#amount of sociopolitical context for most of the major details

[prettyboykatsuki]

i have deep desire to write for demon slayer (and by write for it im specifically talking about zenitsu currently.) but the story is so deeply impacted by it's setting that its gonna take at least two weeks of research to do it any justice so the plans r Delayed

[mystybelle]

Adding on because I find it relevant-

Knowing which style of world building, or type of storytelling you're doing really, requires knowing what parts of your story are actually important for the purpose of communicating your story the best. Because Art, is communication through aesthetic. And in order to do communicate well, you have to understand what your message is AND what parts of your message are most important before you can decide how to convey them.

The Hard magic vs Soft magic spectrum is a measure of how important the utility of your magic is for solving problems that exist in the narrative. E.g. ATLA's magic is harder than Tolkien's or Lewis' because the characters in ATLA solve a majority of their problems with the power of kung fu magic, and their interpersonal struggles mostly help them learn how to either use martial arts magic better or new ways to employ it. But the fantastic foot-up-your-ass magic is the most important tool. Meanwhile Frodo is a weak hobbit, and his struggle is about whether or not he'll be able to maintain the emotional bandwith to make a horrific trek into the heart of darkness; the rest of the events we see in the book/movie are largely to impress upon us just how much is riding on the mental health of one little guy. Lewis' is slightly harder (barely) because Narnia is ultimately a very christian(colonial) fairy tale, and the wonder of the new and foreign world is the most important part of the story. Even the characters are pretty "soft" in Narnia, because the point is the vibe of the fairytale world, and you're not supposed to care about Snow White's intense psychological anguish at her step mom trying to have her killed because she can't handle being a milf. You're supposed to care about the vibe of the dwarves she's staying with and the overall plot.

Likewise with the worldbuilding-

Narnia gives you a middling amount of detail for it's fantasy world, but it paints in very broad strokes. Because the vibe of the world, the feeling of wonder and awe that unfamiliarity with it provides, is more than the details of Cameroon's culture or borders in contrast with Narnia's.

ATLA's setting is much harder by contrast, because you're explicitly not meant to be a gawking tourist to this world, the viewer is meant to see it through the cast's eyes. A deeply affected member of the world, who is trying to familiarize themselves with it's complexities. The kung fu magic is a part of the complexities of that world in a very fundamental way, so those two things get a lot of details. The show even beats you over the head with the idea by constantly telling you that the Avatar must be connected to the world, verbatim in a few episodes in fact.

LOTR sits somewhere between the two because it's world is... Frankly more fleshed out than it probably needed to be for the sake of it's story. Tolkien wrote his story to make you care about his world, not the other way around. So it's actually probably an awkward example here, but even still! Through the narrative, we're given information about the world within the context that the characters would experience them in order to impress upon us the complexity of the problems they're facing. The world itself provides the challenges, and the solutions come from the mettle of the characters. So we spend more time with the characters and learning about the routes they'll take, the challenges on them, and the sociopolitical structures of the various nations they pass through, than we do learning about the magic.

In order build stories like this, like OP said- you have to do it on purpose, and in order to do it on purpose, you have to know why you take each step that you do.

another thing fantasy writers should keep track of is how much of their worldbuilding is aesthetic-based. it's not unlike the sci-fi hardness scale, which measures how closely a story holds to known, real principles of science. The Martian is extremely hard sci-fi, with nearly every detail being grounded in realistic fact as we know it; Star Trek is extremely soft sci-fi, with a vaguely plausible "space travel and no resource scarcity" premise used as a foundation for the wildest ideas the writers' room could come up with. and much as Star Trek fuckin rules, there's nothing wrong with aesthetic-based fantasy worldbuilding!

(sidenote we're not calling this 'soft fantasy' bc there's already a hard/soft divide in fantasy: hard magic follows consistent rules, like "earthbenders can always and only bend earth", and soft magic follows vague rules that often just ~feel right~, like the Force. this frankly kinda maps, but I'm not talking about just the magic, I'm talking about the worldbuilding as a whole.

actually for the purposes of this post we're calling it grounded vs airy fantasy, bc that's succinct and sounds cool.)

a great example of grounded fantasy is Dungeon Meshi: the dungeon ecosystem is meticulously thought out, the plot is driven by the very realistic need to eat well while adventuring, the story touches on both social and psychological effects of the whole 'no one dies forever down here' situation, the list goes on. the worldbuilding wants to be engaged with on a mechanical level and it rewards that engagement.

deliberately airy fantasy is less common, because in a funny way it's much harder to do. people tend to like explanations. it takes skill to pull off "the world is this way because I said so." Narnia manages: these kids fall into a magic world through the back of a wardrobe, befriend talking beavers who drink tea, get weapons from Santa Claus, dance with Bacchus and his maenads, and sail to the edge of the world, without ever breaking suspension of disbelief. it works because every new thing that happens fits the vibes. it's all just vibes! engaging with the worldbuilding on a mechanical level wouldn't just be futile, it'd be missing the point entirely.

the reason I started off calling this aesthetic-based is that an airy story will usually lean hard on an existing aesthetic, ideally one that's widely known by the target audience. Lewis was drawing on fables, fairy tales, myths, children's stories, and the vague idea of ~medieval europe~ that is to this day our most generic fantasy setting. when a prince falls in love with a fallen star, when there are giants who welcome lost children warmly and fatten them up for the feast, it all fits because these are things we'd expect to find in this story. none of this jars against what we've already seen.

and the point of it is to be wondrous and whimsical, to set the tone for the story Lewis wants to tell. and it does a great job! the airy worldbuilding serves the purposes of the story, and it's no less elegant than Ryōko Kui's elaborately grounded dungeon. neither kind of worldbuilding is better than the other.

however.

you do have to know which one you're doing.

the whole reason I'm writing this is that I saw yet another long, entertaining post dragging GRRM for absolute filth. asoiaf is a fun one because on some axes it's pretty grounded (political fuck-around-and-find-out, rumors spread farther than fact, fastest way to lose a war is to let your people starve, etc), but on others it's entirely airy (some people have magic Just Cause, the various peoples are each based on an aesthetic/stereotype/cliché with no real thought to how they influence each other as neighbors, the super-long seasons have no effect on ecology, etc).

and again! none of this is actually bad! (well ok some of those stereotypes are quite bigoted. but other than that this isn't bad.) there's nothing wrong with the season thing being there to highlight how the nobles are focused on short-sighted wars for power instead of storing up resources for the extremely dangerous and inevitable winter, that's a nice allegory, and the looming threat of many harsh years set the narrative tone. and you can always mix and match airy and grounded worldbuilding – everyone does it, frankly it's a necessity, because sooner or later the answer to every worldbuilding question is "because the author wanted it to be that way." the only completely grounded writing is nonfiction.

the problem is when you pretend that your entirely airy worldbuilding is actually super duper grounded. like, for instance, claiming that your vibes-based depiction of Medieval Europe (Gritty Edition) is completely historical, and then never even showing anyone spinning. or sniffing dismissively at Tolkien for not detailing Aragorn's tax policy, and then never addressing how a pre-industrial grain-based agricultural society is going years without harvesting any crops. (stored grain goes bad! you can't even mouse-proof your silos, how are you going to deal with mold?) and the list goes on.

the man went up on national television and invited us to engage with his worldbuilding mechanically, and then if you actually do that, it shatters like spun sugar under the pressure. doesn't he realize that's not the part of the story that's load-bearing! he should've directed our focus to the political machinations and extensive trope deconstruction, not the handwavey bit.

point is, as a fantasy writer there will always be some amount of your worldbuilding that boils down to 'because I said so,' and there's nothing wrong with that. nor is there anything wrong with making that your whole thing – airy worldbuilding can be beautiful and inspiring. but you have to be aware of what you're doing, because if you ask your readers to engage with the worldbuilding in gritty mechanical detail, you had better have some actual mechanics to show them.

[otherworldlybooksgoddess]

Five Exceptional Fantasy Books Based in Non-European Myth

Photo by Josh Hild

Don’t misunderstand me: I love reading well-written fantasy with roots in the familiar Celtic and English folklore of my childhood, but with the vast majority of High Fantasy being set in worlds closely akin to Medieval Europe, and a large amount of of Mythic Fiction drawing on legends of similar origin, sometimes the ground begins to feel too well trodden.  There is, after all, an entire world of lore out there to draw from.  That’s why I’m always thrilled to find excellent works of what I call “the Realistic Sub-Genres of Fantasy” based in or inspired by myths from other cultures.  Such books not only support inclusiveness, but also expand readers’ experiences with lore and provide a wide range of new, exciting realities to explore. So, if you are looking for something different in the realm of Fantasy, the following novels will provide a breath of fresh air.

The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wrecker

In this beautifully written novel, Wrecker draws on both Middle-Eastern and Jewish mythology to tell the stories of two unwilling immigrants in Edwardian New York and the unlikely friendship that springs up between them.  Chava, an unusually lifelike golem created for peculiar purposes, has only days worth of memories and is practically childlike in her innocence.  Ahmad the Jinni has lived for centuries, but is trying to reclaim his forgotten past. The former is as steady and calm as the earth she’s made from while the latter is as volatile and free-spirited as the fire within him.  Both must learn to live in an unfamiliar new culture and find their places in a city too modern for myths even as they hide their true natures.  It’s a wonderful metaphor for the experiences of immigrants everywhere, who often find themselves feeling like outsiders—isolated and even overwhelmed— as they struggle to adapt to life in an alien society.  

Full of memorable characters, vivid descriptions, and interesting twists, The Golem and the Jinni takes readers on a journey that is driven as much by internal conflict as external action.  The setting of 1900’s Manhattan is well-researched and spectacular in its detail.  Wrecker blends two old-world mythologies into the relatively modern Edwardian world with a deft hand.  The result is not only fascinating, but also serves to illustrate the common early-twentieth-century experience of an immigrant past colliding with an American future.

The Tail of the Blue Bird by Nii Ayikwei Parkes

One part Detective Mystery and one part Magical Realism, this novel invites readers to experience modern-day Ghana in a way that is both authentic and profound.  When Kayo, a forensic pathologist just beginning his career, is pushed into investigating a suspected murder in the rural village of Sonokrom, the last thing he expects is to have a life-changing experience.  Soon, however, he gets the acute sense that the villagers may know more than they’re letting on. When all of the latest scientific and investigative techniques fail him, even as odd occurrences keep dogging his steps, Kayo is finally forced to accept that there is something stranger than he thought about this case.  Solving the crime will require more than intelligence and deduction; it will require setting his disbelief aside and taking the traditional tales and folklore of an old hunter seriously.  Because whatever is happening in Sonokrom, it isn’t entirely natural.  

This novel is brilliant not only because of its deep understanding of Ghanaian society and realistic setting, but also because of Parkes writing style.  The narrative is gorgeously lyrical and everything within it is described with a keen, insightful eye.  The dialogue is full of local color, and while some may find the pidgin English and native colloquialisms difficult to follow, I found that the context was usually enough to explain any unfamiliar terms. Sometimes the narrative feels a little dreamlike, but that is exactly the way great Magical Realism should be.  The Tail of the Blue Bird insistently tugs readers to a place where reality intertwines with myth and magic, all while providing an authentic taste of Ghanaian culture.

The Deer and the Cauldron by Jin Yong

During the reign of Manchu Emperor Kang Xi, China is in a state of barely-controlled sociopolitical unrest.  Many of the older generation remember the previous dynasty, and there still remain vestiges of a resistance movement hidden among the populace.  As his forces continue to hunt down the malefactors, called the Triad Societies, the boy-emperor turns to his unlikely friend and ally: a young rascal known only as Trinket.  This protagonist is a study in contrasts: lazy yet ambitious, cunning yet humorous, roguish yet likable, foul-mouthed yet persuasive. Born in a brothel, Trinket has made his way by his wits alone.  At age twelve, he accidentally sneaked into the Forbidden City—a bizarre occurrence in itself—afterward befriending Kang Xi.  Now, rising quickly through the ranks, he is on a mission to (ostensibly) find and weed out the Triad Societies, and he uses the opportunity to infiltrate various organizations, playing their leaders against one another for his own gain. With a dangerous conspiracy brewing in the Forbidden City itself, however, he is forced to choose sides and decide what is most important to him: friendship, fortune, or freedom.   Supernatural occurrences, daring escapades, and moments of deep introspection abound as Trinket struggles to navigate the perilous maze his life has become.

This novel is like a gemstone: bright, alluring, and many faceted.  At times it may seem somewhat simple on the surface, but looking closer reveals new depths and multiple layers.  Full of intrigue, action, horror, and even laughs, The Deer and the Cauldron mirrors not only the complexities of its setting, but those of the China the author himself knew during the Communist revolution. By blending together history, fantasy, realism, humor, and subtle political commentary, Yong not only beautifully captures these social intricacies but also creates a narrative that is as thoroughly engaging as it is unapologetically unique.

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel

Magical realism related to food has almost become a movement in itself, with novels like Aimee Bender’s The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Joanne Harris’ Chocolat, and Sarah Addison Allen’s Garden Spells all finding their places in readers’ hearts.  Originally published in 1992, Like Water for Chocolate helped create this fascinating trend, and it has become something of a modern classic in the fantasy genre.  

The narrative centers around Tita de la Garza, a mid-twentieth century Mexican woman possessing deep sensitivity, a strong will, and a special talent for cooking.  Born prematurely, Tita arrived in her family’s kitchen, tears already in her eyes.  It is in that room where she spends most of her childhood, being nurtured and taught by the elderly cook, Nacha.  The relationship that flourishes between Tita and her caregiver is a special gift, as it provides the girl not only with the compassion and support her own mother denies, but also with a passion and skill for creating incredible, mouth-watering dishes.  At Nacha’s side, Tita learns the secrets of life and cookery, but she also learns one terrible fact: thanks to a family tradition, she is destined never to have love, marriage, or a child of her own.  Her fate, rather, is to care for her tyrannical widowed mother, Mama Elena, until the day the older woman dies.  With a vibrant, independent spirit, sixteen-year-old Tita flouts this rule, falling deeply in love with a man named Pedro who asks for, and is denied, her hand in marriage.  Undaunted, the young man agrees to wed one of Tita’s older sisters, Rosaura, instead, as he believes this to be the only way he can be close to the woman he loves.  Thus begins a life-long struggle between freedom and tradition, love and duty, which is peppered throughout with supernatural events and delicious cuisine.  So great is her skill in cooking that the meals Tita prepares take on magical qualities all their own, reflecting and amplifying her emotions upon everyone who enjoys them.  Controlled and confined for much of her existence, food becomes her outlet for all the things she cannot say or do.  The narrative itself echoes this, by turns as spicy, sweet, and bitter as the flavors Tita combines.  At its heart, this is as much a tale about how important the simple things, like a good meal, can be as it is a story about a woman determined to be her own person and choose her own fate.

Cuisine is fundamental to this novel, with recipes woven throughout the narrative, but that is only a part of its charm.  In the English translation, the language is beautiful in its simplicity.  The characters often reveal hidden depths, especially as Tita grows up and is able to better understand the people around her.  Heartfelt in its joys and sorrows, Like Water for Chocolate glows with cultural flavor and a sense of wonder.  It’s a feast for the spirit, and like an exquisite meal, it never fails to surprise those who enjoy it.

The City of Brass by S. A. Chakraborty

When I first read this novel, I found the early chapters enjoyable and engaging, but felt the story was no more than a typical, if especially well-written, work of mythic fiction.  The deeper I got into the narrative, however, the more wrong I was proven.  The City of Brass is anything but ordinary. While basing her work in Middle-Eastern lore and history, Chakraborty nonetheless manages to create a setting and story that are both wonderfully unique. Lush, detailed, and bursting with magic and intrigue, this book spans the lines between several sub-genres of fantasy without ever losing its balance.  

Beginning in eighteenth-century Egypt, the narrative follows a quick-witted antiheroine. Nahri doesn’t live by the rules of her society.  She doesn’t believe in magic or fate or even religion.  Orphaned for most of her life, survival has required her to become a con artist and a thief.  As a result, she is practical and pragmatic, a realist who has never even considered donning rose-colored glasses, and the last person who would ever expect anything supernatural to occur. Which, of course, means that it does, but the way in which it is handled is intricate and interesting enough not to feel trite. When Nahri’s latest con—a ceremony she is pretending to perform and doesn’t believe in even slightly—goes awry, and the cynical young woman finds herself face to face with a Daeva.  Magical beings, it transpires, are real after all, and this one is furious.  To both of their dismay, he’s also bound to Nahri, who soon realizes that he has an agenda of his own.  In return for rescuing her (and refraining from killing her himself) Dara, the Daeva warrior Nahri accidentally summoned, wants her to pull of the biggest con of her life: pretending to be the half-human heir to the throne of his people.  Worse still, she soon realizes that Dara, whose mentality sometimes seems a little less-than-stable, actually believes she may be exactly who he claims.  He has something planned, and his intentions may not be in her best interest.  Dragged unwillingly into a strange world of court intrigue, danger, social upheaval, and magic, Nahri quickly discovers that some things remain familiar.  People are ruled by prejudices, the strong prey on the weak, and she can’t fully trust anyone.  The stakes, however, are higher than ever, and Nahri will need all of her wits, cunning, and audacity if she wants to survive.

This novel was thoroughly enjoyable, and in fact prompted me to buy the following books in the trilogy as they became available. Chakraborty’s style is lyrical, her world building is superb, her plot is intricate, and her characters are well-developed.  She not only frames unfamiliar words and ideas is easily-comprehensible contexts, but weaves those explanations smoothly into the narrative. The culture, mythology, and history surrounding her tale are all carefully researched, but the tale itself is nonetheless unique. What begins feeling like a fairly ordinary mythic fiction novel will pleasantly exceed readers’ expectations.

So, while we, as fantasy readers, love the works of authors like J. R. R. Tolkien, Marion Zimmer Bradley, and Charles de Lint, there is also a plethora of other enchanting books to enjoy.  Exploring magical realism and mythic fiction based in cultures and folklore from all around the globe ensures that our to-read lists will always hold something unexpected and exciting to surprise us.  So, if you’re starting to feel like you’re in a bit of a reading rut, or if you’re simply looking to expand your horizons, open up new realms of imagination by opening up one of the novels above.  Who knows see where it will lead you?  You may just discover a new favorite to add to your bookshelf.  Happy reading!

[skonnaris]

50 books read in High School Worth Revisiting

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: High school students who go on to college can quite easily nurture a firsthand understanding of the self-serving hedonism found at the center of this beloved classic. And then they’ll either despise it even more or relate all too well.

Beowulf by unknown: Pick up the popular Old English epic after forgetting the seemingly endless lectures and settle in to a thoroughly enjoyable adventure tale.

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger: Depending on one’s circumstances when first picking up The Catcher in the Rye, protagonist Holden Caulfield is either a counterculture revelation or a whiny, pretentious brat. Revisiting him later in life will inevitably shift perceptions to some degree, be it major or minor.

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston: Some high school students may scoff at the soapier elements found on Zora Neale Hurston’s Harlem Renaissance essential, but older adults are more likely to see and admire the strength, courage and resolve of heroine Janie Crawford.

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare: The real tragedy of Romeo and Juliet isn’t their mistaken, needless deaths. It’s their staggering myopia and selfishness.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey: Anyone who has ever personally suffered from a psychiatric disorder — or loves someone who does — might find the marginalization of the mentally ill in this undeniable classic both disturbing and tragically accurate. It may take some time and experience between high school and the next read for such bitter facts to really seize hold.

Les Miserables by Victor Hugo: Les Miserables is huge. When reading it in English class, deadlines might preclude many students from really picking up on the book’s myriad juicy nuances. Revisiting it later offers far more time to sit and ponder everything Hugo wanted audiences to see.

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy: As with Les Miserables, time constraints and other academic obligations make it difficult to really become absorbed in War and Peace. When picking it up and reading on a more personal schedule, visitors are more likely to forge a far more solid grasp of the material.

Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko: More sensitive high school students may find protagonist Tayo’s spiritual, emotional and physical healing process too intense for their tastes. But as they age and gain more life experience, Ceremony could very well prove exactly what they need one day.

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe: As long as there are nations battling it out over land and squashing indigenous cultures beneath their boots, postcolonial literature will always be relevant. Chances are, anyone reading Things Fall Apartas a high school student will probably be able to apply many of its tenets to current events. When they re-read it as adults, they might find themselves sadly noting how little things have changed.

The Jungle by Upton Sinclair: Both at the turn of the 20th Century and on into today, most readers (even teachers) tend to emphasize Upton Sinclair’s visceral descriptions of unsanitary food production — especially since it directly spawned hefty legislation. In reality, though, he wanted it to shed light on the plight of exploited workers. Give his classic another visit later in life and see how the story changes when reading it with this in mind.

Beloved by Toni Morrison: Toni Morrison deliberately left many elements of her celebrated novel ambiguous, so any subsequent readings will inevitably churn up new perspectives, details and interpretations.

The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan: Because family stands as this classic’s core theme, The Joy Luck Club never goes out of style. Whenever issues with parents arise, refer back to it for solace and insight.

The Color Purple by Alice Walker: When life grows too overwhelming, timeless heroine Celie provides inspiration to press on — no matter what sort of adversity and cruelty stonewalls happiness and stability.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain: The sociopolitical elements driving this famous narrative are incredibly important to understanding it as a whole, but focusing too much on them — as one would in an English class — glosses over the comparatively more lighthearted adventure elements.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: Understandably, many first-time Frankensteinreaders dive into the novel expecting a green-skinned simpleton with bolts in his neck — and find themselves shocked when encountering something completely different. Give it a re-read and see what may have been missed when consciously or subconsciously making comparisons with the iconic movie.

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway: High school students sigh over this leisurely-paced classic, but older adults seeking something more philosophical than frenetic might find it exactly what they want.

Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller: Hopefully, picking up the searing Death of a Salesman at just the right time will prevent many students and adults from falling into the same lifestyle traps as tragic Willy Loman.

The Stranger by Albert Camus: Existentialism probably seems intense and somewhat inaccessible to many high schoolers, but one of the philosophy’s cornerstones warrants further consideration once they pack on more life experiences.

Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad: Puncturing through allegory after allegory after allegory grows tiresome after a while, and a fair amount of individuals might enjoy Heart of Darkness far more if they didn’t have to so painstakingly dissect every word.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou: Maya Angelou’s poetic autobiography is at once heartbreaking and inspiring — an ultimately uplifting tale perfect for anyone needing a dash or two of courage.

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut: An American treasure, Kurt Vonnegut may not necessarily appeal to harried high schoolers lacking the time to really sit and think about his statements regarding society, religion and politics. Approaching him with the proper time frame and mindset will make Slaughterhouse-Five and his other works burst with life and lessons.

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka: "Monstrous vermin" Gregor Samsa serves as a viable literary outlet for anyone, anywhere feeling as if the world treads all over their stability and happiness. Reading about the horrific abuses his family heaps upon him provides a strange, comforting sense of solidarity.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte-: Though fiction, Wuthering Heights makes for one of the most prominent lessons in how mentally and emotionally abusive relationships operate – something women and men alike absolutely need to know if they hope to keep themselves safe.

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck: Most of Steinbeck’s oeuvre deserves multiple reads, but his story of a developmentally disabled man and his devoted caretaker remains one of the most heart-wrenching American novels ever printed. And one whose tragic ending merits a wealth of conversations.

Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: Because Don Quixotepossesses such a rich history and left an indelible mark on popular culture, bibliophiles of all ages find themselves coming back again and again to enjoy the adventures of the eponymous dreamer.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath: This semi-autobiographical novel sheds considerable light on a life wracked with mental illness — a somber, realistic lesson every adult must understand. The Bell Jar also serves as a reminder that anyone emotionally struggling doesn’t always do so alone.

A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess: Readers who don’t understand Russian or cockney slang (aka most of them) need to read this warped dystopian novel multiple times to understand what in God’s name the characters are even saying.

A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen: Written before the feminist movement rose up and fought for women’s equality, one of Henrik Ibsen’s most popular plays toyed with the scandalous notion that some housewives may pine for a life outside their husbands, homes and kids.

The Awakening by Kate Chopin: Another recommended read for the liberated woman and the men who appreciate them, though many fans of this book find themselves divided over whether or not they fully agree with the central figure’s actions.

Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift: English classes spend so much time zeroing in on the wealth of social, political and religious commentary found in Gulliver’s Travels, they oftentimes forget to address just how much fun the book actually is.

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison: Dense and intense, Ralph Ellison’s brutal analysis of pre-Civil Rights race relations is required reading for any students and adults hoping to end bigotry in all its twisted, ugly guises.

Maus by Art Spiegelman: Maus currently holds the honor of being the only Pulitzer-winning graphic novel, a status that rightfully earned it a place on many a syllabus. Despite its grim content — Art Spiegelman’s very real talks with his father about his Holocaust experiences — the valuable lessons about family and history remain timeless.

Inferno by Dante Alighieri: All three portions of Dante Alighieri’s epic poetry trilogy The Divine Comedy are required reading, but his bizarre, highly detailed depiction of hell holds the most influence over the literary world today — not to mention pop culture as a whole.

1984 by George Orwell: No literary history aficionados will argue that George Orwell’s terrifying totalitarian dystopia birthed the entire genre, but it certainly left the biggest impact. Political pundits enjoy trotting out parallels to 1984 when discussing administrations they hate. Citizens familiarizing themselves with the novel’s tenets and context can tell whether or not they have a real point or are just resorting to paranoid fearmongering.

Nectar in a Sieve by Kamala Markandaya: Despite the many hardships heaped upon protagonist Rukmani, hers is a story of strength and perseverance that many students and adults may want to consult when seeking comfort in times of trouble.

Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton: Though apartheid may have ended, its legacy of intolerance and discord provides future generations with the tools to identify and stop such practices before they even have a chance to start.

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller: Readers of all ages with a particular affinity for absurdity and political commentary — especially as it relates to wartime — keep coming back to this novel again and again for laughs and truth bombs.

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros: Bibliophiles looking for a great bildungsroman to read over and over again have plenty to love about and explore with this compelling story about a young Chicana and her life in an impoverished Chicago neighborhood.

A Good Man is Hard to Find and Other Stories by Flannery O’Connor: Though an obviously subjective statement, many consider Flannery O’Connor one of the best American short story writers of all time. In such a confined space, she thrived with some incredibly provocative, influential narratives well worth reconsideration.

Night by Elie Wiesel: In his autobiography, Elie Wiesel recounts his gruesome experiences in Auschwitz and Buchenwald with the hopes of educating the world about the Holocaust’s horrors. Giving Night more than one look helps drive home its major historical themes, imbuing readers with the knowledge needed to better recognize hate and genocide.

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi: This new classic is at once hilarious and heartbreaking. Through deceptively simple art, writer and cartoonist Marjane Satrapi recounts her childhood during the Islamic Revolution in Iran and the different set of prejudices faced as an expatriate in Europe.

Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon: Gravity’s Rainbow necessitates multiple reads because it involves over 400 characters embroiled in increasingly absurdist, surreal situations. Anyone who says they understand everything in one read is probably lying just to seem smart. Punch him or her in the face.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles: The comparatively cushy lives of private school students in New England are juxtaposed with young men forced to the front lines of World War II, with a strange and interesting friendship right in the center.

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole: Not only is it a provocative read — especially when one factors in author John Kennedy Toole’s tragic life — this posthumous Pulitzer winner also happens to be one of the most hilarious novels ever published.

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens: Charles Dickens attracts such a massive audience, most of his oeuvre could’ve easily made this list. A Tale of Two Cities oftentimes bores high school students, but as they grow older they may come to love its history and memorable characters.

Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott: Aside from the fact that this novel exists as one of the greatest satires ever written in English, it also warrants multiple reads for the sheer originality and imagination.

A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf: In her book-length essay A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf opines on feminism, sexuality (most especially lesbianism) and the importance of financial autonomy and personal space for writers.

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri: Short stories of Indians and Indian-Americans intertwine thematically, raising some excellent questions about multiculturalism, family, relationships and plenty of other subjects bibliophiles delight in discussing.

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse: Both the spiritually-minded and those adhering to no religious credos at all appreciate this reflective classic and turn to it for meditative advice.

[southeastasianists]

Much can be told about a country’s character through its laws. Correspondingly, the transformation of a country’s legal regime over time can be said to be a reflection of the sociopolitical evolution of its society.

Take the Constitution of the United States of America. To date, there have been 27 amendments since its promulgation in 1789. The first ten amendments are collectively known as the Bill of Rights, and spell out the aspirations and desires of a fledgling nation in the form of a solemn promise of fundamental rights in relation to religion, speech, press, assembly, the right to bear arms and protections in the criminal justice system.

Following the end of the Civil War in 1865, amendments were made to abolish slavery and further define the rights of its citizens. As the twentieth century got underway, the Constitution was further amended to reflect the changing times—voting rights for women, tax concerns, and that peculiar period in modern American history known as Prohibition.

In 1963, the assassination of President John F Kennedy paved the way for the 25th amendment, which establishes clear procedures for filling the post in the case of an abrupt vacancy. In 1971, following nationwide student activism in protest of the Vietnam War, the Constitution was amended for the 26th time to lower the voting age from 21 to 18.

The Malaysian story

In similar vein, the evolution of the Federal Constitution of Malaysia since Merdeka in 1957 also provides a picture of how our nation has progressed—or regressed, depending on perspective—throughout the 60 years of its existence.

Unlike the US, the Malaysian Parliament is not shy when it comes to tinkering with the supreme law of the land. To date, there have been 57 constitutional amendment acts, which corresponds to an average of almost one a year. However, it would be disingenuous to compare the two charters like for like, as the US Constitution, which comprises only seven articles, is meant to provide a “frame of government” that sets out the broad scope and functions of the main branches of the federal government, viz. the legislative (Congress), the judiciary and the executive (the office of the president).

On the other hand, the Malaysian document is 12 times longer, comprising 15 parts, 230 articles, and 13 schedules—all of which detail very specific provisions on numerous issues including revenue from toddy shops to capitation grants from the federal government to the states. For practical purposes, many of these provisions naturally require updating every once in a while.

That said, a number of scholars have noted that the actual number of amendments that have been made to the Federal Constitution is closer to 700, if each individual change is counted. Be that as it may, it is the substance more than the quantity of the amendments that really matters, and on this score constitutional expert Shad Saleem Faruqi has opined that fundamental alterations to critical areas have resulted in the dilution of the spirit of the original Merdeka Constitution. In addition, legal scholar HP Lee even describes the changes as amounting to “a truncation of safeguards which had been considered by the Reid Commission as vital for the growth of a viable democratic nation”.

1960: Ending the Emergency without losing emergency powers

The first major amendment to the Constitution took place in 1960, three years after Merdeka. In tabling the Constitution (Amendment) Bill 1960, the government moved to amend 33 articles and insert two new ones, besides amending the second schedule. While it is not unusual for a fledgling country to amend its constitution after a few years of finding its feet, some of the changes that were undertaken had serious and far-reaching consequences.

It is perhaps important to first understand the context of the times. Malaya, as the country was called then, had gained independence in 1957 in the midst of a communist insurgency that began in 1948. By 1960, the war had begun to wind down as the communist objective of seeking independence by force from the British had, by virtue of Merdeka, been rendered moot.

However, instead of capitalising on the end of the war to usher in a new era of peace and greater freedom, it was a case of the government wanting to end the Emergency without losing emergency powers. This can be clearly seen from amendments made to Part XI of the Constitution, encompassing Articles 149 to 151, which deals with legislation against subversion and action prejudicial to public order.

Article 149 provides for the creation of Acts of Parliament that would, in the face of subversive threats to the Federation, cause the suspension of fundamental liberties enshrined in Articles 5, 9, 10 and 13 with regards to freedom of speech, association, movement and property, and freedom from unlawful detention. These “threats” were originally confined to conditions of organised violence, but were in the same amendment expanded to include attempts to incite communal hostility and acts “prejudicial to the security of the Federation”. This is of course an understandable provision given the tumultuous security situation of the time. However, the same article also provided a sunset clause that stipulated that all such legislation would cease to have effect after one year. In other words, laws allowing preventive detention were meant to be temporary features.

Unfortunately, this critical safeguard was repealed in the amendment, thus paving the way for the creation of the notorious Internal Security Act 1960, which remained in force until its repeal 52 years later, only to be succeeded by similarly powerful incarnations such as the Security Offences (Special Measures) Act 2012 and the Prevention of Terrorism Act 2015.

Meanwhile, Article 150, which governs the declaration of states of emergency, used to contain in its original version a clause that would necessitate, in the event of an emergency proclamation, its tabling in both Houses of Parliament at the soonest convenience. Once convened, Parliament must approve the resolution for the emergency, failing which it would automatically expire after two months from its date of issue. In the case that Parliament is not sitting at the time, then the Yang di-Pertuan Agong could issue emergency ordinances that would expire 15 days after the reconvening of Parliament.

However, the provisions were amended to remove the need for parliamentary approval. Instead, any emergency proclamation or ordinance would now continue to be in force until such time that Parliament annuls it. The corollary had been reversed—where parliamentary approval was previously required to maintain a state of emergency, it was now only required to end one. These amendments were to set the scene for many long term emergencies and the ultimately the suspension of Parliament in 1969.

While most of the other constitutional amendments made in 1960 were mainly administrative in nature, there were still a few more that carried questionable overtones. Take, for example, the amendments to Articles 122, 125 and 138, which resulted in the repeal of the Judicial and Legal Service Commission (JLSC), hitherto responsible for making all recommendations with regards to judicial appointments.

Following that, the power to initiate disciplinary proceedings against judges was transferred from the defunct JLSC to the Agong on the advice of the prime minister, thus severely curtailing the independence of the judiciary. Repercussions from this move did not become apparent until 28 years later when the provisions facilitated the sacking of the lord president (now known as chief justice) Salleh Abbas and two other judges of the Supreme Court, precipitating a judicial crisis from which the nation has never fully recovered.

In addition to the judiciary, an amendment to Article 145 also had the effect of changing the position of the attorney-general from a tenured one, much like a Supreme Court judge, to one that is held at the pleasure of the Agong. The intentions here were probably less sinister as it made the position a political appointment, which meant that the attorney-general could be a member of the government and therefore directly answerable to Parliament, as was the case from the 1960s to the early 1980s when the post was typically filled by members of parliament. However, it also meant that they could be unceremoniously sacked at any time, as Tan Sri Abdul Gani Patail was to discover in 2016 after running afoul of the prime minister.

1962: Consolidation of power

The second major amendment to the Constitution took place just two years after the first. In 1962 a bill was moved to amend 29 articles, adding three more articles while repealing three others. Changes were also made to a number of schedules, including the introduction of the 13th schedule which governs electoral rules.

By and large, the 1962 amendments saw the tightening up of laws and other minor administrative matters involving executive authority, legislative powers, and financial matters including the assignment of revenue from minerals to states. Nonetheless, major changes were also made, particularly to Parts III and VIII concerning rules of citizenship and the electoral system respectively, both tied to the long term survivability of the ruling Alliance government.

Citizenship had been one of the most contentious political issues leading to independence, and continued to dominate public discourse in the years following. The Reid Commission, drafters of the Constitution, had liberalised citizenship requirements so that many ethnically non-Malay residents could become citizens and, accordingly, gain electoral franchise.

The consequences of the more liberal citizenship policy would not be seen until 1959 when the first general election of independent Malaya was held. The Alliance government saw its control over 99 per cent of seats in the Federal Legislative Council reduced to only 71 per cent in the newly constituted Parliament of Malaya. Besides losing control over Kelantan and Terengganu, two states in the Malay heartland, much of the Alliance’s losses were also due to low levels of support from the newly qualified non-Malay voters in urban areas.

Thus, faced with diminished influence, the Alliance moved to appease Malay voters through a massive rural development program while they sought to contain the non-Malays by two means: firstly, citizenship was made more difficult to acquire and easier to lose, and greater discretionary power in citizenship matters was placed in the hands of the executive. Secondly—and more effectively—fundamental changes were made to the electoral system in order to mitigate the potential threat of non-Malay electoral strength.

However, tinkering with election rules was not an easy task, thanks to the Reid Commission’s foresight in embedding provisions to ensure that the Election Commission (EC) was not only independent but also accorded total authority over the delineation of constituencies without the need for parliamentary oversight. This meant that political parties, even if they were in power at federal or state level, would have little influence over the review and delimitation of constituencies.

In 1960 an electoral redelimitation exercise was conducted by the EC in strict conformity with the letter of the Constitution. As constituencies became more fairly apportioned and voter disparity was reduced to a maximum deviation of 15% of the average constituency size within a state, it became apparent that urban non-Malay voters would gain an increased share of electoral influence at the expense of the Alliance’s traditional rural Malay vote base, which would lose its rural weightage advantage.

Alarmed by the outcome of the redelimitation exercise, the Alliance government passed a raft of changes to the Constitution in 1962 that effectively annulled the revised constituencies, added new rules for constituency delineation, increased the 15% deviation limit to 33%, and even more significantly, stripped the EC of its independence and role as final arbiter of constituency changes. As a result, the EC is now mandated only to conduct redelimitation reviews before presenting its recommendations to the prime minister, who in turn will then table them ‘with or without modifications’ to Parliament for approval by simple majority.

In the grand scheme of things, the constitutional amendments made in 1962, particularly with regards to election rules that provided Parliament with even greater control over the creation and boundaries of constituencies, can be seen to have been the greatest contributor to the longevity of the ruling regime’s hold on power, unbroken to this day.

1963–1969: A nation in transition

Just a year after the 1962 amendments, the Constitution underwent another major overhaul. The Malaysia Act 1963 was introduced to accommodate structural changes to the country with the addition of Sabah, Sarawak, and Singapore into the expanded and renamed Federation of Malaysia.

As can be expected, minor changes had to be made to more than a hundred articles in order to include the new states. For the most part, the amendments were procedural in nature with a few exceptions such as the reinstatement of a watered down version of the JLSC. In 1964 and 1965 the Constitution was amended twice for minor administrative matters involving the legislative, executive and judiciary, as well as further tidying up of laws following the expansion of the Federation.

Unfortunately, the new union was not to last. In protest of what Indonesian president Sukarno labelled the “neo-imperialist” creation of Malaysia, Indonesia declared a “confrontation” against the Federation, proceeding to wage violent conflict for the next three years. Besides military skirmishes in Borneo, a spate of bombings were also carried out in Singapore, the most famous of which was the bombing of Macdonald House on 10 March 1965, which killed three people and injured 33 others. (The confrontation with Indonesia also provided the pretext for the Alliance federal government to suspend local government elections in 1965. The third vote has since been abolished.)

Adding to the pressure were racial tensions stirred up by various parties including Indonesian saboteurs, nationalist Malays as well as pro-communist leftist elements. During Singapore’s two year period in Malaysia, numerous racial riots occurred, including the notorious 21 July 1964 riot that broke out during a procession to celebrate the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday, resulting in the deaths of 22 people. Further smaller scale riots took place later in the year, contributing to an immensely tense environment. These events had also taken place against the backdrop of a racially charged 1964 general election, which served to strain the relationship between the Alliance and the People’s Action Party, which ruled Singapore.

With disagreements coming to a head over social, political and even economic and financial issues, the relationship became untenable. On 9 August 1965, Malaysian Prime Minister Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra moved to enact the Constitution and Malaysia (Singapore Amendment) Act 1965 in order to separate Singapore from the Federation. With the removal of Singapore, the Constitution had to be amended again. This was conducted in 1966, affecting 45 articles and four schedules.

1966 saw further constitutional issues as it was Sarawak’s turn to face a crisis. In June 1966, following dissatisfaction over a native land reform law advocated by Sarawak Chief Minister Stephen Kalong Ningkan, 21 out of 42 members of the state legislature petitioned the governor of Sarawak to remove Ningkan. With the backing of the prime minister, the governor demanded Ningkan’s resignation, but the latter refused as he insisted due process had not been followed as there had not been a motion of no confidence in the legislature.

Ningkan was sacked anyway, leading him to file a suit at the High Court, which ruled in September that the governor did not have the power to dismiss a chief minister. Ningkan was then reinstated but before he could dissolve the legislature to seek a fresh mandate, the federal government moved the Emergency (Federal Constitution and Constitution of Sarawak) Bill 1966 in order to declare a state of emergency in Sarawak, thus suspending elections in the state. Further to that, the state constitution of Sarawak was also amended by Parliament to authorise the governor to convene the state legislature without going through the chief minister, leading to Ningkan’s ultimate dismissal.

The high-handed removal of the Sarawak chief minister in 1966 marked the first time that a power grab was facilitated by the federal government, though it would not be the last. In 1977 a coup by members of the Pan-Malaysian Islamic Party (PAS) against the Kelantan chief minister was foiled when an emergency was declared by the federal government, thus keeping the incumbent chief minister in place until elections were held the following year. In the event, Barisan Nasional (the renamed Alliance coalition) managed to gain power for the first time in the state.

More recently in 2009, the Perak chief minister from PAS, leading the Pakatan Rakyat (PR) coalition government, was removed by the Sultan of the state following defections of PR assemblymen who declared support for BN. Following an audience between the prime minister and the Sultan, the latter refused the chief minister’s request for a dissolution of the state legislature, and instead appointed a new chief minister from BN. Although a successful challenge was made at the High Court, the verdict was later overturned by the Court of Appeal and Federal Court, which held the takeover was legal.

1969-1973: Aftermath of a tragedy

Topping off what is probably the most eventful decade in Malaysian history is the infamous 13 May 1969 racial riots. Tensions had mounted in the years leading up to the 1969 general election, resulting in outbreaks of sectarian violence. In November 1967 a hartal organised by Maoist sympathisers in Penang turned bloody, although it was contained from spreading beyond the state. In June 1968 protests against death sentences meted out to 11 Chinese members of the Malayan Communist Party took a racial slant until their sentences were commuted.

Eventually, the official general election campaign period, from nomination day on 5 April to polling day on 10 May, saw sentiments coming to a boil as racial and religious politics were played up to the hilt. A fortnight before polling day, a Malay political worker was killed in Penang. But while this incident managed to be quelled, another incident in Selangor occurred 10 days later, in which a young Chinese man was shot, reportedly in self-defence, by police officers.

Sensing political opportunity, leaders of the Labour Party, which had by then fallen under the control of far left elements and had also boycotted the general election, somehow ended up hijacking the organisation of the funeral procession. Held just a day before polling, the procession turned out to be one of the largest ever seen in KL, and was by most accounts less a funeral than a mass political demonstration complete with banners carrying revolutionary Maoist slogans and the depiction of the deceased as a political martyr.

A day later, Malaysia went to the polls. By 11 May, it became obvious that the Alliance would retain power with a drastically reduced majority. Not only did the coalition fail to attain 50% of the popular vote share, they also lost their two-thirds majority in Parliament for the first time. On top of that, they also lost their majorities in the Penang, Kelantan, Perak and Selangor state assemblies, the latter two ending up in a hung situation with no party having an absolute majority.

Elated by the unprecedented results, opposition parties in the capital celebrated their success by holding large processions. Naturally, sentiments were highly racialised and provocative. In response, the Malay daily Utusan Melayu’s editorial suggested that Malay political power was under threat, prompting members of UMNO Youth to respond by organising a victory parade in the capital.

What followed on 13 May will forever be etched in history as Malaysia’s day of disgrace, described by the Tunku as a “social and political eruption of the first magnitude,” a dark moment when Malaysia was betrayed by Malaysians. Blood flowed through the streets of KL as hundreds were killed in sectarian rioting.

A state of emergency was soon declared and on 16 May, Parliament was suspended—a sequence of events that would not have been possible were it not for the constitutional amendments of 1960. In the absence of parliamentary rule, a National Operations Council (NOC) was established to play the role of a caretaker government under the directorship of Deputy Prime Minister Abdul Razak Hussein. State and district operations councils were formed to govern the country at the different levels.

The level of premeditation and actual motivations behind the decisions and events precipitating the riots will forever be the subject of conspiracy theories. But what cannot be denied is the fact that the 13 May incident marked the end of the first epoch of Malaysian history, and the beginning of a new era under Razak, who ruled as head of the NOC and eventually as prime minister upon the retirement of the Tunku and reconvening of Parliament on 22 September 1970.

From the ashes of the bloody riots, a new social compact was forged in the form of the New Economic Policy (NEP) which laid the ground for an assertion of Malay nationalism in various sectors including education and the economy through social reengineering and affirmative action programs. The national political landscape was also transformed with the creation of the BN grand coalition in 1973, which absorbed opposition parties including PAS, Parti Gerakan Rakyat Malaysia (Gerakan) and the People’s Progressive Party (PPP) in West Malaysia. This had the effect of restoring the two-thirds majority in Parliament and consolidating control over every state government in the country.

Armed with total control, Razak moved to enshrine the new social compromises through the controversial Constitution (Amendment) Act 1971. Dubbed the “sensitive matters amendment”, seven articles were changed including those governing freedom of speech, assembly and association, parliamentary privileges, the national language, and the expansion of the scope of Article 153 that deals with the protection of the “special position” of the Malays.

As a result of the amendments, fundamental liberties were proscribed so that “sensitive matters”—defined to include issues such as citizenship, language, the special position of the Malays and the natives of Borneo, and the rulers’ sovereignty—could not be discussed openly, even in Parliament. The Sedition Act, previously inapplicable within the confines of the august House and state legislatures, now applies throughout.

These amendments were further augmented by other proscriptive legislation, such as the University and University College Act 1971, which forbade university students from participating in political activities, and the Official Secrets Act 1972, which cast a wide net for deeming what is confidential and hence unlawful to disseminate.

Further to that, Article 159 was altered so that the consent of the Conference of Rulers, previously required only for amendments to provisions affecting the special position of the Malays and the rulers themselves, was now also required for those affecting the national language, parliamentary privilege and certain fundamental liberties. Meanwhile, Article 153 was modified to allow the creation of quotas for Malays and natives in institutions of higher education, in addition to existing quotas for public service, education and commercial permits and licenses.

In 1973 another major constitutional amendment bill was moved that carried major electoral impact. Constitutional limits to rural weightage which had been loosened in 1962 when the maximum deviation was increased from 15% to 33%, were abolished altogether. In the absence of the safeguards that were put in place by the Reid Commission, seats could now be created that are up to four or five times the size of other seats within the same state, as is the case today.

In addition, the power of the EC to apportion constituencies was abrogated and instead specified in the constitution, hence amendable only by a two-thirds majority vote in Parliament. With deviation limits removed, the government of the day had practically awarded themselves carte blanche powers to delineate and apportion constituencies in any manner that was convenient to them.

Finally, the amendments also saw the carving out of KL as a federal territory, thereby removing it from the state of Selangor. As the majority Chinese population of KL was seen to have played a key part in the defeat of the Alliance in Selangor in 1969, excising the city also meant ridding the state of most of its opposition-leaning voters. Not only did it secure Selangor for BN, it also essentially robbed the voters of KL of their right to representation at the local level, as the federal territory has no elected legislature.

1973–1994: The Mahathir Era

Between 1973 and 1985, the Constitution was amended 11 more times, including numerous modifications to the capitation grants to the states, the creation of the federal territory of Labuan, further tightening up of election laws which gave the government even more discretionary powers, and the introduction of the ringgit as the national currency.

Of particular note were amendments made in 1983 and 1984 with regards to the legislative role of the rulers. In 1981, Mahathir Mohamad took over the job that he would go on to hold for the next 22 years. Never shy to challenge the orthodoxy, having been responsible for an infamous open letter to then Prime Minister Tunku Abdul Rahman Putra in 1969 that blamed the latter for the 13 May riots, Mahathir began the first of numerous confrontations with the Malay royalty in 1983.

Prior to this, the rulers enjoyed legal immunity, a provision that had been abused on more than one occasion. By the early 1980s, the behaviour of the rulers was increasingly questioned in public discourse, particularly with regards to their perceived extravagance, financial misdeeds, wastage of public funds, involvement in business, and active interference in political matters. Naturally disinclined towards feudalism and fuelled by the prospect of an incoming activist Agong, Mahathir decided to pre-empt the situation by introducing the Constitution (Amendment) Bill 1983.

Among the 43 articles amended were provisions that essentially made royal assent to a bill passed by Parliament a rubber stamp procedure that could not be denied by the Agong. This applied to state laws as well. In addition, Mahathir also proposed to transfer the power to declare a state of emergency from the Agong to the hands of the prime minister. Although the amendments were passed by both Houses of Parliament, an impasse occurred when the sitting Agong, having consulted his fellow rulers, objected to the Bill.

A standoff ensued as Mahathir went in all guns blazing, rallying his party machinery in demonstrations up and down the country while the press played along to his tune, explaining the necessity for the amendments. Not to be outdone, the rulers also held counter-rallies with the support of veteran UMNO leaders.

Finally, a compromise was achieved. The right to declare emergencies remained with the Agong and the rulers retained their right to withhold assent to state laws. For federal laws passed by Parliament, the Agong could now reject a bill by sending it back to the legislature. If the said bill was passed again, then it would automatically become law after 30 days, with or without royal assent. The only exception to this was in the case of money bills, which could not be rejected in the first instance.

The next major constitutional amendment would occur in 1988 amid portentous circumstances. A year earlier, Mahathir barely survived a leadership challenge from within his party, the result of which left UMNO divided down the line. The losing faction undertook legal proceedings and in February 1988, the courts ruled UMNO to be an unlawful society due to irregularities with some of its branches. In the wake of the deregistration of UMNO and other court decisions that the government found unfavourable, Mahathir moved to curtail the judiciary.

Article 121 was a specific target of the constitutional amendments of 1988. Previously ascribing plenary authority over the judicial power of the Federation to the courts, the article was amended to bind the courts to “such jurisdiction and powers as might be conferred by or under federal law” (Article 121), thus subordinating the judiciary to the legislative. Other amendments included the removal of the general power of the High Court to conduct judicial reviews, the empowerment of the attorney-general to determine the courts for cases to be heard, and, significantly, the insertion of Article 121(1A), which not only drew a line of separation between the civil and syariah courts, also elevated the status of the syariah courts to be on par with the civil courts, thus creating a parallel legal system that has seen many complications arise, especially in cross-jurisdictional cases involving Muslims and non-Muslims.

In response to the government’s hastily introduced changes, the lord president of the Supreme Court, Salleh Abas, convened a meeting of judges which unanimously approved a letter to be sent to the Agong to convey their disappointment at the actions of the prime minister to undermine the judiciary.

However, thanks to amendments made in 1960, Mahathir was able to initiate disciplinary proceedings against the lord president, resulting in his eventual removal along with two other Supreme Court judges. This dark episode remains a blight in the history of the Malaysian judiciary, and it was not until 2008 that the government made reparations to the sacked judges. In 2017 the Federal Court (previously Supreme Court) ruled that the 1988 amendments that subordinated the judiciary to Parliament were unconstitutional, although it fell short of striking down the Act in question.

Mahathir’s second bout with royalty took place in 1993. Despite the previous standoff, a number of rulers continued to behave with impunity, regularly interfering in state politics, flouting tax laws and even indulging in criminal activity. Following a motion of censure by Parliament against the Sultan of Johor who had physically abused a hockey coach, the Constitution was amended to strip the rulers of their immunity from prosecution, although they would be subjected to a special court of their peers rather than the normal civil courts.

In 1994 Mahathir made further amendments to the Constitution to tie up loose ends, including abolishing the power of the Agong to delay a bill by returning it to Parliament. This time, the same provision was extended for state legislatures as well, hence all but eliminating the role of the Malay royalty as a checks and balances mechanism.

At the same time, the downgrading of the judiciary was completed through symbolic changes such as the renaming of the lord president as chief justice and the Supreme Court as the Federal Court, as well as the introduction of a code of ethics for judges.

The Constitution would be amended 16 more times, with the last being in 2009. Most of the changes during this period were minor and administrative, with the exception of the creation of a third federal territory in 2001, viz. the new federal administrative capital of Putrajaya.

Whither do we go?

Unlike the US, whose 27 constitutional amendments, from the Bill of Rights to the abolition of slavery to universal adult suffrage, paint a narrative of a nation’s journey towards building a more inclusive, progressive and emancipated society, the story of the Federal Constitution of Malaysia reveals a nation that is heading the other way—towards more exclusivism, regression and repression.

Critical amendments made over 60 years have altered the fundamental nature and spirit of the original Reid Constitution of 1957 by concentrating power in the hands of the executive, dismantling various constitutional safeguards with regards to fundamental liberties and the use of emergency powers, overhauling the electoral system in order to ensure the longevity of the incumbent government, and suppressing rival centres of power, including institutions such as the Malay royalty and the judiciary.

As a result, the Constitution today no longer embodies the spirit and intentions of the founders of the country. This is perhaps an appropriate reflection of the Malaysian polity today. Although the same party that ruled at independence continues to rule, there are few who would agree that the current leadership even remotely adheres to the same ideals and principles as its pioneers.

At the very least, arbitrary changes to the Constitution are now improbable, given that the ruling regime has since 2008 lost its customary two-thirds control over Parliament, and by virtue of that, also its ability to amend the Constitution unilaterally. Yet plugging the leak is not fixing the problem.

Ultimately, fixing Malaysia requires fixing its laws. If our country is to find its place in the sun as an inclusive and progressive nation of the twenty-first century, then the political will to rewrite our laws to make for a more inclusive, open and fair society has to be found.

……………

Zairil Khir Johari is the Member of Parliament for the federal constituency of Bukit Bendera, Penang. He is the Democratic Action Party’s Parliamentary Spokesperson for Education, Science and Technology, and a Fellow of the Penang Institute, the public policy think tank of the state government of Penang.

He is also a columnist with the Penang Monthly and the author of Finding Malaysia: Making Sense of an Eccentric Nation.

This article originally appeared in the August 2017 edition of Penang Monthly, and is republished with permission.