Batu Pahat - Malaysian Election (Nov25)

Rather a hare-brained flight yesterday out to Batu Pahat in SW Johor State, Malaysia. A particular Herbalist was the object, living 10-15kms outta town. Difficult to believe, but truly the orientation point was Lamp-post No. Such-and-such, left at the main intersection after the bus-stop and keep going. Everyone in the vicinity of that particular lamp-post would know the man. 

         Calls on the number on his biz card had always proved fruitless for Zainuddin, at least ringing from Sing. From the pay-phone at the bus-station, however, immediate contact raised. The man himself was busy, call back in 5min, Zainuddin was advised.
         Seven o'clock, the Maghrib arrived; hour & half to the last return bus. The project seemed doomed. 

         Only time enough for chapatti & roti chennai at the Indian place providentially opposite the bus bays. Fair chance we could get a teh halia there too. There had been some delay en route. Nothing for it now.
         It was only on the rear seat of the almost empty last bus on the return, above the engine that made conversation difficult, that Din revealed the reason for the panicked, ill-considered trek. Jokes about the Herbalist being a bomoh had caused some consternation in the days prior to departure. This chap was a regular, good and proper believer. No hocus-pocus, no spells or witchery. Herbal remedies pure & simple, derived from the old traditions which had since been validated by rigorous science. (Stones employed by the Herbalist with powerful, magnetic-like power notwithstanding.) 

         This was simply the Malay form of TCM that figured in every region of the globe, of course, before modern medicine and the pharmacological industry triumphed. 

         Over the top of the grind Zainuddin revealed his son had been found to have "protein" in his urine. Some years ago the young man had overcome some cancer. In the weeks ahead there would need to be another, second and more carefully planned expedition to Batu Pahat.
         The bus window gave some kinda impression. There had been earlier trips across Johor, out east through Kota Tinggi to the small fishing town of Mersing; two trips due north to KL that traversed the State. Flat terrain, sparse settlement of concrete block housing predominating over the traditional raised wooden; greenery almost entirely in the form of the palm plantations. Rarely on any of the trips had there been any kind of human figure visible. Everyone was put to flight by the sun, along the road if not otherwise. The old-time Sunday drive would have provided little of attraction here.
         What was as striking as anything else was the political banners stretching a good many kilometers. The ruling Barisan Party must have printed many hundreds of thousands, if Johor was anything to go by. There was little else to be seen. Small sky-blue and white flags featuring Libra-like measuring scales, perfectly aligned. Unsophisticated, perhaps. Perhaps even a decade ago coconut, durian and much other produce had been weighted on such market scales, regularly checked by the responsible Government authority for accuracy. Occasional photographs of PM Najib could be seen hung on poles. The leader was not getting pride of place down here in Johor at least. Two years of reading the newspapers one understood why.
         Should one be surprised at the almost total absence of the Opposition? There was not a single recognizable example of the other ticket anywhere to be seen. A paltry few pale moons on green squares provided the only, minimal variety. A "so-called" Islamic Party, according to Zainuddin. 

         Hundreds upon hundreds of metres of blue Libra scales at every intersection and for long stretches along the road-way. At the intersections the blue banners ran to the four points of the compass. Most of the flags were strung on some kind of twine, with posts hammered where there were no trees or poles. This had been a fair scale operation. In the tropics cheap paper would never do, not over a three week run to election day. From the perch high behind glass one could not judge the material. 

         With no people anywhere to be seen, only the ghost-like houses and the more sinister palms, the effect was odd. Colourful flags flapping in the breeze for the benefit of passing motorists and children—a kind of fairground promotion. 

         Undivided, narrow highway. The kind of populace here was difficult to fathom. How did they figure in this democratic show? Could a political grouping entrenched the last half century and more be bested in this political arena? Media domination and saturation cover had been one of the complaints from the opposing coalition. Certainly borne out here. After such a length of term, corruption could hardly come as any surprise.
         The spread of Batu Pahat was the other surprise. It must have been near three quarts of an hour from the outskirts to the bus station. An unlikely kind of suburbia under tropical skies and always the plantations interspersed. As the town centre was approached there seemed to be a good number of mosques.  Some proportion of the population could walk for their daily prayers. An odd kind of suburbia in a traditional culture such as this; the housing all squared off toward the road. No semblance of  a kampung.
         On the return peering into the darkness there was some minor filling of chairs at the outdoor eatery tables. A middle-aged chap playing football with half a dozen urchins in a front yard was caught in a pose of sporting tension, watching the ball at an opponent's feet. One large 3-4 storey mall featuring a bowling alley & Western fast foods had collected cars in its forecourt.
         How far was agri-business to blame for the post-war, post-independence arrangement of people and customs, controlled by the political elite who were now under serious threat for the first time, despite all the advertising their way?
         The British had radically altered the composition of the population on the Peninsular. No doubt tin mining & rubber plantations had radically altered the landscape and physical habitation. Early independence had seen further development along the same lines for the newer products, which in contemporary Johor meant above all else palm oil. 

         The FELDA system involved some kind of agricultural program of readjustment, taking in rubber initially and subsequently the palm oil. Malaysia still produced something like a third of global supplies, the state of Johor the greater proportion. Stake-holders in the government instituted FELDA system were provided accommodation in purpose built housing on the plantations. Ownership of property however did not follow. Each principal was assigned an allotment where tending the palm, harvesting and related activity was specified. Uprooting of former traditional and independent ways of life was one of the consequences. Even a cursory look outside the train and bus windows at the straight lines throughout Johor said enough.
         In-bound on the bus one of the human figures who had been visible in the darkening landscape on the long approach to Batu Pahat sat on the seat of a back-hoe at the head of one of the palm rows. Prior to this appearance there had been the surprise of channels of what looked like fetid lime green between numerous rows. By that stage the shadows had closed under the trees, but here the colour of the water seemed to shine all the more powerfully, and with an iridescent glow. 

         It could not have been anything other than water channels, some kind of simple irrigation system that captured run-off. It was the colouring that presented a puzzle. In a natural state such colour hardly existed. Perhaps in the plumage of exotic birds of the forests and jungles, such as had been here before the palms. Almost nothing whatever else in nature. Such channels had not been seen during previous trips. 

         With little agricultural knowledge it was difficult to guess. Possibly the slime lime-green consisted of nothing toxic. It was certainly not a reflection of the dark, military green foliage. 

         Experts in the field have written about the damage done by big agri-business. There could be little doubt even on these quick passes on the buses and trains what this kind of mono-culture farming on such a scale might deliver of unintended consequences.

         From an ecological and environmental perspective, the comparable blight down on the island of Singapura could be nothing other than the concrete, steel & glass condo towers infesting the landscape. Reversing the damage would be difficult in either case; possibly on the Peninsular there may be more hope.

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