THE CICAK.com

Bersih protester: Give me life or give me death, but not tear gas

Photo by CHUA SUE ANN

By RASHAAD ALI

This is not some second-hand story. This is an account from the frontline.

This is a frame by frame recollection of the Bersih rally in Masjid Jamek on 10 Nov. and how pandemonium descended into the city centre that afternoon, where my entire view of the present government was shattered the moment I saw those first gas canisters fly.

You can read it in the papers, on websites, in forwarded e-mails, but the magnitude of the brutality will never compare to the panic that infiltrated into my being, and the fear that I now harbour for the government.

You could feel the stillness in the air, the sudden descent of tension into the atmosphere.

Ominous signs paraded before us, my younger brother, 14, my sister, 20, and I, before we even left the house. We headed towards the city via the Putra LRT.

Once we exited the station at Masjid Jamek, we were greeted by the sight of riot police. Here they call them the Federal Reserve Unit, but they are nothing more than mercenaries in uniform. Armed with batons and gas launchers, they were completely apathetic to the growing crowd, swollen by passer-bys and passionate Malaysians, Malaysians who were jovial yet solemn, ready to voice their concerns yet wary of impending danger.

The police sprayed preliminary water-cannon fire on the crowd, which I wasn’t too concerned about. It was only upon reaching home that I found out that the water which foamed upon reaching its target and emitted a foreign smell in the air, was contaminated with chemicals.

Now there is something of great importance that I need to stress; in no way, did the demonstrators aim to incite the police. There was a lot of chanting, slogan shouting “Daulat Tuanku! Hidup Rakyat!” and crowd rallying, but there was no hatred or contempt hurled against those in power. In short, regardless of our peaceful and nonviolent resistance, we were treated like a raving mob.

One may say, “But it was an illegal gathering anyway.”

How can the executive issue a decree banning the people in a democracy from voicing their opinion? We were not looking for a riot. We were not looking for impeachment. We were not looking for a revolution. We wanted clean elections. After all, if the government did its job efficiently, without corruption, racism and wanton aggression, why would we want to vote for the opposition?

The demonstration was truly a model demonstration. A peaceful, passionate crowd standing defiant, in a completely passive manner. It was a moment to remember, the solidarity on the faces of others as we stared down the threats in the hope of a better tomorrow.

All until the police became violent.

And then God played his hand; the heavens opened as rain started to pour. As the precipitation flowed down my skin, a sickening sight developed before my eyes. We were standing on the corner of the STAR LRT station corner which crowded with people, having made some headway only for water cannon fire to push us back to the aforementioned corner. That’s when the police formed a line, and fired tear gas at the crowd.

Fellow Malaysians firing on their countrymen. It wasn’t so much as the actual shooting which was horrendous, but seeing them take their line of sight made my stomach turn. These uncompassionate robots, protectors of the society shooting against the people they swear to protect. Here they are, ladies and gentlemen, dispersing peaceful crowds, while the local crime rate continues to run riot, pun very much intended.

When they fired, they shot directly in front of the crowd. My sister and I happened to be caught in between a mass of bodies and a drain barrier. Just like some bad war movie, everything seemed to happen in slow motion, as the cannister rolled to a stop barely 10 feet away. Time sped back to normal as the people around me started scrambling into the nearby station. My sister and I were stuck outside, but fortunately, my brother was pulled in by an unidentified hero.

“Give me liberty or give me death,” but don’t give me tear gas.

The following account is in no way dramatisation, it is, as it is. Maybe it was my severe underestimation of the pain, both physical and psychological, that caused my hesitation. If not for the rain, I shudder to think of the potential pain. Had I known…

Completely immobile and covering our faces with wet cloths, we were powerless for a good 45 seconds to the gas. Initially, you feel a sting in your nose. As the pain increases, it ignites your eyeballs into blindness. As the pain mounts unbearable, tears streaming uncontrollably out of your eyes, the gas enters the pores on your face, the sensation akin to acid. As you try and escape the gas, running literally blindly, with your skin aflame, the gas enters your lungs, constricting respiration. Every inhalation you take is void of oxygen, and soon you will not be able to breathe. More than once the thought of death surfaced in my mind, as I moved with, the crowd to clear the area. My sister later told me she thought she was as good as gone as well. Tear gas brings you to the edge of death, only for you to be resuscitated back into Hell.

Finally, we broke into the LRT station, where the gas was less. The stations themselves had all been shutdown, effectively freezing all those in the city centre, as the station officials looked on with barely masked glee at our helplessness, their reasons of which I can only speculate.

The three of us huddled in a small corner, tears, mucus and saliva smeared all over our faces resisting the temptation to throw up. We sat there recuperating for much of the time, before continuing down the street, away from the uncivil servants. We lingered on the corner, based on utter foolishness, that the police wouldn’t shoot again with so many ordinary civilians.

And then they fired again.

Now I’m unaware in the ensuing panic whether they fired two volleys or one, for as we moved away from the gas we turned into the corner.

The shots were similar to the first episode in that they were fired in front of the crowd, however, as we entered the corner there was ANOTHER canister on my right barely 10 feet away. What luck.

As we scrambled yet again, in my mind I was still able to ponder, as the familiar pain returns, “Are they aware of how devastatingly painful it is?”

I question the tactics of the police. Why fire so unbelievably close to the crowd? The gas is supposed to deter and disperse, not to cause chaos and anarchy. How would they have liked it, that fatalistic sensation creeping upon themselves? The tear gas should have been shot much further away, if shot at all, as tear gas is an inhumane way to disperse a peaceful gathering regardless of its legality.

We were able to move quicker this time. The crowd pushed and heaved past empty buildings, knocking over motorcycles carelessly parked. An entry point of one office building, and we all rushed in, taking to the stairs, and as the sensation died down the sight in the stairwell was one to behold. Like some kind of urban warfare, there were people slumped against the wall, faces in disarray, completely broken in spirit, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Around went a saviour passing out salt, which miraculously rid us of the worst effects almost instantly when we chewed and swallowed it.

Resigned to painful defeat, we decided to walk back home, with public transport at the mercy of the government.

Funnily enough, our route back home led us towards Istana Negara, where the memo was to be passed to the King. And I’ve just learned from my father that as we left the city, people lingered on as a decoy, while a mass gathering took place at the Istana. Ingenious, given the size of the crowd.

At the Istana, it was a typical demonstration scene, one which did not look like it would get ugly. Cheers as I presume the memo was handed over, and the crowd slowly dispersed. As quickly as the tear gas hit, it was all over.

A huge warm mention to all those who organised the rally, who calmed people down with the police rampaging, who directed movements of rally, who detected agent provocateurs, who helped direct traffic near the Palace, and ensured that we didn’t receive the worst of the brutality. The ability of these people to keep cool under fire prevented this rally from turning into a headless riot, and helped us remain defiant in our stand.

Massive kudos and hats off.

Even now, as I write this, I feel a mild headache coming on. It may or may not be a side effect, but surely the worrying thing is my willingness to believe it is born out of injustice.

After that, I may cower every time I see smoke or smell something foreign in the air. But that day serves as a landmark for my patriotism. It serves as a landmark for the rakyat’s patriotism, for in the face of such cruelty and opposition we prevailed and were crowned victors of the day. I also hope, that with these events, change shall, God willing, take effect. The people have spoken, the people have risen, the people have taken action. The onus passes to the King as a test of strength, and to the government to clean up its act.

You want the votes? Earn it.

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RASHAAD ALI is a contributor for theCICAK.

Rashaad Ali is an 18 year old Malaysian in the midst of pursuing his A levels. He is an ardent reader of religion and politics and aspires to be Prime Minister one day. He seriously loves his teh tarik, as we all do.