Weapons of the Weak- Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance

by James C Scott

  What the villagers found most unseemly about the earlier excesses of partisanship was their affront to traditional ritual decencies. Thus Tok Kasim, himself a strong PAS member, illustrates how severe (teruk) things had become in those days by telling about a marriage kenduri in Sedaka in which the next-door neighbors, because they belonged to the other party, were either not invited or chose not to come. As the kenduri began, he emphasized, guests were arriving and food was being cooked directly below the window of the neighbors. The sense of embarrassment was finally so great that the neighbors simply left the village for the day and returned only after the kenduri was over. It was the fact that “neighbors in the same village” should quarrel that so offended him. “If the village society is ruined,” he concluded, “there will be no peace.”54

  Tok Kasim’s story, in one variation or another, together with the values it embodies, is a constant refrain. Everyone has stories to tell about Sedaka or neighboring villages “when the quarreling was at its worst” (masa teruk berbalah) and, without exception, they involve ritual feasts in which neighbors or relatives [Page 225] were excluded or refused to come. As Rokiah laments, it went so far that neighbors might not even come when there was a death, that even relatives would boycott (boikot) a kenduri.55 Explicitly or implicitly the refrain distinguishes between the values of community (masyarakat) and party (parti), with the former invariably accorded priority. Lebai Pendek, an UMNO leader, thus thinks that

  “the villagers have become a bit smarter.” “They know [now] that the community is different; before, they mixed up community with politics.”56 When Mansur, a landless member of UMNO, explains why he goes to all kenduris, regardless of which party the host belongs to, he says simply, “I only take the community into account.”57 In fact, it is difficult in Sedaka even to raise with anyone the question of party affiliation without provoking a disclaimer that, when it comes to marriages, sickness, funerals, or even helping to move a house (usung rumah), “party makes no difference at all.” Even those whose political passions have occasionally led them to break this rule pay it constant lip service, thereby reinforcing its status as an ideal.

  In this context it becomes easier to understand the basis of the principal objections raised against the allocation of RPK assistance. The loudest cries came, naturally, from PAS members, but many of the UMNO faithful objected too, and not just those who felt individually shortchanged. There were essentially three ways in which the money might have been divided. First, it might have been given preferentially to the poor of the village, thus satisfying the norm that help should be extended to those most in need, regardless of party loyalty. Originating in the older agrarian order and applying to both individual and communal obligations, this principle might plausibly be extended to government assistance as well. A second possibility might have been to divide the money among all villagers, disregarding both their need and their politics. This would have satisfied the norm that all villagers are, at some level, conceptually equal. The third possibility, and the one adopted, was to distribute the aid along strictly partisan lines. This surely was the most satisfactory option for the local UMNO leadership, but it was at the same time the least defensible in moral terms. For however firmly rooted partisan loyalties may have become in practice within Sedaka, they carry little moral weight and certainly not enough to begin to legitimate the JKK’s actions. As in the case of double-cropping, so also in the realm of politics. The new opportunities for “profit-making” activity have far outpaced the normative means available to justify taking full advantage of them.

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  The first salvo of condemnations thus took the form of pointing to the glaring inequities of party patronage. Here were some of the wealthiest men in the village-Lebai Pendek, Shamsul, and Amin-serving themselves while most of the poorest villagers got nothing. Pak Yah (Yah Botol) was mentioned most often as the outstanding example of a demonstrably poor man who ought to have been helped. Was his house not in disrepair (buruk) for lack of funds? This was, after all, a program designed to help people fix up their houses! Pak Yah was also a strategic example because of his reputation as an honest, hard-working laborer and, moreover, one who frequently worked for UMNO leader Bashir. If anyone deserved help, he did. On the basis of this case alone, many villagers said the allocation was “not fair” (tak adil), “not proper” (tak patut), “not right” (tak betul). Quite a few UMNO members who benefited nevertheless declared that the poor should have been helped first. Kamil, for example, said that “[only] when the strata (lapisan) of the worst-off was helped, should those who were less badly off be taken.” Mansur, who as a poor UMNO member got M$750 in materials, agrees: “We should help the condition of the poor no matter what party; first come the poor, those who have less than 2 relong.”

  Much as UMNO members were pleased with their good fortune, they felt an acute embarrassment before their PAS neighbors, with whom they had maintained cordial relations. As the new lumber was delivered and work began, they felt the envy and resentment of adjacent families, a resentment that was often reinforced by stony silences along the village path. Many felt the need to apologize for their stroke of luck to their PAS friends by agreeing that the JKK had been unfair but saying that they could not do anything about it. A few salved their consciences and repaired their friendships by selling some of their wood cheaply to PAS neighbors. Others actually hired a poorer PAS friend to help with the repair or construction.58 There were, in other words, sporadic private efforts partly to undo the JKK’s actions by redistributing the benefits to needy PAS families.

  Denunciations of the RPK for its failure to help the poorest villagers were all the more appropriate because the survey that preceded the distribution had been conducted ostensibly to establish which families were most in need of aid. It was the contrast between the appearance of an impartial survey and its flagrant violation in practice that allowed PAS members-but not oily them-to claim plausibly that the JKK had defied the wishes of the government. Much of the village believed that the government intended the money to go to the poor, regardless of party, and stories abounded about villages where the grants were given first to the neediest. Yaakub, for example, claimed that in Merbuk and Jenun, where he had relatives, all the poorest families had gotten the largest grants. Mansur said that, in nearby Sungai Kering, nearly everyone had received [Page 227] help.59 As if to reinforce the belief in the treachery of the JKK, a parallel story circulated about the village of Setiti Batu, where a petty official had supposedly done a fair survey and the lumber had started to arrive. When the UMNO JKK there saw what was happening, they trooped en masse to the local Kedah member of Parliament and had the official transferred. Wood already stacked by the houses of PAS members was removed, they said, amid fistfights, and reallocated to UMNO families. The pretense of a survey had been such a gratuitous insult that one of the poorest PAS members, Mat “halus,” went to see Subdistrict Chief Abdul Majid to tell him that, if Taha ever returned to do another survey, he would “hit him and kill him” (saya tumbuk mampus).

  In a more realistic mood, many PAS villagers realized that a distribution of funds by need alone, though in accord with local values, might have been utopian under the circumstances. Surely all UMNO members would have insisted on getting a share of the spoils. Why not then, they argued, give everyone an equal amount? The angry Mat “halus” said, “Even if they gave it out equally, that’s all right. If each person got $300, all right. But we got nothing.” The principle of equal shares to all was echoed by many others, especially those rank-and-file UMNO members who were offended by purely partisan criteria. Jamil, a fairly well-off UMNO member, also thought that equal awards would have been best: “In terms of village society (kira masyarakat), it would have to be done equally (kena buat sama-rata).” Abu Hassan, although nominally a member of the JKK, believed that “equal shares are fair.”60 PAS members were quick to point out that the government used one standard for collecting taxes and, in this case, another stand
ard for distributing assistance. This contradiction was best captured by Ishak, when he said, “When they take the land tax and the irrigation tax, they don’t go by party, but when they give out lumber and toilets, then they go by party.” Here too, there were stories circulating about other villages, other JKKs, which had given something to everyone in the village.

  The argument for treating all equally was reinforced by rumors about disagreements among the UMNO group that had met at Haji Salim’s house to decide how the RPK money should be used. Lebai Sabrani, the greatly respected religious teacher from Sungai Tongkang and Tok Mudin, who is in charge of circumcision ceremonies, had apparently argued for giving something to everyone or at least including very poor PAS members like Pak Yah. Later, when I spoke with Lebai Sabrani alone, he said it was true. He had suggested dividing it all equally but, he said, Haji Salim and Bashir had objected by pointing out that, if all the PAS members got something, they would say, “See, we are in the [Page 228] opposition and we still get the assistance.” That, Haji Salim said, would not do, and his position carried. Lebai Sabrani is reluctant to broadcast his dissent, but knowledge of it contributed a good deal to the indignation of PAS members. They could now point to the views of the most respected religious figure in UMNO itself as confirmation that they had been treated unfairly. Haji Salim and Bashir then became the principal villains of the piece. PAS members reported that Haji Salim had openly said in the market coffee shop that “PAS people won’t get even one house pillar” and that Bashir had shown Taha a secret (sulit) list of PAS families who were on no account to be given anything.

  The talk was angry and even violent. Dullah said, “They’re making war [on us]; we’re going to make war back.” But with the exception of Mat “halus”’s threatening remark about Taha, most of it was safely confined to small groups of friends and allies. They made their anger known by snubbing members of the JKK in the coffee shops and along the village path. Open confrontations were avoided, and the JKK learned indirectly, through the “grapevine” (cara sembunyi tau), most of what they knew about the charges made against them. The absence of direct challenges had its origins in both pride and fear. Rosni is a striking example of the former. When I asked her if she had complained (merungut) to Bashir or Amin, for whom her transplanting group often works, she explained that she would be embarrassed (malu) to ask.61 They both had told her, she added, that she should join UMNO, so she would be included. She did not. Besides, she had fixed up her own house by herself without their wood. “If they gave me the assistance, I would take it, but I won’t beg (minta) or make trouble (kacau).” Others, however much they complained privately, were careful not to provoke an open confrontation with Bashir for the harm he might do them later. Ghazali, an UMNO member who married into a strong PAS family, may have been upset enough to contribute to a formal letter of complaint, but he said nothing directly to Bashir. Why? “I don’t want to break my connection (pecah perhubungan) with Bashir; so I was silent.”

  The protest against the JKK, however, was not just confined to private character assassination and shared indignation about the injustice done. At an informal gathering in Samat’s village shop, a number of PAS members urged that they all go as a crowd to the District Office to complain.62 They had learned earlier that a group from Sungai Kering had already gone to the District Office in Yan Besar to protest the manner in which the survey was being conducted there. But there was not much enthusiasm for setting off. As Ghazali said, “It was just talk, they weren’t brave enough to go.” Apparently Mat “halus” was the only one angry and/or brave enough to protest in person, but he went to [Page 229] the nearby penghulu’s office, not the District Office. Finally, a number agreed to write a letter of formal protest and send copies to Kedah’s chief minister (Menteri Besar), the District Officer, and the National Bureau of Investigation (Biro Sisiatan Nasional, BSN), which deals with charges of corruption. The letter was drafted that night and signed by Mat Isa, Bakri bin Haji Wahab, Mat Nasiall PAS members-and by Ghazali, an UMNO member actually on the JKK, at least nominally. The letter respectfully complained about the unfair survey and allocation, blamed the JKK for the state of affairs, said village harmony was being destroyed, and asked that someone be sent to put things right.63 It appears that similar letters were pouring in from many of the other villages selected to get RPK grants.

  Nothing came of this protest, although people say that someone from the BSN came to the village a couple of weeks later to talk with Bashir. Bashir denies it. He is, of course, aware that letters have been sent but adds, with a self-assured smile, “They have no effect” (tak ada kesan). Haji Salim also tells me that he knows letters have been written condemning him and threatening to take him and the JKK to court. “If they don’t like it, then they should win the next elections and give to their own people.”

  One night, shortly after it became clear that only UMNO members would be helped, the sign for the RPK in the village dewan was painted completely over in black. The police were called the next day and made a cursory search for black paint brushes or cans under a few houses to no avail. The perpetrator(s) were never found.

  For the most part, the open protest was limited to what those who were excluded were able to insinuate by shunning members of the JKK when they passed and by a kind of “ritual boycott.” The power of such “understatements” in a small village such as Sedaka is not trivial. Bashir bore the brunt of the public disdain. It happened that his daughter was to be married the following month, and he made a point of having every family called to the bersanding ceremony. At least ten families stayed away altogether from the feast, although most of them would have gone had it not been for this episode.64 A few of the poorer PAS men, such as Pak Yah and Mat “halus,” who occasionally worked for Bashir, felt obliged to put in an appearance but, to register their disapproval, remained only very briefly (sa’at saja). Haji Kadir came only to eat a snack of sticky rice (menyerok pulut saja) and then left. A few, like Mansur, who would normally have helped with the cooking, came only as guests. There were a host of nuanced ways of insinuating degrees of contempt, and nearly all were em [Page 230] ployed. Even those PAS members who went as usual found a way to make their appearance into a political statement. They explained to UMNO friends that it was not their side that had started this, it was not they who were trying to “split” (pecah) the village. By doing so, they took the high road as the defenders of village values and placed themselves in a position of moral superiority to the UMNO leadership.

  Bashir was not the only one to experience the new chill in neighborly relations. Cik Tun had used her new lumber to repair and extend a small house her son had used in front of the older, family house. Now she wanted to move the new house around to the side of the old one and attach it. The operation would require at least seventy people, who would simply pick it up and move it into place. Accordingly, she arranged a house-moving feast (kenduri usung rumah), invited all her neighbors, and prepared a large meal for the work force. Only thirty or forty men appeared. Most of the PAS families at her end of the village pointedly stayed away;65 they were understandably reluctant to help move a house built with lumber and zinc roofing they had been denied. As more than one said to me, “If UMNO built her house, well, UMNO would just have to move her house too.” Despite shouts, grunts, and repeated efforts, the house could simply not be moved with the available manpower. To avoid prolonging what was already an acute embarrassment, Bashir sent out five or six UMNO men on motorcycles to fetch another twenty or thirty men. Within an hour they had finally scoured up enough additional help so that the house could finally be lifted and moved to its new location. But most of the new faces had not come from Sedaka, and the absent PAS members took great pleasure in retelling, among themselves, this small humiliation for the JKK and Cik Tun.66

  As he surveyed the social debris of complaints, wounded feelings, boycotts, and seething anger that the Village Improvement Scheme had left in its wake, Bashir confided to me that it had
been a political disaster. Half the UMNO members were angry with him because they thought they had been shortchanged. Some were boycotting his store, among them the influential midwife Tok Sah Bidan and her friends. “A shopkeeper,” he reminded me, “has to stay on the good side of everyone” (kena baik dengan semua). All in all, he concluded, his “influence” (pengaruh) among villagers had fallen, even though he had given away “thousands” of dollars to them. Far from making UMNO stronger, the whole exercise had left it weaker.

  In the course of presiding over the distribution of spoils, Bashir and other [Page 231] members of the JKK were implicitly or explicitly called upon to justify their actions. How was it possible to explain this strictly partisan treatment of the village? How could the glaring fact that even the poorest PAS members had been passed over while wealthy UMNO members were rewarded be explained, let alone legitimated? The justifications that were attempted, with indifferent success, depended a great deal on the audience to which they were addressed. For the village as a whole, including PAS members, one explanation was given; for UMNO members, another; and for a small inner circle of confidants, still a third.

  The justification publicly offered to PAS friends by Bashir and most of the JKK was, significantly, no real justification at all. It was instead the timehonored refuge of petty officials everywhere, namely, that they were simply following instructions from above, doing what they were told. As always in such cases, the explanation was an attempt to distance themselves morally from the blame that attached to their actions. As always, it also implied that their hands were tied; they had no choice in the matter. Thus Bashir explained to those in his shop shortly after the program was announced that everything had been decided “from above” (daripada atas). “Above” in this case, he said, was the District Officer and the Executive Committee of UMNO in this constituency, Bahagian Jerai. The government had “studied” the matter and had “ordered” (suruh) the JKK to give the aid only to UMNO members. It was “they who wanted to split the village.”67 Fadzil adopted the same stance at the coffee shop in town when he knew PAS members were at the next table. “It’s the higherups,” he said, “it’s their (saluran) way of doing things.” “We didn’t know; it’s their decision.” This lame effort to pass on the responsibility for the RPK is notable for two reasons. The first is that it is, almost certainly, a convenient lie. Lebai Sabrani and others with strong UMNO credentials have made it clear that the decisions were taken at Haji Salim’s house, with most of Bashir’s “kitchen cabinet” present. And it is also clear that the RPK was distributed equally to all families in at least a few villages. The second notable aspect of this attempt to avoid blame is simply that it amounts to a clear admission that, at least for the village as a whole, the favoritism of the RPK cannot be justified or legitimized. That being the case, the only strategy left was to shift the onus to other shoulders.