World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia: A Cityscape below the Winds 9789048550500

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World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia

Publications The International Institute for Asian Studies (IIAS) is a research and exchange platform based in Leiden, the Netherlands. Its objective is to encourage the interdisciplinary and comparative study of Asia and to promote (inter)national cooperation. IIAS focuses on the humanities and social sciences and on their interaction with other sciences. It stimulates scholarship on Asia and is instrumental in forging research networks among Asia Scholars. Its main research interests are reflected in the three book series published with Amsterdam University Press: Global Asia, Asian Heritages and Asian Cities. IIAS acts as an international mediator, bringing together various parties in Asia and other parts of the world. The Institute works as a clearinghouse of knowledge and information. This entails activities such as providing information services, the construction and support of international networks and cooperative projects, and the organization of seminars and conferences. In this way, IIAS functions as a window on Europe for non-European scholars and contributes to the cultural rapprochement between Europe and Asia. IIAS Publications Officer: Paul van der Velde IIAS Assistant Publications Officer: Mary Lynn van Dijk

Asian Heritages The Asian Heritages series explores the notions of heritage as they have evolved from European based concepts, mainly associated with architecture and monumental archaeology, to incorporate a broader diversity of cultural forms and value. This includes a critical exploration of the politics of heritage and its categories, such as the contested distinction ‘tangible’ and ‘intangible’ heritages; the analysis of the conflicts triggered by competing agendas and interests in the heritage field; and the productive assessment of management measures in the context of Asia. Series Editors Adèle Esposito, CNRS-IRASEC, Bangkok, Thailand Michael Herzfeld, Harvard University, U.S.A., and Leiden University, the Netherlands Editorial Board Sadiah Boonstra, 2019-2020 Asia Scholar, The University of Melbourne/Curator of Public Programs Asia TOPA, Australia Min-Chin Chiang, Taipei National University of the Arts, Taiwan Yew-Foong Hui, Hong Kong Shue Yan University Aarti Kawlra, IIAS, the Netherlands Ronki Ram, Panjab University, India

World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia A Cityscape below the Winds

Pierpaolo De Giosa

Amsterdam University Press

Publications Asian Heritages 6

Cover illustration: ‘Welcome to Melaka World Heritage City’ Author’s photo, 2019 Cover design: Coördesign, Leiden Lay-out: Crius Group, Hulshout 978 94 6372 502 6 isbn 978 90 4855 050 0 (pdf) e-isbn doi 10.5117/9789463725026 nur 692 © Pierpaolo De Giosa / Amsterdam University Press B.V., Amsterdam 2021 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the author of the book. Every effort has been made to obtain permission to use all copyrighted illustrations reproduced in this book. Nonetheless, whosoever believes to have rights to this material is advised to contact the publisher.



Table of Contents

Abbreviations

9

Acknowledgements

11

Starter: Into a World Heritage City Note on Language(s)

13 21

1 A Cityscape below the Winds World Heritage on the Ground On Melaka Fieldwork in and beyond Melaka Outline of the Chapters

23 26 40 50 56

2 Heritage Affairs: Mouse-Deer, White Elephants, and Watchdogs 59 Antiquities: The Beginning 61 Museumification and Replication 65 Projects of a Developmentalist State 74 ‘Where There Is Sugar, There Are Ants’ 80 Restructuring National Heritage 87 Society and Heritage Affairs 91 A Multilayered Heritage Haze 101 3 UNESCO and the City Tentative Steps: World Heritage Ambitions The Hybrid State of Nomination The State Party of Inscription The Negeri of Conservation Learning in the World Heritage Arena

105 108 111 117 123 131

4 Melakan Row Houses from the Ground Up Row Houses of Old Melaka: A Background Forsaken Buildings: The Post-war Period Revaluation: From RUMAH Kedai to Rumah KEDAI Housing Heritage: Some Approaches to Conservation Modellers of Conservation Mr. Chwee: A Lifelong Resident Mr. Billy: A Returnee

139 142 148 151 157 160 164 168

Façadomy of Private World Heritage Properties The Malleability of Conservation Rules What Is the State of Conservation for the Row Houses?

174 179 190

5 Divide and Brand: Public Space, Politics, and Tourism ‘To Visit Historic Melaka Means to Visit Malaysia’ Branding Streets in the Consociational Way From Jonker Street to Jonker Walk A Walk for Cari Makan ‘We Do Not Need a “Harmony Street” – We Are the City of ­Harmony!’ A Political Tsunami in Jonker Street Politicized Heritage

193 196 197 201 206

6 A Melakan Ancestral Village beyond World Heritage The Chetti Community: A Background The Properties of the Ancestors The Making of a Kampung Warisan ‘We Are Sitting on a Gold Mine!’ The Kampungscape and the High-rise ‘See You on the Thirteenth Floor!’ What World Heritage Thresholds Do

225 228 233 241 248 254 260 265

7 Epilogue of a Blessing and a Curse Ethnographies of World Heritage Cities A Transnational Mis(s-)understanding World Heritage Topographies of Exclusion Postscript: Inheriting the Cityscape

267 269 276 279 284

Bibliography

289

Index

303

210 216 222

List of Figures and Tables Figures Figure A Figure B Figure C

St. Paul’s Church Statue of St. Francis Xavier Porta de Santiago

15 15 15

Figure D

Tourists posing in the Dutch Square. In the background: The Stadthuys, Tan Beng Swee Clock Tower, 17 and Queen Victoria Fountain Figure E A view of historical shophouses and townhouses from Bastion Middleburg 19 Figure F Kampung Kling Mosque 20 Cheng Hoon Teng Temple 20 Figure G Figure 1.1 Ruins of Bastion Victoria 24 Figure 1.2 Map of Malaysia and ‘Melaka and George Town, 26 Historic Cities of the Straits of Malacca’ Figure 1.3 Map of Melaka and the World Heritage site 39 Figure 1.4 Elected members of the Melaka State Legislative 49 Assembly in 2008, 2013, and 2018 Figure 2.1 The Melaka Islamic Museum 66 68 Figure 2.2 Replica of the Sultanate Palace Figure 2.3 Replica of a Dutch windmill in front of the Stadthuys 70 Figure 2.4 Dataran Pahlawan 79 Figure 2.5 A view of the Shore under construction from St. 82 Paul’s Hill 86 Figure 2.6 The promotion board of Melaka Gateway Figure 2.7 The main institutions managing urban heritage in Melaka and federal/state divisions of responsibilities 102 123 Figure 3.1 The certificate of inscription 129 Figure 3.2 The Taming Sari Tower Figure 3.3 Issues concerning the Historic Cities of the Straits of 137 Malacca at the World Heritage Committee sessions Figure 4.1 Row houses in Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock, Heeren Street140 146 Figure 4.2 Ground floors of Case A and Case B Figure 4.3 A model of conservation 161 167 Figure 4.4 Altar for ancestors in a townhouse Figure 4.5 Painting on a shophouse used as an art studio and shop172 178 Figure 4.6 Renovation works retaining only the façade Figure 4.7 Example of criticized air conditioning units 180 184 Figure 4.8 Graffiti of a high-rise on a shophouse Figure 4.9a Height limits and infill development in the World 186 Heritage property 186 Figure 4.9b Height limits in the World Heritage buffer zone

Figure 4.10 Figure 5.1 Figure 5.2 Figure 5.3 Figure 5.4 Figure 5.5 Figure 6.1 Figure 6.2 Figure 6.3 Figure 6.4 Figure 6.5a Figure 6.5b Figure 6.6 Figure 6.7 Figure 7.1 Figure 7.2

The Hard Rock Café under construction 188 Jonker Walk stage 204 Gan Boon Leong’s statue 205 Jonker Walk arch and night market 207 Protests against the closure of Jonker Walk 220 Tourist posing with ‘Save Jonker Walk’ banners 221 Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple 230 Map of Kampung Chetti and other Chetti properties 236 Decorations at a Chetti house 238 The Chetti Museum 243 Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple in the 1950s 246 Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple today 246 Mr. Osman’s sketch of the future World Heritage boundary250 The High-rise 263 Chetti welcoming the UNESCO director-general in 2013280 The Shore under construction and Kampung Morten 281

Table Table 4.1 Reasons to Preserve the Row Houses

158

Abbreviations ADUN

Ahli Dewan Undangan Negeri (‘Member of the State Legislative Assembly’) AMANAH National Trust Party (Parti Amanah Nasional) Association of Southeast Asian Nations ASEAN BERSATU Malaysian United Indigenous Party (Parti Pribumi Bersatu Malaysia) Democratic Action Party (Parti Tindakan Demokratik) DAP State Executive Council (Majlis Mesyuarat Kerajaan Negeri) Exco Heritage Impact Assessment HIA ICCROM International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property ICOMOS International Council on Monuments and Sites International Union for Conservation of Nature IUCN Japan International Cooperation Agency JICA Urban Development and Security Committee JKKB (Jawatan­kuasa Kemajuan dan Keselamatan Bandar) Village Development and Security Committee JKKK (Jawatan­kuasa Kemajuan dan Keselamatan Kampung) Integrated Community Development and Cultural LEAP Heritage Site Preservation through Local Effort in Asia and the Pacific (Local Effort Asia and Pacific) Melaka Historic City Council (Majlis Bandaraya MBMB Melaka Bersejarah) Malaysian Chinese Association MCA Malaysian Indian Congress MIC NatCom National Commission for UNESCO New Economic Policy NEP non-governmental organization NGO Outstanding Universal Value OUV OWHC Organization of World Heritage Cities Malaysian Institute of Planners (Pertubuhan Akitek PAM Malaysia) PAS Malaysian Islamic Party (Parti Islam Se-Malaysia) PERZIM Melaka Museum Corporation (Perbadanan Muzium Melaka) PKR People’s Justice Party (Parti Keadilan Rakyat) state of conservation SOC

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World Heritage and Urban Politics in Mel ak a, Mal aysia

SPVMT Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple UMNO United Malays National Organisation UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization

Acknowledgements First my thanks go to those people in Melaka and Malaysia who made this research possible. Anthropological convention prevents me from naming the many people who contributed to this research, but I can still thank some of the friends I met during fieldwork. The list below is partial and full of omissions. In particular, I thank Bert, Bob, Chan, Chandran, Charles, Colin, David, Devaraj, Jeeva, Jeff, Jones, Josephine, Kannan, Malik, Mandy, Mani and Raymond, Mohan, Peck Choo, Rosli, Ryan, Suppiah, Thanaraj, and the late Arumugam, Craig, Joe, Nadarajan, and Tegarajah together with their families who brought me into their homes. This research for this book was supported by the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology in Halle (Germany) between 2011 and 2015. At that time I was a member of a research group called ‘The Global Political Economy of Cultural Heritage’. I will always be grateful to my supervisor, Christoph Brumann, and my colleagues Vivienne Marquart and Leah Cheung. I am also grateful to the Institute of Ethnic Studies (KITA) at UKM in Bangi (Malaysia), which hosted me as a fellow researcher when I carried out fieldwork in Melaka, which was enabled thanks to a research pass issued by the Malaysian Economic Planning Unit. In particular, I would like to thank Shamsul Amri Baharuddin and Ong Puay Liu at KITA. I have also benefited from the extraordinary intellectual comments of Nurul Huda Hamzah, Nurul Azreen Azlan, Soledad Jiménez-Tovar, Priya Swamy, Margaret Sarkissian, Jerry Dennerline, Lisa Barthelmes, Kirsten Endres, Fazil Moradi, Stefanie Bognitz, Manon Istasse, Maarten Bedert, Fan Zhang, Gigi Andriani, Ruijing Wang, Giuseppe Tateo, Heila Sha, Esther Horat, and Simon Schlegel. I give special thanks to Adèle Esposito and Michael Herzfeld, the Asian Heritages Series Editors, who offered encouragement and keen advice. I thank Paul van der Velde and Mary Lynn van Dijk of the IIAS publication team as well as Saskia Gieling and Jaap Wagenaar at Amsterdam University Press, who made the publication of this book possible. I am grateful to the two anonymous reviewers who helped, with their comments, to improve this manuscript. Thanks also to Sean Norton, who improved every single page of this work with careful copyediting. Others, too, lent invaluable assistance: my research assistant Seohun Tan, Jutta Turner for the maps included here, and Rossella De Giosa, Rosanna Gallo, and Massimo Pietracito for their contributions to a couple of figures. Finally, I would like to thank my family: my mother, Antonella, my father, Tommaso, and Marcella, Dario and Rossella. Writing this book would have been impossible without their limitless support.



Starter: Into a World Heritage City You have to wait until night falls, and then walk silently along the walls, climb up one of the hills and sit quietly on the old stones, and you will hear it. It is almost a whisper, like the breeze, but you hear it all the same: the voice of history. Malacca is like that: full of dead. And the dead whisper. They whisper in Chinese, in Portuguese, in Dutch, in Malay, in English, some even in Italian, others in languages no one speaks anymore. But it hardly matters: the stories told by the dead of Malacca no longer interest anyone. Malacca, on the west coast of Malaysia, is a city freighted with the past, soaked in blood and sown with bones. It is an extraordinary city where half the world’s races have met, fought, loved and reproduced; where different religions have come together, tolerated each other and integrated; where the interest of great empires have struggled for primacy; and where today modernity and progress are pitilessly suffocating all diversity, all conflict, in torrents of cement, to create that bland uniformity in which the majority seem to feel at home. – Tiziano Terzani, A Fortune-Teller Told Me: Earthbound Travels in the Far East (2002)

The World Heritage site of Melaka consists of a core area, the World Heritage property, of 45.3 hectares in the historic city centre, surrounded by a buffer zone of 242.8 hectares. When the Italian journalist Tiziano Terzani visited Malaysia in the early 1990s, Melaka was not yet included in the prestigious World Heritage List of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). At that time, however, the historical charm of its downtown and the ongoing urbanization changing its surroundings were perhaps anticipating its future international fame in the tourism industry. In this book, I explore the social and cultural processes of heritage designations in this Malaysian city with a particular focus on the effects of the World Heritage recognition obtained in 2008. Terzani was probably writing about one of the two hills that extends above what is today Melaka’s World Heritage site. One is Bukit Cina (‘Chinese Hill’), which is

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World Heritage and Urban Politics in Mel ak a, Mal aysia

located in the buffer zone – the area that adds a further layer of protection to the World Heritage property. With hundreds of graves, it is believed to be one of the largest Chinese cemeteries outside China, although one can also spot some Malay Muslim tombstones. Bukit Cina is a quiet place, the largest green space downtown, popular among joggers. Those who make their way down the hill, just next to Poh San Teng Temple, will find one of the oldest monuments of Malaysia, a water well called Perigi Raja (‘King’s Well’), allegedly built in the fifteenth century. It has since become known as Hang Li Po’s Well. According to legend, Sultan Mansur Shah built the well for Hang Li Po, a princess sent by the Chinese emperor to become his spouse. Today, it is mostly used as a wishing well by tourists. By throwing coins into the well, they hope to return to Melaka one day. If one leaves Bukit Cina and walks south, one will encounter the Gurdwara Sahib, a temple established by local Sikhs in the 1920s. Then, passing through a few rows of old shops and townhouses, one will reach another graveyard called the Dutch Cemetery (although most of those buried there are former British administrators). This graveyard is at the foot of the other hill of the World Heritage site, the famous St. Paul’s Hill. Perhaps, when Terzani (2002: 137) visited Melaka in the early 1990s, it was easier to hear the ‘voice of history’. The designation of the area as a World Heritage site has turned this hill into a crowded tourist spot, especially at weekends and during public holidays. But those who climb the hill still have the chance to hear the whispers of the past, sometimes accompanied by the tunes of a local busker playing his guitar inside St. Paul’s Church. This unroofed church, built by the Portuguese in 1521 and originally named Nossa Senhora da Anunciada (Our Lady of the Annunciation), stands at the summit of St. Paul’s Hill. There are many more tombstones within this ruined church, especially those of Dutch settlers. A statue of St. Francis Xavier stands a few metres away, missing a hand (the body of the Jesuit missionary was temporarily buried in this church before it was shipped to Goa in 1553). St. Paul’s Hill has been the seat of several powers, from the Malay sultanate to the Portuguese, the Dutch, the British, and the postcolonial local administration. The hill formed the core of a Portuguese fort called A Famosa (The Famous) which was subsequently destroyed by the British. The only part that was spared and that still stands is a gate, the Porta de Santiago. Many other colonial buildings are located on the hill and its immediate surroundings. In the seventeenth century the Dutch built the colonial governor’s residence on this hill. It served as the Seri Melaka (house of local governors) until 1996. In the 1960s, the local government built the former seat of the Melaka State Legislative Assembly next to it. The hill is surrounded by many other colonial

15

Starter: Into a World Heritage Cit y

Figure A  St. Paul’s Church

Figure B  Statue of St. Francis Xavier

Author’s photo, 2011

Author’s photo, 2011

Figure C  Porta de Santiago

Author’s photo, 2011

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World Heritage and Urban Politics in Mel ak a, Mal aysia

buildings, such as the old Melaka Islamic Religious Council (Majlis Agama Islam Melaka, originally built by the Dutch as a residence) and the Bastion House, built in 1910 by the British, formerly the headquarters of the Dunlop Rubber Company. On the southern foot of the hill, near the Porta de Santiago and the old Dutch Cemetery, there are more buildings that remind us of the crucial role this former port town has played in history (some are well preserved, others are more recent reconstructions). A two-storey wooden replica of the palace of Sultan Mansur Shah, destroyed by the Portuguese, was constructed in the 1980s. It seems that the past of the glorious sultanate has been erased after the conquest. But the replica of the Sultanate Palace is an attempt to dig into this past. From here, the visitor would easily spot a gyro tower taller than 100 metres named Taming Sari, after the legendary kris (a ceremonial blade) wielded by Hang Tuah – the most famous of the sultan’s admirals. The former Malacca Club, built in the early twentieth century, stands with two golden onion domes nearby. Along with the esplanade that used to be down the hill, the Malacca Club was the main venue for social gatherings among Europeans. The area, then called Coronation Park (in honour of Queen Elizabeth II), later became a favourite playground among Melakans. In the past, St. Paul’s Hill faced the sea, and it was possible to see the pier. Since the last century, land reclamation has pushed the sea further away. Just a few metres away from the Porta de Santiago, one can enter the Dataran Pahlawan Melaka Megamall, a shopping complex named after its location. It was previously a padang (Malay for ‘field’) known as Padang Pahlawan (Heroes’ Square). In 1956, this was the place where the independence of Malaysia was announced for the first time. Quite unexpectedly, the atmosphere of St. Paul’s Hill stops at its foot, announced by the loud music coming from the trishaws (becak) that transport tourists around the World Heritage site. (Many have added modern sound systems to their traditional trishaws, nowadays overdecorated with Hello Kitty- or Doraemon-like images that attract tourists.) Trishaws ride back and forth from this area to the Melaka River. A row of red buildings will lead to a roundabout, better known as the Dutch Square (colloquially referred to as Red Square). Here two landmarks stand out. The Stadthuys (former Dutch Town Hall) was built in the middle of the seventeenth century. Next to it, in the eighteenth century, the Dutch built Christ Church to celebrate the centenary of their occupation. These two buildings were originally painted in white, but the British repainted them in red. Today red is the colour of history in Melaka. Many Melakans call the Stadthuys bangunan merah (‘red building’). At the centre of the square a fountain dedicated

Starter: Into a World Heritage Cit y

17

Figure D Tourists posing in the Dutch Square. In the background: The Stadthuys, Tan Beng Swee Clock Tower, and Queen Victoria Fountain

Author’s photo, 2013

to Queen Victoria stands close to Tan Beng Swee Clock Tower. The latter was built in 1886, but its architectural style blends harmoniously with the surrounding buildings. The historical aura of the Dutch Square meets more recent additions. A replica of a Dutch windmill stands just in front of the Stadthuys. Hordes of tourists pose for pictures in front of it. The addition of a sign reading ‘I Love Melaka’ is also appealing in this regard. One’s eye will probably fall on the reconstructed Bastion Middleburg, part of the old fort the Dutch added to the Portuguese walls before the destruction ordered by the British. From the Dutch Square, one can also spot other recent renditions of Melaka’s past: a replica of the Melaka Sultanate Water Wheel, along the river, and a replica of the Flor de la Mar, the galleon with which Portuguese general Afonso de Albuquerque conquered Melaka in 1511. St. Paul’s Hill and the Dutch Square constitute only part of the World Heritage site, the section usually referred to as the old civic area. The Melaka River divides it from the other part of the old settlement. The river played a vital role in the commercial life of this former trade hub. Today, however, there are no boats except those of the Melaka River Cruise: onboard, passengers either snap pictures or wave their hands to greet those onshore. By crossing the Tan Kim Seng Bridge from the old civic zone, one will reach the other side of the World Heritage site, the old residential-cum-commercial

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World Heritage and Urban Politics in Mel ak a, Mal aysia

zone. Arguably no area in downtown Melaka is more crowded than here, especially at weekends during the famous Jonker Walk night market. Here the townscape turns into a harmonious grid of streets with lines of historical shophouses and townhouses. Most of them have been turned into hotels, guest houses, bars, eateries, and souvenir shops. But the old charm of the area can be still felt when one gazes at the antique shops, ancestral residences, Chinese clan associations, old artisans’ workshops as well as more recent artists’ studios. Jalan Hang Jebat and Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock – still better known with their old Dutch names, Jonker Street and Heeren Street – are perhaps the best spots to admire these examples of vernacular architecture, where Western elements meet the East. Typically buildings with narrow façades of one to three stories high, shophouses and townhouses are lined one after the other along rows on both sides of the streets. Whitewashed walls pair with other pastel-coloured shophouses. Colourful frescoes blend with stucco panels, auspicious Chinese calligraphy, Malay-inspired floral motifs, Corinthian columns, Venetian windows, Art Deco, and sometimes modern murals, a chaotic mosaic of world styles harmonized under the same tiled sloping roofscape. But harmony is not merely conf ined to these building types. In between these old shophouses and townhouses there are also many places of worship that flesh out a multi-ethnic and multi-religious urban fabric. (There are additional sacred spaces, such as the mausoleums, or makam, attributed to two legendary warriors from the sultanate period, Hang Jebat and Hang Kasturi.) It is no coincidence that a row in this area was recently named Harmony Street. Here a series of places of worship stand in line – a few of them are among the oldest consecrated spaces in Malaysia. First, one will encounter the Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple, built in 1781 on a plot of land granted by the Dutch to a local Hindu leader. Dedicated to the elephant-headed god Ganesha, this place of worship is believed to be one of the oldest functioning Hindu temples in Malaysia. A few steps away, one will spot a minaret beside a green pyramidal roof with a lotus-like pinnacle at the top. This is the Kampung Kling Mosque. It was originally a wooden structure when it was allegedly built by Indian Muslim traders in the eighteenth century. It was rebuilt in brick a century later. The shape of the roof and other architectural features makes this mosque one of the oldest in the nation. (The Kampung Hulu Mosque is not far away. It features a similar pyramidal roof and pinnacle, and is another of the oldest Muslim places of worship still functioning in the country.) Walking further along Harmony Street, one will eventually arrive at the Cheng Hoon Teng

Starter: Into a World Heritage Cit y

19

Figure E A view of historical shophouses and townhouses from Bastion Middleburg

Author’s photo, 2011

Temple. Believed to be the oldest functioning Chinese temple in Malaysia, it plays a crucial role in the practice of the Three Doctrinal Systems of Buddhism, Confucianism and Taoism. The temple has undergone several additions and restorations, but it has been located on this site since the seventeenth century. Most of the buildings and streets in the two areas described above are visited every day by tourists, but heritage does not end at the boundaries of the World Heritage site. Beautifully restored shophouses and townhouses – some of them dilapidated, but old and charming nonetheless – exist beyond the buffer zone. Additionally, places of worship such as Tengkera Mosque on Tengkera Street, further west from the old residential area, and St. Peter’s Church on the northern side of the historic city centre, the oldest functioning Roman Catholic church of the country, equal the venerability of religious places within the World Heritage site. Other important historical areas are the so-called ‘heritage villages’: low-rise centuries-old neighbourhoods, such as Kampung Morten with its traditional Malay wooden houses in the middle of the city, Kampung Chetti, which is also rich in vernacular architecture, especially in regard to its Hindu temples and shrines, and the Portuguese Settlement, where Eurasian residents disseminate the history of Melaka from the era when the East met the West.

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World Heritage and Urban Politics in Mel ak a, Mal aysia

Figure F Kampung Kling Mosque

Author’s photo, 2011

Figure G Cheng Hoon Teng Temple

Author’s photo, 2011

Starter: Into a World Heritage Cit y

21

Mr. Sham, a Singapore-born Malay trishaw driver in his 60s, used to see heritage everywhere in these areas. He once told me, ‘It is heritage lah, everywhere here!’ In this book, however, I am not merely dealing with ‘things’, but rather with the social and cultural processes unfolding around the making of heritage. ‘There is, really, no such thing as heritage,’ Laurajane Smith (2006: 11) warns us. This understanding of the concept of heritage is now a pillar of the multidisciplinary field known as critical heritage studies. Rather than a ‘thing’, heritage is ‘a cultural and social process, which engages with acts of remembering that work to create ways to understand and engage with the present’ (Smith 2006: 2). Different shades of heritage emerge in this process of remembering and the construction of meaning around the past in the present. If one strolls with Mr. Sham along the streets of Old Melaka, heritage will appear at every step. (He used the English word ‘heritage’ interchangeably with the Malay term warisan.) He knew many stories and had a word for everything. With a plate of nasi lemak (he loved this local fragrant rice dish) for lunch, even food becomes tradition (tradisi). His trishaw was heritage, too, pusaka, because he inherited it from his father. Sejarah (‘history’) and adat (‘customs’) emerge from every building and place of worship. Passing the Stadthuys he would say it is one of the oldest buildings in town, a ‘colonial legacy’ (peninggalan penjajah). He even had stories about buildings that were long gone. ‘History that has come back to life’ (Satu sejarah hidup kembali) was his description of the replica of the Sultanate Palace – the new building, not the original one destroyed during the Portuguese conquest. These are all things that are turun-menurun (‘passed down from generation to generation’). According to Mr. Sham, the individual buildings and the entire area represent something that needs respect. ‘Cannot mess with it’ (Tak boleh kacau-kacaukan). In this book I try to explore these shades of heritage.

Note on Language(s) Mr. Sham’s words are in the Malay language (Bahasa Melayu, the Bahasa Kebangsaan, literally ‘National Language’, alternately referred to by officialdom as Bahasa Melayu or Bahasa Malaysia). This book contains many Malay words. Melaka, however, is inhabited by a truly cosmopolitan and code-switching society, and this research is filled with several words from other languages. Thus, when I am not referring to Malay, I will inform the reader of the language being used. Rather than a note on transcription, as is often the custom in academic books, my approach is intended to be

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World Heritage and Urban Politics in Mel ak a, Mal aysia

consistent with what is heard in Melaka. I follow a more conventional way for languages with standardized orthography that are taught in the so-called vernacular schools, the non-Malay-medium schools. For Mandarin, I follow the official Hanyu Pinyin orthographic system. For Tamil, I follow the orthographic guidelines of the Madras University Tamil Lexicon. There are, however, many other words from non-standardized languages which are widely spoken in Melaka, without forgetting Manglish (or Malaysian English): from Melakan slang to local creoles such as Baba Malay, Chetti Malay, the Portuguese-based Kristang as well as other diaspora languages like Hokkien. In these cases, I will use transcriptions (mostly anglicized and Malaynized) that are as close as possible to colloquial everyday jargon. I also retain the Manglish particle lah, which is often used to express emphasis at the end of a sentence.

1

A Cityscape below the Winds Abstract After a preface which describes the heritage of downtown Melaka, Chapter 1 introduces the theme of the book: UNESCO World Heritage and urban politics in Melaka, the most celebrated of Malaysian historic cities which is inscribed, together with George Town, on the World Heritage List since 2008. Afterwards, the chapter presents the field site, its history, and its inhabitants, in the context of the city’s geographic, political, and administrative configurations. This is followed by a reflection on the ethnographic fieldwork carried out by the author in Melaka between 2012 and 2014. This research is primarily based on interviews with, and participant observation among, a wide range of interlocutors: from residents to heritage experts, and from public officials to activists. Keywords: the politics of heritage, UNESCO, World Heritage Convention, the cityscape, Melaka, Malaysia

On a hot day in December 2012 I was sitting on the walkway of the Melaka River with Mr. Christopher and Mr. Nicholas. Of all the people I have met, these two Melakans were among those who were the most fond of heritage and history. On the other side of the river, the leaning church of St. Francis Xavier was towering above Padang Nyiru where, some months earlier, excavations had led to the discovery of the ruins of Bastion Victoria, part of the old fort. A couple of metres away, the logo of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) stood beside a big sign on an old wall: ‘Welcome to Melaka World Heritage City’. Early that year the construction of a multistorey car park on that piece of land was announced, but the Malaysian Department of National Heritage was able to persuade Melaka’s authorities to stop the construction project to preserve the ruins. For months there were no clear plans, except for a couple of informative banners showing the logo of the Department of National Heritage. Rainwater was filling in parts of the excavation site.

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World Heritage and Urban Politics in Mel ak a, Mal aysia

Figure 1.1 Ruins of Bastion Victoria

Author’s photo, 2012

Mr. Christopher and Mr. Nicholas were discussing the future of the bastion: Was the government going to rebuild it like Bastion Middleburg? For how long would the ruins be left in that state of neglect? Where was UNESCO? Was the car park going to be built there anyway? Suddenly, Mr. Christopher called our attention to a man observing the ruins. We saw on his car the logo of the Malaysian federal government and we thought he might be an official from the Department of National Heritage. Mr. Christopher shouted across the river. ‘Chief! Chief! No car park there!’ The man from afar shook his hands as if to say ‘No!’ At this point Mr. Christopher tried to convince us to cross the bridge and meet the officer. When we reached him Mr. Christopher asked whether there was news about the excavations and the car park project. The man merely nodded, saying nothing. Mr. Christopher repeated himself – ‘No car park here’, adding, ‘We will protest!’ He then asked which department sent him to check the ruins. The man replied that he was from the Ministry of Natural Resources and Environment and that he was actually just a driver waiting to pick up his boss. There was an uncomfortable silence when we returned to the other side of the river, as we realized the civil servant was only a curious driver observing the ruins while waiting for his boss. The silence soon turned

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into laughter. I relate this seemingly insignif icant anecdote about the UNESCO World Heritage cityscape because it provides a characteristic sketch of the key actors in this story, the people and issues of Melaka’s World Heritage cityscape that will appear in this book. First, we have the absent omnipresence of UNESCO, symbolized by its logo. Then, we encounter the state in one of its various manifestations: federal government, local state administrations, and municipal layers, as well as the different levels of the heritage bureaus. The setting is urban heritage under the spectre of future construction projects. And finally, we have the people of Melaka who want to have a say in the fate of the space where they live. But there is also a certain confusion about to whom to address their concerns. In this book, situated at the intersection between critical heritage studies and urban anthropology, I follow the interaction between transnational actors, the state, and the wider society in the everyday life of urban heritage, through an ethnographic study of Melaka – a Malaysian city designated as a World Heritage site jointly with George Town (the capital of the state of Penang) under the title ‘Historic Cities of the Straits of Malacca’.1 The argument that I shall develop throughout this book is that, on the ground, this complex global/local nexus of heritage politics is characterized by haziness and nebulosity. We encounter what might be dubbed a ‘heritage haze’ which echoes the blurred responsibilities between local, national, and international bodies that shape a local framework of heritage management. While this World Heritage site has become at first sight the property and responsibility of humanity, the inhabitants of Melaka face this blurred landscape of heritage management. This haze also reflects, metaphorically, the multiple and oft-overlapping conceptualizations of heritage and diverging interests as they are articulated in Melaka. This haziness and the resulting blurred heritage landscape sketch out a very different, and far more complex, picture compared to the emerging global moral community making up what Michael Di Giovine (2009) calls ‘heritage-scape’, an assemblage made up of single World Heritage sites. This ‘heritage-scape’ creates an imagined global community that shares an appreciation for cultural diversity, an interest in protecting heritage, and the promotion of ‘peace in the minds of men’ (Di Giovine 2009: 21, 72, 79, 104). While Di Giovine may be right 1 I use the official Malay spelling of Melaka, although the English spelling, Malacca, is still widely used – some locals even prefer the English name to the Malay one. I will use the English spelling only if it appears in the relevant cited sources or when I refer to the Straits of Malacca, which is the accepted international geographical name.

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Figure 1.2 Map of Malaysia and ‘Melaka and George Town, Historic Cities of the Straits of Malacca’

about the noble principles behind the World Heritage programme, I will show that heritage-scapes on the ground are atomized by the diverse – and often contrasting – interests of various actors.

World Heritage on the Ground This ethnography explores the politics of heritage and urban politics in and around the World Heritage site of Melaka. The study of heritage politics is concerned with power relations in the defining of, interpretation, and management of the past. ‘The politics of heritage,’ Chiara De Cesari (2013: 400-401) writes, ‘tend to be understood as the misuse (often by undemocratic actors and authoritarian regimes) of something – the past – that should instead be kept neutral and under the strict purview of technocratic expertise.’ But there is something more: ‘the subtle politics of the everyday’ (De Cesari 2013: 401) that are beyond the reach of decision-makers. In cities heritage politics are combined in complex ways with urban politics. The latter are more commonly understood as politics within cities. I adhere to the geographical

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scholar’s focus on urban politics as ‘sociospatial struggles’: as Deborah Martin writes, ‘urban politics characterizes some sort of struggle over space, or more specifically, over sociospatial processes’ (in Ward et al. 2011). The title of this book is, therefore, World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia: A Cityscape below the Winds. The use of the old Malay designation of the region as a land ‘below the winds’ (di bawah angin) is deliberate. Different names for the region and the country followed one another from the ‘Golden Chersonese’ in Ptolemy’s geography, to the Sanskrit names Suvarnabhumi and Suvarnadvipa – which refer to the land and islands of gold (Wheatley 2010) – to the colonial and postcolonial formations of Malaya and Malaysia. I chose the toponym ‘below the winds’ because it is what Melaka and the region from Sumatra to the eastern Indonesian archipelago was called throughout the early modern period (Reid 1988). The past of these lands below the winds lies in antiquity, a period that was subsequently glorified.2 The other reason for choosing this title is to go beyond a mere dichotomization of West/East and North/South. The winds in the title refer to the monsoons that guided trade between the Indian Ocean and the South China Sea. Melaka emerged as an entrepôt because the rotating pattern of the monsoon winds forced merchant ships to stop in the harbour while waiting for the seasonal change that was necessary for the next expedition. Thus, a cityscape below the winds denotes both my local/regional focus, and also my interest in the global interconnectedness of this research. In this sense, however, the cityscape below the winds incorporates a further meaning. Melaka is also subjected to contemporary winds: local, national, regional, and global forces. A perspective ‘below the winds’ reflects, figuratively speaking, my approach to the exploration of such flows from the ground. Heritage could be probably considered – along with other concepts such as culture, tradition, and history – the new wine in old bottles that is characteristic of our times. An extensive literature on heritage, cutting across disciplines, has emerged at least since the 1960s. It has expanded into interdisciplinary projects such as the so-called ‘field of heritage studies’, academic journals such as the International Journal of Heritage Studies, and networks such as the Association of Critical Heritage Studies. The interdisciplinary field of critical heritage research grew out of an analysis of the uses of the past in the present, and developed into the exploration of a wide range of heritage discourses and practices (Harrison 2013: 113), with an increasing interest in global/local interactions (Meskell and Brumann 2 The lands ‘above the winds’ (di atas angin) were supposed to be those west of Sumatra (Andaya 2008: 258).

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2015). Clearly, a review that traces the existing literature is well beyond the aim of this study. But it is necessary to pin down three basic understandings of heritage that shape my perspective. First, I understand heritage as a sociocultural construct. Second, as the Latin origin of the word suggests (hereditare, ‘to inherit’), heritage refers to something which is handed down from generation to generation. In a similar vein, warisan (from the Arabic warith, ‘heir’) – the Malay word used to officially define heritage in Malaysia – refers to inheritance. Thus, heritage represents for people a link to the past, but which is constructed in the present (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1998: 150; Lowenthal 1998: 3): in other words, it reflects ‘the contemporary uses of the past’ (Ashworth, Graham, and Tunbridge 2007: 64). Third, I share with some scholars the understanding of heritage as multivocal, that there can be multiple, often discordant, interpretations of tradition. This means that heritage is to a large extent characterized by ‘contestation’ and ‘dissonance’ (e.g., García Canclini 1999: 17; Silverman 2010; Smith 2006; Tunbridge and Ashworth 1996). In the 1990s, according to Helaine Silverman (2010: 5), a proper ‘paradigm shift’ has been adopted by scholars ‘toward a socially engaged, politically aware study of the past that regards heritage as contested’. This shift, especially in the social sciences, has generated new approaches to heritage. The latter was seen not so much in celebratory terms, but rather as a process, practice, and discourse deeply embedded in power relations (e.g., Breglia 2006; Hall 2005; Smith 2006). When we apply this understanding of heritage to the built environment in an urban context we encounter the multiple ways through which people select parts of the city as the materialization of the past. This process of signification has been conceptualized in the literature as a heritage-making process, ‘heritagization’ (e.g., De Cesari 2013; Harrison 2013; Probst 2011), or heritage construction (Hall 2005: 26). In other words, a building is not heritage until the moment people attach this meaning to it. These processes of heritagization can generate new policies of urban conservation. In this context, those in power such as public officials and city administrators, together with professional f igures like urban planners, architects, or archaeologists, play a central role in the formulation and implementation of urban conservation regulations. But these actors are not alone. The built environment and urban heritage, obviously, are more than just an assemblage of things. They are built and attached with meaning by the people living in the city and are related to the sociocultural production of space. Their connection to the past makes it what Arjun Appadurai (1981) would call a ‘scarce resource’. This sheds light on the cultural, social,

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political, and economic interests orbiting the control of the past in the present and towards the future. Finally, the understanding of urban heritage as a multivocal field suggests that not all the actors involved in the processes of heritage-making share the same views. Certain heritage items are more meaningful to some individuals than to others. Likewise, what is heritage for certain actors is not at all heritage for others. A few significant questions emerge from this perspective. For example, who defines heritage in the city? What is considered heritage and what is not? What categories of heritage emerge? And what are the effects of these selective processes? How are urban conservation policies inscribed into the wider urban planning approaches and urban development patterns? This book is not about how the built environment should be conserved, and neither is it on material things themselves. The centre of this research are people who take part in the politics of heritage. In the 1990s Michael Herzfeld (1996: 122) wrote that ‘studying the local politics of heritage – that is, ethnographically – is still in its infancy’. The politics of heritage is, however, not new. It is connected to the national identity construction of what Benedict Anderson (1983) defined as ‘imagined communities’. Richard Handler (1988), for example, presented the politics of heritage concerning the urban fabric of Quebec City and analysed the links between Canadian nationalism and Québécois cultural property legislation. Perhaps the first influential anthropological study of the everyday life of urban conservation was offered by Herzfeld (1991) with his ethnography of the Cretan town of Rethemnos. He described how the official urban conservation agencies focused on the ‘monumental time’ identified in the Renaissance Venetian architecture of the town vis-à-vis the ‘social time’ of Rethemniots’ everyday lives. Herzfeld investigated the way urban conservation and official uses of the past affected the social lives of the residents of buildings that are categorized as heritage. In the last two decades ethnographic studies of heritage politics have grown in number and intensity. This study is situated within this fast-growing field. All good research necessarily builds on strong foundations laid by others, whether in theoretical or methodological terms, and I hope to have acknowledged their contributions clearly. At the same time, I have attempted in this study to enrich the ethnographic study of the local politics of heritage with a particular attention to international dynamics emanating from the UNESCO World Heritage circuit. The idea that heritage can be managed and protected by an international authority emerged at the beginning of the twentieth century. World Heritage arose as part of a global project under the aegis of UNESCO. The latter was established in 1945 out of the ashes of the Second World War as the

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intellectual agency of the United Nations. One of the aims underlined by its constitution was to assure ‘the conservation and protection of the world’s inheritance of books, works of art and monuments of history and science’ (UNESCO 1945). Officially the UNESCO Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage of 1972 (hereafter World Heritage Convention) embodied this global project. Several entities assist the World Heritage programme, such as the World Heritage Committee, the World Heritage Centre, and the advisory bodies: ICOMOS (International Council on Monuments and Sites), ICCROM (International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property), and IUCN (International Union for Conservation of Nature). In 1977 the World Heritage Committee inscribed on the World Heritage List the first twelve sites. Since then the List has grown tremendously. As of 2020 in all, 1121 World Heritage sites have been listed: the majority of them are cultural heritage sites. We can discern two major ethnographic angles through which the World Heritage programme has been approached. The first one has been carried out at the global level through fieldwork among decision-makers, diplomats, ambassadors, and heritage experts who interact in the UNESCO sphere, what Christoph Brumann (2012a) refers to as the ‘World Heritage arena’. According to Brumann, while the World Heritage Committee is responsible for the final decisions, ‘the many independent organizations that meet in the arena have no formal authority over one another, their tasks and interests diverge, and they engage in sometimes rather conflictive exchanges that produce both winners and losers’ (Brumann 2012a: 6). Ethnographic research in this arena, especially during the World Heritage Committee sessions, has recently been facilitated by UNESCO. The World Heritage Committee approves requests for the status of independent observers. In addition to offering free online access to official documents, the World Heritage Committee has, since 2012, allowed free press access and web streaming of its annual sessions. In the last decade much effort has been devoted to ethnographic fieldwork at UNESCO heritage institutions, including the annual meetings of the UNESCO World Heritage Committee (e.g., Brumann 2012a; Meskell 2012). Fieldwork at the World Heritage Committee sessions, aptly described by Brumann (2012a) as ‘multilateral ethnography’, is far from the scope of my research. I have never personally observed a UNESCO session, although I am familiar with the actors involved in the World Heritage arena. Instead, my research explores the workings of ‘World Heritage on the ground’ (see Brumann and Berliner 2016), which is the other major angle through which the World Heritage programme has been approached. Field research in World Heritage sites has grown together with the UNESCO World

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Heritage List. The World Heritage project has reached not only the most famous archaeological sites, such as Angkor (e.g., Esposito 2018; Miura 2011) and Chichén Itzá (e.g., Breglia 2006), but it also has drawn attention to the most remote areas of the world, such as the traditional settlements of Tana Toraja (e.g., Adams 2003). Anthropologists have also studied the dynamics of World Heritage in urban contexts from Djenné, Mali to Havana, Cuba (e.g., Berliner 2012; Bissell 2005; Collins 2008; Hill 2007; Istasse 2019; Joy 2016; Palumbo 2006; Probst 2011). This work is, therefore, set in the latter field, within the tradition of scholarship focused on the dynamics of historic conservation as pioneered by scholars since the late 1980s (e.g., Herzfeld 1991; Handler 1988), and it contributes to the anthropology of contemporary urban heritage politics in a local context where international, national, and provincial ‘heritage regimes’ meet (see Bendix, Eggert, and Peselman 2013). Scholars have criticized the World Heritage programme for its Eurocentric bias, conceptually and geographically. First, the idea of heritage is seen as a product of the nineteenth century and deeply rooted in the West (Smith 2006: 98-99). Second, criticism has highlighted how European sites have been dominating the List (Cleere 2001: 25). Nevertheless, things have begun to change. The World Heritage system has not remained static, but has, rather, evolved (partly in response to this criticism). There has been a shift in interest from monumental and ‘tangible’ (material) heritage to vernacular and ‘intangible’ heritage with new projects such as the UNESCO Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of 2003. New kinds of sites, such as industrial heritage and reconstructed monuments, have been inscribed on the List. The World Heritage programme has also been able to go beyond the dichotomy of cultural and natural heritage with hybrid sites, such as cultural landscapes. Some countries have pushed for certain changes, requesting not only the inclusion of non-Western perspectives on authenticity and conservation, but also a rebalancing of the List, which previously was over-represented by European, Christian, and monumental heritage. The year 1994 saw a crucial wave of reforms with the formulation of the Nara Document on Authenticity and the Global Strategy for a Representative, Balanced and Credible World Heritage List.3 In this global/local nexus of heritage politics some voices impose themselves. Laurajane Smith’s (2006) analysis of the ‘authorized heritage discourse’ is one of the major contributions to the growing critical heritage literature. According to Smith (2006: 299) this authorized heritage discourse 3 For a more detailed analysis of the evolution of World Heritage, see Bortolotto 2007; Harrison 2013; Labadi 2010; Labadi and Long 2010; Meskell and Brumann 2015; Turtinen 2000.

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is mostly based on ‘the grand narratives of Western national and elite class experiences, and reinforces ideas of innate cultural value tied to time depth, monumentality, expert knowledge and aesthetics’, and is imposed by the elite of experts, state-sanctioned institutions, and UNESCO-related bodies. While, on the one hand, it is crucial to deconstruct the origins and ideas of global heritage discourses, on the other hand, critical heritage research often confines the politics of heritage to a tension between ‘authorized heritage discourse’ versus non-official heritage practices. Although I am sympathetic with studies that retrace alternative views of hegemonic heritage discourses (e.g., Byrne 2014; Robertson 2012; Smith 2006), this dichotomy may neglect the more complex field of interactions and the ways in which different actors deploy discourses of the past, power relations, and global visibility in local heritage-making processes. By focusing on the politics of Melaka’s built heritage – which falls into the realm of tangible heritage, supposedly the most powerful category created by authorized patrimonial programmes – I take the agency of the actors involved very seriously, thus avoiding the reduction of UNESCO, the state, or society to monolithic units. From an intergovernmental perspective, the international politics of heritage has been studied as a veritable diplomatic field. Tim Winter (2015: 11) writes that ‘heritage diplomacy can broadly be defined as a set of processes whereby cultural and natural pasts shared between and across nations become subject to exchanges, collaborations and forms of cooperative governance’. This perspective would lead us to think that international organizations and nation-states are the major actors involved in the politics of World Heritage. Diplomacy, however, has partially moved ‘beyond its initial base of government departments, embassies and ambassadors’ to NGOs and other actors (Winter 2015: 10). What is then, at the global level and on the ground, the role played in this heritage diplomatic f ield by non-state actors, such as heritage experts and residents working and living in a World Heritage-designated place? I hope to shed light on the complex ways in which heritage becomes a training ground where a diverse set of actors acquire the kind of heritage diplomatic capital to shape the city for their own purposes. Heritage diplomatic capital is the bargaining power a wide range of actors (from international to national and local actors) acquire in the management of a World Heritage site. 4 Heritagization is, 4 I borrow the term ‘diplomatic capital’ from Adler-Nissen (2008). She writes that ‘the position of the national representatives in the diplomatic field depends on the volume and type of capital to which they have access’ (Adler-Nissen 2008: 670). The Bourdieudian capital concept is here adopted in the diplomatic field and is ‘understood as the resources that can count as a valid

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of course, entrenched in hegemonic discourses and practices, but there is something more to this story. Throughout this work I will show how these official heritage discourses and practices are internalized by other actors and sometimes appropriated to claim a place in the politics of heritage, but also vernacularized and resisted. Surely UNESCO as a ‘standard-setting’ agency (Brumann 2012a: 4) plays a crucial role in the making of World Heritage. Scholars discern the production of an evident ‘global grammar’ behind the UNESCO World Heritage programme (Turtinen 2000: 5) that contributes to the ‘UNESCOisation’ (Berliner 2012), ‘World Heritage making’ (Miura 2011), and ‘world-heritagization’ (De Cesari 2013: 409) of places. But, as has been noted by scholars who research the UNESCO World Heritage project (e.g., Askew 2010: 22; Meskell and Brumann 2015: 25), in such an intergovernmental entity, the nation-states are still the most powerful actors. Throughout this book, I investigate the ways Malaysia enters the World Heritage system and how this state interacts with the World Heritage arena on matters related to Melaka. Heritage-making processes are an integral part of nation-building projects, and ‘heritage has become a cultural prosthesis that nations cannot do without’ (Hui, HsinHuang, and Peycam 2017: 5). In this regard, the Malaysian urban heritage milieu is significant because it is tied to the mission of strengthening a united nation in a multicultural society, and the challenge of harmonizing heritage preservation and modernization in one of the most rapidly urbanizing countries of East Asia. Although Malaysia can be considered a fast-learning country in the World Heritage system for the ways it has recently translated the up-to-date global standards into national legislation, the so-called ‘authorized heritage discourse’ is not the only one in town, and definitely not the dominant one. Accordingly, in this book I explore multiple discourses and practices related to heritage by engaging with the following set of questions: What kind of interactions emerge in this global/ local nexus? Who are the primary actors? How do residents relate to the politics of heritage? Does the World Heritage project fulfil the global mission of safeguarding cultural heritage? Does World Heritage play a role at all at the national and local level? And how is heritage used in the Malaysian narrative of a ‘nation-to-be’? The last question is particularly relevant for Malaysia. Its population has grown remarkably since the first post-independence census carried currency for exchange’ (Adler-Nissen 2008: 670). I use the idea of heritage diplomatic capital in order to refer to the capital accumulated by different actors in the global/local nexus of heritage politics.

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out in the 1970s. From approximately 10 million, it had expanded to nearly 30 million by 2010. Malaysians are classified into Bumiputera (67.4 per cent) – a word that literally means ‘son of the soil’, which refers to those considered natives, such as the Malays and other indigenous groups from Borneo and peninsular Malaysia – and non-Bumiputera: Chinese (24.6 per cent), Indians (7.3 per cent), and Lain-lain (Malay for ‘Others’) (0.7 per cent) (Malaysia 2010b). Such categorizations are influenced by the British colonial census-like classification of society.5 Malays constitute the largest majority among the Bumiputera; they are also the dominant Malaysian group (slightly more than 50 per cent of the population). The constitution defines a Malay as ‘a person who professes the Muslim religion, habitually speaks Malay, [and] conforms to Malay custom’ (in Husin 2008: 2). Malays and the other Bumiputera groups have been granted some socio-economic privileges, such as quotas in federal public service positions, scholarships, trade and business licences, as well as tertiary education enrolment. Despite this special status, the income inequality between non-Bumiputera and the economically marginalized Bumiputera has constituted a bone of contention since independence. These racial categories have been maintained in the postcolonial period, and Barisan Nasional (the National Front) – the coalition that governed the country until 2018 (for six decades since independence, if we include its predecessor, the Alliance Party) – also follows this division with its main parties: the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO), the Malaysian Chinese Association (MCA), and the Malaysian Indian Congress (MIC). Representing the largest ethnic group, and acting as the dominant party in this coalition, UMNO has employed the concept of ketuanan Melayu (‘Malay supremacy’, from the word tuan which means ‘master’) as its armour. Nevertheless, the call for Malay unity as a means to attract political support is shared with another party, PAS (Parti Islam Se-Malaysia, Malaysian Islamic Party) – a political movement founded by Muslim clerics that aims to create an Islamic state.6 Competition from this party is particularly strong in rural areas, with support from voters of Malay heritage. Given such demographic factors, it is not surprising that Malay civilization and Islam play a central role, not only in the political sphere, but also in heritage-making processes. 5 The concept of race was introduced to the Malay peninsula and the Indonesian archipelago in the nineteenth century by the colonial powers, the British and the Dutch (see Hirschman 1986: 354; Mandal 2004: 55). Hirschman (1986; 1987) has shown how the racial categories imposed by the British through censuses have changed constantly, and sometimes in random ways. 6 PAS has always been in the opposition except from 1974 and 1978, when it joined Barisan Nasional.

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There are, however, competing visions that come from the opposition coalition, especially non-communitarian and reformist parties, which enjoy strong support in urban areas, such as DAP (Parti Tindakan Demokratik, the Democratic Action Party) and PKR (Parti Keadilan Rakyat, the People’s Justice Party). In particular, for example, DAP (a party with a largely Chinese electorate) calls for a more egalitarian ‘Malaysian Malaysia’ that does not identify itself with the supremacy and interests of a particular ethnic community. Also in non-ethnic terms, PKR advocates for social and economic justice, according to ketuanan rakyat (‘people’s supremacy’). Although this party is open to all ethnic groups, it has since its inception been sustained by a majority of reformist Malays. Nation-building is more often than not a work in progress. The Malaysian case is significant in this regard. Shamsul Amri Baharuddin, for example, describes Malaysia as ‘nations-of-intent’ and ‘one state with several nations’ (Shamsul 1996b: 327), a sort of ‘“nationless” state’ (Shamsul 1996a: 484), or a ‘state-without-a-nation’ (Shamsul and Sity 2006: 134). Therefore, in the Malaysian context, the search for national unity has been a constant theme of political and public discourse since independence. Introduced in 1971, shortly after the infamous interracial riots of 13 May 1969, the New Economic Policy (NEP) was formulated with the aim of promoting ‘national unity’, to be achieved through the eradication of poverty for all Malaysians, and a socio-economic restructuring of society by eliminating the identification of a specific ethnic group with economic function – with a particular interest ‘on creating a Malay business community and achieving 30 per cent Bumiputera ownership of the corporate sector by 1990’ (Gomez and Jomo 1997: 24).7 In a similar vein, former UMNO leader and prime minister from 1981 to 2003, Mahathir Mohamad introduced Wawasan 2020 (or Vision 2020) aiming at achieving the status of a ‘fully developed country’ in 2020, but the first challenge was at the same time the establishment of a united ‘Malaysian nation’ (Bangsa Malaysia) (Mahathir 1993). During my stay in Malaysia another slogan permeated almost all state-led projects: ‘1Malaysia’ (pronounced ‘One Malaysia’), a catchword introduced by UMNO’s leader Najib Razak (prime minister from 2009 to 2018). The rhetoric of the 1Malaysia project ‘was unique in the sense that it was the first attempt at non-communitarian nation-building in almost three decades, and it was clear that the project 7 The NEP was succeeded by the New Development Policy in 1991, but its effects continued afterwards and it is still criticized today. In particular, besides being ethnic-based it is believed that it contributed, instead, to increase intra-ethnic disparities in favour of a few elites (Husin 2008; Jomo and Wee 2014: 75).

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was meant to involve all Malaysians, regardless of their ethnic or religious background’ (Noor 2013: 101). It was, then, an administration that embraced the idea of 1Malaysia, but it was nevertheless still divided along communitarian lines, as is embodied in the UMNO-MCA-MIC grid of Barisan Nasional. The long-standing control of government under Barisan Nasional has ensured a measure of political stability. But in the elections of May 2018, Barisan Nasional experienced an unprecedented defeat at the hands of a new-brand opposition led by Mahathir himself, who returned to politics (this time against Barisan Nasional). At the age of 92, he became the oldest premier in the world. Translated as the ‘Alliance of Hope’, Pakatan Harapan won the election with a coalition made up of DAP, PKR, AMANAH (Parti Amanah Nasional, the National Trust Party), and BERSATU (Parti Pribumi Bersatu Malaysia, the Malaysian United Indigenous Party, which is open to all Bumiputera). 8 The Malay-majority representation that ensured the victory of Barisan Nasional (and UMNO) in the past seems to be split among other parties – not only PAS, but also PKR, AMANAH, and BERSATU. Similarly to AMANAH, which was established by progressive Islamists who split from PAS, BERSATU was formed by several former UMNO members, including Mahathir. The defeat of Barisan Nasional is the result of many factors, including a desire to make a break with the politics of the past (perhaps also from racialized politics). Additionally, there was a will to dispense with a class of politicians whom many Malaysians regarded to be corrupt. Allegations of corruption involving former Prime Minister Najib Razak played a crucial role in the construction of this perception. For many voters, Barisan Nasional seemed to be a wounded political entity, but the Pakatan Harapan-led government lasted less than two years. Mahathir resigned unexpectedly in February 2020 after a series of defections by members of the national parliament, from PKR, and a withdrawal from the coalition by BERSATU. This led to the f irst political crisis in the history of the Malaysian Parliament, opening the way for a new majority comprised of a Malay-led government under a new coalition, Perikatan Nasional (the National Alliance). One of the 8 Pakatan Harapan is the successor of two other coalitions formed by the main opposition parties before 2018. In 1999, for the f irst time, DAP, PAS, PKN, and PRM (respectively, Parti Keadilan Nasional and Parti Rakyat Malaysia, the National Justice Party and the Malaysian People’s Party that merged into PKR in 2003) were united under a single coalition, Barisan Alternatif (or Alternative Front). PKR, DAP, and PAS off icially revived this coalition during the 2013 elections in a coalition named Pakatan Rakyat (the People’s Alliance). During the 2018 elections Pakatan Harapan secured an electoral pact with a regional party from Sabah, Parti Warisan Sabah (Sabah Heritage Party).

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leaders of BERSATU, Muhyiddin Yassin (a former UMNO politician as well), was appointed prime minister, leading a Malay-Muslim and Bumiputera parliamentary majority comprised of three major parties: BERSATU, PAS, and an UMNO-led Barisan Nasional. Urban voters played a crucial role in the most recent elections. The percentage of the total urban population has increased dramatically since independence, from slightly more than 34 per cent in the 1980s to 71 per cent in 2010, and it is expected to grow more in the future (Malaysia 2010b; see also Abdul Rahman 2011: 25; Yeoh 2015: 249). To a large extent, these changes have been fostered by the aforementioned NEP, in particular, concerning efforts to solve the imbalance of a rural Malaysia dominated by Malays (and other Bumiputera) and an urban Malaysia dominated by non-Bumiputera, as well as the identification of Malays as rural subjects (see also Husin 2008: 84). (Other dynamics, of course, in the post-independence period have shaped the Malaysian urbanization process, such as economic growth, changes in the agricultural economy, industrialization, bureaucratization, and rural-urban migration, among others.) This policy has partly succeeded and helped to create new urban subjects, and a middle class also comprised of Malays – the formation of a Melayu Baru (‘New Malay’) middle class championed by Mahathir (Abdul Rahman 2002: 170). Malaysian urbanism has been transformed under his administration. It is not a coincidence that he is referred to as Bapa Pemodenan (Father of Modernization). Under Mahathir, new distinguishing landmarks such as the Petronas Twin Towers and the Kuala Lumpur City Centre were planned, and new townships such as Putrajaya (the federal administrative centre) and Cyberjaya (the aspiring Silicon Valley of Malaysia), have been built from scratch. While these projects are located mainly in the national capital and its surroundings, urban areas throughout Malaysia have grown, and their cityscapes have been radically altered. In the Malaysian race towards modernization historic conservation in urban areas has not been a primary concern for the state. Malaysian scholars believe that ‘consciousness with regards to urban conservation is still a new phenomenon’ (Wan Hashimah and Shuhana 2005). Nevertheless, amidst these intense processes of urban transformation, a growing interest in urban conservation has emerged in the Malaysian public sphere, particularly since the 1990s, as noted by Goh Beng-Lan (2002: 58-61) and Gwynn Jenkins (2008). Goh and Jenkins have each published research focused on George Town. Goh (2002), through her inspiring ethnographic narrative, follows the struggle of the Eurasian residents of Kampung Serani against a redevelopment project that threatened the displacement of their

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community, and how they deployed heritage discourses to oppose the project. Jenkins (2008) – herself directly involved in heritage conservation and architectural practice in George Town – explores the sociocultural and architectural history of this city together with the influence of international and local conservation actors and practices, during the years preceding the World Heritage inscription. This awareness has turned into what I call heritage affairs, a subject of public concern that is part of the social life of the cityscape. Rather than opposing urban conservation to urban change, or development, I argue that heritage affairs have become a constituent part of urban planning and the management of the built environment in Melaka. Despite the official recognition of Melaka as a Bandaraya Bersejarah (‘Historic City’) – the only one among other Malaysian historic towns to obtain this title – the aforementioned book-length works focus on its sister city in heritage, George Town. The historical pre-eminence of Melaka, however, has attracted scholarly attention at least since the 1980s. An encyclopaedic two-volume publication edited by Kernial Singh Sandhu and Paul Wheatley, Melaka: The Transformation of a Malay Capital c. 1400-1980 (1983), collects many chapters written by scholars from different disciplines. This work captured the ‘mechanics of development’ (Khoo 1989: 18) occurring in Melaka during the early 1980s. Publications related to the topic of heritage and the uses of the past in the present have followed in recent decades. In 2011 an academic journal focusing on these topics (the Melaka Journal of Heritage) was established as a collaboration between the Melaka State Museums Corporation and the Faculty of Law at the National University of Malaysia. Nigel Worden (2001, 2003) and Abu Talib Ahmad (2015) have written about the official narratives of the past, especially as presented in Melaka’s museums. Margaret Sarkissian (1998) analysed how Malaysian multiculturalism is presented in cultural shows, with a special focus on dance and music troupes (see also Sarkissian 2000). Similarly, Timothy Daniels (2005) focused on public celebrations as a means to franchise Malaysian cultural nationalism. Carolyn Cartier (1993, 1997, 1998, 2001) has written extensively about the emerging mega-developments and heritage-advocacy mobilization in this city. In particular, she focused on the successful opposition to a project that would have transformed Bukit Cina into a modern residential-cum-commercial area. Victor King (2016b) has looked into the connections between Melaka’s World Heritage designation and tourism (see also King and Hitchcock 2014). In line with such literature, this work is a modest contribution to Malaysian studies and research on heritage politics in this specific historic

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city, after its inclusion in the World Heritage List. In particular, I try to make apparent the multiplicity of heritage(s), and to give space to unheard voices, separate from official narratives and documents. Instead of focusing only on authority-def ined understandings of heritage, I attempt to validate the emotional and intimate dimensions of heritage management through the exploration of local conceptualizations. Heritage(s), in its plurality, is examined along scales (universal/national/local), categories (e.g., tangible/intangible), affective bonds (e.g., ancestral, communitarian, and familial patrimonies), and even a sort of ‘heritage-to-be’ as envisioned by politicians and investors in new development projects. Despite the fashionable community involvement in city planning, decision-making is still concentrated in the hands of a few privileged actors. In this book I try to give voice to the people who are, more often than not, unheard. The result is an expanded view on the uses of the past in the present, and also of alternative urban futures. In this regard, I hope to offer a deeper and thicker account of global/local heritage interactions in what is officially recognized as the primary historic city of Malaysia. What kind of agreements, mediations, disagreements, and misunderstandings arise in this global/local nexus? I approached this question through the locale that is presented below. Figure 1.3 Map of Melaka and the World Heritage site

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On Melaka In this section I will introduce the history and inhabitants of Melaka in the context of the city’s geographic, political, and administrative configurations. Before proceeding, it is necessary to clarify the primary reasons guiding my choice of Melaka as the focus of this research. First, Melaka is celebrated as the supreme locale of Malaysian national historical significance. This status is reflected in its depiction as a precolonial kingdom, a representation of the quintessence of Malay civilization and Islam in the region. Whilst Malay nationalists appropriate this glorification for the sake of their own Malay-centric narratives, the golden age of Melaka is also a source of pride for many other Malaysians. Second, Melaka embodies the multiple histories of the country along with its multi-ethnic and multi-religious character. This city does not only perpetuate the legacy of the most celebrated of the Malay kingdoms, but also the three major colonial powers that once governed in the region. Melaka is, in fact, the only place in Malaysia that was ruled by the Portuguese, the Dutch, and the British. Furthermore, being at the centre of maritime trading routes, Melaka grew as a cosmopolitan centre where people from the eastern and southern regions of Asia and the Middle East gathered long before the arrival of Europeans. Within these trade networks, far more than material goods flowed to and from Melaka. Cultural, religious, and political interconnectedness has shaped the history of this entrepôt. The so-called Hindu-Buddhist period, and the Islamization process, are clear examples in the precolonial past. Each of these legacies shape Melaka’s present, its urban fabric, along with its cosmopolitan society. The first two reasons introduced above bring us to a further one, heritage politics and the uses of the past, which play a crucial role in the everyday life of Melaka’s residents. Furthermore, Melaka’s heritage affairs are politically central for Malaysia’s nation-building. Although Kuala Lumpur is the national capital, at the centre of the modernizing urban agenda of the national government (see Bunnell 2004; King 2008; Shamsul and Mohamad 2007; Yat 2013; Yeoh 2014), Melaka remains the symbolic cradle of the nation-state. Kuala Lumpur is important for the national government to show the path towards the future, but Melaka continues to represent the ancestral home of the country. Nonetheless, with the inscription on the World Heritage List, heritage affairs have gone beyond the national sphere and reached the transnational arena of UNESCO, the global flows of the tourism industry, and investments in urban development. Thus, the politics of heritage do have a significant impact on the Melakan urban fabric, not only in terms

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of conservation but also with regard to new developments that alter the silhouette of this city. The crucial role played by the past in Melaka was confirmed at the beginning of my research. Upon my arrival in 2012, the Melaka State Government was promoting the 750th anniversary of the foundation of Melaka. Previously, historical literature had always referred to the early fifteenth century as the kingdom’s establishment date. Between 2009 and 2010, however, a team of Malaysian archaeologists and historians reviewed the available sources and proposed 1262 as the founding year of Melaka (Abdul, Abdullah, and Zulkanain 2010). Since then, local leaders have encouraged the public and researchers to acknowledge this new date. This is just an example on how the uses of history and the past can change in the present. According to historians Barbara and Leonard Andaya (2001: 33-34), scholars have always confronted problems in studying the establishment of Melaka. They mention two very diverse sources: the Suma Oriental, written by the Portuguese apothecary Tomé Pires in the early sixteenth century, and the Malay Annals (or Sejarah Melayu) (see respectively the versions of Cortesão 1944 and Leyden 1821).9 While the first is a colonial account, based on modern Western historiography, the second is a literary work, telling a more romanticized history of the origins of this Malay kingdom. Nevertheless, the story of the establishment of Melaka depicted by both works follows a similar pattern, which corresponds to the origin myth of the town that is commonly recalled today. According to a legend, Parameswara, a fleeing prince of Srivijayan ancestry from Palembang (Sumatra), founded Melaka after a short sojourn on the island of Temasek (the old name of Singapore). Parameswara was hunting near the Melaka River and, while resting under a pokok melaka (Malay for the Indian gooseberry tree, Phyllanthus emblica), he saw a white mouse-deer kicking one of his hunting dogs into the river. Parameswara was so impressed by the bravery of the mouse-deer that he decided to settle there and to call the place Melaka, after the tree. From the seventh to the eleventh century the Hindu-Buddhist Empire of Srivijaya controlled trade in the Straits of Malacca and the region became an important Buddhist centre. Melaka was established in a particular historical moment for the region since the fall of Srivijaya opened the doors 9 The original title in old Jawi script was Sulalatus Salatin (literally ‘Genealogy of King’). Jawi refers to the Arabic alphabet used to write the Malay language. Together with the Malay Annals another significant part of Malay literature in Jawi script is constituted by the hikayat (Arabic for ‘stories’). The Hikayat Hang Tuah, which narrates the story of the most legendary Malay hero, Hang Tuah, and the Malay Annals, were both inscribed in 2001 into the UNESCO Memory of the World Register, a list of the documentary heritage of humanity.

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to two neighbouring empires, Ayutthaya from the north and Majapahit from Java. The kings of Melaka strengthened diplomatic and trade relations with the Ming dynasty, ensuring the protection of this emerging entrepôt. It is said that Parameswara transformed a former fishermen’s village into a transnational emporium, thanks to its strategic location in a world region that had for centuries witnessed intense cultural, political, religious, and commercial interconnectedness (Mohd Yusoff 2005: 3-5, 12). Melaka appears for the first time in Ming accounts at the beginning of the fifteenth century (Abdul, Abdullah, and Zulkanain 2010: 6, 43; Mills 1979; Wade 1997: 31). In this period the famous Muslim admiral Zheng He (better known in Malaysia as Cheng Ho) visited Melaka during his expeditions. The rulers of Melaka also visited the Ming court, establishing a tributary relationship (Mills 1979; Mohd Jamil 2011; Wade 1997: 41). More generally, historical sources and literary works tell a tale of Melaka as a cosmopolitan centre where Chinese, Gujarati, Keling from the Coromandel coast, Javanese, Siamese, Persian, and Arab traders were gathering with many other communities. Each community was represented by a shahbandar or ‘harbourmaster’ (Gunn 2011: 86; Hall 2011: 309). With the king’s conversion to Islam at the beginning of the fifteenth century, Melaka became an important centre for the Islamization of the peninsula and for insular Southeast Asia (Andaya 2008: 68; Chee 1983: 423; Husin 2008: 13; Mohd Jamil 1994). Its sultanate quickly established itself as the symbolic and political centre of the Malay world. Other Malay kingdoms inherited major patterns of cultural and political organization from the famous Melaka sultanate (Gullick 1958: 7-8; Gunn 2011: 87), which continue to play a central role in contemporary Malay culture (Kessler 1992: 146-147). The royal system was rooted in pre-Islamic polities (Gunn 2011: 92). The sultan and the royal family was at the centre of the kingdom, which was administered through loyal leaders such as the bendahara (‘chief minister’), who managed disputes among the inhabitants and the merchants, the temenggong (‘commander of troops and police’), the penghulu bendahari (‘treasurer’), and the shahbandar, who were in charge of the port and the collection of taxes (Gullick 1958: 8). There are no maps or other historical documents on the spatial configuration of Melaka at that time, but the Sultan’s Palace was presumably the centre of the settlement. Likewise, there are no figures on the population of Melaka during the sultanate, but it is believed that there were no more than 50,000 inhabitants (Ptak 2004: 6). This vibrant trading hub in the Straits of Malacca soon attracted the interest of the European colonial empires. The Portuguese conquered Melaka in 1511 as part of its mission to capture the spice routes from Muslim traders.

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A Portuguese governor controlled the town with a bishop overseeing religious issues in the Catholic community, whilst a local bendahara dealt with non-Christians (Mills 1930: 20). Maps and accounts from the sixteenth century show the A Famosa fort on the southern banks of the river and suburbs, surrounded by jungle. The A Famosa took the place of the previous sultanate centre (Nordin 2007: 137), developing, according to Johannes Widodo (2004: 70, 104-105), into an administrative ‘European closed town’, whereas the other side of the river grew as a commercial ‘cosmopolitan open city’. Manuel Godinho de Erédia, a cartographer born in Melaka in 1563, described three suburbs outside the fort, and additionally three parishes in the hinterland, which was populated primarily by farmers (Mills 1930: 19-20). The first suburb, Upe, on the northern banks of the river, was a residential area encircled by walls protecting the residents from attacks. It was divided into two parishes: S. Thome (also called Campon Chelim), where the Hindu Keling community was living, and Campon China where the Chinese resided. There was also a Javanese bazaar at the seafront near the mouth of the river. These parishes were, however, not completely ethnically segregated. Erédia tells us that there were also other people, including Christians living among the various communities (Mills 1930: 19). Yler, another suburb south-east of the fort, was mainly constituted by houses made of wood and thatch. The third suburb, Sabba, faced the eastern part of the walls along the river and also was also constituted by wooden houses. In 1641, after previous unsuccessful attacks, the Dutch finally conquered Melaka with the help of local allies, including the sultanate of Johor. Melaka then became a trading post of the United East Indian Company (VOC, Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie). After the siege and the destruction of Portuguese Melaka, it was reported that only 3000 inhabitants survived out of the original 20,000 (Bremner and Blagden 1927: 14). Thus, Melaka had to start all over again. The Dutch ruled in Melaka for almost two centuries, with the exception of a British interregnum (1795-1818) during the Napoleonic Wars. Under the Dutch, Melaka retained the fort that functioned as the centre of the colonial administration and residence of a governor. At the outset of their rule, the Dutch divided the town around the fort into four wards, each one under a superintendent (wijkmeester). By the end of the eighteenth century there were three more wards (Gunn 2011: 197-198; Nordin 2007: 199-203). This implies that Melaka continued to grow, at least to a certain extent. Dutch burghers and the wealthiest people resided mainly in two wards on the northern banks of the river, namely Herenstraat and Jonkerstraat (Nordin 2007: 203). The Dutch extended the fort and reconstructed the town on the other side of the river applying their own urban

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planning models, which were characterized by straight streets and rows of buildings with narrow façades. In 1824, the Anglo-Dutch Treaty sanctioned the definitive transfer of Melaka from Dutch to British hands. After two years, Melaka became one of the Straits Settlements controlled directly by the British East India Company, together with Singapore and Penang (at that time Prince of Wales Island). The British, however, relegated Melaka to a secondary position, preferring to focus on the two other settlements. Previously, during the interregnum, the British encouraged the transfer of trade and people from Melaka to Singapore and George Town (Newbold 1839: 126-127). In 1867, the Straits Settlements officially became a British Crown Colony. Unlike the other Malay States, which maintained a degree of autonomy, including the retention of their hereditary rulers, the Straits Settlements were administered solely by the British. When the British took over Melaka from the Dutch there were approximately 12,000 people living in the Old Town (Newbold 1839: 136-137). By the beginning of the twentieth century the city’s population had risen to approximately 30,000 (Winstedt 1923: 232). The increase was partly generated by the British, who promoted influxes of Chinese and Indian workers for the region’s new mines and plantations. According to British colonial administrator John S. Furnivall, the migration of newcomers resulted in the creation of a ‘plural society’, comprising ‘two or more elements or social orders which live side by side, yet without mingling, in one political unit’ (in Hefner 2001: 4). Furnivall’s ideal-type depicted ‘a poly-ethnic society integrated in the marketplace, under the control of a state system dominated by one of the groups, but leaving large areas of cultural diversity in the religious and domestic sectors of activity’ (Barth 1969: 16). As I will show later, however, I doubt that such a narrow model of plural society has permeated all aspects of life in Melaka. The British influence on the urban fabric of Melaka did not reach the colonial grandeur created in George Town and Singapore, but nevertheless the city grew around the former Dutch blueprint. Melaka was seen as an ‘antiquated’ and ‘un-English’ town and was given the sobriquet of ‘Sleepy Hollow’ because of its quiet atmosphere (see Bird 2010: 129-130). The British tried to use the Straits Settlement of Melaka as a source for agricultural products to be exported to George Town and Singapore (Newbold 1839: 119-120). The only economic activity revitalizing the Melakan settlement in the first part of the twentieth century was the emerging rubber industry in the countryside (Winstedt 1923: 232). During the Second World War, Melaka, along with most of the Southeast Asian region, was occupied by the Japanese. After the end of the war it

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became part of the new Malayan Union established by the British. The Malayan Union was replaced in 1948 by the Federation of Malaya, and ultimately granted independence on 31 August 1957.10 The country was renamed Malaysia on 16 September 1963, incorporating the former British territories in the peninsula, Singapore, and North Borneo, until the separation of Singapore in 1965. As we have seen, since the fall of the sultanate, Melaka continued to be a colonial possession. Nevertheless, its symbolic role in nation-building was reasserted a year before independence in 1956, when Tunku Abdul Rahman, the future prime minister, chose Melaka as the place where independence would be proclaimed. The choice of Melaka was not accidental or only connected to the golden age of the sultanate. The city was also the first place in the country to be colonized by the Europeans and, from there, freedom was symbolically won back with the proclamation of independence. Today, the Straits of Malacca continues to be an important commercial corridor in the region and the world, but the present-day absence of a port has marginalized Melaka from global maritime trade routes. The city is the capital of the state of Melaka, the third smallest negeri (‘state’) in Malaysia. But its location on the Malaysian peninsular west coast, crossed by the country’s backbone, the North-South Expressway, positions the state in the most urbanized and developed zone of the country. In the early 1980s, however, economists and political scientists were sceptical about the future growth of Melaka. Stephen Chee (1983: 423) depicted Melaka as ‘very much at the periphery of the political system of Malaysia’, whereas, according to Jean Currie (1983: 378), in terms of industrial development, Melaka would have remained ‘hostage to its geographic position’ between states such as Selangor and Johor. Nevertheless, in the last three decades the situation has changed significantly. Ambitious development projects are refashioning the cityscape, and the tourism industry has revitalized the economy of this small state. The relatively short distance from Kuala Lumpur and Singapore has been an advantage. The historic city centre of Melaka is located in the daerah (‘district’) of Melaka Tengah (Central Melaka). The latter has a population of almost 500,000 (the total population of the state of Melaka amounts to almost 800,000) (Malaysia 2010b). Urban areas in Malaysia are administered by City Councils (Majlis Bandaraya) for territories with more than 300,000 10 Malaysia is a constitutional monarchy. The monarch (Yang di-Pertuan Agong) is elected every five years by and from the hereditary rulers of the Malay states, nine of the total thirteen states of Malaysia.

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inhabitants and Municipal Councils (Majlis Perbandaraan) for less populated townships. In 1977, following the restructuring of the Local Government Act, Melaka Tengah was reorganized under the municipality of Majlis Perbandaraan Melaka Bandaraya Bersejarah (MPMBB). In 2003, the municipality of Melaka has been upgraded to the status of City Council (officially: Melaka Historic City Council, Majlis Bandaraya Melaka Bersejarah, MBMB). In 2010, however, part of its hinterland was incorporated under a new municipal council called Hang Tuah Jaya (see Figure 1.3). The territorial and administrative divisions in Melaka were not always clear to my Melakan interlocutors. There were occasional discussions on where exactly the town of Melaka began or ended. For many, the town of Melaka referred primarily to the historic city centre, but the municipality and the urban area has grown significantly since independence. More land continues to be reclaimed at the waterfront, and new neighbourhoods have been created adjacent to the historic core and towards the interior. Increasingly, plantations and jungles have been covered by concrete. And new taman (the Malay word for modern housing estates), malls, industrial and commercial areas continue to transform the territory. Nevertheless, many rural kampung (literally ‘village’) still retain green spaces despite the growth of urban space. Melaka Tengah is a clear example of the Malaysian blending of city and countryside. Urban and rural spaces stand side by side in the overall territory managed by the City Council. The constant urbanization of the hinterland reflects the overall Malaysian project of modernization and urbanization that characterized Mahathir’s years in office. Since 2010, inhabitants of the areas incorporated into Hang Tuah Jaya have had to deal with a new municipal administration, but their daily lives are conducted within the territory of Melaka Tengah and Hang Tuah Jaya. With rapid population growth, many former inhabitants of the historic city core have moved to the suburbs. Nevertheless, many of them work in and around old Melaka. Furthermore, Hang Tuah Jaya, even if considered a satellite of Melaka, has become the logistical and administrative centre of the local state administration. Hang Tuah Jaya also hosts the Melaka State Government office in the Seri Negeri complex of Ayer Keroh, where the Melaka State Legislative Assembly (Dewan Undangan Negeri Melaka) convenes. The building of the City Council of Melaka, Graha Makmur, is also located in this new municipal area. Thus, even those living in the core of Melaka town are affected by decisions taken in Hang Tuah Jaya. One of my interlocutors said that Melaka town is different from the rest of the state. He was not only referring to the degree of urbanization.

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He was echoing historian Khoo Kay Kim (1983: 72), who asserted that ‘Melaka town is cosmopolitan’, but it ‘is only a small segment of the total Melaka society’. According to official statistics (Malaysia 2010b), in Melaka Tengah, 56 per cent of the population is Malay, 32 per cent Chinese, 4 per cent Indian, almost 1 per cent categorized as ‘Others’, and 5 per cent as foreigner. Nevertheless, approximately 60 per cent of the total 63,854 inhabitants of the historic city core are categorized as Chinese, 28 per cent as Malays, 4 per cent as Indians, 2 per cent as ‘Others’, and 5 per cent as foreigners (ibid.). These statistics show the historical concentration of the Chinese population within the city centre as, to a large extent, it is encountered in the entire country. I believe these statistics do not offer, however, a complete picture because they are based on a ‘racial’ census system which neglects the hybrid identities that shape Melaka’s society. Although, as in the past, ethnically based neighbourhoods are still present, Furnivall’s colonial ideal type of plural society might be too rigid for Melaka. People did not intermingle only in the marketplace. Throughout the history of the region, intermarriages have resulted in the emergence of different forms of peranakan (‘local-born’) identities, such as the Peranakan Chinese or Baba Nyonya, the Hindu Chetti, and the Eurasians (mostly Portuguese-Eurasians).11 Furthermore, there is also great variety within each off icial racial category. There are internal differentiations owing to ancestry, as is the case among the Malays between Buginese, Acehnese or Minang; among the Chinese between Hokkien, Cantonese, or Hainanese; and among the Indians between Tamil, Punjabi, or Ceylonese. With regard to politics, the state of Melaka is often depicted as a fortress of Barisan Nasional, which governed the local administration until 2018 – a reflection of the broader dominion this coalition had at the federal level. Until 2018, the head of Melaka’s state governments (the Ketua Menteri, or chief minister) were always Barisan Nasional politicians from UMNO, as the majority of the elected members of the local and unicameral State Legislative Assembly. In Malaysia they are called ADUN (from Ahli Dewan Undangan Negeri, ‘member of the State Legislative Assembly’). A member 11 The term peranakan comes from the word anak which literally means ‘child’. The term is also understood to mean ‘local-born’, ‘descendant’, and ‘mixed blood’. It reminds one of the intermarriage between people from the region and the former settlers from elsewhere. The Peranakan Chinese are also called Baba Nyonya – baba refers to the males and nyonya to the females. The Eurasians could also be of Dutch descent, but most Eurasians in Melaka identify themselves as descendants of the Portuguese. The Chetti are the descendants of Hindu merchants from India.

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of the coalition which forms a majority in the State Legislative Assembly is appointed as chief minister by the governor of Melaka (the Yang di-Pertua Negeri, literally ‘head of state’).12 The members of the State Executive Council (Majlis Mesyuarat Kerajaan Negeri, hereafter Exco) are chosen among the ruling coalition’s elected representatives in the State Legislative Assembly. The Exco, as a state cabinet, is, thus, an important body in decision-making at the local level, and each Exco member holds one or more portfolios. Chief ministers themselves usually hold different – and some of the most important – portfolios, such as economic planning, finance, land, heritage, tourism, land, or religious affairs. This system gives tremendous powers to chief ministers and to the ruling coalition. Because my f ieldwork was conducted during the f inal decade of Barisan Nasional-led administrations, in this work I provide a lens upon the long-term impact of their rule on local heritage politics. Nevertheless, there will also be some reflections on the short-lived Pakatan Harapanled Melaka State Government. For the f irst time since independence, Melaka had a non-UMNO chief minister, Adly Zahari from AMANAH. Representing PAS for many years, he decided to join AMANAH after the 2013 elections. Although many Melakans seemed to appreciate his work, Adly Zahari’s mandate ended with the collapse of the national government. Since March 2020, Sulaiman Md Ali (UMNO) has been serving as chief minister with a new majority of UMNO-elected ADUN under the new entity of Perikatan Nasional, supported by the former BERSATU ADUN and two other defections from Pakatan Harapan, one from PKR and another one from DAP. The return of power to an UMNO-dominated State Legislative Assembly suggests that there will likely be no substantial changes in the local politics of heritage in the near future. Additionally, when considering local politics, it bears mentioning that elections in local government units, such as the municipal councils, have been suspended since the 1960s. This means that it is the ruling coalition in the State Legislative Assembly that appoints mayors (datuk bandar) and similar officials, together with the municipal councillors (ahli majlis). Among the latter, besides those with experience in fields such as architecture 12 The title Ketua Menteri is used in the four states without monarchs (Melaka, Penang, Sabah, and Sarawak), whereas the remaining nine states with hereditary rulers use the title Menteri Besar to address chief ministers. The Yang di-Pertua Negeri is the title of the ceremonial governors in the four states without monarchs. As a matter of fact the Yang di-Pertua Negeri cannot be elected as Yang di-Pertuan Agong in the Malaysian constitutional elective monarchy. Thus, the title itself in Melaka is reminiscent of the end of the sultanate.

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Figure 1.4 Elected members of the Melaka State Legislative Assembly in 2008, 2013, and 2018 2008 Barisan Nasional

Opposition *18 DAP 4 PAS 1 PKR

UMNO MCA MIC

3 0 0

2013 Barisan Nasional

Pakan Rakyat *17 DAP 3 PAS 1 PKR

UMNO MCA MIC

6 1 0

2018 Pakatan Harapan DAP PKR AMANAH BERSATU

Barisan Nasional 8 UMNO 3 MCA *2 MIC 2

13 0 0

* Includes the seat occupied by the Chief Minister.

and engineering, the ruling coalition also appoints junior party members. The abolition of municipal and other local elections resulted in ‘the blurring of the line between the power of state governments vis-à-vis that of local authorities’ (Goh 2015: 95). The appointment of local leaders by state governments might induce the former to act as mere followers of their ‘superior officers’, as noted by Goh Ban Lee (2015: 95), a Malaysian scholar, himself a former municipal councillor. Under the perennial Barisan Nasional administration, the appointment of mayors in an area with an electorate supporting the opposition often made these functionaries less accountable to local concerns – and their decisions less transparent – to their own constituents. In fact, many Melakan voters, as in many other Malaysian urban districts, would opt for parties opposing Barisan Nasional. Melaka town is considered a stronghold of DAP. Bearing in mind the specific context of local and urban politics that I encountered during my fieldwork in Melaka, I will now introduce the primary aspects that shaped this ethnographic research.

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Fieldwork in and beyond Melaka I moved to Melaka in 2012 to do f ieldwork for a doctoral dissertation while I was a member of a research group called ‘The Global Political Economy of Cultural Heritage’. This ethnography is based on f ifteen months of fieldwork carried out between August 2012 and October 2013, and subsequent visits in 2014 and 2019. During much of my time in Melaka I resided in a flat in Kota Laksamana, a complex of five four-storey blocks of apartments (better known as pangsapuri or rumah pangsa). In Malaysia these terms denote housing blocks for middle- and lower-income groups, in contrast with the more expensive, and usually gated, condominiums. I was living in one of the low-cost taman of this residential area that was previously under the sea. It is the product of land reclamation at the waterfront along the perimeter of the World Heritage site. The modern housing estates, built since the 1980s, do not have much in common with the historic vernacular architecture of the neighbouring old quarters. Modern terrace houses (rumah teres), pangsapuri, shopoff ices, and gated communities characterized this residential area, like many others all over Malaysia. During my sojourn, projects were transforming my neighbourhood into a vibrant future place, with new restaurants, hotels, and high-rises. Nevertheless, the area did not attract tourists, as was desired, but the new development did provide a convenient residential option for people from different social classes who did not want to live far away from the city centre. Living in the area was comfortable for me. I could reach the World Heritage site in less than ten minutes. A signboard marked the boundary of the World Heritage buffer zone just 200 metres from my block. In this book I draw upon earlier academic work, the news media, and grey literature. But participant observation and interviews with a wide range of interlocutors are the foundation of my research. I carried out participant observation at public gatherings and events, family gatherings, and religious ceremonies. In Malaysia there are many festivities and on these occasions people from different faiths visit each other at home, a practice called rumah terbuka (literally ‘open house’). During the course of twelve months it is possible to attend f ive new years’ celebrations: the New Year of the Gregorian calendar, the Awal Muharram (Islamic New Year), the Chinese, the Tamil, and the Sikh new years. I also attended many other celebrations, including secular public holidays such as Independence Day, Malaysia Day, and UNESCO-related

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events: the Malaysia UNESCO Day and the UNESCO World Heritage City Anniversary of Melaka.13 Malay and English, in their local varieties, constituted the primary means of communication. My previous basic skills in Malay have been important, but early in my research I realized it would be necessary to adapt my knowledge of formal Malay (bahasa baku) to the local, colloquial language, which is widely used by Melakans. Malay, as standardized gradually since independence, is used consistently in schools, universities, media, and formal gatherings, but everyday encounters are characterized mostly by the use of colloquial Malay. Malaysian English, better known as Manglish (sometimes ‘Mangled English’), complemented my everyday conversations, since it is the other lingua franca of the country, along with Malay. In this sense, English has been ‘localized’ and ‘appropriated’ by Malaysians (Mandal 2001: 121). But in Melaka it is possible to hear many languages. Probably not as many as indicated in the sixteenth century by Tomé Pires, who wrote that ‘very often eighty-four languages have been found spoken’ (in Cortesão 1944: 286) but, along with Malay and English, many Melakans speak Mandarin, Tamil, and other languages of Chinese and Indian origin. I never learned the two other languages widely spoken by many Melakans: Mandarin and Tamil. Nevertheless, the lack of knowledge of these other languages helped me to realize that it is common for Malaysians in their daily life to miss something other Malaysians say, with all the positive as well as negative outcomes this might generate. It took a couple of months to familiarize myself with the way in which different languages are mixed in single conversations. But I also tried to learn loanwords from Hokkien (the language spoken by many Melakan Chinese living downtown) and the daily use of creolized Malay varieties, such as Baba Malay and Chetti Malay. Generally speaking, I asked my interlocutors to identify the language (Malay and/or English) they were most comfortable speaking. Between Malay and English, or the combination both, and occasionally enriched with words borrowed from other languages, communication was adequate. This specific field site strengthens my perception of the character of the urban anthropologist even more, one who wears ‘the multi-dress/multi-layered apparel of the quick-change artist, meeting various people, speaking different languages, 13 Independence Day (Hari Kebangsaan or Hari Merdeka) commemorates the independence of the Federation of Malaya, whereas Malaysia Day (Hari Malaysia) celebrates the formation of Malaysia. Malaysia UNESCO Day (Hari UNESCO Malaysia) was launched in 2011. It is celebrated annually to commemorate the commitment of the country to the organization. The Anniversary Celebration of Melaka UNESCO World Heritage City (Sambutan Ulangtahun Melaka Bandaraya Warisan Dunia UNESCO) celebrates the inscription of Melaka.

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living in very diverse worlds, but sharing the same urban space’ (Nas and De Giosa 2011: 286). I conducted many interviews in this spirit, mostly semi-structured, but always with a set of questions or talking points in mind. I interviewed residents, real estate agents, activists, tourist guides, politicians, officials and bureaucrats from federal, local state, and municipal institutions, as well as architects, archaeologists, historians, and urban planners, in addition to academics from additional fields not previously mentioned. Interviews ranged from approximately 30 minutes to longer than three hours. In the case of some key informants, we met several times for different interviews. I walked or rode my motorcycle in the streets of Melaka in order to meet my interlocutors. Conversations with a wide range of people have been carried out in their houses or places of work, and frequently in food courts, kopitiam (‘coffee shops’ from the Malay word kopi [‘coffee’] and the Hakka word tiam [‘shop’]), and Mamak stalls (the famous Malaysian Indian Muslim food stalls). All my interlocutors have been helpful and introduced me through their own networks to many other people and groups. In this way, many of my informants and friends knew each other well, and because of this I also conducted group interviews. In the case of some key informants, we met several times for different interviews. Flexibility in the interviews has been imperative. I had to familiarize myself with different etiquettes. In the case of meetings and interviews with officials, I had to wear formal dress, because we met often in their offices. In other instances, interviewees from bureaus and NGOs asked me a list of questions beforehand. I always preferred to talk informally with my interlocutors before asking for an interview in order to create a trust relationship, or at least to make them feel as comfortable as possible. Thus, before each interview, I devoted some time to introducing myself and my research in order to share with them my position in the field. (I think most of them appreciated this effort.) I established a friendship with some officials, and we sometimes met in public spaces or eateries. Officials were frequently quite open to my questions, however, I also felt there were occasionally restricted pieces of information that they would not share with me. Most officials were nonetheless eager to help, sharing opinions and providing official documents and urban plans, when possible. When approaching officials, my research has been oriented towards Laura Nader’s (1972) ‘studying up’. At the federal level, when dealing with officials from the Department of National Heritage or the Department of Museums, studying up has been especially helpful, because I was interviewing individuals with PhDs, often holding academic positions at

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Malaysian universities. I was, after all, a doctoral student dealing with senior academics. In spite of this, there has also been a considerable amount of ‘studying sideways’ (Hannerz 1998: 109).14 In almost all cases, I met officials or senior academics trained in disciplines other than my own discipline (anthropology), although their training was often in fields that were not worlds apart, such as history, archaeology, architecture, sociology, urban planning, urban engineering, and tourism management. The perception of studying sideways was occasionally alluded to by officials. Some of them told me: ‘I am curious to see the results of your research.’ Perhaps this interest resulted from the curiosity to know what a foreign researcher understood of their own country. Others were suspicious. ‘So, you are like a spy’, was the comment of one bureaucrat, who quite explicitly doubted the sincerity of my efforts towards a deeper appreciation of local dynamics. My interest in heritage, coupled with my foreign appearance, made some people think that I was working for UNESCO. Overall, however, I did not have the impression that my Melakan interlocutors considered me to be a spy. Those who did not know me may have considered me to be a tourist or one of the expats who settled downtown. Fortunately, I was able to become a familiar figure among many local Melakans. Some of my primary interlocutors adopted me as a fellow Melakan, a few even as an anak angkat (‘adopted child’). I reassured my interlocutors about the privacy of the data collected. I always made it clear that I would use pseudonyms, not real names. Not all my interlocutors were concerned about the use of their names. To the contrary, some would have been proud to see their names in this book. Nevertheless, I have adhered to this policy. In the case of certain key informants, I let them choose their own pseudonyms – so that they can recognize themselves in the text, but their identities remain unknown to third parties. The pseudonyms I use – of Malay, Chinese, Indian, English, and other origins – reflect Melaka’s multicultural setting. The use of pseudonyms has been more difficult for interlocutors who belong to the group of the so-called heritage experts. When I address them as heritage experts, I am referring primarily to those who exercise a certain authority in the management of heritage, both locals and foreigners: mostly registered architects, planners, archaeologists, historians, and museum curators. (This does not mean, however, that I am denying heritage expertise 14 I refer here to the idea of studying sideways as understood by Hannerz (1998: 109): to look ‘at others who are, like anthropologists, in a transnational contact zone, and engaged there in managing meaning across distances, although perhaps with different interests, under other constraints’.

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to the several interlocutors I had the opportunity to meet. They also, in my opinion, can be considered experts, despite the fact that they do not define themselves in such a way, and lack off icial authority within the f ield.) Readers who are familiar with Malaysian heritage affairs may feel they recognize a few of the more famous heritage experts who appear in this book. Some would, perhaps, contest the use of pseudonyms in this case. But I felt it was important to be consistent with my promise to maintain the anonymity of all informants. Pseudonyms, after all, do not confine these people to the specific Malaysian context. They help researchers of heritage politics in other countries to identify similar characters or ‘figures’ in their own studies.15 I encourage readers to relish my characterization of figures that shape heritage affairs (which are inspired nonetheless by concrete individuals I met on the field), rather than trying to retrace their real identities, because, when necessary, I have omitted, or changed, details that are too revealing. In this narrative an empathy with the different feelings and attitudes of these actors on the heritage stage is more important than the mere act of identification. There are, however, exceptions in the use of pseudonyms, especially when names of heritage experts and academics are cited by media coverage, or when I cite their published works with the appropriate reference, according to academic standards. Another exception is related to public f igures, such as top politicians and developers. I do not use pseudonyms in these cases. I met some of them during public events, but they are not among my primary informants. Still, their influence in the debates and events I deal with here was significant. I keep their names in the text when they appear in the mass media, mostly newspapers and sometimes via digital media.16 The third exception is the naming of official institutions and NGOs. I chose to keep the real names to let the readers recognize these institutions and groups as they appear in the Malaysian public arena. In addition, I report their official positions as released to the mass media or to me through their spokespersons. 15 I understand ‘f igures’ in the sense delineated by Barker, Harms, and Lindquist (2014). According to them, ‘a discussion on a figure’ – although at the expense of a reference to real individuals – ‘tends to provoke people to think about related figures in other places or times. By following through these chains of associations, we gain access to other places and other social worlds. Imagining one f igure leads one to conjure up others, to populate a world of ethnographically rich, sociologically varied, interconnected f igures’ (Barker, Harms, and Lindquist 2014: 16). 16 Newspapers and other news media are cited in notes throughout this book, but not in the final bibliography.

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Walking or motorcycling around Melaka has been complemented by further movement. During fieldwork it was necessary to visit Kuala Lumpur quite often. My frequent visits to the capital underlined the translocal character of my fieldwork as a sort of ethnographic ubiquity. I often needed to be in multiple places on the same day, not only in Melaka and its suburbs. Sometimes I attended events or meetings in Melaka and Kuala Lumpur during the same day (the fact that the two cities are only three hours away allowed me to do so). The first reason for these visits was directly related to my attempt to follow activities and events related to UNESCO and heritage matters. The second reason was that many interviews were carried out in the capital city, where the federal government departments and national heritage-related advocacy groups are located. It was a valuable way to grasp the heritage system at a national level in order to look closely at the Melakan situation. I also visited George Town, because of its joint inscription with Melaka, and I had the opportunity to meet representatives of NGOs and individuals dealing with heritage there. The comparative aspect with George Town, although to a smaller degree, has been important. The transnational face of this research, though already visible, was substantiated by trips abroad. I travelled to Thailand and Singapore – the latter in order to consult the national archives, the only place where The Malacca Guardian (a newspaper published between 1928 and 1940) can be found. The trip to Thailand was especially fruitful because it gave me an opportunity to visit the UNESCO Asia/Pacific Office in Bangkok, where I had the chance to meet people working at its Culture Unit. A final reflection on my fieldwork is relevant here. I also followed people, things, metaphors, conflicts, stories and biographies, even beyond Melaka, as if this was a multi-sited project (Marcus 1995), yet I do not consider my fieldwork as properly multi-sited. Fieldwork was based in Melaka and the result is an ethnography of this city. But is this a work only concerned with ‘anthropology of the city, or only in the city’ (Hannerz 1980: 248)? Undoubtedly this research is the result of an anthropology in the city, where I carried out fieldwork. But it is also an anthropology of the city, based on an ethnography of a World Heritage city with a focus on the sociocultural production of urban space. It is grounded in this place, just as ‘in the classical field study’ following ‘seasonal changes’ in order to aspire to ‘a comprehensive, “holistic” picture’ (Hannerz 2003: 28). I do recognize, however, the multi-locality of the field consisting of a ‘network of localities’ – in other words ‘several fields in one’ (Hannerz 2003: 21), open to the ‘translocalities’ (Appadurai 1996: 192) of different Melakan places and people, along with ‘transnational connections’ (Hannerz 1996) localized in its urban space. Noel

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Salazar (2010: 17) writes of his ‘glocal ethnography’ of tourism in Indonesia and Tanzania, in both of which ‘the stress is on the local, but that the local is embedded in and dependent on larger contexts’ since ‘there are serious analytical weaknesses if we stress local, national, regional or global power dynamics separately’ (Salazar 2010: 172). The stress here is on Melaka, but with a perspective on the entanglements of local, national, regional, and global forces.

Outline of the Chapters This book is divided into seven chapters. This introduction is followed by Chapter 2, ‘Heritage Affairs’, which deals with the evolution of heritage politics and the uses of the past in Malaysia since the era when European principles of conservation privileged architectural grandeur and monumental heritage. The postcolonial Malaysian state put this conservation philosophy at the service of the nationalist narrative. Since the 1980s Melaka’s administration has been particularly active in this context and turned the old colonial area into a museum celebrating a glorified past. The precolonial Malay kingdom is the focus of this off icial nationalist narrative, as is emblematized by the replica of the Sultanate Palace that was destroyed by the Portuguese in 1511. In addition to the celebrated Old Melaka, the local state embraces a developmentalist agenda set to create a high-modernist New Melaka. The World Heritage bid attracted the interest of real estate developers, bringing to the city a number of projects that had never been seen before. These developments opened the way for a new era of heritage politics, which saw the restructuring of national heritage bureaus and regulations, and the creation of the Department of National Heritage. It also saw the emerging involvement of civil society in heritage affairs, which follows the more recent UNESCO-derived shifts towards non-monumental forms of heritage and cultural diversity. While showing how heritage politics and urban development intermingle in Melaka, this chapter introduces the actors and the legal framework of Melaka’s urban heritage affairs. Chapter 3, ‘UNESCO and the City’, focuses on the inscription process that put Melaka on the World Heritage List. By employing a long-term perspective, the account begins with the first attempts to nominate Melaka back in the late 1980s. It took two decades to obtain World Heritage status. It is believed that previous unsuccessful nominations were the consequence of unbridled urban transformation and Malay-centric heritage discourses that neglected the multi-ethnic urban fabric. Why, after two decades, was Melaka successful

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in obtaining World Heritage status? I argue that the main obstacle was not only related to Melaka’s worthiness, but the supposed lack of protective commitment shown by national authorities, together with policies that did not follow UNESCO-derived standards and guidelines. As this chapter will show, World Heritage inscriptions are not linear processes, but the result of convergences and shared understandings between international, national, and local actors. Similarly, the Outstanding Universal Value that justifies inscriptions is not inherent to the site, but constructed along the way. By concluding with a reflection on learning how to make and keep World Heritage, I show how some officials at the Department of National Heritage were crucial mediators in this global/local nexus, and accumulated the kind of heritage diplomatic capital required to achieve and retain the World Heritage status. Chapter 4, ‘Melakan Row Houses from the Ground Up’, delves into the topic of the old townhouses and shophouses of downtown Melaka, the majority of buildings within the World Heritage site. It f irst traces the reasons for their decline in the post-war period: from the disinterest of many wealthy owners in maintaining these premises, because of the low rents imposed by rent control, to the migration of former residents to other cities, due to the local shrinking economy and their aspiration for modern housing estates. Things started to change in the late 1990s with the repeal of rent control. This period coincided with the revaluation of these buildings as heritage and economic assets, but not without critical side effects. In the years preceding the World Heritage inscription, the local authorities were unprepared to control illegal demolitions, the displacement of residents, and massive gentrification caused by tourism. Authorities have always been reluctant to interfere with private property, but during the application for inscription they were forced to step in with stricter conservation rules. Often these new regulations do not meet the expectations of heritage experts and aficionados. I show the difficulties in applying them; while some rules are followed, others are violated. Instead of a homogeneous approach, this chapter displays the diversity of discourses and practices of heritage conservation as encountered on the ground. When zooming in on the World Heritage site and the implementation of tourism packages, Chapter 5 – ‘Divide and Brand’ – turns to the transformation of historic spaces into themed ‘cultural shopping streets’, divided along the three official ‘racial’ macro-categories of Malays, Chinese, and Indians. This divide-and-brand approach has become a trademark of Barisan Nasional, which is itself divided into three main ethnic-based parties. After introducing the Chinatown-like Jonker Walk project, the making of Little

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India, and the inauguration of the Malay Bazar Ramadan street, I will focus on Jonker Walk as the first and most successful of these projects. This case study shows how the ruling coalition managed to resist a wide range of critics: from UNESCO-related actors and local heritage bureaus that condemned the commercialization of these historic streets, to the residents and heritage aficionados that identified them as symbols of multicultural coexistence. This chapter reveals competing views of Melaka’s multi-ethnic urban fabric. Alongside the cosmopolitan character of the World Heritage inscription, and the propaganda of a united Malaysian nation, the then Barisan Nasional-led local government still promoted the classic racial division of society, and an essentialized demarcation of space. While the preceding chapters focus mainly on dynamics unfolding within the World Heritage site, Chapter 6 – ‘A Melakan Ancestral Village beyond World Heritage’ – moves to its fringes, where the designation led to a boom in modern high-rise projects. What does this entail for heritage beyond the World Heritage boundaries? This chapter analyses the friction between historic conservation and urban transformation by focusing on Kampung Chetti, a ‘heritage village’ (kampung warisan) recognized by the local conservation law. Neglected by official heritage schemes for a long time, such tiny low-rise enclaves have benefitted from global shifts towards vernacular heritage and cultural diversity. At the same time, however, they are trapped in the asymmetry between places that deserve to be preserved as the heritage of mankind and those that are not. After introducing the Chetti community, the chapter deals with the heritagization of Kampung Chetti. I argue that such a local heritage-making process has liberating effects for sites and ethnic minorities who have previously had no place in the nationalist narrative of officialdom. Local conservation laws, however, do not provide protection from the pressures of massive real estate development projects. The chapter explores how the Chetti struggled in vain against a high-rise project adjacent to their ancestral village. Although recognized by the Melaka State Government as heritage sites, Kampung Chetti and other kampung warisan find themselves at the bottom of a patrimonial hierarchy, excluded from UNESCO-derived and national heritage regulations. Chapter 7, ‘Epilogue of a Blessing and a Curse’, considers the potential of ethnographies of World Heritage cities by retracing the experience of Melaka in connection to other case studies from Asia. The chapter ends with a postscript, which introduces queries for future research. Substantial questions stem from the unprecedented, if brief, power shift from Barisan Nasional to Pakatan Harapan.

2

Heritage Affairs: Mouse-Deer, White Elephants, and Watchdogs Abstract Chapter 2 traces the evolution of heritage politics in Malaysia since the era when European principles of conservation privileged architectural grandeur and monumental heritage. Since the 1980s Melaka’s institutions have turned the buildings in the old civic area into museums celebrating a glorified past. At the same time, the state has embraced a developmentalist agenda. The World Heritage bid attracted the interest of real estate developers, bringing to the city a number of projects of the type it had never experienced before. In between the visions of an ‘Old Melaka’ and a ‘New Melaka’, the state and civil society have been increasingly involved in a new era of heritage politics following more recent UNESCO-derived shifts towards non-monumental forms of heritage and cultural diversity. Keywords: historic conservation policies in Malaysia, monumental heritage, urban transformation, the state, civil society, developers

Every city lives in the present between its past and future. Melaka stands today in between an image of its past as the ‘Venice of the East’ and projections of a future Dubai in the Straits of Malacca.1 By retracing the workings of local heritage affairs, the aim of this chapter is twofold. On the one hand, I will trace chronologically the normative evolution of historic conservation and heritage management in Melaka and Malaysia. On the other hand, I will introduce the major actors who will appear from time to time throughout this book. Rather than choosing simplistic divisions between the state, society, and the private sector, I present a more permeable combination of 1 The reference to Venice was even stronger in the words of Tomé Pires in his Suma Oriental while commenting on the grandeur of Melaka: ‘Whoever is lord of Malacca has his hands on the throat of Venice’ (in Cortesão 1944: 287).

De Giosa, Pierpaolo, World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia: A Cityscape below the Winds. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2021 doi: 10.5117/9789463725026_ch02

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social actors through three metaphors: mouse-deer, white elephants, and watchdogs. I feel these metaphors offer a finer view of the way government institutions, civil society, and real estate developers interact, offering three peculiar visions of Melaka’s cityscape: one that privileges a glorified Malaycentric past, another which envisions a futuristic spectacle, and yet another, which lobbies for a conscious preservation of urban heirlooms. As shown in the previous chapter, Melaka’s origin myth concerns the brave mouse-deer that outwitted Parameswara’s hunting dogs. The mousedeer is retained as a symbol on the logos of local authorities, but also of the glorious past they want to revive. Replicas of the legendary mouse-deer stand in a roundabout between the Stadthuys and the river. This is the area where earlier attempts towards conservation emerged, during the colonial period. The next two sections, which concern the metaphorical mouse-deer, focus on selected Malay legacies. I will trace these interests and how they have been reframed in the postcolonial nation-building process. Initially, federal and local state governments were interested in antiquities and monumental heritage. In particular, Barisan Nasional (the National Front) and the governments dominated by the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO) have been the main force of official nationalism at the local level, by re-appropriating the former colonial civic area. The strong symbolic focus given to the glorious past of the Malay sultanate of Melaka represents a source of precolonial nostalgia in museums, their displays, and the politics of replicas. Although white elephants do not appear in the legend, this metaphor often appears in local debates about the cityscape, in both positive and negative terms. In modern usage, this expression refers to ambitious projects that fail to materialize, such as unfinished or abandoned buildings and construction projects that incur expensive maintenance costs. With two sections embracing the metaphorical white elephants’ vision for a modern cityscape, I will present the imaginations of, and projections towards, the Melaka of the future. The Melaka State Government, in conjunction with developers, are the major ‘directors of urban change’ (Nas 2005). The ‘chain of aspirations’ (Nas 2005: 4) triggered by these new directions, in the case of Melaka, are nurtured by both state-led and private development projects that take as models other cities in the country, the region, and the world. While these projects generate urban change, heritage does nonetheless play a role, either as a location or a reference to the past. Two other sections will deal with the so-called watchdogs, starting with the restructuring of heritage affairs at the national level that resulted in the National Heritage Act of 2005, and continuing with the increasing interest

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of civil society in urban heritage management. Although the metaphor of the watchdogs still refers to the legend, it acquires a further connotation as a catchword, often used in local discourses to address those who advocate for heritage conservation. Whilst one section is devoted to state officials and the other one to civil society, a completely impermeable differentiation between state and non-state actors is never self-evident on the ground. Some actors, especially the heritage experts appointed by the state at selected bureaus, can cross this divide more easily than others. Thus, we encounter a major divide between ‘conservationists’ (be they heritage professionals and experts, or just heritage lovers and aficionados) and ‘others’ who are not interested in heritage conservation. Although this view is quite simplistic, to understand that politicians, bureaucrats, architects, urban planners, and residents, among others, fall either into one group or the other helps us to go beyond a mere contraposition between state and non-state actors. Furthermore, as we will see, the National Heritage Act and recent grassroots initiatives delineate the transition from a focus on antiquities to a multivocal celebration of heritage, which reveals a departure from the original preoccupation with a monumental past, tangible heritage, and the Malays to vernacular, intangible, and multicultural heritages.

Antiquities: The Beginning Melaka’s conservation policies are not as old as its buildings, and there is no evidence for conservation principles during the sultanate era. Most probably the uses of the past in the precolonial period were connected to oral tradition and storytelling, as framed later on in literary works, such as the Malay Annals, and the sanctification of heirlooms and other objects to which magical powers were attributed (see the kris, for example). Interest in conservation emerged during the British period, but only at the beginning of the twentieth century, when local administrators introduced heritage protection policies in the colonies. In this period conservation ideals spread all over the world, from the imperial centres of Europe to their overseas possessions (Smith 2006: 21). In territories such as India, those ‘principles were imposed as part of colonial rule, with the British colonial government legislating in 1863 for the conservation of buildings for their historical and architectural value’ (Smith 2006: 21). This treatment was, however, not equal in all the British colonies. According to William Chapman (2013: 193), in their Southeast Asian colonies (such as contemporary Malaysia and Myanmar), the British lacked the ‘romantic imaginations of their French counterparts’

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in Indochina as well as their ‘aesthetic and historical enthusiasm’, ‘or even that of the Dutch in nearby Java and Sumatra’. Their main interest was mercantilist in nature (Chapman 2013: 193). In the case of Melaka, the disinterest in conserving the old settlement was clear when, during the Napoleonic Wars, the British administered the town to prevent a French expansion in the region. During this interregnum the British showed little interest in Melaka, especially because they were going to return it to the Dutch after the conflict. Indeed, it was in this period that the Lieutenant-Governor of Prince of Wales Island (Penang), Robert Townsend Farquhar, suggested the destruction of the fort (Nordin 2007: 139-140). They were afraid that, once returned to the Dutch, Melaka could rival George Town. In addition to the glory and the solidity of this fortification, made of red laterite blocks, the fort was associated locally with supernatural belief. Munshi Abdullah – a Melakan of Indian and Arab ancestry, renowned as the father of modern Malay literature – also wrote about this. According to him, locals ‘thought that the English would not succeed in destroying the Fort on account of its strength, and also because there were so many ghosts and devils’ (in Shellabear 1918: 37). Not all the British administrators agreed with the decision to destroy the fort. In particular, two of them tried to convince their superiors to retain it. William Farquhar (the then Resident Commandant of Melaka) and Thomas Stamford Raffles (the founder of British Singapore) wrote several reports against its destruction. Even the Governor-General of India, Lord Minto, was against it (Glendinning 2013; Hoyt 1993; Tan 1984). In the end, however, William Farquhar had to accept reluctantly the orders of his superiors. The fort was demolished with gunpowder in 1807. The Porta de Santiago was the only part to be spared. Munshi Abdullah described the event: ‘The Fort was the glory of the town of Malacca, and when the Fort was destroyed the town of Malacca lost its glory, like a woman whose husband is dead, her face has no longer its glory’ (in Shellabear 1918: 38). The efforts of colonial administrators such as William Farquhar and Stamford Raffles to preserve the old fort were in vain, but, on the other hand, an interesting precedent for the subsequent emergence of interest in heritage within the British colonies of Southeast Asia was set. The first steps towards the management of the past in Melaka were only taken in the 1920s. In 1923 the local British administrators created the Malacca Centenary Committee to commemorate the centenary of the occupation. This committee launched excavations at St. Paul’s Hill and St. John’s Hill. Father Jules Pierre Francois, one of the committee members, even tried to convince the Pope to support the restoration of the Portuguese cathedral on St. Paul’s Hill to its condition

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prior to its destruction by the Dutch. The authorities of the Straits Settlement of Melaka were also interested in precolonial Malay civilization. In 1934 they passed an enactment for the protection of monuments, but only one historical site was recognized – the Perigi Raja (the ‘King’s Well’) at the foot of Bukit Cina (Malaysia 1988; Ramele, Isnin, and Jabar 2010: 36), believed to be the only material remnant of the old Malay kingdom. The decade preceding the Japanese occupation saw a burgeoning interest in local history. In January 1930 the Malacca Historical Society was established by the Resident Councilor of Melaka, Bertram Walter Elles, and other British representatives of the local elite, including Father Francois.2 In the same year the Governor of the Straits Settlements, Cecil Clementi, communicated his intent to become the patron of the society and to provide an annual grant of 500 Straits dollars.3 The Malacca Historical Society took over the leading role in excavations and collection of archaeological artefacts from the Malacca Centenary Committee, and carried out restoration works. One of the founding members of the Malacca Historical Society emphasized during a speech that the Dutch fort on St. John’s Hill was ‘restored to its original form’ and that excavations on St. Paul’s Hill led the society to find the exact place where St. Francis Xavier was temporarily buried, and even ‘the original foundations of the ancient Malay palace’. 4 Colonial administrators, members of the elite, and priests, also contributed to other heritage oriented activities, such as historical talks, publication of books and guides, and exhibitions of old coins and pottery. In the 1930s a room of the Stadthuys was used as the Malacca Museum under the responsibility of Reverend Father René Edouard Cardon.5 The Malacca Historical Society celebrated the fact that there were more than 600 signatures in the visitors’ book. ‘A glance through this book,’ it was reported, ‘is very interesting and shows that Malacca receives visitors from every corner of the globe.’6 The operation of the Malacca Historical Society, however, was suspended during the Second World War because of the Japanese occupation. There were some attempts to resuscitate it in 1947, after the liberation, but it was never restored to its previous grandeur.7 2 ‘Malacca History’, The Straits Times, 20 February 1930. 3 ‘Historic Finds in Malacca’, The Straits Times, 2 December 1930. 4 ‘The Malacca Historical Society: Short History and Resume of Work’, The Malacca Guardian, 1 December 1930. 5 ‘Malacca’s Historical Past’, The Straits Times, 29 September 1935. 6 ‘Historical Research in Malacca’, The Straits Times, 26 June 1935. 7 ‘Society-Restarted’, The Straits Times, 4 August 1947. It seems that this society faded completely from the public life of Melaka. In 1971 it became a branch of the larger Malaysian Historical Society.

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On the eve of independence, renewed efforts in shaping the recently decolonized country resulted in the Antiquities and Treasure Trove Ordinance of 1957. When the bill was introduced, Prime Minister Tunku Abdul Rahman said: ‘We stand now on the threshold of independence and it is imperative that we should hand down unimpaired to future generations the cultural heritage of this country’ (in Mahmud et al. 2011: 46). This initial legal framework for the protection of items of historical and archaeological relevance was replaced in 1976 by the Antiquities Act, except for what concerned treasure trove. In this law, there was no mention yet of ‘heritage’ definitions. The Antiquities Act was itself inherited from the colonial administrators. It was concerned with the monumental and material remnants of the past. Only objects, sites, and monuments that were at least a hundred years old were considered ‘antiquities’ (benda purba). This law gave the power to identify items of national importance to the Department of Museums and Antiquities, which was placed until the early 2000s under the Ministry of Culture, Arts and Tourism, currently under the official name Ministry of Tourism, Arts and Culture (Kementerian Pelancongan, Seni dan Budaya).8 Under this law, eight national monuments built between the sixteenth and the nineteenth century were recognized in what was going to become the World Heritage site of Melaka.9 Aside from the focus on the monumental past, the Antiquities Act was limited to the protection of single buildings registered under this law and the federal Department of Museums and Antiquities was responsible only for monuments recognized at the national level. This meant that the Melaka State Government was responsible for all the other buildings and the urban fabric. The division of powers at different levels in post-independence Malaysia is important in order to understand the different scales of heritage management. The Federal Constitution of Malaysia divides the responsibilities of federal and local state governments into a Federal List, a State List, and a Concurrent List.10 The federal administration can legislate on matters under the first list, while local state governments have legislative powers over those on their State List. Both governments share legislative powers and jurisdiction on matters in the 8 The names of these departments and ministries have changed from time to time, and the administration of tourism and culture at the federal level has not always been under the same ministry. 9 These were the Stadthuys, the Melaka Waterworks Department building, the Melaka Islamic Religious Council building, the old museum building, A Famosa gate, St. Paul’s Church, the Dutch Cemetery, and Kampung Hulu Mosque (Malaysia 2008: 132). 10 The matters on the lists differ between peninsular Malaysia and the states of Borneo, which enjoy greater autonomy.

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Concurrent List with the stipulation that federal laws have higher authority. Only with the National Heritage Act of 2005 was the jurisdiction assigned over nationally designated heritage placed under this list. After this brief sketch on how the management of antiquities emerged in Melaka and British Malaya, I will now analyse the ways local authorities in Melaka approached urban heritage, the legal framework at work, and the primary institutions involved.

Museumification and Replication The legal framework for the management of heritage at the local level was officially devised in 1988 when the Melaka State Government passed a bill on the Preservation and Conservation of Cultural Heritage (Pemuliharaan dan Pemugaran Warisan Budaya, hereafter Enactment 88), the first of its kind in the country. In fact, the bill could be considered quite novel in the Malaysian legislative system, although relevant definitions (such as ‘historical object’ and ‘historical site’) are based on the Antiquities Act. The significant shift incurred by this law was terminological, and probably followed the recent national interest in embracing a global vocabulary. ‘Cultural heritage’ (warisan budaya) emerged as a pioneering inclusive category for material property worthy of conservation. Enactment 88 established a Preservation and Conservation Committee, which was also under the state authority.11 Through this law the Melaka State Government began to inscribe monuments and sites of historical importance, such as the house of Munshi Abdullah, and different ‘heritage villages’, including Heeren Street and Jonker Street, which were registered as Baba Nyonya heritage village (Malaysia 2008: 132). Most of the issues related to the management of museums and antiquities were taken over by the Melaka Museum Corporation (Perbadanan Muzium Melaka, hereafter PERZIM), a state agency established in 1993. This institution was subsequently complemented by a Conservation Unit (Unit Konservasi) under the municipal Town and Country Planning Department (Jabatan Perancang Bandar). Since the 1980s, Melaka’s heritage politics have primarily been shaped by an approach devoted to the museumification of the historical 11 According to Enactment 88, this committee should consist of no more than twelve members, including a representative of the director-general of the Department of Museums and Antiquities, and no more than five experts in the field of heritage conservation. These experts should be appointed by the chief minister, who is also the chairman of the committee.

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Figure 2.1 The Melaka Islamic Museum

Author’s photo, 2012

buildings located in the old civic area. During the administration of Chief Minister Rahim Thamby Chik (1982-1994), the majority of the administrative off ices located in this area were moved to Ayer Keroh.12 Since then, the primary objective has been to turn Melaka into a ‘state of museums’. The Stadthuys was converted into a museum of history in 1982, subsequently renamed the Museum of History and Ethnography (Muzium Sejarah dan Ethnografi). Many other old buildings in the area followed and were converted into museums or off ices of related bureaus, such as PERZIM. The former State Legislative Assembly building was converted into the Democratic Government Museum (Muzium Pemerintahan Demokrasi), the former building of the State Development Corporation became the Museum of Literature (Muzium Sastera), the Seri Melaka was transformed into the Melaka Governors Museum (Muzium Yang di-Pertua Negeri Melaka), the old post off ice was turned into the Malaysia Youth Museum (Muzium Belia Malaysia), and the old building of the Melaka Islamic Religion Council was remodelled as the Islamic Museum (Muzium Islam).13 12 ‘Dynamic New Image for “Sleepy” Malacca’, New Straits Times, 8 June 1988. 13 Abu Talib Ahmad (2015: 2) argues that museum studies have been somewhat neglected in Malaysia, apart from a few exceptions. Melakan museums, however, have been described

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Along with the museumification of the old civic area, Melaka’s state governments have focused on the politics of replicas. Most of the replicas added to the existing colonial-built environment of the historic city centre were meant to bring back the glorious past of the Malay sultanate. In 1983 Kernial Sandhu and Paul Wheatley (1983: 565) observed that ‘the urban form of the present day is a palimpsest from which no one age has been able completely to erase the imprints of its predecessors’. Others, however, have noted that the presence of colonial architecture was more substantial compared to the tangible absence of the sultanate (e.g., Khoo 1983: 72). According to Nigel Worden (2001: 204; 2010: 135), ‘the absence of buildings and artefacts from the precolonial Malay era means that the indigenous past has been materially as well as metaphorically reconstructed’. Evidently for local authorities the Malay presence in the city centre – mosques, Malay villages, and mausoleums – was not adequate, not representative of the nation’s Malay majority. This view was confirmed by the speech of the Governor of Melaka, Khalil Yakoob, during a seminar on heritage I attended in 2013. He highlighted how, in his opinion, the Malays are almost absent in the World Heritage site. According to the governor, there were many buildings from the colonizers, ‘a little bit from the Portuguese, a lot from the Dutch and the British, but nothing left of the legacy of the Malay kingdom’. Thus, by reflecting on the replicas erected in the last decades, he asked rhetorically whether it was correct or not to make replicas. According to him, there was nothing wrong in reconstructing this past, because there were no Malay symbols downtown. Where remnants of a particular past are missing, replicas take centre stage in heritage politics. The most important of these replicas is the Melaka Sultanate Palace (Istana Kesultanan Melaka), built in the mid-1980s. This wooden replica houses a permanent two-storey exhibition, the Cultural Museum (Muzium Budaya). Although some of my interlocutors, especially academics in disciplines such as architecture and urban planning, challenge the reconstruction as inauthentic – according to some it is also in the wrong place – the replica nevertheless restores the symbol of Malay history par excellence. One of the main attractions of the exhibition is undoubtedly the reproduction of the balairung seri (‘audience hall’), which displays more than 20 characters. At its centre, the sultan surrounded by his heralds (bentara), an admiral (laksamana), a chief warrior (hulubalang), the prime minister (bendahara), and the prince (raja muda). On the two accurately in the past decade (e.g., Abu 2015; Daniels 2005; Worden 2001), thus, I will avoid repetition here by not describing their displays again.

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Figure 2.2 Replica of the Sultanate Palace

Author’s photo, 2011

sides of the court, other central figures appear, such as the harbour master (shahbandar) and religious leaders. The importance of the sultanate as a thalassocracy is highlighted by the presence of traders and diplomats: a dignitary from Pahang, traders from the Indian subcontinent, and envoys from the Ming and Majapahit courts. The reformulation of a Malay centre can be seen through the display of Malay items in the inner space, such as the omnipresent myth of the two famous laksamana, Hang Tuah and Hang Jebat, vis-à-vis the galleries around the core of the building where Javanese, Indian, Chinese, Arab, and Thai traders have been reproduced along with their goods. The symbolism of this Malay past is reiterated in the garden in front of the palace with an obelisk topped by a replica of a golden tengkolok diraja (the royal headdress) decorated with the crescent moon and the fourteen-pointed star representing the country. Among the words engraved on this monument appear crucial statements such as ‘Melaka di mana segalanya bermula’ (literally ‘Melaka, where it all began’), and Hang Tuah’s famous words – ‘Tak Melayu Hilang di Dunia’ (usually translated as ‘Malays will never disappear from the face of earth’).14 14 Such imaginative constructions of the past are based on specific interpretations of Malay classics, such as Hikayat Hang Tuah and the Sejarah Melayu, works which are, however, contested (see Kessler 1992: 146). Some scholars have deconstructed these narratives. For example, Farish

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Despite the focus on the glorious Malay past, museums also present the colonial past, including replicas that recollect the Portuguese, Dutch, and British legacies. The replica of the Flor de la Mar, the galleon that supported the Portuguese conquest of Melaka and which houses the Maritime Museum (Muzium Samudera), is perhaps the most exemplary. Worden (2001: 209-210; 2010: 138-139) notes that the three colonial powers have been represented in the museums of Melaka in different ways: the Portuguese have been demonized as Catholic ‘colonial exploiters’ and ‘crusaders’, who destroyed the sultanate, vis-à-vis a more neutral representation of the Dutch, and a more modest reference to the British. Also limited is any reference to the Japanese occupation. Together with an officialized nostalgia for the Melaka sultanate there is also an element of ‘colonial nostalgia’ (Pires 2014), especially from Melakans who have a strong connection with European heritage. The Eurasian community, for example, plays a crucial role in this longing for the colonial past due to its intimate links with Portugal and the Netherlands. This often results in diplomatic ties between the Portuguese Settlement and Portugal, and between the Dutch Eurasians in Malaysia and the Netherlands (see, for example, De Witt 2008). (In a similar way, there is some sort of British nostalgia, especially among the wealthiest Baba Nyonya who occupied a place in the elite during the last period of the colonial administration, and also among some British-educated Malaysians.) The discourse of ‘mutual cultural heritage’ (Yapp 2016) – or the increasing discourse of a common past shared by now-independent countries and their former metropoles – in the diplomatic field is particularly strong. There are constant calls for a link with Portugal from within the Portuguese Settlement: Melaka and Lisbon have been twin cities since the 1980s. Melaka is also twinned with Hoorn in the Netherlands, an important base port of the Dutch East India Company. Diplomatic ties between Malaysia and the Netherlands are particularly strong, and the Dutch have been active in negotiating the mutual heritage shared with their former colonies. Since the 1980s there have been several collaborations in the field of heritage conservation between Malaysia and the Netherlands in relation to Melaka’s Dutch heritage. For example, the architect Laurens Vis (1982) has worked on the restoration of the Stadthuys, a replica of a windmill in the front reminds Noor (2009) provides an alternative reading of Hang Tuah’s motto, commonly translated by right-wing Malay politicians and UMNO as ‘the Malay race will never cease to exist’. According to Noor (2009: 240, 277), the correct translation is ‘never should the Malays feel lost (hilang) in the world’. This reading is related to Hang Tuah’s rather cosmopolitan and pacifist spirit, although right-wing politicians frame him as a warrior who was loyal to the sultan (see Noor 2009).

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Figure 2.3 Replica of a Dutch windmill in front of the Stadthuys

Author’s photo, 2011

visitors of this colonial connection. More recently, Dutch and Melakan institutions have developed a heritage trail downtown, the Malacca Dutch Heritage Trail, 1641-1824 (Jejak Warisan Belanda di Melaka), sponsored by the Dutch Embassy and PERZIM. In 2019, following a festival called Holland Days, which marked 50 years of diplomatic relations between the two countries, the embassy provided some more curious replicas of colourful Dutch cattle to be added around the windmill, to the delight of tourists. The more active involvement of the Netherlands has probably contributed to more sympathetic renditions of Melaka’s Dutch past. Still, despite these colonial reminders, scholars (e.g., King 2016b: 153; King and Hitchcock 2014: 40; Worden 2001: 204) argue that the old civic area has primarily been reclaimed as a symbol of Malay heritage. The majority of local museums emphasize Malayness and Islam. This approach to the past was influenced by national visions that date back to the 1970s, such as the NEP (New Economic Policy) with its focus on the Bumiputera. In the same years, for instance, the federal government put forward the National Culture Policy, according to which Malaysian culture had to be based on the indigenous one, thus alienating those of the so-called ‘immigrants’ (pendatang). According to

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the three basic points of this policy, ‘the National Culture of Malaysia should be based on the indigenous culture of the people of this region’; ‘suitable and salient elements of other cultures may be accepted and made an element of national culture’; and ‘Islam is an important element in the formation of the said national culture’ (in Mandal 2008: 278).15 One of the primary results of the National Culture Policy was the growth of a ‘Malay culture industry’, produced and consumed by an emerging Malay middle class (Kahn 1992: 164). These same trends were echoed towards the end of the 1980s in the remaking of history syllabi in schools, along with a growing interest in Malay language, history, and civilization. The Melaka sultanate as a focus for Malayness became even stronger in these new history syllabi (Abdul and Badriyah 2003: 185-186). Thus, one can trace an imaginary continuum in Malaysian public discourse about the past. If, on one extreme, we encounter colonial nostalgia, we find, on the opposite end, the so-called ‘ultra-Malay’ nationalist narrative (endorsed by some conservative UMNO leaders), which demonizes the ‘colonialists’ (penjajah), and even the argument (embraced also by some local historians) that ‘Malaysia was never colonized’. The major protagonist of the museumification and politics of replicas in the old civic area has been, for the most part, the Melaka State Government (Kerajaan Negeri Melaka) along with the UMNO elite, running the longstanding Barisan Nasional-led state administration. UMNO itself can be considered a quintessential Orwellian model in the craft and uses of the past, reminiscent of the well-known passage from the novel Nineteen Eighty-Four: ‘who controls the present controls the past’ (Orwell 1949: 19). By engaging with its imagination of the glorious past of Melaka, UMNO has placed itself at the symbolic centre of the local kerajaan (literally ‘government’).16 It is 15 The National Culture Policy has been neglected in the analysis of the Malaysian nationbuilding process because it has never been enacted, but it was nevertheless important in forging ‘an exclusionary Malay cultural leadership’ (Mandal 2008: 273). Although this policy did not survive after the 1990s, some groups still resort to it today (Mandal 2008: 275). 16 I use the loose translation of government as kerajaan as it is often referred to, in emic terms. Although much has changed from the precolonial conceptualization of kerajaan in the sultanate’s era – ‘government was kerajaan, the state of having a ruler’ (Gullick 1958: 114) or ‘the condition of having a raja’ (Milner 1982: 114) – this centralized ideal type survives. As Shamsul (2005: 110, 114) writes, it is not the KERAJAAN (in capital letters) fusing ‘church’ (Islam) and ‘state’ but a kerajaan as ‘secular bureaucracy’ that in colonial times ‘was reduced and became only a component of the modern nation-state’ – a ‘narrower’ definition ‘in more mundane terms’ emerged as kerajaan at the end of the nineteenth century (Milner 1995: 103-104). Kessler (1992: 136), in an attempt to decipher the invented traditions around Malayness in-between ‘archaism and modernity’, states that Malay culture is deeply rooted in the political conceptualization of the kerajaan. It is this relationship between ruler and ruled that shapes what he calls a ‘Malay political culture’ (Kessler 1992: 136).

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a centrality claimed by the local UMNO elite, leaving little space for other interpretations of Malayness and Islam, such as the alternative visions coming from PAS (the Malaysian Islamic Party) and other parties. One of the museums in the old civic area, the UMNO Museum (Muzium UMNO), is completely dedicated to the UMNO. The role of the party is also emphasized in another museum, the Malay and Islamic World Museum (Muzium Dunia Melayu Dunia Islam), which was established in 2000 under the government of Chief Minister Ali Rustam (1999-2013), who created the organization Malay and Islamic World (Dunia Melayu Dunia Islam), a company promoting the unity of different Malay-Muslim communities around the world. The ceremonial aspect of local UMNO politicians was also emphasized during my fieldwork when they played the roles of important historical personalities of the Malay sultanate during special ceremonies and anniversaries. The museumification and politics of replicas as realized by the local UMNO-centred state since the 1980s is not only, however, conf ined to symbology, but it mirrored the material base of power and everyday politics. Local Barisan Nasional politicians have been for decades the main decisionmakers. The greater part of this power has been centralized in the hands of the ruling UMNO elite, as shown above through two of the most important players of local heritage politics, former chief ministers Rahim Thamby Chik and Ali Rustam. UMNO chief ministers, for example, have tended to maintain the portfolio of heritage in their hands. Many of my interlocutors perceived everyday local politics under Barisan Nasional governments as a continuation of the feudal-like, hierarchical, and paternalistic features of the past sultanate. For example, one of them has depicted Melaka as a ‘semi-feudal state’. According to him, what the chief minister says ‘gets done!’ The discourse of ‘getting the job done’ has been a mainstream message spread by the ruling UMNO elite, and Barisan Nasional more generally. The message explicitly disseminated the idea that the opposition party did not know how to govern, and that it was more inclined to troublemaking than problem-solving. During the public gatherings I attended, Barisan Nasional politicians often said that opposition was only good in cakap and gaduh (literally ‘talking’ and ‘quarrelling’). This message, while contested every day by many Melakans, nevertheless had a great influence on many other citizens for decades. Implicitly, the equation of Barisan Nasional with local government has for a long time been taken for granted, since no other force has ruled the state. In this context, it was difficult for many voters to imagine the opposition party in charge. This background is essential to understanding the influence that the local UMNO elite, together with the Malaysian Chinese Association (MCA) and

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the Malaysian Indian Congress (MIC), has exercised in heritage politics. Similarly to the exhibitions of Melakan museums in which Malays have a central position, UMNO politicians have been perceived at the top of the state machinery. Heritage has been used in order to secure political ‘support’ (sokongan), but also to perpetuate the legitimacy of the Barisan Nasionalled government. For example, before the 2013 elections, I attended public gatherings in which the then Chief Minister Ali Rustam offered financial support for the restoration of community-owned buildings, presenting it to the crowd as a Barisan Nasional gift. Unlike state-owned buildings and mosques, which have greater access to official financial support for conservation, all the other buildings have been to a great extent restored through private funding. Nevertheless, politicians are often asked for help, and they usually react positively in order to gain political support. For example, when the chief minister attended a ceremony at a Hindu temple in the suburbs of Melaka, he gave a brief speech highlighting Barisan Nasional’s donation of 12,000 ringgit (almost US$3000) to the temple committee in support of its restoration. Usually when looking for such a funding, different communities have thus approached the politicians who were supposed to represent them in the ethnic-based ruling coalition – UMNO for the Malays, MCA for the Chinese, and MIC for the Indians – but UMNO chief ministers have, in practice, been the public faces of kerajaan. For example, to have their own festival recognized as national heritage, a Melakan Chinese temple committee first asked a local MCA politician occupying a post at the national level for help. Although this politician – who played a crucial role in this designation process – was present at the event, together with officials from the Ministry of Tourism, Arts and Culture, it was Chief Minister Ali Rustam who was the most important figure on the stage at the official awarding ceremony. Surely the perception of a feudal-like state apparatus has been enforced symbolically through the persons of the chief ministers. The fact that Melaka is one of the smallest states in the country also facilitates more ordinary face-to-face encounters. In particular, as in the case of Ali Rustam, the chief minister was not only attending ceremonies. Many of my interlocutors highlighted that he was always available for unofficial meetings. I was told by Mr. Sham, the trishaw driver appearing at the beginning of the book, that Ali Rustam’s house was ‘open [rumah terbuka] always’. He meant, literally, that people can go directly to the chief minister’s house to ask for something without being rejected out of hand. The same interlocutor described Ali Rustam as ‘friendly’ (beramah), especially because, despite his rank, he was always open to spending time with ordinary citizens. This

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way of doing politics in Melaka was even more clear when I realized that many people used to directly approach Exco (the State Executive Council) members by telephone, with the Exco members listed as personal contacts on their phones. And, until the defeat of Barisan Nasional in 2018, it was common practice to directly contact Barisan Nasional high officials and politicians instead of the opposition leaders elected in the State Legislative Assembly who represent their constituencies. That in this dynamic, the Melaka State Government occupies a more central position relative to municipal authorities is because the Local Government Act places them on the State List, taking into mind that there are no municipal elections in Malaysia. The influence of ruling politicians also affects the workings of the overall bureaucratic apparatus – from municipal bureaus to PERZIM – which is constituted by a staff that is mainly of Malay background. Politicians have immense influence, and some seats at the various boards watching over the general management of the relative institutions are occupied by representatives of the ruling coalition. Bureaucrats have a personal interest in maintaining their jobs and also in attending to their career development prospects. Thus they would generally avoid displeasing their superiors and politicians. Perhaps, these are some of the reasons why the museumification and the politics of replicas in remaking the old civic area as the seat of a glorified Malay past, which have been taken under former UMNO-dominated governments, have gone almost unchallenged. Melaka’s state governments, however, did not only focus on the historical landscape. Authorities emphasize that there is not only an old Melaka, but that it should be coupled with a new and modern Melaka. In the following section, I turn to the role of the state in urban development and its efforts to attract the private sector.

Projects of a Developmentalist State The glorified imagination of Melaka’s past survives in the company of a veritable ‘Sleepy Hollow’ complex – in reference to the sobriquet attributed to this town since the British times, when the colonial administration increasingly focused on the other Straits Settlements at Melaka’s expense. As early as the first half of the twentieth century, in the columns of the Malacca Guardian, local commentators have been trying to show that Melaka did not deserve this appellation. And yet, Melaka retained the ‘Sleepy Hollow’ label after independence, when the priority given to other

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cities in the colonial era was maintained. This section explores the ways in which Melaka’s governments have constantly striven to overcome this ‘Sleepy Hollow’ complex. Similar to the aforementioned division of power over antiquities between federal and state levels, it is important to introduce, briefly, the Malaysian system of urban planning as articulated by the Town and Country Planning Act. The planning system is on the Concurrent List. At the federal level, the Town and Country Planning Department (Jabatan Perancangan Bandar dan Desa), under the Ministry of Housing and Local Government (Kementerian Perumahan dan Kerajaan Tempatan), is in charge of the formulation of policies and guidelines pertaining to urban planning. The federal Town and Country Planning Department is responsible for the preparation of the National Physical Plan, which sets the standards and directions of spatial policies.17 At the state level, the local Town and Country Planning Department advises the State Planning Committee, which is in charge of the interpretation of the National Physical Plans. Every 20 years, this committee prepares the State Structure Plans, which deal with land use and new developments. The Local Plans and Special Areas Plans – prepared by the local authorities, such as the City Council of Melaka – are also approved by the State Planning Committee. As such, the Melaka State Government is the major planning authority at the local level, although approvals of development plans are issued by the City Council, which remains the main implementation authority on the ground.18 But despite the powers of the local states in urban development and land issues, they are still dependent upon the federal level for at least three reasons. Because of a lack of funding, local state governments need the financial grants provided by the federal government through the five-year national development plans. Consequently, local projects need to be in line with national policies, and the federal government can also exercise annual investigations through the National Audit Department (Jabatan Audit Negara). The Melaka State Government is active in urban development thanks to its own enterprises. These state companies have been established in Melaka since the 1970s under the interventionist approach of the NEP, especially with the aim of increasing Bumiputera participation. In 1971 17 The National Physical Plans last five years and are in line with the broader policies set by the Malaysia Plans, which are also valid for five years. 18 Another important bureau in charge of decision-making concerning land use (and its conversion) is the Melaka Tengah District and Land Office (Pejabat Daerah dan Tanah Melaka Tengah), which also falls under the jurisdiction of the Melaka State Government.

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the Melaka State Development Corporation (Perbadanan Kemajuan Negeri Melaka) was established with responsibilities for local development in fields such as industry, tourism, housing, business, and commerce. Other state corporations controlled by the local political elite have been established, such as Kumpulan Melaka Berhad in 1995, and Invest Melaka in 2003, to attract investors and developers. In 2002 the state established Chief Minister Incorporated (Perbadanan Ketua Menteri Melaka) to assist several of these state-related subsidiary companies (anak syarikat) and associate companies (syarikat bersekutu). Through these agencies, the state has been a key player in the transformation of the cityscape and the urbanization of the countryside. Such projects have been persistently promoted as Satu Lagi Projek Barisan Nasional (literally ‘Another Project by Barisan Nasional’). There are two major state-led directions that concern the historic city centre: the reclamation of land at the waterfront that further remove what was once a port city from the sea, and the beautification of the Melaka River. Land reclamation has been revived since the 1970s accordingly with Chief Minister Abdul Ghani Ali’s motto ‘From the sea to the people’ (dari laut untuk rakyat). According to Hamzah Sendut (1983: 485), the sea was preventing the expansion of Melaka. In fact, at the beginning of the 1980s the urban area was expanding in three main directions: west, from Jalan Tengkera to Tanjung Keling, mainly for ‘residential housing with Western-style architecture’; east, around Ujung Pasir and the Portuguese Settlement, where there was nevertheless a ‘lack of available open land’; and north-east, towards the ‘satellite town’ Ayer Keroh and Bukit Baharu, ‘the most significant trend of development’ (Hamzah 1983: 485). Hamzah Sendut suggested two solutions to the shortage of land hindering development. One option regarded urban renewal projects like in Penang, at that moment difficult because of the ‘lack of vacant land’ (Hamzah 1983: 487). The other option was to reclaim further land at the waterfront in order to ‘create a new urban core which would absorb much of the burden of urban growth’, facilitating ‘balanced and harmonious growth between the old and the new parts of the city’ (Hamzah 1983: 487). Kernial Sandhu and Paul Wheatley (1983: 567) summarized three ways to balance the new and old of Melaka town: a ‘massive programme of urban renewal in the inner city replacing shophouses with high-rise apartment blocks, as has been done on a very large scale in Singapore’; the extension towards the interior in order to ‘channel excess population into the types of suburban communities’; and the ‘construction of a new city centre on land reclaimed from the sea’. Reclamation of land was intensified in the 1980s, and new districts have been created from the sea, such as Kota Laksamana besides Heeren Street

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and Tengkera, and Melaka Raya on the Bandar Hilir side. In the 1990s the Melaka State Government announced a further ambitious project with more land to be reclaimed off Bandar Hilir in order to create two man-made islands. The project was sponsored as ‘Malaysia’s first twin island city centre’ (Cartier 1998: 169). So far, however, only one island has been completed, Pulau Melaka (‘Melaka Island’). Furthermore, during my fieldwork, most of the projects on the island were not completed or were abandoned, apart from the floating Malacca Straits Mosque (Masjid Selat Melaka) (see Figure 1.3 for the land reclaimed at the seafront). To say that local state companies and agencies have been the only actors in land reclamation works is too simplistic, but the state does play a role by attracting developers, leasing parcels of land, and issuing approvals. Nonetheless, state-owned companies often carry out projects independently or through joint ventures with the private sector. For example, Kumpulan Melaka Berhad has been the most active player among the subsidiary companies of Chief Minister Incorporated, a state company that deals with projects related to real estate development and tourism, and itself controls other subsidiary and associate companies. Two of its most important projects include the redevelopment of Padang Pahlawan and the Taming Sari Tower (the latter continues to be managed by a subsidiary company of Kumpulan Melaka Berhad). In the early 2000s this state company started to redevelop the padang into a shopping mall jointly with Lianbang Ventures. As I will show below, however, the local state has preferred to leave more space in this area and the reclaimed land at the seafront, including Pulau Melaka, to the private sector. The other major project to have changed the historic city centre, promoted by the local state as one of its major achievements, is the beautification of the Melaka River. Since 2002 a rehabilitation and beautification project sponsored by the federal government has transformed the river into a tourist attraction, with new river walks and cruises managed by the local state government through the Melaka River and Coastal Development Corporation (Perbadanan Pembangunan Sungai dan Pantai Melaka). This multi-phase project included the improvement of the sewerage and the development of a tidal barrage system in order to prevent flooding. The phases for the beautification of the river up to Kampung Morten were completed by the early 2010s with new works ongoing for the extension of riverside walks towards the interior and Melaka Sentral. The major consequence of this beautification has been that cruise ships have monopolized the use of the river at the expense of fishermen and those who were transporting goods to the warehouses along the river by boat. Furthermore, many

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extensions at the back of the houses on the river have been removed. The revitalization of the river has been promoted with global models in mind, with continuous reference to the San Antonio River in the state of Texas in the United States. Undertaken during the administration of Ali Rustam, it has been presented as one of the most important recent achievements, a sort of civilizing mission. The river was considered to be one of the most polluted in Malaysia. An anti-littering campaign under the slogan ‘Don’t Mess with Melaka’ (crafted after the ‘Don’t Mess with Texas’ anthem) advocated for cleanliness. This campaign was prioritized by Ali Rustam’s successor, Idris Haron. The Melaka State Government emphasized how, through projects such as the beautification of the river and the reclamation of the waterfront, it has successfully rid the city of its ‘Sleepy Hollow’ reputation. The administration tried to neutralize its rustic image, presenting Melaka as a ‘developed state’ (negeri maju), well before the country timetable introduced in Vision 2020. In 2010, the Melaka State Government announced the attainment of the status of ‘developed state’, following 32 indicators set by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development. For the upcoming ten-year mission (2010-2020), the state government proclaimed a new slogan – Melaka Maju Negeriku Sayang: Negeri Bandar Teknologi Hijau (literally ‘Developed Melaka My Beloved State, Green Technology City-State’). The vision included three goals: to improve the status of the developed state; to consolidate its status as a city-state; and to develop the state through green technology. Criticism of state-led projects is, however, not rare in Melaka, especially for Pulau Melaka and other developments at the seafront. The ‘Don’t Mess with Melaka’ motto has also been highly contested in the wider public because of concerns that it might constitute a threat to visitors. The signboards of this campaign have been seen as an ambiguous invitation to visitors to stay alert while in Melaka, and Chief Minister Idris Haron had to clarify that it was meant for the locals to keep the state clean ( jangan kotorkan Melaka). The promotion of Melaka as ‘developed state’ has also been criticized by some as a sort of syok sendiri (being full of themselves, literally ‘self-praise’). In the local political arena, the opposition to Barisan Nasional has always made fun of this attitude, by mocking the government through its own slogans such as, for example, Melaka Malu (‘Melaka Ashamed’), instead of Melaka Maju (‘Developed Melaka’). All the projects initially promoted by the government as ‘Another Project from Barisan Nasional’ have been contested through the joke of ‘Another White Elephant Project’ (Satu Lagi Projek Gajah Putih) because they hardly materialized.

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Figure 2.4 Dataran Pahlawan

Author’s photo, 2013

Among the most criticized failures is the Melaka Monorail. This project was launched in the same period of the celebrations for the achievement of its status as Melaka Maju. This was an elevated monorail project worth more than 15 million ringgit (more than US$3 million), which ran for less than 2 kilometres along the Melaka River. Unfortunately the service was discontinued shortly after construction was completed because the monorail was declared to be unsafe. Amirul, a young representative of the Melaka’s PAS branch, himself actively involved in denouncing such ‘failed’ projects, told me that the monorail was one of the ‘white elephants’ making Melaka feel ‘ashamed’. During my fieldwork rumours were spreading about the revitalization of this project. ‘It was promoted as technology made in China,’ Amirul told me, ‘and now they are talking about Italian technology. […] Allah helps us.’ It was evident that he was teasing me, given that I am Italian. But underlying his humour was the frustration that projects such as the monorail are only meant for tourists, and not for locals. While chatting with him about these projects, a mutual friend often criticized the failure, suggesting that ‘government syok sendiri’ because ‘if Melaka is maju now, it is because of private investors not the government!’ Indeed, the state needs the involvement of the private sector – the subject of the next section – to realize its developmentalist dreams, because of the

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financial burden, the dependence on the federal government for funding, and the chronic mismanagement of state corporations and projects, as is sometimes highlighted in the reports of the National Audit Department.19

‘Where There Is Sugar, There Are Ants’ Many Melakans share the state’s ambition for a modern cityscape. Until the Asian financial crisis at the end of the 1990s high-rise buildings were not numerous. Upmarket hotels and condominiums rarely exceeded 20 storeys, and were generally scattered throughout the territory of Melaka Tengah. Although Melaka’s authorities have tried since the 1980s to attract foreign investors, it took two decades to see tangible results. Only in the 2000s have major developers launched new projects aimed at changing the cityscape around the historic city centre with the introduction of memorable and futuristic buildings. This coincided with the World Heritage bid and the rise of Melaka as a top tourist destination. My interlocutors could not have found better words than the Malay saying ‘Where there is sugar, there are ants’ (ada gula, ada semut). For example, Mr. Adrian, a real estate agent, saw in Melaka’s rapid development a clear promise of the transition from a ‘ghost town’ to a ‘happening place’. For many Melakans this excitement represents a hope that fulfils their own vertical dreams. As noted also by Goh Beng-Lan (2002: 59), there has been a ‘recent fetish for height and magnitude’ in Malaysia. Many new mega-development projects have been launched, creating excitement in those who desire a landscape made of skyscrapers. According to Mr. Adrian, Melaka was finally on the way to have new buildings ‘taller than pyramids’. He believed that the younger generations, especially investors in their 30s, were more interested in futuristic design and ‘glassy buildings’ than heritage architecture. ‘It will be a new experience for locals’, he said, because many of the tall buildings constructed until then were considered to be ‘ugly’ and poorly designed. Who are the developers of Melaka’s private sector? What kind of projects are these developers bringing to the city? And what role does heritage play in attracting developers? I will focus here on major real estate development projects around the historic city centre in order to understand the city’s recent pattern of urban change. I present three figures, along with their

19 The audit reports are open to the public on the official website of the National Audit Department (see https://www.audit.gov.my/index.php/ms/?lang=en, accessed 16 December 2018).

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projects, as characteristic examples of major non-state developers in Melaka: the local developer, the foreign developer, and the master developer. Real estate development and the construction industry in Malaysia has for years been in the hands of local Chinese developers and contractors (Goh 1998: 173; Jesudason 1989: 63), and this continues to be the case in Melaka as well. Some changes occurred since the NEP, which required companies to incorporate Bumiputera capital. Another effect of the NEP has been the emergence of Bumiputera contractors, and an increasing role played by the Malays in the construction industry. This is the case with the state-owned enterprises and state-led development projects mentioned above. Nevertheless, it was not rare to find joint ventures with local Chinese companies, although government tenders were primarily assigned to Bumiputera construction companies. During the NEP years, a common joint company practice emerged that became known as ‘Ali Baba’ (‘Ali’ refers to Bumiputera or Malays, and ‘Baba’ to Chinese, see Husin 2008: 43; Shamsul 2004: 213). In such cases, the Bumiputera partner would take care of the tender, whereas the more experienced and better-funded Malaysian Chinese partner would carry out the construction. After the NEP years, former local Chinese firms continued to grow, and it is not uncommon to find previous contractors who have expanded their construction business by becoming property and real estate developers. In order to boost the national economy in the 1980s, the federal government began a gradual process of economic liberalization, allowing foreign investors full ownership of companies and landed property (Goh 1998: 174, 176). Both locals and foreigners, however, preferred, for many years, to invest elsewhere, refusing to see Melaka as an opportunity for growth. The figure linked to my example of a local developer brought to Melaka its tallest building thus far. The Shore was completed in 2014. It is a mixed development, including a hotel, apartments, a shopping mall, and an oceanarium. One of its towers reaches 42 storeys. The project has attracted major brands. Apart from the desire for high-rises and a modern design – one that resembles the cityscape of Kuala Lumpur – several interlocutors welcomed this project, highlighting the aspiration towards a shopping paradise with top brands that were previously absent in Melaka. According to the words of one friend: ‘Melaka needs more buildings like this and it is good to see that there are quality retailers coming, so that Melakans will not need to go to Kuala Lumpur for shopping in the future.’ Heritage here plays a role as location. The Shore opened along the Melaka River, just outside the World Heritage buffer zone, in front of Kampung Morten. The panorama over the river and the vernacular architecture of the

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Figure 2.5 A view of the Shore under construction from St. Paul’s Hill

Author’s photo, 2013

kampung represented an asset for the developer. The leading figure behind this project is Tee Eng Ho (and his Kerjaya Prospek Group), a Malaysian developer with many years of experience in the construction industry. He is an interesting example, not only because he planned the tallest building in Melaka, but also because he grew up in the state, in a rural area in Jasin district. The media romanticized his story, depicting him as a kampung boy (a ‘village boy’) who grew up in a poor family of rubber tappers, who rose to become a successful developer. In fact, prior to developing The Shore, Tee Eng Ho and his companies realized residential and commercial projects throughout Malaysia. He has been involved in the construction industry since the 1990s, together with his wife and brother. This developer exemplifies the growth of local Chinese businesses in the construction sector, from smaller contractor firms to major property development corporations. Recent interest in Melaka by major Malaysian developers is relevant to my thesis because it shows how, until the 2000s, Melaka was not so attractive to them. Tee Eng Ho said this himself in an interview, indicating that he was not sure if Melakans had enough money to support a ‘luxurious shopping environment’.20 By contrast, foreign developers have been more optimistic about future prospects in Melaka, and many Asian companies and individuals – especially 20 ‘The Shore Shopping Gallery Opens in Malacca’, The Star, 1 December 2014.

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Singaporeans, Taiwanese, and Chinese – have begun to invest there. Among foreign developers, one company in particular has devoted a great deal of attention to Melaka. Hatten Group is a real estate development company based in Singapore. It decided to invest in Melaka in the 2000s because of the city’s lower property prices. Eric Tan, an entrepreneur who made his fortune in the construction industry, is behind the success of this group. His two sons supported him and one of them, Colin Tan, became the managing director of Hatten Group. This property development took over uncompleted projects, such as the redeveloped Padang Pahlawan, acquired via Lianbang Ventures in 2004. In a short time, Hatten Group transformed this abandoned place into the biggest shopping mall in the state of Melaka, the Dataran Pahlawan Mega Mall, with its 2 million square feet of shopping area.21 Initially Melaka represented a challenge for the Hatten Group, but ultimately their investments produced sufficient revenue. Colin Tan said in an interview that when Melaka was chosen ‘it was a big gamble for us as we were not sure if it was going to be successful or not, but we saw the potential in the area’.22 The group’s name refers to the Japanese word for ‘development’ and ‘growth’, and this developer has grown tremendously in the country, hand in hand with Melaka. Colin Tan said: ‘Melaka has started to garner widespread interest. People are starting to look at Melaka more seriously in terms of property investment. […] Everyone wants to be a developer in Melaka these days.’23 In short order, Hatten Group has realized another project, the Hatten Square Hotel, situated in front of the mall. Additional projects commenced by Hatten Group during my fieldwork include the Vedro Mall on the river, Terminal Pahlawan, inspired by Baba Nyonya heritage, and also huge mixed development projects, such as Hatten City and Harbour City. These two mega-development projects aimed to change the cityscape and the waterfront with their futuristic designs, luxury apartments, and world-class shopping malls, hotels, resorts, theme parks, and offices. Part of Hatten City is also intended for the display of replicas of Melakan landmarks, such as the A Famosa gate and the Dutch Square, to give short-term visitors who do not have the time to reach these places the chance to have an impression of old Melaka. The private sector has joined the state in the politics of replicas. Hatten Group embodies aspects of development highlighted in the previous example. The company is controlled by one family that has built its 21 ‘Rising Star’, The Business Times, 8 October 2014. 22 ‘Colin Tan: Blood, Sweat, Tears and Success’, Property Insight, December 2015. 23 Ibid.

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success on the emergence of Melaka as a tourist attraction, in conjunction with the revitalization of the local economy. Furthermore, as with the first example, the members of the family have expanded their business, transforming themselves from builders into successful developers. Through its success, Hatten Group has also created a special link to Melaka. The company tends to be present in the public sphere to a greater extent than their competitors. It does so not only when it celebrates its success and the awards it has obtained, but also through special solidarity programmes, such as Hatten Cares. Nevertheless, development is the primary gift the company plans to give to Melaka. Colin Tan has said that with projects such as Harbour City they ‘have to develop it to give something back to society, something that Malaccans can be proud of’.24 In this way, Hatten Group helps to sustain the ambitions of local government. Heritage in this case plays a role, but not only because of the location of the World Heritage site. Heritage also serves as a sort of reference point for some of the projects, such as the planned Terminal Pahlawan and the replicas of monuments. Furthermore, the link between past and future has been present since its founding, when the company incorporated the ‘Time Capsule’ (Kapsul Masa) into Dataran Pahlawan Mega Mall. It was planted at the padang by former Prime Minister Mahathir, to be unveiled in 2020. The capsule still stands in the shopping mall inside a fountain, with designs that illustrate the most relevant events of Malaysian history. The last example is perhaps the most ambitious of these projects. In February 2014, KAJ Development launched Melaka Gateway, a 40 billion ringgit (almost US$10 billion) development on more than 600 acres at the waterfront. The project will include the redevelopment of Pulau Melaka, including a plan for additional man-made islands. This ambitious project combines a series of luxury high-rise condominiums, hotels, and marina villas, with private jetties, shopping malls, and a theme park. Investors are drawn from multiple companies based in foreign nations, including China, Singapore, Australia, the United States, Italy, South Korea, and the Middle East.25 KAJ Development is different from the companies presented above. As a master developer, the company has been able to obtain permits from the local authorities for the development of the waterfront and further land reclamation. Simultaneously, KAJ has been able to secure investment from other developers to whom the land will subsequently be leased. This 24 Ibid. 25 ‘Iconic RM40b Project a Boost for Malacca’, New Straits Times, 8 February 2014. See also ‘Melaka Gateway Secures 5 Foreign Investors’, The Sun, 10 February 2014.

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is the first project of this kind for the company, which has previously been involved in civil engineering and marine construction projects, and the management of theme parks. The fact that the company has been involved in the beautification of the Melaka River could be considered an advantage in the approval process at the local level. The ambitious plans appeared to be quite attractive for big foreign investors many of whom are interested, for example, in the international cruise port, and a new 80-storey skyscraper known as Gateway Beacon Tower – announced as the future tallest building in Melaka. Melaka Gateway has also obtained the status of entry project in the national Economic Transformation Programme. Its importance at the national level was confirmed by the attendance of Prime Minister Najib Razak at its unveiling in February 2014.26 The chief executive director of this master development project was reported to have said that the ‘construction of Melaka Gateway is an unprecedented move to once again put Malaysia on the world map to be a manifestation of how Melaka’s glorious past evolves to become a model for the future’.27 Melaka Gateway represents the most ambitious urban change project in contemporary Melaka, a convergence of the national and local governments’ interests in conjunction with the private sector. It carries a further symbolic value: the return of Melaka to its glorious past as a port city. This symbolism was evoked by the words of Chief Minister Idris Haron when he invited investors to what was becoming ‘the new jewel’ of Asia ‘if not the world’: ‘Buy land in Melaka, we are going to reclaim a little bit more. […] Join us to resurrect the glory of Melaka.’28 While these developers and their projects nurture the vertical dreams of those Melakans who see a connection between Melaka and Dubai in the form of a spectacular modernity, there are also many sceptics who see these projects as a recipe for failure in the same manner as the aforementioned unsuccessful state-led development projects. For example, Ms. Intan, a saleswoman in her 30s working in Dataran Pahlawan Mega Mall, said that these developers ‘probably think that Melakans are really rich people’. According to her, many Melakans do not have the capital to invest into these projects or to shop at expensive stores. Ms. Intan was unsure about these projects because they seem too ambitious for Melaka. She often replied 26 http://www.melakagateway.com.my/official/who-is-kaj-development/ (accessed 17 June 2015). 27 http://www.melakagateway.com.my/official/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/melaka_gateway. pdf (accessed 17 June 2015). 28 See the speech of the chief minister: http://www.melaka.gov.my/my/images/ucapan-ketuamenteri/2014/feb-2014/07-02-2014%2011%20PG%20OFFICIAL%20LAUNCH%20MELAKA%20 GATEWAY.pdf (accessed 9 May 2014).

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Figure 2.6 The promotion board of Melaka Gateway

Photo courtesy of Peck Choo Ho, 2015

with the following joke to those talking about Melaka as the next Dubai; according to her, Melaka will most probably become the next Dumai (instead of Dubai), referring to the less modern Indonesian city directly across the Straits. Surely, these projects will bring employment opportunities to Melaka, such as the KAJ Development at the waterfront, which promises to introduce 15,000 new jobs. But many locals doubt that Melakans will be able to afford property in the new developments. In fact, most of these new projects have other Malaysians and foreign investors as a target, especially Singaporeans and Chinese, who can afford to buy property in Melaka. In between those who are excited for these developments and the sceptics, such as Ms. Intan, are those who are concerned about urban change affecting the cityscape, to whom I will turn below. Melakans who consider this trend a threat to heritage are not necessarily against development, but for them the construction of high-rises could have been considered for other areas. ‘We cannot stop development, I suppose,’ I was told by Mr. Nicholas, a local heritage aficionado in his 70s who is a member of national and local heritagerelated organizations, ‘but we could have retained it!’ Between the years that have been characterized by the museumification of old Melaka and the moves towards a new cityscape, a new interest in the past emerged. In the next two sections I will trace the emergence of heritage affairs through the

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establishment of the National Heritage Act and the increasing involvement of civil society, which, as I will show, can take many forms.

Restructuring National Heritage In 2006 the National Heritage Act officially repealed the Antiquities Act. This new legislation embodied the shift from a focus on ‘antiquities’ (benda purba) to a broader conceptualization of ‘heritage’ (warisan). Since the 1990s, there had been other attempts to replace the Antiquities Act, such as, for example, the so-called bills on cultural property. The new act had to go through ‘many years of drafting stages’ (Mahmud et al. 2011: 48) that involved not only the Ministry of Culture, Arts and Heritage but also other ministries and bureaus, such as the federal Department of Town and Country Planning. Finally, the act managed to embody ‘the shift of treatment of the subject of cultural heritage protection from mere property to the more dynamic appeal of the term heritage’ (Mahmud et al. 2011: 48). This new legal framework was also the product of a national adaptation to international approaches to heritage management and conservation, following the ratification of the World Heritage Convention. This paradigm shift is underlined by the vocabulary used in the new law. While it also includes the old terms of antiquities and treasures, there has been a clear transformation from a strict conceptualization of heritage as material objects to the intangible character of ‘cultural heritage’ (warisan kebudayaan). Thus, the act also followed the international Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage adopted in Paris in 2003, although Malaysia did not ratify it until 2013. The law defined ‘tangible cultural heritage’ (warisan kebudayaan ketara) as areas, monuments, and buildings, while introducing officially for the first time the definition of ‘intangible cultural heritage’ (warisan kebudayaan tidak ketara). The latter was an all-inclusive category, which accommodated language, music, poetry, dance, theatrical plays, and martial arts (see Malaysia 2005: 15). While immaterial (intangible) classifications of heritage are not alien to the region, the new legislation was taking into consideration international models rather than local customs and traditions.29 This is also confirmed by the distinction following the World Heritage Convention between ‘cultural 29 One of the most studied examples is, perhaps, the subdivision of inheritance into pusako kebesaran (‘immaterial’) and pusako harato (‘material’) among the Minangkabau in Sumatra (Indonesia) and Negeri Sembilan (Benda-Beckmann 1979: 147).

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heritage’ (warisan kebudayaan) and ‘natural heritage’ (warisan semula jadi). Commitment to global standards and what could be seen as a grammar inspired by UNESCO (the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization), were confirmed with the introduction of new categories. For example, ‘underwater cultural heritage’ (warisan kebudayaan di bawah air) was a concept of ‘recent legal innovation’ that followed the UNESCO Convention on the Protection of the Underwater Cultural Heritage of 2001 (Mahmud et al. 2011: 54, 67). The terminology of the National Heritage Act also reflected the spatial approach for the selection of conservation areas as applied for World Heritage sites although, in the early 2010s, the Department of National Heritage was already working to amend the act because there was no mention of measures to be taken in World Heritage sites. The act, however, already required the preparation of a conservation management plan for a heritage site that may have a central core surrounded by a buffer zone (see Malaysia 2005). The move towards the consideration of buffer zones was an innovation in Malaysia. Furthermore, the act clearly defined the different approaches to ‘conservation’ (pemuliharaan): restoration, reconstruction, preservation, and rehabilitation.30 The National Heritage Act introduced a national heritage register, as well. This included three categories of ‘sites’ (tapak) – buildings, archaeological and natural areas – and two categories of ‘objects’ (objek), tangible and intangible items. Moreover, there was the innovative inclusion of another category, the ‘national heritage living person’ (warisan kebangsaan orang hidup), which follows the idea of living human treasures, in accordance with other global programmes.31 30 ‘Restoration’ (pembaikpulihan) refers to ‘the process of accurately recovering the form and details of a structure or part of a structure and its setting, as it appeared at some period in time, by removing the latter work and replacing the missing original work’ (Malaysia 2005). ‘Restoration’ implies work on the exterior as well as the interior of heritage buildings, and it is subdivided into full restoration, partial restoration, as well as adaptive restoration, in order to allow modern uses. ‘Reconstruction’ (pembinaan semula) refers to a new construction, which accurately reproduces ‘the form and detail of a vanished structure, or part of it, as it appeared at some period in time’ (Malaysia 2005). ‘Preservation’ (pemeliharaan) may include works preventing the deterioration, decay, and dilapidation of a heritage item; improvements towards safety, habitability, and usefulness of a heritage structure; maintenance and repairs that do not change the appearance of a heritage item in question (Malaysia 2005). Finally, ‘rehabilitation’ (pemulihan) refers to works that re-establish ‘the state of utility’ of a heritage property providing the means of ‘an efficient contemporary use’ but preserving the historically significant elements (Malaysia 2005). 31 The idea of living human treasures was proposed for the first time to the UNESCO Executive Board by the Republic of Korea in 1993. Some other examples were mentioned in the Guidelines

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The establishment of ‘national heritage’ (warisan kebangsaan) marks a further shift in Malaysian heritage politics. This set a new path vis-à-vis the previous centrality of specifically Malay heritage, highlighted by the New Culture Policy. The inclusion of non-Malay or non-Bumiputera heritage as national heritage, mirrored the nation-building project launched in 1991 by then Prime Minister Mahathir, through Vision 2020. The vision of a unified Malaysian nation was rhetorically reconfirmed in 2010 by Prime Minister Najib Razak with his slogan ‘1Malaysia’. The shift towards a more inclusive national heritage revaluated non-Bumiputera heritages that were previously ignored, or even banned. For example, the Chinese tarian singa atas tiang (‘lion dance on poles’) has been recognized as Malaysian heritage, and today lion dance troupes are celebrated as premier performers during the World Lion Dance Championships. This is a major change from the 1980s when lion dance was banned, except for Chinese New Year celebrations (see Shamsul 1998: 146). In 1979 the Minister of Home Affairs, Ghazali Shafie, argued that the lion dance was not part of Malaysian culture because it originated in China, and that it should have been changed instead into a tiger dance (the tiger being the national symbol of Malaysia), accompanied by Malay-style music and instruments (see Mandal 2008: 285). The National Heritage List is, according to Gwynn Jenkins (2008: 87), reassuring ‘the non-Malays that their cultural traditions are of national value and reflects inclusion rather than exclusion’. While the heritage items inscribed continue to perpetuate the supposed ethnic majority of the nation, the non-Malays – other Bumiputera as well as non-Bumiputera – are represented in the list: from the buildings left by the former colonizers to food, cultural performances, and living human treasures from different communities. Furthermore, heritage items that were supposed to belong to a given ethnic group seem no longer f ixed within these boundaries, but have become examples of intercultural exchange. For example, the Kelantanese Chinese Eyo Hock Seng (better known as Pak Chu) was inscribed as a ‘national heritage living person’ for his embodiment of wayang kulit (the traditional Malay shadow puppet play). It remains to be seen what contribution the national heritage listing project will provide the future Malaysia. Such changes are echoed at the local level, where the focus on museums and the Malay element have been complemented by the celebration of multiculturalism, as I will show in the following chapters. for the Establishment of Living Human Treasures Systems through models in operation in other countries (see https://ich.unesco.org/doc/src/00031-EN.pdf, accessed 12 January 2019).

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Nevertheless, the National Heritage Act did not only bring about a shift from tangible to intangible heritage, and to the inclusion of non-Bumiputera heritage in Malaysia’s cultural presentation. The new law also introduced new actors in the management of heritage. It created the Department of National Heritage (Jabatan Warisan Negara), now under the Ministry of Tourism, Arts and Culture, headed by a heritage commissioner.32 The National Heritage Act gives the ministry power to declare a national heritage item. The responsibility for heritage items is in the hands of the commissioner. The authorities of the local state in which the heritage sites are located, however, continue to play a crucial role, and are expected to consult with federal authorities (the preservation of heritage has been included in the Concurrent List). In this sense, the powers of federal and local authorities are equal. Nonetheless, as I will show in the next chapter, the inscription of Melaka into the World Heritage List calls for the direct involvement of the Department of National Heritage because it is the federal government that is ultimately responsible within the World Heritage system. The three-tier management of heritage affairs at the federal, state, and municipal layers necessitates a high coordination effort. But such a coordination between scales is further complicated by responsibilities that are shared by different bureaus at the same level. In fact, the Department of National Heritage took responsibilities that were previously in the hands of the Department of Museums and Antiquities, which was renamed Department of Museums, also under the Ministry of Tourism, Arts and Culture. Often the responsibilities of the two departments overlap. A senior official at the Department of Museums raised the issue of overlapping jurisdiction during an interview. According to him, the different laws needs to be ‘harmonized’, and the same goes for the management: There is a little bit of competition for duties. For example, if the Department of National Heritage wants to establish a museum, there is something that does not work and probably it is better to combine it with the Department of Museums. There is no need to have two, because museums exhibit heritage items, too. Maybe there is the need to unite them! There is no need to differentiate them. 32 This department is organized though four main divisions – management services, registration and enforcement, conservation and archaeology, and intangible cultural heritage – along with the office of the heritage commissioner. It also follows the federal subdivision in four territorial offices: northern, central, southern, and eastern zones (Melaka falls under the southern zone and it is where the office is also located). For the activities promoted by the department, see Ghafar 2012: 34.

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In the case of urban heritage, striving for harmonization between different departments appears to be even more arduous, because urban planning often falls under conflicting laws, such as the Town and Country Planning Act, and the Local Government Act, which empowers local authorities. A further change at the institutional level concerns the individual actors involved. By and large, the employees of the Department of National Heritage do not differ from the bureaucrats at the local level in terms of training: they are mostly architects, archaeologists, urban planners, or historians. For example, one of my interlocutors with a background in architecture held throughout his career positions in many of the offices presented in this chapter, at the federal, state, and municipal levels. Additionally, higher rank officials are still, generally, of Malay background, as remains the case in other institutions, but they are among the most pre-eminent experts nationwide in disciplines such as archaeology, history, and architecture. They studied abroad, in countries such as the United States, Great Britain, or Japan, and some of them received international awards for their achievements, including conservation projects outside Malaysia. The pedigree of experts also allows them to move easily from the political sphere to the activities promoted by non-government actors. Once serving the department, their positions as professors, researchers, and lecturers at their own universities are temporarily discontinued. The temporariness of the positions they hold at state bureaus allows them to have relative independence from the political arena, which is not the case with local-level bureaucrats. This allows them to work as experts in more autonomous ways. Nevertheless, I was told by some officials that they are also perceived – as academics often are – as overcritical by local politicians. The national restructuring of heritage affairs was, however, not only the product of the federal government commitment towards international global standards. Civil society has played a crucial role as well, by lobbying for the adoption of a new law on heritage management. At the national level, heritage-related advocacy groups have worked to establish this goal for years, although they have not been completely satisfied with the final product.

Society and Heritage Affairs Scholars variously describe Malaysia as a ‘pseudo-democracy’, characterized by ‘electoral authoritarianism’ (Cheng, Li, and Ma 2014: 620), ‘semidemocracy’, as a sort of ‘half-way house’ (Azeem 2004: 9; 2011: 97-98), and ‘illiberal democracy’ (Weiss 2006: 35). These labels unveil the perception

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that, despite regular elections held since the establishment of independence, the government firmly controls the development of civil society. In general, any association made up of seven or more members needs to be registered under the Societies Act. There are, however, other legal tools that inhibit greater involvement of the population in grassroots activities and voluntary associations. Citizens recognize limitations emanating from this wider legal framework, including the Sedition Act, the Defamation Act, the Internal Security Act, and the Printing Presses and Publication Act. National security and the vaguely defined idea of ‘sensitive issues’ play a crucial role in the relationship between government and NGOs. This also explains the authority of the Registrar of Societies in not recognizing ‘undesirable’ groups (Lim 1996: 166-167).33 These laws, however, did not stop non-state actors from manifesting their willingness to be involved in heritage affairs. Social movements and advocacy-oriented groups focused on issues related to human rights and ecology became increasingly prominent on the Malaysian scene from the 1970s on (Nair 1999: 95; Weiss and Saliha 2003: 7). These organizations ‘have historically developed as part of the middle-class concern about, and action in response to, political authoritarianism and undemocratic development’ (Azeem 2004: 13). For the most part, Meredith Weiss (2006: 110) notes, ‘English-speaking, middle-class, urban non-Malays predominate in secular advocacy groups, most of which are small and concentrated in Kuala Lumpur, Penang, and a few other cities’. Malaysian heritage-related groups appeared officially on the public scene in the 1980s. The most popular examples are Badan Warisan Malaysia (the Heritage of Malaysia Trust) and the Penang Heritage Trust. While the latter is based in George Town and not involved directly with Melaka, Badan Warisan Malaysia has throughout the years developed a certain connection with Melaka and, more generally, with the management of national heritage. Architects, urban planners, and engineers constitute an important group in heritage-related associations, although membership is not limited to these professional figures. For architects, in particular, interest in heritage preservation is part of their career. Conservation awards and service in public conservation work are significant for their own businesses. Nevertheless, 33 Moreover, in the updated NGO Law Monitor on Malaysia, prepared by the International Center for Not-for-Profit Law, it has been noted that: ‘In 2014, there has been a significant increase in the number of people charged with Sedition, including opposition activists, parliamentarians, student leaders, NGO members, human rights lawyers, journalists, academics, and Islamic preachers’ (https://web.archive.org/web/20141202065309/http://www.icnl.org/research/monitor/ malaysia.html, accessed 24 February 2021).

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I had the feeling that most of my interlocutors in the field of architecture who were involved in heritage conservation considered themselves to be a minority. Such architects have often criticized their colleagues who were, according to them, more interested in modern and futuristic designs than the legacy of the past. At the local level, few Melaka-based architects have connections with conservation associations in Kuala Lumpur or George Town, or have been involved in conservation projects. The number of these professional figures in Melaka is much lower compared to Kuala Lumpur. It is in the national capital that professional organizations such as the Malaysian Institute of Planners (Pertubuhan Akitek Malaysia, PAM) and the Heritage Conservation Committee are located. It is also in the national capital where ICOMOS Malaysia, the national committee of the International Council on Monuments and Sites, was established in 2013. Badan Warisan Malaysia is primarily devoted to the protection of the built environment and urban heritage. It was officially established in 1982 in Kuala Lumpur, and formally registered in 1983 under the Companies Act as a company limited by guarantee. I was told by Ms. Janice, a spokesperson for the organization, that the first meeting was held by eleven people concerned with the specific dilemma of urban development at the expense of the historic built environment of Kuala Lumpur. With the city status obtained in 1972, and after becoming a Federal Territory (Wilayah Persekutuan) directly governed by the federal government, Kuala Lumpur was reworked through urban transformation with the ambition of becoming a world class city. Thus, the first gathering was the result of a shared anxiety for the rapid loss of urban heritage and the physical evidence of the city’s history. The character and spirit of Badan Warisan Malaysia is symbolically displayed at its headquarters, a restored colonial bungalow in the core of the national capital, now surrounded by high-rises. It is itself a symbol of the survival of heritage in the middle of new modern buildings. Adjacent to the bungalow stands one of the oldest traditional Malay houses of the country, Rumah Penghulu Abu Seman. Badan Warisan Malaysia restored and relocated it from the state of Kedah. The founding members of Badan Warisan Malaysia were mostly middleaged people who were well established in society, such as architects, lawyers, and senior civil servants. This composition mirrors the non-confrontational spirit of the organization. In fact, since its establishment the key members have tried to negotiate with the federal government by lobbying for the development of official guidelines and a body of laws aimed at the protection of physical heritage in urban milieus. Ms. Janice summarized for me the mission of Badan Warisan Malaysia:

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Essentially, the mission – the goal of the organization – is the preservation of Malaysia’s built heritage looking at buildings and areas of historical and architectural importance, and preserving them or finding ways to preserve them for the betterment of the nation. So it has a very strong nation-building set as aspiration, and the mission of the organization is to be the leading national heritage NGO.

According to Ms. Janice, Badan Warisan Malaysia actively pushed for the replacement of the Antiquities Act. While emphasizing that the Antiquities Act was merely focused on monuments, she underscored the perception that there were still unresolved issues. ‘What happens to the rest which are not monuments? What happens to the ordinary? What happens to the towns? What happens to these other clusters and settlements?’ she asked. Badan Warisan has been directly involved in discussions over the preparation of a set of rules since long before the National Heritage Act was approved, but it was lobbying for an institutional framework which differed from that law. For members of Badan Warisan Malaysia, the National Heritage Act should have been under the responsibility of the Department of Town and Country Planning, and the Ministry of Housing and Local Government. First, Badan Warisan Malaysia believed that only the Department of Town and Country Planning had the most effective tools to protect the built environment, because it was in charge of physical planning. Second, Ms. Janice highlighted another angle to be added to the issue of accountability and the clash of responsibilities between the old Department of Museums and Antiquities and the new Department of National Heritage. Badan Warisan Malaysia continued to maintain its stance, with the overall opinion that the latter was going to be a waste of resources, and that it lacked the tools to implement its own rules. Third, protection of the built environment called for a holistic approach. The organization pointed to the protection of entire sites, not only single buildings. It was believed that there was a greater need for urban planners – rather than for architects – to protect urban heritage. Ms. Janice explained this point: The planning fraternities are the ones managing what happens with these places and our concern is the built environment, not the individual structure. A bigger picture! If you have a house, things happen within that house. But that house has a relationship with the other houses. The people inside have a relationship with that community. So it is not just the physical structure, but it is how that structure fits in the context of

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everything else. And that is where we [Badan Warisan Malaysia] are coming from.

Ms. Janice also questioned whether the new Department of National Heritage could manage such a diverse range of heritage areas and items, from natural to cultural sites, and from tangible to intangible objects. ‘A score extremely wide and huge’, she said. The call to give heritage responsibilities to the Department of Town and Country Planning was in vain but, nonetheless, Badan Warisan Malaysia continued to spread the spirit of heritage conservation among Malaysians. While the organization was primarily focused on Kuala Lumpur, it also carried out projects in other places, primarily cities. As I will show in Chapter 4, for example, the organization has also been involved in Melaka with the restoration of a townhouse used as a model of conservation. In this local centre, Ms. Janice counted a staff of ‘two and half people’, including herself, who visit the centre from time to time, meaning that there were two Melakans – a fully employed manager and a part-time assistant manager – taking care of the place. In addition to the challenge posed by having a small staff, she highlighted the fact that Melaka lacked a unified heritage advocacy group. This contrasts with George Town, where there is a strong NGO presence, such the Penang Heritage Trust. ‘So,’ I was told, ‘you have three champions of this community, and two champions of this other community and another champion of this place. There are individual champions and they do not necessarily talk to each other.’ She continued: These individual champions have particular interests and it is a very particular interest, [an] agenda. What Badan Warisan Malaysia is trying to do is not to have any individual interest. Melaka is our interest! The good of the built environment, the cultural heritage of Melaka, is our interest. It is not the interest of this church or this temple or this street or this group or this community. It is all the parts that make up the body: your eyes, your nose, your head, your organs, your liver, your heart, your fingers, your toes, the hair on your head, your teeth, your tongue. But our struggle with Melaka is that there are not many people with that world view.

This lack of a world view in Melaka that is lamented by Ms. Janice contrasts with what is seen as a more vibrant environment in George Town. The differentiation between Melaka and George Town in terms of local heritage activism was addressed by many of my interlocutors. Some would differentiate the two cities on the basis of intellectual capital. Most would

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agree on the presence of a more vibrant intellectual society in George Town. While this assertion is partially accepted by some Melakans, others would offer a counterpoint, that heritage advocacy in Melaka is, on the other hand, more ‘from the heart’ (dari hati). Scholars also draw clear distinctions between Melaka and George Town (e.g., Cheng, Li, and Ma 2014; Graezer Bideau and Kilani 2012). Some argue that ‘Melaka, dominated by federal and state apparatuses, is devoted to a museum-type conservation that aims to preserve orthodox history and built heritage,’ whereas ‘George Town, with its vibrant voluntary sector, has nurtured a heritage discourse in which the people, the buildings, and the space they have created, are deemed to be targets for conservation’ (Cheng, Li, and Ma 2014: 618-619). Similarly, Florence Graezer Bideau and Mondher Kilani (2012: 15) underline the ‘leading role’ played by the Penang Heritage Trust in George Town, compared to ‘Melaka, where the state took the lead’. Although there is not a movement like the Penang Heritage Trust in Melaka, there have been different campaigns related to the protection of urban heritage. Carolyn Cartier (1993; 1997; 1998) has described in depth the protests held against the development project of Bukit Cina in the 1980s. According to her, such opposition indicated the emergence of a strong preservation movement. Nonetheless, while the movement was successful in opposing the transformation of the hill into a residential and commercial area, it remained a specific issue-oriented campaign. At the end of the 1990s there was an attempt to create a similar NGO complementing the already existing models of Badan Warisan Malaysia and the Penang Heritage Trust. The Malacca Heritage Trust was formed at the end of the 1990s, and initially counted approximately 70 members. During my fieldwork, however, many of my interlocutors were not aware of it or thought that the group was no longer active. I met only two people who considered themselves to be ‘active’ members: its president and its vice-president. This is also why many of the external interlocutors who were connected to heritage management do not see the NGO as an active organization. Some would claim that it has never been so. In subsequent years, all other previous members or affiliates made the decision to distance themselves from the organization. The initial founding idea was to create a unified voluntary body representing Melaka as a locality. According to some former members, the aim was the establishment of an ‘inclusive’ organization with representatives from all the communities of Melaka. I was told that, similarly to other heritage-related associations, the group organized heritage tours and gatherings in order to raise public awareness. Meetings with educational purposes would, for example, present heritage items such as traditional clothes, food, and dances.

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According to one of the founding members, the Malacca Heritage Trust was meant as a local group representing the different communities of Melaka with local authorities and also with unscrupulous developers. As stated in a letter to the New Straits Times in October 2001, the group’s goal could be characterized as a ‘wish to appeal to the authorities to take heed of recent comments about the rapid deterioration of the historic core’.34 In particular, and contextualized to the period in which the letter was written, the group was denouncing demolitions of shophouses after the repeal of rent control (see Chapter 4), ‘poorly-designed renovations’, and the road closure during the weekends for Jonker Walk (see Chapter 5) – all projects ‘implemented with little consultation with the residents, shopkeepers and others’.35 Thus, the organization was publicly urging ‘the State Government to show its commitment to the conservation of the historical zone and other heritage sites by implementing a sound and transparent policy in co-operation with concerned citizens, businesses and other stakeholders’.36 Some of the so-called ‘champions’ mentioned by the spokesperson of Badan Warisan Malaysia were members and founders of this local heritage trust, but they left before I started my research. It is not clear whether a particular event contributed to the demise of this NGO. The most plausible reason highlighted in conversations with former members was the transition from an ‘inclusive’ to an ‘exclusive’ fellowship that privileged the expertise of architects. Thus, the founding spirit of inclusiveness among a different range of Melakans turned, perhaps, into a more ‘exclusive’ fraternity, ultimately hindering broad-based participation. Ironically, from the outside, the entity in question looked more like a sort of SONGO, a solo NGO, made up of one or two members. The NGO was a veritable technical advisory body, completely assimilated into the government machinery and the official management of heritage, lacking any meaningful connection with the grassroots. The Malacca Heritage Trust continued to be invited, occasionally, to meetings of the State Conservation Committee and the municipal Conservation Committee, along with Badan Warisan Malaysia. But engagement with inhabitants of the designated heritage areas became increasingly rare. Writing about George Town, Azeem Fazwam (2004: 17) notes that, while, on the one hand, the Penang Heritage Trust has succeeded in engaging with the local government in order to look more seriously into conservation issues, its relationship with the developers has, on the other hand, been 34 ‘Sound Policy Needed to Protect Malacca’s Historic Core’, New Straits Times, 8 October 2001. 35 Ibid. 36 Ibid.

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more troubled than might otherwise appear to be the case: ‘While the conservationist is trying hard to push for heritage protection, developers are up in arms over what they see as an attempt to throw a spinner in the development wheel’ (Azeem 2004: 17-18). This concern has been also raised by some of the non-state heritage-related actors in Melaka. In particular, I sometimes heard about intimidation experienced by people who have raised their voices, especially when they criticize development projects. Writing about the Bukit Cina issue in the 1980s, Carolyn Cartier (1997: 564), mentioned similar experiences, such as the one reported by an active member of the campaign, who had to leave the country and move to Australia. She also writes that, in the 1980s, research on or support for the preservation movement was considered ‘a crime against the state’ (Cartier 1997: 564). Many things have changed in the last three decades, although some of my interlocutors mentioned that there are still cases of intimidation from some developers and builders. The Melaka State Government is now more open and accustomed to heritage-related groups, and I did not personally observe any episode involving intimidation. Nonetheless, I was told that that it is better for heritage-related groups and actors to maintain a ‘low profile’, because it becomes more difficult when there are ‘enemies’. ‘If you speak too much,’ I was told by one of my interlocutors, ‘you can get into trouble!’ Moreover, the low profile is also seen as an advantage in maintaining a good relationship with the government. Although the role of these advocacy groups helps to create space for bottom-up interests otherwise neglected in the government machinery and development agendas, the Malacca Heritage Trust recently became a justification for the same local authorities to show that civil society was playing a role in the decision-making process. In the end, the NGO lost its connection with many of the actors at the grassroots, and it seems that attempts to revive it have a long way to go. Nevertheless, comparisons between Melaka and George Town based only on the role played by these two local heritage associations does not do justice to the wider and vibrant scenario, which includes numerous ethnic, religious, clan, and language associations (or persatuan). Too often it is assumed that heritage-advocacy groups is a prerogative of heritage experts (first and foremost architects, but also archaeologists, historians, and folklorists, among others). We forget that communal associations (be they ancestral, ethnic, or religious) have managed the ways in which material and immaterial heritage has been handed down, since long before the involvement of state actors and recognized experts in the conservation field. It is far from the aim of this research to consider the hundreds of associations and trusts representing

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each community, but these groups still play a significant and vibrant role in their respective heritage-related issues. Associationism on the basis of ethnic and religious lines is also dominant in the management of certain localities. Lack of activism in the form of groups like Badan Warisan Malaysia or Penang Heritage Trust does not mean that heritage enthusiasts and aficionados in Melaka are completely missing. Many other individuals, Melakans as well as new residents, have manifested their love for the past and history of the city. (That is why, throughout this book, I prefer to call them heritage aficionados, rather than activists.) The involvement of civil society in heritage-related issues is manifested in different forms. One of the latest expressions of this is the establishment of heritage groups on social media, via the Internet.37 Social networking platforms, such as Facebook, represent new relevant venues for discussion and debate. These technological tools also facilitate the creation of virtual communities that are not backed by existing social networks, such as NGOs or other non-profit organizations. This was the case during my fieldwork, when some of my interlocutors in Melaka established two Facebook groups directly connected to heritage matters: the Malaysian Heritage and History Club and Rakan Malacca (literally ‘Friends of Melaka’). To a large extent, the relative freedom in the creation of Facebook groups did compensate for the unwillingness of some individuals to create organizations according to the official standards (or the registration of societies) and the hesitation to be involved directly in activism. The two Facebook groups are different according to their respective outreach, but when they were created the earliest members included Melakabased or Melaka-related heritage aficionados and history lovers. The first group, the Malaysian Heritage and History Club, having as a target the entire country, has grown tremendously, reaching almost 10,000 members by the end of 2012 (and doubling that number by 2019). This group organized a series of monthly heritage talks in Melaka, inviting, on a voluntary basis, a diverse range of speakers, including locals as well as foreigners – many individuals who do not belong to an exclusive category of intellectuals and academics, also including ordinary representatives of local communities. The overall success and openness of the club attracted an extensive audience in the country as well as abroad, and after some months, members based in Kuala 37 Jun E-Tan and Zawawi Ibrahim (2008: 68) noted in their research focusing on the blogosphere, that the federal government has been ambivalent about freedom over the Internet; on the one hand the government wanted to show its openness in order to attract investment in the IT industry, on the other hand some circles are tending more towards censorship.

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Lumpur proposed the launch of a series of heritage talks in the capital as well.38 Conversely, Rakan Malacca was more localized in its outreach. The group focused on the discussion of issues primarily connected to the city itself, only organizing local tours and walks from time to time. Both Facebook groups were established with the central aim of having ‘fun’, but also ‘sharing’ among heritage aficionados and history lovers. Their most active members have, through the use of social media, managed to create a virtual community which, to a certain degree, facilitates the building of bridges between heritage experts and aficionados, offering a new platform for the organization of events and other initiatives. Mr. Christopher, one of the founding members of the Malaysian Heritage and History Club, often used the catchphrase ‘sharing is caring’ to emphasize the spirit of the group. This represents a sort of escape from the monopoly of history and heritage as defined by the so-called experts, such as academics and professional conservationists. ‘Now,’ as it is emphasized in their page description (a real manifesto), ‘everyone can share, debate and discuss our rich history and heritage.’ The general message of the group appeared to be in line with the Malaysian nation-building process: to ‘promote interethnic relations and forge greater national unity’. In the manifesto, another member’s statement is taken as symbolic of this choice: the group ‘is a place to escape the politics of Malaysia, to find comfort in what makes us Malaysians’. Such groups resemble a virtual and online version of Benedict Anderson’s (1983) ‘imagined communities’, based respectively on two localities, Malaysia and Melaka. Unlike the case of Malaysian blogs, as analysed by Jun E-Tan and Zawawi Ibrahim (2008: 81), which were more fragmented along ethnic and linguistic lines, or other new media used as a battle ground between pro-government and opposition messages (e.g., Ali and Mohd 2011: 16), the Facebook examples presented here seem to be more inclusive. Both groups do not encourage discussions of political and religious topics and avoid sensitive issues or provocative discussions. As such, conversations and 38 A few of the most active members of the Malaysian History and Heritage Club have established recently a project called Melaka in Fact which runs the cultural mapping of Melaka’s historic neighbourhoods (see https://melakainfact.com/, accessed 17 January 2020) with the support of federal agencies. They also organize talks related to the history and heritage of Melaka similar to those pioneered by the Malaysian History and Heritage Club. In 2019 Melaka in Fact had its f irst conference – held in Kuala Lumpur – called ‘Melaka in the Long 15th Century’ with the participation of several well-known academics from all over the world. Given its recent development, a deeper presentation of Melaka in Fact is not in this book, but it will be interesting to see what kind of connections with local communities or heritage-advocacy initiatives, if any, this project will inspire in the future.

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discussions on the group page are diplomatic, as one would expect, although the moderators keep an eye on comments that could be considered offensive and discriminatory. Often the most thorny discussions involve debates of a sort of ‘popiah argument’ – as one of my interlocutors colourfully depicted it – meaning intense exchanges of views on the origins and backgrounds of heritage items, as in the case of popiah (a kind of spring roll famous in Malaysia as well as in other countries in the region), and whether it was invented in Malaysia, China, Singapore, or Indonesia. Apart from these specific virtual communities, ordinary citizens also utilize other online platforms, blogs, and independent news sites to create public awareness about specific issues. In his study on the role played by the Internet in the middle-class suburban city of Subang Jaya (not far from Kuala Lumpur), John Postill (2011) proposes the idea of ‘Internet dramas’. He writes that, in one of these dramas, the case of a food court to be built on ‘land reserved for a police station’, the ‘crisis spread very rapidly, spilling over into the powerful fields of federal government and the national mass media through the deft use of a range of Internet and mobile technologies by an unprecedented alliance of residence groups’ (Postill 2011: 93, 99). Such Internet-based activism is, to a certain extent, alive in Melaka also. It shows how new media encourages and facilitates the spread of news throughout the country that otherwise would have been limited to their respective localities (see Chapter 6 and Chapter 7). In some other cases, Malaysian NGOs and other non-state groups use Internet-based petition platforms to spread awareness about certain issues to create public interest about specific local struggles. Nevertheless, local communities struggle to have a significant influence upon the complex management of urban heritage at the institutional level.

A Multilayered Heritage Haze In the perpetual pursuit of administrative rationality, throughout the globe, heritage management is adapted to localized separation of powers. This often leads to ‘bureaucratic fragmentation’, as in Quebec (see Handler 1988), or ‘centralized fragmentation’ as seen in Turkey (see Marquart 2015). Similarly, the management of urban heritage in Melaka (and Malaysia broadly) is characterized by a multilayered haze. There are many reasons for this haziness, partly connected to the division of powers set by the federal system. Scholars often underscore Malaysia’s highly centralized federalism and the disproportionate power wielded by

Figure 2.7 The main institutions managing urban heritage in Melaka and federal/state divisions of responsibilities

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the national government (e.g., Loh 2015: 72; Noore 2013: 41). This centralization, however, does not have to be taken for granted if we consider the framework and model of governance set by the Federal Constitution, as shown throughout this chapter. The National Heritage Act reaffirms the protection of heritage under the Concurrent List, but the management of urban heritage also involves decision-making on other matters that are redistributed at different levels and in divergent ways. On the Concurrent List, apart from heritage, federal and state authorities share powers regarding the agenda of town and country planning, which plays an important role for urban centres, perhaps more than for rural areas. Nevertheless, the federal level holds less power for matters placed on the State List, namely decision-making related to land use and local government. Thus, federal authorities need to negotiate first with local state governments on these issues. These negotiations can take time, and heritage items that need immediate intervention can be adversely affected by delays. (For example, this is what happened to the neglected ruins of Bastion Victoria, mentioned at the beginning of Chapter 1.) The management of urban heritage becomes more intricate when a site is inscribed as World Heritage because the relations between Malaysia and an international agency, such as UNESCO, involve the jurisdiction on foreign and external affairs. The latter fall under the Federal List and places the federal government in a role of mediation between the World Heritage system and the local authorities – the subject of the next chapter. There are, moreover, institutions with overlapping responsibilities at the different levels. For instance, the Department of National Heritage and the national Department of Museums are responsible for heritage and museums recognized at the federal level. When located in Melaka, these items also fall under the jurisdiction of PERZIM and the State Preservation and Conservation Committee. In the case of heritage buildings and sites located within the territory administered by the City Council, the Conservation Unit is also responsible. In the case of World Heritage sites, new institutions can be established, such as the Melaka World Heritage Office (see the next chapter). The Melaka World Heritage Office was a peculiar entity – it was a subsidiary of Chief Minister Incorporated (thus operating under the Melaka State Government), with jurisdiction only in the World Heritage site (that is, the territory of the City Council) – and it was expected to work closely with federal authorities and with its counterpart in Penang, the George Town World Heritage Incorporated. Overlapping responsibilities also exist at parallel hierarchical levels, between bureaus that have powers over heritage, museums, and the

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urban fabric. Buildings of historical importance at the federal level, for example, are affected by policies elaborated at multiple institutions, such as the Ministry of Tourism, Arts and Culture and the Ministry of Housing and Local Government, in conjunction with their relative departments. These nebulous boundaries also emerge at the local state and municipal levels. Ambiguous jurisdiction further complicates the management of the past and heritage, even within the same institution. The most interesting example provided in this chapter is the work of the federal Department of Museums and the Department of National Heritage. Such overlapping responsibilities and unclear boundaries are the result of changing institutional frameworks and laws. This is especially the case when the elaboration and the approval of new laws take too long. Often, by the time new laws have been passed, they already need to be revised. Furthermore, laws at the federal and local state levels are oftentimes discordant, and a harmonious management of heritage can be problematic. For example, in the 1980s Melaka’s Enactment 88 was considered an innovative law compared to the federal Antiquities Act, and it was also in line with international heritage regulations. Yet it was obsolete by the 2000s, if measured against the National Heritage Act. If the lists of national and local heritage items explored in this chapter contribute to this multilayered haze, in conjunction with the division of powers falling under federal, state, and concurrent lists, there is still another list to be added – the World Heritage List.

3

UNESCO and the City Abstract Chapter 3 focuses on the inscription process that brought Melaka onto the World Heritage List in 2008. By employing a long-term perspective, the account begins with the first attempts to nominate Melaka in the late 1980s. It took two decades to obtain World Heritage status. The main obstacle was not only related to Melaka’s worthiness, but the supposed lack of protective commitment shown by national authorities, together with policies that did not follow UNESCO-derived standards and guidelines. World Heritage inscriptions are not linear processes, but the result of convergences and shared understandings between international, national, and local actors. Similarly, the Outstanding Universal Value (OUV) that justifies inscriptions is not inherent to the site, but constructed along the way. Keywords: World Heritage inscriptions, Melaka and George Town, Malaysia as State Party, heritage experts, heritage diplomatic capital

Melaka and George Town became the first Malaysian cultural properties to be inscribed on the World Heritage list. Until 2008 Malaysia had managed to designate only two natural heritage sites, and both were not in peninsular Malaysia but on Borneo: the Gunung Mulu National Park and Kinabalu Park. A second cultural heritage site was inscribed in 2012, the Archaeological Heritage of the Lenggong Valley. Taking into consideration the fact that this site includes open-air archaeological excavations and caves from the Palaeolithic era, concentrated within the natural landscape along the Perak River, Melaka and George Town still represent the only cultural heritage locales in a living urban milieu. The process of World Heritage designation follows a specific transnational order of action. First, a ‘State Party’ – to use the nomenclature agreed upon by countries that have ratified the World Heritage Convention – must prepare an inventory known as a ‘Tentative List’ with sites that will possibly, in the

De Giosa, Pierpaolo, World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia: A Cityscape below the Winds. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2021 doi: 10.5117/9789463725026_ch03

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following five to ten years, be submitted for inscription. In this way, the State Party can decide to prepare a nomination file, or dossier, to be sent to the World Heritage Centre. The latter, with its headquarters in Paris, acts as the secretariat for all matters concerning the convention. Among its most important tasks, the World Heritage Centre organizes annual sessions of the World Heritage Committee and provides advice to the States Parties in the preparation of nominations. The World Heritage Centre also passes the nomination file to the advisory bodies: the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS), and the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), which are, respectively, responsible for the evaluation of cultural and natural heritage. After the evaluations, the advisory bodies recommend the inscription, non-inscription, referral, or deferral of the sites under examination.1 Together with the advisory bodies, the World Heritage Centre organizes international assistance through the World Heritage Fund and coordinates the reporting on the condition of World Heritage properties as well as emergency actions – when sites are considered under threat – through the World Heritage Centre/ICOMOS Joint Reactive Monitoring Missions. To be inscribed on the World Heritage List a nominated site must prove to be of Outstanding Universal Value (hereafter OUV) – or to be, in other words, exceptionally significant for all humanity – on the basis of at least one of the ten criteria, as explained in the Operational Guidelines: four criteria for natural sites and six criteria for cultural sites.2 1 Referral is recommended when minor additional information is required from the State Party, which can be submitted in a short period of time and does not require a new evaluation mission from the advisory bodies. A deferral indicates that a major revision is required from the State Party involving a new evaluation mission. Such decisions are meant by the advisory bodies to improve the nomination dossier as well as the implementation of conservation measures in the sites. They are ‘poisoned gifts’, according to Meskell (2012: 147), ‘a term that delegates and others used frequently throughout the meetings’. 2 The criteria for cultural heritage properties are: ‘(i) to represent a masterpiece of human creative genius; (ii) to exhibit an important interchange of human values, over a span of time or within a cultural area of the world, on developments in architecture or technology, monumental arts, town-planning or landscape design; (iii) to bear a unique or at least exceptional testimony to a cultural tradition or to a civilization which is living or which has disappeared; (iv) to be an outstanding example of a type of building, architectural or technological ensemble or landscape which illustrates (a) significant stage(s) in human history; (v) to be an outstanding example of a traditional human settlement, land-use, or sea-use which is representative of a culture (or cultures), or human interaction with the environment especially when it has become vulnerable under the impact of irreversible change; (vi) to be directly or tangibly associated with events or living traditions, with ideas, or with beliefs, with artistic and literary works of outstanding universal significance.’ See http://whc.unesco.org/en/criteria/ (accessed 12 July 2014).

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The final decision-making body responsible for implementation of the convention, the inscription of sites, measures to be taken for inscribed sites, and the allocations of the World Heritage Fund is the World Heritage Committee. This body is composed of 21 States Parties elected in a biannual General Assembly that sit in the World Heritage Committee for six years. (Since 2009 they have decided voluntarily to reduce the term to four years.) Final decisions, such as those concerning inscriptions, are taken at the yearly sessions of the committee. Once a site is inscribed, the States Parties need to prepare additional documents, the so-called Periodic Reporting. If it is required by the World Heritage Committee, they may also be asked to prepare other kinds of reports, which are called ‘state of conservation reports’ (otherwise, SOC reports). The committee might decide to place a site on the List of World Heritage in Danger when a site is considered to be under threat. Those sites risk removal from the World Heritage List when the OUV is not maintained. The recent transition to online divulgation of documents and global access to live streaming of the World Heritage Committee sessions shows the intent of UNESCO (the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) to appear more transparent. Studies of inscription processes are often based on the analysis of these documents.3 Many other stories are, however, veiled behind paperwork on which the World Heritage system is based. By contextualizing the nomination process that brought Melaka and George Town into the World Heritage List in a long-term perspective running from the 1980s, this chapter tries to explore the hidden stories of this inscription, those that are often obscured on paper. Perhaps there are more stories and a less linear narrative that a mere analysis of documents would persuade us to believe. For Melaka and George Town, the nomination process between the inclusion on the Tentative List (2001) and inscription (2008) went through three stages, and states, of World Heritage-making in which different actors played a role in the World Heritage designation – between and beyond the formal UNESCO/State Party circuit. These three stages correspond to particular moments (and circumstances) of the inscription process through different assemblages of institutions, organizations, and individuals. Initially, on the one hand, a global call for the participation and involvement of local actors resulted in a hybrid state of nomination: a convergence of different 3 Meskell and Brumann (2015: 27) observe that ‘the degree to which these documents are the results of endless revisions and compromises, at the cost of coherence and consistency, seems to be underestimated by many observers’.

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actors from UNESCO-related bodies, national to local governments, and civil society. The intergovernmental nature of UNESCO (Meskell and Brumann 2015: 26), however, gave rise to a State Party of inscription, characterized by the centralization of the nomination back into the hands of the federal government. On the other hand, the third stage that I will present – the negeri of conservation – sheds light upon a tension at the subnational level, between the two state governments of Melaka and Penang.

Tentative Steps: World Heritage Ambitions The inscription of a site into the World Heritage List is a significant achievement for most nations. Once inscribed, a site allows the entire country to enjoy a place on the World Heritage map, and to reach major global visibility, which helps to attract tourists and to boost the economy. In an agency like UNESCO, which mirrors the United Nations’ body in making the countries signatory to the World Heritage Convention, nation-states remain the most important players, and they often use nominations for their own agendas (Askew 2010: 22-23). In a federal system such as the Malaysian one, the approval of the federal government, represented in Paris by the diplomatic body NatCom (National Commission for UNESCO), to initiate a nomination process is a necessary precondition. World Heritage ambitions from local authorities or communities alone are not enough. In relation to the narrative of Malaysian officialdom shaped around Melaka in the 1980s, it is not surprising that the city arose as the first site to embody the World Heritage ambitions of the country. At the local level, these ambitions emerged with enthusiasm in 1987 during an international convention on the Declaration of Malacca as a Historic City, which attracted 200 participants, including academics. The then Chief Minister, Rahim T ­ hamby Chik, was pushing towards the recognition of Melaka as a Bandaraya Bersejarah (literally ‘Historic City’), to recalling the bygone history of the state. 4 After two years, in 1989, Melaka was officially recognized 4 ‘Konvensyen Antarabangsa Melaka Silam’, Berita Harian, 14 April 1987. The convention identified four factors supporting this recognition: ‘a) The status and grandeur of Malacca in the past as a government, a city, a port, a centre of trade and Islamic expansion; the growth of culture and as an Empire. b) special status of Malacca as a pioneer of the Malay Sultanate, a rich collection of national and international heritage and property and the place where the independence of Malaysia was declared. c) Malacca has been an international focal point for several centuries as well as its contribution towards enhancing Malaysian image internationally. d) Its continuous history which began in the early 15th century till today’ (Malaysia 1988: 29).

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by the federal government as a Bandaraya Bersejarah. The New Straits Times’s edition of Times Two reported that the status ‘not only endorses the fact that Malacca is indeed the oldest state in the country but opens up a whole new future for the state in the international arena’, as the city was ‘now qualified to be included in the World Heritage List’.5 In 1988 Malaysia ratif ied the World Heritage Convention and became a State Party, a position that gave the country the right to identify properties to be considered for inscription. Scholars report that, before 2008, there had been two attempts to nominate Melaka – one in the late 1980s and one in the 1990s – and that both failed or resulted in rejection (e.g., Cartier 1993, 1997: 555; Jenkins 2008: 140; King 2016b: 159; King and Hitchcock 2014: 43; Worden 2001: 216, 2003: 39). Two primary reasons behind the rejection are highlighted: the destruction of the waterfront and the strong emphasis on the Malay element, with the consequent neglect of other ethnic groups. It is not explained, however, how this rejection occurred. Some have conf irmed that local heritage experts were already talking about eventual inscriptions, something reiterated by many of my interlocutors. There were persistent claims of a submission, but I cannot f ind any evidence of an off icial nomination process. This, however, does not mean that the State Party did not try to establish contacts with UNESCO bodies. Indeed, in 1988, the federal government prepared a nomination document – called the ‘Nomination of Malacca Township by the Government of Malaysia: For Inclusion in the World Heritage List’ – which conf irmed the importance of Melaka as the f irst choice for the nomination by the State Party. Moreover, Malaysia obtained international assistance from the World Heritage Fund to prepare a workshop to select cultural properties for nomination.6 If all the preconditions for a nomination were in place, what went wrong? And why was Melaka rejected at that time, but then inscribed later, when even greater development of the waterfront was allowed? The literature has, in my opinion, neglected two relevant conditions. First, the case for Melakan urban heritage on the list was strong, but the commitment shown by national and local authorities in protecting the site was questioned by international experts. According to some of them at that time, Melaka was not ready for inscription. A former advisor for the UNESCO Asia/Pacific 5 ‘Status Boosts City’s Valuable Heritage’, New Straits Times’ Times Two, 15 April 1989. 6 The World Heritage Fund is meant to support States Parties that request international assistance. The fund includes compulsory and voluntary support from States Parties and private donors. See http://whc.unesco.org/en/world-heritage-fund (accessed 10 July 2015).

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Office in Bangkok commented in the following way in a document presented to him: It was back in the early 1990s. Basically […] it did not have OUV for one thing, because it was trying to tell us the story of a Straits Settlement, but could not tell the story completely. There were missing pieces of the story and that was horribly managed already by that time. There was no protection legislation and so I said: ‘Go back to work!’

Thus, the State Party was not showing enough commitment to heritage conservation in the form of policies, and there was a lack of coordination between federal and local state authorities. Furthermore, according to the expert, the story told was not ‘pluralistic’ enough and it did not reflect the multicultural history of the city. The State Party needed to readjust its strategy in line with a more cosmopolitan vision, which was subsequently pursued by UNESCO-related bodies, and to increase the participation of NGOs and local communities as well. Second, a look at the 1988 nomination f ile suggests that, apart from these different perspectives, there were also practical problems with the documentation, in particular, in the part concerning the criteria for the nomination according to the Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention.7 The document did not follow the latest guidelines, using instead those revised before the 1980s. This might seem a rather superficial reason for not designating Melaka, but nominations are only taken into consideration when they are complete and follow the correct and up-to-date guidelines and formats. (As I will show, problems with the format persisted into the 2000s.) The rejection of Melaka before 2008 seems to be a myth because the State Party never initialized an official nomination process, which starts with the preparation of a Tentative List (see also Amran and Rosli 2006: 7). This is the precondition for a place to be taken into consideration for the World Heritage status. Ambition alone is not enough. Yet, on the ground, many people do not understand this complex process. I was told by an official from the Department of National Heritage that ‘even now there are a lot of people who say: “We are in the process of getting into World Heritage!” But,’ 7 The Operational Guidelines prescribe the format and content to be followed in the nomination process, including the related preparation of documents. These guidelines (including the criteria for inscription) have been revised from time to time by the World Heritage Committee in order to reflect new developments.

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as she continued, ‘if they do not come to us, how can they be in the process?’ She argued that ‘there is a lot of desire: it is more a desire by [particular] groups to make [a place] World Heritage, but does not reach the level of implementation.’ Most of my interlocutors confirmed that since the ratification of the convention, the absence of a Malaysian World Heritage site – especially a cultural one – was frustrating the federal government. In 1998 the then Minister of Education, Najib Razak, stated that ‘despite having been a member for about ten years, we presented no nominations for listing, and remain the only country in the Asia Pacific region to do so’.8

The Hybrid State of Nomination As we have seen, until the 1990s, neither local efforts towards a global recognition, nor the federal insistence on Melaka’s nomination as the focal point of the Malaysian nation-building narrative succeeded. This process was revitalized at the end of the 1990s, but Melaka’s fate was tied to the interest of another Malaysian city. By then, the Penang State Government ‘became more committed to the concept of conservation’ and contemplated the nomination of George Town for inclusion into the World Heritage List (Jenkins 2008: 138). In 1998 the State Party obtained international assistance from the World Heritage Fund in order to organize a seminar on the implementation of the World Heritage Convention in Malaysia. During the seminar the historic cities of Melaka and George Town were selected as the two cultural sites to be included, separately, in the Tentative List. Subsequently, the federal government decided to propose them as a serial nomination.9 In what I call ‘the hybrid state of nomination’, I tell the story of how this serial nomination along the Straits of Malacca emerged. The hybrid character of this bid arose because of the convergence of numerous individuals, bureaus, and civil society organizations who shared a common interest in this nomination. At a supra-national level, the role played by the UNESCO regional office in Bangkok was crucial. At the national and subnational levels, both federal government and heritage-related institutions, 8 ‘Seven Places Identified for World Heritage List’, New Straits Times, 28 July 1998. 9 A serial nomination refers to two or more sites that are proposed as a single property. There are two kinds of serial nominated properties: serial national properties from a single State Party and serial transnational (also called transboundary) properties shared by two or more States Parties.

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together with the state governments of Melaka and Penang, readjusted their stands in the name of a common goal. Local advocacy groups and other transnational organizations also became involved in the process.10 The alignment of the federal government with new interests emerging in the World Heritage arena – the conservation of Asian urban heritage, the interest in multi-ethnic and multi-religious heritage, and the involvement of local communities – enabled the preparation of a nomination that turned out to be successful. The idea of a joint nomination is attributed by many to international experts associated with the UNESCO regional office in Bangkok. One such figure is Mr. Mark. Mr. Mark is an American in his 60s with a background in Southeast Asian archaeology and history. As a UNESCO advisor he is an expert on many countries in the region as well as on Asia and the Pacific in general. He has worked at universities, especially in Asia. When I met him, he was using a walking stick because of a recent injury. I was told that he had fallen down on slippery ground during one of his visits to an archaeological site. Mr. Mark has been a central figure in the UNESCO regional office based in Bangkok. He was already retired when I met him but – as he told me – he was still a UNESCO World Heritage mentor, meaning that countries all over the region continued to look to him for advice on heritage-related matters. As such, he was very busy travelling for his consulting trips. There were multiple reasons to combine the bid of Melaka and George Town. It was acknowledged how, until then, that the heritage environs of George Town were vaster than the heritage area previously identified by the authorities in Melaka (see Jenkins 2008: 139). Conversely, at that moment, it seemed that the heritage conservation framework in George Town was less developed than that in Melaka (Jenkins 2008: 139). The addition of George Town to the previous attempts by the federal government for the nomination of Melaka as a World Heritage site was seen generally as a strategy to ‘strengthen the Malaysian bid’ (Khoo 2012: 23). The idea of jointly nominating these two cities was a kind of political act as well. According to Mr. Mark, who was familiar with some of the Malaysian political issues involved, it would 10 The convergence of different actors, groups, and institutions did not appear out of the blue. Previous collaborations between national and local authorities and NGOs or Malaysian universities anticipated this new interest in the inscription process. Examples include the projects carried out by Badan Warisan Malaysia and by Universiti Teknologi Malaysia in 1994, the first being the Melaka Heritage Area Plan for Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock and Jalan Hang Jebat/Jalan Gelanggang, and the latter named Development Plan for Conservation in the Historic City of Melaka. Nevertheless, during the period described in this subsection, an intensification of this convergence between the global and the local arose substantially.

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have been more difficult to convince the federal government to shift the priority to George Town without forgetting the long-standing emphasis on Melaka. I was told that ‘if you try to force the federal government to choose between Penang and Melaka, they will choose Melaka!’ This negotiation resulted in bringing together non-state actors and local authorities. In 1999, a conference was organized by the UNESCO Asia/Pacific Office together with the state governments of Melaka and Penang. The conference, entitled ‘The Economics of Heritage: A UNESCO Conference/Workshop on the Adaptive Reuse of Historic Properties in Asia and the Pacific’, was held in both cities. It was on that occasion that the intention for a serial nomination was officially expressed.11 This turning point needs to be contextualized within the wider context transpiring at a supra-national level. Notably, the figure of Mr. Mark and his career with UNESCO embodies the restructuring going on in the World Heritage arena during the 1990s. After positions at other United Nationsrelated bodies, he began work at the UNESCO Office in Bangkok, just as the so-called Global Strategy for a Representative, Balanced and Credible World Heritage List was launched. Those reforms were partly a reaction to critiques of Eurocentrism as well as a List still dominated by European countries (Brumann 2012a: 3-4; Brumann and Berliner 2016: 10-11; Meskell and Brumann 2015: 26). The Global Strategy was not only the result of criticism of the over-representation on the List of monumental heritage. It also pointed out that a great majority of World Heritage sites were concentrated in Europe, and in general, connected to Christianity.12 The Global Strategy had some effects in Asia and the Pacific region. According to a former UNESCO regional advisor, this new approach encouraged the regional office to look at the gaps of heritage conservation in the Asian context. ‘The gaps in Asia were very much in historic cities,’ he said. Thus, at that moment State Parties were encouraged to focus on the conservation of historic cities. Melaka and George Town represented an interesting case in historical terms for Asian urban heritage, because of their past as British Straits Settlements and port cities. Initially, the idea was to extend the serial nomination to other historic cities along the Straits of Malacca. The first logical option would have been the inclusion of Singapore as the third of the former Straits Settlements, but at that time the city-state was not yet a signatory to the 11 ‘States Seek World Heritage Listing’, The Star, 11 May 1999. See also Jenkins 2008: 140; Khoo 2012: 23. 12 For a more accurate study of the Global Strategy and the reforms generated, see Brumann 2014: 2180-2181; Meskell 2013: 486; Meskell and Brumann 2015: 26.

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World Heritage Convention. There was also the prospect of extending the nomination to sites in neighbouring countries (see also Jenkins 2008: 145). A local bureaucrat told me that potential places included Phuket City, for its architectural similarities to Melaka and George Town, and historic city centres on Sumatra, such as Jambi, Palembang, or Medan, because they shared historical connections with the Melakan past. Earlier, for Melaka, it seems there were also other kinds of prospects for transboundary nominations such as, for example, with ‘Dutch sister cities’ in the Indian Ocean: Galle in Sri Lanka and Kochi in India.13 Nevertheless, the focus on the past of port cities was still considered weak, especially because of the decline of Melaka as a port and its ongoing land reclamation at the seafront. Furthermore, according to Western experts, an emphasis on the co-existence of ethnic and religious communities was still lacking at the official level. A ‘pluralistic story’ needed to be highlighted. According to Mr. Mark, for example, each city was focusing on a particular ethnic group, which neglected the rich diversity of both places: some of the experts in George Town were focusing only on Chinese communities, whereas the Melakan team still emphasized the pre-eminence of Malays. ‘If you do not tell a pluralistic story, you are not going to ever get a World Heritage nomination!’ he added. It is in this context that both cities tried to involve the different local communities in retelling such a ‘pluralistic story’. The Penang Heritage Trust, through the financial support of the Japan Foundation (Jenkins 2008: 144), launched the ‘Penang Story’, which resulted in colloquia and a final international conference in 2002, where different speakers – locals and foreigners, academics and non-academics – presented the disparate ethnic and religious groups living in George Town. A similar format was followed by the Melaka State Government, which organized, via the Melaka Museum Corporation (PERZIM), the colloquia of the ‘Melaka Story’ between 2003 and 2006. In this case, the participants were mainly representatives of local communities and academics from Malaysian universities. The book of the colloquia includes papers on the Malay, Chinese (Hokkien, Cantonese, Hainanese, Hakka, and Teo Chew), and Indian communities, as well as the Baba Nyonya, the Chetti, the Eurasians (primarily Portuguese, but also the Dutch descendants), and the Orang Asli, the ‘indigenous people’ of peninsular Malaysia (see PERZIM 2006). The other trajectory undertaken in that period by the UNESCO Asia/ Pacific Office was the effort towards the involvement of non-state actors: 13 ‘Malacca, Georgetown Hope for World Heritage Listing’, New Straits Times, 10 May 1999.

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the public in general, through the empowerment of local communities and civil society at large, and the private sector. Following this new wave, a network called LEAP (Integrated Community Development and Cultural Heritage Site Preservation through Local Effort in Asia and the Pacific, shortened as ‘Local Effort Asia and Pacif ic’) was established. Projects under LEAP have been carried out since 1996 thanks to an initial grant to UNESCO by the government of the Netherlands. The aim of this network was to empower local communities in heritage conservation as well as ‘in the development of culture tourism-related industries that can alleviate poverty, finance the conservation of local heritage on which tourism is based, and enhance living conditions’.14 Starting with a series of conferences – the first in Bangkok in 1997 – LEAP pilot projects were identified in cities such as Lijiang, Luang Prabang, Hoi An, and Vigan. As the former regional advisor reminded me: There were heritage cities that were not yet on the World Heritage List. […] But, hey, it is too difficult: they are living cities! So we put together a network of these cities and started to do projects for them. Some of the projects had to do with capacity building for government officials so that they have people in their local governments to do conservation planning. […] So it will take the urban planners, give them some conservation training, things like that. Others were focused more on the NGOs, advocacy groups. Others were focused more directly on the education system, really depending on where the point of entry could be in each of these places.

Melaka soon joined this network. After hosting the conference on the ‘Economics of Heritage’, the local state government decided to take part in the LEAP programme. Local bureaus took part in a project called ‘Culture Heritage Management and Tourism: Models for Co-operation among Stakeholders’. In this fourphase project, implemented between 1999 and 2003, Melaka and Levuka were the only two non-inscribed cities among other World Heritage sites: Bhaktapur as part of Kathmandu Valley World Heritage site, Hoi An, Kandy, Levuka, Lijiang, Luang Prabang, and Vigan. One of the most important workshops, in which state and non-state actors met to implement the project, was organized in Lijiang in October 2001. On that occasion, every site had to present implementation reports on four models for the development of 14 http://cms2.unescobkk.org/index.php?id=1328 (accessed 24 July 2014).

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a general formula for stakeholders’ cooperation.15 The result of the Lijiang workshop was a reformulated action plan for the Melakan pilot site, with the aim of strengthening the cooperation among stakeholders towards a sustainable tourism industry, which emphasized places of harmonious coexistence between different ethnic groups. The last model was taken into account especially, and in the reformulated plan to be implemented for Melaka, the work team specified the intention to increase the role of civil society; such is the case of NGOs like the young Malacca Heritage Trust as well as the various ethnic and religious communities living in the recognized heritage areas. As mentioned in Chapter 2, international experts believed that Melaka needed a heritage-advocacy body similar to the Penang Heritage Trust if the government wanted to have it on the World Heritage List.16 In a regional context, the convergence of international, national, and local actors resulted in the growth of networks between cities and heritage-related professionals and bureaucrats. Furthermore, the gap on the World Heritage List with regards to historic cities in the region had been filled. ‘The historic towns of Asia are now well represented on the List,’ Mr. Mark said, ‘rather than not there at all. For the strategy in that sense, we could say we are successful.’ This was despite, according to him, there were more successful stories such as Vigan, while other cities were still behind. Nevertheless, I was told by different interlocutors that the symbiosis between local authorities, heritage experts, and conservationists was often hostile from the beginning. Several interlocutors also communicated to me encounters that can be depicted as not so harmonious. One of them recalled friction in one of the LEAP workshops. Some of the conservationists were of the opinion that the authorities were doing nothing to prevent the demolition of historical shophouses downtown (see Chapter 4). I was told that the mayor almost left the workshop after some of them posted pictures of demolished buildings on a wall, and that other people had to convince him to stay. The 15 http://www.unescobkk.org/culture/wh/culture-heritage-management-and-tourism-modelsfor-co-operation-among-stakeholders/lijiang-models-for-cooperation-among-stakeholders/ (accessed 24 July 2014). 16 Similar suggestions came from a study prepared by the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA). In particular, the study was aiming at the formulation of a pilot plan for the sustainable management of urban heritage and tourism, increasing the participation of the local community in the planning process. JICA also organized two workshops and a final focus group discussion with local stakeholders. It was recommended to continue this form of public participation after this study was conducted (JICA 2002: 34). The Japanese agency noted that ‘local leadership and grass-root organization’ was lacking, and suggested the need for a ‘local resident association’ (JICA 2002: 12, 24).

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views of local authorities and international experts were also incompatible in other circumstances. Some local bureaucrats described the comments and criticism given by Western experts as too ‘harsh’ and ‘not insightful’. Similarly, in another story that I was told, national experts had to mediate in the interaction between local politicians and foreign experts. When the politicians’ behaviour was considered a bit rough, national experts had to explain that, according to stereotypes, Melakan ways of interaction are considered ‘rough’ (kasar), even during friendly encounters.17 Such on the ground friction must have been more intense at this stage of the nomination process. I was told by a local bureaucrat that the consultancy of foreign experts – usually described as orang putih (literally ‘white people’) – was valued but if too critical, it represented a double-edged sword. I heard that, in the eventuality of a failure in the nomination process, politicians would have been ready to blame the orang putih (or a generalized West), who were ostensibly acting towards Malaysia in unsympathetic ways. As we will see, things were tempered with the centralization of the nomination process in the hands of federal bureaus and with the appointment of individuals who were able to mediate the friction in this global/local nexus. The hybrid state of the nomination described here was, nevertheless, successful and resulted in the first step towards inscription. Melaka and George Town were finally included on the Tentative List in February 2001.

The State Party of Inscription The adjustments towards the nomination seemed in line with the standards set by the World Heritage system, but further changes were necessary for a successful inscription. The name of the site was changed from the ‘Historic Centres of Melaka and Penang’, as it first appeared on the Tentative List, to ‘The Straits Settlements of Melaka and Penang’ in the first nomination dossier. The latter was also divided into two parts, one for each city, under the titles ‘Historic Port Settlement of Melaka’ and ‘Historic Island Port Settlement of Penang’. At this stage the preparation of the nomination of Melaka and George Town (and its relative dossiers) was still bifurcated. 17 It follows a local cliché that depicts Melakans as straightforward people who like to communicate in kasar (or kasau, Melakan slang for ‘rough’) ways. Many interlocutors reminded me of people who, on meeting after a long time apart, swear at each other in a good-natured way. Despite the use of harsh language, such encounters are considered friendly, although non-Melakans might think otherwise. According to the cliché, Melakans are also generally seen as outspoken but kind (baik hati, literally ‘good-hearted’) people.

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The respective state governments were working in different ways, and the first nomination dossiers were prepared independently. The Penang State Government initially appointed a French expert connected to ICOMOS, independent architects as consultants, and later on, NGOs such as the Penang Heritage Trust. Gwynn Jenkins (2008: 141) – at that time working for an architect’s studio – was also involved. By contrast, the Melaka State Government appointed mainly local bureaucrats under the supervision of PERZIM, and engaged academics from Malaysian universities as consultants. This bifurcated nomination continued to encounter problems until 2005, and I was told by one of the contributors of the first dossier that the World Heritage Centre even returned it to the State Party because it did not satisfy the requirements for the preparation of serial nomination files. According to the same contributor, there were many discrepancies between the Melaka and George Town sections, including presumed bureaucratic shortcomings. The Melakan team followed the old format of the Operational Guidelines whereas the Penang team had adopted the up-to-date format. I was told that the dossier was signed by the two state chief ministers, but not by the State Party. This led to the most important change in the World Heritage system, which requires improvements towards the coordination of federal and local state bureaus, with the State Party as the primary authority vis-à-vis UNESCO-related bodies. The centralization of the process into the hands of the State Party was actualized when the National Heritage Act was passed and with the consequent establishment of the Department of National Heritage. As I mentioned previously, the law did not only introduce concepts more in line with UNESCO-related documents, but it also led to the appointment of high officials with outstanding academic careers and cosmopolitan backgrounds, who played a crucial role in the future direction of the nomination. A regional UNESCO advisor described one of these figures as ‘the very best person in all Malaysia’ for this task. In addition to her illustrious career, he emphasized the fact that she was the right person to guide the process because ‘she combined in herself all of Malaysia’s heritage’. According to him, because of her multi-ethnic background and connections, she was able to pursue the kind of ‘pluralistic narrative’ suitable for UNESCO’s interest in cultural diversity. The establishment of the Department of National Heritage was crucial in the nomination process because it brought the preparation of the dossier back to the federal level, or pusat (literally ‘centre’), as it was referred to in many interviews. This institution was identified as the legitimate representative of

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the State Party for the nomination process. This centralization was depicted with the following words by Ms. Faridah, an official from the Department of National Heritage: They [Melaka and George Town] did it [the nomination] on their own. So, they faced problems where they were not aware of changes. There was no guidance. There was no help. That continued for about five, six years. They wanted to go independently. […] So, all that because there was no centre, pusat. There was no body that was in charge of it. So, with the establishment of the Department of National Heritage in 2006, after the act was passed at the end of the year 2005, we took the rules seriously. So, that was when we organized, we paid for it, we made sure it went through all the stages. It was our baby!

With the identification of this ‘centre’ for the nomination process all the other actors involved in the preparation of the first dossier, especially nonstate actors, were replaced by a new team that reworked the dossier for both cities. Some of the former non-state actors from George Town, I was told, started to perceive the nomination process as a sort of ‘mystery’. Others complained when they saw that their names were not acknowledged in the final dossier. I was told by one of these interlocutors that this omission was explained to them as the result of the fact that the file was subjected to many revisions. The new nomination team appointed under the supervision of the Department of National Heritage was formed by academics from Malaysian universities. In a way, this group of experts represented a sort of ‘rescue team’ which tried to integrate the previous work. The new team consisted primarily of professors from departments of architecture, urban planning, history, and archaeology. According to their different professional backgrounds, they were all considered heritage experts who had, in the past, worked occasionally as consultants or officials for federal or local state bureaus and projects. For the preparation of the dossier they met at weekends in Kuala Lumpur, trying to reassemble the material already accumulated previously by the teams in Melaka and George Town. Particular attention was given to the new format and guidelines for the inclusion in the World Heritage List. Each member contributed to the final file according to their expertise: the one who was a specialist on tourism focused on tourism management and worked on related issues, the historian revised the historical narrative, and the relevant specialists for matters concerning urban planning and architectural conservation. In what was depicted as ‘tedious’ work, the

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two local state governments of Melaka and Penang rendered assistance where it was needed. In the approximately 500 pages constituting the final dossier, the inscription was justified by the State Party on the basis of three criteria: [Criteria ii:] ‘represent exceptional examples of multi-cultural trading towns in East and Southeast Asia, forged from the mercantile and civilization exchanges of Malay, Chinese, Indian and European cultures’; [Criteria iii:] ‘are living testimony to the multi-cultural heritage and tradition of Asia, where the greatest religions, and cultures met. The coexistence of distinct faiths – both tangible and intangible – in particular the different religious buildings, is a testament to the religious pluralism of Asia’; [Criteria iv:] ‘reflect the coming together of cultural elements from elsewhere in the Malay Archipelago and from India and China with those of Europe to create a unique architecture, culture and townscape without parallel anywhere in the East and Southeast Asia. In particular a range and exceptional architecture of shophouses and townhouses.’ (Malaysia 2008)

This second version of the dossier was submitted to the World Heritage Centre in January 2007, and the mission visit from ICOMOS was officially received in both cities the following August. According to an interlocutor working at that time for the Department of National Heritage, the appointment of the ICOMOS representative (an Asian professor of architecture who was familiar with Malaysia) was quite felicitous because he did not give the impression of being antagonistic towards urban development. This evaluator was considered to be more open-minded than other foreign experts, who were perceived as holding more strict views regarding new development projects. After the technical evaluation mission, ICOMOS sent a request to the State Party for additional information in order to ‘further justify the selection of Melaka and George Town within the wider area of Malacca Straits’, ‘deepen the comparative analysis to include other colonial towns in the wider region’, ‘provide further information on the integrated management system for both cities’, and ‘a timeframe for the adoption and implementation of the management plan’.18 This additional material was sent back to ICOMOS in February 2008. The State Party extended the comparative analysis from 18 http://whc.unesco.org/archive/2008/whc08-32com-inf8B1e.pdf (accessed 11 June 2013).

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cities such as Macau, Galle, and Hoi An (as in the initial dossier) to other Asian sites inscribed on the World Heritage List, such as Vigan and other colonial towns in South America, including São Luís, Colonia del Sacramento, and Santo Domingo. The colonial link seems to have been a crucial addition to the dossier. Melaka and George Town were presented as ‘excellent examples of historical colonial towns’, former ‘trading ports linking the East and West’ (Malaysia 2008: 14). Reference to the colonialists was not missing in the old nomination file of 1988 – also European legacies were not neglected since many colonial monuments were already gazetted under the Antiquities Act – but this aspect was downplayed in comparison with the glorious sultanate of Melaka. ICOMOS’s calls for further comparisons with other colonial towns suggest that international experts were interested in a stronger emphasis of the colonial past as part of the pluralistic history along the Straits of Malacca. In its evaluation, ICOMOS recommended that the dossier be referred back to the State Party in order to: ‘set up a management group or body for ensuring the co-ordinated management of the two cities’, ‘revise the boundaries of the buffer zone in Melaka in order to include the conservation area of Bukit China’, as well as ‘the name of the property to be changed to “Melaka and George Town, Historic Cities of the Straits of Malacca”’.19 Furthermore, in order to improve the conservation of the sites, ICOMOS recommended a comprehensive conservation plan which would take into account adequate conservation and intervention measures for the urban and architectural heritage of both cities, together with further efforts to decrease motor traffic and to control the side effects of tourism. The evaluation was examined in 2008 at the session of the World Heritage Committee in Quebec City. Representatives of both local state governments were present, including the then chief minister and the mayor of Melaka. The World Heritage Committee decided to inscribe the property, overruling the recommendation of referral advanced by ICOMOS. Members of the World Heritage Committee noted that the site met OUV criteria, indicating that the problems highlighted by ICOMOS were only minor (such as those of the names or the boundaries of the site) and that the recommendations 19 According to a local heritage official, two requests were highly recommended by the ICOMOS evaluator after the visit in 2007. The evaluator was probably aware of the development plans of Bukit Cina back in the 1980s. As he told me, during the technical evaluation mission the ICOMOS expert visited the Poh San Teng Temple at the foot of Bukit Cina and he very likely noticed in the main hall the newspapers’ articles on the past struggle against the development of the hill. For a full description of ICOMOS recommendations, see http://whc.unesco.org/archive/2008/ whc08-32com-inf8B1e.pdf (accessed 11 June 2013).

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could be addressed quickly after inscription. During the discussion, the delegation from Malaysia explained that a management committee was set up and that the names and boundaries had been revised.20 ‘Melaka and George Town, Historic Cities of the Straits of Malacca’ (the updated name) was finally inscribed on the List with three conditions. The State Party was asked to submit a conservation plan along with its implementation agenda, to work towards a reduction of motor traffic and to improve the monitoring indicators for the ‘architectural heritage components’.21 This inscription shows how States Parties and the World Heritage Committee have the final say in the World Heritage arena and that the expert advisory bodies have limited powers. Moreover, there has been an ‘erosion of authority’ (Meskell 2012: 145; 2013: 486) experienced by the advisory bodies at later sessions, and they are often ‘overruled’ (Brumann 2014: 2184) by the committee and the agendas of the States Parties. Lynn Meskell and Christoph Brumann (2015: 34-35) note this trend when the World Heritage Committee decides to inscribe most of the sites that the advisory bodies suggested for referral or even deferral, and to refer or defer sites considered unworthy of inscription. The centralization of the nomination process in the hands of the Department of National Heritage solved the disjunction of the serial property with two different teams, and consequently a bifurcated dossier. The appointment and consultation of particular individuals has also been critical in guiding the nomination to satisfy the demands of UNESCO-related bodies and actors. This second state of the nomination opened up a new phase of involvement and commitment in the World Heritage arena from the State Party itself, as well as the related individual actors. International experts highlight the fact that inscriptions are often given to encourage governments to improve the management of sites, but also because sites are inscribed by judging the seriousness of the States Parties about safeguarding heritage. According to Mr. Mark, there was a perception that ‘Malaysia was overall serious about heritage conservation and this would hopefully spread through the arm of the federal government’. The inscription, however, did not bring to an end the need for mediation between the State Party and UNESCO. I will come back to this point in the last section of this chapter, but first I will introduce a further stage in the inscription process, the one connected to the two local state governments. Antagonism at the subnational level and the politicization 20 For further details on the debates at the session, see the draft summary record of the meeting: http://whc.unesco.org/archive/2008/whc08-32COM-summary.pdf (accessed 23 June 2013). 21 http://whc.unesco.org/archive/2008/whc08-32com-24reve.pdf (accessed 23 June 2013).

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Figure 3.1 The certificate of inscription

Author’s photo, 2013

of heritage affairs into a rivalry between the two main political coalitions in the country contested the unity of the serial nomination.

The Negeri of Conservation Some of my interlocutors referred to the joint inscription of Melaka and George Town as a marriage. If it was so, it resembled a marriage of convenience. Internal frictions between parties and different agendas have the potential to jeopardize nominations and inscription processes. For example,

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through the study of a failed attempt to nominate the city of Agadez in Niger, Marko Scholze (2008: 229) writes that the ‘global recognition of Agadez as a world cultural heritage site remains momentarily arrested in local and national politics’. He showed how the lobbying of different actors affected the nomination process in what amounted to a national competition between Agadez and another town in the south of the country, Zinder. Although this example does not deal with a serial nomination, it shows how ‘regionalism’ can prevail over international projects and that UNESCO-related bodies wrongly presuppose national unity without being suff iciently aware of internal divisions (Scholze 2008: 227-228). Conflicts and competition are also highlighted by Berardino Palumbo (2006) in a study of the nomination process of a region labelled ‘Late Baroque Towns of the Val di Noto (South-Eastern Sicily)’ in Italy, especially those between different political actors and heritage-related agencies from the sites included in this serial nomination and those excluded (including other baroque towns). The serial nomination joining Melaka and George Town proposed at the UNESCO level, and welcomed by the federal government and heritage-related NGOs, required a high level of commitment and cooperation between the two administrative bodies managing the sites. It is important to note that a serial property is evaluated and monitored as a single site: a threat to the OUV in Melaka would also be considered for George Town, and vice versa. How does the World Heritage inscription work when we leave the realm of the ‘centre’ (pusat) and we look to the two local states (negeri)? The serial nomination was arranged by the federal government under the auspices of the UNESCO Asia/Pacific Office, but the association of these two former Straits Settlements has never been an easy one. Inscription divorce threats have characterized political disputes between the two local state governments. There are three aspects that have shaped this marriage of convenience. First, the Melaka State Government has been considered opportunistic by some foreign experts, and many still consider Melaka the weak sister of the serial nomination. Mr. Mark, for example, was clear about this: ‘Penang drove the joint nomination’ and Melaka was inscribed ‘on the strength of Penang conservation’. He highlighted the hope that the spirit of conservation would have prevailed in Melaka, following the example of George Town. Second, as we will see, in regards to politics at the national level, criticism has been raised about the imbalanced treatment between the two cities. Third, the cooperation between the respective local governments was hindered in the same year of the inscription when the coalition

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opposing Barisan Nasional (the National Front) won the Penang state elections. There is a clear and common perception among heritage experts I spoke to about Melaka’s authorities: the latter were, according to them, not committed to the conservation of heritage. They firmly believed that when the Melaka State Government had been involved in the projects linking UNESCO bodies, the State Party, heritage advocacy groups and individuals, it was generally because the inscription had the potential to foster other projects, especially those related to the promotion of tourism. For a well-known international expert, for example, there was no ‘seriousness about maintaining heritage values in Melaka. The reason I have not been back to Melaka is because I think it is a lost cause!’ The desire to be inscribed at the negeri level solely for tourism was, according to the expert, very clear, especially when Melaka left the LEAP network. He continued: Melaka actually dropped out of the network before they were inscribed on the World Heritage List. Penang stepped in. As far as my perception is: the Melaka State Government has only one use of heritage and that is to attract Singaporean tourists. There is no other purpose for heritage, and this is why it makes perfectly good sense to surround heritage in a shopping mall or – if you can – to make replicas of the heritage and put them in a shopping mall.

He strongly believed that Melaka was ‘at great risk of being taken, chopped off from the World Heritage site or property’. After leaving the LEAP network, and especially after the inscription, the marriage between Melaka and George Town was already coming to an impasse. It deteriorated especially after the elections of March 2008: a ‘political tsunami’, as it is often described in Malaysian mass media (see also Khoo 2012: 24). For the first time in history, the opposition defeated Barisan Nasional in the state of Penang. Curiously, the new Chief Minister, Lim Guan Eng, from DAP (the Democratic Action Party), had special connections with Melaka: he was a former student of Malacca High School who served as member of the Malaysian Parliament for Kota Melaka from 1986 until 1999, in addition to being married to a Melakan DAP politician. Since then, at both negeri levels, heritage affairs have been highly politicized in a dispute between the respective governments of Melaka and Penang. The election of a DAP candidate in Penang did not affect the inscription in 2008, but the harmonization of the two heritage cities has since then been captured in never-ending political contention between Barisan Nasional and the opposition.

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From the George Town side, the different treatment of the two World Heritage cities has been highlighted. In particular, the Penang State Government emphasized how financial support from the federal level has advantaged Melaka, and discriminated against George Town, because of the electoral support given to the opposition. Chief Minister Lim Guan Eng complained about the broken promises of the then Prime Minister, Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, after his 2009 Budget Speech, which promised to allocate 50 million ringgit (more than US$12 million) for the conservation of both cities.22 As also noted by Khoo Salma Nasution (2012: 27), the ‘promised allocation became a bone of contention between the under-financed opposition state government and the federal government’. This dispute was related to the fact that, of this 50 million ringgit, 30 were given to the Melaka State Government via the Department of National Heritage, and 20 to the Penang State Government through Khazanah Nasional, the Government of Malaysia’s strategic investment fund. The fund for George Town had to be administered through Think City, which was established in 2009 as a subsidiary of Khazanah, a special project vehicle for the protection and development of living heritage. Although the politicization of this allocation does not help to explain the real partition of this fund, an interlocutor from the Department of National Heritage has confirmed that ‘the money was not given to either state: Melaka did not get the money in their hands, [and] neither [did] Penang [get] the money in their hands’. At the time of this interview, in September 2013, this interlocutor also reminded me that that fund was almost depleted, and that: For Melaka – it was given to us to manage, for George Town – it was given to Khazanah to manage. […] We had spent very carefully on these two cities because we have to make sure what they spent on will not be detrimental to the status. If they decide to spend it on something that will affect the OUV, then it will not be good for the State Party. As we are the State Party, we have to monitor [the situation] to make sure that whatever development takes place, it will not affect the OUV.

22 The allocation was meant ‘to support preservation initiatives, the Government will provide an allocation of RM50 million for conservation works of heritage sites in Malacca and Penang, to support activities undertaken by non-governmental organisations (NGOs) and [the] private sector’ (see http://www.malaysianbar.org.my/speeches/full_text_of_pms_budget_speech.html, accessed 10 June 2014).

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According to a bureaucrat working for PERZIM, the allocation of the money for George Town through a federal body was a semi-legitimate procedure since the Barisan Nasional-led national government would hesitate to give money directly to the opposition. Threats of divorce in this marriage of convenience for the World Heritage recognition came, however, just a few months after inscription from the Melakan side when the then Chief Minister, Ali Rustam, accused his colleague in Penang of jeopardizing the World Heritage status, with the consequent risk of being put on the List of World Heritage in Danger. The contention was related to four hotel development projects in George Town, which exceeded the height limit of 18 metres. Informed by mass media reports in November 2008, the World Heritage Centre requested details from the State Party. The State Party sent the World Heritage Centre a report in February 2009, including the Heritage Impact Assessment (hereafter HIA) of two of these projects.23 The approvals were issued before the inscription by the municipal authority, and as such, the George Town development projects did not conform to the Guidelines for Conservation Areas and Historic Buildings annexed to the nomination dossier submitted in January 2007. It seems that the ICOMOS evaluation mission was not aware of these development projects. In April 2009 the State Party received a World Heritage Centre/ICOMOS Joint Reactive Monitoring Mission. The latter noted that the lack of information on the four development projects and the discrepancy between the set of regulations contained in the nomination file and the approvals granted by the City authorities (and the new provisions allowing exceptions to the eighteen metres height limit) were explained to the mission as a misunderstanding of the procedures of the World Heritage Convention. (ICOMOS and World Heritage Centre 2009)

In concluding, the ICOMOS and World Heritage Centre report made it clear that, as ‘potential threats’ to the OUV, these four projects might have justified the inscription of the property on the List of World Heritage in Danger (ibid.). At the session of Sevilla in 2009, however, the World Heritage Committee decided not to endorse this decision because the State Party managed to stop the projects and to follow the recommendations of the monitoring mission.24 23 For more details about the preparation of Heritage Impact Assessments, see Chapter 4. 24 See http://whc.unesco.org/archive/2009/whc09-33com-20e.pdf (accessed 25 July 2013).

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Elections in the state of Penang, however, revealed how political friction between the then ruling coalition and opposition challenged the serial nomination. ‘If Penang wants to go ahead with the project’, Melaka’s Chief Minister Ali Rustam said at a seminar on national history, ‘then we will ask to be divorced from Penang. We will ask UNESCO if it is possible for Malacca to be awarded the status on our own merit.’25 Conversely, Lim Guan Eng replied that the guidelines followed under his administration were the same guidelines adopted by the previous Barisan Nasional-led Penang State Government. Lim Guan Eng also reminded critics of the fact that the four hotels ‘are only 84.4m at the highest’, adding that ‘with friends like these, you do not need enemies. Maybe he [Mohd Ali] should explain to us about Malacca’s 110m Taming Sari project, which is just next to the A Famosa gate. “How is it that you can have your over-100m tower?”’26 Melaka has been always described as the weak sister, but surprisingly, as we have seen, the threat of becoming a World Heritage in Danger site came in 2009 from developments in George Town. On that occasion, the representative of ICOMOS, and one from the World Heritage Centre, carrying out the monitoring mission only visited George Town. Other meetings were held in Kuala Lumpur with the representatives of the Melaka State Government. Interestingly, the Taming Sari Tower did not seem to compromise the inscription process. Despite the fact that the project brought public objections, this issue never reached UNESCO headquarters. This rotating tower was proposed in the years immediately preceding the inscription. Back in 2005, the original site for construction was adjacent to the Stadthuys, in what was going to be the core of the World Heritage property. In response to the initial criticism of this state-led project, Ali Rustam replied with the vision of a heritage-to-be, suggesting that the tower itself would become heritage in 20 years’ time. He was hoping UNESCO would be flexible in considering this development because the tower was anticipated to be a future ‘historical structure’, one which would attract tourists. He also emphasized his intention to have a red-painted tower in order to match the historical buildings in the surroundings.27 This project was announced in the same year the first nomination file was submitted. Concerns about the tower were raised by a different range 25 ‘Malacca Seeks for a “Divorce”’, The Star, 28 November 2008. 26 ‘Guan Eng Slams Ali over “Divorce”’, The Star, 30 November 2008. 27 ‘Malacca CM: Tower Project Will Not Affect Heritage Site Bid’, New Straits Times, 30 March 2005.

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Figure 3.2 The Taming Sari Tower

Author’s photo, 2012

of actors: from the national museums and antiquities authorities to civil society groups, heritage experts, and aficionados. Since 2004, Badan Warisan Malaysia expressed concerns about the intention to build the tower in an area that was going to be listed as World Heritage (see Badan Warisan Malaysia 2006). Fear of a tower jeopardizing the bid to UNESCO was also expressed by the other side of the serial nomination. The Penang Heritage Trust, for example, proposed a hot-air or helium balloon such as the one at Angkor Wat, instead of a tower (Penang Heritage Trust 2007: 12). The Taming Sari Tower story is connected to another figure of Melakan heritage affairs, whom I will call Mr. Farish, a Malaysian professor of urban planning and conservation who was one of the experts on the team that finalized the nomination dossier. Having focused his research on Melaka’s urban heritage for more than 20 years, he took this city genuinely to heart. When, during the nomination process – according to his account – there were some voices who suggested focusing on the inscription of George Town, setting aside the apparently more troubled Melaka, he objected,

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saying that he was there ‘only for Melaka!’ Mr. Farish is a true heritage lover. In our conversations, he came across as a spiritual heritage warrior. He told me that he tries never to give up easily in the battle against ‘the people without otak’ (literally ‘brain’), those who do not respect heritage. He belonged to ‘the people who can cry for tangible heritage’, if in danger. When reminded of the failed attempt to prepare the dossier in the early 2000s, which was a costly endeavour, he said: ‘Why do you have to pay, if there are people who can do it for free?’ He was clearly referring to himself. Once, in jest, he told me that if I went to the Taming Sari Tower or the mall in Dataran Pahlawan, he would never speak to me again: these two places he could not accept people visiting. Mr. Farish told his version of the tower story, during which time he was involved as a consultant along with a colleague from Japan. This was during the nomination process. Mr. Farish was brought into the picture because of his expertise in urban planning and long-term experience at ICOMOS. According to Mr. Farish, a representative of the Melaka State Government bluntly asked the Japanese expert how great the possibility was for Melaka to become a World Heritage site if the tower were built. Mr. Farish told me that the two of them spent an entire night writing a letter in order to convince the chief minister to stop the construction of the tower. Mr. Farish was trying to find plausible and practical reasons to suggest another location away from the proposed World Heritage site. According to him, a tower just above the central heritage core was a bad idea. Passengers on the top would have missed the heritage landscape at the foot of the tower. He suggested moving it to the reclaimed land area so that the tower would have been visible from the Straits of Malacca, becoming a symbol and a new landmark for the glory of the city. Many of those opposing the project considered the discovery of Bastion Middleburg ruins during the initial excavations to lay the foundations of the tower to be a blessing. The discovery provided impetus to convince local authorities to find another location. Archaeological excavations were carried out at the site between 2006 and 2008. This part of the fort was restored and reconstructed following accurate archaeological and archival research, under the control of the Department of National Heritage. I was told by an official from the department that the discovery and the decision to change the site for the rotating tower prevented possible complications for the inscription process. She said: We told them to move it, and we reconstructed Bastion Middleburg based on very strong data that we had. Without the data I will not move it

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upwards. I am an archaeologist. I would not do such a thing, but because we had very strong data we were able to do that. We used old maps, we used old plans, we used photographs, we used documents, we used books by the Dutch.

The reconstruction work was carried out with the assistance of Malaysian experts as well as Portuguese and Dutch scholars. Some were not completely satisfied with the new location of the Taming Sari Tower, since it was still seen as encroaching on the heritage area. Nevertheless, the final site was not going to affect the inscription. Negotiations between the local state and other actors at the national and supra-national level did not come to an end with the inscription. Some other projects have been subjected to control from federal bureaus. Furthermore, as we will see in the next section, additional regulations and implementations have been required by UNESCO-related bodies.

Learning in the World Heritage Arena Mr. Farish once told me that, after inscription, ‘the Melaka State Government is not only responsible to the federal government, but to the entire world, too’. But who is really responsible? This chapter shows that nominations and inscriptions are not linear processes. They are the result of convergences and understandings between international, national, and local actors. These processes are often characterized by misunderstandings as well as competition. Furthermore, while UNESCO-related bodies push towards the involvement of local communities and their participation, the World Heritage system is still based on the centralization of control in the hands of national authorities. Christoph Brumann (2015) shows this contradiction vividly, arguing that it is rather a community of diplomats and ambassadors that represent their countries in the World Heritage arena who exert the greatest control. This not only points to the exclusion of local communities, but also of local politicians and experts. In fact, apart from the World Heritage session in Quebec City, representatives of Melakan authorities did not join the State Party at any other sessions after the inscription. The World Heritage designation has finalized their direct involvement at a global scale. From that point on, the State Party, represented by NatCom diplomats and high officials from the Department of National Heritage, was formally responsible for the site. Even those who prepared the dossier never participated in the sessions, except for

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those working at the department. In concluding this chapter, I would like to advance a further reflection on the experiences of national experts in making and keeping World Heritage. First, national experts and officials representing the State Party needed to show that Malaysia was firmly committed to the World Heritage Convention. After the session in Quebec City, they continued to mediate between the World Heritage arena and the World Heritage site at other sessions. Since 2008, the State Party carried out a series of reporting and monitoring exercises (see Figure 3.3) and submitted three SOC reports (in 2009, 2011, and 2013), as requested by the World Heritage Committee.28 These reports were produced in order to update the World Heritage Centre, ICOMOS, and the World Heritage Committee about developments adopted in order to comply with their recommendations and decisions. The case presented earlier about the four hotels planned in George Town constituted the main conservation issue examined in the report of 2009. The joint reactive monitoring mission by the World Heritage Centre and ICOMOS realized, on the one hand, the legal structural limits for the federal government (and consequently the State Party) in interfering with local states’ matters. But, on the other hand, both the World Heritage Centre and ICOMOS acknowledged the State Party’s ‘spirit of genuine cooperation and positive attitude’, concluding that these issues were basically the result of a ‘lack of experience in the procedures of the World Heritage Convention (George Town and Melaka being the first cultural property inscribed by the State Party), rather than from lack of commitment’ (ICOMOS and World Heritage Centre 2009). After all, it was the same State Party that invited the reactive monitoring mission. The State Party needed to fulfil other requests to show the commitment of the country. In particular, federal authorities needed to show that they were in control of conservation planning in both cities. The State Party had to provide a comprehensive Conservation Management Plan 28 It also included the periodic reporting for the application of the World Heritage Convention. The approach adopted in this exercise is regional (in this case the Asia and the Pacif ic region) and it follows a six-year cycle. This system also aims at strengthening regional cooperation between State Parties and among World Heritage sites. Since inscription, Melaka and George Town have been assessed in the periodic reporting for Asia and the Pacif ic at the World Heritage Committee session in St. Petersburg. For more details on the issues of the SOC report of 2013, see also Chapter 4. The World Heritage Centre and the respective advisory body (in this case, ICOMOS) review the SOC reports and present them with a draft decision to the next World Heritage Committee session for analysis and f inal pronouncement.

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and Special Area Plans, which were submitted in 2011. In this process, the officials in charge needed to introduce new tools and policies, such as the HIA, to be carried out in the property and the buffer zones, as well as the two special purpose vehicles, which are known as World Heritage Offices in the respective cities. George Town World Heritage Incorporated was established in April 2010. The Melaka World Heritage Office was founded in December 2011. The establishment of these bodies confirms the ‘rise of new institutions that accompanies World Heritage status’ (Brumann and Berliner 2016: 24) as testified in many other locales around the globe. Nevertheless, the experiences of these two institutions differ, showing that even in the same country it is difficult to apply homogenous models. (And even among the heritage experts I have met there was disagreement; some of them thought that such Western models would not have worked in an Asian country.) While the World Heritage Office of George Town continues to be active, its counterpart in Melaka was closed down in 2016 when the local state administration decided that its duties could be carried out by the municipal Conservation Unit. All these actions involved negotiations between international institutions and local authorities. The national experts and officials involved described all these adjustments as a source of ‘headache’. They always referred to the massive efforts needed for the preparation of SOC reports and conservation management plans in terms of time, costs, and personnel. For example, it took almost three years after inscription (and four years after the evaluation mission in 2007) to officially identify the inscribed site for the Melakan side. Only at the World Heritage Committee session of 2011 were the proposed amendments to the boundary of the inscribed area in Melaka evaluated. Thirteen changes were proposed in the Conservation Management Plan: six in the property and seven in the buffer zone (see Malaysia 2011).29 According to many interlocutors, the State Party was successful in proving its commitment. Evidence, for them, was the election of Malaysia as a member of the World Heritage Committee in 2011. In addition to the headache resulting from the reporting and monitoring, there is also room for learning and familiarization with the World Heritage arena. Two of my interlocutors have referred to their experience at the 29 The majority of these boundaries’ changes were due to previous cadastral inaccuracies. Finally, the World Heritage property and its buffer zone were extended from the 172.65 hectares (as proposed in the nomination dossier) to 288.10 hectares. The two major changes were in the buffer zone with the inclusion of Bukit Cina and the estuary of the Melaka River in the buffer zone. The 1-kilometre extension in funnel shape over the Melaka River mouth was supposed to avoid further reclamation of land.

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World Heritage Committee sessions as a learning process.30 According to Ms. Faridah, for example, ‘it has been a learning experience and, at the same time, a sharing experience. Learning about heritage conservation on a global scale is very fascinating’, she added. Another Malaysian figure in the World Heritage arena, whom I will call Mr. Osman, who has represented the State Party at a couple of World Heritage Committee sessions, told me: ‘Everybody is learning; even though I have the knowledge, but I am still learning.’ He was one of the academics who prepared the final nomination dossier. Nevertheless, he did not join the World Heritage Committee sessions in this capacity, but, rather, because he was at that time a high official at the Department of National Heritage. This learning process is directly connected to the familiarization with a more pragmatic approach to World Heritage matters such as, for example, how to prepare a successful nomination dossier which can effectively go through the evaluation process without problems with the advisory bodies. Most of the time, as Mr. Osman told me, the fewer the OUV criteria the better; and the smaller the nominated site the better. After doing all this exercise, after attending the World Heritage Committee for the past two years we came to the conclusion […] that we do not need to have many criteria. You have one, no problem! You can only have two, no problem! […] It does not mean the more criteria you have, the better the chance. […] But the more criteria you have, the more you have to take care of these criteria.

He concluded by saying that ‘as far as UNESCO is concerned, when you say that you have three criteria, they will assess all these criteria’. Furthermore, as the experience of Melaka suggests, the OUV is not inherent to the site but constructed during the process, and it is also subjective. For some experts this city had this value, for others it never had it, and according to others it has been lost. Apart from the learning experience in the World Heritage arena, high officials at the Department of National Heritage have accumulated the sort of heritage diplomatic capital that helped them to enhance their bargaining power over local authorities and politicians in the management of World 30 It should also be remembered that the figures presented here are individuals appointed as representatives of the State Party because they are considered heritage and conservation experts. In this sense, they differ from the ‘permanent delegates’ and diplomats that take part in the World Heritage arena (Brumann 2012a: 5; 2014: 2185-2188).

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Heritage. This is an interesting consequence of the inscription because these heritage experts do not have the same power when they hold their usual positions as academics but, once they represent the State Party and federal authorities, local politicians can be more accommodating. Moreover, as representatives of the federal government, they also have more bargaining power than the bureaucrats at the local state and municipal levels. The case of Bastion Victoria (Chapter 1) and that of Bastion Middleburg and the Taming Sari Tower are examples of the increasing influence of the department in decision-making that would otherwise have been in the hands of local state governments. The introduction of the HIA has allowed heritage experts to influence construction approvals within the World Heritage site. Another project which was halted was a tram line announced in 2010. The project was supposed to cover approximately 40 kilometres from Ayer Keroh to downtown Melaka. A local architect with a background in conservation was appointed as consultant in order to prepare the HIA report. The Department of National Heritage also looked for advice from international experts. MRails International, the company in charge of the construction of the tram line, was finally asked to look for an alternative route in order to avoid the World Heritage site. Some tram stops in the initial plan were located in front of the Stadthuys, near the replica of the Flor de la Mar, at Dataran Pahlawan, and Bukit Cina. As with the Taming Sari Tower, the case of the aborted tram line shows that not all the local issues reach the global stage of the World Heritage Committee sessions, but a series of individual transnational actors continue to interact on the ground. Some of the projects that would have violated the guidelines, especially those concerning the height of new buildings, have been negotiated in other ways. High officials at the Department of National Heritage also use other tactics in order to influence local politicians. A particular example was recalled during an interview with Mr. Osman. It is about a phone call from the chief minister to the Department of National Heritage involving the construction of a government complex at the mouth of the Melaka River. According to him, the chief minister personally called the department in order to ask whether they were allowed to build a complex with a height of more than 27 metres. Mr. Osman replied that being in the buffer zone the new buildings should not exceed the height of 12 metres, and that otherwise the project should have followed the Operational Guidelines.31 He told the 31 For more details on height restrictions, see the next chapter. Paragraph 172 states that the ‘World Heritage Committee invites the States Parties to the Convention to inform the Committee,

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chief minister that if he wanted to build a complex exceeding the height limits, the State Party needed to inform the World Heritage-related bodies and wait until the next World Heritage Committee session. Mr. Osman remembered that it was December when he received the call, and he told the chief minister that he needed to wait until July, seven months later, ‘to get clearance from UNESCO’. This would have meant losing time for the project, thus the chief minister had to change his mind. Mr. Osman told me that he received a call from a bureaucrat in the municipal Conservation Unit the next day, who thanked him because he managed to convince the chief minister. This bureaucrat told him that the unit tried to advise the chief minister on the height limits many times, but he never listened to them. While I cannot say whether the chief minister knew the height limits or the real consequences of going through the Operational Guidelines, this example shows that the new international rules contributed further nebulosity to the multilayered heritage haze. In this case, Mr. Osman used this nebulosity in order to overrule a powerful decision-maker such as the chief minister himself. He told me: ‘I said, “I don’t care, these are the rules that you already sent to UNESCO – 40 feet and it is in the buffer zone!” Now you see it is lower, they are following this [height limit]. The keyword is educating.’ How much influence can these actors and the new regulations have at the local level? Thus far we have seen how negotiations between federal and local state levels have, for example, prevented controversial plans such as the construction of the Taming Sari Tower in the World Heritage property from reaching the World Heritage arena. But are the expectations of international and national experts actually realized in the World Heritage site? I have explored the major features and directions of Melaka’s heritage affairs, also in relation to the long-term World Heritage inscription process. I am now going to zoom – in the following chapters – into the World Heritage site, or what can be referred to as Melakan World Heritage on the ground.

through the Secretariat, of their intention to undertake or to authorize in an area protected under the Convention major restorations or new constructions which may affect the Outstanding Universal Value of the property. Notice should be given as soon as possible (for instance, before drafting basic documents for specific projects) and before making any decisions that would be difficult to reverse, so that the Committee may assist in seeking appropriate solutions to ensure that the Outstanding Universal Value of the property is fully preserved.’ See http://whc.unesco. org/en/guidelines/ (accessed 12 June 2015).

Figure 3.3 Issues concerning the Historic Cities of the Straits of Malacca at the World Heritage Committee sessions

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4

Melakan Row Houses from the Ground Up Abstract Chapter 4 deals with the old townhouses and shophouses of Melaka’s World Heritage site. It first traces the reasons for their decline in the post-war period. Things started to change in the 1990s with the repeal of rent control. This period coincided with the revaluation of these buildings as heritage and economic assets, but not without side effects, such as illegal demolitions, the displacement of residents, and tourism gentrification. The authorities have always been reluctant to interfere with private property, but during the application for the World Heritage inscription they were forced to step in with stricter conservation rules. Instead of a homogeneous approach, this chapter displays the diversity of discourses and practices of conservation as encountered on the ground. Keywords: vernacular architecture, shophouses and townhouses, tourism gentrification, urban heritage, approaches to conservation

Vernacular architecture, particularly in the form of shophouses and townhouses, played a crucial role in the justification of criterion iv for inclusion on the World Heritage List. While the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) noted that similar buildings are present in other Asian countries, the justification was considered pertinent because Melaka and George Town displayed a number of different architectural types from distinct periods. Furthermore, ICOMOS pointed out that ‘they are also preserved in great numbers, forming large coherent areas, and still keep their functions, which make them an outstanding example of an architectural ensemble’.1

1

http://whc.unesco.org/archive/2008/whc08-32com-inf8B1e.pdf (accessed 11 June 2013).

De Giosa, Pierpaolo, World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia: A Cityscape below the Winds. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2021 doi: 10.5117/9789463725026_ch04

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Figure 4.1 Row houses in Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock, Heeren Street

Author’s photo, 2011

Shophouses and townhouses – mostly two-storey – form the silhouette of Melaka’s World Heritage site. A familiar part of the urban fabric all over Southeast Asia (especially in port cities), there are hundreds of such buildings in Melaka (from the pre-war period as well as the post-war one). Approximately 600 historical buildings located in the site are mentioned in the nomination dossier (see Malaysia 2008: 32), but many more are located outside it. At the beginning of the 1990s, as specified in an inventory, there were a total of 2177 buildings recognized as ‘historical’ (built before 1948) in the state of Melaka, 10.5 per cent of Malaysian historic buildings (Idid 1995). Taking into consideration that the majority of them are concentrated downtown and that they are mostly shophouses and townhouses, it does not seem unfair to say that they predominate Melaka’s urban heritage: rows of shophouses and townhouses make up a congruent – but not homogeneous – urban fabric, sometimes interrupted by a mansion, a place of worship, or more recent structures. Khoo Salma Nasution (2012: 31) writes that ‘[t]he shophouse typically refers to its dual function as a place of residence and trade, although the term shophouse is also generically applied to all prewar terrace “dwelling houses”’ or townhouses. In emic terms, people usually refer to both buildings as rumah kedai, two words that literally mean ‘house’ and ‘shop’,

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respectively.2 I will refer to both shophouses and townhouses as ‘row houses’ in order to emphasize their construction in rows, side by side and often joined by common walls. This neutral name will be also more pragmatic here because it does not fix the current use of a building, also in regard to the original purposes at the time it was built. The uses of these buildings have changed throughout time, and continue to change. To state the matter differently, my use of ‘row houses’ is not an emic one, but, rather, a neutral one, which I adopt in this chapter to deal with buildings that can combine both residential and commercial uses. These buildings are the most common architectural heritage form to be found in the World Heritage site, but they are privately owned heritage, in distinction to state-owned monuments. In fact, only 2.7 per cent of the property ownership in the World Heritage property is under government control. The remaining 97.3 per cent is private (Malaysia 2008: 154). Yet, unlike the recognition given to state-owned monuments in the civic area, the row houses have been neglected or ignored in the politics of heritage matters since independence. Many were also left in a state of decline. Only in the 1990s did the appreciation of this form of vernacular architecture begin to emerge. Until the nomination process was commenced, these buildings were also subject to rent control regulations. But, with the World Heritage bid, they have been gradually revalued as economic assets. Here I would like to explore this double process of revaluation – as economic assets and as heritage – by focusing on the interactions between different actors as well as between people and buildings. I will start by providing a brief socio-historical and architectural background, which will hopefully provide some familiarity with this architectural form. I will then trace the primary reasons behind the gradual process of decline that has affected these old row houses in the post-war period. Finally, I will present the rise of a more detailed conservation framework for the World Heritage site with regard to these specific buildings. I argue that, although these policies attempt to refine – and to some extent homogenize – the conservation of the row houses, there are multiple perspectives that shape the diversity of approaches to heritage along the old row houses of downtown Melaka: from disinterested landlords who demolish a building or parts of it overnight, to those who feel a strong emotional attachment to this kind of 2 Similarly, in Indonesian it is translated as ruko, from rumah (‘house’) and toko (‘shop’). Others suggest that the term ‘shophouse’ might be a translation of the Mandarin dian wu (‘shop’ and ‘house’, respectively), for instance (e.g., Yeoh 2010: 708; Lim 1993: 48) or from the Hokkien tiam chu (Lim 1993: 48).

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heritage. In addition, while the World Heritage nomination process laid the foundation for these new and stricter conservation policies, some critical developments have shaped the social life of these buildings, especially in the World Heritage site, which has gone through a process of tourism gentrification and ‘over-commercialization’, as the most vocal of heritage experts and aficionados would argue. Before and after inscription, there have been tensions between different actors: international ones connected to the World Heritage system; national and local state actors, bureaus, and bureaucrats; heritage NGOs, experts, and aficionados; and last but not least, landlords and tenants.

Row Houses of Old Melaka: A Background Most of the literature on this particular form of vernacular architecture is based on the cases of Singapore and George Town, with a dominant focus on the shophouse (e.g., Davison 2010; Fels 1994; Lim 1993; Tjoa-Bonatz 1998). This explains why it is often emphasized as an ideal type as systematized by the British and the Chinese settlers since the nineteenth century, but not the Dutch influence that preceded the British in Melaka. While it is not my aim here to engage in a debate on ‘the invention tradition’ (see Hobsbawm 1983), it is relevant to introduce discourses revolving around the origins of these row houses. The old row houses of Melaka are usually identified as ‘Chinese’. This is due to the fact that these buildings constitute the bulk of the historic urban fabric and that, as in most Malaysian urban areas, the majority of the population is categorized as Chinese. Nonetheless, perceptions can differ case by case on the ground. One of my interlocutors, a conservation architect, described the buildings as Chinese in form. On the other hand, a heritage aficionado affiliated with an NGO said that they were mainly a legacy of the Dutch and the British. Discourses on the genesis of this vernacular architecture also abound in scholarly literature. There are generally two perspectives. Many trace its origin to the Chinese courtyard house (e.g., Davison 2010; Knapp 2010, 2013; Kohl 1984). But there are also those who suggest that the form emerged with the Dutch colonial planning, first in Melaka and Batavia, and subsequently applied all over the region, and as far north as the treaty ports in China and Taiwan (e.g., Lim 1993; Viaro 1992).3 3 Cartier (2001) also recounts the influence of Straits Chinese architecture in the planning of Xiamen since the 1920s.

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I do not see particular benefits in discussing whether such vernacular architecture has been imported from China to Southeast Asia or vice versa in a region that has been cosmopolitan long before the arrival of Europeans. In the end, most scholars, from both perspectives, arrive at hybrid descriptions: Straits Eclectic (e.g., Jenkins 2008: 55; Knapp 2013; Tjoa-Bonatz 1998: 129; Widodo 2004: 117), Chinese Baroque (e.g., Davison 2010: 106; Yeoh 2010: 708), Chinese Rococo (e.g., Lim 1993: 66), Tropical Art Deco (e.g., Davison 2010: 146), Anglo-Asian (e.g., Lim 1993: 48), Anglo-Chinese (e.g., Yeoh 2010: 708), or Sino-Anglo-Indian (e.g., Jenkins 2008: 55). Hence, I share the idea that the shophouse – and in general the vernacular terrace house structure of the row houses – represent ‘an explicit example of early globalization in the field of architecture’ and of hybridization as stated by Peter Nas (1998: 350). The emergence of these buildings in Melaka can be traced back to the Portuguese and the Dutch periods, when a shift from atap houses (thatched with nypa palms)4 to houses with new and more permanent materials occurred. This shift also facilitated the construction of buildings in rows. Many new houses have been built since the destruction inflicted by the Dutch. After their conquest, Governor Balthasar Bort reported that there were 583 atap houses against 137 made of bricks (and fourteen brick-and-tile houses belonging to the Dutch East India Company) (in Bremner and Blagden 1927: 39-41). He encouraged the construction of brick houses, and an earlier layout of row houses appeared along the newly established Heerenstraat and Jonkerstraat. These two wards were initially inhabited by a majority of Dutch burghers and other Europeans, but segregation was not all-encompassing, since there were also several Malays, Chinese, Moors, Keling, or Buginese households present (see Nordin 2007: 203). The area was inhabited by the wealthiest people, thus, social stratification seemed to be the primary relevant aspect. But there were also slaves in the wealthy households (see Bremner and Blagden 1927: 39-41), mainly from insular Southeast Asia, who would follow their masters, a different pattern from the slaves of the Dutch East India Company, who were kept in the Slavenburgh, inside the fort. The introduction of more permanent materials, such as bricks and tiles, was the result of a colonial civilizing endeavour, but also a solution 4 Atap refers to traditional housing in countries such as Malaysia, Indonesia, Brunei, Singapore, and East Timor. During the Portuguese period, as in the report of Pedro Barreto de Resende (in Maxwell 1911: 4), there is reference to ‘straw huts’, thus atap houses. This would have been a major cause of fire, even if, according to Godinho de Eredia, tiles were already in use. As he writes in his report dated 1613, ‘the houses comprised in this area are made of timber: they are roofed with tiles to ensure against risk of fire: the exigencies of war do not permit of stone and mortar buildings here’ (in Mills 1930: 19).

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to practical challenges: to prevent fires, for hygiene, and public health. Furthermore, there was an attempt throughout the territories under Dutch control to recreate the landscape of the homeland (Kusno 2000: 136). Taxes on house frontages were crucial for the future layout of the area, resulting in long narrow buildings that maximize space. The narrow façades bring to mind those of certain historic buildings that can be found in the Netherlands. Under the British, more row houses were built around the old settlement. During this period the architectural form became an integral element of the inner city urban fabric, and this precedent brought about the construction of yet more row houses. These buildings were then adjusted according to their proximity to the river, with their backsides being adapted for use as godowns and warehouses. Notwithstanding the British, who were privileging the other two Straits Settlements as trade centres, the Melakan row houses continued to facilitate commerce, thanks to the rise of the rubber industry and the later introduction of motor vehicles – at least until the Japanese occupation. The most representative British contribution to the evolution of these buildings was the introduction and systematization of the so-called ‘fivefootways’. The latter, also known as kaki lima (literally ‘five foot’), refers to the pedestrian walkways at the front, also labelled verandahways. By creating a sort of pedestrian corridor along the row houses, the upper floors would protect the pedestrians from sun and rain. The introduction of this pedestrian walk is attributed to the Raffles Ordinances of 1822, to be applied in Singapore and also, later on, in other Straits Settlements (Wan Hashimah 2005: 28). It is believed that Thomas Stamford Raffles was inspired by similar architectural elements observed in Dutch Batavia (e.g., Lim 1993: 51). The five-footways were introduced to Melaka through local by-laws during the first decade of the nineteenth century (Lim 1993: 48), but the implementation of this policy was not easy. The most problematic task was clearing space for the five-footways from hawkers and shopkeepers. Whereas implementation was easier for most of the streets in Melaka, the verandahs in the former Dutch quarters (especially Jonker Street and Heeren Street) represented the main obstacle to the creation of uninterrupted walkways, because they were divided by walls. While the form of the row houses, with narrow fronts (typically between 3 and 7 metres wide), deep rears, pitched roofs, along with the use of local materials, has not changed much, the façades have been aesthetically adapted to the times and tastes of builders or owners. In Melaka, for example, at least nine types of designs and styles have been identified: the Dutch style, the Southern China style (from the eighteenth century until the

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early nineteenth century), the Early Shophouse style (in the first half of the nineteenth century), the Early Traditional style (in the second half of the nineteenth century), the Early Straits Eclectic and the Neo-Classical styles (at the turn of the twentieth century), the Late Straits Eclectic style (between the 1920s and 1940s), the Art Deco style (between the 1930s and 1950s), and the Early Modern style dating from the immediate aftermath of the Second World War (see Malaysia 2008: 13). Most façades are a testimony to hybridity, with influences from the East and the West, including Malay and Indian designs, and especially Chinese symbolism. The latter was significant owing to the increasing migration from China, and the emergence of a Straits-born Peranakan Chinese, a mostly English-educated bourgeoisie who occupied these premises. Today, as in the past, the presence of ethnic and religious symbols on display in front of the buildings continues to mark the ethnicity and religion of current residents. The deep and narrow interiors of the row houses are typically divided into a series of spaces used for specific purposes. Customarily the interior is subdivided into multiple halls, courtyards, and air and water wells, which provide natural ventilation and lighting. Throughout the years, further partitions have often been added to accommodate extended families. Partitions were sometimes also added when these buildings were used as lodges for workers and coolies, usually referred as kuli keng (coolie quarters). The shophouses have been characterized by the use of the ground floor for commercial activities, whereas the upper floor was generally used by residents as dwelling space. Conversely, the townhouses emerged only for residential purposes. The uses of both types of row houses changed over time. Similarly to the decorations added to the façades, ethnicity and religion play a role in the way the interior of these buildings is used, but other factors, such as class, gender, age, and ownership are also important. These row houses are, thus, characterized by a high degree of diversity. Here, I will provide only two examples of diversity in dwelling practices and the uses of space in order to show the changes that can occur throughout time. The first example (Case A, see Figure 4.2) refers to two adjacent two-storey townhouses dating back to the nineteenth century, and once belonging to a Melakan Baba towkay and planter.5 The owners used the building as their family home until the middle of the 1980s, when one of the descendants decided to convert it into a museum. (They also owned the adjacent townhouse, which was once used as servants’ quarters. Today, this third 5 The word towkay (tauke in Malay) is used to refer to wealthy merchants and businessmen, especially of Chinese ancestry.

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Figure 4.2 Ground floors of Case A and Case B

building is used as a café and guest house.) While the family members live elsewhere, they still consider these buildings to be a rumah abu (ancestral home). They return from time to time for special celebrations and prayers, although, as it is now a museum, it is often crowded with visitors. Some rooms have been converted into other museum facilities, including an office and a store. The bathrooms have also been upgraded from the former jamban system, a latrine which consisted only of a platform and a hole. The rooms on the upper floor (once serving as residential space) are used for museum displays, such as birthday, funeral, and wedding showcases, as well as exhibitions of traditional cloth and entertainment items. The elaborate furniture, with a mix of Chinese and Western styles, is testimony to the wealth of the family. Some of the main rooms on the ground floor are presented to the visitors in order to show the past daily life of the household.

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The first hall (thia besar in Baba Malay, literally ‘big room’) was used for reception purposes or business negotiations by the male family members. Further back, there is an additional hall called thia gelap (‘dark room’). Female family members were not supposed to cross this hall alone. This area is divided by the first courtyard from the third hall, which is the thia abu (‘ancestral hall’), where prayers are performed. Finally, after passing through another courtyard, we find the back of the house, customarily used as kitchen (dapur), where there is an altar to Zao Jun (also known as ‘Kitchen God’, a Chinese deity who is supposed to protect the house and the family). Chinese feng shui (literally ‘wind-water’, a system of principles that harmonize the surrounding environment) elements also constitute a significant part of the interaction between dwellers and buildings. The second example (Case B) refers to two two-storey shophouses now endowed to a Hindu temple, connected to the Nattukottai Chettiars, who began migrating to Malaya at the turn of the twentieth century. They worked as moneylenders for their credit companies. It is not surprising that their premises were located downtown, close to law firms in the same street. It is believed that many towkay accumulated their wealth thanks to Chettiars’ loans (see Sandhu 1993: 175). After independence, however, with the growth of the banking sector and the restrictions on moneylending, most of these activities came to an end. Some Chettiars began other enterprises. Others returned to India. The adjacent buildings belonging to the same Hindu temple may appear empty, but they are still used during religious celebrations to host devotees coming from elsewhere. One of the two shophouses is used as a Tamil restaurant. Another is still used as a residence. The use of the upper floor for residential purposes resembles the previous organization of the buildings as kitingi (form the Tamil word kiṭṭaṅki, ‘warehouse’), where male Chettiars carried on their activities on the ground floor but slept upstairs (see Evers and Pavadarayan 1993: 852). Compared with Case A, the minimal furniture appears modest. When I visited this building for the first time in 2013 there were only a few mats in the sleeping area on the upper floor. At that time, there were no more than ten people sleeping in a space that was used until the 1960s by almost 50 lodgers, including those cooking for the moneylenders. These cooks primarily used the kitchen in the back, and the spaces between the air well and the second hall. Today, these areas continue to be used by the adjacent restaurant for cooking activities. The first hall on the ground floor maintains the raised platform where the moneylenders used to sit with their clients. That business has been discontinued, but some furniture – desks, boxes, and safes – were still there when I visited. Feng shui elements are not relevant

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for the dwellers in this case. Nevertheless, I was told that it was important for the building to face east, where the sun rises, according to the principles of Vastu Shastra (a Hindu system on architecture and dwelling, the ‘science of architecture’). Pictures of Hindu goddesses hang on the wall, facing east. An image of Lakshmi (the Hindu goddess of wealth and prosperity) hangs on the entrance door, and is preceded on the verandah by thoranam decorations (from the Tamil word tōraṇam), made with coconut leaves. This brief sketch of the architectural and socio-historical features of the row houses in old Melaka highlights not only the aesthetic hybridity of these buildings, but also the diversity of its dwellers and users throughout time, with the consequent re-adaptations of the uses of space. Once identified as the residences of wealthy merchants, these buildings have gone through a gradual process of decline during the post-war period. In the following section, I will describe how the post-independence era has relegated these old structures to a lowly status as undesired baggage in the journey towards modernization.

Forsaken Buildings: The Post-war Period Carolyn Cartier (2001: 208) emphasizes how, unlike in Singapore, Malaysia has not been interested in developing conservation programmes for the row houses. A preliminary inventory concerned with the early shophouses supposedly built in Melaka during the Dutch period, prepared by Fernando Jorge – a Portuguese architect and conservationist who was at that time working closely with Badan Warisan Malaysia and fellow Penangite colleague Lim Huck Chin – estimated that, in 2001, only 8 per cent of these buildings were still in their original form, compared with 51 per cent having undergone renovation. Moreover, 41 per cent has been lost either to decay or inadequate maintenance (see Wan Hashimah 2013: 575). Only in the late 1990s did this vernacular heritage begin to become the focus of a new interest in heritage. What are the main reasons behind this neglect in the preservation of the row houses? And why have so many of these buildings been allowed to become dilapidated? Scholars and heritage experts see rent control as the main reason behind physical decay. First, many wealthy owners faced problems of maintaining and preserving their premises. After the Second World War, rent control was applied to all housing built before 1948. Rent control regulations were strengthened in 1966 with the Rent Control Act (Akta Kawalan Sewa). According to Goh Beng-Lan (2002: 155), the act was implemented ‘after the

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war to protect tenants from escalating rents due to an acute shortage of buildings’. These regulations froze the rents of pre-war row houses in the urban areas of the entire country. Most of my interlocutors told me that the rents of controlled premises usually did not exceed 250 ringgit per month for a two-storey row house (US$60). Rent control in Malaysia has been described in rather ambivalent terms. For example, in the case of George Town, Gwynn Jenkins (2008: 31) writes that while, on the one hand, ‘the tangible architectural heritage of the inner city remained almost undisturbed’; on the other hand, it was often ‘poorly repaired, badly renovated, or in a fragile condition’. Other scholars argue that rent control ‘by default has contributed to heritage conservation’ as other laws, such as the National Heritage Act (Mohammad and Mohd Bashir 2006: 107) have. Rent control had always been characterized by friction. Even the federal committee appointed in 1964 with the hard task of reviewing, revoking, or amending previous rent control ordinances was in favour of a gradual deregulation.6 Landlords complained that rent control had prevented them from restoring and developing their premises, evicting the tenants, let alone demolishing these obsolete buildings. Furthermore, they also complained about some tenants who allegedly took advantage of rent control to sub-rent parts of, or entire, row houses to third parties at a market rental value. Some landlords even complained that there were tenants owning new houses themselves. On the other side of the spectrum, the tenants responded to the landlords’ requests for the abolition of control regulations and the increase of rents by arguing that the amount paid was adequate considering the living conditions in these rundown buildings. Despite these clashes, the Rent Control Act survived until the late 1990s. But this is not the only reason why former residents and many wealthy owners were not living in or preserving row houses. Other factors emerged in discourse with my interlocutors. Many residents, in fact, have left these buildings because of other circumstances. First of all, the shrinking local economy that followed independence forced many people to find fortune and jobs outside Melaka, such as in Kuala Lumpur and Singapore. Some of the wealthier families have managed to maintain their houses – in particular, those regarded as ancestral homes – to which they return to on special occasions. In such cases, they continued to pay a caretaker who resides in the house, to look after the property, the antiques, and other valuable furniture. 6 ‘The Heyday of Chief Tenants is Numbered: Report. Committee Recommends Rent DeControl’, The Straits Times, 17 June 1966.

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A second force that has characterized the decline and decay of many of these buildings is related to changes in lifestyle, taste, and family patterns. The new housing estates mushrooming in the suburbs encouraged the transition from extended to nuclear families: modern terrace houses and condominiums were seen as more comfortable. For example, I was told by Mr. Billy – a returnee to whom I will come back in the next sections – that he moved from a townhouse in Heeren Street to a residential area at the outskirts when he was seven years old. He told me that he did not know the reasons behind this move: ‘I never asked my dad. The family was very big. People did not want to live here. It is difficult. They want concrete. They want [it] easy with air con and everything!’ Ms. Shirley, a member of an established Baba Nyonya family, related a similar experience. She told me that many people moved because they prefer to live in more comfortable houses and she added that ‘women do not want to clean the air wells any more’ when the rainwater comes in. The aspiration to move to modern housing estates cannot be generalized, however, to all former residents, many of whom did not own their former places of residence. Some of them were obliged to leave these buildings for reasons related to ownership and land tenure, in particular, in connection to leasehold. Unfortunately, some of these buildings were left empty after their leasehold expired. Ms. Shirley, for example, mentioned this irony while talking about the house where she was born and raised. Four families once resided in that two-storey townhouse. I was told that the 99-year lease coincided with the period in which the rent control was going to be repealed. Thus, even if they wanted to refurbish and retain the building, the rent was already increased. As she put it, the building where she was born represented a ‘lost heritage’. But she added that, at the end, ‘life goes on lah, what we can do?!’ The house was under the ownership of the Melaka State Government at the time we were talking, and was still unoccupied. Other interlocutors told me that in the case of state-owned properties, the authorities were not proactive in extending the leases once they expired, or in finding new lessees. For example, Mr. Nicholas told me the story of his maternal grandmother’s house where he grew up. His family moved away because too many people were living there. His uncle was the last to leave, when the 99-year lease expired. According to Mr. Nicholas, the house deteriorated throughout the years because the government did not reallocate it. ‘They just locked it [up] and it crumbled,’ he said. According to him, several row houses like this have been left in a state of neglect

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because of this reason. He told me the buildings were ‘wasted’. The lack of caretakers, and consequently the vacancy of these buildings, is yet another reason for the post-war decline and decay of the old row houses. When Mr. Billy thought about similar abandoned buildings, he said: If the house does not have an owner, it will break down faster. […] So the house without an owner will run down twice as fast. That is the theory that I believe. Broken window? Fix it tomorrow! Do not have a light bulb? Put it [in] now! Having a person to take care of the house is a very important thing in the preservation of heritage.

The care Mr. Billy and other interlocutors were referring to was redistributed to other actors after the repeal of rent control, but a great part of long-term residents who wanted to stay faced difficulties. The situation slowly began to change in the late 1990s. As I will show, a growing interest in urban and vernacular heritage has accompanied the transformation and revitalization of these row houses from forsaken buildings to valuable economic assets. Critical processes such as demolition, displacement of former inhabitants, a commercial adaptive reuse of domestic space, and vanishing local trades have nonetheless characterized the transformation triggered by the repeal of rent control.

Revaluation: From RUMAH Kedai to Rumah KEDAI The picture of post-war decay given by some of my interlocutors seems to be very different from the social life of the old row houses today. Most of these buildings have been restored and revitalized through a process of tourism gentrification. In the nomination dossier (see Malaysia 2008: 148), gentrification has been identified as a direct consequence of the repeal of rent control in 1997. The document lists both positive and negative outcomes that might result from gentrification in Melaka and George Town. Among the positive outcomes are, on the one hand, the supposed revitalization of the local economy ‘reflected in the stabilisation of property value’, ‘increased investment’, and the ‘reduction in building obsolesces’ (Malaysia 2008: 148). On the other hand, the ‘increasing threat from uncontrolled development’ was considered the primary negative effect, particularly in relation to ‘tourism-related businesses, displacement, and marginalization’ (Malaysia 2008: 148).

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The term ‘gentrification’ was coined by sociologist Ruth Glass (1964: xviii) while noting the emergence of this new process in London in the 1960s.7 Glass (1964: xviii) described the process in the following terms: One by one, many of the working-class quarters of London have been invaded by the middle classes – upper and lower. Shabby, modest mews and cottages – two rooms up and two down – have been taken over, when their leases have expired, and have become elegant, expensive residences. Larger Victorian houses, downgraded in an earlier or recent period – which were used as lodging houses or were otherwise in multiple occupation – have been upgraded once again. […] Once this process of ‘gentrification’ starts in a district it goes on rapidly until all or most of the original working-class occupiers are displaced and the whole social character of the district is changed.

Since Glass coined the word ‘gentrification’, the process has been studied as a distinct Western phenomenon (Atkinson and Bridge 2005: 1). But ‘today gentrification is recognized in virtually every corner of the globe’ (Krase 2012: 185): in other words, ‘gentrification is now global’ (Atkinson and Bridge 2005: 1). Scholars highlight a variety of gentrif ication processes worldwide. Nevertheless, as identified by Mark Davidson and Loretta Lees (2005: 1187), there are four core characteristics that define gentrification processes: ‘the reinvestment of capital’, ‘the social upgrading of [the] locale by highincome groups’, ‘landscape change’, and ‘direct or indirect displacement of low-income groups’. The revaluation of row houses in the historic centre of Melaka is reminiscent of the idea of ‘tourism gentrification’ developed by Kevin Gotham (2005: 1100) in connection to Vieux Carre, a historic neighbourhood in New Orleans. He highlights the role of the state in supporting gentrification and tourism, coupled with the interests of large firms in turning the neighbourhood into an entertainment-oriented space, resulting in higher property values (Gotham 2005: 1114-1115). In Melaka, federal and local authorities did not have enough funds to support the conservation of these private properties. Thus, most of the initiative has been left to the private sector. Gotham (2005: 1114) notes that tourism gentrification is both 7 Broadly speaking, gentrification refers ‘to how private capital rehabilitated dilapidated or abandoned housing in economically depressed neighbourhoods, a process resulted in demographic and cultural change’ (Totah 2014: 14); or, in other words, ‘the upgrading of a run-down residential district’ (Herzfeld 2009: 3).

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commercial and residential. But what does it mean for a form of architecture that can incorporate both uses, such as the row houses of Melaka? I wish to underline two factors concerning the tourism gentrification unfolding in Melaka. First, most of the buildings in the World Heritage site have been turned into cafés, boutique hotels, souvenir shops, and restaurants, replacing previous commercial uses. Thus, tourism-related trades have superseded many of the more traditional economic activities. One of the long-term residents of the area, Mr. Chan, a man in his 80s, recalled the considerable variety of residents and traders who formerly shared spaces in the row houses downtown. He also told me tales of how old trades, from the medicine shops to the wholesalers, from the butchers to the old coffee shops, have gradually disappeared during the past two decades. He used to observe from his window the life on the streets, suggesting that the diversity of ‘the good old days’ was vanishing, and that, suddenly, ‘there are guest houses everywhere’. Second, commercial use has also come to overshadow residential use on the upper floors of the old row houses, as they are converted to welcome tourists, or as additional space for shops, restaurants, and cafés. In this context, I cannot help but think of what a former resident, Mr. Lim, once told me. ‘Those days there were 80 per cent rumah [‘houses’] and 20 per cent kedai [‘shops’]’, he said, ‘now [it is ] terbalik [‘the reverse’] […] 20 per cent rumah and 80 per cent kedai!’ Mr. Lim’s words precisely summarize the ongoing change downtown. He was not only pointing to the conversion of the row houses for commercial use, since they have more often than not also been used as kedai. Rather, he was emphasizing the common perception that, especially since the 2000s, these buildings had lost more and more their function as rumah, in other words, fewer and fewer families were residing in them. How did this happen then? Who was empowered by this kind of heritage tourism gentrification? And who was excluded and displaced? The process of revaluation of these row houses from forsaken buildings to economic assets was triggered at the end of the 1990s with the repeal of rent control, which coincided with the prospective World Heritage bid and massive tourism promotion of the city. In 1997, the Control of Rent (Repeal) Act was enforced by the federal government as the result of landlords’ and developers’ lobbying, as well as the state-led promotion of tourism. In order to avoid some expected negative effects, the federal government introduced a transitional period of 28 months. Unfortunately this period was chaotic, because the authorities were unable to control illegal demolitions and the displacement of former tenants. The repeal allowed landlords to re-gain full control over their properties. Most of them, however, were not interested

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in reoccupying these properties. In the aftermath of rent control repeal, many of these landlords had two options: either to demolish the dilapidated buildings or to restore and convert them into tourism-related businesses. Those in favour of demolition felt that the repeal had finally empowered them to dispose of undesirable buildings, making way for new construction in a central location. Architects-cum-activists Lim Huck Chin and Fernando Jorge (2006: 355-359) counted more than 60 complete and partial demolitions in the early 2000s. In October 2000, the outrage following these demolitions resulted in a petition, ‘Save Malacca’s Heritage’, which was signed by more than 9000 people (see Lim and Jorge 2006: 356). Local authorities seemed unprepared for the crisis, and international heritage experts criticized the lack of protection, recommending an immediate halt to demolitions. Furthermore, there was an outpouring of newspaper articles and letters to the editor, which subsequently were described as a ‘trial by media’ and a ‘media crisis’ (e.g., Amran and Rosli 2006: 17). This situation was seen as a potential risk that could have jeopardized the nomination process. The public outcry had some effect: the pace of demolitions gradually decreased and coincided with a stronger general awareness of the rich potential these buildings had for generating income. Most landlords did not move back to their properties, choosing instead to exercise the power to increase rents or sell at the new higher market value. In some cases, initially, the rise of rents was tenfold. Most of my interlocutors remembered the rent prices before the repeal while emphasizing that, afterwards, it was quite difficult to find a similar kind of building that rented out for less than 1000 ringgit (over US$200) per month. Today, most of Melaka’s centrally located row houses are rented for thousands of ringgit. Mr. Adrian – the real estate agent introduced in Chapter 2 – described the economic revaluation of these properties as mahal gila (‘crazy expensive’). I was told by Mr. Adrian that ‘before the repeal, the majority of people was not interested in these old houses, but now investors are willing to pay millions of ringgit even for a rundown shophouse’. There were also many foreigners among these investors. Many came from Singapore. Most of the landlords, developers, and new investors saw the conversion into profitable activities, such as hotels, restaurants, and shops for tourists, as the only way to preserve these buildings. In the aftermath of the repeal of rent control, many landlords and buyers applied for conversions of land use from residential to commercial purposes, in the case of townhouses. The state of decay and lack of maintenance of some row houses has been used by some landlords, developers, and speculators to present the former tenants as careless. Such claims are unfortunately common among

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comparable historic neighbourhoods, historic cities, and World Heritage sites, as explored in other studies. For example, ‘investors saw gentrification as “saving” the old city from the people who lived there’, as noted in the case of Damascus by Faedah Totah (2014: 5). Michael Herzfeld (2009: 24) writes about the neighbourhood of Monti in Rome where ‘the voices of former residents now silenced, these deserted apartments now trumpet the speculators’ message that the only viable cure for degradation is gentrification’. The repeal represented a double-edged sword. On the one hand, new investment allowed for the revitalization of the row houses. On the other hand, the exponential rise of rents, and the evictions, resulted in the displacement of the majority of the former tenants and long-term residents. An example is the aforementioned Mr. Lim, a carpenter in his late 50s, who was born in one of the downtown row houses. High rent drove him out from the neighbourhood but, unlike many others, he was lucky enough to find a place nearby, where he was living with his family in a medium-cost, single-storey terrace house. Some former tenants managed nonetheless to stay and tried to make the best of a hard situation. One way, for some, was to turn their old businesses into tourism-related activities. For example, Mr. George managed to maintain his antique shop, using it as a rock ’n’ roll café where he entertained his guests, including many foreign tourists. Others had to leave the buildings where they were living, but managed to find other premises nearby. For example, Mr. Simon used to sell handmade Chinese ‘lotus feet’ (bound feet shoes) and Baba Nyonya traditional sandals in a shophouse that was demolished by the owner in order to build a hotel. Mr. Simon managed to find another shophouse where he continued his business, selling his products to tourists. A similar example is Mr. Raymond, in his late 50s, who was born in a row house downtown. He had to leave the building after his landlord doubled the rent. He managed, however, to rent a similar two-storey shophouse in the same street where he was living with his wife, parents, and three of his five children. Although he bought a flat 15 kilometres away from the city centre where two of his sons were living, he still preferred to live in an old row house very similar to the one where he was born. Mr. Raymond managed to maintain the rent around 700 ringgit (US$160), but not without constant bargaining efforts. With his family, he was using most of the building as residential space, but he also converted the front hall into a small café with a few tables. The business was relatively small, but it helped to pay the increased rent. The trends in market-driven prices often depend on who actually owns the buildings. The Melaka State Government, for example, uses the majority

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of the pre-war buildings it owns in the historic centre as museums; some of them are still used as government offices, but mainly for tourism-related activities. Some units are nevertheless rented out for businesses, but at prices that resembled a pre-repeal rate. An example was Mr. Zulkarnain, a Malay in his early 30s, who opened a restaurant on the river in a small building, rented for approximately 250 ringgit. The same can be said about the buildings under many of the religious and ethnic land endowments, such as the wakaf (Malay translation of the Arabic waqf, the Muslim charitable endowments administered by the Melaka Islamic Religion Council), the different Christian denominations’ endowments, the several Chinese kongsi (clan) or temples’, Hindu temples’, or other trusts’ endowments. As is the case with buildings owned by the state, row houses under these endowments are often rented out at lower prices. This cannot be generalized, however, since it also depends on the trustees serving at a specific time. For example, a Chinese temple trust in the old city was very selective of the kind of tenants who want to rent old row houses under its ownership. In many cases the trustees chose renters with a strong interest in heritage preservation. But the pressure of market-driven rents and heritage tourism gentrification is not always merciful with long-term tenants occupying premises under religious endowments. Ms. Lee, for example, a lady in her 70s, was struggling to stay in the house where she was born. Her son, living with her and working in a restaurant a few streets away, had to constantly bargain with another Chinese temple trust which owned the building in order to maintain a rent of 600 ringgit (less than US$150). While the booming investment reflected the positive aspects of the repeal as expected by national and local governments, the value of these properties also continued to increase during my stay in Melaka. This created problems even for those businessmen who were among the first to venture into tourism-related activities, such as low-budget guest houses, restaurants, and cafés. Investors with greater wealth have greater opportunity to buy an old row house and the resources to restore them, compared to locals. ‘We cannot compete with Singaporeans!’ I was told by Mr. Desmond, a Melakan who had to leave the shophouse where he managed a guest house for 20 years, because the owner sold it to a Singaporean. I heard and witnessed many other similar stories. There were also brokers and middlemen in circulation within the community who would often propose more profitable deals to landlords. There was not so much choice for former tenants and businessmen other than departure when their rents were suddenly and substantially increased. An example was Mr. Christopher, a Melakan heritage aficionado, who left the building he lived in and where he operated a Baba

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Nyonya restaurant for many years. I was told that the rent was raised from 2000 ringgit to 3500 ringgit (from slightly more than US$450 to more than US$800) after a broker who used to cucuk api (‘poke the fire’) between owners and tenants introduced the landlord to a foreign businessman who was willing to pay more. The profit motive seems to be the moving force behind the revaluation of the row houses as economic assets. No doubt, economic interests have revitalized vernacular architecture in Melaka. For many, new investments have brought these buildings ‘back to life’ (hidup kembali) and ‘back to beauty’ (cantik kembali), to use the words I was told by Mr. Sham (the trishaw driver introduced at the beginning of the book). And yet, the revaluation of these buildings as economic assets is not the only reason to preserve them. I will now turn to other motives for conservation, including the desire to reside in row houses.

Housing Heritage: Some Approaches to Conservation Taking inspiration from a questionnaire on the kiô-machiya (the traditional townhouses of Kyoto) distributed by Christoph Brumann (2012c), I conducted a survey on Melakan row houses with 24 respondents who were attending a heritage talk organized by the Malaysian History and Heritage Club, in order to grasp the primary reasons for preserving these historical buildings. Table 4.1 displays a list of reasons and related factors that contribute to make historical shophouses and townhouses important to this assembly of local heritage aficionados, including time, aesthetics, identity, taste, and economic interests. This survey revealed that factors related to time are considered quite important reasons for the preservation of the row houses, either because they represent the history of the city or because they have been handed down from generation to generation. Age, per se, or the fact that they are old, however, does not seem to be as important as their being traditional, connected to the old-style family system, religion and customs, or because they are ancestral houses. Furthermore, preservation reasons related to time seem to emphasize a relation to the future. Most respondents thought that the buildings needed to be preserved because they are important for future generations or are in danger of disappearing, more than because they are old. Reasons related to identity or collectivities were also important for these respondents, either in connection to localities or ethnicity. In particular, the fact that this form of architecture is related to the Baba Nyonya was highly

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Table 4.1  Reasons to Preserve the Row Houses

The question was ‘Why are Melakan shophouses and townhouses important for you and why should they be preserved?’ Respondents were asked to mark the items on the list that they considered strong reasons, reasons, or no reasons, leaving blank all the others. The ‘strong reasons’ appear in dark grey on the left side of the table, and ‘reasons’ appear in light grey. The items that have been left blank are in white, and the ‘no reasons’ appear in black on the right side of the table.

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valued. Regarding localities, the buildings were appreciated more because they represent Melaka or because they fit well in the cityscape, rather than as symbols of Malaysia or Asia. But there is an interesting further aspect to be highlighted in relation to collectivities. In fact, most of the respondents thought that the row houses should be preserved because they are World Heritage, thus a part of the global community. Aesthetic values were considered significant motives, either because the buildings are perceived as beautiful or because of their decorated façades. Furthermore, motives concerning aesthetic appearance or architectural style, such as colonial influences and mixed-style features, were considered more important than single functional parts of the buildings, such as the air wells and water wells, the long and narrow structure, the low heights, and the five-footways, or spiritual principles such as feng shui. What is more striking to me is that most of the heritage and history aficionados responding to the questionnaire did not consider being born, living, or working in any of these buildings as strong reasons for preservation. In fact, most of them did not live at that moment or had never lived in an old row house. Of the five respondents who marked the reason ‘I was born in one of them’ as relevant in the cause for preservation, only one considered it to be a significant factor. Similarly, only six respondents considered the fact that they were living or working in one of these buildings to be significant. This questionnaire provides only a general picture of the reasons for preservation that are important for local heritage aficionados. In the following section, I will present three specific cases, and figures, in order to grasp more intimate approaches to conservation, and reasons to engage with these buildings beyond prof it-related motives. The f irst case will look at a more conventional approach to heritage, which I will call ‘modellers of conservation’. As activists or members of specific heritage-related advocacy groups, their awareness and knowledge of international principles is not surprising, but the efforts towards the setting of a path for other inhabitants reflects an intimate struggle for the preservation of heritage. The second case presents a long-term resident, a category of people now considered a minority, especially in the World Heritage site. The third example profiles a Melakan returnee, a figure emerging after the post-war years of the shrinking economy. Different from the first example, these two other figures do not claim to be establishing models. I will use these three cases to illustrate the diversity of approaches to conservation, while also focusing on how the lives of particular actors are tied to the biographies of particular buildings.

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Modellers of Conservation In May 1999, at the conference on the ‘Economics of Heritage’ mentioned in Chapter 3, a new initiative was launched: the Asia/Pacific Heritage Awards for Cultural Heritage Conservation of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). The establishment of these awards by the regional office in Bangkok should be understood within the context of the larger international network on Integrated Community Development and Cultural Heritage Site Preservation through Local Effort in Asia and the Pacific (LEAP). In realizing the increasing role played by the private sector in heritage preservation, the regional office recognized the importance of awarding excellent conservation projects by the private sector or publicprivate collaboration. As I was told by a well-known regional advisor, it was the first time that UNESCO was focusing directly on the private sector. In a similar way, since 1999, Badan Warisan Malaysia grants the National Heritage Awards, albeit not annually, as the UNESCO Asia/Pacific Heritage Awards. Whilst the demolitions of the row houses seemed to jeopardize the nomination process, an initiative of Badan Warisan Malaysia attempted to offer an example on how to restore dilapidated, and apparently useless, row houses. The NGO adopted one of the recommendations given by an Australian ICOMOS expert (I will return to her later). This expert suggested undertaking a model conservation project which ideally embraced the LEAP framework – and UNESCO’s regional interest in urban heritage – with the aim of encouraging initiatives from the private sector. This model is a two-storey row house built at the end of the eighteenth century that stands in Heeren Street, and serves as a resource and interpretive centre. The work began in 2001 and took approximately two years to complete, although the official opening occurred in 2005. Ms. Janice – the spokesperson of Badan Warisan Malaysia introduced in Chapter 2 – was directly involved in what is considered the first conservation project undertaken by this organization in Melaka. The conservation model was a joint effort of several groups and individuals. The coalition included members of Badan Warisan Malaysia, local and foreign architects, as well as Melakan heritage aficionados previously involved in the restoration of the Cheng Hoon Teng Temple, to which the building presented here belongs. Furthermore, according to Ms. Janice, her organization did not want to restore a building that, after many efforts, would have been reclaimed by an individual owner solely interested in financial profit, who would potentially convert it into a hotel. Ms. Janice told me that there were no funds to acquire a privately owned building and that they had decided therefore to seek a compromise with the temple. Badan Warisan Malaysia

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Figure 4.3 A model of conservation

Author’s photo, 2012

paid for the conservation work and the temple let them use it at a reasonable cost. Funds were raised, but a significant contribution was made by the embassy of the United States through the ambassador’s Fund for Cultural Preservation, and also through the Conservation and Environmental Grants programme of the Ford Motor Company. The issue related to ownership was, however, not the only reason why the building was chosen. Apart from being dilapidated, this row house represented one of the early building types from Dutch times, evidently an example of the evolution from the preceding Portuguese form. As such, it represented one of the important stages of the ultimate Malaysian urban fabric. Furthermore, as Ms. Janice said, that specific building represented a very ordinary form if compared with acclaimed monumental architecture: It is not a beautiful big building! It does not have a lot of history which is official state history or related to any important family. […] It is very plain! It is very ordinary! […] And this particular building type is the most under pressure because anything which was bigger, taller, and more

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decorated was seen. It is a beauty queen versus the non-beauty queen, the ordinary person! This is very ordinary, the very modest building and in Malaysia we tend not to look at the modest. We tend to look at the showy! So if you are beautiful, we think you are more important and if you are smaller you are not important.

This perspective emphasizes the shift of interest from monumental heritage to vernacular architecture encouraged during the nomination process. This model of conservation represented a way to show to the public not only the past forms of urban fabric, but also how an early row house can be adapted to new uses. Moreover, given the pending process of nomination, Badan Warisan Malaysia tried to show to the public that conservation works on buildings needed to follow the legal framework, going through all the approvals from the authorities. As Ms. Janice explained: What we did was to apply to MBMB [the City Council] for the restoration and we submitted our plan. We did it specifically because of what was happening in Melaka. People were renovating, changing [buildings] without applying for permission and it was a bit of a cowboy town. It was not governed! It was not regulated! And what was being done was in our view damaging the environment for the heritage status. The reason why we did that was because we wanted to demonstrate that it was needed. You needed to go through this, the process!

The application process for the approval of restoration work, and the search for materials and skilled craftsmen was fraught with obstacles. Nevertheless, Ms. Janice emphasized that it was an important learning process – ‘a pilot project’ – for the organization and the other individuals involved. ‘It was a model project not just for this as a demonstration in Melaka’, she told me, ‘but it was a model project for ourselves as well.’ As a pilot project, the work was carried out with the goal of involving locals and using materials from the region. It was proclaimed with pride that the architect, the engineer, and the contractor involved were all Melakans. Given the lack of local skilled workers, however, some work was carried out by nonMelakans. If lime plaster was prepared by locals, most of the manual workers hired by the contractor were Indonesian, especially for work on the wooden parts of the building. Additionally, some necessary materials could not be obtained in Melaka, such as the terracotta tiles, which were imported from abroad. Mr. Michael, a local aficionado, emphasized the choice of local materials during the Dutch times, while accompanying his visitors around the building.

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During his tours, he used to highlight the ‘excellence’ of these materials, such as stone, wood, clay, and lime plaster, because they did not absorb the heat and maintained cool interiors despite the hot and humid conditions of the tropics. Mr. Michael used to spend many hours a day in the building, serving as the manager on behalf of Badan Warisan Malaysia, after the building was opened to the public. He initially received 30 to 40 visitors per week, but at the time of my fieldwork he said that the average number of visitors had increased to 70. Although there was a co-manager, Mr. Michael, a retired civil servant, would spend most of his days on the site. He was the unofficial host for those who came in to learn about the building. The majority of visitors were foreigners, who left donations for the tours, sometimes indulging in a chat with their host, or buying a book. For Mr. Michael – similar to the majority of heritage aficionados who responded to the questionnaire – the historical importance of the building was crucial, and it also served more generally the idea of an imagined Melakan collectivity. He told me, ‘It is a house of history that is closely related to the history of Melaka!’ Whilst the above project is identified explicitly as a model of conservation, other restored buildings have a status similar to the museum presented in Case A. For example, another shophouse restored and serving as a sort of museum, in practice a sort of shop, has also been awarded with honorary mention in the National Heritage Awards under the category of adaptive reuse. For conservation architects, this system of awards has turned into another reason to develop their professional careers. After the inscription, and with the introduction of new regulations, heritage conservation projects became even more lucrative for professionals. Some of the restored buildings converted into hotels, guest houses, and restaurants are acclaimed as models of conservation. In these cases, apart from the architects, the individual owners also play an important role, especially because they face higher costs. There are many ways these individual owners apply their interest in conservation to the new building uses. Some buy traditionally handmade lanterns; others call artisans from China to repair the cut-andpaste porcelain shard decorations; and others simply display the history of the buildings and their former owners, especially if they have played notable roles in the history of Melaka. In these cases of adaptive reuse, the showcasing of particular aspects related to old architecture and past customs dominate, while mere residential or old commercial uses fade away. As in the case of the model of conservation from Badan Warisan Malaysia, however, the major idea that emerges is to show that abandoned buildings can serve new uses, and not merely in a tourism-related function. Ms. Janice said:

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If we [had given] up, it would have become a hotel! For us, it would lose that sense of space. […] Actually, all the projects that we manage, when I work in any of them, when I visit any of them, I feel they have semangat [a soul] which is for me very reassuring, very calming. People could say this [place] must be full of ghosts. If they are ghosts, they are friendly ghosts.

The spirit of conservation displayed by this organization is transplanted into the building, but, as underlined by Ms. Janice, the building also talks back. According to her, these projects have a soul.

Mr. Chwee: A Lifelong Resident I got to know Mr. Chwee thanks to Mr. Nicholas, his cousin. Mr. Chwee is a lighthearted man in his 50s. He proudly identifies himself as a Baba of Hokkien descent. During my fieldwork he lived with his wife and their three children in the house where he was born. The first words he conveyed when we first met are the following: ‘My ancestors built the house! It is more than 150 years old; so, we know, it is [a] long time ago.’ The building has always been and wholly used for residential purposes, except if we take into consideration the hijacking of the five-footways by hawkers during the Jonker Walk night market (the subject of the next chapter). This forced Mr. Chwee and his family to close the front door in order to protect their domestic life from the hordes of tourists during the weekends. As with many other residents in the area, this house – perhaps too spacious for a nuclear family – was in the past big enough to accommodate extended families and servants. Before the transformation from extended family to nuclear family occurred in the last generation, Mr. Chwee spent his childhood with his parents, his paternal grandparents, and one of his father’s brothers. Nevertheless, his house continues to play the crucial role of ancestral home during particular celebrations when his relatives come back, especially those concerning ancestors and major celebrations, such as Chinese New Year. Mr. Chwee is a lifelong resident of this two-storey townhouse. His choice to stay has been easier compared to other long-term residents because his family owned the building. Hence, he was not affected by increasing rents or the termination of a leasehold. Government and non-government heritage professionals, experts, and aficionados consider the few Baba Nyonya still living within the World Heritage site to be a vanishing group. Mr. Chwee’s house was unexpectedly included in the itinerary prepared for the ICOMOS mission in 2007. As I was told by Mr. Nicholas, during a meeting discussing the ICOMOS

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mission itinerary, representatives of the authorities and those representing the NGOs suggested the idea of including a visit to a ‘personal home’ (a private house). He was present at the meeting, since nobody seemed to know people living downtown, he mentioned that his cousin was living in Jonker Street. According to Mr. Nicholas, the ICOMOS mission expert particularly appreciated the visit, and he carefully explored the building while the government representatives were waiting downstairs. Mr. Nicholas reminisced on how the expert ‘came down very happy and that he enjoyed that more than anything else, because he saw something which was not expected and something that is actually classic heritage’. In other words, he continued: ‘It is not a touristic thing and it is only by personal invitation that you can see that.’ Having his house visited by the mission expert was, however, not a source of vanity for Mr. Chwee, at least not in my presence. He only humbly added that he was just trying to help. Nevertheless, on other occasions he often showed his hospitable spirit when somebody asked him if they could visit his house. The revitalization of the row houses and the cultural revaluation preceding the inscription resulted in many visits to private houses, especially those inhabited by Baba Nyonya. Nevertheless, the fact that many of them have been left empty or converted to new uses has contributed to the end of this practice. A further reason is related to the increasing fear of residents after a few cases of housebreaking and robbery. As some interlocutors recalled, visits to particular houses exposed to a wider public not only the heritage value of the buildings, but also the high monetary value of the old furniture and other antiques in some of them. Mr. Chwee’s house does not have valuable old furniture when compared with wealthier households, but he proudly kept many of the paraphernalia handed down from generation to generation. More than the aesthetic appreciation of the building and the movables within it, Mr. Chwee valued the spatial aspects of his house – both in connection to the city and the organization of its interior. But before turning to these factors, I will briefly recount why he did not leave Melaka. Mr. Chwee is not the only owner of the house. Ownership is shared with his paternal relatives, but he was managing the family wealth. We have seen in the preceding section the reasons why many of the Baba Nyonya have left the area in past decades. Mr. Chwee’s relatives were no exception: The others are in Kuala Lumpur. They work there. They only come here once or twice a year for family gatherings since from long time ago Melaka has no job for them. Many people moved to Kuala Lumpur or Penang. Melaka has got nothing for them! I have also some relatives in Singapore and some in Johor.

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While the other relatives have left Melaka in order to find greener pastures, Mr. Chwee acted as custodian of the ancestral house: I had no choice! A long time ago when I was young, just after school, I asked my mother about Singapore. She answered: ‘No need! What is there in Singapore? Don’t worry, better to stay in Melaka!’ You know the rent, makan [‘food’]. [In Melaka] the cost is lower. Your mum can cook for you. You do not have to pay for your laundry. This is the Baba style, very respectful for the elders, mamas and fathers. My father was the youngest [of three brothers], so it happened that he stayed to look after the house. So we carry on lah! It is not that I do not want [to go], but it is about respecting mum!

Mr. Chwee never had regrets. Like his father before him, he decided to look after the house, unlike the many others who left their ancestral houses to be managed by paid caretakers. Despite saying that he had no choice, it seems that his lifelong residency afforded him the opportunity to appreciate the advantages of living there. He appeared to be one of the most ardent admirers of the building type but, unlike the others, who emphasized aesthetic and heritage factors, Mr. Chwee appeared to be appreciative more of certain practical features of the inner and outer spaces. The advantages of staying in that particular house were conceptualized by Mr. Chwee through opposites. His house and the neighbourhood are compared in practice to other units: the modern flat and the taman (‘housing estate’). Whilst taman can refer to very different spatial arrangements, Mr. Chwee referred to it in order to contrast his neighbourhood as downtown in comparison with modern housing estates far away from the city centre. As he always emphasized, ‘the good thing about his house is that it is in town!’ According to him, everything is within ‘walking distance’: school, market, temple, and so forth. Conversely, in a taman somewhere far from the city centre ‘the environment would be nice, but the time you step out of the house, you have to take the car!’ Mr. Chwee used the taman for comparison not only as a suburban area but also for its modern housing type: Another advantage of old houses, ‘antique houses’, is that they are cool. Inside it is quiet. You see the walls! Quite thick […] [and] not like new buildings in taman where you can hear everything. Here you cannot hear the road, the traffic. But in modern houses in taman all the time vrooww, vrooww! Here it is peaceful and quiet, but if you want to go out to have some fresh air, you can see the people. If you stay in taman, you cannot

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Figure 4.4 Altar for ancestors in a townhouse

Author’s photo, 2013

see people around. You need to take your car! Here you can see people moving around. So you do not feel alone or isolated.

The old brick walls of his house did not separate him from the outer space of a ‘walking distance’ world, but they were thick enough to keep the peaceful inner space in which he could move from room to room and from the front hall to the air well, allowing for ventilation, bringing fresh air into the house. As with many other row houses in Jonker Street and Heeren Street, the wall at the back of the building is shared with the neighbour, giving to Mr. Chwee only one entrance at the front. But he is lucky enough to have another small door on one side of the back, which he uses to store various things. If, on the one hand, the rooms on the upper floor continue to be used primarily for sleeping, the wider spaces on the ground floor – from the front hall to the second hall, the air well, and back to the kitchen, passing through other rooms such as those used in the past by the servants – seem to satisfy all the daily activities of a nuclear family. The space of this house satisfied Mr. Chwee because he felt free. According to him, his house was ‘a home in the home’:

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each space in the house was big enough and isolated from the others. It is in this context that he compared the life in such a building with a modern flat. Living in his house was pleasing for the mind. For him, modern apartments are small and boring because space was already set and fixed. In his own words, in a modern house, ‘life is boring! There is no flexibility, you do not see anything new. But in old houses it is very difficult to see the same things’. The modern flat he used to contrast with his own house is imagined as a standardized plan with a kitchen, a bathroom, and three rooms. Space is rationalized in order to serve everyday needs but, according to him, spiritual considerations were not given enough importance. When I first visited his house, in the front hall – where there are the pictures of the ancestors and the dead relatives – offerings were laid out on a table in great magnificence for the annual prayers to the ancestors. Mr. Chwee told me on that occasion: ‘New houses do not have enough space for such altars and offerings! We still do old style, or maybe now people do not know how to do the prayers.’ This statement was followed by another assertion on the centrality of the house for Baba Nyonya: ‘We Baba [and Nyonya] do everything [celebrations] at home, [whereas] Chinese go to club[s] [associations, or persatuan].’ A spiritual-ecological nexus was proudly emphasized by Mr. Chwee in order to differentiate between his house and the modern flat when he pointed to some geomantic features of the building and provided his commentaries about feng shui. Some of these geomantic aspects are considered auspicious for the household – here tangible and intangible attributes blur. In particular, Mr. Chwee pointed to the way the floor tiles were laid out diagonally, rather than parallel to the walls. Thus, their position at a 45-degree angle to the front door was meant to allow ‘money to come in’. The diagonal pattern benefits the flow of wealth coming into the home, whereas the common straight pattern of modern houses’ floor tiles would represent an obstacle to this flow – the result is in Mr. Chwee’s words the ‘blocking of money, blocking of wealth’. Another example he presented to me was the alignment of the front and back doors in modern houses that would result in the direct exit of money from the house. Conversely, as Mr. Chwee said, ‘in old houses for money it is very difficult to go out, so wealth stays in the house’.

Mr. Billy: A Returnee From time to time, I would sit at Mr. Billy’s café. A Melakan of Cantonese background in his 30s, Mr. Billy is a returnee who was born in the old clinic of Heeren Street and spent part of his childhood living in Jonker Street,

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until his family decided to move to a residential area in the hinterland. He subsequently moved to Kuala Lumpur, where for four years he sold the items produced in his father’s factory. Nevertheless, he soon grew tired of life in the capital, and decided to return to his hometown (in particular, the Old Town) shortly before the inscription. He told me, ‘It is this house that pulled me back to Melaka!’ Many Melakans have decided to return in the last two to three decades. Included among them are artists who have rented row houses and converted them into studios and galleries. Others have opened ateliers where they sell handmade articles. This has been considered by some as the emergence of a sort of ‘artisan precinct within the old quarter’, a gentrification process led by ‘artisans and art college graduates from Kuala Lumpur institutions’ (Amran and Rosli 2006: 14). A few years after the inscription, however, some interlocutors already spoke in nostalgic terms about the decline of this trend towards the opening of yet more souvenir shops and other tourism-related businesses. Not all the returnees are artists. Many decided to rent a row house downtown, setting up small businesses as restaurants and cafés. Most of these interlocutors indicated that the main reason for their return was their affective attachment and love for the neighbourhood, which is considered quiet and peaceful. But their return needed to be sustained by the basic means to maintain themselves, especially in the face of rising rental costs. Mr. Billy is an ideal figure to describe the returnees. He is a returnee himself, one who opened a business, but he also uses his premises as an art studio and residence, although he preferred to introduce himself as a café owner rather than an artist. He described the neighbourhood during his childhood as ‘peaceful’: During my father’s time, in a house like this there were maybe six or seven families. It was very dense! You see people walking in pyjamas. There were no tourists around here. There were hawkers by the roadside and you get your food. The neighbourhood came out to chat in pyjamas!

The peaceful environment of Jonker Street he referred to was turned into a tourist attraction when he opened his café in Heeren Street, still a quiet and dark road at night, unlike Jonker Street. But things have changed fast, and Mr. Billy felt that somehow the buildings in Heeren Street were turning more and more into souvenir shops and hotels. Nevertheless, although he described himself as a not especially sociable person, who instead preferred to spend time alone painting, his feeling of community and harmony in the neighbourhood was still an important reason to stay.

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The house in which he is running his café – whilst living upstairs and organizing arts’ exhibitions and music jam sessions – is owned by a rich Singaporean lady of Melakan origins. She owns other buildings in the area. Mr. Billy got to know the house because his friends rented it with the idea of opening a massage school. They encouraged him to embellish the place with his artworks. He fell in love with the building the very first time he stepped into it – despite the fact that it was empty and desolate. Thus, when he heard that his friends’ project was not going to work out, he got in contact with the landlady. Initially, Mr. Billy was not really confident of obtaining the tenancy because there was intense interest in the building from people with more lucrative projects on offer, such as boutique hotels. Nevertheless, the landlady chose him: We started as strangers. She came down a few times visiting me. And she likes what I do also because I am protecting the house. […] When we started to talk we did build on an understanding, a mutual understanding. I am really doing something important, and she became very supportive. I think it would be a very long lease based on that understanding. Black and white is one thing, mutual understanding is another! I don’t know: I think so far so good, but I don’t want to speculate on the future. I want to keep this good feeling about tenant and landlord. It is a very good understanding.

Given the state of decay of the building, Mr. Billy was given two months of free rent during which he refurbished the house. Since then, he continued to manage the building, running the café. The rent was still reasonable, less than 2000 ringgit a month. His business was not especially profitable for him. He managed to keep for himself up to 400 ringgit per month (less than US$100), because he also had to pay his staff and other household bills as well. Mr. Billy was nonetheless very happy about his life and the building. He thought that he was earning enough to be self-sufficient. Seeing how rents continued to increase, however, he admitted that with a rent above 3000 ringgit (more than US$700), he could not have afforded to stay there any longer. Apart from these more material concerns, Mr. Billy articulated the relationship between himself and the building in more symbolic terms as a ‘partnership’: I feel this house needed me and I needed this house. The house gives me shelter. […] So, it is like a partnership. The house is like an old lady. It is

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like a young man trapped in an old lady, but it is not a contradiction. It is like feeling each other. [The house] is motherly. Not a mother, but motherly! It is like this house gives meaning to my life and it does need something in exchange. It is a good partnership actually.

Hence, according to him, the house represents a sort of personified entity. The house also has agency in helping Mr. Billy to build his own world. He once told me, ‘This is exactly the world I want to live in!’ On the façade of the building Mr. Billy painted one of his mystical zoomorphic creatures, not really in line with official conservation guidelines. The front hall, together with the other halls and the air well on the ground floor, are used for the café as well as for art exhibitions. On some of the interior walls there are paintings of other mystical characters that Mr. Billy likes to portray. He did not consider his additions alien to the building but, rather than just mere contributions to the aesthetic value of the house, he interpreted them as a source of continuity. It took four months for him to remove the paint from the interior walls. There were four to five layers of paint marking the passing of time. While removing it, he was every now and then uncovering other designs left by previous residents. He recounted these discoveries with these words: These are also art pieces. I wanted to keep them in the house, to keep the identity of the house. So I started to scrap. A lot of scrapping and I found that there were textures on the wall and they started to talk to me saying that this is from this generation and that is from that generation. […] This house has been lived in for many years by different generations. So by scrapping and showing all these colours I show the evidence of the people living in the house. These markings were the symbols of life in the house. But I also have the present in this house! So I put my art on top of these layers.

Continuity with the past is, in this context, rearticulated as personal engagement. For Mr. Billy, modern expression can coexist with tradition. He felt that he was ‘living side by side with tradition’. The discovery and the will to take part in the life of the house, in continuity with the past, are also articulated on the upper floor, used mainly for residential purposes. There are four spacious rooms, and Mr. Billy had all this space for himself and his dog. Thus, on the upper floor, he divided the rooms into a bedroom, a TV room, an office where he would spend most of his time, and a studio. More and more, stripping paint from the wall unveiled

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Figure 4.5 Painting on a shophouse used as an art studio and shop

Author’s photo, 2012

further paintings, designs, and writings throughout time. Thus, Mr. Billy, through the help of people who can read these texts, started to be interested in the poetry left on the walls: ‘I could not read Chinese, but there is a guy who tells me this is like an insect humming in the street, or a bird singing in the morning, and so on.’ It is in this spirit that, once he learned that the Chinese characters left on the wall dividing two rooms were referring to ‘wisdom’, he decided to locate the office and the studio in that location. The area of the building in which he feels most comfortable, however, is the back, which was initially left empty. Mr. Billy took three years to transform this place into a garden with objects collected from the streets. As he said: About 90 per cent of the things here are recycled. I picked them up. At first I did it because I do not have enough budget and it is a huge house. If you want to furnish the house you must be a rich person. I am not, so I started to go out and collect things in the forest, things beside the road, in the dump sites. […] This is the only thing I can do and it became my style.

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If, on one hand, Mr. Billy was not touching many features in the inner space, he, on the other hand, found in the previously empty backyard a site where he could unveil – in his own words – his ‘existence’ and ‘expression’. In this garden, he would host friends and guests from other parts of the world in the same way he imagined it was done in the past: So it is like that in the past, the people were sitting in the courtyard having tea, maybe a visitor from Holland, maybe a visitor from Saudi Arabia. Because that time it was a port and today it is still happening the same thing, you are still sitting at the courtyard and you were from Spain, you were from there, you were from there. ‘I’m the local, come and have coffee!’ It is the same thing and I like this idea.

Still, for Mr. Billy, mass tourism and the consequent continuous displacement of neighbours to make space for other guest houses and hotels negatively affected the sense of community in the area. *** The three figures presented above are not meant to be comprehensive representations of the numerous approaches to conservation. There are many different ways to preserve and live in the row houses, as many as the people involved. Residents such as Mr. Chwee and Mr. Billy highlighted reasons that go beyond the mere attachment to the row houses as economic assets. Furthermore, they did not make use of global heritage idioms in their discourse. For Mr. Chwee, the historical building in which he was living was understood in terms of inheritance. For Mr. Billy, the row house was the link to a creative engagement with the past. One might expect the most conservative among the conservationists to criticize the changes brought to the original features of the buildings, such as the paintings of Mr. Billy or other artists. Some, especially among heritage experts, were in fact critical, but most local aficionados appreciated these contributions. As I will show later, some still distinguished graffiti, such as those made by Mr. Billy, from others that were perceived as inappropriate adornments for the buildings. Heritage aficionados are not only interested in the row houses as heritage and history. People like Mr. Michael, for example, also valued life in the neighbourhood, although the ongoing changes towards heritage tourism gentrification became a source of nostalgia for the bygone days. Nevertheless, Mr. Michael and many others still liked to spend time in the area where he was born and to manage a model of conservation that brings back the

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memories of the house where he grew up. The appreciation of the neighbourhood and the community in the area was also a primary reason to stay or to return for Mr. Chwee and Mr. Billy. Most of my interlocutors, however, were worried about the changes going on in the World Heritage site. After the inscription – as I will show – controls on restoration work increased, but they were mostly limited to the façades, whereas the interior parts were torn down and rebuilt to accommodate new adaptive reuses. Mr. Nicholas commented that these buildings had been ‘eviscerated’. Perhaps – and this was another criticism from many of my interlocutors – there was a further evisceration going on. The remaining former tenants continued to leave the area because they could afford neither the higher rents nor the high cost of renovation that resulted from new conservation rules. Most of the heritage aficionados who responded to the questionnaire, and heritage experts, criticized the authorities for their absence during the repeal of rent control, the demolitions, and what was perceived as the commercialization of the row houses for tourism. While heritage experts were more critical about the way conservation works were carried out, heritage aficionados were more concerned with the replacement of the old trades, and family or other social networks, with tourism-related businesses. The row houses became an arena of accusations between different actors – a veritable blame game – but a threefold one, which is mostly articulated around frictions between three main groups of actors: the authorities with their own heritage-related bureaus and officers; heritage experts and aficionados; and the landlords or tenants. These frictions are the subject of the next two sections.

Façadomy of Private World Heritage Properties Local authorities have been ambivalent about the conservation of the row houses since the advent of heritage conservation began in Melaka. The challenges of regulating private property contributed to their reluctance. Before the World Heritage designation, there were already some conservation guidelines and regulations concerning the row houses, but major initiatives came from heritage experts and advocacy-related groups, rather than the state. Things changed with the nomination process. The public discontent with the lack of control of demolitions forced the local government to intervene. The authorities were shocked when, in 2002, three row houses in Jonker Street were demolished overnight. Under Enactment 88, the fines for such an infraction were considered very low (a maximum of 10,000 ringgit,

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almost US$2500), and the Melaka State Government was even planning to acquire the land.8 Chief Minister Ali Rustam blamed the foreign owner, saying that ‘Singaporeans do not seem to take our laws seriously. They are very law-abiding in their own country but they treat our laws as a joke when they are here.’9 Yet, the owner said that he was not aware about the demolition, and he blamed the contractors. Heritage experts and aficionados, however, saw the state as the responsible party because of its absence. The issue of demolitions was already highlighted by a conservation architect from ICOMOS Australia, Elizabeth Vines, who was acting as a consultant for the local authorities during the nomination process. (She was the same expert who suggested the undertaking of a model conservation project in Melaka.) Vines asserted that existing conservation legislation was inadequate. Criticism from a foreign expert was not welcomed at the local level, and the authorities decided to end the collaboration with her. An official from the City Council said that her reports were ‘lopsided’. ‘We do not need her to get involved in this. Her reports were unfair and did injustice to the Malacca Government and council,’ he added.10 This specific incident is emblematic of interactions between state and non-state actors. As I will show, the inscription resulted in changes in the local conservation framework, but the blame game between authorities, private owners, heritage experts, and aficionados persisted. As shown in Chapter 3, interactions and discussions among international experts and key stakeholders about the World Heritage site of Melaka in the World Heritage arena have been very limited. Officially, most discussions concerned issues related to George Town.11 With the inscription, 8 After 2005 the National Heritage Act increased the fine for removing a heritage building to 500,000 ringgit (almost US$120,000) (Malaysia 2005). 9 ‘Heritage Demolition: Owner Will Have to Give up Property’, New Straits Times, 19 December 2002. 10 ‘It’s Too Late Now’, The Malay Press, 19 December 2002. 11 Another issue involved swiftlet farming. In 2011, the World Heritage Centre requested that the State Party carry out an impact assessment of swiftlet breeding. Some old row houses were used as farms to let these birds build their nests, a prized delicacy in the region. The conversion of old row houses into swiftlet farms, however, was considered a threat for the heritage area because, in order to attract these birds, the buildings were turned into dark, cave-like structures with just few small holes on the façades. In 2012, the State Party submitted a Heritage Impact Assessment ensuring the World Heritage Centre that the swiftlet industry would be removed from the World Heritage sites of Melaka and George Town by December 2013. At the World Heritage Committee session in Phnom Penh, the committee expressed its view that no further SOC (state of conservation) reports were required, requesting instead a brief summary, except

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some heritage experts and aficionados were hoping that UNESCO-related institutions would have a greater presence on the ground in helping to guide the management of the heritage area, including directly monitoring the transformation of row houses. But many heritage aficionados slowly realized that such international involvement was not going to happen. Furthermore, the way the World Heritage arena works continues to be opaque in the eyes of most of the people on the ground. Nevertheless, many still hoped to appeal directly to UNESCO-related bodies when they perceived conservation wrongdoings. For example, a local heritage aficionado once uploaded a picture to a Facebook page on UNESCO World Heritage sites in danger. The picture showed a pink-painted façade of a row house converted into a guest house displaying Hello Kitty-like graffiti. The picture received a few disappointed comments by other Facebook users, but it did not attract the attention of UNESCO, contrary to the expectations of some. Despite the fact that consideration for Melaka was almost absent in the World Heritage Committee discussions, the inscription had a major impact on the management of row houses in the city. Requests by the World Heritage Committee eventually motivated the State Party to intervene. This development resulted in three significant changes at the local level: detailed conservation rules, a strict approval process for renovation works, and a stronger monitoring system. The Conservation Management Plan 2011 submitted to the World Heritage Committee by the State Party complemented previous management plans at the local level. The earlier municipal Conservation Management Plan, together with the municipal Draft Local Plan (Rancangan Tempatan Daerah Melaka Tengah), and the Draft Special Area Plan (Draf Rancangan Kawasan Khas), already set specific guidelines encouraging, for example, the use of original pastel colours for the façades, the positioning of air conditioning units and sign boards that would not affect the façades, height limits, and selected adaptive reuses. In particular, the Conservation Management Plan of 2011 introduced further, and more specific, guidelines regarding the physicality of the buildings. For the majority of the row houses in the World Heritage site these guidelines included the following: [I]nternal alteration and extension at rear (and inside if applicable) is allowed for suitable adaptive re-use and new extension should complement in the case of new threats or developments at the property (see https://whc.unesco.org/en/ soc/1984, accessed 12 March 2021).

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and enhance the quality of existing buildings in terms of setting, mass, height, design, scale, material use and architectural element. [R]epairing the original materials or returning back to the original fabric of the building is to be encouraged. […] The existing building with its original character and building profile should be retained and restored to its original condition. Replacing the existing materials should have similar profile, performance, design, colour and texture or equivalent. (Malaysia 2011)

These guidelines also encouraged the use of original drawings, pictures, paintings, newspapers, archives, and oral histories that would help to promote greater appreciation for the original condition of the buildings. Second, the Conservation Management Plan of 2011 introduced a process of four to five steps for the approval of conservation works. Initially, a dilapidation report should be submitted to the municipal Conservation Unit explaining what is intended to be repaired, conserved, or adapted. Then, repair proposal drawings should be submitted to the same unit. Afterwards, a submission for approval could be forwarded to the One Stop Centre and Building Control Department (the municipal Jabatan Kawalan Bangunan).12 Once approved, progress reports should be documented through pictures at the beginning, during, and at the end of the work. In certain cases, depending on the extent of the work, an HIA (Heritage Impact Assessment) could be requested before the submission to the One Stop Centre. This assessment should be carried out by an external consultant, usually a university professor or an independent architect. The HIA is required for cases that involve change of use (for example, from residential to commercial) and for new projects involving infill development or replacement. It also includes a Cultural Impact Assessment in order to determine whether the change of use or a new building would affect the authenticity of the Outstanding Universal Value (OUV). In more delicate cases, the HIA should also be sent to the Department of National Heritage. Third, local authorities were required to improve the monitoring of the World Heritage site. The Melaka World Heritage Off ice was such a monitoring body. (It was just housed in a restored shophouse in the buffer 12 The One Stop Centres have been established in Malaysia since 2008 in order to redress the slow and tedious processes connected with the approval of new projects: for example, planning permissions, building plans passing, or in regard to the conversion of land use. The One Stop Centres are established under each local authority and they are in charge of distributing the applications to the different technical departments involved in the process.

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Figure 4.6 Renovation works retaining only the façade

Author’s photo, 2014

zone.) Off icials at the Department of National Heritage welcomed the establishment of this office. One of them referred to it as ‘the eyes and the ears of the Department of National Heritage’ and the State Party. According to him, this monitoring body was going to improve the control of the site by local and national authorities. In practice, the office began serving as an advisory body, connecting the public to the heritage-related bureaus. The Melaka World Heritage Office was, however, working more for architects and designers – themselves operating on behalf of developers, landlords, and tenants – who approached the staff for advice on renovation work. Unfortunately the monitoring exercise has since the beginning been constrained by a lack of personnel. Because the Melaka State Government was forced to establish the bureau, at the request of the World Heritage Committee, rather than appointing new officers, bureaucrats from the municipal Conservation Unit were merely moved to the new office. In practice, the Melaka World Heritage Office was still a body under the control of the local authorities and not a more independent agency, as some international experts would have preferred. The regional UNESCO mentor, Mr. Mark, was himself uncertain about its efficiency. According to him, this institution was a French model

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proposed by an expert from the World Heritage Centre that could, perhaps, have worked in Europe, but not in Asia. The conservation rules have been more successful in maintaining building façades, their shell, rather than the inner space and previous function. These regulations were regarded as insufficient by heritage experts and aficionados. They expected more control from the local bureaus and officers. Their disappointment developed into accusations of mismanagement towards what was perceived to be a weak bureaucratic machinery.

The Malleability of Conservation Rules Many Melakans use to make jokes about the way rules and laws are implemented in their country, and conservation regulations are no exception. One of these jokes plays with the government slogan Malaysia Boleh (‘Malaysia Can’), which has been formulated to make Malaysians proud of national achievements. While talking about rules, many of my interlocutors referred to Malaysia as a Bolehland (a country where everything is possible, literally the ‘Can Land’). In the context of the Melakan World Heritage management, Bolehland criticism has been directed especially at construction and conservation work regarded to have been carried out contrary to the rule of law. Some of the most criticized wrongdoings in relation to the row houses in the World Heritage site are, for example, illegal demolition, extensions and violations of height limits, illegal conversions of use, the replacing of wooden floors with concrete, removal of structural walls and excessive partitioning, additions of air conditioning units to the façades, plastering with cement instead of lime, destruction of structural walls and plastered brick walls, the use of modern paint instead of limewash, and the removal of traditional features such as timber frames, doors, windows, or original roof and floor tiles. On the one hand, most heritage-related advocacy groups, heritage aficionados, and experts seemed to be quite dissatisfied with the way conservation rules and guidelines have been implemented by the authorities, although they generally acknowledged improvement in the preparation of documents and the establishment of new bureaus. On the other hand, bureaucrats have often ignored their views. I was told by an officer that heritage aficionados and experts ‘just complain about the state of conservation of these buildings, but they do not even live there’. In such a clash of views, the two main points of contention of this blame game revolve around the belief that authorities are overly permissive towards conservation wrongdoings and

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Figure 4.7 Example of criticized air conditioning units

Author’s photo, 2019

slow in preventing them. This is reflective of informant perceptions in ethnographies of other historic cities; ‘permissiveness’ (Little 2014: 197) and ‘bureaucratic tardiness’ (Herzfeld 1991: 237) are common features in the management of heritage buildings vis-à-vis the new uses and work carried out by private owners and tenants. The wording of ‘urban spatial permissiveness’ has been proposed by Walter Little (2014) in his study of the Guatemalan city of Antigua, which was inscribed into the World Heritage List in 1979. He shows how conservation regulations were not implemented rigidly, in part because it took some time for regulations to be divulged to the wider public, but also because cooperation between different bureaus was lethargic (see Little 2014: 202). In the Melakan case, permissiveness with regard to conservation rules was particularly acute during the first five years after inscription. Malaysian authorities were slow to implement the new rules. Permissiveness, as it unfolded during my fieldwork, was also intertwined with a certain slowness of the bureaucratic machinery. This situation is reminiscent of the case of Rethemnos as described by Michael Herzfeld (1991: 237), where slowness was perceived by some as another ‘irony of historic conservation: that it actively participates in the destruction of the Old Town’. The perception of the absence of local authorities complicates the picture. Some of my interlocutors living in the row houses highlighted the absence of

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official authorities. For example, after the inscription a friend of Mr. Chwee suggested that he request assistance from government for restoration work. Mr. Chwee said, however, that ‘if they [the authorities] care about heritage and UNESCO’ and ‘if they really want to help, they just have to go around and see what houses are in need of repair’. For Mr. Chwee, as well as many other residents and business operators, the system set up by the authorities was ‘too difficult and people just talk’. Similarly, Mr. Billy considered the government to be absent: ‘I hear them [the authorities] talking, but I did not see anything from them. I do not feel they exist. […] I can see the newspapers writing about them, […] but I do not see anything.’ He asked rhetorically; ‘What have they done?’ The perception of local heritage bureaus as being absent has also been acknowledged by interlocutors who themselves are working in national and local bureaus. This absence seems to be characteristic of bureaucratic slowness and permissiveness in many global contexts. The delay in the implementation and the distribution of conservation guidelines, especially, generated in some officers an acceptance of permissiveness. For example, I was told by a local bureaucrat that ‘we cannot tell off people because we never advised them’. Things seemed to change slowly during my fieldwork, but permissiveness towards some wrongdoing in conservation and renovation work is nonetheless still apparent, and these issues continue to be debated by heritage experts and aficionados. Yet, for some local bureaucrats, permissiveness was not entirely negative. They highlighted the fact that foreign heritage experts are too strict in their approach to conservation. As stated by a local bureaucrat, the approach carried out by the authorities should be more flexible because Melaka is a living city. He contrasted a flexible approach to the vision of a Melaka ‘frozen’ in the past, the view that is ostensibly advanced by foreign experts. It is, perhaps, easy to blame the authorities and bureaucrats, but it should be acknowledged that Malaysian officials and bureaucrats alike usually admit the weaknesses of their own administration. At least on paper, officialdom has tried to find solutions to improve efficiency. The State Party recognizes that there are problems concerning the lack of personnel and that the process to obtain permits for renovation work is often tedious and afflicted by red tape and a lack of transparency (see Malaysia 2011). Even the bureaucrats I met acknowledged to a great extent the permissiveness and tardiness of the heritage bureaucratic machinery, but they thought that they were not the only party responsible for conservation wrongdoing. The introduction of stricter rules resulted in measures of control that a great number of local officers would have preferred to avoid, but the World

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Heritage inscription forced them to take responsibility for the process. This exacerbated the blame game atmosphere in the encounter between bureaucrats, landlords, and tenants. Bureaucrats emphasized that, in general, the owners of the old row houses feared that heritage regulations diminished their property rights. I was told by an officer that ‘the authorities should not interfere too much with private owners, but now it is World Heritage!’ According to him, it was also unfair to use taxpayers’ money for private buildings that owners would use for prof itable activities. Bureaucrats preferred the management of state-owned buildings rather than the more problematic control over private buildings, which in their view inevitably leads to conflict. Some officers complained about what they described as a demonization of the state in the media following the demolitions in the early 2000s. I was told by another officer that ‘we cannot be everywhere all the time’, when she reminded me that demolitions have usually been carried out overnight. The same officer questioned where the neighbours were during the demolitions and why nobody tried to stop them, instead of blaming the authorities. According to her, the residents of heritage areas themselves should help the state in the monitoring process. While demolitions have been halted, other renovation work has usually been carried out at night or even during the day, and often in haste. Most residents would hesitate to denounce illegal work because the relationships with their neighbours would be disrupted. Nevertheless, if a wrongdoing is extreme and it affects their own premises, residents and business operators would more probably report it to the authorities. This was the case, for example, in 2012 when an entrepreneur running a restaurant in the World Heritage site called an official from the City Council. When he opened his restaurant one day, he found out that his windows had been completely sealed with concrete by walls his neighbour constructed on his premises overnight. Another common complaint from bureaucrats is that there is a lack of awareness about conservation rules. There is a common feeling among local officers that landlords and entrepreneurs ‘do not know the rules’ (perhaps this opinion is one of the few that bureaucrats and heritage expertscum-aficionados share). According to some bureaucrats, private owners claim that detailed information is lacking in order to justify renovation work that runs counter to the rules. For example, I was told by an officer that the supposed ‘stakeholders’ do not even attend the public hearings of the draft management plans. By attending these hearings, the public can express dissent or propose improvements in order to revise plans, rules, and guidelines before the final management plans are approved by the

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authorities. It must be said, however, that it is not easy for ordinary people to comprehend official documents. Such documents are comprised of hundreds of pages, and they are constantly revised. It is also not always easy to get copies of these documents, although they can be officially purchased at the municipal offices. Additionally, the enhancement of conservation rules appears to have intensified bureaucratic tardiness. In Melaka, ironically, even though the new system for the approval of conservation works introduced in the previous section was meant to simplify this process, it seems that, in practice, the process became even more complicated. Many interlocutors felt that these procedures became even more tedious and time-consuming. Consequently, many landlords and tenants preferred to renovate their premises without approval. Furthermore, the conservation guidelines constitute only a small part of the entirety of regulations that have to be followed, especially in the case of commercial adaptive reuse: from fire and health safety to advertisements and business licencing. In addition, because approvals and monitoring activities are issued and carried out by different municipal bodies, slowness is from time to time characterized by temporally discrepant measures and controls. Several business operators have developed various novel strategies to face this slowness and the delayed measures taken by the different municipal bureaus involved. For example, some interlocutors lamented that many guest houses never obtained business licences because the requirements set up by the Melakan Fire and Rescue Department were too demanding. The adaptive reuse of these old structures – separated one from each other by party walls and partially comprised of timber materials – also required a huge investment in order to ensure the safety of the customers and guests. While operators of more expensive guest houses and boutique hotels used to appoint architects with expertise in conservation, operators of low-budget hotels have carried out work mostly on their own. This meant going through bureaucratic processes that were unknown to them. Nonetheless, many continued their businesses as usual in the hope that authorities would never discover missing licences and rule violations. This supposition was supported by the fact that, for the authorities, it was more difficult to get access to the building interiors. Nevertheless, many interlocutors lamented the reality that they were required to live in constant fear of random enforcement by different bureaus who could fine them for violations, such as a lack of licences for fire safety or signboards, and even for plants obstructing five-footways and façades. Despite the slowness of the bureaucratic machinery, fines (saman) – once they are given – can be imposed daily until the infringement in question is adequately addressed.

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Figure 4.8 Graffiti of a high-rise on a shophouse

Author’s photo, 2012

There is an additional aspect that complements spatial permissiveness and bureaucratic slowness: the malleability of the conservation rules. The post-inscription regulations have not been applied as a static set of standards. This is due to the fact that they are subject to considerable interpretation, power, and decision-making. Such a malleability has become a bone of contention between the state and heritage-related civil society actors. In particular, it seemed that, as far as some rules have been followed, such as the use of particular materials, other rules have been violated. Heritage experts and aficionados have denounced several times – with examples at hand – extensions, modifications, and even new construction that, according to them, violated rules and guidelines. The same local authorities have been criticized by heritage experts and aficionados for not adhering to their own guidelines. Since the 2000s, for example, the Melaka State Government supported the repainting of the façades of private row houses with modern paint not considered compatible with the previously lime-washed walls. According to heritage experts and aficionados, limewash allowed the walls to ‘breathe’, whereas synthetic paint was not suitable. Even the few examples of row houses restored by local authorities have often been ridiculed by local heritage aficionados.

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They pointed to the modern glass windows added without following the guidelines that the authorities themselves prepared. I was told that ‘it seems they [the heritage bureaucrats] have much to learn themselves’. Likewise, another heritage aficionado, commenting on the air conditioning units added to row houses used as government offices, said sarcastically that ‘probably the need to conserve themselves [officers] is more important than the conservation of old buildings’. Similarly, beautification projects carried out by the Melaka State Government have been criticized by some as not compatible with the area as well as with the old row houses involved, especially in the case of state-sponsored graffiti. Such contrasts reflect different perspectives on beauty. Undoubtedly the new graffiti added to the façades of old buildings eventually became icons that attracted tourists, but for some heritage experts and aficionados those walls were beautiful on their own and did not require further embellishment. Similar critiques were highlighted by Mr. Farish, one of the experts who prepared the nomination dossier. According to him, for example, the beautified backs of the old row houses on the river should have been left untouched and white because they were already ‘nice backs’. There are two significant controversies between the state and heritagerelated civil society actors that further shows the extent of malleability of conservation rules. The first one regards extensions, in particular, the additions of new storeys to row houses to be converted into hotels and guest houses. The new rules that followed the World Heritage inscription introduced very strict limits on height. First, within the World Heritage property, the original height should be retained. Furthermore, in the case of new construction between two row houses, the height allowed must conform to the adjacent lowest building. Second, for the buildings in the buffer zone, the maximum height allowed is 12 metres (approximately 40 feet), meaning three storeys in the case of row houses. Additions are, however, not allowed at the front of the buildings in the buffer zone: further storeys can be added only after the first hall (see Figure 4.9b). What puzzled some people concerned with the implementation of these rules has been what they denounced as the addition of further storeys to buildings in the World Heritage property, where the original roofscape should have been left untouched. It seemed, according to them, that the very rules for modifications to the old structures in the property have been violated initially, and that the less strict height limits for buildings in the buffer zone have been applied to the property. Ironically, such extensions have been carried out through the use of materials and designs in conformity with the conservation guidelines. Heritage aficionados highlighted the fact that the adequate use of materials

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Figure 4.9a  Height limits and infill development in the World Heritage property

Figure 4.9b  Height limits in the World Heritage buffer zone

such as bricks and tiles was implemented, but in order to build additional storeys on buildings that should have been retained at their original height. As Mr. Nicholas commented, the additional storeys and raised roofs with gable ends, replicating the traditional forms, were spoiling the existing roofscape. According to him, the added storeys look ‘authentic’, but they are hiding the demarcations between what was the original height and the new extensions. In some cases, the same bureaucrats seemed powerless. I was told that their hands were tied, especially in the case of extensions to be carried out by local tycoons for bigger hotels. Some interlocutors told me that when bureaucrats tried to stop such violations, the concerned tycoons would call their superiors or politicians, and secure permission to circumvent the rules.

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Surely it is difficult to find a common approach when different actors have different points of view on how to carry out conservation and renovation work. The lack of a uniform approach is also reflected in the way HIAs have been carried out by different consultants. It seemed that this mechanism has served a more flexible approach instead of standardizing the conservation rules, as expected by the heritage experts and activists who have pushed for its adoption. Thus, some of my interlocutors were questioning why renovation work – such as those involving the addition of further storeys in the World Heritage property – have been approved. HIAs have also been questioned by the very consultants who used to be appointed by the City Council to carry out these evaluations. Such a debate can be better understood through the second example, which examines the rules as applied to a new project in the World Heritage site, the Hard Rock Café. In relation to this example, a university professor with expertise in architectural heritage conservation intervened quite passionately at a public seminar on heritage, asking the audience: ‘Who approved it? It is sad. I want to know who is the expert who did the Heritage Impact Assessment!’ For some time he used to carry out HIAs in Melaka himself, but the City Council stopped calling him because – as he told me – his approach was considered too strict and critical. He cited a previous HIA prepared by him for a budget hotel in the World Heritage property, recalling how angry the business operator was when his project was not approved. But, as one of the most ardent heritage devotees, he once told me in terms which resemble religious jurisprudence, that ‘he should have allowed what was permissible and halal’ (menghalal apa yang halal), and not what was ‘forbidden’ (haram). We will never know whether the Hard Rock Café, which opened in 2013, would have been approved if an expert like him had carried out the HIA. What is apparent, however, is that this project was completed, despite the public opposition of many people. This case is a significant example of the malleability of conservation rules. The third Hard Rock Café in Malaysia, it was publicly announced in 2011 as the biggest in Southeast Asia. The plan called for construction in the very core of Melaka’s World Heritage property, on a parcel of public space on the banks of the river in front of the Dutch Square. The place is of special value for many Melakans such as, for example, Mr. Billy, who remembered when his father used to bring him there during his childhood. This embankment was also the best place to enjoy the view of the river and the Dutch Square. A public letter from Badan Warisan Malaysia questioned the project as soon as it was launched. ‘Between a Rock and a Hard Place’ (recalling the adage), explicitly called for an HIA. Doubts about locating the Hard Rock Café

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Figure 4.10 The Hard Rock Café under construction

Author’s photo, 2012

in this location underscored concern about threats to the authenticity of the area. First, Badan Warisan Malaysia (2011) questioned ‘How well do Melaka’s cultural history with its built environment, and a cafe expressing an American rock ’n’ roll sensibility, mix?’ Then, the NGO highlighted that the project was not sustainable for the area because it would cause even more traffic congestion. Furthermore, the group questioned the design of the building and how it was going to blend in with the heritage landscape, even though the plan was prepared in conformity with the height limits and use-of-materials requirements recommended by the conservation rules. The fact that the plan included a car park underneath the café also caused concerns as another threat to the surrounding built environment. (Experts and bureaucrats working at that time at local heritage-related units and at the Department of National Heritage opposed the project for similar reasons.) The example of the Hard Rock Café shows how the monitoring framework set up at the local level and the HIAs are not necessarily working as those constituencies would have expected. In the end, the project was completed and approved by the local Town and Country Planning authorities, institutions that are highly susceptible to influence by politicians occupying the higher positions at the local state level. The dissent of civil society groups and individuals did not influence the final decision-making. Instead, private

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investors used the very conservation rules designed to prevent projects such as the Hard Rock Café for their own purposes. Although the structure of the newly constructed café was made through modern building technologies and materials such as concrete, the exterior was designed after the traditional forms of the surrounding row houses. The pitched roof covered by clay tiles and the gable ends are exemplary in this context. The interior design of the café is even more remarkable in its use of Peranakan Chinese-style decorated floor tiles, French windows, the extensive use of traditional materials, such as timber, and traditional Dutch-looking bricks. For these reasons, the then Chief Minister Ali Rustam reassured the public that the new building was not going to affect the image of the heritage area, because the structure resembled the surrounding old buildings.13 He was reported to have said that ‘while maintaining the heritage element, we will also abide by the state regulations’.14 A further element in the malleability of these rules is the complicity between the politicians who can control the approval process and the investors who represent the riches brought by tourism. The inauguration of the café was attended by Ali Rustam himself, together with the new Chief Minister Idris Harun, the Malaysian tycoon and Hard Rock Café Malaysia franchise holder, Syed Yusof Syed Nasir, and his prominent partner, the Sultan of Selangor. As we can see, the conservation management plan set up in order to preserve the row houses in the World Heritage site did not put an end to the gentrif ication and commercialization of the area. In certain cases the rules have even been used to exacerbate these processes through the very use of the heritage features of the row houses. The conservation rules which to some extent have facilitated the preservation of tangible elements, especially the façades – are not yet satisfying those concerned with the loss of intangible heritage. Some heritage enthusiasts and aficionados complained, asking what an American-inspired café had to do with Melakan heritage. But conservation rules continue to be fuzzy about what is actually a sustainable adaptive reuse, replacement, or new construction. Certainly rules do not explicitly preclude the opening of a rock ’n’ roll-themed restaurant in the middle of the Melakan World Heritage site. Nevertheless, for those frustrated by this decision there was a difference between a Hard Rock Café considered alien to the place, and the other small-scale rock ’n’ roll cafés, such as the one opened by Mr. George in his antique shop. 13 ‘“Hard Rock Café” tidak Jejas Kawasan Warisan – Mohd Ali’, Melaka Hari Ini, 10 June 2011. 14 ‘Popular Café Chain Opens in Malacca’s Heritage Zone’, The Star, 18 June 2011.

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What Is the State of Conservation for the Row Houses? The title of this chapter, ‘Melakan Row Houses from the Ground Up’, is not only meant to describe the evolution of these buildings from their origins to their decline and, finally, their revaluation. The description of these row houses, through the diversity of the several actors involved from the ground up, points to a difference from other approaches to conservation of similar vernacular architectural forms – in particular, state-led top-down approaches, such as the revitalization of historic shophouses in Singapore. The ‘top-down approach’ in this context refers to the conservation work carried out for these buildings as defined by the Urban Redevelopment Authority of Singapore since the 1980s. This stipulates that works should start from the roof and then proceed towards the ground (see Widodo 2011: 5). But top-down, here, also points to the way Singapore has strictly implemented the conservation rules on selected shophouses, while many others were demolished. In the 1980s, with the repeal of rent control, Singapore prepared detailed guidelines for the individual owners and those who purchased state-owned shophouses (Dale 2008: 45). Differently from Singapore, Melakan authorities have initially adopted a laissez-faire approach. In particular, the Melaka State Government and the City Council have been more hesitant to intervene in the management of the row houses – which constitute the majority of the private properties of the World Heritage site – compared with the top-down approach on the state-owned buildings in the civic area. When new conservation rules began to be implemented more seriously, problems such as demolitions were addressed. Heritage experts and aficionados, however, still had concerns related to the way rules are applied. Slowly, what Ms. Janice called a ‘cowboy town’ with no conservation rules began, more and more, to resemble the ‘façadism’ approach endorsed in Singapore, as dubbed by Johannes Widodo (2011: 6). Façades have been retained or restored to the particular aesthetics of a definite period in time, but the interiors of the buildings have been torn down – ‘eviscerated’ as Mr. Nicholas would say – and reconstructed in order to be converted into other uses. As we have seen in this chapter, this approach to conservation does not satisfy the heritage aficionados, most of the former residents who had left the area, or the remaining residents who witnessed the changes in the social relations of the Old Town. The dilemma between a focus on the physicality of conservation approaches vis-à-vis the people living in a heritage site underscores a question raised by Michael Herzfeld (2010: S260): ‘[I]n a contest between living people and objects from the past, need one side vanquish the other for a persuasively ethical

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solution to emerge?’ This, perhaps, remains an open question, especially for local heritage experts and officials. While authorities have prepared conservation rules encouraging certain adaptive reuses, such as old trades in the World Heritage property, they acknowledged that they were unprepared to control the massive transformation of the row houses into hotels, guest houses, cafés, and souvenir shops. ‘We [Melaka and Melakans]’, I was told by a local bureaucrat, ‘are victims of our own success!’ The question that stuck in my mind is the one I was asked by an officer at the UNESCO Regional Office in Bangkok. When we spoke about my research project, the only thing he asked me rhetorically was: ‘There is a lot of gentrification going on, right?’ These few words he exchanged with me underline the fact that processes of gentrification are nowadays a common issue in urban World Heritage sites worldwide. At the same time, his words also implicitly disclose the powerlessness of UNESCO-related bodies in containing the effects of these processes on the ground. As I have shown, the World Heritage inscription resulted in new rules, stricter procedures for conservation and renovation work approvals, and new monitoring bodies. These changes, however, do not fulfil the expectations of local heritage experts and aficionados. Furthermore, many landlords expected some sort of financial support. With the Conservation Management Plan of 2011, the Department of National Heritage proposed grant and loan schemes for the private sector in order to provide financial assistance and incentives for property owners. But these schemes were not implemented during my fieldwork. Furthermore, the 30 million ringgit allocation from the federal government to Melaka was primarily used for the conservation of buildings recognized as national monuments. I was told in 2013 that this fund was already almost depleted. Although local authorities have introduced a heritage fee (caj warisan) of 2 ringgit (US$0.50) for every occupied room in hotels and guest houses, this fee is supposed to be used for the maintenance of heritage sites, but not privately owned buildings. Finally, it seems that the new conservation rules encourage restoration and renovation work that some of the residents cannot afford. During my fieldwork, this financial reality continued to displace the remaining long-term residents. While the state has been reticent about interfering with private property, public space has a higher potential to be politically instrumentalized. The next chapter will turn to the politicization of heritage and the approaches of the Barisan Nasional-led government, in power during my fieldwork, to public space in the World Heritage site and surroundings.

5

Divide and Brand: Public Space, Politics, and Tourism Abstract Chapter 5 turns to the transformation of historic spaces into ‘cultural shopping streets’, divided along the official macro-categories of Malays, Chinese, and Indians. After introducing the making of Little India and the Malay Bazar Ramadan, the chapter focuses on the Chinatown-like Jonker Walk as the first and most successful of these projects. This case study shows how these tourism packages resist a wide range of critics: from UNESCO-related actors and local heritage bureaus that condemn the commercialization of these historic streets, to the residents and heritage aficionados that identify them as symbols of multicultural coexistence. This chapter reveals competing views of Melaka’s multi-ethnic townscape: from the cosmopolitan character of the World Heritage inscription to a racialized and politicized demarcation of space. Keywords: tourism, branded streets, public space, racialization, cultural diversity, Jonker Walk

On weekend evenings, after a chat at Mr. Chwee’s house, I used to stroll westwards if I wanted to avoid the crowd of tourists gathering at the night market in Jonker Street. The opposite side would never be the right option for an escape, because hordes of tourists converge there to take a trishaw, to reach the Hard Rock Café, or to watch kung fu Master Ho (a Guinness World Record holder) pierce a coconut with his finger. I then used to turn right before the Tamil Methodist Church, into what is today best known as Harmony Street, where I often parked my motorbike. The real names of the three portions of Harmony Street are Jalan Tukang Besi (‘Blacksmith Street’), Jalan Tukang Emas (‘Goldsmith Street’), and Jalan Tokong (‘Temple Street’). Here, three among the oldest functioning places of worship in Malaysia stand together: Kampung Kling Mosque, Cheng Hoon Teng Temple, and

De Giosa, Pierpaolo, World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia: A Cityscape below the Winds. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2021 doi: 10.5117/9789463725026_ch05

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Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple. For this reason, guidebooks began presenting these three streets as ‘Harmony Street’ back in the 1980s (e.g., Tan 1984; Hoyt 1993). By referring to it as ‘Three Temples Street’, the World Heritage nomination dossier displayed this proximity as an example of the ‘harmony of multi-racial groups’ (Malaysia 2008: 25). In Chapter 3 I described the influence international actors had in shaping a pluralistic narrative, in line with interests in cultural diversity and multiculturalism inspired by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). Christoph Brumann (2014: 2181) writes that the World Heritage Committee is increasingly ‘fond of sites that themselves express cosmopolitanism and the meeting of societies and cultures’. The heritage experts who prepared the nomination dossier followed this narrative successfully by highlighting the multicultural – both tangible and intangible – heritage of Melaka and George Town. In particular, the dossier described the two cities as multi-religious and multi-ethnic ‘tapestries’ sewn together in harmony and tolerance throughout the centuries (Malaysia 2008: 90). It is interesting to note that the dossier did not abandon altogether the macro-categories of the three major ethnic groups, but it complemented the picture, also including the ‘Others’ as well as Malay, Chinese, and Indian intra-ethnic differentiations. Furthermore, the dossier aimed at describing the blending of influences of the different groups in the hybrid urban fabric that blurred the boundaries between different communities. While this shift can be partly attributed to global forces, and the will to strengthen the Malaysian World Heritage bid, it should be equally emphasized that those who prepared the dossier were themselves in line with this cosmopolitan vision. Furthermore, as also noted by Florence Graezer Bideau and Mondher Kilani (2012: 3), the dossier testified to a convergence between the universal values embraced by the World Heritage programme and the federal Vision 2020, with the mission of Bangsa Malaysia, or a united ‘Malaysian nation’. Such a shift occurred in the last decade and is also recognized by Victor King (2016b: 167, 168), although he states that state-owned buildings continue to emphasize a Malay-centric museumification, whereas the private sector concentrates on Straits Chinese elements. Several scholars highlight the strong Malay focus in Melaka’s heritage industry (e.g., Ashworth, Graham, and Tunbridge 2007; Graezer Bideau and Kilani 2012; King 2016b; Worden 2001, 2003). In particular, Gregory Ashworth, Brian Graham, and John Tunbridge (2007) offer the case of Melaka as an example for their heritage ‘core+ model’ in the postcolonial Malaysian nation-building process. This model describes a ‘Malay hegemony’ in the

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heritage industry vis-à-vis the marginalized others that represent only a decorative ‘add-on’ (Ashworth, Graham, and Tunbridge 2007: 152-153). The Malay-centric perspective is partially accurate, but it is rather confined to state museums and public buildings, such as those in the old civic area described in Chapter 2 (see also King 2016b). Conversely, I argue that through an emergent divide and brand approach, it is not only the Malay element that is represented with other decorative add-ons, but rather a re-proposition of the consociational composition of Barisan Nasional (the National Front) and its ethno-nationalist backbone: the three major parties UMNO (United Malays National Organisation), MCA (Malaysian Chinese Association), and MIC (Malaysian Indian Congress).1 I present a triadic place-making that rebrands heritage streets and urban space into the official Malay-ChineseIndian triunity: the themed cultural street-cum-ethnic enclave, a touristic and political imaginary, which is living side by side with the places it tries to insert in the racial grid of the coalition. My argument in this chapter is quite straightforward. Malaysia oscillates between previous Malay-centric politics of heritage and the pluralistic narrative embraced for the World Heritage bid. But, betwixt and between, it is still considerably anchored to the overarching Malay-Chinese-Indian grid. The resilience of this legacy in the context of public space that I call ‘divide and brand’ is reminiscent of the colonial practice of ‘divide and rule’. Charles Hirschman’s (1986, 1987) study of the imposition of racial categories in colonial Malaya shows how the British managed, with diff iculties and after many censuses, to classify into an ossif ied Malay-Chinese-Indian grid a much more variegated and cosmopolitan population. Similarly, in the age of global tourism, the branding of downtown Melaka that I am going to describe tries to impose neatly defined racialized tourism packages on a much more complex and hybrid urban fabric. But, before delineating this divide and brand tourism practice by focusing on the most successful of these packages, the Chinatown-like Jonker Walk, let me first introduce the ways the brands of Malaysia and Melaka are presented to the world. 1 I borrow the term ‘consociational’ from Arend Lijphart. As it is used here, this term reflects the way space is imagined and re-represented by Barisan Nasional. Lijphart’s def inition of consociationalism is, in fact, useful to understand the use of space. He indicates four characteristics of consociationalism: a political ‘grand coalition’ representing the main segments of the plural society; a ‘mutual veto’ confirming the majority rule but also protecting the minority; ‘proportionality’ ref lected in the representation of the groups in different positions; and ‘a high degree of autonomy for each segment to run its own internal affairs’ (Lijphart 1977: 25).

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‘To Visit Historic Melaka Means to Visit Malaysia’ Until the 1990s, as noted by Victor King (1992: 6, 8), tourism in Malaysia was less developed in comparison to its neighbours, and this country was just a short-stay stopover on the way to other Southeast Asian destinations. Thus, the state has increasingly focused on tourism as an important source of economic growth, and it tried to look for new strategies to prolong the stay of tourists. The Visit Malaysia campaigns brand the country as ‘Malaysia, Truly Asia’. This slogan was, for the Visit Malaysia Year 2014 campaign, fused with the ‘1Malaysia’ motto: ‘1Malaysia, Truly Asia’. This synecdochic nation-branding package invites foreign tourists, especially non-Asians, to experience cultural diversity in a harmonious and exotic milieu. In this sense, the slogan is inclusive for two reasons. Tourists can travel in one country and find the urban signs of Asian development and modernity. But they can also experience the diversity of Asian cultures coexisting together in one place. This is particularly visible in the tourism advertisement displaying people in different traditional dresses: an ordered, distinct, and smiling representation of Malays, Chinese, and Indian subjects, often together with the indigenous ‘Others’. In 2010 the federal government, with the Economic Transformation Programme, identified tourism as one of the National Key Economic Areas (NKEAs), and one of the largest industries contributing to the economy. The primary goal of this policy was to attract 36 million tourists in 2020, compared to the 25 million tourists who visited the country in 2011. Another goal of this programme was to increase revenues through the development of an ‘affordable luxury’ and the promotion of the country as a shopping destination (see Malaysia 2010a: 323). With another synecdochic motto, ‘To Visit Historic Melaka Means to Visit Malaysia’ (Melawat Melaka Bersejarah Bererti Melawat Malaysia), the Melaka State Government promotes urban heritage in order to attract tourists. This focus represents a shift from the previous tourism industry devoted to the construction of theme parks, resorts, and golf courses far away from the historic city centre (see Cartier 1998). Being a small state, with limited natural resources, tourism is significant for the local economy, after the manufacturing sector. The development and growth of the tourism industry goes hand in hand with inscription on the World Heritage List. According to Melaka’s Tourism Promotion Division (Bahagian Promosi Pelancongan), 14 million tourists visited the city in 2013.2 There has been 2

‘Melaka Unggul di Peta Pelancongan Dunia’, Melaka Hari Ini, 14 February 2014.

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an increase of more than 50 per cent compared to 2007, the year before inscription (see MBMB 2008a). Approximately 70 per cent of the tourists are Malaysians, mainly from the neighbouring states. Visitors from abroad primarily comprise Asians from China, Singapore, Indonesia, Taiwan, and Japan. It is not clear on which sources this data is based, but the sum is more likely to refer to the entire state of Melaka, rather than the city of Melaka alone, and it seems to include a wide variety of visitors: from the Indonesian medical tourists to the Singaporean weekend regulars. Similarly to the national goal of extending the stay of tourists, Melaka’s Tourism Promotion Division invites visitors to sojourn for at least three nights. The busiest periods in the year remain those of school holidays and weekends, during which many domestic tourists and Singaporeans crowd the streets of Melaka. Conversely, it can be said that foreign tourists visit the city throughout the entire year. To a large degree, non-Asian tourists belong to the category of backpackers who temporarily stop in Melaka before reaching other destinations. An increasing flow of groups of tourists following organized tours is made up by Asians: primarily Chinese, Japanese, and South Koreans. In order to attract more tourists, Melaka’s authorities have introduced new branding strategies which highlight the use of cultural diversity at the service of political and economic interests. In fact, cultural diversity represents one of the pillars of Malaysian nation-building, but not only for fostering a sense of unity. It is also used for the promotion of tourism as a significant source of income and economic development at the local level by accommodating the demands of the global tourism market. Tourists continue to be seduced by exotic places, but cultural diversity and harmony are factors that increase the appeal of places to the eye of the visitor. But what kind of diversity is displayed? And what is the approach of local authorities while managing diversity on the historic streets of Melaka?

Branding Streets in the Consociational Way We have seen in the previous chapter how Malaysia and Singapore have adopted two opposite approaches to the conservation of their row houses. In this chapter, to the contrary, we find a similarity between the making of the so-called cultural streets in Melaka and the packaging of ethnic enclaves for tourists in Singapore. When the Singaporean government prepared the conservation management plans for the row houses, it included the designation of heritage districts. Among them, three places were mapped

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as Chinatown, Kampung Glam, and Little India, and have been themed in order to present an essentialized image of respectively the Chinese, Malay, and Indian categories (see Chang 2000; Chang and Yeoh 1999; Imran 2012; Yeoh and Huang 1996). This kind of place-making in Melaka has been less aggressive than in Singapore but, nonetheless, it brings similar results: the imposition of a racialized imaginary on the social life of particular streets, which tries to transpose them as themed ethnic enclaves. These branding strategies in Melaka have been applied through state-led urban regeneration projects that follow the conceptualization of ‘cultural streets’, or ‘cultural shopping streets’, in order to transform Melaka into a ‘Shopping Heaven’ (Syurga Membeli Belah) (see MBMB 2006). These projects represent a mix between the Malaysian night market, or pasar malam, and themed cultural streets for tourists: a blending of pedestrian malls and open-air museums. The pasar malam in the postcolonial Malaysian context is a relevant social activity: a non-permanent street market held one evening a week with different kinds of products from food to home furnishings, clothes, and electrical appliances. While these night markets do not require major changes to the streets, because they imply temporary activities, the making of cultural streets does bring new urban furniture and so-called ‘facelifts’. In the hands of the three major parties of Barisan Nasional, the projections of these cultural streets become an example of what Greg Umbach and Dan Wishnoff (2008) termed ‘strategic self-orientalizing’ projections. The streets used by the local state in this divide and brand approach to public space are Jalan Hang Tuah, Jalan Bendahara, and Jalan Hang Jebat. These names date back to the 1960s when the state decided to rename the streets downtown in the national language and after classical Malay heroes and feudal titles. This was clearly a move towards the definition of a Malay glorious past, as articulated in the post-independence period. While Jalan Hang Jebat – branded as Jonker Walk since 2000 and often promoted as Chinatown – is considered by most the successful model to follow, Jalan Hang Tuah – promoted as Hang Tuah Mall and Malay space – has been in the urban regeneration agenda for quite some time. Compared with the two other streets, Jalan Bendahara, conversely, more recently promoted as Little India, represents a new entry in the tourism promotion of Melaka. Jalan Hang Tuah, previously named Bona Vista Road, is a four-lane oneway road accessible via a bridge from Jalan Munshi Abdullah and Jalan Bunga Raya. This street has not always been conceptualized as a Malay space. The area was the main transport hub in town, first with the old railway station, and then with the municipal bus station, until 2004 when the bus station

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was relocated to the newly built Melaka Sentral. The UMNO appropriation of this street and its surroundings as a Malay space mirrors the affirmative action practices of the National Economic Policy (NEP) and the state-led creation of a Malay urban middle class. Since the 1980s, Melaka’s authorities have tried to beautify the area with a pedestrian mall, as well as brand new buildings (including the central office of UMNO), and by creating a financial and educational centre. In the past decades, the making of an urbanized Malay space in this area aimed to overcome the stereotypical and romanticized image of Malays as rural subjects and the association between Malays and the kampung. In terms of built environment, there is a visible contrast between Jalan Hang Tuah’s modern buildings and the adjacent traditional houses of Kampung Morten. With the growth of the tourism industry and new urban development projects, the area has been regenerated again. Jalan Kubu, situated at the junction with Jalan Hang Tuah, was chosen as the location for the first Malaysian Urban Transformation Centre (Pusat Transformasi Bandar) in the country.3 In 2002, Chief Minister Ali Rustam beautif ied the street and rebranded it as Hang Tuah Mall, with the idea of emulating the famous Bintang Walk of Kuala Lumpur. 4 Today, the extended sidewalks accommodate Malay and Mamak stalls, attracting many Melakans at night. Tourists, however, do not hang out in this street, and the area is considered to be dangerous at night. The back lanes are a place where sex workers and gamblers congregate. For these reasons, after the elections of 2013, Chief Minister Idris Haron announced two further enhancements. First, he launched the Bazar Ramadan Mega, to be held along Jalan Hang Tuah during the fasting month. Second, he announced a facelift costing 100 million ringgit (more than US$20 million) to redevelop the area, with the intention of tearing down twelve obsolete buildings, and to stop gambling and prostitution in the surroundings.5 Formerly called Wolferstan Road, Jalan Bendahara and its immediate surroundings have been promoted as Little India since the early 2000s. This street took shape at the beginning of the twentieth century along two rows of buildings inspired by Hollywood and Art Deco (see Lim and Jorge 2006: 3 The Urban Transformation Centres (built in Melaka in 2012, and then followed by others in several cities) is one of the pillars introduced by the National Blue Ocean Strategy. It serves as a place where multiple government agencies are located in order to facilitate public services for urban communities. The building is also opened for services offered by the private sector and civil society. 4 ‘Streets Upgrade to Lure Tourists’, New Straits Times, 1 October 2002. 5 ‘RM 100 Mil Facelift Old Street in Malacca’, The Star, 15 August 2014.

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327, 329). The most important entertainment venues, such as theatres and cinemas, were located along this road. New shophouses inspired by the Art Deco style were built and, after independence, several famous hotels were opened. In the 1960s, the road had the tallest building in town, a nine-storey block of municipal flats. During the intervening decades, the old theatres and cinemas were closed down, and the Hollywood mood has been substituted by a Kollywood (the Tamil Nadu cinema) and partly Bollywood aura, together with the non-stop playing of popular Indian recordings. Several Indian shops, such as jewellery stores and groceries, stand together with Tamil restaurants and colourful Kollywood images. The area functions as a shopping hub for many Hindus because of specific items that can be found there: from food to saris. The Little India label also extends beyond Jalan Bendahara itself, projecting towards the junction with Jalan Bungaraya and Jalan Temenggong. The latter, formerly divided into Mill Road and Egerton Road, with its shophouses, was an important commercial avenue for Japanese, Chinese, and Indian traders at the beginning of the twentieth century (Lim and Jorge 2006: 269, 336). In 2011, beautification works for the making of Little India were carried out under the supervision of local authorities and MIC leaders, with the financial support of the Ministry of Tourism and Culture. Arches have been added to the area and, since then, this is the place where Deepavali celebrations are carried out through the organization of open-air markets and cultural activities. Jalan Hang Jebat, more famous as Jonker Street, is the core of a Chinatownlike themed tourism package called Jonker Walk, which is supposed to be a cultural night market. Jonker Walk was launched at the same time as the rebranding projects of Hang Tuah Mall and the making of Little India were launched. Whilst, as I will show later, the Melaka State Government and the MCA were behind the making of this night market, the promotion of this area as a Chinese space has also been driven by market forces and the private sector. In fact, a Malaysian travel company started to promote the area of Jonker Street as the ‘Old Chinatown’ and the surroundings of Jalan Bungaraya as the ‘New Chinatown’ (Imran 2012: 226, 232). These new labels, today widely used in travel books, are nonetheless highly criticized by local heritage experts and aficionados. Scholars also criticized the naming of the area as Chinatown. Tan Chee-Beng (2013), himself a Malaysian who carried out research among the Baba Nyonya of Melaka, writes that he was amused to hear about a Chinatown in Melaka. He emphasizes that the local Chinese live all over Melaka and cannot be easily confined to this space (Tan 2013: 277).

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Three primary characteristics typify the consociational branding of these downtown areas. First, Barisan Nasional divided and supervised public space through its main parties, according to the ethnic groups they are supposed to represent. Second, the new street furniture aimed at beautifying these areas divides the existing landscape by following an essentialized idea of the three main ‘racial’ groups. The most relevant examples are the arches used to mark the boundaries, with welcoming words written in Bahasa Malaysia and English, together with Jawi, Mandarin, and Tamil scripts, respectively, for each area. Third, the streets became official venues for the national public holidays related to the three main racial categories, respectively Ramadan, Chinese New Year, and Deepavali (the Hindu festival of lights), with the presence of local and national politicians from the three parties. Electoral campaigns are also included in this third rather ritual aspect. The essentialized association of these celebrations with the three racial categories of Malay, Chinese, and Indian is, however, problematic because it assumes that there are strict correspondences between an off icially defined ‘race’ and aspects concerning language and religion. In other words, while all Malays are officially defined as Muslims and are supposed to speak Malay, not all the citizens categorized as Chinese speak Mandarin or celebrate the Chinese New Year. Many of those who are categorized as Chinese are, for example, Christians or Muslims. Similarly, not all those who are categorized as Indians are Hindus or speak Tamil. A further irony in the mapping of the Old Town as Chinatown as well as the Malay and Indian spaces is that the image of their separateness is artificial, especially in the case of the space promoted as ‘New Chinatown’ which overlaps the so-called Little India.

From Jonker Street to Jonker Walk Jonker Street is one of the oldest and most famous streets in downtown Melaka, and many of the buildings in this street date back to the Dutch period. The area was referred to as Kampung Belanda (literally ‘Dutch Village’) in the past. The original name was Jonkerstraat, which means ‘Noblemen’s Street’, because the residents were among the wealthiest in town, together with those from Heeren Street (previously called Herenstraat, or ‘Gentlemen’s Street’). Wealthy Baba Nyonya families lived along these two streets in the nineteenth century. Many of the row houses have also been used for commercial purposes, and many Chinese dialect or clan associations are still located there. In the 1930s an Indian Muslim trader opened the

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first junk shop in Jonker Street, which was followed by many other antique shops. Such shops further emphasized the ancient atmosphere of the street. Jonker Street, perhaps better known by its weekend name – Jonker Walk – has become, in less than two decades, one of the most prominent tourism destinations. The Malaysia Year of Festivals 2015 describes the street in this way: A visit to Melaka won’t be complete without a visit to Jonker Walk, located in the heart of Melaka. It is a long narrow 500-metre street, flanked by old houses dating back to the 17th century. […] On Friday, Saturday and Sunday evening, Jonker Walk comes alive with a night market that attracts hordes of tourists. This is the time for merry-making at the many cafes and pubs. You can also sharpen your bargaining skills, shopping for cultural artifacts, antiques, old coins, stamps, photos, unique arts and crafts and all sorts of bric-a-brac on display.6

In line with earlier official depictions, the street is described as a heaven for antique collectors who can f ind authentic artefacts, some of them dating back three centuries. Antique and curio shops remain on Jonker Street and its surroundings, but its destination as an antique heaven has become less important. Since the repeal of rent control, many former residents and shopkeepers have left, and the street is occupied primarily now by souvenir shops. Among tourists today, the place is now famous mainly for the night market and, today even some Melakans refer to the street as Jonker Walk. The Melaka State Government launched Jonker Walk in June 2000: the project involved the pedestrianization of the street during the weekend evenings in order to set up a street market. Ong Puay Liu and Ong Puay Tee (2004: 107) identify four main categories of actors or ‘stakeholders’ in the making of Jonker Walk: the Melaka State Government, the Jonker Walk Committee, the traders, and the visitors. (Hereafter, I will distinguish two kinds of traders: the hawkers that operate their street stalls at weekends, and the permanent shopkeepers who run businesses in the premises on Jonker Street.) All these actors will appear throughout this chapter together with others who have been excluded from the management of the street: politicians from the then opposition, heritage experts, and aficionados as well as old and new residents. 6 See http://www.myfest2015.com.my/see-and-do/places-to-visit/other-places-to-visit/ jonker-walk?url=jonker-walk (accessed 2 January 2015).

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As noted by Ong Puay Liu and Ong Puay Tee (2004), the real function of Jonker Walk has been unclear since the beginning. Was it supposed to be a night market (pasar malam), a pedestrian mall, or a cultural street? Today Jonker Walk appears to be a combination of the three; for the City Council it represents a mix between ‘night market’, ‘art centre’, and ‘cultural centre’ (see MBMB 2008a: 45). Yet, the Melaka State Government had in mind a very different idea. Instead of a pasar malam, Chief Minister Ali Rustam conceptualized Jonker Walk as a sort of ‘living museum’ where the hawkers should dress in traditional or past clothes (Ong and Ong 2004: 115). This idea was, however, not followed and the Walk was soon criticized because it merely resembled a commonplace night market. Ali Rustam responded to these polemics by blaming the hawkers who were, according to him, not following the living museum model, but using the street solely as a commercial venue (see Ong and Ong 204: 114-115). The Jonker Walk Committee, the managing body of this project, sided with the chief minister in his critique (Ong and Ong 2004: 114-116), but never took concrete action for the enforcement of his vision. Jonker Walk is not controlled directly by the state or the municipality, but by the Jonker Walk Committee. The f irst chairperson of the committee was Gan Boon Leong, a local MCA politician and internationally known award-winning bodybuilder, who is considered the founder of the Walk. The project is politically linked to the MCA and directly managed by his family. In fact, his son (also an MCA politician) was also the deputy chairman of the committee. The free hand given to the MCA in administering the project reflects the consociational division of space and the top-down imagination of the area as a Chinese space, a domain that should indeed be administered by the MCA. The committee has been the intermediary between government and the hawkers, and it also facilitated the involvement of the Chinese clan and dialect associations located in the street and its surroundings for the organization of cultural activities. According to many interlocutors, Jonker Walk has changed the face of Jonker Street. Throughout the years, under the supervision of the MCA, the committee has added new Chinatown-like urban furniture. In addition to the red arches, a stage – also red, an auspicious colour – was built for the organization of cultural activities. Often during the weekends, the stage functions as a karaoke venue primarily for lovers of popular Chinese traditional songs, but also for lovers of Sinatra’s ‘Theme from New York, New York’. The red colour of the stage is, moreover, emphasized by the almost inevitable advertisement for the Melaka-born food manufacturing company

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Figure 5.1 Jonker Walk stage

Author’s photo, 2012

Mamee (renowned for its instant noodles), which appear everywhere with Mister Potato chips and its sponsored Manchester United football players. A fountain at the end of Jonker Street, near Tan Kim Seng Bridge, is used as a substructure for installations that commemorate different events, from the dragon celebrating the 2012 Chinese Year of the Dragon to the replica of Zheng He’s ship, commemorating in 2013 the anniversary of his expeditions. Chinese New Year banners and posters abound even beyond the celebrations themselves, and major political figures are pictured with Chinese greeting gestures. Semi-permanent decorations are occasionally added during special occasions. Customarily, shopkeepers are asked to contribute in this context, but participation remains an individual choice. For example, if a shopkeeper does not pay, the Chinese New Year red lanterns and other decorations will not be fixed next to the façade of her or his premise. In other cases, especially in the alleys contiguous to Jonker Street, shopkeepers and residents can decide to look for decorations on their own. For some of them, I was told, this can also reflect a political choice. Because the Jonker Walk Committee is perceived as a branch of the MCA, those who supported the opposition did not want to deal with it.

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Figure 5.2 Gan Boon Leong’s statue

Author’s photo, 2011

Apart from the making of a Chinatown-like themed space, this new urban furniture also displays the political and personalistic use of public space in the figure of Gan Boon Leong. His symbolic headquarters, located at the end of Jonker Street in Jalan Kubu, with his gym, is the first bodybuilding club in the state of Melaka. A statue of a young Gan Boon Leong proudly stands there with these words inscribed:



‘MR. UNIVERSE’ ‘MR. MALAYSIA’

‘MR. ASIA’ ‘MR. MELAKA’

In 2012, another statue with the additional designation of ‘The Father of Bodybuilders in Malaysia’ was added in a small park along Jonker Street. This space, once occupied by row houses, was acquired by the Melaka State Government from the private owners, who demolished the buildings. After the acquisition, the local government transformed it into the Jonker Walk World Heritage Park. Initially, Gan Boon Leong, as chairperson of the Jonker Walk Committee, was following Ali Rustam’s opinion that Jonker Walk was not only another pasar malam in the country, merely a place to buy and sell goods (see Ong

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and Ong 2004: 114-115). Today the MCA commonly considers the Walk to be one of the biggest and most successful Chinese night markets in Malaysia. While, as I have mentioned above, other tourism-related agencies have been active in the promotion of the area as a Chinatown, the MCA’s supervision of Jonker Walk implicitly aimed at remaking a Chinese cultural area. Furthermore, the night market has been extended to other adjacent alleys, and Gan Boon Leong has expressed his intention to expand Jonker Walk to an additional 20 streets in order to turn it from a cultural street into a ‘Cultural Town’, to be twinned with Singapore’s Chinatown.7 The making of Chinatown-like cultural streets for tourists is not a new project in Malaysia. Establishing Chinatown and the pedestrianization of Petaling Street in Kuala Lumpur in the 1990s can be considered the first model for the country. Petaling Street, with its arches and permanent market, is a famous stopover for those visiting the national capital. This project, however, was problematic from its inception. While many modern buildings inspired by Malay and Islamic forms and symbolism have been changing the national capital (see Shamsul and Mohamad 2007: 17), the making of a Chinatown and Petaling Street have been perceived as a ‘minoritization’ of the local Chinese (see Loo 2013). According to Yat Ming Loo (2013: 132), many Chinese in Kuala Lumpur ‘rejected “Chinatown” as it solidified and naturalized the image of the Chinese as immigrants and their status as ethnic minority’, but also because they interpreted the project as a sort of identification with China, which neglected their identity as Malaysians. The making of Jonker Walk and the Chinatown-like place-making in Melaka raises concerns as well, as I will show later, but it was not disputed as an attempt to ‘minoritize’ local Chinese as in Kuala Lumpur. Instead, the MCA promoted the project as a privilege given to Melakan Chinese by the then Barisan Nasional (UMNO-dominated) administration (a similar language is deployed by the MIC to the Melakan Indian voters regarding the making of Little India in Jalan Bendahara).

A Walk for Cari Makan The success of Jonker Walk in the tourism industry can be explained through a catchphrase: cari makan. This literally means ‘looking for food’, but it is also used to express ‘making a living’. The cari makan behind Jonker Walk, in both meanings, is targeted primarily at those whom locals would depict as outsiders: tourists and hawkers. 7

‘Jonker Walk and Singapore’s Chinatown to Pair up as Twin Streets’, The Star, 21 May 2012.

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Figure 5.3 Jonker Walk arch and night market

Author’s photo, 2012

I would rather start with the word-by-word meaning of ‘looking for food’. As one is always reminded in Malaysia, eating is the favoured activity, and this is not an exaggeration. Food and drinks also feature visibly among the intangible heritage items in the register of national heritage. This emphasizes how important food is for the nation-building process, but also the role that a supposedly intangible heritage plays tangibly in the everyday life of Malaysians. With the making of Jonker Walk, more and more restaurants and cafés opened in the area, and many food stalls occupy the street during weekends. ‘Looking for food’ (cari makan) has become the main leisure activity for those visiting Jonker Street. ‘Walk around looking for food’ ( jalan-jalan cari makan) is what Malaysian tourists going to Jonker Walk often say, just like the name of a famous Malaysian food-and-cooking television programme. Local Baba Nyonya specialties are the main target. Although there are not many halal food stalls and restaurants, many Malays and other Muslims visit the place and look for halal delicacies, such as the well-known Melakan cendol, a traditional dessert. Seduced by the reputation of the food as well as for its cheap prices, Singaporeans also go to Melaka and visit Jonker Street at weekends.

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Jonker Street has not always been a place where locals went to have their meals although, in the past, there were more traditional restaurants and coffee shops. According to many interlocutors most of the former traditional restaurants do not exist any longer. Many of those running such restaurants left, either because of the repeal of rent control or because of Jonker Walk, which has made the restaurant business highly competitive. Furthermore, many Melakans and residents avoid Jonker Street at weekends because it is too crowded. They prefer to eat elsewhere because, according to them, the food on Jonker Walk is not especially good and also not authentic. ‘That is food for tourists,’ I was told by Mr. Christopher, ‘Melakans eat elsewhere!’ He also said that many tourists and Singaporeans will queue in line and wait a long time to get their meals at the food stalls, cafés, and restaurants in Jonker Street, just because they saw it in the guidebooks. He argued that tourists will believe in anything. ‘If they read ‘Traditional Nyonya Food’ outside a restaurant, they will just believe it. But,’ he continued, ‘they do not know that most of these restaurants and food stalls are not run by Baba Nyonya, and sometimes they are not even Melakans.’ Mr. Christopher’s words link the f irst meaning of cari makan to the second one, ‘making a living’. The more we discover about the involvement of political parties in the tourism industry, the more we realize that Jonker Walk (as well as its Malay and Indian counterparts) are not simply a way to sell food or to entertain tourists, but also a deliberate move to attract voters in the consociational manner. The MCA used the Jonker Walk Committee to attract more voters from other parts of the state, and not necessarily from the area. The local MCA founders of Jonker Walk have, since the beginning, publicly stated that the project was meant as an additional source of income for petty traders and small businessmen. According to the survey conducted in the earlier days of Jonker Walk, the hawkers were, unsurprisingly, mainly interested in the economic profits (see Ong and Ong 2004: 120). For the hawkers, business at the Walk remains a sort of weekend activity. Furthermore, the hawkers also considered the market to be an easy way to make extra income because it is held only three evenings a week, under the control of an independent committee, and not directly by the state or the municipal authorities (Ong and Ong 2004: 120). The number of stalls has decidedly increased. In 2000 there were approximately 100 stalls registered at the launching of the Walk (Malaysia 2008: 148). In 2014, it was reported that almost 400 hawkers were active.8 8 See the recording presented on Melaka TV: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XniciQNeWkY (accessed 23 February 2021).

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The initial very low charge to be paid in order to establish a stall – each day 2 ringgit, which means a total amount of 24 ringgit per month (less than US$6) – definitely attracted more hawkers. The majority registered officially with the committee are Malaysian Chinese, due to the direct connections with the MCA and the Chinese clan-cum-dialect associations located in the area. There are, nevertheless, other hawkers with non-Chinese backgrounds. Whilst it is easier to obtain the permission to set up a stall because they deal directly with the committee (instead of the municipal authorities), there is a sort of internal control on businesses. It is not easy for those who are not officially registered with the committee to sell goods during Jonker Walk, and sometimes the hawkers prevent unregistered vendors from taking part in the business activities. I once saw a Mexican backpacker who had set up a small box with handmade bracelets summarily kicked out of the market by registered hawkers. This is an emerging phenomenon in Asia – dubbed ‘begpacking’ – that it is generally not welcomed by Melakans. While Ong Puay Liu and Ong Puay Tee (2004: 121) note that there were some residents who registered to open their own stalls when Jonker Walk was launched, local residents have not played an active role in the management of the project lately, and many have been excluded since the beginning. One reason for this exclusion is that most of the residents left in the early 2000s. Furthermore, with a Chinese-speaking committee led by the MCA, it would have been difficult for others to play an active role. Even for old owners and residents, such as the Baba Nyonya – whom Melakan researchers describe as ‘Chinese but not quite Chinese’ (e.g., Ong and Ong 2004: 113) – there would have been obstacles. For instance, a life-long resident like Mr. Chwee has never dealt with the Jonker Walk Committee. Nobody asked him if he agreed with the weekend Jonker Walk activities, during which hawkers obstruct the five-footways and the door in front of his house. It also seems that nobody from the Jonker Walk Committee has been interested in involving the Baba Nyonya residents. According to Mr. Chwee, there was no Baba Nyonya representation on the committee. His neighbour, another Baba, tried to attend a committee meeting once, but he was sent away immediately after presenting his complaints. According to Mr. Chwee, there were no Baba Nyonya on the committee because their attitudes were different, in comparison with the ‘Chinese’. In his explanation, Baba Nyonya are more ‘easy-going’ and willing to compromise, but not the ‘Chinese’. According to him, even if the residents were unhappy with Jonker Walk, the committee would proceed with it anyway. ‘If they want something, they get it!’ Mr. Chwee added, in an attempt to exemplify the ‘Chineseness’ of the committee and the hawkers. He further added that there were more ‘Chinese’ selling

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the commercialized Baba Nyonya delicacies at Jonker Walk than Baba Nyonya themselves. Heritage aficionados were dissatisfied with the neglect of the residents, and many asked Mr. Chwee how he could tolerate the stalls and the crowd in front of his house every weekend. But he was always composed and replied simply: ‘People have to cari makan, they have to survive; and we are lucky because we do not have to.’ Aside from Mr. Chwee, himself a homeowner who was not really interested in making a living with Jonker Walk, other former residents did not benefit significantly from trading activities. For those few former residents who wished to have a stall at the night market, it was especially challenging because they had to compete with experienced hawkers. For example, Mr. Lim, who left after the repeal of rent control (see Chapter 4), had taken part in Jonker Walk since the beginning, together with his wife and son. As a carpenter, he had very little experience with trade and tourists. He initially had a small stall selling common souvenirs, but he eventually realized they could not compete with experienced hawkers, who were selling more sophisticated goods, so he decided to sell drinks instead. Although Jonker Walk is proudly listed among the most important tourist attractions in Malaysia, it was not welcomed by everybody and it still faces a number of critics. Next, I explore the views expressed by these dissenting voices.

‘We Do Not Need a “Harmony Street” – We Are the City of Harmony!’ Different actors have been concerned about the effects of Jonker Walk, primarily heritage experts and aficionados, former residents, shopkeepers, and politicians from the then opposition. Furthermore, some local bureaus considered the night market problematic for the management of the area and its heritage buildings. Heritage experts have criticized the project since its inception. Early opposition was noteworthy because it coincided with the World Heritage bid. Elizabeth Vines, the member of ICOMOS (International Council on Monuments and Sites) Australia who condemned the ongoing demolitions of the row houses (see Chapter 4), also raised her concerns about the decision to open a night market in Jonker Street and the resulting commercialization of the neighbourhood (see Ong and Ong 2004: 116). According to her, the idea was ‘ill-advised and destructive’ of the ‘authentic historic character of the

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area’, and it would have caused ‘the displacement of traditional activities’.9 In 2001, she suggested a reduction of the walk from three evenings per week to one, as was done in other World Heritage sites, in order to avoid disruption for residents.10 She also suggested allowing those engaging in traditional trades, such as blacksmiths, be involved in the market in order to preserve their vanishing businesses. Her opinion about Jonker Walk, as well as her harsh criticism of row house demolitions, resulted in the termination of her role as a consultant to the local authorities. As a project controlled by the MCA, Jonker Walk quickly became a target of criticism from the political opposition at the time. In this regard, DAP (Democratic Action Party) took the lead as the primary opposition party in Melaka. Lim Guan Eng, the Penang Chief Minister-to-be (2008-2018) and future Malaysian Minister of Finance (2018-2020), presented the views of DAP as the party’s national vice-chairman of Melaka, following the comments of the ICOMOS member from Australia. He accused the ruling coalition of jeopardizing the World Heritage bid. DAP was also concerned about the commercialization of Jonker Street. Furthermore, DAP explicitly sided with the former residents of the area, protesting against evictions and the rent hikes. In order to monitor the negative impacts of tourism, the party called for the protection of traditional trades, such as those carried out by blacksmiths and goldsmiths, against their replacement with commercial tourism and souvenirs shops. In a press statement Lim Guan Eng formally requested the resignation of Gan Boon Leong from the Jonker Walk Committee.11 Local heritage-related advocacy groups, such as the leaders of the Malacca Heritage Trust, were also concerned about the project. In 2001, as with the petition against demolitions, local heritage experts and aficionados, together with residents and shopkeepers, signed a letter requesting the suspension of the night market (see Lim and Jorge 2006: 355). Similar to the concerns raised by international actors, local heritage experts and aficionados saw the project as a ‘catalyst for the destruction of the street’s heritage’ (Lim and Jorge 2006: 78). Heritage aficionados still contest Jonker Walk. They do not consider the weekend market a suitable activity for the area. According to them, the night market made the area too chaotic. Jonker Walk should have been relocated to another neighbourhood with more space for the stalls and for car parks. They complain about the ways the hawkers occupy the sidewalks and the 9 ‘Common Culture’, New Straits Times, 5 October 2004. 10 ‘Monitor Renovations at Jonker, Heeren Streets’, New Straits Times, 7 October 2001. 11 http://www.malaysia.net/dap/bul1310.html (accessed 17 August 2013).

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street. This is considered, together with the repeal of rent control, to be another contributing factor to the departure of former residents during the last two decades. I heard similar complaints by shopkeepers, who claim it is not fair that they have to pay exorbitant rents, while the hawkers occupy the forefronts of their premises at a nominal cost. Furthermore, heritage aficionados and shopkeepers described the hawkers as disrespectful and impolite, especially because they leave rubbish on the street. According to them, most of the hawkers show no concern for the long-term viability and appearance of the area. I was told by Mr. Brian, a shopkeeper in his 50s, that many hawkers are not even Melakans. ‘They come here only at weekends to make money! And then,’ he said, ‘they leave rubbish everywhere. They do not respect the place and us!’ There is, however, an issue that divides heritage aficionados and shopkeepers: how the street and its surroundings should be managed. Pedestrianization is debated. Those in favour of pedestrianization, point to European models. According to them, banning vehicles would solve several problems, including traffic congestion, parking shortage, accidents, air pollution, and snatch thefts. But others were sceptical about its implementation, and often stated that Malaysians prefer to move by car rather than on foot. Conversely, the heritage aficionados and Melakans who oppose the idea of pedestrianization thought that not allowing vehicles to access the area would negatively affect the remaining residents and traders. According to Ms. Elaine, a local heritage aficionada in her 50s, more long-term residents would leave and the few remaining old trades would be affected by the restrictions, especially the storehouses that continue to depend on the flow of trucks delivering goods. I was told by Ms. Elaine that with the pedestrianization of the area, ‘Old Melaka will be dead’. Thus far, local bureaus seemed to ignore such complaints about Jonker Walk. Authorities have been particularly ambivalent in this regard, even though the Jonker Walk project continues to be a source of concerns for safety, traff ic, and waste management. In the Conservation Management Plan of 2008, presented to the World Heritage Committee, the City Council stated that the project was attracting too many tourists and should have been moved to a ‘heritage theme park’ to be built at the seafront (MBMB 2008a: 79). This plan is explicit about the identity of the Walk, stating that it ‘resembles a night market’ (MBMB 2008a: 46). Thus, specif ic guidelines should be followed. The use of Jonker Street as night market was clearly not suitable according to local by-laws. First, night markets are not permitted on main access roads. Suitable roads should be more than 12 metres wide, whereas Jonker Street, like most of

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the roads downtown, is very narrow. Large open spaces are considered more suitable because they allow the provision of areas for parking cars at walking distance, and waste management facilities. Second, it is also remembered that, usually, night markets are allowed in the same place only one day per week (see MBMB 2008a: 46). Notwithstanding the constant pressures coming from these requirements, the City Council did not manage to impose the existing rules over the increasing popularity of Jonker Walk. This does not mean that municipal authorities were losing sight of the guidelines, but rather that they had less power to uphold the rules when compared with the actors at the very top of the decision-making hierarchy. Monitoring and following the guidelines can be an everyday activity for some off icials, but decisions often come from other headquarters, namely from the ruling coalition. An off icial from the Melaka World Heritage Off ice used to walk along Jonker Street trying to conceptualize adequate f ire prevention solutions – another danger presented by setting a night market in a narrow street. In the case of a f ire in one of the old buildings along the street during the weekend, f iremen would encounter many obstacles, even though the closest f ire station is at the junction with Jalan Kubu – very close. Indeed, on the occasion of a f ire that broke out in a shophouse in 2014, this off icial and f iremen conf irmed that they could not f ind the underground f ire hydrants because the street was too crowded and was occupied by the night market stalls. In addition to issues concerning the commercialization and the management of this heritage district, facelifts are highly criticized. (And it is not surprising that many of my interlocutors were also unhappy with the advertisements placed on new urban furniture – see especially Figures 5.2 and 5.4 for the stage and the arches.) Local heritage af icionados, in particular, considered the arches, the stage, and the statues to be inauthentic and out of context. It is not a surprise that most of them made fun of Gan Boon Leong’s statues. But other items are also at the centre of everyday humour. For example, Ms. Kelly, a local tourist guide in her 40s, used to make fun of the statue of an elephant placed in the Jonker Walk World Heritage Park. ‘It is not even an Asian elephant, but an African one!’ Mr. Nicholas constantly complained about the red lighting added to the façades of the historical buildings, suggesting the area was beginning to resemble a red-light district. In a similar way, local heritage af icionados criticized the products sold at the stalls and in the new souvenir shops. Mr. Christopher, for example, regarded the products as

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inauthentic, neither traditional nor from Melaka. He always referred to the souvenirs on display at the night market as fake, and ‘Made in China’, and having nothing to do with the Jonker Street area. He has suggested, like others, that non-heritage-related stalls should be moved to other night markets, which can be found around Melaka. According to them, only local and traditional items should be sold on Jonker Street, especially the Baba Nyonya items. Nevertheless, Mr. Christopher was also quite critical of the way the Baba Nyonya identity was commercialized and merchandized for tourism. Local heritage aficionados were also disturbed by the theming of the street and the area as Chinatown. According to them, there never was a Chinatown in that area, but now – as I was told by Ms. Kelly – ‘tourists come here and expect to find a Chinatown’. Similarly, they complained about the use of the name ‘Jonker Walk’. Mr. Christopher always reminded his customers that the name is Jonker Street, not Jonker Walk or Chinatown. He was simultaneously amused and disappointed to discover that a group of people based in Singapore, who call themselves ‘Chinatownologists’, were naming the street ‘Malacca Chinatown’. On their website they presented it as ‘the oldest Chinatown in Malacca’, and ‘one of the few Chinatowns in the world located within a World Heritage site’.12 This romanticized idea of ‘Chinatown’ became powerful in the tourist imaginary, but some visitors were nonetheless dissatisfied. For example, when I attended a festival of international music at the Jonker Walk stage I saw an angry Singaporean visitor walking back to his car. He complained to his wife that he will never go back to Melaka’s Chinatown. He said that in a Chinatown he was supposed to listen to Chinese music and not to Thai or Indonesian bands. Such expectations disappoint most of the local heritage aficionados, history lovers, and heritage professionals. The branding of streets by politicians in the consociational way, just to please a certain kind of tourist, does not reflect the cosmopolitan Melaka they have in mind. The criticism asserted by some local heritage aficionados is a straightforward anti-racialization argument, pushing back against the segregated tourism packages of downtown Melaka. According to them, politicians and authorities promote a harmonious, but segregated, coexistence based upon the three official Malay-Chinese-Indian categories. Critics claim that the segregated packaging does not acknowledge the cosmopolitan character of the historic city centre, one that is rich in hybrid heritage. Mr. Nicholas, for example, as one of the most ardent devotees of the multi-religious 12 http://www.chinatownology.com/chinatown_malacca.html (accessed 17 August 2013).

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architecture that is found along the so-called ‘Harmony Street’, used to watch with complete disbelief as the Chinatown-like urban furniture was added to the area. Although, as other Melakans, he was proud of the testimony of such harmonious coexistence, he also condemned the indiscriminate use of ‘Harmony Street’, first, because this new name was seen as just another label to attract tourists. In addition, according to him, the mainstream message of Harmony Street cannot be viewed beyond the official racialized grid in the packages of Jonker Walk, Malay Bazar Ramadan Mega, and Little India. ‘We do not need a “Harmony Street,”’ he said. ‘We are the city of harmony!’ Mr. Nicholas embodies what Daniel P.S. Goh (2009: 217-218) has dubbed ‘critical bricolage multiculturalism’ which is the ‘process of disarticulating state multiculturalism into its component racial elements and recombining them in counterintuitive fashions that denaturalize racial identities and render them transitive; that is, related to each other in multiple ways’. Mr. Nicholas, the bricoleur of Melaka’s multicultural heritage, like other aficionados, values the cosmopolitan and harmonious atmosphere of the city and not the image of segregated spaces. When he walks and chats with guests in the area now promoted as ‘Old Chinatown’, he retells compelling tales of a cosmopolitan Melaka. Looking at Kampung Kling Mosque, he would remind one that this place of worship, as the name recalls, represented a place where Indian Muslims once gathered. He would admire the blending of architectural elements from West and East, without forgetting the Chinese ‘double happiness’ (shuāngxǐ) ligature sculpted under the mosque’s roof. In front of the Cheng Hoon Teng and the Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi temples, he would emphasize their deep association with two Melakan Peranakan communities: the first with the Baba Nyonya and the second with the Chetti. And finally, while Barisan Nasional politicians reduced Harmony Street to a Malay mosque, together with a Chinese temple and an Indian one, he reminded his listener that a few metres away there is also a Tamil Methodist church. Despite such discontent, Jonker Walk continues to be one of the most successful tourism products, and even municipal bureaus did not have much power over it. The latter was primarily a concern of party politics. Any attempt by local authorities to close down or to move the night market elsewhere had to be dealt with carefully, because it would have touched on a sensitive issue. A move from Malay-dominated local authorities to close down the night market – identified as a Chinese space – would have been politicized as an attack upon the ethnic Chinese community of the entire country.

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A Political Tsunami in Jonker Street In May 2013 Barisan Nasional won Malaysia’s elections for the tenth consecutive time since 1974 (excluding the successes of its predecessor, the Alliance Party), but with the worst performance in the history of the coalition. While the opposition won the popular vote for the first time in history, Barisan Nasional managed to secure the majority of the parliamentary seats, and to gain back the states of Kedah and Perak. I was sitting with some friends, following the exit polls. Hoping for a change, some of those supporting the opposition were satisfied with the initial results. Other friends, however, remained convinced that Barisan Nasional should still govern so as to ensure continuity. We waited until the morning to discover the election outcome. When Najib Razak was confirmed for his second term as prime minister, he appeared on television to deliver his acceptance speech. He emphasized the efforts undertaken to achieve harmony in Malaysia, particularly against religious extremism and racism. But he expressed the need for ‘national reconciliation’ because the elections unveiled a divided country. He characterized the growing support for the opposition from the Malaysian Chinese voters as a ‘Chinese tsunami’.13 It was then that one of my friends looked at me and said in a quite discouraged tone: ‘What? I thought this was One Malaysia!’ Leaders and supporters of the opposition asserted that the elections were conducted fraudulently. DAP veteran Lim Kit Siang dismissed the statement of a ‘Chinese tsunami’, replacing it with the wording ‘Malaysian tsunami’.14 The opinions of analysts were reported immediately after the results. Anthropologist Shamsul Amri Baharuddin, approached as a political analyst by the Malaysian Insider, said that talking about ‘racial polarization is too easy’.15 Instead, according to him, other aspects should be taken into consideration: class and the urban-rural divide. Regarding the situation in Melaka, the state remained a fortress of Barisan Nasional, but the urban areas continued to express their support for the opposition. Even Ali Rustam, who served as chief minister for three terms, lost his parliamentary seat to PKR representative Shamsul Iskandar. The impact of Najib Razak’s ‘Chinese tsunami’ statement soon crashed upon the future of Jonker Walk. Only two days after the elections, pro-UMNO 13 ‘Malaysia GE13: PM Najib Blames Polls Results on “Chinese Tsunami”’, The Straits Times, 6 May 2013. 14 ‘GE13: It Was a Malaysian Tsunami, Says Kit Siang’, The Star, 7 May 2013. 15 http://www.themalaysianinsider.com/malaysia/article/ge13-an-urban-not-chinese-swingsay-analysts/ (accessed 9 May 2013).

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newspaper Utusan Malaysia printed the following headline on its front page: ‘What Else Do the Chinese Want?’ (‘Apa Lagi Cina Mahu?’), with the following argument: ‘What they requested was approved, but the votes were given to DAP’ (‘Apa yang mereka pohon diluluskan tetapi undi diberi kepada DAP’). The article was backed by the words of Ali Rustam, who was reported to have said that the Chinese ‘say Malays are racists, however, this time they are really the racists’ (‘kata orang Melayu rasis tetapi sebaliknya kali ini mereka sangat rasis’).16 A surprised Ali Rustam said that the Chinese forgot what he did for them in all these years,17 although he actually lost to a Malay candidate in a constituency with an electorate comprised of a Malay majority. The consequences of the election at the Melaka state level were quite harsh for the MCA. Admitting their electoral failure, the party declined any post in the newly formed Melaka State Executive Council.18 But the Melakan branch of the MCA was quickly reactivated, as seen in the reaction to the decision of Idris Haron, the new chief minister, to open Jonker Street to traffic at weekends, beginning in June 2013. Likewise, the opposition was also soon to be involved again with the issue of Jonker Walk but, on this occasion, protecting the project. The chief minister explained that the decision was taken because of the complaints from the residents, and that he was trying to find a solution to traffic congestion. This might suggest that he was taking seriously the local by-laws regarding night markets, and concerns about fire safety as well. He specified that the hawkers and traders of Jonker Walk could continue to carry out their businesses on the weekends, but without occupying the road. This decision was perplexing to observers because such a narrow street cannot simultaneously accommodate cars, pedestrians, and hawkers. Whatever his real intentions, the chief minister was accused of closing down Jonker Walk to punish the Malaysian Chinese population. I heard the news about the opening of Jonker Street to traffic from Mr. Lim, who expressed uncertainty about what was going to happen. I inquired about the Jonker Walk Committee or the MCA, and he suggested – in a rather poetic fashion – that the situation was chaotic, and the party was silent. ‘There is a school, but there is no chief’ (‘Ada sekolah, tapi tak ada penghulu’), and he added, ‘There is the body, but there is no head’ (‘Ada 16 ‘Apa Lagi Cina Mahu?’ Utusan Malaysia, 7 May 2013. 17 ‘PRU-13: Mohd. Ali Kecewa Sikap Pengundi Cina Punca Kalah di Parlimen Bukit Katil’, Utusan Malaysia, 6 May 2013. 18 ‘Semua Ahli Majlis PBT dari Kalangan MCA Letak Jawatan’, Melaka Hari Ini, 10 May 2013.

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tubuh, tapi tak ada kepala’). After a few days, I met Mr. Guna, another hawker, while he was busy bringing his family to Jonker Walk to set up their stalls, as usual. Noticing my confusion, he said: ‘Now DAP is taking care of it’ (‘Sekarang DAP jaga’). At the same time, I saw Melakan DAP veteran Sim Tong Him – who had just been elected as member of the Malaysian Parliament for the constituency of Kota Melaka – sitting at a coffee shop downtown. When he saw me, he told me to go to Jonker Street and sign a petition to keep the Walk open. I did not sign it, but out of curiosity I went to the junction between Jonker Street and Jalan Kubu early on a Friday afternoon, when the road is usually closed to traffic. Many people were gathering there, and I saw, besides me, some plainclothes policemen keeping an eye on the turnout. There were no RELA corps watching over the traffic jam, as was customary at weekends.19 A man wrote on a banner ‘Horn to support’ (read ‘Honk to support’), and he stood on the street while most of the cars passing by joined his appeal. Melakan DAP supporters were busy setting up their banners around the central one: ‘Save Jonker Walk’. Among the banners displaying the usual slogans against Barisan Nasional such as Melaka Malu (‘Melaka Ashamed’), Janji Tidak Ditepati (‘Unfulfilled Promises’) or Jangan Buli Rakyat (‘Do Not Bully the People’), another one had the following inscription: ‘Do not make use of Jonker Walk, the pride of Melaka, for a cheap political agenda’ (Jangan gadaikan Jonker Walk kebanggaan Melaka untuk agenda politik murahan). While campaigners were still busy collecting signatures against the chief minister’s decision, a public speech was given under the arch by several representatives of the opposition from the DAP pickup parked there. The majority of the speeches were given by DAP politicians, but local representatives of their coalition allies also took part in it. Adly Zahari, at that time Melaka’s head of PAS (the Malaysian Islamic Party), remarked that the decision was ‘political revenge’ (politik balas dendam) against all the ‘Melakan people’ (rakyat Melaka). According to him, the Chinese were ‘making a livelihood’ (cari makan) with Jonker Walk, but Malay trishaw and taxi drivers as well. Afterwards, the newly elected member of the Malaysian parliament from PKR, Shamsul Iskandar, offered his solidarity to the hawkers of Jonker Walk, suggesting that everybody (‘Malays, Chinese, and Indians’) should fight against what he considered to be ‘brutality’ (kezaliman), and that the government should stop bullying people. In the same days, he was active in Taman Cempaka, where, after many years, the local government decided to shut down the Bazar Ramadan for the same reason – traffic 19 The RELA corps is the Malaysian civil volunteer corps (Ikatan Relawan Rakyat Malaysia).

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congestion. Shamsul Iskandar also asked the audience why there were such decisions in these two areas – both located in two constituencies where Barisan Nasional was defeated – just after the elections. The public speeches were opened and closed by two influential DAP spokespersons. Melakan Sim Tong Him underscored the perspective that Jonker Walk was not the primary cause of traffic congestion, pointing out that traffic was a problem throughout the week, not only on weekend evenings. He urged the government to look into the issue of traffic management through a better master plan. The DAP veteran leader, Lim Kit Siang, was the last to speak. He connected the issue of Jonker Walk to the post-election speech of Prime Minister Najib Razak, saying that this was not ‘national reconciliation’, but rather ‘national retaliation’. He remarked that, in 2013, Jonker Walk was ranked third in the Tripadvisor top ten landmarks for all of Malaysia (only after the Petronas Twin Towers and KL Tower, both in the national capital), and that all Malaysians – regardless of their political affiliation or ethnicity – should protect the Walk as a national tourist attraction. Interestingly, he delineated a comparison between this campaign and the fight against the development plan of Bukit Cina, proposed in 1984 by the Barisan Nasionalled local government (see Chapter 1), when he was personally involved as representative of Kota Melaka in the national parliament. The opposition-led ‘Save Jonker Walk’ campaign presented a significant challenge for the already wounded MCA. The last straw was the march of Lim Kit Siang and other opposition leaders through the Jonker Walk stalls, seen as welcomed by most hawkers. But the MCA and Gan Boon Leong did not sit idly watching the campaign organized by their political rivals. As the opposition marched, Gan Boon Leong and his son Gan Tian Loo gathered under the arch with MCA supporters. Some of the MCA posters were standing alongside the opposition’s banners. Hand-written posters displayed slogans such as ‘Uphold Walking Street’ (Jianchi buxingjie) and ‘Walk on Old Street’ (Zou zai laojie). But the most striking banner was pointing to the MCA control of Jonker Walk. It stated: ‘Fully protect MCA-established Jonker Street (cultural area) and protect the World Heritage site’ (Quanli hanwei Mahua chuangli de Jichangjie Wenhuafang ji baowei shijie wenhua yichan). Gan Boon Leong found some time to meet with journalists. He said that people did not appreciate what had been done by former Chief Minister Ali Rustam. He remarked that Ali Rustam, by allowing the Jonker Walk project to proceed, granted significant privileges to the Melakan Chinese. Furthermore, he rejected the way the opposition leaders were dealing with the issue by stating that they only know how to shout and yell, and that this would not help to solve the problem. He asserted that the MCA was

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Figure 5.4 Protests against the closure of Jonker Walk

Author’s photo, 2013

already trying to negotiate a solution to the impasse with the administration. While claiming Jonker Walk as their own legacy, MCA local representatives stressed the fact that DAP used it for political campaigns, whereas, at the beginning, DAP was opposing its creation.20 Speaking for the opposition, Sim Tong Him replied swiftly, stating that it was a ‘different scenario’ from thirteen years earlier when they opposed the project; according to him, that was ‘an old story’ and, at the moment, they were there to support ‘the affected traders’.21 The debate about the future of Jonker Walk did not remain a local matter. The Ministry of Tourism and Culture was almost forced to get involved. Minister Nazri Abdul Aziz disapproved of the proposal by his fellow UMNO member, Idris Haron. The latter reported to him that the opening to traffic would only be a temporary test (lasting for only a month), in order to see whether traffic congestion could be solved with such a strategy. The minister, however, invited him to change his mind. Nazri Abdul Aziz asked: ‘What is Malacca without tourism?’22 According to him, it was not a wise decision to 20 ‘Jonker Walk: Small Protests but Business as Usual at Tourist Spot’, The Star, 28 June 2013. 21 ‘Jonker Walk Panel Slams DAP’, The Star, 30 June 2013. 22 ‘Nazri Urges Malacca to Reconsider Decision to Close Jonker Walk Night Market’, The Star, 25 June 2013.

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Figure 5.5 Tourist posing with ‘Save Jonker Walk’ banners

Author’s photo, 2013

end Jonker Walk after thirteen years because it was a ‘must-see’ in Melaka. ‘It’s not going to be Jonker Walk anymore, it’s going to be Jonker Highway,’ he added.23 In the end, Jonker Walk continued as before. The hawkers with their stalls managed to maintain their presence at weekends. A self-made banner expressed local sentiment, inviting the vehicles to avoid Jonker Street: ‘Cars – Please – Give Way’. For a few days after the protests, another handmade banner was still hanging on one of the Jonker Walk arches: ‘Big Joke, Traffic Jam’. Hordes of tourists soon occupied the narrow street and, as I walked through to the junction with Lorong Hang Jebat, I noticed that trishaw and taxi drivers had managed to maintain their customary places as they waited for customers. Uncertainty about the future of Jonker Walk – or ‘stalemate’, as it was depicted by mass media – continued for a year until August 2014 when Chief Minister Idris Haron stated that Jonker Walk was going to become a ‘top tourist destination in the country’.24 He also mentioned the intention ‘to create a world class impression as the night market is a famous World Heritage

23 ‘Jonker Walk: Don’t Turn it into Jonker Highway, says Nazri Aziz’, The Star, 28 June 2013; ‘Close Jonker Walk to Vehicles – Nazri’, New Straits Times, 28 June 2013. 24 ‘Malacca Wants Jonker Walk to Be Top Tourist Spot’, The Star, 4 August 2014.

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site’.25 This new approach from the chief minister seemed to come after a series of negotiations between the Melaka State Government, the MCA, and the hawkers. Idris Haron’s real intention with the earlier decision to open Jonker Street to the traffic at weekends remains a matter for speculation. What this case on the Jonker Walk protests in 2013 confirms, however, is that the weekend market had become too successful to be shut down. This incident also shows how politics, tourism, and discourses on ‘race’ are entangled in Malaysia, largely as the result of the longstanding administration of Barisan Nasional. In this fragment of the triadic consociational branding of public space that downtown Jonker Walk represents, Melaka’s Barisan Nasional-led government became, to some extent, cannon fodder for the racialized placemaking that the party itself perpetuated. Local authorities realized that no local by-laws, or best practices on heritage management in the area, could be applied without leading to sensitive issues and allegations of discrimination.

Politicized Heritage Among the debates surrounding historic conservation in contemporary Melaka, the politicization of heritage districts (coupled with a racialized heritagization of a much more hybrid urban fabric), and questions around the right use of public space downtown, raise striking concerns. Jonker Walk transformed a heritage street into a battleground, a space contested by different actors. Setha Low and Denise Lawrence-Zúñiga (2003: 18) describe contested spaces as ‘geographic locations where conflicts in the form of opposition, confrontation, subversion, and/or resistance engage actors whose social positions are defined by differential control of resources and access to power’. As we have seen, Jonker Walk became a primary stage of political confrontation between the two coalitions, but there were other critics whose opinions were neglected altogether. At the outset of the conflict, former residents, especially the Baba Nyonya, had been marginalized by the decision-making and management of the area. This ceased to be an issue when most of them left. Local authorities also ignored international heritage experts from UNESCO and ICOMOS, who saw the project as a threat to the authenticity and integrity of the area, even though the activities did not turn out to be an obstacle for the World Heritage inscription. In this case, similar to the one presented in the previous chapter, UNESCOrelated bodies and international experts did not have much power on the 25 ‘New Rules for Jonker Walk Traders’, New Straits Times, 26 July 2014.

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ground. Despite criticism, international actors were unable to make the Melaka State Government change its mind. Even the City Council and local heritage-related bureaus were ignored; and the ruling coalition allowed Jonker Walk to continue even if the activities were, according to regulations, not appropriate for the area. By contrast, Jonker Walk became a successful model and an inspiration for Little India and the Bazar Ramadan Mega. While, for many people, these projects are a source of pride in relation to urban regeneration, tourism promotion, and their own identity; others regard them to be a superficial and inauthentic transformation of public space. Local heritage aficionados continue to criticize Jonker Walk. During the ‘Save Jonker Walk’ campaign I met some of the Melakans who were among the Jonker Walk critics mentioned earlier. Ms. Elaine remarked that, finally, a wise decision was going to stop Jonker Walk by bringing back Jonker Street and part of the bygone atmosphere. Mr. Christopher simply said that he did not care if Jonker Walk was going to end. In addition, as a critical commentator on local politics, he was pointing at how the politicians from both coalitions were exploiting a heritage street for their own agendas. ‘Heritage and politics should never mix,’ Ms. Kelly added. ‘They are like oil and water!’ Instead, in less than a decade, Jonker Walk has itself become a sort of new heritage which replaced, according to many, the value of Jonker Street and its surroundings as a heritage district. Jonker Walk became a product that the Ministry of Tourism and Culture wanted to protect, notwithstanding many at the Department of National Heritage who considered it to be a commercialized project that diminished the heritage value of the area. Thus, there were complex divergences at the national and local levels between different departments and offices. In this case, interests related to tourism and politics prevailed over heritage concerns. Jonker Walk, together with its Malay and Indian counterparts, Hang Tuah Mall and Little India, represent a legacy of Malaysian politics, which amounts to a triadic racialization of tourist attractions. The representation of Malay, Chinese, and Indian spaces resists everyday anti-racialization discourses and it is at odds with Vision 2020 and slogans of the officialdom, such as 1Malaysia. In addition, this idealized and ordered division of space and multiculturalism ignores the complexity of hybridity, cosmopolitanism, and the coexistence of ethnic and religious groups, who share the same space. Also, the official multiracial imagination perpetrated by Barisan Nasional resisted the multicultural vision of the nomination dossier, which highlighted the contribution of multiple communities, including those that are more difficult to place in an ordered and sanitized racial definition.

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Even during the two years of opposition rule, under the administration of the coalition of Pakatan Harapan (the ‘Alliance of Hope’), Jonker Walk has remained a symbolic possession and patrimonial asset of the MCA. Immediately after the elections of 2018, which gave Pakatan Harapan the opportunity to govern for the first time in history, Melaka’s Tourism, Heritage and Culture Committee expressed its intention to review the management of the Walk. Gan Boon Leong’s son, an adviser to the Jonker Walk Committee, hoped that the management of the Walk would remain ‘apolitical’.26 Regardless of his true intentions, Jonker Walk is still the product of Barisan Nasional’s divide-and-brand heritage politics. What did Pakatan Harapan do with Jonker Walk? The fact that the opposition at the time, including the new Chief Minister Adly Zahari, were actively involved in the protests might suggest that Jonker Walk would go ahead. Herein lies the irony of Pakatan Harapan’s stand in 2013: the ruling coalition inherited a legacy of its own greatest enemy, and they faced a difficult task in dealing with the racialized tourist spectacle while attempting to achieve the vision of Bangsa Malaysia. Closure of Jonker Walk was all the more unlikely because, as in 2013, such a move would quickly have been criticized as an attack upon the Malaysian Chinese electorate. By perpetuating such policies, however, Pakatan Harapan risked being blamed by heritage experts and aficionados for the same mistakes attributed to Barisan Nasional: the commercialization, racialization, and bad management of public space in the World Heritage site. Alas, Pakatan Harapan did not redress the compartmentalized tourism spectacles it inherited from its predecessor with the fresh, critical, multicultural and cosmopolitan spirit that many of the heritage aficionados and experts desired. Aside from the pressure of tourism-driven gentrification and commercialization in the historic city centre, present and future administrations have to deal with further poisonous legacies. The urban transformation and real estate development that detonated with visibility by World Heritage listing pose new challenges to the fragile balance between high-rise modern projects and low-rise centuries-old neighbourhoods (the subject of the next chapter). This is especially the case outside the World Heritage site, where historic conservation rules are not as strict as they are within the designated area.

26 ‘Hopes for Jonker Walk to Remain Apolitical’, The Star, 26 May 2018.

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A Melakan Ancestral Village beyond World Heritage Abstract Chapter 6 moves to the fringes of the World Heritage site, where the designation led to a boom in high-rise projects. This chapter analyses the friction between historic conservation and urban transformation by focusing on Kampung Chetti, a ‘heritage village’ recognized by the local conservation law. After introducing the Chetti community, the chapter deals with the heritagization of Kampung Chetti. Local conservation laws, however, turn out not to provide adequate protection from the pressures of real estate development projects. The chapter explores how the Chetti struggled in vain against a high-rise project adjacent to their village. Although recognized by the Melaka State Government as heritage, Kampung Chetti found itself at the bottom of a patrimonial hierarchy, excluded from UNESCO-derived and national heritage regulations. Keywords: heritage village, high-rises, construction boom, patrimonial hierarchy, Kampung Chetti

A stay in Melaka during the final procession organized by the Chetti community for their annual festival dedicated to the Hindu goddess Mariamman, would probably make any visitor fall in love with Melaka. Early in the morning, hundreds of devotees – Hindus, but also non-Hindus, including many local Chinese – gather in Harmony Street, in front of the Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple. The atmosphere is intense. Accompanied by the beat of drums, many devotees enter a trance state. Several of them will pierce their bodies, including their tongues and cheeks, with hooks and skewers. They are fulfilling their vows to Mariamman. Dressed in yellow clothes, many others carry golden pots on their heads, adorned with neem leaves and filled with milk, which will be used for abishegam (from the Tamil apiṭēkam, the ritual bathing of the deity). Neem has a

De Giosa, Pierpaolo, World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia: A Cityscape below the Winds. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2021 doi: 10.5117/9789463725026_ch06

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special link with Mariamman, who is believed to cure skin diseases. Among Melakans, the festival is known as Datuk Chachar (cacar is ‘smallpox’ in Malay). Participants wait to follow a 200-year-old colourful wooden chariot carrying a statue of the goddess. Once the procession leaves the temple, devotees will usually march along Jonker Street and Heeren Street. Several pull small chariots with ribbons attached to their backs with hooks. A few even walk upon nail slippers. Along the way, others wait for the chariot, to which they will give their offerings, smashing coconuts, representing the shattering of the human ego. Others will pour turmeric water on the devotees to cool their bodies. The procession will then turn right, moving north-west, in the direction of Tengkera. The devotees will pass under an arch surmounted by two elephant heads, entering Kampung Chetti, and finally reach the Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple. The chariot will stop at every house to bless the residents. Devotees gathering at the temple will continue with their prayers and trances, waiting for the abishegam. Temple musicians will play continually and some worshippers will dance with the Hantu Tetek (literally ‘breast ghosts’, a pair of giant puppets believed to chase away the evil spirits). The rituals continue late into night, when the chariot is brought back to the Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple. The most curious tourists would consider themselves fortunate to witness this intense triumph of living heritage. Would one expect, along the itinerary of the procession, to have left the World Heritage site? Perhaps not, but the chariot crosses three heritage boundaries during the journey: the invisible thresholds of the World Heritage property, the one between its buffer zone and non-World Heritage, and finally back to heritage in Kampung Chetti (a recognized heritage area at the local level). The areas I have described in the previous chapters have gone through the rite of passage of designation and recognition as World Heritage domains. Inspired by anthropological theories on rites of passage, threshold rites, and liminality, some scholars reflecting on World Heritage designations refer to the evaluation phase between the nomination and the inscription as a liminal state (see Turtinen 2000; Di Giovine 2009: 196).1 In this chapter I turn to a World Heritage threshold, or liminal heritage, by looking, in particular, at the local ‘heritage village’ (kampung warisan) of the Chetti community. The reason for offering such an analysis is to make evident the ambiguities of the threshold that represents inscription into the World 1 According to Jan Turtinen (2000), the transition from the World Heritage status to the List of World Heritage in Danger represents a ‘liminal zone’ too, although these sites are still World Heritage.

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Heritage List. The threshold I describe has two dimensions: one is spatial, meaning that this particular place is located at the edge of the buffer zone; the other dimension is hierarchical, because this site holds a liminal status in terms of the ways in which heritage is understood. In a global hierarchy, Kampung Chetti is situated in between a non-heritage site and a World Heritage site. As is the case in a World Heritage site, it has been symbolically separated from the rest of the city through the heritagization of its space and its recognition as a place protected by Enactment 88. Nevertheless, unlike the area inscribed as World Heritage, this place remained at its threshold and has been, therefore, not incorporated into the site. Heritage sites that do not attain inclusion on the World Heritage List are trapped in this liminal space: a place whose potential as heritage is not deemed sufficiently significant to be considered as global heritage, or at least not at the same level of the World Heritage site. The zoning effects of heritagization and the external hierarchy imposed upon global/local sites have created new topographies of exclusion. The fact that most of the Melakan heritage villages are not included in the World Heritage site underlines their exclusion from the heritage to be considered of outstanding value to humanity, to use the jargon inspired by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). Moreover, heritage villages are a great example of the puzzling misunderstandings that emerge once new developments begin to encroach upon these areas. Inscription, beyond doubt, means inclusion. Nevertheless, World Heritage designations in urban contexts often involve the exclusion of other areas. In Melaka, however, where local authorities and tourism-related agencies promote the entire city, indeed the entire state, as World Heritage, the boundaries of the World Heritage site become blurred. The promotion of the entire city as World Heritage led to the assumption that the conservation priorities and guidelines, valid only in the property and the buffer zone, can be applied to the entire city. This misunderstanding became clear on the threshold of the buffer zone with the construction of high-rise buildings. What happens to residents of an area outside the World Heritage site when they realize that they are not protected by urban conservation policies? And what happens when these residents were under the impression that they were part of the World Heritage site? While focusing on Kampung Chetti and its residents, I am first going to explore the making of their neighbourhood into a heritage village. This process is partly inspired by shifts from monumental-obsessed heritage schemes to the rediscovery of vernacular architecture, and intangible heritage occurring at the global and national level – transformations we

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traced in the previous chapters. I will then focus on their struggle against an adjacent high-rise project, which revealed Kampung Chetti’s secondary position in the patrimonial hierarchy of World Heritage. Before this, let me introduce this kampung and the community that is historically and affectively connected to it.

The Chetti Community: A Background The Chetti community is the result of old and new diasporas, displacements, and resettlements, connecting the present kampung in various ways to Melaka as a whole, to India, Malaysia, and Singapore. The Chetti consider themselves to be the descendants of early Hindu merchants who came from the central-eastern coast of the Indian subcontinent before the arrival of European colonial powers. It is said that these merchants settled in Melaka and married women from the region. Ties with India have been lost through the centuries, but the Chetti highlight as their most distinctive feature the Saivite Hindu faith, which they inherited from their ancestors. In emic terms, the Chetti describe themselves as ‘orthodox’ (ortodok) Hindus. The first problem we encounter when dealing with this community is the one of nomenclature. A great part of the literature employs the transcriptions Chitty, Peranakan Indian, or Peranakan Hindus (e.g., Dhoraisingam 2006; Mearns 1995; Narayanasamy 1967, Narinasamy 1983; Raghavan 1977; Ravichandran 2009). All these ethnonyms have been, or continue to be, used in certain historical moments, together with others, such as Keling, Straits-born Indians, and Gentoos. I follow the official transcription Chetti, used by the Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple management committee (hereafter SPVMT Committee), the elected body representing the community.2 Some members of the community prefer to use Chetti, while others opt for Chitty. The latter group prefers Chitty because it refers to the surname of their first notable leader. Others opt for Chetti, which addresses more neutrally all the members of the community, not exclusively a single clan. It has been suggested that both terms derive from the word setu (from 2 I have been encouraged by some parties to use the transcription ‘Chitty’, but I do not believe that such differences represent disrespect. Furthermore, it is not my task as anthropologist to adjudicate the name a particular community should use. It has been acknowledged that the name was changed from ‘Chitty’ to ‘Chetti’ systematically since the 1990s. Nevertheless, an official document from the 1940s, which addresses the rules of the SPVMT Committee, suggests the official transcription ‘Chetti’ was already in use.

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the Tamil word ceṭṭi), which means merchant (see Dhoraisingam 2006: 4; Narinasamy 1983: 239).3 Oral history and some researchers (e.g., Dhoraisingam 2006) trace the origins of the Chetti ancestors to Tamil Nadu in South India, but no historical sources are available before the colonial period. It is believed that their ancestors came from Kalinga, the former central-eastern part of India, on the Coromandel Coast. In the Malay Annals – which traces the roots of the Melakan kings back to Alexander the Great (while he was in Asia) – the word ‘Kling’ often appears together with references to the Vijayanagara Empire and its influences in Southeast Asia. Moreover, in the Hikayat Hang Tuah (see Kassim 1964), the legendary sultan’s admiral Hang Tuah is sent to the continent (benua) of the Keling (Vijayanagara) because he was fluent in the language. He was then sent to China as ambassador of the Keling king himself. This contextualizes the presence of the first Hindu merchants in Melaka during the sultanate period, but also the close connections throughout the Indian Ocean through trade, the spread of Hinduism and Buddhism, and to the Indianized kingdoms of Southeast Asia. The merchant ancestors of the Chetti lived near the estuary of the Melaka River. Kampung Chetti did not yet exist at that time. Colonial accounts from the Portuguese period place these merchants in the area around what later became Heeren Street. According to Manuel Godinho de Eredia, this area was called ‘Campon Chelim’ (Kampung Keling), where the ‘Chelis of Choromandel’ lived. The latter were crucial in connecting trade routes from Melaka to Alexandria via Coromandel (in Mills 1930: 34). In fact, as reported by Tomé Pires, immediately after the Portuguese conquest, the Kling occupied the greater part of trade in Melaka (in Cortesão 1944: 272). A Kling merchant called Nina Chatu was appointed as shahbandar by the Portuguese (Cortesão 1944: 258; Dhoraisingam 2006: 9; Mearns 1995: 28; Ravichandran 2009: 7). Subsequent Dutch colonial accounts report a huge community of merchants from the Indian subcontinent living in that part of town. In 1678 the Dutch governor, Balthasar Bort, wrote that they outnumbered the Dutch, Portuguese, Malays, and Chinese (in Bremner and Blagden 1927: 40). By that time, the Indian merchants were categorized in two groups, according to religion: the Hindus (Gentoos) and the Muslims (Moors). Under the Dutch, the Hindu merchants obtained land grants. The Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple was built in Jalan Tukang Emas through a grant obtained in 1781 by Thaivanayagam Chitty, who is considered 3 Not all those referred to throughout history as ‘Chetti’ were merchants. People occupied in other activities followed the merchants on the ships trading in Melaka (Dhoraisingam 2006: 10).

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Figure 6.1 Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple

Author’s photo, 2012

to be the most important leader in the history of the Chetti community. Since then, many properties have been donated to and registered under this temple, and continue to be managed by trustees today. The Chetti often call this temple Kuil Melaka (Melaka Temple) because of its location in the historic city centre. It is believed that the monopolization of trade in Dutch hands led to a decline of Chetti activities in Melaka. They ventured into new occupations, becoming goldsmiths for a brief period, and finally, during the nineteenth century, taking up agricultural activities (Dhoraisingam 2006: 12; Raghavan 1977: 445). In this period, they moved to the north-western part of town, in what nowadays is Kampung Chetti, as well as other areas in Bachang and Tengkera. The Chetti were already excluded from trade at the advent of British rule, but there were two further changes influenced by colonial policies that affected the community. First, the Chetti were dispersed throughout Melaka and the Straits Settlements. The most influential and educated members of the community managed to take important positions in the British administration (Narayanasamy 1967: 15). Many of those employed in government or other administrative units moved to other British territories, including Singapore, where many descendants of the Melaka Chetti still reside (see Dhoraisingam 2006: 17). Those of lower status continued to reside in Kampung Chetti, Bachang, and Tengkera, and to be involved in farming

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activities. The second change was brought by a new wave of labourers from India (especially Tamils). Encouraged by the British, this migration was more diverse in terms of class and geographical origins; nonetheless the Chetti soon became trapped in an emerging context of ethno-nationalist, racialized politics. Since then, they have become a marginalized minority within the Malaysian Indian and Hindu community. In addition to the problem of nomenclature and the lack of off icial historical sources, there is another issue vexing research on the Chetti community. In a country where the only off icial categories are Malay, Chinese, Indian, and ‘Others’, the Chetti are counted as Indians, although ‘frankly’, I was told by a Chetti interlocutor, they ‘do not know from where exactly their ancestors came from’. This is a different situation from the Indians who settled in Melaka more recently. Their forefathers having married women from the region, the Tamil language has been substituted by a Malay Chetti creole, which is still the primary language of communication in Chetti homes. Furthermore, as with other Peranakan communities, the Chetti have assimilated local traditions. Chetti traditional food recipes, dress styles, dondang sayang (local love ballads), joget (dance), and pantun (a Malay poetic form) are similar to those of Malays, Baba Nyonya, and Portuguese-Eurasians. Material ties with India have been cut, and some Chetti who expressed to me a feeling of unease in this predicament also express feeling a sense of marginalization and inferiority compared with their Malaysian Tamil-speaking fellows. While the Chetti are officially categorized as Indians, there is a common perception that they are ‘Indians-but-not-so-Indians’. The administrative body that manages Chetti community affairs and property is the SPVMT Committee. The organization takes its name from the community’s oldest temple, Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi, although the facility is managed by the Nattukottai Chettiars. This decision was taken by the leaders of the community at the beginning of the twentieth century because, at that time, the newly arrived Nattukottai Chettiars, who settled downtown in order to pursue their money-lending activities, did not have a temple yet. The SPVMT Committee was facing financial constraints because the management of all its properties was burdensome. 4 Today, a board at the entrance of the temple still specifies that the Chetti community owns this building. In fact, this temple is still used by the Chetti for several 4 The Nattukkottai Chettiars are an important mercantile caste from Tamil Nadu. According to Narinasamy (1983: 243), the decision to let them manage the SPVMT was taken in order to avoid increasing financial efforts for the maintenance of the temple.

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prayers and ceremonies, as well as for storing festival chariots. Members of the SPVMT Committee are elected primarily from among male adults, and the committee is constituted by no more than fifteen members, including three trustees. The committee manages the affairs of the community, and also the properties that have been donated to the temple. In addition to Kampung Chetti, the temples and shrines, the committee also manages other plots of land such as, for example, the Chetti cemetery in Bukit Jelutong (approximately 10 kilometres away). Several subcommittees and groups are also active from time to time, for specific purposes: one of them is, for example, the Persatuan Kebajikan dan Kebudayaan Kaum Chetti (the Chetti Community Welfare and Cultural Association), which is especially involved in the organization of cultural activities. Similarly, women and the youth have their own groups. While the committee remains the official body representing the community, the latter is not homogeneous. Disputes among leaders and between members have erupted over the years. In the same vein, from time to time other families will establish their own cultural associations and troupes. All Chetti are encouraged to be registered as members with the committee, although non-Chetti can also request membership, on the condition of being Hindu or embracing the faith. This is the case for non-Chetti married to Chetti. Intermarriages are common, especially between Chetti and Baba Nyonya, local Tamils, or Chinese. According to the committee there are slightly more than 100 members living in Kampung Chetti, and approximately 300 scattered all over the state. Nevertheless, some interlocutors claim that there are up to 2000 Chetti descendants in Malaysia and Singapore who are not registered as members of the community. It is believed that there were approximately nine clans based on past caste divisions, although by the 1990s some had already disappeared.5 Caste, however, does not play a significant role in the present and it is, rather, class that create differentiations within the community. Those who are better off, more educated, and have better jobs moved to other neighbourhoods or cities, and do not actively participate in community affairs. But there are also many who are not living in the kampung who continue to be active as members of the community and participate in different activities. 5 The number of Chetti members living in the kampung had shrunk compared to the number reported in surveys carried out in the early 1980s (see Narinasamy 1983: 247). The so-called clans that still exists are Chitty, Pillay, Neiker, Rajah, Patter, Padayachi, and Mudaliar. The Retti and Pandaram seem not to be represented in the community any longer, whereas new clans have appeared as a result of intermarriages (Narinasamy 1983: 249-250; Dhoraisingam 2006: 25; Raghavan 1977: 452; Ravichandran 2009: 12).

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The fact that community-owned places of worship are scattered between Tengkera and Bachang confirms stories that many Chetti told me about the areas where they resided until a few decades ago. Some families lived along Jalan Tengkera, in an area commonly called Pantai One (literally ‘Beach One’, because it is located next to the sea, now part of reclaimed land). The core of the community was located between Tengkera and Bachang, along Jalan Gajah Berang, around what is now called Kampung Chetti.

The Properties of the Ancestors The word kampung can mean many things. It can refer to an administrative unit (either in the countryside or in the city), a neighbourhood, or the emotional attachment to a place or household (see Bunnell 2002; Evers and Korff 2000; Ghazali 2013; Shamsul 1996c; Sharifah 2012; Thompson 2007; Yeoh 2006). In other words, the kampung ‘as a place, is a social and cultural construct’ (Thompson 2007: 64). There are two romantic imaginations in everyday Malaysian discourse. First, the kampung with its literal meaning of ‘village’ is often romanticized and used as a metaphor for the countryside. Second, the kampung is equated with the Malay space par excellence because, until the policies implemented towards the creation of urbanized Malay middle classes, a great part of this imagined community inhabited rural areas. These romantic or stereotypical discourses, however, have never been all-encompassing. The Kampung Chetti of today is an urban kampung (similar to those studied by Ghazali [2013], Goh [2002], and Sharifah [2012]). The oxymoron-like addition of ‘urban’ is used here for the practical need to underscore what was in the early twentieth century a rural area surrounded by paddy fields and palm trees, which now has been encompassed by the urban expansion of Melaka, and it is now incorporated in the very core of the city. Furthermore, instead of the romantic idea of kampung, with its mosques and traditional Malay houses, the spatial configuration of Kampung Chetti and its surroundings follows characteristics similar to the religious life of Indian Hindu villages, especially those in Tamil Nadu. The so-called village studies carried out in India emphasize a specific territoriality which is connected to tutelary village deities or goddesses (gramādevatās, as they are called in Sanskrit) who look after harvests and fertility (Schnepel 2002: 231; Whitehead 1976). The ordering of space also suggests other similarities to this spatial arrangement, as is generally observed in Tamil Nadu (see Masilamani-Meyer 2004: 52, 63). In fact, in Kampung Chetti the main deities

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and goddesses are located at the centre of the village. The latter was initially surrounded by agricultural space where the village shrines to minor deities have been built for centuries. The main temple is the Sri Muthu Mariamman. It was built in 1822, and it is located in the heart of the kampung. The other temples (kuil, from the Tamil kōvil) are located in the area between Tengkera and Bachang. Three are in the kampung: in addition to the Sri Muthu Mariamman, there is the Sri Kailasanathar, dedicated to Shiva (which is also known also as Kuil Baru, the ‘New Temple’) along Jalan Gajah Berang, and the Sri Anggala Parameswari temple (known also as Kuil Kolam, the ‘Pool’s Temple’), on the eastern side of the kampung. Each temple faces east, oriented to the rising sun. David Mearns (1995) has interpreted the spatial configuration of Kampung Chetti in relation to domestic space and pollution. Noting that it is necessary to pass a temple at each entrance to the kampung, and so to walk towards the core of the community is to make a journey from the pollution of domestic daily life to the space of Mariamman, which requires purity (Mearns 1995: 119). The other kuil, namely Sri Kaliamman, is not within the kampung area but in Bachang.6 There are also village shrines, called grammangal, primarily located in the Bachang area: Sri Iyenar (known also as Kuil Gajah, the ‘Elephant’s Shrine’), Sri Katai Amman, Sri Dharma Raja, and Sri Amman. The Sri Gangadheri Amman, or Lenggadariamman (also known as Kuil Nenek, the ‘Grandmother’s Shrine’), is closest to the main temple. This shrine was, however, built on land that did not belong to the community, but the landowner agreed to the erection of the shrine. Life in the kampung focuses especially on the main temple, which is dedicated to Mariamman. It is crucial to the life of the community. I was told that if the temple had not existed in this location, the kampung would have never been established. The centrality of this temple in the spatial arrangement of the area was underscored by Mr. Vijay, the former pusari,7 an elder Chetti in his 70s, who said, ‘We are one village, we are one temple’ (‘Kita satu kampung, kita satu temple’). Today the members of the community, especially the elders still living within the neighbourhood, serve in their 6 According to some official documents examined by Narinasamy (1983: 241), the Sri Kaliamman seems to be the first temple to have been established (in 1804). 7 The term derives from the Tamil word pūcāri, which refers to the priests of village deities. The pusari is a member of the Chetti community, and this role is usually hereditary – passed down from father to son under the auspices of the goddess Mariamman and the SPVMT Committee. It differs from the official pandaram priest they employ at their main temples (the latter is usually recruited among Indians, since the Chetti usually cannot speak Tamil or recite Sanskrit).

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free time for some gotong-royong (‘communal work activities’), including cleaning the kampung and the temples. Every year, before the beginning of the Sri Muthu Mariamman festival, other residents volunteer their time for the beautification of the area with the drawing of kolam (a form of drawing on the ground at the entrance of Hindu homes). This activity is focused especially around the temples and on the roads in front of their homes.8 Other cyclical activities are carried out for the preparation of the rituals. The conf iguration of housing distribution within the kampung has changed little since the surveys done in the 1960s (see Narayanasamy 1967; Narinasamy 1983; Raghavan 1977), but the number of houses inhabited by members of the community have decreased. An inventory prepared by the Melaka Museum Corporation (PERZIM n.d.) counts 65 houses in Kampung Chetti. According to this inventory, fewer than 30 houses are inhabited by Chetti. The others are inhabited by Melakan Chinese, some Indians and Malays. As in the past, each household pays a nominal rent to the temple. The majority of houses in the kampung consist of one storey, but some have an additional second storey. A few houses are built on stilts. The common materials used are wood, concrete, and brick. The steep sloping roofs resemble the common design of the region’s vernacular architecture, with gables that allow ventilation in order to cope with the tropical climate. The houses are usually topped with corrugated zinc or asbestos roofs. According to my interlocutors, the most distinctive element of a traditional Chetti house is the thinnai (from the Tamil word tiṇṇai), a raised permanent platform on either side of the front door where visitors are usually received. But only a couple of houses in the kampung, together with the museum and the Sri Kailasanathar temple, still have a thinnai. In the other houses, its function is maintained in the symbolic and practical use of the verandah in front of the house. Many homes have chairs and benches on their verandahs. It is here and on the front porch where, when there is available space, members of the household welcome and entertain guests. This is also the main access to the house where, similar to the practice in Hindu temples, people remove their shoes while crossing the front door as a sign of respect, but also in order to leave dirt outside (Mearns 1995: 104). The houses are often divided into two main parts: a main hall at the front and the kitchen in the back, a widespread division of domestic space also found in traditional Malay houses. The kitchen is regarded as a private space, to which few guests are allowed access. Cooking activities are carried out 8 It derives from the Tamil word kōlam, which also means ‘beauty’. These decorations are usually drawn on the floor with colourful rice flour or stone powder.

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Figure 6.2 Map of Kampung Chetti and other Chetti properties

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here, but it is also the space where the members of the household gather to eat. The basic division into main hall and kitchen remains common in more modest households, but many houses have been extended over the years. The main hall can also be used as sleeping space. Those who have more space available, who can afford it, have bedrooms, which are usually located in the space between the front hall and the kitchen. These are arrangements contingent upon the economic status of the household. These factors vary case by case, and over time. One example is the home where Mr. Ajay, a Melaka Chetti in his 50s, was born. His house is divided into a main hall and a kitchen. His household initially had a modest income, but through the years their socio-economic status improved. During his childhood the floor was made of sand. From time to time his family would replace the ground cover by gathering fresh sand from the waterfront. They subsequently managed to replace the sand with a concrete floor. As with many houses in Malaysia, it is not unusual to f ind symbols highlighting the diverse faiths or ethnicities of residents on the building façades. Hindu residential and commercial spaces are commonly adorned with pictures of Hindu deities (especially Lakshmi). Departing from more common Hindu tradition, many Chetti houses within as well as outside Kampung Chetti are protected by the elephant-headed god Ganesha. According to Mr. Ajay, Ganesha is believed to be the cleanest among the deities because he is vegetarian. Having his image at the front door symbolically transmits his cleanliness to the house. Ganesha is also preferred by the Chetti because he is considered to be the remover of obstacles. Below the images of the deities, there are Hindu decorations called thoranam. These are the festoons made of leaves used to decorate streets and buildings on special occasions. The Chetti also call them daun mangga (‘mango leaves’). These decorations are hung from the top of the front door of their homes. Their daun mangga differ from the thoranam of other Hindus. Moreover, they also differ from the thoranam adorning the temples during Hindu celebrations, such as those made of coconut fronds, neem and mango leaves, which usually have birdlike designs. The Chetti change these leaves up to three times a year. Mr. Ajay used to change them three times a year: during the Tamil New Year, for Deepavali, and in January (before the annual food offering to the ancestors called Parchu Ponggal). He had left his father’s house where one of his brothers was living, but he continued this tradition at his home in the suburbs. According to him, leaves of the same shape and size must be collected and threaded through a line of rattan string. The latter symbolizes protection from evil and malevolent spirits, whereas the mango

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Figure 6.3 Decorations at a Chetti house

Author’s photo, 2013

leaves embody the unity of the family residing in the house. After hanging the leaves at the front of the house they are sprinkled with turmeric water (air kunyit). I was told that, ideally, the total number of leaves should be 21, 23, 32, or perhaps 45. The sum of the two digits composing the number of the leaves should result in odd numbers, such as five, seven, or nine. This is considered to be auspicious. The Chetti keep an altar for domestic puja (‘worship’, from the Sanskrit pūjā) in their houses, for worship of the deities, and also as an altar for their ancestors. These altars usually consist of simple wooden shelves. The altars for the ancestors are especially important in the ancestral homes, where the annual prayers for the ancestors are held. Among David Mearns’s middle-class Hindu informants, who were mainly Melakan Ceylonese, the place with the images of the deities was, if possible, ‘located at the heart of the domestic space’ (Mearns 1995: 105). Most of the houses I visited in the kampung, however, located the altars to the deities in the first room or main hall, facing east. I also observed houses with pictures other than those of deities or ancestors, and I also saw altars that were not Hindu. This shows how the Chetti have integrated themselves into Melaka’s history and multi-religious coexistence. For example, in the house of Mr. Shanmugam, a former member of the SPVMT Committee, a picture of Mahatma Gandhi was placed on the altar otherwise devoted to deities. His

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father told him that it was useful to have a picture of Gandhi during the Japanese occupation because the Indian leader was highly respected by the Japanese. This would have been helpful for the household in the case of raids carried out by Japanese soldiers. Furthermore, some of the Chetti households in the kampung also have altars to Chinese gods. This is not seen as a contrast to their Hindu way of life, and my Chetti interlocutors did not hide these altars. For example, I met a Chetti woman who worshipped Guanyin, the goddess of mercy. This lady told me that she always asks her Chinese friends on what occasions she had to perform prayers at her Guanyin altar. Another Chetti man used to offer incense to his altar for Guandi, the god of war. He told me that he took the altar from his place of work when the business closed, because none of his partners wanted to take care of the god. The pictures displayed on the altars of the ancestors are primarily those of the dead kin of the previous generation. According to some, this is due to the fact that, in the past, it was diff icult to take pictures. Another important reason is that, if the pictures of all the ancestors from each generation were kept on the altar, there would be insufficient space remaining. The arrangement of shrines varies from household to household but, as also noted by David Mearns (1995: 105) in connection to other ‘working-class Indian homes’ in Melaka, the ‘patrilineal relatives of the head of the house and their spouses were often prominent’. On the altar of the ancestral home of Mr. Ajay there were the pictures of four dead kin: his parents, one of his father’s brothers, and one of his elder brothers. The reason why his uncle and brother were on this altar is due to the fact that they passed away before marrying, so he and his family had to care for them. Conversely, the picture of another deceased brother was kept in the house of his wife, and the picture of Mr. Ajay’s deceased sister was kept in her son’s house. In other houses there were fewer pictures. For example, Mr. Shanmugam had an altar with just a photograph of his father’s mother (from whom he traced his origins) because he had no pictures of earlier ancestors. Among the houses in the kampung described above, some have more value for the bond between the living and the dead. These houses are the ancestral houses (sometimes called rumah abu) of each family. There are a dozen ancestral homes in the kampung. The annual prayers for and food offerings to the ancestors are carried out primarily in these houses.9 9 For accurate studies on these rituals, Parchu Ponggal and Parchu Buah-buah, see De Giosa 2016; Dhoraisingam 2006; Mearns 1995.

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The community has faced two serious challenges over the years: a shortage of adequate housing, and the disruptive process of urbanization. Previous research documented ‘the clustering of the families’ in Gajah Berang that ‘has actually contributed greatly to maintaining the distinctiveness of their life style’, while avoiding disintegration (Narinasamy 1983: 244). According to Narinasamy (1983: 261), however, the lack of housing was already a threat in the 1980s. The perception that this is a problem has not vanished. Some Chetti, especially those living outside the kampung, continue to express their intention to move back to the area. This is not only a local problem. The urbanization process has put pressure on urban kampung all over Malaysia (e.g., Ghazali 2013; Goh 2002; Sharifah 2012). Until the 1970s, Kampung Chetti and the surrounding area remained untouched by the urbanization process. Elders living in the kampung recall this past: images of surrounding paddy fields, gardens, palm groves, and quiet unpaved lanes. But the kampung’s surroundings have gradually been transformed by development, such as terrace houses, shopping complexes, and flats. In the 1990s, the Sri Kaliamman Temple in Bachang was even forced to relocate in order to make space for new shopping malls and residential units (see Figure 6.2). Place attachment to this kampung is crucial for the Chetti. Many feel that it is the only locality they can claim as home. While their imagination of homeland continues to point westward to India, their actual homeland is in Kampung Chetti, and, more generally, in Melaka. It is to this place that the Chetti living elsewhere return to for celebrations. And this property is the primary focus of the SPVMT Committee. Instead of other terms used for heritage and heirlooms, such as warisan or pusaka, some Chetti refer to their kampung, temples, and houses as harta nenek moyang (‘properties of the ancestors’). This more intimate conceptualization of heritage highlights the great respect and moral responsibility many Chetti have in taking care of what has been left to them by their ancestors. This choice of words would sound more natural for people like Mr. Shanmugam, for example, in comparison to more neutral terms, such as warisan, because it explicitly refers to ancestors. ‘When I tell you pusaka,’ he told me, ‘you are not scared [takut], you do not worry. [But] you say nenek moyang [ancestors], I am scared. Because the nenek moyang come out, that means we must take care. If the nenek moyang are angry, we are in trouble.’ The management of Chetti heritage seems, thus, an intimate venture between the SPVMT Committee, the members of the community, and their ancestors. As we will see, however, a yet another conceptualization of village heritage introduced new actors to the management of Kampung Chetti in the 2000s.

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The Making of a Kampung Warisan As shown in the previous chapters, national and local heritage-making processes in the last two decades have been articulated through translating practices from the global UNESCO guidelines to the national and local systems. I follow Peggy Levitt and Sally Merry’s (2009: 446) term ‘vernacularization’ while referring to the ‘process of appropriation and local adoption’ of ideas formulated at the global level to characterize the making of ‘heritage villages’ (kampung warisan). The latter are supposed to be, or to represent, the heritage of different ethnic neighbourhoods. The making of kampung warisan has evolved as a vernacularized translation of a global package. According to Valdimar Hafstein (2007: 97), while the World Heritage Convention treats heritage spatially, as territory, the Intangible Cultural Heritage Convention identifies heritage as a community. Kampung warisan represents a hybrid realization of these two conventions at the local level. What does this hybridity mean within the multi-ethnic urban assemblage of Melaka? And what are the consequences of the bureaucratic appropriation and management of an area belonging to a specific community? The conceptualization of the ‘heritage village’ (kampung warisan) is another sociocultural construct emerging in Malaysia, and especially in Melaka. A ‘heritage village’ refers to an area recognized by the Melaka State Government as historically and culturally outstanding. Enactment 88 does not provide a definition, but in public discourse ‘heritage village’ – oftentimes used interchangeably with the expression kampung budaya or kampung kebudayaan (‘cultural village’) – refers to different places. Initially it referred specifically to recreational compounds, theme parks such as Mini Malaysia, and Mini ASEAN in Ayer Keroh, where replicas of Malay houses from each Malaysian state and country in ASEAN (Association of Southeast Asian Nations) have been built since the mid-1980s. Such Disneyfied and themed villages are shaped by Malay-centric politics of replicas, and they continue to be built in the state (see, for example, Kampung Duyung).10 Since the 1990s, however, kampung warisan took on another connotation, one that reflects the shift of interest towards vernacular architecture, living heritage, and multiculturalism. The first heritage villages to be gazetted under Enactment 88 were Kampung Morten and the so-called Baba Village along Heeren Street and Jonker Street, which subsequently became part of 10 In 2013 Kampung Duyung has been launched as the place believed to be the home of the legendary Hang Tuah. The Barisan Nasional-led government built replicas of his house along with those of his companions, Hang Jebat, Hang Kasturi, Hang Lekir, and Hang Lekiu.

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the World Heritage site. Other prominent kampung warisan were gazetted before the inscription on the World Heritage List: the Portuguese Settlement, Kampung Chetti, and St. John’s Hill. There are three primary differences between these kampung warisan and the recreated heritage villages, such as Mini Malaysia and Kampung Duyung. With the exception of St. John’s Hill, they are all residential areas that have been inhabited for decades, if not centuries. This history attests to the shared status of living places of Kampung Chetti, Kampung Morten, and the Portuguese Settlement. Moreover, they are all located in the city core or its immediate surroundings. Furthermore, they were not chosen only to address a Malay-focused interest. They were gazetted in order to highlight the importance of other ethnic groups in the history of the city. The recognition of kampung ­warisan inhabited by minorities such as the Baba Nyonya, the Chetti, and the Portuguese-Eurasians is, in fact, a source of pride for these communities. It gives them – once marginalized in official heritage discourses as well as in Malaysian identity politics – a meaningful space in the local heritage politics and in the imagination of a united Malaysian nation. The heritagization of the properties of these communities is particularly important because it raises their place in the history of Melaka (and Malaysia) by recognizing their presence in the golden age of the entrepôt, and not just as subgroups of the so-called ‘immigrants’ (pendatang). While analysing Alaskan indigenous identity politics, James Clifford (2004: 6) writes that: Heritage is self-conscious tradition, what Fienup-Riordan […] calls ‘conscious culture,’ performed in old and new public contexts and asserted against historical experiences of loss. It responds to demands that originate both inside and outside indigenous communities, mediating new powers and attachments: relations with the land, among local groups with the state, and with transnational forces.

While the inclusion of these communities in official heritage politics does not necessarily mean social, political, and economic elevation, I agree with Clifford (2004: 8-9) when he writes that ‘heritage projects’ as ‘ways to reconnect with the past and to say to others’ that ‘We exist’, ‘We have deep roots here’, or ‘We are different’ become ‘a powerful political act.’ In fact, together with the status of kampung warisan, communities such as the Chetti, the Portuguese-Eurasians, and the Baba Nyonya have also from time to time advanced appeals for Bumiputera status, with all the resulting privileges. Kampung Chetti, like other heritage villages, has experienced ‘a second life as heritage’, as Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett (1998) would say, but

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Figure 6.4 The Chetti Museum

Author’s photo, 2013

not in the sense that it was a dead site prior to achieving the status. What I mean here is that the kampung had been revaluated in the local politics of heritage. The social life of the residents now stands in juxtaposition with an exhibition of itself. This revaluation, along with a spatial and aesthetic symbolization, started in the 1990s when Chief Minister Rahim Thamby Chik proposed to develop the kampung as a tourist attraction. By then, however, only an arch with two elephants’ heads was built at the entrance, along Jalan Gajah Berang. Other buildings have been added over the years in order to promote tourism, such as a stage used for the community rituals, activities, and performances. In 2002, Kampung Chetti was finally gazetted as cultural heritage under Enactment 88, although all the properties managed by the SPVMT Committee outside the kampung have been excluded. In the same year, the Melaka State Government, through PERZIM, opened a museum on a plot of land along Jalan Gajah Berang. This building is a traditional Chetti house containing a permanent exhibition which displays pictures and explanations about the traditions and rituals of the community, along with objects and artefacts that have been donated by the residents. As a kampung warisan, contemporary Kampung Chetti seems to be integrated in the tourism industry, untouched by excessive tourism. Its residents are involved in many cultural activities encouraged by authorities

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that are intended to show Melaka’s harmonious multi-ethnic and multireligious coexistence. On these occasions, Chetti groups, especially women, are invited to perform traditional dances. Furthermore, being recognized as kampung warisan allows these places and its residents to benefit from other tourism development policies. For example, with the Special Area Plan, the City Council and PERZIM proposed to implement policies devoted to the creation of a ‘living museum’ in Kampung Chetti and other kampung warisan with similar objectives: support for the landscaping, promotion of cultural activities, homestays for tourists, craft industry, and infrastructural projects (see MBMB 2008b). Although policies concerning homestays and craft industry had not been implemented in the kampung, the City Council had carried out works to improve the drainage system. Thus, to be gazetted as kampung warisan brings benefits. That is why more kampung have applied for the status, even those that are already in the World Heritage site, such as Banda Kaba or Bukit Cina. Nevertheless, acquiring the status of a cultural heritage site under Enactment 88 also brings restrictions. I was told by a PERZIM bureaucrat that all the residents of an area to be gazetted should be informed. This involves negotiations for the collection of signatures, but also efforts to convince them that outsiders or heritage restrictions would not impose limits upon their future choices on how to change the features and structures of their houses. This bureaucrat told me that other kampung encountered problems in this process because some residents did not welcome restrictions that might affect their freedom to develop their property. Once gazetted under Enactment 88, properties cannot be modified without the consent of the City Council and PERZIM, and are subject to inspections. These conservation policies do not only concern the older buildings, such as the temples and the shrines, but also the standalone houses, even though the aforementioned bureaucrat dismissed most Chetti houses as buildings that were only 60 years old. Thus, as with World Heritage inscriptions, the heritage village recognition introduced new policies and new actors where, previously, residents and the SPVMT Committee had been the primary actors in the management of property. An example is when PERZIM and municipal officials asked to erase a kolam made in front of a house. This kolam represented a flower, the orchid (bunga raya), which is officially a symbol of Malaysia. The officials said that the bunga raya was not supposed to be there because it was disrespectful to the nation when pedestrians trod upon it. According to them, it was as if people were trampling on the national symbol. Thus, what was drawn and painted for mere aesthetic reasons had to be blackened to avoid admonishments of being antinationalist.

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Furthermore, conservation policies implemented by heritage bodies and experts do not always meet the needs of the community. For example, when in 2006 the SPVMT Committee requested assistance from the Department of National Heritage to preserve the Anggala Parameswari Temple, the officials strictly applied the restoration approach according to the National Heritage Act. The zinc roof was replaced with terracotta tiles that were considered to be original materials. The tiles, however, required more effort to be maintained than the material used previously, and after only a couple of years the roof was already leaking. This required further maintenance and restoration work, which the department was unable to support. Conversely, some Chetti believed the zinc roof previously replaced was more resistant, even though it was not as beautiful and not made of traditional materials. An approach to conservation privileging the tangible aspects and forms of expertise based only on official heritage regulations might neglect the very same building traditions and intangible facets that are important for a community. A symbolic example in this context is, again, directly connected to the building traditions of Hindu temples. Hindu temples all over the world have throughout history been restored, renovated, and enlarged. It is not unusual to tear down an old structure in order to create a new one.11 Official heritage practices such as in the aforementioned example, especially those based on the monumental materiality of a building, can silence these practices in order to privilege ideas of aesthetics. The renovation of the Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple in the 1990s is a clear example of the accommodation between practical needs and renovation. When the temple was built in the nineteenth century it was an ordinary village temple. It is said that, initially, the structure was quite simple and similar to other buildings in Melaka, constructed from timber, terracotta tiles, bricks, ‘Chinese tiles’ (or genting pipit), and whitewashed. The sculptures have changed over time, and the statue of the goddess Mariamman was added. In order to accommodate the increasing number of devotees visiting the temple, the area was extended in the early 1990s by more than 700 square metres. From the first renovation, in 1967, until today, other changes have been made, but the main structure, as we can see it today, represents the 11 As also noted throughout his studies in Tamil Nadu by Samuel Parker (2009: 119), ‘renovation commonly entails the destruction of older images and their replacement by new ones’ and this has often generated pressures coming from authorities dealing with the management of archaeological items. Other historical and archaeological studies on Hindu temples point to continuous alteration and reinvention (e.g., Ray 2009: 91).

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Figure 6.5a  Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple in the 1950s

Photo courtesy of Nadarajan Raja

Figure 6.5b  Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple today

Author’s photo, 2013

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renovation planned in the 1990s, after consensus was reached among the community, the SPVMT Committee, and the local authorities. The works were carried out for the better part of a year and concluded in 1997, after the recruitment of more than six artisans and stone carvers from India. Regarding the beautification of the temple, including the addition of new sculptures, Mr. Shanmugam, who was serving at that time as member of the renovation management committee, stated: ‘Who wants a temple looking like a badminton court?’ Additionally, the design commission was given to an Indian cipi, the Chetti word for the Tamil silpi (master artisans, artists, and sculptors specialized in temples). Additions to the facility included a new bell. But, undoubtedly, the new gopuram (the tower at the entrance of the temple, from the Tamil kōpuram), was the most beautifying aspect of the project. The new gopuram beautification continued to follow ritual understandings of temple space. For example, one important addition was that of the guardian (ellaikkāval in Tamil) sculptures at the four corners; these play a crucial role in the temple circumambulation during the annual festival. In the past, I was told, goats were slaughtered in order to placate these guardians, who are perceived as bloodthirsty eaters of meat. Before the procession passes each corner, its guard must be fed. A food offering is thrown into the air in the direction of the guards. They are supposed to follow the offering and to eat it, thereby allowing the procession to pass. The slaughtering of goats was discontinued in the 1960s.12 The practice of feeding these guards has nevertheless been maintained, although without meat. It is symbolically crucial for the outcome of the festival. A few male members of the community are responsible for taking care of the guardians, a duty they inherit from their fathers. Instead of meat, the pusari prepares a blood-coloured offering made of lime and kumkuma powder.13 Those in charge precede the bearers of the vehicle with the goddess; the latter cast the offering at each corner (see De Giosa 2016). An exclusively material focus would elide all these important symbolic and ritual aspects. Indeed, 12 Narayanasamy (1967: 106) was told that the slaughtering of goats was ended in 1962, following a decision of the Chetti leaders. This decision was made because of pressure coming from Hindu religious organizations against slaughtering, and strict vegetarian offerings were adopted. Lee and Rajoo (1987: 404) write that a ‘crusade against animal sacrifices and human mutilations in Hindu rituals was renewed with increased vigor after the Second World War’. Mearns (1995: 168) emphasizes that the abolition of sacrifices in Melaka is connected to the inclination towards Sanskritic and Brahminic ideals. 13 The former pusari also mentioned other ingredients, such as rice and a species of gourd (kundur and labu).

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the external physical structure of Hindu temples is not as important as the core sanctuary. The latter, where the deity resides, cannot be touched, with the result that the spatial configuration remains unchanged. Despite the new restrictions, my Chetti interlocutors were proud that their kampung had been gazetted as a heritage village. Its transformation into a kampung warisan, however, did not protect it from adjacent development projects. The area is particularly attractive for developers because of its proximity to the World Heritage site and the city centre. I often heard Chetti saying that they were ‘sitting on a gold mine’.

‘We Are Sitting on a Gold Mine!’ When I first visited Kampung Chetti in 2012, a blue construction hoarding on the right side of the Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple separated the spontaneous vegetation growing on a lot adjacent to the kampung. A few months later, the familiar panel with the state-sponsored mantra Melaka Maju Negeriku Sayang, Negeri Bandar Teknologi Hijau (‘Developed Melaka My Beloved State; Green Technology City-state’) was added. In Melaka, these blue construction hoardings provoke a wide range of reactions. They constantly remind residents that the city is a work in progress. They cover old buildings undergoing restoration; only when they are dismantled do they reveal the new façades and inner uses. Nevertheless, they also conceal plots of land that remain empty until they suddenly unveil new high-rise buildings that can no longer be hidden. These blue hoardings provoke divergent feelings among observers: excitement over future developments, nostalgia for the good old Melaka, suspicions or hopes about restoration work, or fear of and uncertainty about possible eviction and displacement. In the particular context of Kampung Chetti, they have been a source of disruption in recent years. Such encroachments on the area or infringements of their property is not a novelty to the community. The experience of development projects of the 1990s, which entailed the displacement and rebuilding of the Sri Kaliamman Temple, was hard to accept for some of the elders, especially after they realized that many of the new buildings remained empty. Nevertheless, the community was less affected by that development, perhaps because the Sri Kaliamman Temple is one of the most distant from the kampung proper. At the end of the 1990s, however, a new development vexed the community: the infrastructural project of a jalan raya (literally ‘main road’), extending Jalan Pelanduk Putih in front of the main entrance to the kampung

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(see Figure 6.2). The future road would have cut through the kampung, as a solution for the persistent problem of traffic congestion blocking the way to the historic city centre. Many houses would have been torn down, and the main temple would probably also have been affected. According to Mr. Shanmugam, although the Malacca Heritage Trust was not particularly helpful, disaster was averted. Ms. Elaine, a founding member of the trust, listed the road issue as one of the main reasons for her decision to leave the NGO. Mr. Shanmugam and Ms. Elaine confirmed the complaint that the leaders of the Malacca Heritage Trust had been insufficiently supportive. According to them, the NGO even embraced the idea that the road would have benefitted the entire state in alleviating traffic congestion. In this context, the displacement of a single community would have been minor in comparison with the overall benefit to Melaka. Although the government assured the Chetti community that the road project had been withdrawn, uncertainty about its possible revival has re-emerged. The catalyst was the new development project emerging from behind the blue hoardings. This issue emerged in 2008, coincidentally in the same year in which Melaka obtained World Heritage status. The empty lot covered an area of approximately five acres, adjacent to the shrine of Sri Gangadheri Amman. The state approved its use as building space and it appeared on the Draft Local Plan of the City Council, as proposed or planned housing (perumahan cadangan) (see MBMB 2006). To show how the project reflected the current approach to urban development of local authorities-cum-developers, I find it useful to borrow the word ‘infill’ directly from planning terminology. As I have shown in Chapter 4, local authorities are apt to produce regulations on new construction in such vacant spots, especially in conservation areas; developers, for their part, see these spaces as a source of future profit. Infill development represents the counterpart of what has been termed ‘spatial cleansing’ – or ‘the creation of large open spaces in city contexts’ – by Michael Herzfeld (2006: 127). Although infill development superficially appears to be the exact opposite of spatial cleansing, it has very similar effects: ‘the disruption of fundamental security, and especially of ontological security, for entire groups of people’ (Herzfeld 2006: 142). It becomes a source of uncertainty. A famous saying among real estate developers claims that only three things matter: ‘location, location, and location’. As I have shown in Chapter 2, owing to the scarcity of land, the verticality of skyscrapers is considered the best option in urban planning imaginaries, especially given its promise of modernization. Height limits within the World Heritage site keep towering development projects outside the historical urban core. Beyond the site,

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Figure 6.6 Mr. Osman’s sketch of the future World Heritage boundary

however, no restrictions prevent the construction of a high-rise building. Mr. Osman (one of the officials from the Department of National Heritage introduced in Chapter 3), showed me how he imagined Melaka in the future: with a simple sketch he displayed a hole (the World Heritage site) encircled by skyscrapers. He emphasized that local authorities in Melaka had paid scant attention to this trend. For his part, as an architectural consultant and heritage expert appointed by the state, Mr. Osman was advocating for what he called a ‘buffer-to-buffer’ approach. By this he meant the control of planning permission around the buffer zone, which is supposed to prevent the construction of high-rises right next to the boundary. With this ‘bufferto-buffer’ approach, the view would have been protected by keeping the taller high-rises at a certain distance from the World Heritage site. ‘If you do not control [the situation], you will end up with high-rise[s] around the circle [the World Heritage site]. It is what Melaka is going to be’, he told me. The empty lots on one side of Kampung Chetti represented a clear example of the land targeted by infill development, confirming the perception that the kampung was a ‘gold mine’, because of its central location. This particular project was under the control of a developer based in another Malaysian state, and it was approved in 2008 by the City Council. The High-rise – as I will call it hereafter – consisted of two blocks. The tallest building planned

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was to reach 22 storeys: the first two storeys reserved for shops and the remaining 20 for residential use. The other block was planned for twelve storeys: the first five for a multistorey car park, one for a swimming pool, and the other six reserved for a three-star hotel with more than a hundred rooms. The developer and real estate agencies promoted the project as in line with the federal government’s campaign for affordable housing, targeting retirees, investors, and new couples looking for a first accommodation. It was stressed that the apartments were considered a mid-range investment, but they were sold as freehold land tenure for prices up to 400,000 ringgit (more than US$95,000), such prices being far too high for many Melakans. The common expectation was therefore that Singaporeans would be the main investors in these units. The project was advertised as a luxurious product. The promotion was supported by the following catchphrases: Urban sophistication in the centre of bustling Malacca town Uptown amenities and connectivity Picturesque view of nature’s greenery The lights of the city

The central location was prominent in the advertising launched in 2013, as was the proximity of several schools. After a while, the relevant website began to draw upon the heritage value of Kampung Chetti, and to show pictures of some of the rituals held there. This follows a pattern we also observed in Chapter 2. In particular, the location of a heritage village adjacent to the project was presented as an asset by the developer. Before telling the story of how the community reacted to the development project, I will present the shadowy and ambiguous positions of the actors who were either involved or expected to be. First, the developer maintained a low profile. This goal was aided by the fact that the company headquarters were located outside Melaka. Other factors helped the developer to stay below the radar. The High-rise was less ambitious than the development projects presented in Chapter 2, so the developer was less exposed to public scrutiny. This low profile was strategically useful, enabling the developer to avoid provoking concerns that might in turn have dissuaded the authorities from approving the project. As Brumann (2012b) observed in Kyoto, a spectral presence helps developers because, when they start building and the public becomes aware of it, permits have already been approved by local authorities. Once the project has been authorized by the municipality, developers endeavour to avoid direct negotiations or debates with those

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seeking to make changes to a project. Even though alterations of original plans are not uncommon – ‘it is often difficult to tell whether these are premeditated’ (Brumann 2012b: 58). In Malaysia, as Goh Beng-Lan (2002) has shown in her research in Penang, developers are prepared to compensate squatters and tenants and to take care of the relocation of sites of worship. I am not sure if the developer had similar compensation in mind in Melaka, or whether there were plans for the relocation of Sri Gangadheri Amman, as in the case of the rebuilding of the new Sri Kaliamman Temple in the 1990s. I was told by Mr. Shanmugam that the community had already won a consolation prize when they began to oppose the project in 2009: allegedly, the developer moved the location of the 22-storey block away from the Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple. This change would have placed the twelve-storey block and the car park next to the temple, instead of the higher block. Some residents saw this as a useful move, especially for those special times of celebration when many devotees flock to the kampung, however, they failed to realize that the space in question was actually a fenced car park reserved for the High-rise’s residents and customers. Like the developer, local bureaucrats maintained a low profile. Those in charge of the approval did not question the project because the land being used for the project was privately held. Outside the World Heritage site there were no guidelines limiting the height of new buildings. Conversely, the local bureaucrats and officials in local heritage-related authorities were in an ambiguous position. Customarily, they are the most exposed to complaints and the first actors to be approached by the opponents of such projects. They often succeed in avoiding further negotiations by clarifying that, in one way or another, their hands are tied and that they have no power with which they might influence development projects that have already been approved. PERZIM does not have power beyond the immediate boundaries of the heritage villages, and Enactment 88 does not mention or provide guidelines for buffer zones. The World Heritage Office monitored only the World Heritage site and the Conservation Unit, as was the case with the other two bodies, can only intervene within the boundaries of the heritage villages or the World Heritage site. This predicament in the urban planning machinery may cause frustration for these bureaucrats, but it is also questioned by citizens when they ask themselves why there is a need to have such institutions if they cannot help in settling issues deemed to threaten their communities. Such bureaucrats express ambivalence when they see no reason to challenge a high-rise structure that is built adjacent to a heritage village. Suggesting that the idea of kampung-cum-skyscraper

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represented a suitable and appealing image of development for Melaka, an official of a local heritage-related bureau rhetorically asked me, ‘Why can’t we be like Singapore?’ Officials at the Department of National Heritage also had no influence upon this issue, again because the project was outside the World Heritage site. Mr. Osman, however, was surprised that such a high-rise project had obtained the approval in that area. He said that in his opinion such buildings were not suitable for the skyline because, even if the area was not part of the World Heritage site, the latter would also have been affected. The way a project is approved comes with so many reasons. [It] all goes [down] to dollar[s] and cent[s]! They [the decision-makers] would say that in the name of development, we need more buildings to cater for residents because Melaka’s population is growing. […] They give you all sorts of reasons. They say: ‘Come on, conservation is not stopping development!’ […] But they are dealing with the heritage area. They have to understand. They have to be sensitive to this area – otherwise it will affect the views, the skyline, the roofscape, the environment, [traffic] congestion. Putting more people means more cars. Putting more cars means more carbon [emissions].

Nevertheless, such opinions coming from heritage-related authorities at the federal level seemed to have been disregarded altogether. Local and national heritage-related advocacy groups took no active part in the opposition. Furthermore, members of the community did not seek assistance from the Malacca Heritage Trust because – as I was told by Mr. Shanmugam – the NGO would have replied that the project represented a desired improvement, similar to what the community was told in the past about the extension of Jalan Pelanduk Putih. Many heritage aficionado groups mentioned in the other chapters sympathized with the opposition to the ‘alien’ high-rise building but, apart from compassion, they had no effective means to support the struggle. Furthermore, other Melakan communities facing similar problems were too busy with their own struggles to lend support. Such was the case, for example, with the opposition of the Portuguese-Eurasians to the Melaka Gateway. Among sympathizers, the overriding sentiment was that the constant in such situations is that a project is always implemented in the end, in spite of criticism. The silence of these actors helps to understand why, in the end, the community was left alone in its opposition to the High-rise. While many Chetti perceived the project as a threat to their community, official heritage bodies

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continued with business as usual. On the one hand, the community was opposing the project; on the other hand, heritage bureaus were carrying on with staged cultural activities. Some Chetti came to question the attitude of such authorities. One Chetti considered the reticence to get involved to be a form of ‘camouflage’. In a moment of frustration, and burdened with the negotiations over the project, he mumbled: ‘They [the authorities] just use us […] like puppets [boneka] dancing! But what do they do for the development project?’ He was referring to the fact that government was still calling on them to put on special ceremonies and activities where Chetti dances and food were displayed and consumed while, at the same time, forgetting or disregarding their call to stop the High-rise project. Goh Ban Lee (1991: 108) states that ‘it is also generally true to say that there is lack of knowledge of the planning process in Malaysia’. I was not in Melaka when the controversy began, but the leaders of the community complained about the lack of consultation before the approval of the project. They only learned about the project in 2009, when they were invited at a meeting with the developer brokered by the Urban Development and Security Committee (Jawatankuasa Kemajuan dan Keselamatan Bandar, JKKB) of the neighbourhood. The JKKB of Kesidang, as with similar committees in other districts and neighbourhoods, is appointed by the Melaka State Government, and is the link between residents and the District and Land Office of Melaka Tengah.14 From that moment on, the community engaged in a set of interactions with the local authorities.

The Kampungscape and the High-rise The way in which the ensuing interactions proceeded must be contextualized within the specific Malaysian political and legal environment, which imposes limits to civil society initiatives, as introduced in Chapter 2. These interactions involved memorandums, social media exchanges on Facebook, 14 The JKKB referred to the urban counterpart of the Jawatankuasa Kemajuan dan Keselamatan Kampung (JKKK, the Village Development and Security Committee). These committees are established by the Melaka State Governments in order to improve the conditions in villages and urban neighbourhoods. Together with the Japerun (the State Assembly Development and Coordination Committees), these Melakan institutions act as third parties between the state and society. Funded by the Melaka State Government, they are supposed to forward citizen complaints to the state government. The employees of these institutions are appointed by the members of the State Legislative Council elected in the constituencies in which they operate, and they act as middlemen.

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as well as phone calls and SMS texts between members of the community, politicians, and the bureaucrats. Furthermore, as is common elsewhere in Malaysia, the community had been cautious about engaging in direct protests. News of other Malaysian citizens being arrested after opposing development projects or kampung evictions and demolitions travels fast in the country. Similar consequences were feared in Kampung Chetti. Such fears increased when the developer and contractors of the High-rise made it clear that they would have called the police if people attempted to interrupt construction. Similarly, I was told that, since the very beginning, some government officials said that protests would have led to the imprisonment of the protesters. Nonetheless, the development issue did have the effect of unifying the community. It should be added, however, that while the unifying effects were not complete, a plurality within the community (especially those living in the kampung) felt that they had a common interest in taking a stand against the High-rise. For example, Mr. Shanmugam, who had been marginalized for some years by the current leaders, was asked to prepare an opposition memorandum, because of his past experience in opposing the road extension in the 1990s. The preparation of memorandums opposing such projects is a common practice in Malaysian neighbourhoods and other local community networks. In 2009 the SPVMT Committee sent the memorandum to the relevant local authorities.15 This document contained a general introduction to the history and culture of the community, pictures, a collection of newspaper articles, and a copy of a record containing impressions of visitors to the museum. The central message to the authorities was an appeal to revoke the adjacent high-rise project. The memorandum did not oppose development per se, but it requested alternatives. The SPVMT Committee suggested building double-storey terrace houses and shophouses instead. Multiple reasons against the High-rise project were listed. First, construction works would have damaged the temples and the houses. Second, the social, cultural, and religious life of the community would have been negatively affected. Third, the project would have increased the problem of urban flooding that sometimes affected the kampung. It was also emphasized that tourism represented a primary source of income for the state, and that there would 15 The document was sent under the title ‘Memorandum Memohon Membantah Cadangan Pembinaan Kondominium 22 Tingkat, Hotel 12 Tingkat dan Blok Letak Kereta 6 Tingkat di Lot 93 bersebelahan Perkampungan Budaya Chetti Melaka Jalan Gajah Berang Melaka Bandaraya warisan Dunia’. The long title underlines the opposition to the construction project adjacent to the cultural Chetti village in the World Heritage City of Melaka. The memorandum title expresses an oxymoron-like paradox of ‘asking formally’ (memohon) to ‘object’ (membantah) to the project.

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have been serious repercussions if such a project was approved in the area. The message was backed by a traditional saying: Biar mati anak, jangan mati adat (translated as ‘Let the children die, but not the customs’). Another recommendation was to take seriously the heritage conservation rules and height limits, because Kampung Chetti had to be considered part of the World Heritage buffer zone. Moreover, the government was asked to establish a special municipal body managing the neighbourhood – a Village Development Committee (Jawatankuasa Kemajuan Kampung), one based on the existing village development committees, but specifically formulated for the Chetti community – and to promote and support the village in the tourism industry. This request stressed the desire of the community to have a say in the urban-planning process. The memorandum also forwarded another request related to the old desire of the Chetti community to obtain Bumiputera status. The SPVMT Committee also reminded the local government that most people residing in the kampung continued to support Barisan Nasional (the National Front), a crucial aspect to be stressed because of the impending 2013 elections. Whether this was important or not for the ruling coalition, only some months before the elections Chief Minister Ali Rustam promised to stop the project. After receiving the complaints of the Chetti community, the chief minister said that the developer was going to receive an alternative piece of land in another area of the town, supposedly on the newly reclaimed land.16 The decision was welcomed with great enthusiasm by the community. It coincided with the Deepavali celebrations and, when the chief minister visited the kampung, he was welcomed as a saviour. On January 2013 the SPVMT Committee received a letter from the District and Land Office. This bureau wrote that there was a possibility that the government could acquire that lot, reserving it for unspecified public facilities, according to the Land Acquisition Act. A similar letter was received by the developer.17 Some were nonetheless sceptical about the promise because the reclaimed land was far more expensive than the original lot, and also 16 ‘Longer Deepavali Do: Chitty Community Extends Celebrations after Condo Project Is Halted’, The Star, 21 November 2012. 17 In Malaysia, whereas private property represents constitutionally a ‘fundamental right’, land remains ‘a state matter’ (Xavier 2002: 196, 200), underlining the rights of the state and not those of the federal government. According to the Land Acquisition Act of 1960, land can be acquired by state authorities for public purposes. With the amendment of 1991, another reason was introduced, and land could be acquired for ‘the economic development of the nation’ (Xavier 2002: 206). ‘Recreational purposes’ were added with the amendment of 1997, as reason for the acquisition of land (Xavier 2002: 208).

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because, according to some sources, most of the man-made land on the seaside had already been sold. Shortly after the elections of May 2013, the piling works (or deep foundation works) on the lot adjacent to the kampung were resumed, leaving the community puzzled. The routine of negotiations started again, but this time the community appealed for help at the federal level, because the Melaka State Government seemed to remain silent. Local authorities clarified that buying that plot of land from the developer would have been very expensive.18 I was told by an official from the heritage and urban planning office that the land was going to cost almost 40 million ringgit (more than US$9 million), an amount of money neither the local government nor the Chetti community were in a position to pay. The absence of Kampung Chetti from the World Heritage world has been discovered slowly and reluctantly. This was highlighted only when the Chetti community saw their claims for protection dismissed on the basis that their kampung was beyond the World Heritage buffer zone. After the elections, the state of liminality of the kampung in the World Heritage-scape of Melaka was manifested. This state of liminality was realized especially when some members of the community became aware of the fact that Kampung Chetti was actually not part of the World Heritage site. I was myself in the uncomfortable position of informing some community members about this fact when they approached me to talk about their struggle. (They knew that I was working on World Heritage.) At this stage in the struggle the SPVMT Committee created a subcommittee – which will be here referred to as Bantahan Projek (literally ‘Objection to the Project’). The creation of the subcommittee took from the SPVMT Committee – and the temple itself – the burden of being identified as a direct opponent and, consequently, as the entity questioning the government’s conduct. The former memorandum had to be reworked without the advantage of World Heritage guidelines and restrictions; the rather soft and general Enactment 88 was the only legal tool to which they could resort, a document subject to very diverse interpretations.19 18 ‘Chittys’ Last Refuge under Threat’, The Star, 1 January 2014. 19 The law states that, in the case of cultural heritage without the consent of local authorities, individuals cannot ‘(a) demolish, disturb, modify, mark, pull down or remove the heritage or any part thereof; or (b) make alteration, addition, repair, renovation, restoration, construction, reconstruction, remodeling and adaptation to the heritage; or (c) erect buildings or walls abutting upon the heritage; or (d) make any change including painting to the exterior of the heritage’ (Melaka State Government 1988: 6). Furthermore, in the case of a conservation area, individuals cannot ‘(a) erect any building or structure in such area, fell or otherwise destroy any trees standing in such area; or (b) otherwise encroach in such area; or (c) clear to break up for cultivation or

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Following the broken promises of the government after the general elections, some Chetti, who were directly involved in the negotiations of the subcommittee, disengaged themselves from further struggles. Mr. Shanmugam told me: There is no way to do something. We cannot stop the project. We cannot stop development. We are talking about private property and they have the right to develop that land. That is not our land. We cannot tell people: ‘Hey, you cannot develop your land!’ At the end, we are only a kampung warisan for the Melaka State Government. But something maybe can be still done: reducing the building from 22 to ten storeys.

Other members of the community were dissatisfied and at the same time lost hope. Mr. Ganesan, in his 80s, after resigning from his 40-year service as a temple trustee, was not afraid to state that the ‘government does not appreciate any more the value of this community and [the] heritage village’. Conversely, some of the Chetti youth still living in the kampung became more active in the subcommittee that took over the opposition to the High-rise project. Being more familiar with the use of the Internet and online social networks, a few of them tried to diffuse their own struggle to a wider public through, for example, Facebook. As the supposed last stand in opposing the project, a new document was prepared in more direct terms. A member of the Bantahan Projek in his 30s, Mr. Vannan, reformulated the determination to fight through a local saying: Alang-alang mandi, biar basah (‘If you start something, you have to be sure to get it done’).20 He was personally texting the new chief minister, Idris Haron, in order to take action on the issue. Clearly, the pressure on the chief minister was the result of issues inherited by his predecessor. One of his representatives explicitly stated that they were going to investigate the issue, especially why the project was approved in that location; but he clarified that the approval was given before the elections. The chief minister asked a member of the State Executive Council – a representative of the MIC – to inspect the project, paying particular attention to the old temples in the kampung, and stating that if there were any signs of the ‘slightest damage’ being done to the temples an ‘immediate stop-work order’ would be issued.21 cultivate any part of such area; or (d) dig, excavate, quarry, irrigate, deposit earth or refuse or disturb the landscaping thereof’ (Melaka State Government 1988: 6). 20 The saying can be literally translated as ‘if you are bathing, make sure that you are wet’. 21 ‘Kg Chitty Will Remain as Heritage Site’, The Star, 10 January 2014.

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In July 2013 (the elections were held in May), just after the piling works were resumed, the subcommittee urged different parties and institutions to intervene. Since the subcommittee was under the impression that municipal and local state authorities, along with their heritage-related bodies, were not supportive, other bureaus at higher levels were approached. Direct appeals were made to the Ministry of Tourism and Culture, and its heritage arm, the Department of National Heritage. Mr. Vannan also approached UNESCO-related bodies, but no reply was forthcoming. With the support of a collection of newspaper articles and employing the very slogan proposed by the federal government, Janji Ditepati (‘Promises Fulfilled’), the subcommittee reminded the government of its promises, which were hastily broken after the elections. The new subcommittee reformulated further requests with another memorandum, this time appropriating the official discourses on tourism development. By indicating that Kampung Chetti is unique in the world, the subcommittee asked the Melaka State Government to acquire the adjacent lot and to grant it to the community. In this way, the community would have been able to develop tourism-related activities constituting all the products that had been proposed in the Draft Special Area Plan, but had never materialized in the meantime, such as homestays and craft workshops. The appropriation of this discourse was complemented by the use of the same vocabulary employed by authorities, but to serve their own right to the kampung: the ‘Cultural Kampung Chetti Melaka would become a dynamic tourism product through the development of the area and infrastructure of the concerned lot by following characteristics based on heritage [warisan], tradition [tradisi], and culture [budaya]’.22 It was emphasized that tourists visited the area for the kampung landscape, not for skyscrapers. This memorandum had many suggestions for the development of the local tourism industry, including the idea of a centre for institutions, students, tourists, and NGOs interested in studying and knowing more about the community. Furthermore, the subcommittee suggested building more traditional houses on that piece of land for all the Chetti who wanted to go back to the kampung. This would have helped to solve the shortage in housing. In 2013, the demolition of Candi 11 in Bujang Valley to make way for a development project attracted the attention of the national media.23 This 22 It should be noted here how, instead of using the more intimate conceptualization of harta nenek moyang the bureaucratic term of warisan is appropriated. 23 The issue refers to the demolition of a Hindu-Buddhist temple in the Bujang Valley (Lembah Bujang, an historical complex in the state of Kedah), believed to have been more than 1000 years

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attention advanced the perception that if Malaysia was willing to demolish one of its oldest historical landmarks for development, anything was possible in the name of development. Only at that moment did other national groups begin to consider the wisdom of developing the land adjacent to Kampung Chetti. A campaign of solidarity was organized by a Kuala Lumpur-based NGO that tried to attract the attention of the national audience in order to ‘save’ the kampung. Once again, the government’s broken promises were taken up in articles published online (this time as Janji dicapati, a play on the well-known slogan Janji Ditepati mentioned earlier). The slogan has subsequently been challenged in popular discourses through jokes. Janji dicapati is an example, a joke made by a Malaysian politician – himself from the MIC – referring to capati, a flatbread from the Indian subcontinent, in order to allude to a sort of ‘flattened promise’. The issue was absorbed into the discourse about established and long-standing racial, religious, and political patronage. The MIC was formally appointed by the local government as the official guarantor to deal with the community. Instead of empowering heritage bureaus, the contestation was thus delegated to the management of ‘Indian affairs’. In fact, other Hindu-based organizations did see the threat to Kampung Chetti and the bulldozing of Candi 11 as a generalized threat to Malaysia’s Indian Hindu minority. In particular, Hindraf (Hindu Rights Action Force), through its chairman Waytha Moorthy – at that time deputy minister in the Prime Minister’s Department – issued a call to save Kampung Chetti, stating that ‘once again the Heritage Commissioner is silent’.24

‘See You on the Thirteenth Floor!’ When I was back in Melaka in 2014 some of my Chetti friends organized a dinner in the verandah of Vannan’s house. By that time conversations about the project had become part of kampung daily life. I noticed how far old, one of the oldest archaeological remains of Malaysia. The demolition was been carried out by a housing developer who claimed he did not know about that the building’s historical significance. 24 See http://www.hindraf.co/index.php/news-statements/1234-131212-1 (accessed 12 July 2015). Hindraf is an organization established in 2007 to oppose the ongoing demolitions of Hindu temples in Malaysia. At the time the statement on Kampung Chetti was issued, Hindraf Chairman Waytha Moorthy was collaborating with Barisan Nasional – given the decreasing support from the Malaysian Indians to the MIC – in the federal government, notwithstanding many controversies related to the detentions of Hindraf activists and the same organization being banned in 2008. The cooperation between Hindraf and government, however, lasted less than a year. Since the demolition at Bujang Valley, the same chairman has launched a campaign against the commissioner of the Department of National Heritage, directly requesting that she be sacked.

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the construction site had progressed when Vannan told me: ‘Don’t worry! When you will be back next time you will find us all on the thirteenth floor of the condo. Don’t you know? They [the developers] are going to give us the flats at the thirteenth floor.’ This was not only a joke of ironic triskaidekaphobia. He was pointing to the place they were going to take in the development project, a place that can be omitted. Surely, they were not going to obtain anything. That evening some friends made other jokes. One non-Chetti friend said that Kampung Chetti was finally a ‘gold mine’ and that the Chetti should sell the land when the High-rise is completed, so at least they will become rich. I have shown in the earlier section how the Chetti opposed the project. In this section I present their perceptions of the future in relation to the adjacent project. When talking about the development next door, people often used words that indicated a sort of premonition about their place coming to an end: words such as ‘finished’ (habis), ‘disappeared’ (hapus), ‘lost’ (hilang), or ‘extinct’ (pupus). Writing about the exploitation of natural resources in the Indonesian rainforests, Anna Tsing (2005: 25-26) states that ‘anthropologists have been especially cautious to avoid stories of disappearing cultures’. To talk about the local fears and discontent she needed nonetheless to tell ‘stories of destruction’ and ‘the viewpoint of despair’ was unavoidable (Tsing 2005: 26). I presented some of the reasons against the project as articulated in the memorandums. I now turn to the uncertainty that the construction process caused. There are two sets of discourses, one related to the physical impact of the project and one concerning its social impact. As I will show, however, it was not only a matter of uncertainty, because some fears have become reality. Many residents disliked the idea of a high-rise in front of their houses. They believed that if one high-rise comes, other will follow like mushrooms. (They were not mistaken. Another high-rise is under construction nearby.) A 22-storey building will diminish their view and degrade the kampung landscape. Sitting on his verandah, the late Mr. Ganesan observed the blue construction hoarding every day. He imagined a near future in which he will see only a block, erasing the sky away from his verandah. The High-rise not only raised questions of who owns the land, but also who owns the sky. Concerns about the visual impact and the physical presence of a skyscraper highlighted another concern: the visual contrast between a skyscraper and the modest, traditional low-rise houses of the village. During the dinner at Vannan’s house I heard other jokes. One of these addressed the proximity of the kampung and the High-rise as ‘Beauty and the Beast’, but it was not

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always clear which one was the beauty or the beast. I was thinking that the kampung as heritage village had to be considered the beauty, whereas the High-rise was the beast. But the interpretation was left open, and my interlocutors actually advanced a perception that the village was the beast. What they meant was that the residents of the future high-rise would look down on their village, and they would take it for a slum. ‘They will think we are a squatter area!’ Mr. Vannan added. In the Melakan race for the modernization of the cityscape, urban kampung are commonly considered to be squatter areas (kampung setinggan) by those that look to the promise of future skyscrapers. ‘Do you know?’ I was asked by Mr. Vannan, ‘MBMB [the City Council] will come soon to plant trees in the kampung. I want to understand why they want to do this now! Are they going to plant trees to beautify the area for us or just to make it look better for the future residents of the High-rise building?’ In the meantime, during the construction work, the physical presence of the new structure was felt as a growing intrusion upon the everyday life of the kampung. The entire area became a construction site, filled with noise and dust. Many residents complained about the noise. The work started early in the morning and was carried out until late in the evening. For example, I was told by a resident in her 50s, Ms. Malini, that the workers ‘start to work early in the morning. Very noisy, you know!? Tum-tum-tum – Bang-bangbang! Especially when they are piling. Sometimes they continue until night. But in the morning you do not need an alarm clock; they will wake you up!’ According to others, their houses were literally shaking and damage to the temples was visible. By 2014, the shrine of Sri Gangadheri Amman was completely surrounded by the construction hoarding, making the monkey god Hanuman statue appear imprisoned. Its surroundings became a setting where heavy-duty machines and vehicles moved freely or a deposit site for construction materials. Notwithstanding the complaints, I was told that municipal authorities were silent. This fact frustrated the residents and their relatives living elsewhere even more. The transformation of the surroundings and the silence of authorities fostered uncertainty as in the case of Ms. Malini’s older sister, Ms. Minachi. Although she was not living in the kampung, she spent time with her sister at their ancestral home every day. One day she told me: Every day I look at that. It rises more and more! I cannot sleep at night thinking about this project. It is so sad and painful. If our heritage is gone, we also will be gone. If the kampung disappears, what will we have then? Who can help us? Who cares about this kampung?!

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Figure 6.7 The High-rise

Author’s photo, 2014

Ms. Malini, on the other hand, was far more drastic in expressing her despair. ‘If government cannot help us, just kill us all and bury us here in the heritage village, then do what you want with the land,’ she said. For some others, the High-rise project would further reduce the hope shared by many Chetti of returning to the kampung. They feared the kampung’s ambience would be lost and that there would no longer be any Chetti residing there. ‘It will be like the story of the camel and the master,’ I was told by Mr. Kumar, a Chetti in his 70s who was living 10 kilometres away, who had always dreamed of returning.25 ‘How I will say balik kampung [return to the village] if there will be no kampung any longer?’ I was asked rhetorically by another Chetti in her 30s. The physical impact of the construction work revived old fears related to the social impact of urbanization and further dispersion of the community. New residential and commercial structures bring new people to an area. This 25 He was referring to the fable about the camel who asked his master for permission to put its head inside the tent because the night was cold. Step by step, the camel asked the master for permission to move further and further into the tent until the space inside was not enough for the two of them and, finally, the master found himself outside the tent.

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often means challenges to the existing social ties and networks, not only among the Chetti, but also with the other neighbours. I cannot say if this fear will become a reality in the future, but many other examples in Malaysia – given during our conversations – show that most of my interlocutors believed these fears to be warranted. During my fieldwork, the construction was still underway and the only newcomers at the development site were the construction workers who, as usually happens throughout Malaysia, were mostly foreigners (Indonesians, Bangladeshi, and Nepalese). By then, some residents already perceived this as an intrusion. Some emphasized it while pointing to a perforation on the construction hoarding facing the Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple. Through that perforation the immigration police used to control the visas and permits of the workers, who usually live on the construction site in order to facilitate the extension of the work late into the night, and to accelerate completion of the building. This is a common practice in Malaysia. Together with newcomers, high-rise projects often involve the making of new access roads. This reality revived the fear of the old extension of Jalan Pelanduk Putih. Although municipal authorities reassured the community that the High-rise would not have an access road from the kampung side, many were shocked when they saw the contractors clearing land beside the Anggala Parameswari Temple. From that moment on, that land was used by vehicles to transport materials to the construction site, something that further increased the fear of damage to the temple, and of a possible new access road. The authorities were not clear about the future management of traffic. Furthermore, the construction site was seen as a problem because it was located between the kampung and its water catchment area (or retention pond), which collects water from the drains of Kampung Chetti. Many feared that this encroachment would bring about increased flood frequency. While Melaka is a flood-prone area (especially for flash floods [banjir kilat]), most of my interlocutors in Kampung Chetti, as well as in other neighbourhoods, told me that urban flooding had been exacerbated in recent years because of an inadequate drainage and sewerage system. According to them, this problem was also a consequence of rapid urbanization and more ongoing construction projects. In the memorandums it was specified that, before taking into consideration new developments in the neighbourhood, the government should have considered the state of the drainage system. It came to pass that, in 2014, many houses were affected by flooding on occasions. The problem of flooding seemed to increase after the development

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project.26 This was mainly related to infrastructural problems and the poor drainage system. In 2014, some of my Chetti friends showed me pictures of the flooded kampung. These pictures demonstrated clearly the water pumped from the construction site directly into the drain. This affected houses that had not been touched by flooding even once during the preceding 30 years. Some residents reported that local authorities paid a compensation of approximately 250 ringgit (almost US$60) per household, an insufficient amount when accounting for damage to the structure of houses and furniture. Other residents never received compensation. Authorities represented by members of the MIC said that they were going to monitor the situation. Mr. Vannan began texting the chief minister again, telling him that some of the houses had been flooded two times in one week. Now that there was no way to stop the construction, community members and local authorities began searching for new accommodation.

What World Heritage Thresholds Do Mr. Osman was correct in foreseeing a World Heritage site encircled by highrises. My Chetti interlocutors were also correct in fearing an exacerbation of flooding problems. The future of Kampung Chetti remains uncertain. Will government improve flood risk management? Will the development project make other fears a reality? These questions, and others, remain open at the moment. In concluding this chapter, I would like to present two reflections: one is connected with the story I have told about the opposition and appropriation of heritage idioms. The other reflection is connected to what World Heritage thresholds do. The members of the Chetti community endeavoured to protect their kampung, their property, and their heritage. They also required the improvement of the kampung’s drainage system. The Chetti were not unwilling to accept development but, as shown in the first memorandum, they proposed alternative projects that would have, in their eyes, presented a less damaging transformation of their kampung’s surroundings and its social atmosphere. Once this request was declined by the authorities and the developer, a new strategy was pursued with the second memorandum. Lacking access to urban planning and decision-making through official channels, the Chetti pursued alternative avenues of engagement with the authorities, particularly through heritage idioms. The experience of broken political promises and a 26 ‘Projek Kondo Dipercayai Punca Banjir Kampung Chetti’, Melaka Hari Ini, 6 August 2014.

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lack of public consultation addressing urban development created a vacuum that was filled by their own interpretations, uncertainty, and fear. This fundamental misunderstanding was based on the location of Kampung Chetti on the periphery of the World Heritage site – on its threshold. At this moment Chetti claims for the right to protect their kampungscape were transformed, becoming elevated to a plea for what might be considered a universal right to World Heritage. At the beginning of this chapter I borrowed the concept of threshold, arguing that certain places and constituent communities have become situated in a liminal space between non-heritage and World Heritage. Kampung Chetti stands on such a threshold, together with Kampung Morten and the Portuguese Settlement (see the next chapter). An extended understanding of World Heritage threshold is connected to the value such kampung warisan obtains. They have been recognized at the local level as heritage sites worthy of preservation. This can have significant liberating effects for communities and places that have previously been excluded or marginalized from monumental categorizations in heritage and nationalist narratives. Nonetheless, once the residents of such places realize they will not be protected from new development projects, the ambiguous, in-between position within a global heritage classif icatory system is followed by disenchantment. The Chetti have been co-opted into the official celebration of Melakan multiculturalism that is a central justification for the OUV (Outstanding Universal Value) of the World Heritage site. They were invited to sit at the Melakan and Malaysian heritage-making table, but not allowed to partake in the benefits of World Heritage designation. This fraught, liminal position has been insufficiently addressed in studies of World Heritage in urban contexts. Previous scholarship has documented and analysed the exclusion of local communities from World Heritage sites and the management of such sites, but the inequality engendered on the ground by the global hierarchy of heritage remains largely unexamined. Heritage thresholds create inequalities of value within a patrimonial hierarchy. Kampung Chetti’s predicament demonstrates how inscriptions involve processes of boundary setting that inevitably lead to the exclusion of peripheral urban spaces and the cultural heritage within these places. Such frontiers are selected by remote official actors, who often exclude local communities from processes that decide their collective fate. World Heritage and its claims for preservation cease abruptly at such arbitrary boundaries, leaving those on the threshold in a sort of limbo.

7

Epilogue of a Blessing and a Curse Abstract Chapter 7 considers the potential of ethnographies of World Heritage cities by retracing the experience of Melaka in juxtaposition with a number of other studies of Asian World Heritage cities, especially those located in East and Southeast Asia. A further analysis on urban transformation around other heritage villages expands the previous reflection on patrimonial hierarchies, inequality, and World Heritage exclusions. The chapter ends with a postscript, which introduces queries for future research. Substantial questions stem from the unprecedented, if brief, power shift from Barisan Nasional to Pakatan Harapan. Keywords: ethnographies of World Heritage cities, Asia, World Heritage exclusions, politics

This is the epilogue, but Melaka goes on. As I have suggested in the title of this book, Melaka is a cityscape below the winds, but not just geographically as the old toponym for the region reminds us. Global and local forces blow, like winds, over the cityscape. Flows of ideas circulate and intermingle in this specific locale. My driving purpose throughout this book has been to show how global scientific conservation principles meet local heritage perspectives, and the complex ways they unfold on the ground, but without falling too easily into either ‘top-down’ or ‘bottom-up’ narratives and conclusions. While you are reading, conservation policies are implemented – perhaps some of them circumvented – and new urban development projects are approved. I am hesitant to make policy-oriented recommendations in relation to heritage conservation, although some of my own interlocutors would expect me to embark on such a mission. When I presented myself as an anthropologist working on heritage, people often expected me to write a book on how to preserve buildings or about their cultures, but this was not the trajectory of my research. I leave the task of heritage management exercise – with regard

De Giosa, Pierpaolo, World Heritage and Urban Politics in Melaka, Malaysia: A Cityscape below the Winds. Amsterdam, Amsterdam University Press 2021 doi: 10.5117/9789463725026_ch07

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to technical matters – to the numerous gifted conservationists, architects, planners, archaeologists, and heritage aficionados I had the opportunity to meet. But perhaps I have a wish, rather than recommendations, which is linked to another purpose at the heart of this book. My goal has been to create space for different perspectives, including the most silent ones. I hope there will be more space for those unheard voices in the future everyday life of heritage management and urban planning. The tale of Melakan heritage politics I recollected here is thus not aimed at constructing a mise en scène of conservation saviours or villains, although I have to admit that I was sympathetic to the wish to stop the High-rise project (see Chapter 6). These concerns go beyond the interests of this or that community. The right to the kampung which emerged in the discourses of Chetti residents echoes the dissatisfaction of inhabitants of other heritage villages, such as Kampung Morten and the Portuguese Settlement, to which I will partly turn in this chapter. These outcries tell us not only stories of place attachment and uncertainty, but also the aspirations towards a more active engagement of citizens in urban-planning processes. Whether these are genuine calls for a more humane urban planning or not, there are certainly positive effects if the decision-making machinery tries to integrate the views of urbanites more, although accommodating and harmonizing multiple and oftentimes dissonant perspectives can be challenging. In this chapter I shall reflect on the potential of ethnographies of World Heritage cities. The wording of ‘World Heritage cities’ may look misleading because World Heritage sites in urban contexts are merely areas of historic importance selected within entire cities. Thinking in terms of World Heritage cities is, however, useful because it takes into consideration the organicness of urban milieus. It is much easier for heritage-related bodies and decision-makers to carve out a selected area from a much bigger, but intertwined, space while leaving out sites that are also considered by others to be patrimonial spaces. Surely the designated areas are the primary focus of ethnographies of World Heritage cities, but their surroundings and the larger urban territory should not be neglected because the politics of World – and what is sadly not World – Heritage are deeply interwoven in a broader urban governance system. It is no coincidence that the mayors of more than 300 cities with a World Heritage site within their municipalities have decided to join an international non-profit NGO called the Organization of World Heritage Cities (OWHC).1 Melaka itself has been represented in 1

https://www.ovpm.org/all-about-owhc/introduction-and-mission/ (last accessed 10 May 2019).

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this network that aims at enhancing cooperation between such cities and at improving their management frameworks. It is thus an organization which promotes collaboration and the exchange of expertise and experiences among different municipal bodies. As noted by John Pendlebury, Michael Short, and Aidan While (2009: 349), the designation of a single territory under a specific municipality ‘can effectively transform those places into World Heritage cities, especially as the authorities responsible for managing the site are required to consider the impact on the site of developments beyond the site boundary’. The role played by World Heritage designations in the tensions arising between heritage conservation and the pressures of urban development and tourism, however, should not be overstated. Other cities that are not on the List face similar issues and, as we have seen in Chapter 4, World Heritage status is not the only cause behind gentrification in the World Heritage site. Other studies on gentrification – in George Town, for example – show that the repeal of rent control has triggered this process (e.g., Jenkins and King 2003; Ooi 2016), and the enlisting has contributed to its intensification. By retracing my journey along Malaysian urban-cum-heritage politics, this concluding chapter brings together some final thoughts on the potential of ethnographies for World Heritage cities, also in juxtaposition with a bunch of other studies on Asian World Heritage cities (especially those located in East and Southeast Asia). Towards the end, I will also reflect on the almost two-year-long administration of Pakatan Harapan (the ‘Alliance of Hope’) – which had inherited the cityscape and heritage management system from Barisan Nasional (the National Front) – before collapsing in 2020.

Ethnographies of World Heritage Cities I was not alone in this journey along the everyday life of heritage politics. As a member of the research group ‘The Global Political Economy of Cultural Heritage’, I shared questions and findings with two colleagues: Vivienne Marquart (2014, 2015) and Leah Cheung (2016), who have been working in Turkey and China, on Istanbul and Xi’an, respectively. ‘Heritage ethnographies,’ Charlotte Joy (2016: 210) writes, ‘can increasingly provide vital clues to what an alternative (and plural) heritage landscape may look like.’ Our research explored in depth such a plurality of heritage politics, landscapes, and meanings in three significant corners of Asian history: from the Straits of Malacca to the Northern Silk Road, and as far as the bridge between East and West. I see in our research not only heritage

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ethnographies, but also ethnographies of World Heritage cities. As Setha Low (1996: 402) writes, Anthropological critiques of planning and design projects provide a methodology and framework for decoding the ideological intentions and material consequences of architectural plans and landscape designs, while radicalized fieldwork retains the power to demonstrate the how, why, and when of urban processes.

Our research is situated exactly in this field of inquiry with a specific endeavour towards an anthropology of the city and with/in World Heritage. By dealing with places where international, national, and local heritage regimes and actors meet, these studies can contribute to a deeper understanding of the global/local nexus in the making of urban World heritage. Ethnographies of World Heritage cities have the potential to grasp the extent to which the designated areas commingle with broader urban territories. Urban World Heritage sites differ. They are often historic city centres or just single monuments and archaeological sites, and not uncommonly several distinct historic sites located in a single city or even a trans-boundary territory. Istanbul and Xi’an are much bigger than Melaka and their World Heritage sites are also different. While in Melaka the World Heritage property and its buffer zone is a compact one, the Historic Areas of Istanbul inscribed on the List since 1985 consist of four separate sites in the Historic Peninsula: the Archaeological Park, the Theodosian land walls, Sülemaniye Mosque, and Zeyrek Mosque, together with their respective associated conservation areas. As is the case with Istanbul, World Heritage in Xi’an is scattered in different locations. The Mausoleum of the First Qin Emperor with its famous Terracotta Army, 35 kilometres away from Xi’an, was enlisted in 1987, and five more sites within the city have been inscribed as part of the Silk Roads in 2014: the Routes of the Chang’an-Tianshan Corridor, a trans-boundary property spanning China, Kazakhstan, and Kyrgyzstan. The sites located in Xi’an are the Weiyang and Daming palaces together with the Xingjiaosi, the Giant Wild Goose and the Small Wild Goose pagodas. China, Malaysia, and Turkey are parts of different regions, but these three cities share some interesting aspects. They play a pre-eminent role in the history of their respective countries. This contributes to their potential for the imaginations, politics, and economics of heritage-making. They have been, or still are, hubs in world trade routes: from the Mediterranean to the Silk Road and the Straits of Malacca connecting the Indian Ocean to the South China Sea. Istanbul and Xi’an with millions of inhabitants continue

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to be metropolises whereas Melaka lost its centrality when the colonial powers in the area decided to focus more on the development of other settlements such as Dutch Batavia as well as British Singapore and George Town. Nevertheless, Melaka remains a cosmopolitan city with a variety of ethnic and religious groups retracing the past of what was once one of the major trade centres in the region. Ethnographies of World Heritage cities help to grasp the uses of the past in the present in relation to diverse urban histories. Like Istanbul and Xi’an, Melaka had been the centre of economic powers and polities, but none of these cities is nowadays a national capital. Nevertheless, their historical value continues to be extremely important for the nation-building agendas of their respective countries. The multiple histories accumulated throughout the centuries are reworked to serve political and economic interests as well as to nurture the expectations and imaginations of tourists. Yet specific historical periods or polities are revitalized more than others. Neo-Ottomanism is very powerful in the heritage politics of Istanbul (Marquart 2015). In Xi’an the Tang period plays a central role in comparison to the other dynasties (Cheung 2016). And as we have seen in Melaka, the Malay sultanate is glorified. These politics of heritage do not only involve remembering and historical memory, but also forgetting. History books can be rewritten, and monuments can be used for disparate claims. An exemplary case is Hagia Sophia in Istanbul which is reclaimed differently by various groups as a museum, a mosque, or a church (Marquart 2015). Similarly, in the Melakan context the most important historic part of the Old Town with its colonial buildings has been supplemented by replicas which recall the golden age of the Melaka sultanate. Whether, and to what extent, the World Heritage status plays a crucial role in the everyday life of the cityscape or not is a further question at the heart of ethnographies of World Heritage cities. And do the specific characteristics of a city matter at all? Although Melaka is the littlest sister compared to Istanbul and Xi’an in terms of territory, population, and speed of urban development, I found a stronger significance attached to the World Heritage status. This seems to hold true for other World Heritage sites located in historic Asian towns, places similar to Melaka – secondary cities in their own countries. For example, in the case of the Vietnamese historic port town of Hoi An, UNESCO World Heritage is used as a real ‘brand’ (see Parnwell 2016: 105). According to Yujie Zhu (2016: 82) in Lijiang, World Heritage has become a ‘name card’ that has turned this Chinese city into a ‘hot spot’ and, as in the case of Luang Prabang described by David Berliner (2016: 100), since inscription this ancient city has become a veritable ‘UNESCO sanctuary’

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and a major tourist destination in Laos. Inscriptions foment the ‘worlding’ of the designated areas in these cities (Parnwell 2016: 82), one that often intermingle with other worlding trajectories such as mega-developments around the World Heritage sites. The vision of an Old Melaka and a New Melaka living side by side echoes, for example, Cecilia Chu’s study of the worlding of Macau in between ‘heritagization’ and ‘spectacularization’: a more extreme case with on one side the ‘World Heritage City’, and on the other, the casinos’ ‘fantasyland of gaming’ (Chu 2015: 440-443). Perhaps it is the very reason of being a secondary city that makes the status crucial because it boosts visibility on the world map. This desire is emphasized in the extensive use of the ‘World Heritage City’ label for Melaka. In particular, local authorities emphasize their commitment to protect the World Heritage status. For example, two of the official faces of the local government in charge during the nomination and inscription processes have expressed explicitly this intent. The then Chief Minister Ali Rustam said: ‘The rise of Melaka as a world heritage city is a great honour and pride to all citizens of Melaka, especially the State Government of Melaka and other related agencies involved in maintaining the esteemed status’ (in Idid 2008: ii). The then Mayor Yusof bin Haji Jantan confirmed this intention, stating that ‘the Melaka Historic City Council (MBMB) for one is working hard to ensure the status of World Heritage Site is maintained for the longest time’ (in Idid 2008: iii). The World Heritage designation has become a powerful achievement that the then Barisan Nasional-led government used to legitimize its administration. As we have seen, however, heritage-minded citizens are divided on the subject of the World Heritage status. What does this status mean for the social actors encountered in this ethnography? Such questions inform ethnographies of World Heritage cities in the exploration of the myths of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) on the ground. During my fieldwork, UNESCO and World Heritage were present with their respective logos on billboards and documents. National and local agencies use these logos for many purposes: to promote government-led cultural activities and festivals, to welcome tourists, to mark the boundaries of the World Heritage property and its buffer zone, to present Melaka to the international tourism market, to legitimize new urban planning and conservation policies, or to establish heritage fees. UNESCO and World Heritage seemed to be everywhere, but UNESCO-related bodies and actors were absent on the ground, apart from very few interactions, such as the Technical Evaluation Mission of ICOMOS (the International Council on Monuments and Sites) in 2007, and the sporadic visits of representatives from the regional offices of Bangkok and Jakarta, or

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other international experts. UNESCO and World Heritage have nonetheless become part of everyday discourse, what I named an absent omnipresence at the beginning of this book. UNESCO is unseen most of the time, but its presence and influence are felt. The World Heritage status has generated new heritage discourses and practices in Melaka that go beyond the familial, ethnic, religious, municipal, and national domains. There is an increasing understanding of Melakan heritage as a sort of global commons, but its subsequent responsibilities on conservation management are often unclear and there is much confusion about whom or which institutions to address in what I have dubbed the heritage haze. Melakans who were not directly involved in the government-led management or heritage-related groups often asked me whether Melaka will be able to keep the status in the future. These interlocutors imagined UNESCO as a powerful and unitary entity that can really take away the World Heritage designation. So far, however, the World Heritage Committee has delisted only two sites: the Arabian Oryx Sanctuary in 2007 and Dresden Elbe Valley in 2009 (and in 2017 Georgia’s World Heritage site of Bagrati Cathedral and Gelati Monastery has been partially delisted, the former has been removed from the World Heritage List). People imagine UNESCO as the entity at the top of a vertical global hierarchy of heritage management. This constitutes one of the myths of World Heritage on the ground. Most of the time, indeed, World Heritage is confined to the domain of national and local heritage politics, and UNESCO has limited power at the local level. In the case of Melaka and George Town, the State Party complied with the requests elaborated within the World Heritage arena because it was in its interest to protect the status. And the State Party carried out these requests by ensuring that the local authorities adopted required measures such as, for example, the establishment of local World Heritage Offices. Those who were more familiar with the system of heritage management knew about UNESCO’s limited power and the influence the State Party can have in the World Heritage arena. In fact, a local bureaucrat once joked about the chances of losing the status: ‘As long as Malaysia is in the World Heritage Committee, Melaka is safe on the List!’ This seems to conf irm the solid diplomatic nature of the World Heritage system as also confirmed to Nir Avieli (2015) by one of his informants during his study about the ‘touristification’ process affecting the World Heritage site of Hoi An. According to his interlocutor, himself a foreign representative attached to the UNESCO office in Hanoi, to move sites ‘to the list of Endangered World Heritage Sites, or to remove them from the list completely […] would create a huge diplomatic crisis’ (in Avieli 2015: 62).

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Many ordinary Melakans believe that UNESCO pays for conservation projects. This perception seems to be ‘ubiquitous’ in Southeast Asian countries, as noted by Michael Hitchcock (2016: 380). UNESCO’s role in the region, he writes, ‘is often misunderstood with complaints about the lack of help provided by the United Nations body as if it were an aid agency’ (Hitchcock 2016: 380). For example, Malaysia has gained UNESCO financial assistance only on four occasions, and never for conservation projects. The World Heritage Fund – the trust fund through which the World Heritage Committee can support the States Parties – seems to be insufficient for the increasing number of inscribed properties. Furthermore, this fund is made up of compulsory and voluntary contributions from the States Parties themselves. Thus, Malaysia as State Party has throughout the years financially supported the fund, rather than the other way around. In this context, however, things are changing. The UNESCO regional offices in Bangkok and Jakarta seem to have funds to support local non-state initiatives and projects. In Malaysia the national and local agencies in charge of heritage affairs have only limited financial means, because the national government has other higher priorities. But surely the World Heritage status plays a crucial role in economic terms because it brings tourists, new revenue, more jobs, and ‘tourist dollars’ as Melakans say. Michael Parnwell writes, in regard to Hoi An, that ‘the town itself is managed for tourism, rather than tourism being managed for heritage preservation and appreciation’ (Parnwell 2016: 106). Similarly, in Melaka, visibility on the global map has the potential to attract more tourists and new real estate developments. Nevertheless, the exploitation of heritage for tourism provokes disenchantment among heritage aficionados and experts who believe World Heritage should be a catalyst for the implementation of urban conservation policies. This disenchantment generates more critiques by inhabitants that see UNESCO World Heritage merely as a label used for interests other than heritage conservation. One resident of the World Heritage property said that World Heritage in Melaka ‘is bullshit! UNESCO is overused, just a label to get more money, more tourists, and to build more giant hotels.’ Hence, the absent omnipresence of UNESCO World Heritage is part of public debates and everyday discourses on the consequences of the inscription. Some people see a blessing in the World Heritage status, others see a curse. Yet, others see both a blessing and a curse – a sort of tragicomedy of global commons with positive and, at the same time, negative effects. For most Melakans (and Malaysians, in general) the World Heritage status is a source of pride, but some are worried that this recognition could be revoked.

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These interlocutors saw in the poor implementation of conservation and new development projects the materialization of the famous idiom ‘killing the goose that lays the golden eggs’. They referred to this idiom in several contexts: the land reclamation at the seafront, the new buildings in the World Heritage site as well as the mega-development projects changing the cityscape around the buffer zone, the gentrification and commercialization of the old row houses, or the touristification of the river. This is not to say that these Melakans are necessarily against urban development. They wish, nonetheless, to see a more sustainable coexistence of urban conservation and development. In his introduction to a volume entitled UNESCO in Southeast Asia: World Heritage Sites in Comparative Perspective, Victor King (2016a: 12) states that such sites are ‘internationally demarcated spaces of encounter, interaction, contention and symbolic representation’. These places, he adds, ‘are the focus of interaction and encounters, sometimes collaborative and complementary, but often characterised by disagreement, conflict and contention’ (ibid.: 28). Throughout this book I have tried to give space to multiple voices and such ‘kinds of contention’ (ibid.: 15). Perhaps disagreements unfold more acutely in urban milieus and living heritage cities rather than in natural, archaeological, or rural World Heritage sites. In this sense, the ‘urbanness’ of World Heritage cities ‘presents a series of challenges related to the designation, assessment and management of conservation objects in the context of dynamic and heterogeneous urban systems’ (Pendlebury, Short, and While 2009: 349). The complexity of heritage management and ‘the potential for conflict’ between international actors, national and local authorities, as well as diverse stakeholders in urban World Heritage sites are ‘magnified’ (ibid.: 357). The making of World Heritage boundaries or buffer zones, the number of landlords or stakeholders involved, and conflicts between conservation, development, and planning are all major factors that contribute to the increasing complexity of governance in urban World Heritage sites (ibid.: 357). World Heritage on the ground unites and, at the same time, divides social actors. Thus, the landscape of heritage management in Melaka is atomized between different concerns, interests, views, and perceptions. It was not my intention to write a work about the heritage haze and an atomized landscape of heritage politics. Perhaps, when I started this research I had in mind, naively, the mutual understanding upon which UNESCO and the World Heritage project base their mission. But, as my research progressed, I realized that there have been more misunderstandings than agreements among the social actors at the local, national, and

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international levels. This scenario resembles Anna Tsing’s (2005) idea of ‘friction’ as observed in her ethnography of the Indonesian rainforests of Borneo. Describing an environmentalist campaign she underlines ‘the systematic misunderstandings that separated village elders, provincial nature lovers, and national environmental activists’ (ibid.: x). According to her, however, ‘these misunderstandings – far from producing conflict – had allowed them to work together!’ (ibid.: x). Similarly, the inscription of Melaka has been successful and the city is still on the List notwithstanding the disagreements: Melaka is a sort of ‘transnational mis(s-)understanding’.

A Transnational Mis(s-)understanding Heritage in Malaysia is often described as ‘young’. According to many Malaysians, Malaysian heritage is young because independence was reached less than a century ago. Furthermore, although in every country nation-building is never a completed process, the imagination of Malaysia as a nation-to-be strengthens the perception of a national heritage which is still being developed. My interlocutors also say that Malaysian heritage is young, because the tangible and most monumental remnants of the past in the built environment date back to the colonial period. Even in the Malaysian historic city of Melaka, precolonial remnants are almost absent because they have been destroyed or there is a lack of historical and archaeological evidence. Heritage conservation in Malaysia is considered to be young by most local experts. Some regard it as being in its ‘infancy’ (e.g., Ghafar 1997: 16). While this might be true in regard to the local translation and appropriation of documents produced in the World Heritage system, debates on what and how to preserve the material remnants of the past stretch back at least to the British colonial period. The controversy in 1807 on the destruction of the fort in Melaka as described in Chapter 2 is a famous precedent, but there were no official regulations at that time. I presented a genealogy of the official management of the past in Malaysia and how it has evolved since the first half of the twentieth century. Initially the official national legal framework focused on the protection of monumental remains, ‘antiquities’ and ‘treasures’, for instance. But things started to change after Malaysia ratified the World Heritage Convention in 1988. I have shown how in two decades, until the adoption of the National Heritage Act, major changes occurred in the official understanding of the past: from the former

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monumental and material emphasis towards different categorizations of official heritage (warisan) that include the intangible and even the national living human treasures. These changes partly reflect the evolution of the World Heritage system. In the legal framework concerning heritage conservation, the National Heritage Act reflects an evolution in the nation-building agenda, and the ideal of a united ‘Malaysian nation’ (or Bangsa Malaysia). As I have shown, this shift from a focus on a Malay-centric vision to the celebration of multicultural heritage had a partly liberating effect for the other ethnic and religious groups. The results of these shifts were visible in Melaka where – although the state maintains a monopoly on the official version of history, the management of Malay-Muslim affairs, and the definition of the glorious past of the sultanate – there has been an increasing celebration of cultural diversity. First of all, the establishment of kampung warisan shows how the more assimilated ethnic groups and their hybrid heritage (such as the Baba Nyonya, the Chetti, or the Portuguese-Eurasian communities) have been incorporated into the official promotion of Melaka, especially for tourism purposes. Yet, older racialized politics and the departmentalization of society into essentialized Malay-Chinese-Indian categories die hard with the official divide and brand partitioning of public space explored in Chapter 5. There are competing discourses on Malaysian multiculturalism: the national propaganda of 1Malaysia; the facelift of streets into Malay Bazar Ramadan Mega, Little India, Jonker Walk, and the Chinatowns; and bottom-up discourses that question this divide and brand partitions of cosmopolitan urban locales. Nevertheless, these different views on multiculturalism, heritage, and the use of public space rarely result in open conflicts. Contestation has been mostly characterized by the rivalry between the two main political coalitions, Barisan Nasional and Pakatan Harapan. This confirms the view that Malaysians go for ‘tongue wagging, not parang (machete) wielding’, as Shamsul Amri Baharuddin (2008: 12) suggests. The ambition to see Melaka on the World Heritage map goes back to the late 1980s at least, but it took several years to be inscribed on the List and the local government had to accept the compromise of sharing the serial nomination with George Town. The inscription was achieved thanks to the convergence of different actors and institutions, but the final stage of this process was centralized into the hands of the State Party and especially the Department of National Heritage. The team of academics appointed by this department reworked the final nomination dossier by accommodating the expectations of UNESCO-related experts. And they reflected the global

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and national shifts in heritage discourses, especially in the presentation of a harmonious multicultural heritage and including vernacular architecture. The latter is particularly emphasized in the revitalization of the row houses within the World Heritage site. The inscription has, however, exacerbated contentious urban change and processes of gentrification, displacement, and commercialization for tourism purposes that were initiated by the repeal of rent control. Although these processes are part of a global trend and are visible also within the World Heritage property in George Town, many interlocutors I have met – especially international experts – criticized Melaka more than its World Heritage sister. In general, the Malaysian State Party can be considered a successful member of the World Heritage arena. The nation has effectively adopted the UNESCO-related grammar and continued with this commitment as an elected member of the World Heritage Committee. The nation-building agenda of Malaysia and the global mission of UNESCO are tied together because the universal ideal of building intercultural understanding needs real examples of peaceful coexistence and multicultural heritage on the ground. This was reflected in the words of UNESCO’s Director-General Irina Bokova during her official visit to Malaysia in 2015. The visit coincided with the celebrations of Malaysia’s UNESCO Day in Kuala Lumpur. In her address she said: This year, Hari UNESCO Malaysia celebrates the theme ‘togetherness’, and this idea stands at the heart of UNESCO’s mission, to strengthen humanity as a single community. I see this reflected in Malaysia’s Vision 2020, where the economy, society and culture progress in harmony.2

This view echoes the words of the director-general two years earlier, during her first official visit to Malaysia. In fact, when Irina Bokova visited Melaka in 2013, she said to the students of the Muzaffar Syah Science Secondary School: ‘In Malacca I saw the world and you are its guardians.’3 But what are the chances for these guardians to be heard in what the general-director called a ‘single community’? There is an increasing rhetoric regarding the involvement and empowerment of communities in World Heritage sites. But are there any chances for local communities to be heard in the management of World Heritage? 2 http://unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0023/002331/233115e.pdf (accessed 10 November 2015). 3 https://en.unesco.org/news/malacca-director-general-visits-world-heritage-site-and-aspnetschool (accessed 23 February 2021).

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World Heritage Topographies of Exclusion These voices can be heard, but at present there is hardly any chance for these voices to reach the World Heritage arena, and to motivate people in the higher spheres of UNESCO to intervene at the local level, or to persuade national and local authorities to act in a similar manner. The short visit of Irina Bokova to Melaka is emblematic in this context. In May of 2013 – during her three-day visit to Malaysia – the national government organized a visit to Melaka. Bokova was accompanied by the director of the UNESCO Cluster Office in Jakarta and representatives of national and local heritage-related agencies. The visit to the World Heritage site itself was very short and included a trishaw ride in the civic area and a stopover in the so-called Harmony Street. The local authorities organized a visit to Kampung Kling Mosque, Cheng Hoon Teng Temple, and Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Morthi Temple. Representatives of the communities in charge of each place of worship welcomed the director-general. As I observed the scene from afar, the encounter appeared ceremonious and the atmosphere joyful: a true celebration of Melakan multicultural heritage. Afterwards, I met Mr. Kumar, who was among the Chetti who welcomed Bokova’s delegation. He told me that with the other representatives of the community he approached the director-general to tell her about their struggle against the High-rise. I was surprised, since they did not have much time to tell her the full story. Furthermore, the representatives of local heritage-related agencies who accompanied Bokova would not have welcomed the discussion. Nevertheless, as Mr. Kumar told me, they managed to ask the director-general to include Kampung Chetti in the World Heritage site in order to impede the development adjacent to their kampung. She replied that they should first ask the national government, which is the body that can officially prepare a nomination. The representatives of the Chetti community who welcomed the directorgeneral must have considered themselves very lucky to have this rare chance to interact with the head of UNESCO, but also been disappointed by the reply of the director-general, who deflected their request for help. Instead, they were cordially invited to deal with local and national agencies that have been approached in vain until then. In Chapter 6 I presented in detail the opposition to the High-rise next to this kampung warisan. I illustrated the reasons behind the uncertainty vis-à-vis urban-planning processes and the ways local residents take part in the politics of heritage. I have argued that the making of World Heritage in Melaka has created a hierarchy of heritage sites according to which some places deserve to be protected as heritage of

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Figure 7.1 Chetti welcoming the UNESCO director-general in 2013

Photo courtesy of Mohan Pillay

mankind under certain rules, while others are not. But this is not an isolated case. Together with Kampung Chetti, two other famous kampung warisan in Melaka have experienced similar developments. The ongoing construction boom seems to confirm the emergence of a future ring of high-rises around the World Heritage buffer zone. Kampung Morten, with its traditional Malay houses on stilts and palm trees, lives as a heritage peninsula by the river in the middle of new high-rises, including The Shore (at the moment the tallest building in town, see Chapter 2). Local government has provided funds for the restoration of some houses in the kampung and carried out flood mitigation projects along with the beautif ication of the river. Furthermore, this kampung warisan is the only one where some houses have been converted into guest houses according to the ‘homestay’ concept for tourists who wish to experience life in a traditional kampung. Yet, notwithstanding these incentives, I learned about the disenchantment among residents (see Indera 2016; Ong 2017). Some residents were dissatisfied with the poor quality of the work carried out by the contractors. Above all, residents were worried, similarly to those in Kampung Chetti, about the construction of an adjacent high-rise (Indera 2016; Ong 2017). They were primarily concerned with

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Figure 7.2 The Shore under construction and Kampung Morten

Author’s photo, 2013

the noise and the pollution caused by the construction work. They were also unhappy that such projects had been approved to be carried out near their kampung, and the resulting change in the surroundings and the quiet atmosphere of the area. This dissatisfaction expressed by the residents – all of them Malays – shows that issues related to the cityscape go beyond the mere divide between Bumiputera and non-Bumiputera. In this case, even those categorized as Malays – those perceived by the non-Bumiputera as receiving privileged treatment by government-led heritage management – shared the same kind of views and experienced the same kind of uncertainty as non-Bumiputera Melakans. And as noted by Ong Puay Liu (2017: 72), almost all communities disapproved of ‘their exclusion from the decision-making process of development happening in their midst’. The other kampung warisan, the Portuguese Settlement, has been also active in the tourism industry. The restaurants at the seafront serving Portuguese-Eurasian food are a popular destination for locals as well as tourists, but the residents of this neighbourhood were also worried about adjacent development projects. The Portuguese Settlement is not new to such controversies. Since the 1990s, residents have faced the major challenge of

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land reclamation at the seafront which directly affected the local fishermen (see Sarkissian 2000: 46). Recently, other issues have raised further concerns and, like the Chetti community, associations and institutions representing the Portuguese Settlement have raised their voices about the threat of further land reclamation and the Melaka Gateway. In 2015 the regedor (‘settlement chief’ in the Portuguese-Eurasian Kristang language) complained about the negative effects for the future of the community. The Portuguese-Eurasian fishermen have organized symbolic protests, such as a mock funeral in which they carried fake coffins to the seafront.4 A letter sent to a newspaper by the Malacca Portuguese-Eurasian Association highlighted, along with the threat to the fishermen, the negative effects on the settlement: ‘If it is found that the project could in the long term result in the eventual demise and disintegration of our community and our living heritage, then the Melaka Gateway should go back to the drawing boards.’5 Furthermore, like the Kampung Chetti, the Portuguese Settlement claimed its right to the adjacent space: in this case, the sea, because of traditional celebrations such as the St. Peter’s Feast, which is held on a seaside that would disappear with the Melaka Gateway. The concerned residents established the Save Portuguese Community Action Committee and managed to hand in a memorandum to the parliament.6 The committee also launched an online petition to the attention of UNESCO, the Malaysian federal government, and the Melaka State Government.7 Similar to the memorandums produced by the Chetti community, this petition highlighted the importance of this ethnic minority for Malaysia and how it has strengthened the inclusion of Melaka in the World Heritage List. Furthermore, the petition underlined the importance of the Portuguese Settlement for the local tourism industry because of their cultural performances, food, costumes, and festivals. As in the case of Kampung Chetti, the Save Portuguese Community Action Committee claimed that the state has not kept the promises made in 2008 that the seafront of the settlement would not be touched by land reclamation and new projects. 4 ‘Portuguese Fishermen Protest Land Reclamation with a Mock Funeral’, The Star, 24 January 2015. 5 ‘Portuguese Colony Sidelined by Melaka Gateway Project’, The Sun Daily, 26 October 2014. 6 ‘Residents Call on Govt to Intervene [in] Portuguese Settlement Land Reclamation Works’, The Sun Daily, 25 March 2015. 7 The petition is available at: https://www.change.org/p/unesco-the-federal-governmentof-malaysia-the-state-government-of-melaka-please-step-in-to-protect-and-sustain-the-wellbeing-the-environment-and-the-heritage-culture-of-the-portuguese-settlement-at-ujong-pasirin-the-state-of-melaka-malaysia-as-I (accessed 17 December 2015).

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Thus, there are many similarities between these kampung warisan in the post-World Heritage designation period. These heritage sites are protected under local regulations, but this legal framework does not provide clear rules on height limits for new construction around these areas. Since these kampung warisan are not within the boundaries of the World Heritage site, the height limits set for the latter are not valid. The three communities in question felt that they contributed to the World Heritage inscription because they are among the ethnic groups that make up the multicultural heritage of Melaka. In this context, World Heritage has generated some changes in local heritage affairs, with liberating and empowering effects for minorities, Kampung Chetti and the Portuguese Settlement. The same can also be said for the Malays of Kampung Morten that are a sort of anomalous minority – part of the majority in the country, but a minority in the city centre of Melaka. Many residents thought they were included in the World Heritage site because state and tourism industry promoted the entirety of Melaka as a World Heritage City. But residents concerned with the process of change around their neighbourhoods have started to have doubts about the benef its of the World Heritage status. Instead of heritage protection they felt threatened by new development projects. Some groups have also appropriated the heritage discourses used by the official international, national, and local institutions to raise their voices. It is not my intention here to create a romantic idea of homogenous communities. Instead, there are many inter- and intra-community divides and jealousies. Furthermore, these heritage-related struggles are politicized by the two main coalitions or absorbed into racialized politics. But, in some cases, a call for solidarity to oppose threats to the heritage villages has partly fostered a sense of unity within and among wider imagined communities such as those of Melakans and Malaysians. Perhaps, the lack of a strong and unified heritage-related body or NGO in Melaka constitutes the major reason behind the unsuccessful opposition to unfavourable urban transformation processes. Each community has fought so far its own struggles in an atomized way and, ultimately, in vain. What would have happened if all the concerned communities had come together to support each other’s heritage battles? Would a unified opposition to such disrupting projects have helped each community to triumph? As I write (early in 2020), this is a matter for speculation. But what will community involvement look like in the future? Is it going to be a different age of heritage management? Or will it be an age of ‘hope’ (harapan, as the name the short-lived ruling coalition Pakatan Harapan has chosen for itself)?

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Postscript: Inheriting the Cityscape It is difficult to reach conclusions because the Pakatan Harapan-led federal and Melaka state governments lasted less than two years, and they had to deal with a system and bureaucratic machinery established and developed throughout decades of Barisan Nasional control. But I will sketch nonetheless a few of the main challenges faced by this coalition. It is thus worth tracing some of the trajectories undertaken by this administration in regard to heritage management and urban planning: this will hopefully offer a lens to compare the two main coalitions and pave the way for future inquiry on the road to the next elections to be held in 2023. Interestingly, for the first time in the last two decades, the new chief minister, Adly Zahari (AMANAH, the National Trust Party), decided not to hold the tourism, heritage, and culture portfolios. Adly Zahari then acquired the finance, land, and economic planning portfolios and – as a progressive Islamist leader himself – also the religious affairs position. Yet, in continuity with the past, a Malay was appointed for the tourism, heritage, and culture portfolios in the State Executive Council. In early 2019 the chief minister decided, however, to organize a series of meetings with stakeholders involved in the heritage and tourism sector, and he met them alone in order to learn about their eventual concerns. Such a move has been particularly appreciated by my interlocutors who participated, both heritage aficionados and business operators, because they had the chance to raise their voices. For what I have been told by those who attended, their concerns have remained the same since I began my research in 2011. Ongoing concerns include extreme traffic congestion, conservation wrongdoings, over-commercialization of the World Heritage site, touristification of historic legacies (such as the noisy and colourful Hello Kitty- or Pokémon-decorated trishaws), the lack of police supervision, snatch thefts in the Old Town, and the predominance of drunkards and drug addicts along the river at night.8 The administration also met residents of the heritage villages to discuss their concerns about projects affecting their neighbourhoods. Surely, all these stakeholders are impatient to see if there is an administration that will finally solve these issues. 8 In regard to trishaws, the same chief minister seemed to be in favour to a return to simplicity and tradition as heritage aficionados would like. For example, in a meeting with the trishaw riders, he personally encouraged them to play dondang sayang music that has been recently inscribed on UNESCO‘s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity rather than only loud modern music. See: ‘Melaka Trishaw Riders Told to Play and Promote Dondang Sayang’, The Star, 31 December 2018.

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In regard to heritage management, an incumbent course of action was to rehabilitate the Melaka World Heritage Office that was dismantled in 2016, the special purpose vehicle required by the World Heritage Committee (see Chapter 3). According to reports, such a body was approved by the Melaka State Executive Council by the end of 2018. A new subsidiary called Melaka Heritage will be in charge of the World Heritage site and, probably, also of other heritage areas in the state. It seems that it was the federal government itself that requested the re-establishment of this office. ‘We received a letter from the Tourism Ministry that ensured it fulfils UNESCO requirements for the state, and acted accordingly,’ Adly Zahari said.9 Future research, perhaps, will tell us whether this new body will be any different from the old Melaka World Heritage Office. One of the major challenges for both past and present administrations is undoubtedly traffic congestion. This seems to be a common problem for World Heritage tourist destinations that share similar old urban patterns, even those sites that are acknowledged as ideal conservation examples by international bodies. One example is Vigan in the Philippines, which obtained the Best Practice in World Heritage Site Management award by UNESCO. As Erik Akpedonu (2016: 137) notes, because of its ‘narrow streets with massive walls on both sides, noise levels from vehicular traffic are very high. […] The unrestricted presence of vehicles leads to some streets being crowded with parked vehicles.’ The volume of traffic in Melaka, especially at weekends and public holidays, has been identified as a major problem by Victor King (2016b: 167), who writes that ‘some restrictions on traffic and pedestrian walkways will have to be introduced sooner than later’. In 2018, the Melaka State Government stated that they were studying the implementation of new measures to solve the issue of traffic congestion that affects the city centre, including the idea of a ‘car-free day’.10 The implementation of traffic measures constitutes a major challenge for the administration. Melaka is a ‘car-dominated city’: a study estimated that 90 per cent of journeys are made by cars, the development of public transport has still a long way ahead, and there is a generalized belief that ‘walking is not an option’ (MBMB 2018: 29, 71). Many areas are not pedestrian friendly. The issue of traffic congestion is further exacerbated by the kind of tourism prevailing in Melaka, especially the weekend journeys of Malaysians and Singaporeans who visit tourism destinations such as the famous Jonker Walk. The Pakatan Harapan-led Melaka State Government seemed to be 9 ‘Focus on Melaka’s Heritage’, The Star, 5 January 2019. 10 ‘Melaka Mulls Car-Free Day in Congested Zones’, The Star, 25 August 2018.

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ambivalent about the reduction of traffic congestion in the World Heritage site. In early 2019, a new night market called Kee Ann Food Street was launched just 600 metres away from Jonker Street, bringing even more cars to the area. Moreover, the increasing number of busloads of tourists from China aggravates traffic congestion in the historic streets, which are too narrow for such wide vehicles. Chinese tourists visit Melaka mostly for guided tours – day trips or short stays. Only big hotels and condominiums can accommodate their large tour groups. The construction of such new buildings, often high-rises, around the World Heritage site and the land reclamation works constitute another serious challenge to Melaka’s residents. Such construction is often linked to the major investment coming from China in connection with its broader Belt and Road Initiative. More recently, the Melaka Gateway project has secured f inancial support from PowerChina and two Chinese port developers. In this regard, there are many concerns among Malaysians. In the case of the Melaka Gateway project, for example, some people see not only a Chinese-financed luxury development project, but a ‘Chinese neocolonial outpost’ similar to what was observed by Sarah Moser (2017: 935) in Forest City, another mega-development project on reclaimed land in the state of Johor, adjacent to Singapore. Prime Minister Mahathir was particularly concerned in this regard. In 2019 he cancelled projects backed by China and Chinese companies that were considered unnecessary or, for reasons of debt, not viable to begin with. He seemed to have the same opinion of the Melaka Gateway. ‘We are very concerned because, in the first place, we don’t need any extra harbor,’ Mahathir reportedly said.11 But it would be difficult for the Melaka State Government to withdraw all the development approvals issued in the past few years. Indemnifying land developers would burden Melaka with an insurmountable debt. For instance, it took a few months for the newly appointed Chief Minister Adly Zahari to reassess the Melaka Gateway project and finally to arrive at the conclusion that the project would go on insofar as it remained under the supervision of a local company, and that the state will not interfere with direct foreign investment. He said: ‘What matters most is that the foreign investment must take into account opportunities for locals.’12 After this statement, former Prime Minister Najib Razak criticized him in a Facebook post, saying that, previously, Pakatan Harapan opposed the project he himself had approved 11 ‘“We Cannot Afford This”: Malaysia Pushes Back on China’s Projects’, New Straits Times, 21 August 2018. 12 ‘Melaka Gateway Project to Continue’, The Malaysian Reserve, 3 January 2019.

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because it was considered a ‘foreign sell-out’. The new chief minister replied, saying that the Melaka State Government had tried to improve the project in order to benefit the tourism sector and local people. Many Melakans see an over-supply of new units and buildings, many of which remain empty – especially luxury real estate developments that are sold to Singaporeans, Chinese, and other foreigners, residences most locals cannot afford. They ask themselves whether they need all these tall buildings. ‘Is it actually luxury for whom?’ It is clear that Malaysians have many, and high, expectations. They are observing, and they will not hesitate to judge and criticize lawmakers, as in the 2018 elections, which saw the unprecedented defeat of Barisan Nasional. The future of this former glorious entrepôt has yet to be written. There is not a ‘happily ever after’ fairy tale ending for this book. Melaka’s age of heritage consciousness and mass tourism is at once a blessing and a curse.

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Index A Famosa Fort 14, 43, 64n9, 83, 128; see also Porta de Santiago adaptive reuse 88n30, 113, 151, 163, 174, 176, 183, 189, 191 Albuquerque, Afonso de 17 Ali Baba 81 ancestral houses 18, 40, 146, 149, 157, 164-168, 238-239, 262 antiquities 60-65, 75, 87, 94, 104, 121, 276 archaeology/archaeologists 28, 31, 41, 52-53, 63-64, 88, 90n32, 91, 98, 105, 112, 119, 130-131, 245n11, 260n23, 270, 275-276 architects 69, 91, 93, 119-120, 135, 142, 148, 162, 175, 177 associationism 18, 92, 96, 98-99, 168, 201, 203, 209, 232, 282 authenticity 31, 67, 177, 186, 188, 202, 208, 210, 213-214, 222-223 Baba Nyonya 22, 47n11, 51, 65, 69, 83, 114, 145, 147, 150, 155-157, 164-168, 200-201, 207-210, 214-215, 222, 231-232, 241-242, 277; see also Peranakan Badan Warisan Malaysia 92-99, 112n10, 129, 148, 160-163, 187-188 Bangsa Malaysia 35, 194, 224, 277 Barisan Nasional 34-37, 47-49, 57-58, 60, 71-74, 76, 78, 125, 127-128, 191, 195, 198, 201, 206, 215-216, 219, 222-224, 272, 277, 284, 287 Bastion Middleburg 17, 19, 24, 130, 135 Bastion Victoria 23-24, 103, 135 Batavia 142, 144, 271 Bazar Ramadan Mega 58, 199, 215, 223, 277 Beautification 185, 200, 235, 247 of Melaka River 76-78, 85, 280 Bort, Balthasar 143, 229 British in Melaka 14, 16-17, 34, 40, 43-45, 61-63, 67, 69, 74, 142, 144, 230-231, 276 buffer zones 13-14, 19, 50, 81, 88, 121, 133, 133n29, 135-136, 185, 226-227, 250, 252, 256-257, 270, 272, 275, 280 Bukit Cina 13-14, 38, 63, 96, 98, 121n19, 133n29, 135, 219, 244 Bumiputera 34-37, 70, 75, 81, 89, 281 bureaucracy/bureaucrats 52-53, 61, 71n15, 74, 91, 101, 114, 116-118, 127, 135-136, 142, 178-179, 181-183, 185-186, 188, 241, 244, 252, 255, 273 bureaucratic tardiness 180-184 Cheng Hoon Teng Temple 18-20, 160, 193, 215, 279 Chetti 22, 47, 51, 58, 114, 215, 225-240, 242, 244, 248-249, 256-259, 265-266, 277, 279-280, 282 Chetti Museum 243; see also Kampung Chetti

Chettiars 147, 231 China 84, 89, 101, 120, 142-143, 145, 163, 229, 269-270, 277, 286 Chinatown 57, 195, 198, 200-206, 214-215, 277 Chinese Malaysians 34, 42-44, 47, 51, 57, 68, 73, 81-82, 114, 142-145, 168, 200-201, 203, 206, 209, 215-219, 224-225, 232, 235, 239 Chineseness 209 Christ Church 16 civil society 56, 60-61, 87, 91-92, 98-99, 108, 111, 115-116, 129, 184-185, 188, 254 and heritage affairs 91-101; see also heritage affairs; NGOs Conservation Unit in Melaka 65, 103, 133, 136, 177-178, 252 consociationalism 195, 195n1, 201, 203, 208, 214, 222; see also divide-and-brand contestation 24, 28, 72, 78, 96, 211, 220-222, 224, 252, 255, 260-261, 277, 282-283, 286 contested space 222 cosmopolitanism 21, 40, 42-43, 47, 58, 110, 118, 143, 194-195, 214-215, 223-224, 271, 277 Democratic Action Party (DAP) 35-36, 49, 125, 211, 216-220 Dataran Pahlawan 16, 79, 83-85, 130, 135 Department of National Heritage 23-24, 52, 56-57, 88, 90-91, 103-104, 110, 118-120, 122, 126, 130-131, 134-135, 177-178, 188, 191, 223, 245, 250, 253, 259, 277 developers 54, 56, 60, 76-77, 80-86, 97-98, 153-154, 178, 248-257, 265, 286 diplomacy and diplomats 32, 42, 69-70, 101, 108, 273; see also heritage diplomatic capital displacement 37, 57, 151-153, 155, 173, 191, 211, 248-249, 278 divide-and-brand 57, 195, 198, 224, 277 Dutch in Melaka 14, 16-18, 40, 43-44, 62-63, 67, 69-70, 142-144, 161-162, 201, 229-230 elections in Malaysia 36-37, 36n8, 92, 125, 216, 219, 284, 287 in Melaka 48-49, 73, 199, 217, 219, 224, 256-259 municipal elections 48-49, 74 Enactment 88 65, 104, 174, 227, 241, 243-244, 252, 257; see also Melaka Museum Corporation ethnographies of World Heritage cities 25-26, 29-30, 55-56, 180, 268-276 Eurasians in Malaysia 19, 37, 47, 69, 114, 231, 242, 253, 277, 281-282; see also Portuguese Settlement

304 

World Heritage and Urban Politics in Mel ak a, Mal aysia

Eurocentrism 31, 113 expertise/experts 26, 30, 32, 53-54, 57, 61, 91, 97-98, 100, 109-136, 142-148, 154, 160, 164-165, 173-191, 194, 200, 202, 210-211, 222, 224, 245, 269, 273-278 feng shui 147, 159, 168 fieldwork 30, 50-56 five-footways 144, 159, 164, 183, 209 Flor de la Mar 17, 69, 135 Francis Xavier 14-15, 63 Furnivall, John Sydenham 44, 47; see also plural society gentrification 57, 151, 152n7, 155, 169, 189, 191, 269, 275, 278 tourism gentrification 142, 151-153, 156, 173, 224 George Town 25, 37-38, 44, 55, 62, 92-93, 9598, 103, 105, 107, 111-114, 117-129, 132-133, 139, 142, 149, 151, 175, 194, 269, 271, 273, 277-278 George Town World Heritage Incorporated 103, 133 Global Strategy for a Representative, Balanced and Credible World Heritage List 31, 113 Godinho de Erédia, Manuel 43, 143n4, 229 guest houses 18, 280 Hang Tuah 16, 41n9, 68-69, 229, 241n10 Hang Tuah Jaya 46 Hang Tuah Mall 198-200, 223 Hard Rock Café 187-189, 193 Harmony Street 18, 193-194, 210, 215, 225, 279 hawkers 144, 164, 169, 202-203, 206, 208-212, 217-219, 221-222 Heeren Street (Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock) 18, 65, 76, 140, 143-144, 150, 160, 167-169, 201, 226, 229, 241 height limits 127, 135-136, 176, 179, 185-186, 188, 249, 252, 256, 283 heritage affairs 38, 40, 48, 54, 59-104, 123, 125, 129, 136, 274, 283; see also civil society and heritage affairs aficionados 57-58, 61, 99-100, 129, 142, 157, 159-160, 163-164, 173-176, 179, 181-185, 189-191, 210-215, 223-224, 268, 274, 284 and liminality 226-227, 257, 266; see also World Heritage thresholds as a sociocultural construct 28-29 as global commons 273-274 authorized heritage discourse 31-33 critical heritage studies 21, 25, 27, 31-32 diplomatic capital 32, 33n4, 57, 134 haze and nebulosity 25, 101-104, 136, 273, 275 heritage-making and heritagization 2829, 32-34, 58, 107, 222, 227, 241-242, 266, 270, 272 heritage-to-be 39, 128

politicization of 222-224 politics of 25-26, 29, 31-33, 38, 40, 48, 54, 65, 67, 72-73, 89, 141, 195, 224, 242-243, 268-275, 279 topographies of exclusion 227, 279 Heritage Impact Assessment (HIA) 127, 133, 135, 177, 187-188 heritage villages (kampung warisan) 19, 65, 226-227, 241-244, 248, 251-252, 258, 262-263, 283-284 high-rises/skyscrapers 50, 58, 76, 80-81, 84-86, 93, 224, 227-228, 248-250, 252-255, 258-259, 261-264, 268, 279-280, 286 Hinduism 18-19, 40-41, 43, 148, 200-201, 225, 228-229, 231-233, 235, 237-239, 245, 247n12, 260 Vastu Shastra 148 historians 41, 47, 52-53, 71, 91, 98, 119 hybridity 47, 143, 145, 148, 194-195, 214, 222-223, 277 Hoi An 115, 121, 271, 273-274 homestays 244, 259, 280 hotels 18, 50, 80-81, 83-84, 127-128, 132, 153-155, 160, 163-164, 169-170, 173, 183, 185-187, 191, 200, 251, 274, 286 International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) 30, 93, 106, 118, 120-121, 127-128, 130, 132, 139, 160, 164-165, 175, 210-211, 222, 272 imagined communities 29, 100, 238, 283 Indian Malaysians 18, 34, 44, 47, 57, 62, 73, 114, 120, 194, 196, 200-201, 206, 215, 218, 228, 231, 235, 239, 260, 260-261n24 infill development 177, 249-250 invented tradition 71n15, 142 Islam 18, 34, 37, 40, 42, 70-72, 201, 206-207, 277 Istanbul 269-271 Jalan Bendahara 198-200, 206 Jalan Hang Tuah 198-199; see also Hang Tuah Mall Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA) 116n16 Japanese in Malaysia 44, 63, 69, 144, 200, 239 Johor 43, 45, 165, 286 Jonker Street (Jalan Hang Jebat) 18, 65, 144, 165, 167-169, 174, 193, 200-224, 226, 241, 286 Jonker Walk 18, 57-58, 97, 164, 195, 198, 200-224, 277, 285 Kampung Chetti 19, 58, 226-244, 248, 250-251, 255-261, 264-266, 279-283; see also Chetti Kampung Hulu Mosque 18, 64n9 Kampung Kling Mosque 18, 20, 193, 215, 279 Kampung Morten 19, 77, 81, 199, 241-242, 266, 268, 280-281, 283 Kuala Lumpur 37, 40, 45, 55, 81, 92-93, 95, 99, 101, 119, 128, 149, 165, 169, 199, 206, 260, 278 Kyoto 157, 251

Index

land reclamation 16, 50, 76-78, 84, 114, 133n29, 275, 282, 286 LEAP (Local Effort in Asia and the Pacific) 115-116, 125, 160 leasehold 84, 150, 152, 164, 170 Lijiang 115-116, 271 Little India 198-201, 206, 215, 223, 277 Luang Prabang 115, 271 Macau 121, 272 Mahathir 35-37, 46, 84, 89, 286 Malacca Guardian 55, 74 Malacca Heritage Trust 96-98, 116, 211, 249, 253 Malacca Historical Society 63 Malay Annals 41, 41n9, 61, 229 Malays 34, 37, 47, 67-68, 81-82, 114, 143, 199, 201, 207, 229, 235, 281, 283 Malaysia division of powers in 64-65, 74-75, 90, 101-104 history of 37, 44-45 population of 33-34, 37 Malaysian Chinese Association (MCA) 34, 49, 72-73, 195, 200, 203-204, 206, 208-209, 211, 217, 219-220, 222, 224 Malaysian History and Heritage Club 99-101, 157 Malaysian Indian Congress (MIC) 34, 49, 73, 195, 206, 258, 260, 265 Malaysian Islamic Party (PAS) 34, 49, 72, 218 Malaysian United Indigenous Party (BERSATU) 36-37, 48-49 malleability of conservation rules 179-189 mayors 48-49, 116, 121, 268, 272; see also municipal elections Melaka as Sleepy Hollow 44, 74-75, 78 chief ministers of 47-49, 66, 72-73, 76-78, 85, 108, 121, 127-128, 130, 135-136, 175, 189, 199, 203, 211, 216-219, 221-222, 224, 243, 256, 258, 265, 272, 284, 286 districts and sub-districts of 45, 49, 76, 82 governors of Melaka 14, 43, 48, 63, 67, 143, 229 history of 40-49 Melaka Historic City Council (MBMB) 46, 75, 103, 162, 187, 190, 203, 212-213, 223, 244, 250, 272 Melaka Museum Corporation (PERZIM) 65-66, 70, 74, 103, 114, 118, 127, 243-244, 252; see also Enactment 88 Melaka World Heritage Office 103, 133, 177-178, 252, 285 population of 45-47 State Government 41, 46, 48-49, 60, 64-65, 71, 74-75, 77-78, 98, 114, 118, 124-126, 155, 175, 178, 184-185, 190, 196, 200, 202-203, 243, 257, 284-287 members of the Melaka State Legislative Council (ADUN) 47-48

305 memorandums/petitions 101, 154, 211, 218, 254-257, 259, 261, 264-265, 282 misunderstandings 39, 127, 131, 227, 266, 275-276 modernization 33, 37, 46, 148, 249, 262 monitoring 106, 122, 127-128, 132-133, 176-178, 182-183, 188, 191, 213 monumentality 31-32, 56, 60-61, 64, 113, 161-162, 227, 245, 266, 276-277 multiculturalism 33, 38, 53, 58, 61, 89, 110, 194, 215, 223-224, 241, 266, 277-279, 283 Munshi Abdullah 62, 65 museums 60, 65-67, 69-73, 89-90, 103, 129, 145-146, 156, 163, 195, 235, 243, 255 museumification 65-74, 86, 194 Najib Razak 35-36, 85, 89, 111, 216, 219, 286 Nara Document on Authenticity 31 nation-building 33, 35, 40, 45, 60, 89, 94, 100, 111, 194, 197, 207, 271, 276-278 National Commission for UNESCO (NatCom) 108, 131 National Economic Policy (NEP) 35, 37, 70, 75, 81, 119 National Heritage Act 60-61, 65, 87-90, 94-95, 103-104, 118, 149, 245, 276-277 National Trust Party (AMANAH) 36, 48-49, 284 nationalism 29, 38, 40, 56, 58, 60, 71, 195, 231, 266 NGOs (non-governmental organizations) 32, 52, 54-55, 92, 94-101, 110, 112n10, 115-118, 124, 126n22, 142, 160, 165, 188, 249, 253, 259-260, 268, 283 night market 18, 164, 193, 198, 200, 202-203, 206, 210-215, 217, 221, 286; see also Jonker Walk nostalgia 60, 69, 71, 169, 173, 248 Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention 106, 110, 118, 135-136 Outstanding Universal Value (OUV) 106-107, 110, 121, 124, 126-127, 134, 177, 266 Pakatan Harapan 36, 48-49, 58, 224, 269, 277, 283-287 Parameswara 41-42 pedestrianization 198-199, 202-203, 206, 212, 285 Penang Heritage Trust 92, 95-97, 99, 114, 116, 118, 129 Penang State Government 111, 118, 125-126, 128 People’s Justice Party (PKR) 35-36, 48-49, 216, 218 Peranakan 47, 47n11, 145, 189, 215, 228, 231 Pires, Tomé 41, 51, 59n1, 229 plural society 44, 47, 195n1; see also Furnivall Porta de Santiago 14-16, 62, 64n9, 83, 128; see also A Famosa Fort Portuguese in Melaka 14, 16-17, 19, 21, 40, 41-43, 56, 67, 69, 143, 161, 229 Portuguese Settlement 19, 69, 76, 242, 266, 268, 281-283; see also Eurasians in Malaysia

306 

World Heritage and Urban Politics in Mel ak a, Mal aysia

private sector 59, 74, 77, 79-80, 83, 85, 115, 152, 160, 191, 194, 200 public space 52, 187, 191, 195, 198, 201, 205, 222-224, 277 Quebec 29, 101, 121, 131-132 race 34, 47, 57-58, 195, 201, 215-216, 222 and colonial censuses 34n5, 47, 195 racialization 36, 198, 214, 222-224, 231, 277, 283 Raffles, Thomas Stamford 62, 144 rehabilitation 77, 88, 88n30 renovation 97, 148, 174, 176-178, 181-182, 187, 191, 245, 247 reconstruction 16-17, 31, 43, 67, 88n30, 130-131, 190 rent control 57, 97, 141, 148-154, 174, 190, 202, 208, 210, 212, 269, 278 replicas 16-17, 21, 56, 60, 67-74, 83-84, 125, 135, 186, 204, 241, 271 replication 65-74 returnees 150, 159, 168-174 row houses 139-191; see also shophouses; townhouses Second World War 29, 44, 63, 145, 148, 247n12 shophouses 18-19, 76, 97, 116, 120, 139-148, 141n2, 154-158, 163, 177, 190, 200, 213 shopkeepers 97, 144, 202, 204, 210-212 shopping malls 16, 46, 77, 81-85, 125, 130, 240 Singapore 41, 44-45, 55, 62, 76, 83-84, 101, 113, 142, 144, 148-149, 154, 165-166, 190, 197-198, 206, 214, 228, 230, 232, 253, 271, 286 social media 99-100, 176, 254, 258, 286 Southeast Asia 42, 44, 61, 112, 120, 140, 143, 187, 229, 269, 274-275 spatial permissiveness 180-181, 184 Special Area Plans 133, 176, 244, 259 Sri Muthu Mariamman Temple 226, 234-235, 245-246, 248, 255, 264 Sri Poyyatha Vinayagar Moorthi Temple 18, 194, 215, 225-226, 229-231, 279 St. Paul’s Hill 14-17, 62-63, 64n9 Stadthuys 16-17, 21, 60, 63, 64n9, 66, 69, 128, 135 state of conservation reports (SOC) 107, 132-133, 132n28, 175n11 States Parties 105-107, 106n1, 113, 132n28 Straits Settlements 44, 63, 74, 110, 113, 124, 144, 230 Sultanate Palace 16, 21, 56, 67-68 Taming Sari Tower 16, 77, 128-131, 135-136 Tentative List 105, 107, 110-111, 117 Thailand 55, 115, 191 townhouses 14, 18-19, 95, 120, 139-141, 145, 150, 154, 157-158, 164 tourism/tourists 14-19, 38, 45, 56, 70, 77, 79, 108, 115-116, 125, 128, 151-156, 164, 169, 174,

185, 189, 193, 195-197, 202, 206-212, 214-215, 221-224, 243, 255-256, 259, 271-278, 281-287 traffic congestion 121-122, 188, 212, 217-222, 249, 253, 264, 284-286 Tunku Abdul Rahman 45, 64 Turkey 101, 269-270 United Malays National Organisation (UMNO) 34-37, 47-49, 60, 71-74, 195, 199, 220 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) 29-30 absent omnipresence of 25, 273-274 urban planning/urban planners 28, 38, 52-53, 61, 67, 75, 91-92, 94, 115, 119, 129-130, 249, 252, 256-257, 265, 268, 272, 279, 284 uses of the past 27-29, 38-40, 56, 61, 71, 271 vernacular architecture 18-19, 50, 81, 139, 141-143, 157, 162, 227, 235, 241, 278 vernacularization 33, 241 Vigan 115-116, 121, 285 Vision 2020 (Wawasan 2020) 35, 78, 89, 194, 223, 278 white elephants 60, 78-79 World Heritage and ambitions 108-111; see also Tentative List Centre 30, 106, 118, 120, 127-128, 132, 175n11 Committee 30, 106-107, 121-122, 127, 132137, 176, 178, 194, 212, 273-274, 278, 285 Convention 30-31, 87, 105-109, 127, 132, 241, 276; see also Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Heritage Convention criteria for inscription 106, 110, 120-121, 134; see also Outstanding Universal Value Fund 13, 30-31, 39, 106-109, 116 in Danger 107, 127-128 List 13, 30-31, 39, 106-109, 116; see also Global Strategy for a Representative, Balanced and Credible World Heritage List nominations 56, 106-114, 117-119, 122-124, 127-134, 140-142, 154, 160, 162, 174-175, 277, 279 on the ground 26, 30-33, 136, 273, 275 programme/project 26, 30-31, 33, 194, 275 site in Melaka 13-14, 64, 128, 133n29, 141, 185-187, 191, 226, 270, 272, 274; see also buffer zones status 56-57, 110, 127, 133, 249, 269, 271-274, 283 thresholds 226-227 Xi’an 269-271 Zheng He 42, 204