting!" of a police truck and a

column of FRU formed behind the dispersing crowd and charged them from

the rear. Again hundreds of people fled in panic, scattering in all

directions. The road had not been closed and people were weaving their

way through speeding cars and lorries trying to escape the swinging

batons of their pursuers. An elderly woman was trapped in the middle of

the road, the road divider being too high for her to manage.

Fortunately, two young men lifted her above the concrete divider and

escorted her to the relative safety of the Dayabumi complex.

Yet again, I found myself caught in the middle of this wave of humanity

- and this time I wasn't so lucky. I came crashing to the ground as soon

as I'd clambered over the divider and sprained my ankle. I hobbled my

way across the road on one leg, trying to avoid oncoming cars, buses and

motorcycles. I had thought I had reached the safety of the other side,

when to my shock, I saw yet another large crowd fleeing towards me from

some unseen attacker near the Dayabumi complex. The police helicopter

was now hovering closer to the ground, circling the fleeing masses of

people and giving directions to their comrades on the ground as to where

to trap their victims.

I limped at top speed in the opposite direction, towards the Railway

Station and reached the  Station roundabout only to find yet another

large crowd fleeing other attackers. Attacks seemed to be coming from

all directions and, in the distance, I could already see Red Helmets

moving in to occupy the mosque compound. "Kita dah nak balik pun nak

pukul!" ("They beat us even when we're going home!") a friend snarled as

he fled past me. I knew that I could not move very far with one leg

throbbing in pain with each step - but fortunately the FRU charges

stopped short of the Railway Station. They probably didn't want to scare

away the tourists.

I bumped into another friend and we drove off towards the city centre.

As our car inched its way through a massive traffic jam leading to the

Central Market, the helicopter kept buzzing overhead, like an annoying

metal mosquito. No sooner had we reached the Central Market when we saw

yet another large group of demonstrators in Central Market. It did

appear that the day was not going to be over yet for my weary limbs.

We parked our car and made our way on foot (literally just one good foot

in my case) to Central Market. However, by the time we reached there,

the demonstrators had vanished - the only crowds left were people

gathering to watch the performance of a pair particularly theatrical

'penjual ubat' ('medicine sellers') and a busker strumming a battered

acoustic guitar.

A truckload of FRU and a water cannon arrived on the scene just minutes

later. They appeared a little confused at first not finding huge crowds

of people shouting 'Reformasi!' - but they decided to disperse the 'jual

ubat' crowds anyway, just to be on the safe side. A thin blue line of

the troopers gallantly strutted down the pedestrian mall, shields on

their chests and batons at their side, asking people to disperse and go

home - herbal medicines and street music were apparently a public

disturbance this evening. The water cannon trained its gun barrel on

this potentially riotous mob. A crowd of European tourists looked on in

amusement - they must have found all of this rather entertaining.

"Apa ni? Depa cuma cara makan saja!" ("What's this? Those guys are just

earning a decent living!") my friend remarked.  "Buat malu Mat Salleh

itu tengok - depa ingat kita ni negara kuku besi macam Myanmar agaknya!"

("How humiliating - those foreigners must  think we're a dictatorship

just like Myanmar!")

As we drove back, I couldn't help thinking that, after today, it would

not just be the Mat Sallehs who would be thinking that.

 

/\__/\

  o  o 

={_!_}=

Sabri Zain

REFORMASI DIARY at http://reformdiary.cjb.net

"They invade our space and we fall back.

 They assimilate entire worlds and we fall back.

 NEVER AGAIN, THE LINE MUST BE DRAWN HERE!"

-Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Star Trek 'First Contact'