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Spirits of Resistance and
Capitalist Discipline
SECOND EDITION
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Aihwa Ong
Ong, Aihwa.
Spirits of resistance and capitalist discipline : factory women in
Malaysia/Aihwa Ong. — 2nd ed.
p. cm. — (SUNY series in the anthropology of work)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4384-3354-7 (hardcover: alk. paper)—
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
2010004832
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
List of Illustrations ix
Preface xi
Introduction by Carla Freeman xv
List of Abbreviations xxi
PART I
Capitalist Development and Cultural Experience
PART II
The Kampung Society of Coastal Selangor
PART III
Neophyte Factory Women in Late Capitalism
Notes 223
Glossary 239
Bibliography 245
Index 259
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
TABLES
Table 1 Malay Population in Selangor, 1891–1957 18
Table 2 Crop Acreage in Selangor, 1933–1948 25
Table 3 Prices Obtained by Kampung Malay
Smoked Sheet Rubber, Selangor, 1932–1958 31
Table 4 Ethnic and Sexual Division of Estate Workers,
Selangor, 1948 32
Table 5 Acreage Under Cash Crops in Kuala Langat,
1966–1978 41
Table 6 Estimated Average Monthly Incomes from
Malay Holdings, Kuala Langat, 1979 41
Table 7 Distribution of Households by Land Access,
Sungai Jawa, (Sample of One-Third of Total
Population), 1979 59
Table 8 Primary Occupations of Household Heads
by Land Access, Sungai Jawa, 1979 60
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
ix
MAPS
Map 1 Selangor: Districts, Pre-1942 Boundaries 13
Map 2 Kuala Langat: Land Use, Towns and
Transportation Lines to the Klang Valley 38
DIAGRAMS
Diagram 1 Work Organization and Occupation Ranks in
EJI, Telok Free Trade Zone, 1979 157
Diagram 2 Ethnic and Gender Distribution in
the Transistor Assembly Section in EJI,
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
this study, I nowhere betray their trust or interest. May the book be
of some satisfaction in particular to the young factory women whose
quiet courage and steadfast loyalty to their families and themselves
are yet to be appreciated by the wider society.
My training in the Department of Anthropology at Columbia Uni-
versity brought me, by a circuitous route, back to the heartland of
Malaysia I had not known as a locally-born Chinese. My academic
sensibility has been guided by Joan Vincent, Clive Kessler, Robert
Murphy, and William Roff.
I am grateful to the following institutions for funding various
phases of my dissertation research from which this book is derived:
The National Science Foundation (grant no. BNS-787639) and the
International Development Research Centre, Ottawa, which pro-
vided additional support for preliminary write-up at the Institute
of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore. I also wish to express my
appreciation of research facilities at the following institutions: Arkib
Negara Malaysia (The National Archives of Malaysia), Petaling Jaya,
the University of Malaya, Kuala Lumpur, Universiti Sains Malaysia,
Penang, and the National University of Singapore.
June Nash took an early interest in my dissertation and encour-
aged its metamorphosis into a book. Asraf Ghani’s penetrating com-
ments sharpened the contours of my argument as I began the task of
revision for publication. Before it went to the press, this manuscript
benefitted from critical suggestions by Brackette Williams. Different
chapters were also read by Nancy Scheper-Hughes, Alan Dundes,
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Berkeley, California
March 1986
xv
tion “on the ground.” Ong’s work helped to spawn these analyti-
cal inclinations. How marriage arrangements are reconfigured and
sexuality regulated, for instance, become central foci for Ong and
for the social and political discourse surrounding factory women,
as well as for the emerging subjectivities of the women themselves.
Early characterizations of rural third world women as docile and
malleable labor awaiting incorporation into the inevitable clutches
of industrial capitalism are made both more complex and laden
with contradiction and cultural particularity in Ong’s sophisti-
cated account. Her evocative illustrations of the changing cultural
practices and rural rhythms of life, from education and marriage
arrangements to the role of indigenous Malay spirits and sorcery
within a transforming Islam and a shift in understandings of tempo-
rality itself under capitalist production, provides us with a window
xxi
Writing this book is rather like opening Pandora’s box: what kinds
of spirits is one releasing? My inquiry into the meanings industrial-
ization has for Malaysian society necessarily elicits the social signifi-
cance of neophyte factory women not only for peasants but also for
managers of transnational companies, government officials, Islamic
zealots, school teachers, village children, and the wider society. Eth-
nographic knowledge builds upon a negotiated reality between the
anthropologist and informants, and my claim to this alongside other
possible interpretations rests on the inclusion of many voices seldom
heard in the cacophony of academic and political exchanges. By doc-
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
access to land but also upon the ability of households and individuals
to realize new forms of linkages with the state machinery and modern
labor markets. Furthermore, recognition of the domination by the
state and capital over the labor process is politically justified in terms
of development in the interest of rural Malays. This is a form of “mis-
recognized” domination Pierre Bourdieu calls “symbolic violence”
(1977). However, as I will try to show, complicity in their own social
domination, if an obstacle to group interests, can also be a hidden
channel to individual upward mobility.
As more kampung folk become wage workers, downward mobility
is more commonly endured by the majority than upward mobility
into the ranks of bureaucratic or industrial employment. Increas-
ingly, individual educational and occupational trajectories beat a
path out of kampung society, a structural effect of market and bureau-
cratic disciplining operating selectively on individuals rather than
on groups. Such individuated grassroots reactions to the changing
economy make doubtful the significance of peasant responses such
as household strategizing (White 1976) and resistance to market and
state policies (Scott 1976) which have been claimed for rural societies
elsewhere in Southeast Asia. As my description of kampung society
will demonstrate, group strategies adapted to changes in the local
economy are not very effective for class mobilization when the field
of conflicting interests becomes integrated within wider structures
of political coercion and labor market manipulation. Dispossessed
peasants, set upon different trajectories of survival and mobility, are
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Map 1
Selangor: Districts, Pre-1942 Boundaries
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
“dead land” (tanah mati) (Maxwell 1884: 173). Only cultivated land,
which could be tended and passed on by family members, was “live”
(tanah hidup). Since uncultivated land was in abundant supply, family
formation and dissolution were influenced by the early departure of
children to make new plots in the jungle. Furthermore, the combina-
tion of low yields and high corvée demands would have induced the
early dispersal of children, contributing to scattered, lightly-populated
settlements.1 Indeed, given the mode of extraction, wealth accumu-
lation by the rakyat would have invited the unwelcome attention of
rapacious lords. The peasant household thus strove to be small, self-
sufficient, and structurally adapted to easy relocation or dispersal of
members, as required by ecological or political contingencies. Indi-
vidual domestic groups did not require sustained exchanges with
other households or with the market to ensure simple reproduction.
As cultivators living on the edge between jungle and river-sea,
daily activities were carried out according to a simple division of
labor between men and women, adults and children. Women worked
on rice fields and raised garden produce and poultry. Among immi-
grant groups like the Javanese and Minangkabau, peasant women
took up petty trading in regional markets (Winstedt 1981: 131). To
supplement their meagre production, men, women, and children
turned to fishing and the gathering of wild vegetables and animals.
As village society was not divided into occupational groups, the
family head furnished household and farm implements from jungle
material. There was almost no need for cash, although occasionally,
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
kampung holding.
British colonial authorities considered Javanese immigrants,
together with Banjarese, Minangkabau, and other Muslim peoples
from the Dutch territories as “immigrant Malays” who could apply
for kampung land and settle down as peasants. Thus, in the southern
half of the Malay Peninsula, scores of kampung came to be founded
by immigrant Malays who had entered both as free individuals and
as contract workers. These villages took root in the interstices of rub-
ber estates and mines or established themselves along trunk roads,
their gardens miniature homemade versions of the great plantations
within which they were enclosed. By the Second World War, immi-
grant Malays comprised almost half the total Malay population in
coastal Selangor, and a majority in Kuala Langat (see Table 1).
Table 1
Malay Population in Selangor, 1891–1957
Local Immigrant
Year Malays Malays Total
and immigrant Malays, the most immediate effect on their social situ-
ation was the introduction of the Torrens system of land registration.
Under the land code, village lands and new holdings developed by
Malays were entered into subdistrict (mukim) registers. Thus Malay
land, formerly not an item for exchange, thereby became a commod-
ity which could be bought, sold, mortgaged, or transferred, as the
registered titleholder so pleased. The rapid development in a market
for Malay-held or Malay-developed land soon threatened the con-
tinued existence of kampung society and raised the spectre of a land-
less class that would challenge its sultan’s rapprochement with the
British colonial masters. District land officials feared that once the
Malay peasant sold his land to go on the hajj, he soon “ceased to be a
Yeoman and [became] at best [a] day labourer and at worst, a vaga-
bond” (SSF 3170/10, no. 37).
from the government point of view not only does the disap-
pearance of the Malay Kampongs (villages) diminish the pros-
pect of a future agricultural population but it defeats the very
aim and object of which we are “protecting” the Malay States.
It also upsets all land administration . . . for a collector who
has been trying to keep European Estates, Chinese rubber and
Malay Kampongs each in their proper place, to find the whole
arrangement upset by the buying up of a flourishing Malay
Kampong to float a rubber company. . . . (ibid.)
To arrest the uprooting of local Malays and fix peripatetic immigrant
Malays to village land, colonial officers introduced paternalistic land
and cultivation regulations to restrict the commercialization of Malay
land and labor. Educated in public schools, Cambridge, and Oxford,
British colonial officers saw Malays as “a race of yeoman-peasantry
Table 2
Crop Acreage in Selangor, 1933–1948
no reserve land, engaged in illegal planting of the crop (Bauer 1948: 14).
From 1928 until the war broke out in 1941, only a very small number
of lots were alienated to peasants for rubber growing (in 1928–30 and
1939–40); otherwise, new planting was banned.
Smallholder rubber output was also drastically curtailed by plant-
ers underassessing smallholding capacity and authorizing very low
levels of peasant output (Lim T.G. 1974: 139–154). Malay peasant
resistance to cultivation restrictions not only took the form of wide-
spread illegal plantings and sales14 but also of petitioning the British
Resident. In 1924, 26 Malay villagers from Klang, including nine
women, signed a letter protesting
(w)e are the people of this country. . . . By hard labour we have
managed to open up a few acres of land, which is life and death
to us, and we consider ourselves now worse off than before the
Table 3
Prices Obtained by Kampung Malay Smoked Sheet Rubber,
Selangor, 1932–1958
n.d. — no data
Table 4
Ethnic and Sexual Division of Estate Workers,
Selangor, 1948
Driving into mukim Telok, Kuala Langat, one passes into the stag-
nant spaces of endless plantations. Obliquely receding rubber trees
are interrupted at intervals by estates of equidistanced oil palms, the
favored postwar industrial crop. Relief is in sight when the agribusi-
ness monotony is broken by coconut trees like welcoming banners
disclosing Malay kampung nestled within the plantation country.
This chapter delineates the changing pattern of village life within
the structures of corporate capitalism and state intervention. In the
two decades since independence from Great Britain, the fabric of kam-
pung society has become more firmly woven into the broader cloth of
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
37
and Chinese plantations which form a thick belt along the foothills
further inland. A winding trunk road feeding off the four-lane high-
way between Kuala Lumpur and Port Klang leads into the plantation
country. Its destinations are Telok Datok, the district capital, and its
uneasy Chinese twin, Banting, which expanded almost overnight from
the influx of squatter Chinese during the Emergency. (see Map 2)
The tertiary and commercial networks linking kampung and ladang
are complemented by the system of state bureaucracy. A paral-
lel political structure has been established by the United Malays
National Organization (UMNO) party, the dominant Malay faction
of the ruling National Front coalition in Kuala Lumpur (K.L.), the
national capital. From the District Office of Telok Datok, the day-
to-day administration is in the hands of the penghulu. As the lowest
state official, he oversees land and rural development projects and
acts as a political broker in his mukim (subdistrict).
Map 2
Kuala Langat: Land Use, Towns and Transportation Lines to the Klang Valley
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
A Colonial Legacy
The most important thing [about my job] is to control
labor.
The workers are so encaged that if given freedom, they
would not know how to take care of themselves.
It is sad the laborers are so oppressed but you get used to it.
A Malay field assistant, an Indian field assistant, and a
Chinese engineer on a British plantation.
Table 5
Acreage Under Cash Crops in Kuala Langat, 1966–1978
Table 6
Estimated Average Monthly Incomes from Malay Holdings,
Kuala Langat, 1979
Crop Income/Acre
Coconut-coffee M$ 100
Rubber 80
Oil Palm 160–250*
Cocoa 160*
Source: Agricultural Extension Officer, Telok Datok, Kuala Langat.
*When regularly infused with chemical fertilizers (which cost about M$ 350 each year
at government-subsidized prices).
top of the list: M$160 per acre (see Table 6). This means that a family
would still require at least a two-acre holding to live on the edge of
“poverty” — officially defined at living below the national standard
of nutritional health and the satisfaction of basic needs in clothing,
housing, and education (ibid.). Besides, most families in Sungai Jawa,
where I conducted four major surveys had around six to seven mem-
bers, i.e., those who engaged in some form of sharing and joint, if
episodic, residence. Obviously, the declining importance of kampung
holding, as a basic source of livelihood or means for structuring criti-
cal production relations, is a reality which is at the very heart of the
crisis Malay villagers confront.
divided, usually after the death of both parents, into equal shares for
sons and half shares for daughters.4 The effects of these rules were to
reduce holdings to uneconomical parcels by the second or third gen-
eration. A common situation is the legal fragmentation of single lots
into so many shares that it is no longer feasible to physically divide
the holding or renew the crops. In that case, coinheritors simply
share-crop the joint property and share the rent. Alternately, married
sisters living elsewhere would let their brothers manage the undi-
vided property in return for a small portion of the farm income.
My survey of 242 households in Sungai Jawa shows that the aver-
age holding in 1979 was just below 3.5 acres. However, this figure dis-
guises the fact that almost 24 percent of the sampled housholds owned
no land or only had a house-lot. Only 27 percent of households owned
properties between two and five acres, the farm size which would sus-
tain a family of six. Fifty-four percent of the total acreage surveyed
was controlled by 12% of the households (see Table 7, Chapter 4).
Since Malays are Muslims, all families are affected by the pro-
cess of land fragmentation through the implementation of Islamic
inheritance law. However, villagers or new arrivals with access to
external sources of income can counteract this levelling effect on the
distribution of village resources over time. Rich villagers can use
surplus farm incomes, savings from trade, and interest from loans to
purchase additional holdings, locally and elsewhere. Sixteen of the
richest households together controlled 343 acres (about 40 percent of
which lay outside Sungai Jawa but in nearby villages) dispersed into
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
more than fifty separate and noncontiguous parcels. One copra mer-
chant owned eight separate lots, totalling 22 acres. Although most of
his coconut trees were old, he recently used his savings not to renew
his crop but to buy low-quality rubber land in lower Perak, renting it
out to local sharecroppers.
Like rich peasants, civil servants also acquire village land in piece-
meal fashion for speculation. No attempts have been made in Sungai
Jawa to consolidate multiple holdings, nor do landowners take a
consistent interest in improving the quality of the crops and soil. The
kebun are tended by sharecroppers whose main intent is to maximize
extraction of the products. Whether civil servant or rich villager,
landlords tend to place less importance on the quality of the tree
crops than on the acquisition of multiple holdings, a practice which
in itself is a measure of kampung prestige.
did not slake the land thirst. In 1981, for instance, the awarding of 120
four-acre lots to residents in Darat Batu and Darat Kundang was chal-
lenged by villagers who claimed that only 79 applicants had qualified
under conditions set by the land office at Telok Datok. The protesters
claimed that some of the successful applicants already owned houses
and land. At least six of them, all teachers, were drawing salaries of over
M$1,000 a month.7 Confrontations with the state have also appeared
over squatting and residential rights throughout the district.
Clandestine squatting has been a form of protest against the chang-
ing land market since the 1960s. Illegally cultivated plots are a fairly
common feature in state lands such as areas marked off for road con-
struction, housing, and jungle reserves. Before the current land cri-
sis, state officers had turned a blind eye to squatters and been amply
awarded with tea money, fresh vegetables, and exaggerated deference.
far, tin deposits have been discovered in 40,000 acres within the dis-
trict, an area larger than the Kinta Valley, the major tin mining region
in Malaysia.9
The contested terrain lies in the constituency of the Selangor Chief
Minister who was on a pilgrimage to Mecca when the squatters were
expelled. The eviction thus prevented the squatters’ plight from
developing into a major political issue. Furthermore, the suddenness
of the takeover caught villagers by surprise and forestalled any move
to raise the prices of kampung land. Increasingly, landless and land-
poor Malays who seek informal access to land come into direct con-
flict both with the interests of the local Malay officials and new forms
of corporate power held by state and national Malay bourgeoisie.10
Thus the latest phase of competition for village resources in the region
is primarily a result of market speculation and investment moves on
the part of the external Malay elite, and not the result of changes in
village relations of production. We will now consider some of the
mechanisms whereby Malay professionals and politicians mobilize
other kinds of resources intended for “development of the Malays”
(pembangunan orang Melayu).
from “less developing” countries (e.g., Papua New Guinea) are fre-
quently taken for a tour of Kuala Langat, perhaps not unexpectedly,
since it is within easy reach of the Subang International Airport.
The elaboration of a bureaucratic style among civil servants, teach-
ers and even barely educated village leaders is immediately evident
in their adept practices and languages of “development” (pembangu-
nan). Under the New Economic Policy, the introduction and adminis-
tration of various rural development programs fostered an expanded
state apparatus as the mode for the proliferation of UMNO organiza-
tions of the grassroots level. Civil servants were often selected for
their UMNO loyalty, or expected to demonstrate the proper party cre-
dentials whatever their hidden loyalties. This accounts for the control
of development resources by the state assemblyman (wakil rakyat),
the D.O., and his subordinates, technical experts and teachers, who
are also the leaders of local UMNO organizations. In the everyday
scramble for state largess, these brokers openly poclaim their support
for UMNO either in words or deeds, despite a state injunction requir-
ing civil servants to abstain from party politics. A district official and
leader of the UMNO Women’s Faction (Wanita UMNO) says
As a member of the District Council I cannot play politics in
front of government servants, but I may do so behind their
backs. I operate as part of the political machinery, becoming
involved for the sake of the party (UMNO) strength . . . But
even though I play politics, the development of (Malay) society
is also important.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
She is part of the new educated elite outside kampung society who
have arisen through secular schools, the state bureaucracy, and
UMNO party channels. Within the district, the interlocking mem-
bership of leaders in the main UMNO committee, UMNO Women
(Wanita), and UMNO Youth (Pemuda) divisions who hold positions
in the state system is striking. In 1978–79, the District Officer was the
UMNO leader for the district. The Pemuda Executive Committee in
Kampung Telok, for instance, was headed by a clerk from the state
Islamic Office, while most of the other eleven members were also
government officials, teachers, and dockworkers at the state-owned
Port Klang Board. Other local Pemuda and Wanita executive positions
were also filled by employees from various state agencies. In Sungai
Jawa, UMNO leadership of the tripartite executive committees had
become a family affair: the village head was the UMNO president,
his daughter the Wanita leader, and her husband head of the Pemuda
section.
The intermeshing roles of political leaders in state and party orga-
nizations provide them with a strategic position to intercept and
control the flow of pembangunan funds and tap them for political
as well as economic gain. Local politicians manipulate state-funded
community projects with the finest calculation of voting returns to
party investment. Sungai Jawa has been a favored UMNO constitu-
ency. It is the largest administrative village in the district, but its
size alone cannot account for its emblems of “development” — a
bus-stop shelter, a maternity clinic, a primary school, and short
lines of macadamized roads fed by piped water and electrical wires.
Forlorn-looking villages down the road advertise their stigma as
PAS strongholds. Within Sungai Jawa, the otherwise inexplicable
termination of piped water, electrical lines, and widened tracks
marks the beginnings of recalcitrant neighborhoods which did not
vote UMNO in the last election.
Besides the hamlet by hamlet doling out of government resources,
the implementation of development funds was also carefully timed
to wrest the highest political return. Months prior to the 1978 state
elections, cement courts costing M$800–M$1,000 were constructed
in the house compounds of UMNO leaders in Sungai Jawa. Every
week the courts blossomed with festivities as young men playing
ball were watched by female spectators while food vendors did a
brisk business. The political-sports arena drew attention to UMNO’s
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
57
Table 7
Distribution of Households by Land Access, Sungai Jawa
(Sample of One-Third of Total Population), 1979
Farm Size
Households (acres) Total Acreage
Table 8
Primary Occupations of Household Heads by Land Access,
Sungai Jawa, 1979
Farm operator 0 11 24 6 6
Kampung professional* 2 8 6 1
Trader 3 2 2 1 5
Landlord 1 1 3
Sharecropper 9 5
Casual laborer 20 35 19
Steady wage-worker 20 24 10 3 1
Salaried worker 3 5 3 1 1
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Totals 57 90 65 13 16
*Kampung professionals such as Malay spirit-healer (bomoh) and midwife (bidan).
Table 9
Average Daily Work Time (in Hours) by Men and Women*
in Forty Households, Sungai Jawa, 1979
Landless
Men (11) 0.89 0.71 2.82 3.97 8.39
Women (13) 4.26 0.44 0.84 4.71 10.30
Landpoor
Men (20) 0.70 1.09 3.35 2.28 7.42
Women (22) 4.61 0.50 0.65 2.40 8.16
Small
Men (23) 1.11 2.29 0.92 2.63 7.73
Women (29) 4.66 1.07 0.46 2.14 8.33
Rich
Men (18) 0.63 3.85 0.42 1.42 6.42
Women (18) 4.99 1.06 0.02 2.45 8.52
Table 10
Average Daily Work Time (in Hours) by Girls and Boys*
in Forty Households, Sungai Jawa, 1979
Household
Chores Farm Work Wage Labor Total
Landless
Girls (11) 2.02 0.20 0.52 2.74
Boys (11) 1.28 0.51 0.78 2.57
Landpoor
Girls (16) 2.25 0.20 0.24 2.69
Boys (18) 0.71 0.44 1.10 2.25
Small
Girls (9) 2.30 0.16 0.26 2.72
Boys (13) 0.48 1.08 0.18 2.34
Rich
Girls (7) 2.12 0.36 0.00 2.48
Boys (6) 0.17 1.50 0.20 1.69
from the smallholders. For those who own oil palm holdings, farm
work is limited mainly to supervising day laborers in harvesting and
pruning. Since farm incomes are proportionately higher for the lan-
drich than for households in other land categories, men and women
in rich families shun manual labor in the fields. Prestige derives from
living off farm products/rents, doing office work, or teaching.
from about 50 to 68 percent of their total work time. Young girls play a
significant role in the daily tasks of laundry, cooking, and cleaning the
house, while boys sometimes assist by gathering firewood or picking
fruits and wild vegetables. Reflecting the work patterns of adults, chil-
dren in poorer houses work harder than those in well-off families.
My discussion of the time allocation of adults and children is not
intended to claim an overdetermining relationship between land access
and the deployment of family labor by kampung households. As men-
tioned earlier, the social categories are essentially analytical constructs
to illustrate that differential access to land resources and employ-
ment opportunities requires a diversity of income-generating activi-
ties which often do not depend on parental control of children’s labor
power. In Kuala Langat, changing kampung society places limits on a
household strategy which is based upon the control and supervision
Table 11
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Landless: 57 2 50 5 6.2
Landpoor: 91 3 72 16 6.2
Small: 65 2 45 18 6.4
Middle: 13 0 11 2 7.5
Rich: 16 0 11 5 8.3
Table 12
Retention and Dispersal of Children 18 Years and Older
in 138 Families, Sungai Jawa, 1979
Landless 15 60 24 36
Landpoor 51 269 108 161
Small 49 217 91 126
Middle 10 32 25 7
Rich 13 70 26 44
site direction. In the first case, the son with a wife and two children
live with his parents, who provide for all daily expenses. The son
merely pays the utility bills (M$16/month) and will only help his
father on the farm if he receives a wage in return. This is work on
the property which he will one day inherit in part, according to
Islamic law. What is especially illuminating about this case is that
the son, a married man and factory worker, does not consider his
labor power at the disposal of his father, despite coresidence on
the father’s land. The young man thinks that he should receive a
wage like any other hired laborer if he helps his father harvest the
palm. Familial relations are salient not as relations of production
but as relationships through which the different generations can
meet their housing needs, make material claims, and receive moral
support.
parents are too poor to take care of them as well. The old folks contrib-
ute food, lodging, and pocket money in return for housework, general
care, and the company provided by the children. The richest man in
Sungai Jawa, for instance, has a household of seventeen, including two
wives, ten (out of fifteen) unmarried children, and four grandchildren
whose parents are not coresident. Rich kampung families tend towards
complex household formation because they have the resources to shel-
ter and raise grandchildren, receiving in turn company, help in house-
hold chores, and perhaps management of their property.
Household composition in Sungai Jawa thus results from a multi-
plicity of practices for the sharing of resources within and between
generations. In nuclear formations, the retention of wage-earning
children accounts for the persistence of large households over a lon-
ger duration than was the case in earlier generations. In stem-family
Malay villagers spend less work time on the land, more labor time is
devoted to wage-earning activities, contributing to overall increase
in market work. In addition, labor time in self-employed activities
such as farm work and household maintenance is reduced, espe-
cially for landpoor work households.
In the explosion of time budget studies, the human implications of
the transition from “nonmarket” to “market” labor time are almost
never considered. However unintended, time units can also be the
dumb but eloquent measure of a qualitative alteration in the expe-
rience of work. To discuss the actual “market” and “nonmarket”
costs of the shift from self-employment to sale of labor power, one
must put flesh and blood on these statistical structures, making them
speak of the lived experiences of social groups in the making.
emerged out of the intrusions of state institutions and the labor mar-
kets linked to the world system. This increasingly complex division
of labor spans rural and urban sectors, giving rise to or recombining
fractions of the bureaucratic elite, professionals, and entrepreneurial
elements who may continue to plant capital in the kampung but sell
their services elsewhere.
How may we understand these processes of transformation in both
class and cultural terms? Do native constructs necessarily mys-
tify changing relations of production, speaking in counterpoint and
perhaps offstage to the main “objective” events? Prior to the Second
World War, the occupational system in Kuala Langat was directly
linked to land and agriculture. Rural Malay population was almost
universally village folk (orang kampung), and in the local terms of kuli
(laborer), orang miskin, orang biasa and orang kaya, their point of reference
Table 13
Average Labor Time Spent by Children and Adults in
Household and Income-Earning Activities
Sungai Jawa, 1979
Landless
Children (22) 1.64 0.35 0.65 2.64
Adults (24) 2.57 0.67 5.04 8.28
Landpoor
Children (34) 1.33 0.33 0.70 2.36
Adults (42) 2.84 0.88 4.03 7.75
Small
Children (22) 1.61 0.72 0.24 2.57
Adults (52) 3.00 1.62 3.20 7.82
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Rich
Children (13) 1.22 0.87 0.01 2.10
Adults (36) 2.86 2.42 2.30 7.58
was land tenure and the wealth derived therefrom. Since differentia-
tion within village society was limited, the term “orang kaya” was
almost exclusively reserved for the small class of aristocratic retain-
ers at the sultan’s palace. Despite the introduction of private property
under the colonial system, the rakyat continued to view the sultan as
the suzerain of Tanah Melayu (Malay lands).
Coconut plucker.
cials, most Chinese retailers are tightly knit ino their own exclusive
networks and have little noncommerical contact with people outside
the trading class.
Other non-Malays in the district are connected with the major cap-
italist industries. The estate managers and technical staff are socially
and spatially K.L.-centered, some travelling by helicopter, others by
cars, at least once a week to escape plantation doldrums. The profes-
sional, supervisory, and even clerical workers at the local FTZ daily
take the highway back and forth to towns in the Klang Valley. In their
wake, the slow eddies of plantation life swirl around a residue Tamil
labor force. Other ex-plantation Tamil workers, either laid off or vol-
untarily resigning, are squatter-cum-laborers on Chinese and Indian
holdings. Their daily lives are still conducted in the green shadows
of tree crops, on the periphery of Malay kampung, plantations, and
The outflow of male workers has been joined by rural women since
the early 1970s. In Sungai Jawa, the majority of working adult women
(70 percent of the total) are wage workers either in factories or agricul-
ture (Table 14). Most are young unmarried women living with their
parents who commute daily to work in the local FTZ (a distance of
about five miles). Rural women seldom commute long distances to
work; those who are employed in industries in Shah Alam, Petaling
Jaya, or even Port Klang stay with relatives or in rooming houses in
town, returning on some weekends. Thus, Table 14 shows that of the
525 working adults (17 years and older) in my sample, 76 percent of
the men and 78 percent of the women are engaged in casual, factory,
and state employment outside the kampung, but they return daily,
weekly, and at longer intervals to village households. In other words,
the working population whose primary occupation remains cash
Table 14
Primary Occupations of Men and Women,
One-Third of Total Population, Sungai Jawa, 1979
Farm operator 54 23 77
Kampung professional 3 3 6
Peddler 13 7 20
Entrepreneur (market agent, 11 2 13
store or business operator)
Landlord 3 2 5
Sharecropper 10 4 14
Casual laborer (day, contract) 111 41 152
Shop assistant 6 8 14
Factory worker (steady & temporary) 42 70 112
Steady wage-worker 77 0 77
(government & port)
Government employee 28 7 35
(clerk, teacher, official)
Domestic Relations:
The Reconfiguration of Family Life
chores to sit with her guests. At one such gathering, Noraini was
nursing a feverish granddaughter when her 16–year–old son flung
himself into her lap and cajoled her for money. He was the family
athlete and had recently sprained his ankle. Earlier that day he had
picked two gallon-drums of coffee cherries for the inflated “wage”
of M$10 and was asking for M$20 more to buy a pair of track shoes.
Shifting her granddaughter onto one lap, Noraini rubbed her son’s
ankle while indulgently negotiating his request. She was the main
character in an evening drama of women and children; her hus-
band had an occasional walk-on part. Daughters brought refresh-
ments and confided worries, while sons lolled on mats, now and
then addressing a comment or question to her. Most family affairs
and problems of extended kin are talked over and settled in such
matrifocal gatherings.
85
A three-generation family.
supporting the family. She can retain her own earnings from farm
and wage employment as private wealth. In many cases, however,
the wife’s savings are used in family emergencies. More critically,
her nest egg is insurance against destitution after divorce, when the
ex-husband relinquishes responsibility for his former wife and chil-
dren. Thus, in Malay-Islamic ideals, the moral authority of men over
unmarried daughter, sister, and wife is rooted in male responsibil-
ity for the subsistence needs of the family. Male superiority is fur-
ther enhanced by widespread beliefs in the spiritual vulnerability of
women.
Cultural mechanisms for circumscribing female movement and
power seldom constrain older women, especially those who have
had many children and are past menopause. Whereas the blossoming
young woman is bounded by various taboos, the middle-aged woman
their newly born infants. Failing to give life in her human form, the
female hantu takes life. Her stillborn daughter (pontianak) is changed
into a beautiful apparition who tempts unsuspecting men into mar-
riage. She represents the threats posed by a single but previously
married woman (janda: widow or divorcée). Malays consider the
janda a sexually experienced flirt who seeks to lure unmarried men
into liaisons or entangle happily married men in her schemes. Wid-
owed or divorced, the janda is unlike the virginal daughter, sister, or
wife; she is not under the moral-legal authority of any male kin, and
only answerable to the Islamic judge (kadi).
This cultural construction of family relations is rooted in the his-
torically produced interactions between Islam and Malay adat in
a peasant economy. Everyday relations of production are closely
interwoven into a formal structure of male authority and cultural
The life histories of adults who grew up in the 1950s and 1960s show
that most children from all levels of village society ended primary
schooling at Standard Six.3 Many girls were sent by their parents for
special Islamic instructions or did not attend school at all.4 The expec-
tation was that the youngsters were part of the family economy, and
they were instructed to become good farmers like their parents. Chil-
dren from age five onwards could distinguish between red (ripe) and
green (unripe) coffee and were sometimes helpful in picking the cher-
ries from the low-slung branches. Older children, especially those
over twelve years who had finished Standard Six, followed their par-
ents in their daily rounds of tapping rubber, digging ditches, gather-
ing coffee, and miscellaneous oddjobs. Around the house, little girls
did cooking, washing, and took care of younger siblings. Children
seldom dreamed of a future different from their parents’ way of life.
look like small nuns). Boys also wear sarung instead of trousers.
The primary school in Sungai Jawa is the largest in the subdistrict.
In 1979, there were 550 girls and 556 boys, most of whom came from
the village itself, the rest from surrounding Malay communities.5
Girls have generally done better than boys. Even very young girls are
socialized to be obedient and to comport themselves demurely. These
qualities have given them a good start in primary education, com-
pared with boys who are not ready to take school lessons seriously. In
my repeated visits to the school, boys were observed to be more spon-
taneous in the classroom and on the school fields, for schooling has
not yet curbed their spirit of exploration and playfulness. Girls are
generally more restrained, presenting a cool and neat contrast as they
watch from the shadows of trees and verandah the sweaty play of
boys. In one class room, I observed the tendency of the male teacher
to turn most of his attention to the boys’ side of the room, thus elicit-
ing most of the responses from there. Girls are usually bent over their
desks in work and seldom volunteer answers to questions. A few girls
are made leaders of classroom projects because of their responsibility
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
eral, young women between the ages of 16 and 24 carry the burden
of daily housework and extra-domestic obligations, so that they are
more busy throughout the day than persons in other age groups.
Besides their increasing domestic responsibilities, adolescent
girls growing into adult female roles begin to turn their thoughts to
romance and marriage, thoughts prompted in part by magazines,
television, and movies. Pemudi taking the bus to secondary school
sometimes ride off in the direction of Port Klang, where they spend
their time wandering around movie houses and shopping complexes
imbibing “urban culture.” Brighter girl students are not immune to
the perceived attractions of early marriage and homemaking. For
instance in 1977, the most promising student at Telok secondary school
obtained a “C” grade in her Form Five certificate; she was then plan-
ning to get married. In a significant shift from past attitudes, village
parents prefer their daughters not marry straight out of school now
that there are factory jobs close to home and daughters can be induced
to earn an extra source of income. However, there are parents who
send their daughters for a brief spell in Arab schools, which are said to
produce good wives and mothers. Whether their daughter is educated
in secular or religious school, wage earning or just doing housework,
parents find it difficult to turn down a marriage proposal if the suitor
is well-off (see Chapter 6).
Some girls drop out of secondary school because they lack the right
combination of subjects to pass the certificate examinations. In the
vast majority of cases, three subjects offered — carpentry, agriculture,
and domestic science — are not taken by girls because their parents
consider the first two “masculine” subjects, while the third (intro-
duced into the curriculum especially for female students) is consid-
ered unnecessary since village girls are already proficient in cooking
and all aspects of housework and childcare, learnt at the mother’s
knee. Finally, but not least, the presence of the FTZ just down the
road from the school exerts an indirect influence on the poor per-
formance of female students in secondary education. Many girls,
already weakened in their resolve to do well in school, see in the FTZ
the answer to their immediate future outside the school gates. This
is especially the case for girls from poor families, who feel obliged to
leave school early and to help supplement the household budget.
Since the large-scale entry of teenage girls into secondary school
and factory employment, the only reduction in their family responsi-
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Today there are many young men like [my son]. Maybe
they no longer care for their parents like people did in the
old days.
Mother of factory man
Talking about the meanings of money, its acquisition, pooling, and
expenditure in Sungai Jawa, one notices too an inflation of sexual
images. The commoditization of family relationships within the vil-
lage household has linked female sexuality to strategies of mobil-
ity and mediation of class values. Here, I present some case studies
of domestic arrangements which in demonstrating the increasing
importance of female wages to family budget also capture the ascen-
dency of mother-daughter relationships and the parallel decline of
male power over daughter and sister.
In Sungai Jawa, the entry of pemuda and pemudi into wage employ-
ment does not automatically result in their handing over all their
wife, which came to 2.5 acres, provided the main source (pokok belanja)
for family expenses. The husband also brought in M$125 per month
as a rubber tapper. The three older children were wage workers: the
son a stevedore and the two daughters factory workers at the Telok
FTZ and Shah Alam. The mother was very effective in obtaining a
total of M$150 from the working children each month, as well as their
contibution towards the purchase of expensive items. She explained:
grounds that their own house was not fitted with electrical lines.
Meanwhile, her new husband complained that “going back and forth
like newlyweds” was made more difficult because he did not feel
comfortable in “the children’s father’s house.”
Not surprisingly, the two older children decided to stop giving
their mother money. Fauziah’s older daughter said, rather pointedly,
“Let father feed mother.” She and her brother handed money over to
their younger sister for schooling and kitchen expenses. In another
bold departure from past norms, the factory woman brought her boy-
friend, a smalltown school teacher, to spend the night in her mother’s
house when the older couple were visiting. Ultimately, it was dis-
creet pressures brought by the village headman which compelled the
young lovers to stop this practice and bring forward their wedding
date. Such incidents prompted Fauziah’s husband to settle his affairs
in Sungai Jawa and buy a house in Tanjong Karang, where he was
born and still had kinsmen. It is probable that the two households
will remain separate even after the older couple have relocated per-
manently to Tanjong Karang.
These two cases show that even when unmarried children become
wage workers, the father is still expected to provide for the bulk of
his family’s needs. In case A, the mother carefully managed relations
with the children to ensure a steady cash flow. In case B, the work-
ing children resisted supporting the remarried mother and saw their
main responsibility as toward younger siblings still in school. The
following examples illustrate that sibling solidarity is not always
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Thus this old man received a total monthly income of M$240 from
six different sources, most of which went to food expenses. He also
managed to save about $30 each year to buy fertilizers at subsidized
prices (as a JKK member, he had prior access to the limited supply)
for his palm holding. But it was the daily physical and emotional care
of his daughter and granddaughters which assured the old man a
good, though spare, standard of living. The small contributions from
his sons must be seen in the light of his developing property which
would produce sizeable earnings as the palms mature fully. He had
six sons but because of land poverty three had moved out of the vil-
lage and the remaining three (all married men with children) work
as laborers at Port Klang. When time approaches for the partition of
their parents’ property, it is not uncommon for sons who have left to
give up their rightful shares to those who remained in the kampung.
It seems likely, therefore, that the two sons who were making mon-
etary gifts to the old man were also strengthening their future claims
on his property; one of them was also a sharecropper on the land.
Case E. Other old folk are not so well-cared for, and sons do not
necessarily contribute to their upkeep simply because they own
property. An old woman had a half-acre plot from her late husband,
while her second husband held a 1.25 acre pesaka. Sparsely covered
with aging coffee bushes and coconut trees, their kebun produced
very low yields. To supply her kitchen, the woman coaxed vegetables
from a clayey soil. Nevertheless, the couple and their working
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
son still needed to spend at least M$120 per month at the village
store. They sometimes received cooked meals from her married
son and daughter (by the first marriage), but the old woman was
disappointed that the son living at home refused to make a regular
cash contribution to family expenses. She commented that he was
not unusual, adding perhaps that kampung children no longer cared
for their parents as in the old days.
Indeed, the 24-year–old son was unlike pemuda of earlier genera-
tions. He had failed Form Three and started work at 18 in a saw mill.
He used his savings to buy himself a radio and bed (most kampung
Malays slept on mats). At the time of my interview, he was working
at a shoe factory at Port Klang, making only M$150 a month. He had
recently bought a motorbike for M$1,800 but had paid up only M$700.
Occasionally, he slipped his mother M$10 bills, but when she asked
for more, he asked, “Who pays for the motorbike?” He also refused
to work on the land which would one day be his, complaining that
he needed to rest on weekends. Instead, he “cruised” around on his
motorbike.9 Thus, the generation gap in this family has been accentu-
ated by kampung-bandar (rural-urban) differences in cultural values.
The parents expected that in their old age their son would help them
on the land, as in the idealized but fairly accurate picture of the recent
past. The young man, entering the labor market at the bottom of the
ladder, experienced frustration at the growing distance between his
meager earnings and his acquired needs as a moden (“modern”) urban
worker.
These three cases demonstrate that when young men are engaged
in wage employment, they often resist making a regular contribu-
tion to the family budget because of their privileged status at home,
adequate family income from the farm, and/or their perceived need
for more personal expenses than their working sisters. The final
examples reveal that young men discontented with their job pros-
pects have greater opportunities to take their time looking for the
“right” job because working sisters can easily be persuaded, by the
mother, to provide a steady cash flow.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
folk expected to work at their own volition, and any joint project was
carried out with a minimum of supervision or rigid schedule. Old
and young men have often claimed that they prefered to remain cul-
tivators or unemployed rather than laborers to be “bossed” around
by someone else. This complaint is not unknown among young
women who, among all age-gender categories, are usually the only
ones supervised, if at all, in their daily chores.
Before the recent restructuring of domestic activities by school and
factory clocks, chores on the farm and in the kitchen were woven
into the flow of social life. Although women’s work was more con-
tinual than the sporadic work of men, the former played an impor-
tant and frequently decisive role in determining the what and when
of their duties. Young girls developed a sense of self-worth from
their daily chores, the fine performance of which was a desirable
factory” as they try to wrest “free time” from housework for “spend-
ing time” in lost sleep or in the diversions of the consumer market.
Since these young women continue to attend to domestic and social
demands for their help, their time-thrift is not commented upon nor
criticized. Factory women not only learn to balance this dual burden
but also grapple with the sense of lost autonomy in work. Six or
more years of schooling have failed to dampen their spirits, and they
confront pervasive regimentation in their work life as a continuing
personal, domestic, and social crisis (see below).
In this chapter, I have considered the changing meanings of
“household,” gender, and proletarianization in Sungai Jawa by dis-
cussing the restructuring of domestic relationships before and after
national penetration by national agencies and late capitalist enter-
prises. As the rural household becomes more integrated into bureau-
cratic structures and different labor markets, the form and content
of domestic relations are reconstituted in culturally specific ways.
The general movement of boys and girls into mass education pro-
duces a labor reserve for modern enterprises, while for the upwardly
mobile, schooling provides an internal channel to the state system.
The selective pressures of labor markets and divergent expectations
of children have made young single women the pivot of domestic
strategies of mobility.
As female sexuality becomes linked to class formation, young
women find in their wage-earning role this paradoxical dilemma:
the labor power which enables them to challenge male authority at
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
home is also the means whereby they are subjected to intense capital-
ist discipline. The daughter/sister as factory woman is a new cultural
configuration conditioned by the cash nexus within and outside the
rural family. As temporary wage workers harnessed to family aspira-
tions, young women experience a new alienation from work as well
as from their families. In many ways, they are working and marrying
out of cycles with old and reassuring norms of conduct and matura-
tion. These contradictions are multiplied as more come to experience
a janda-like freedom but yet remain formally of junior status within
their families (as daughters/virgins), the labor market (as semiskilled
workers), and society at large. In the next chapter, we will see how
some village women seek to reconcile their contradictory status in the
customary option of marriage.
Marriage Strategies:
Negotiating the Future
Some of [the men’s] talk is mocking, because in their view, perhaps, our
work here [in the factory] gives us too much freedom, as for instance,
always going out at night, “dating” with “boyfriend”. . . Ah, maybe they
like [factory women]. They only talk, but they pick factory women too. . . .
For instance, in my family, my brother himself has never talked badly
about me; now, he is marrying a woman who works at the factory too.
An unmarried factory woman
115
It was not until after 1920 that villagers were permitted by the
land office to grow the lucrative crop, rubber. Even then, they were
penalized by land taxes: M$12 on a rubber lot (five acres) compared
to M$3 for a lot planted with kampung trees. The gradual spread of
rubber cultivation both drew more Javanese immigrants and pulled
the settlement out of the backwaters. A schoolroom had been set
up almost from the start to provide boys with Islamic instruction.
By 1927 sufficient people and cash had trickled in to support the
construction of a mosque in the heart of the kampung. When Sungai
Jawa was linked by a cart track to the main road a few years later,
the settlement, now splintered into twelve hamlets, had gravitated
away from the riverbank towards the interior rubber country of the
colonial economy.
In the frontier conditions, the active recruitment of male relatives
and friends produced a skewed sex ratio within the community.
Marriage for most male immigrants was further delayed because
upon arrival they had to work off debts incurred on the way over
before applying for a land grant to make a kebun and build a house.
Only then were they considered eligible suitors for the limited num-
ber of nubile girls among the settler families. Furthermore, bache-
lors thinking of marriage had to leave the village and earn wages in
plantations, perhaps making 50 cents per day. According to custom-
ary practice, bridewealth was in two parts: payment for wedding
expenses (wang hantaran) and a gift of cash or gold (wang mas) to the
bride, as required by the Islamic marriage contract (akad nikah).2 An
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Case A. By their fifties, Hj. Amir and his wife had become one of the
most well-to-do couples in Sungai Jawa. They were “comfortable”
because they owned some of the best coffee gardens around. In 1971,
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
they went on the hajj and upon their return were granted their desire
to have a son. After that, Hj. Amir retired from farm supervision to
devote himself to religious study. Their house was elegant, raised
above a well-swept compound surrounded by spice trees and
flowering bushes. The family, however, was rather disliked by
villagers for holding themselves aloof from social intercourse with
all but a few select families.
There were four daughters. The eldest, Salmah, spent a few months
in factory work, but after her father pulled a few strings, she got a
typing position in a UMNO branch office. It was said that his party
loyalty also helped secure scholarships for two other daughters, one
to attend an Islamic college, the other a secondary school in K.L. Sal-
mah did not get married until she was almost twenty-six, a rather
late age for village women, but it was not for want of suitors. Her first
Salmah was the only village woman I knew who have had two
broken engagements and yet continued to receive marriage offers.
In early 1979, an ex-classmate who had since become a policeman
proposed and was accepted. Her mother explained that although he
was sunburned and less handsome than previous suitors, he would
soon be promoted to police corporal; his father had also been in the
police force.6
As marriage negotiations proceeded, Salmah’s parents rather
uncouthly, in the opinion of other villagers, asked for a bridewealth of
M$1,500. It was rumored that the actual amount handed over might
have been M$2,100. In contrast to prewar practices, the exchange of
nuptial gifts has become a conspicuous custom in village weddings,
but the scale of gift-giving in Salmah’s case was exceptional. She
received fifteen trays of expensive clothing and accessories for the
Rumors claimed that Sharifah was pregnant and that her parents
had demanded M$2,100 in hantaran because she was a teacher.
At the engagement, the mother, less eager than her husband to lose
her daughter, requested that they wait two years before marrying.
Soon after the ceremony, however, the ustaz began sending wedding
gifts, including materials for the trousseau. He also pressed for the
date of the wedding. He then offered a hantaran of M$1,500 without
any negotiation on the part of Mahani’s parents — “It is not proper
to ask; our child is not a commodity” — and it clinched the deal; the
wedding took place a few months later. Soon after Mahani moved
out, her younger sister failed her Form Three examination and started
working in an FTZ factory. Without the expectation of this fortuitous
mix of events, it was unlikely that Mahani would have married so
soon after starting to work. Mahani’s beauty attracted a “good”
marriage offer which might otherwise not have been extended to an
ordinary village family.
Case D. This last example highlights, among other themes, the threat
upclassing marital strategies can pose to the joint property and income
arrangements of families faced with the impending departure of a son
or daughter. The story revolves around Susi, an attractive 24-year-old
clerk at the Telok school who daily cycled past the general provision
store operated by Mahmud, a 39-year-old bachelor (and Nawab’s
stepbrother). Mahmud lived with his mother, Nana, a younger
brother, and a sister who had an infant son (her husband was a soldier
stationed in another state). When Nana was widowed, her stepson
Nawab raised the children, initiating the two teenage boys into the
shopkeeping business. As young men, the brothers bought their own
village stores. Over the years, profits from the business went into
kampung land, so that the combined family property amounted to
20 acres of cash crops and two shops. In early 1979, Mahmud acquired
a house which he rented to migrant factory workers, keeping the extra
income for himself. He was ready to get married.
Mahmud had failed in three previous attempts at the matrimonial
game. The opinion of his mother and younger sister was very influ-
ential in his marital attempts. With the passing years, Nawab and
Noraini worried about his ever getting married and having heirs to
his considerable assets. The family lived so modestly that perhaps
few villagers realized the extent of their wealth. Then Mahmud
approached Susi’s parents and asked for her hand. Her family was
landless, squatting on a Chinese holding where the father worked as a
rubber trapper. Three unmarried daughters in their twenties brought
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Nawab and Noraini thereby felt Susi “had shown her true feelings,”
and if nothing was done about the situation, she could very well
lose her mind. They sent for her and asked how much hantaran she
would expect in marriage. Wisely, she did not reply. Convinced of
her sincerity, Nawab and Noraini persuaded Nana and her daughter
that Mahmud should ask for Susi’s hand again, pointing out that
she should not be blamed for her father’s insolent demands. Susi’s
mother also dropped by the Nawab household; her husband, she
said, was possessive of his daughters and had not kept up with mod-
ern times.
Gaining confidence from the momentum of events, Susi told her
father that if he continued to oppose the match, she would “go sleep
in Mahmud’s house.”7 Meanwhile, Nawab cautioned that in order
to squelch unpleasant rumors, the marriage should be arranged as
soon as possible. He suggested Mahmud make a hantaran of M$1,200
to show the public that he was not getting married under duress.
Thus, we see the convergence of two sets of strategies: Susi’s use of
female intermediaries and the threat of madness, and the Nawab-
Noraini interest in getting Mahmud married to produce heirs for his
property.
Nevertheless, the deep resentment and felt threat to Nana and her
daughter lingered on, to break out on the wedding day itself. At the
bersanding ceremony, Mahmud’s sister went up to the seated couple
ostensibly to saalam Susi, but instead she pushed her to the floor. In
the fearful confusion that followed, Nawab grabbed the sister, Noraini
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
authoritarian fathers. The reader may protest that these are biased
cases drawn from well-to-do families; however, the following exam-
ples of marriage strategies among poor village folk should balance
out these accounts.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Case A. Adnan was twenty-nine years old, the eldest of seven children
of a farm laborer. For the past five years, he had worked in a car
assembly plant in Shah Alam, where he also found a job for a younger
brother. Two sisters worked in the Telok FTZ. Their combined
contributions permitted a more tolerable standard of livelihood than
could otherwise be expected from the father’s tiny farm.
Two years earlier, Adnan had met his intended, a factory worker
in Kuala Selangor; they had since been saving for marriage. As it
was a “love inspired” match, Adnan had proposed marriage before
his parents were told to make formal contacts. On their own, the
couple agreed on a bridewealth by calculating the cost of a bed and
bureau. He remarked, “With the price of things today, what can
you buy with M$500? I figure that whatever she wants to buy, I will
be needing too.” Adnan was equivocal about his wife’s work after
marriage. She had indicated an interest in continuing her work in a
timber yard, at least until the first child arrived. He commented, “It’s
her own affair.”
For the wedding feast, Adnan spent M$500, and his father contrib-
uted M$1,000 and slaughtered one of his bulls. The contributions of
guests, in cash amounts of M$1 to M$20 (in addition to gifts of rice,
firewood, and cooked and raw food), added up to M$2,120. If we
subtract the estimated value of the cow (M$500), the “gain” of the
feast-giving was M$620. This Adnan’s father would use to repair the
house and for miscellaneous household expenses.8 In the absence of
such interhousehold dependence, the replacement of obligations by
commodities can make the wedding a daunting experience for par-
ents, as we shall see in the next example.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Case C. This story indicates that migrant work also enables young
women to be less concerned about parental wishes. Safuah seemed
an unlikely candidate for handling her own marital affairs. According
to her elder sister, she was a normal child until her second year in
primary school. One day, urinating at an ant hill, she was possessed
by a male spirit. Ever since, her “masculinity” was expressed in
conduct such as dislike of housework, boyish restlessness, rough talk,
and lack of interest in “female” things. She sat in class with a blank
expression and would walk through thick undergrowth on her way
home. At the end of the year, she dropped out of school but was “very
clever” at reading and writing on her own. When she was sixteen,
she began corresponding with a male pen pal she picked from a
magazine. In late 1979, her sister failed Form Three and had begun
working in a sardine factory in Klang. Although her wage was only
M$120 per month, the sister was able to spend some money on
dresses, shopping, and the movies. Safuah told her parents that she
too would like to have her own money, and in January she began
work in the same factory. Apparently, neither sister gave her parents
money, although they lived and ate at home.
Now eighteen, Safuah arranged to meet her pen pal outside her fac-
tory. He was a 30-year-old divorcé who worked as a barber in a store
front. He rented a room with his brother, a laborer. Early in March,
Safuah did not come home for four days, causing her parents great
anxiety. When she returned, she said that her “boyfriend” had taken
her to Tanjong Karang to meet his mother, who was led to believe that
they were already man and wife. Safuah had used up her savings of
M$50 on bus fares and on fruits for the old lady. She did not enjoy her
stay because she feared the woman and did not have enough to eat.
Her parents, considering her “one screw loose” (“three-cornered,” in
the local parlance), did not beat her, but her father warned her about
getting pregnant. The next day, they arranged the Islamic marriage
rite, inviting relatives and neighbors to witness the event.
The groom was deemed not an upstart and therefore acceptable.
However, he was too poor to give hantaran, and the newlyweds simply
moved into his bare, rented room. A few days later, they were arrested
in a raid by officials of the Islamic Department. They were briefly appre-
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
hended for khalwat until a relative arrived with the marriage certificate.
After all this excitement, Safuah’s father said he had not opposed the
match because the couple had already chosen each other and been inti-
mate. If he had tried to stop them from seeing each other, they might
have run away. The only thing to do was to legitimize the relationship
immediately. “Young people these days, you know. . . .”
Remarrying: A Woman on Her Own
Since divorces and remarriages have always been as common as
shotgun marriages in Sungai Jawa, it is appropriate to discuss the
strategies of divorced women left fending for themselves and their
children. Over the past decade, the noncontribution of mainte-
nance (nafkah) by husbands has been cited by the district kadi as the
major cause of divorces in the region (see Table 15). The increasing
Table 15
Causes of Malay Divorces by Percentage Each Year,
Kuala Langat, 1969–79
Year 1969 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79
Number of divorces 46 51 56 53 62 51 78 72 59 91 76
Nonmaintenance
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
by husband 40 35 30 45 45 25 43 44 45 40 45
Incompatibility 30 35 40 35 30 35 35 30 30 25 15
Interference
by family 10 15 20 5 5 15 10 6 10 30 10
Extramarital
relations:*
Husband 10 7 5 10 10 10 5 10 10 3 10
Wife 5 5 5 5 7 5 2 5 3 2 15
Other reasons** 5 3 — — 3 10 5 5 2 — 5
Source: Adapted from Kadi Mohammad Shari b. Ismail, Pejabat Islam,
Sungai Jawa.
*This category mainly included cases in which the party had developed a strong
attraction to a person other than the spouse.
**Included impotence, sterility, nonconsumation of marriage, husband’s desire to
take another wife, husband’s drug addition.
Case A. When Minah was thirty-one years old, her husband died,
leaving her to raise two girls. The older daughter, Ju, was considered
“dumb” (bodoh). Minah held in trust her late husband’s one-acre
plot, but as a Batak who had married into Sungai Jawa, she had to
eke out a living practically alone. She not only had to contend with
loneliness but also with slurs from women jealously guarding their
husbands. Three years later she received a marriage proposal from
a landless estate worker. Sukor was a few years younger and had
never been married. Minah could not bring herself to accept his offer
until he “promised to take care of the children.” After marriage,
Sukor moved into her late husband’s house and took care of the
property. The couple began to work as a team of rubber tappers and
in five years had saved money to buy a small plot in another village.
Meanwhile, Minah had two more girls.
When the palms on the new holding matured, Sukor forced Ju,
who had turned twenty-one, to marry a 45-year-old divorcé from his
home village. Sukor felt it was time for Ju to marry out, especially
when her younger sister, a bright girl of thirteen (but whose school
career was ended), could take over most of the housework and child-
care. The hantaran of M$200 (it would have been less had she not been
a virgin) was spent on a feast for ten, and Ju did not even receive a
new sarung. After the nikah, she just followed her husband home,
without any ceremony. The marriage lasted one month; following a
series of fights, Ju took the bus home. Both Sukor and Minah seemed
to have accepted this turn of events and Ju slipped back into her for-
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
and have deflected pressures from their families and asserted their
own individuality in consumer behavior and choice of spouse.
Young women’s perceptions of self, and of men, are increasingly
refracted through the prism of the cash register. Daughters from well-
to-do families are clear-eyed about emotions and personal interests
when marriage has become the key to their social mobility. Daughters
of poor families also evince self-reflection in their handling of relation-
ships with parents, lovers, and husbands. Competition for male atten-
tion is shifting over to the realm of commoditized images, and the
marital contract itself is gradually symbolized by market exchange.
As the commodity logic comes to dictate taste, structure conjugal
expectations, and dissolve customary obligations, young women, as
much as men, are agents in renegotiating their futures in marriage.
The slippage in male ability to conform daughter/sister to male
expectations has introduced a dynamic ambivalence in male percep-
tions of women. An unemployed youth made the caustic observation
that factory women dress up to disguise their kampung-origin, but the
effect of their cosmetic efforts was to caricature their country ways.
Nevertheless, the single working woman or female college student
who has some urban experience is regarded with a mixture of fas-
cination and hostility by young rural men. This ambivalence pivots
on their contradictory expectations of wife and sister/girlfriend. In
their wives, young men seek the customary ideal of the subservient
woman, recently recast as the modern housewife in magazines, t.v.
dramas, and the lifestyle of the bureaucratic elite. However, young
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Every year, weddings are held during the school vacation. As vil-
lage elders spend cash and energy on matrimonial ceremonies, they
observe that there is more conspicuous consumption, less hands will-
ing to help, more urban visitors, and new rites (“fashion show,” “pop
band”) to accommodate. The bride who is demurely led through
the various rituals has probably displayed self-determination in the
selection of not only the groom but also of wedding outfits, house-
hold items, and postmarital residence. Parents intervene in the mar-
riage of their children to secure wealth or social position, but the
market has expanded young people’s room for maneuver in their
own interests. In particular, young women, alternately quiescent and
assertive, manipulate symbolic and economic capitals to forward
their personal agendas. Increasingly a labor reserve for the wider
economy, kampung women play a bigger role in adjusting customary
141
along the Klang Valley, migrant youths contributed to the urban unem-
ployed and squatter population. Government training programs, trans-
portation, and heavy industries absorbed those who were scholastically
qualified. Many of the migrants had failed Form Three or Five; never-
theless, the expectations raised by their education caused migrants to
take their time looking for jobs considered more commensurate with
their qualifications (Blake 1975).
By the end of the decade, these migrants had added to the rapid
growth (at the rate of 4.5 percent per year) of Kuala Lumpur and the
estimated 40 percent of city households living below the poverty level.4
Joining the stagnant pool of the unemployed, many migrants lived in
Table 16
Peninsular Malaysia:
Distribution of Total Labor Force by Industry, 1970–80
Sources: The Third Malaysia Plan 1975–80, 1976: 140; Far Eastern Economic
Review, Asia 1981 Yearbook: 194.
*Included in “Wholesale and retail trade.”
crowded rooms. Some picked up cash in petty crimes and drug ped-
dling. One report noted that it was “almost impossible to talk about
the migration of youths from rural areas to the city without touching
on the drug problem.” Others sought incomes as self-appointed car
attendants (jaga kereta boys) or food vendors, or worked at odd jobs. In
1979, the majority of those who registered with the Selangor job place-
ment office were between 15 and 24 years old, most of whom had at
least lower secondary education.5
Although local academics and policymakers called for greater rural
development effort to stem the rural-urban migration,6 the Malay-
sian Home Affairs Minister asserted that the “urban drift” was “a
deliberate . . . societal engineering strategy” within the framework
of the NEP. He pointed out that the countryside was the “only . . .
major reservoir” of labor power left for “economic modernization.”
Since the goal of the NEP was to “reshuffle the racial composition of
the rural sector,” the outmigration of Malays was in keeping with
government policy.7
Between 1970 and 1980, a decade during which the labor force in
agriculture declined from 53 to 41 percent of the total working popu-
lation, the government established 59 industrial estates throughout
the Peninsula. Nine of these were “free trade zones” (FTZs) for the
location of the manufacturing subsidiaries of transnational compa-
nies. These foreign-controlled factories came to generate the larg-
est number of low wage manufacturing jobs, primarily for Malay
women. Rural outmigration continued unabated, only now increas-
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
by the end of the decade, they constituted some 80,000 members of the
industrial force, over one-half of whom were employed in electronics
assembly factories (Jamilah Ariffin 1980). The most common image of
the new working class Malay woman is in fact “Minah letrik” (the local
equivalent of “hot stuff”).
These female members of the nascent Malay proletariat represent
a fairly well-educated labor reserve, often overqualified for the semi-
skilled manual jobs offered by the transnational firms. A 1977 survey
of Malay women workers in 120 factories located throughout the
Peninsula reveals that almost one-half had lower secondary educa-
tion, and one-quarter had prematriculation qualifications. Many had
aspired to become clerks, trainee nurses, and teachers, but having
failed to gain entry into white-collar jobs, were absorbed, along with
a few illiterates, into the expanded pool of semiskilled labor.8
Different organs of the state apparatus thus facilitate the integra-
tion of Malaysian economy and labor into the global operations of
transnational capital. Export-oriented manufacturing subsidiaries of
foreign companies were attracted by fine locations of physical facili-
ties and infrastructural linkages to ports, as well as generous tax
exemptions (up to ten years), minimum customs fees, and unham-
pered transfers of profits and capital. The main condition required of
these large-scale industries was at least 40 percent bumiputra (Malay)
representation in their work forces. Firms were urged to invite
Malaysian shareholders, but this was not a binding requirement. In
the domestic arena, other government institutions engaged in the
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Table 17
Average Wage Rates in Selected Industries for
Manual Laborers in Selangor, 1976
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
the Telok FTZ, with its lower land rates, would attract subsidiaries
of transnational corporations otherwise locating in the Klang Valley.
However, after Shah Alam had been established as the Selangor state
capital, officials channelled foreign investments to the new town. The
local FTZ thus remained small-scale, employing a total of approxi-
mately 2,000 workers. Nevertheless, for the local kampungfolk, it
represented qualitative changes in their experience of work and its
meanings for young women.
For the majority of workers, transition from being a peasant woman
to a factory hand entailed two basic changes: (a) a shift from a flexible
work situation to the hierarchical structure of industrial production,
and (b) transition from autonomy in the work process to the oppres-
sive compulsion of labor discipline. The qualitative changes were
experienced in relation to the self and to other workers, as well as to
work within social relations organized by the factories, and between
the industrial system and local communities.
semiskilled labor force. Young women and men from other villages in
the district and beyond rented rooms in Sungai Jawa, or in Kampung
Melur, which was located between the former and the FTZ. Since this
pool of rural women, as low-skilled labor, was easily expanded, and
expendable, the factories could keep their wages low and yet still be
supplied with a continual flow of female school-leavers each year.
At the electronics and micromachinery plants, management’s
definition of semiskilled operations as biologically suited to “the
oriental girl” in effect required Malay peasant women to adopt
such “feminine” traits. A Malaysian investment brochure provided
the blurb:
Her hands are small and she works fast with extreme care. Who,
therefore, could be better qualified by nature and inheritance to
contribute to the efficiency of a bench assembly production line
than the oriental girl? [emphasis added]17
was required. The personnel manager at EJI noted that every year
the Telok secondary school “churns out workers.” His counterpart at
ENI commented that whenever he advertised for 20 operators, about
one hundred women would apply. As the factory intake gradually
slowed down, new recruits were obtained by internal notifications to
existing workers to bring in their friends and relatives. Unlike urban-
based industrial estates, which relied on agents sent to the rural
districts to recruit Malay women (Jamilah Ariffin 1980), the Telok
factories had easy and immediate access to low-grade female labor.
The steady supply of village women as factory hands enabled the
firms to be selective in their use of this labor pool. In their employ-
ment policies, the three factories shared similar requirements in their
demand for female labor: young single women between sixteen and
twenty-four years old who had at least primary education, were from
poor families, and lived within 20 miles of the FTZ. Besides cost con-
siderations, young women were demanded because they represented
fresh and diligent labor. In particular, their eyes could withstand
intensive use of microscopes employed in the wiring, bonding, and
mounting processes of electronics assemblywork.20 At ENI, which
tended to attract From Three graduates, the chief engineer cautioned
that “the highly educated person is very hard to control.” He noted
that there were low resignation rates for Standard Six graduates —
“they went to work for a long time . . . [and] are usually from poor
families which need support.” The MUZ personnel manager agreed
with this assessment, pointing out that “richer operators can leave at
any time . . . (We also look for) good behavior.”
Corporate policies preferred their female operators to be “fresh”
and single. It was generally believed that married workers had fam-
ily commitments which distracted from their factory work. EJI con-
ducted an in-factory survey comparing the performance rate of young
single women (ages 16 to 24) and married women (ages 25 to 28). It
was found that the former could daily assemble an average of 1,400
more components than the latter in the most labor-intensive sections
(bonding and mounting). The supervisor commented, “It was very
clear that married ladies cannot handle microscope jobs.” What was
not explicitly mentioned was that married women required peri-
odic pregnancy leave and pay, and were usually reluctant to work
night shifts. Besides, married women, who had generally been in the
job longer than single women, had accumulated more wage incre-
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
ments over the years, thereby adding to the cost of labor. Since little
skill was acquired in assembly work, it was no loss to the factory to
replace an “old” operator with a fresh one who could be trained in
two weeks to assemble component parts or mind the machines.
Finally, the companies required their female operators (but not
other employees) to live near the FTZ so that they could be easily
available for overtime work and within the social control of village-
folk, institutions, and factories. All three firms subsidized 30–50 per-
cent of bus transportation for their workers. Those who lived too far
away would require higher subsidies and the long commute reduced
corporate flexibility in requiring workers to work overtime, usually
at little advance notice. The firms also preferred the young women to
reside with families rather than rent rooms on their own. The majority
of operators in fact lived with their parents, but a minority who came
Table 18
Distribution of EJI Employees by
Ethnicity, Gender, and Earnings, 1979
Management
Professional 10 0 0 0 10 0 10 $ 1,500–4,000
Nonprofessional 0 2 2 1 5 0 5 $ 800–1,080
Technical and
Supervisory
Engineer, foreman,
supervisor 0 14 32 6 50 2 52 $ 785–895
Clerical staff
Clerk, typist 0 17 19 7 11 32 43 $ 345–480
Service worker
Phone operator, driver,
guard, gardener 0 15 0 3 16 2 18 $ 225–290
Factory workers
Skilled—technician,
chargehand 0 56 21 19 71 25 96 $ 275–400
Unskilled—operator $ 3.75–4.80(M)
(daily rates) 0 460 48 74 5 577 582 $ 3.50–4.00(F)
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tor, since it was the lingua franca among the multiethnic, technical
and managerial staff. Furthermore, Malay men found it unaccept-
able to work in semiskilled assembly work, since this category had
been defined as “female.” For instance, another immediate response
of the EJI management to discontent was to promote three of the ten
male operators to junior technician positions. Of the remaining, six
promptly resigned, and only one continued as the factory hand per-
forming “male” tasks such as packing and carrying crates.
Continual pressures for attaining maximum production levels often
generated conflicts between subdivisions which, dominated by lead-
ers of different ethnic origins, lent an ethnic tone to work disputes.
In the transistor manufacturing section, conflicts often arose over the
differing approaches of production managers versus engineers, i.e.,
between increasing productivity through labor relations and maxi-
Diagram 2
Ethnic and Gender Distribution in the Transistor Assembly
Section in EJI, Telok Free Trade Zone, 1979
One Malay woman had qualified for the post of technician, but she
declined to accept it as the only female in that job category.
Within the electronics enterprises, a dual employment policy was
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
ances were cut back, so that workers did not see a significant differ-
ence in their paychecks. The director concluded, “The time will come
in Malaysia when we cannot rely on manual labor.”
The production system at ENI was similar to that of EJI, but on a
smaller scale and with less automated procedures. Thirteen Japanese
expatriates dominated the management positions; on the shopfloor,
three male supervisors and twelve foremen controlled 530 operators
manufacturing semiconductors. This factory was the most controlled
in terms of the spatial distribution of operators in a highly clinical
setting, with supervisors watching them through glass partitions.
Thus, besides Taylorist techniques which rigidly enforced control
through the repetitive performance of decomposed tasks, surveil-
lance as a modern form of power was pervasive within the electron-
ics environment.
not go unchallenged.
Corporate managements in the Telok FTZ report that levels attained
by Malaysian factory women consistently compared favorably to
those of Japanese workers. The locale for the lowest production costs
of musical movements in the world, a MUZ official reported, was
Malaysia. Because of the high costs of machines, as compared to labor,
the director said that there were no plans in the immediate future
for automation at MUZ. Labor-intensive production in Malaysia, for
instance, was more profitable than the fully-automated plant in Japan.
Productivity at MUZ was measured by a controlling chart based on
standard time and special targets of 100 percent efficiency for the units
produced. Lost time, including visits to the locker room, was also cal-
culated into the standard time allotted for specific tasks. Workers were
sometimes rotated, as in musical chairs, to discover which job best
there was a sense that their relationship with the foremen could be
negotiated:
Sometimes we let the foremen know that we do not like to be
forced, we have empathy, we know our duty. We must perform
our duty well, if everything is fine, but if the machine is not
good how can we work properly? We have been gathered here
in the same place so let us all be considered the same way — one
company. We in one section consider ourselves as one family . . .
because we are more closely connected to [our foreman].
By citing “family” (keluarga), “empathic feeling” (timbang rasa), and
their own sense of duty (tugas), women workers appealed to the fore-
man’s humanitarian values as a means of softening his control.27
Often, appeals to family sentiments were ineffective against contin-
ual monitoring of work schedules, work time, and work records. Fac-
tory hands in EJI and ENI could be dismissed for being absent for more
than two consecutive days. Few operators had ever lost their jobs this
way, although during the festival season, there was a greater incidence
of one-day absenteesim. A description of the operators’ work schedule
imparts the stress they felt in riding the industrial treadmill. At ENI,
workers in the bonding and mounting sections alternated between
two shifts: from 6:30 A.M. to 2:30 P.M. and from 2:30 P.M. to 10:30 P.M.
Those in other production sections had to work three shifts every two
weeks, taking the night shift from 10:30 P.M. to 6:30 A.M. In the latter
case, even after the Sunday rest, workers did not have enough time to
adjust their bodies and eating pattern properly for the next (morning)
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shift. They had to wake up at 4:30 A.M. and catch the bus at some dis-
tance from the kampung. If they missed the factory bus, they had to wait
for public transportation which brought them to work an hour late, a
situation that earned a scolding and loss in daily wage. Women work-
ers who asked for medical leave could be rudely questioned by some
foremen making humiliating innuendos about their social activities.
Besides continual work pressure, the most stressful daily experi-
ence for operators was to be monitored by a few overzealous fore-
men. During the night shift, for instance, some operators might sneak
away to the locker room to take naps and thus earn a reprimand
from foremen. Beyond such clear breaking of rules, however, some
foremen were anxious to confine operators to the work-bench by
carefully screening requests for permission to go to the toilet, the fac-
tory clinic, or to the prayer room (surau).28 Government regulations
gave Muslim workers the right to break for prayers (at five inter-
vals distributed throughout the working day), but most operators
limited themselves to one obeisance at sundown, taking about 15
minutes between work shifts. Others might decide to ask permis-
sion to leave the workbench more frequently — right in the middle
of production — to pray. This loss of time the factory management
had to tolerate.
In addition to time transgressions, operators chafed at factory
regulations requiring special overalls and footwear. One of them saw
restrictions on movement and clothing as yet another form of control.
It would be nice working here if the foremen, managers, all the staff
members and clerks understand that the workers are not under
their control. Hm, there is a great deal of control. . . . Once my
friend, she wanted to go and pray, she was wearing her house
slippers, [but the foreman] would not allow that, she had to wear
[regulation] shoes there too. This is called “control” too, isn’t it?
Another operator complained that the factory overalls were too tight,
but they were not allowed to unbutton a little even though they had
Malay clothing underneath. Furthermore, they had to change their
shoes before entering the workshop. She considered such dress regu-
lations as part of the general “tight discipline” in the factory and said
that the workers needed more “liberal” rules.
This change from village social contexts, in which women were
seldom monitored by someone in their work but enjoyed self-deter-
mination in setting the pace of their daily activities, was traumatic.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Since the Malay baju kurong was a loose and flowing tunic and sar-
ung, usually worn with sandals or Chinese clogs, the tight factory
overalls and heavy rubber shoes both extended and represented the
workers’ sense of being controlled in body and movement.
Factory discipline, when strictly enforced, also suppressed the
spontaneous friendliness of Malay women who, though initially
shy, were quick to display affectionate interest in friends and co-
workers. Thus, one immediate influence on the tenor of their daily
lives was whether their foremen treated them warmly and kindly
or were too distant. Very few operators confessed to disliking their
foreman on the basis of his (non-Malay) ethnicity; they based their
judgements on his humanitarian treatment of female workers, which
they opposed to heavy-handed control. One woman described her
Malay foreman as follows:
phy”:
to create one big family,
to train workers,
to increase loyalty to company,
country and fellow workers.
At EJI, the “one happy family” working together was not stirred by
calls for loyalty to country but by rules spelled out in a little book
referred to, rather inappropriately, as “The Bible.”
It was the ENI personnel manager who tapped local cultural senti-
ments and family norms with particular savoir-faire. A smooth Kelan-
tanese with the air of an enlightened bureaucrat, he explained that
his firm was “more Eastern in nature” than the other companies.
There were no social gatherings or parties held on factory premises
which might encourage the mixing of male and female workers. The
In the other two firms, electronics workers had not yet succeeded
in forming unions, nor had they really been shown how to do so. In
addition to the registrar’s refusal to recognize unions set up by elec-
tronics workers, the latter had to contend with corporate tactics. In
1978, workers at EJI demonstrated for company recognition of their
union. The strike went on for a few weeks but ended without obtain-
ing its goal. Striking workers were not sacked but forfeited their
wages for missing work. They were, however, given a feast at the
annual year-end party for raising production levels. A technician told
me of his attempts to get outside support:
Concerning the union, I had spoken with ——— and was
straightforward and clear with her at the time when she was the
Minister of Culture . . . but I myself still do not understand [what
unionization involves]. But if I already knew, then I would surely
set one up, whichever way . . . I feel a union is like a ‘social group,’
we can take one action against the management. I feel that this
is a right.
Instead of even an in-house union, the company itself had set up
a “Joint Consultative Committee” (JCC) in 1976, made up of eleven
“elected” employees (i.e., heads of work sections) and three manag-
ers. The JCC managed to meet once every three to four months and
fell into disuse after one year. The personnel manager said that this
was because workers had no confidence in their leaders. A different
view was given by a foreman: the JCC was “like a puppet” which
did not have any of its requests fulfilled. It “died” when the manage-
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
wanted higher wages, but this vote was “overruled” at the meet-
ings. They also requested two pairs of regulation shoes and over-
alls, but the personnel manager made vague promises contingent
upon further increases in production output. These monthly meet-
ings thus basically operated as a surveillance vehicle through which
discontent could be turned into account, workers “normalized” and
spurred on to greater effort.
because “our people being from the kampung are not well-off.” The
firms had tried to deflect fund appeals from outside the district, urg-
ing the penghulu to call off some of the pressure.
acquaint the parents with the working hours, the factory proce-
dure of overtime . . . so that parents will know when to expect
their daughters to return from work . . . [and] to educate the
parents who do not know this is a mass specialized production
system.
A common parental complaint had been the mandatory night shift,
which meant that their daughters had to walk to and wait at the bus
stop in the dark before and after work. Some parents requested that
factory buses pick the women up from their village homes. Another
worry was the amount of time working daughters spent in activities
outside home, under the pretext of working “overtime.” The man-
ager patiently explained that if operators were retained because of
overtime, those in the morning shift would be delayed for two hours,
while workers in the afternoon schedule (which let out at 10:30 P.M.)
would be asked to arrive for work two hours earlier. Bus drivers were
ordered to take female workers home within the hour of release, and
parents could check their daughters’ overtime forms. This “coop-
eration” the management extended to parents in monitoring their
daughters’ movements between home and factory reassured village
folk that ENI managers were indeed bapa angkat concerned about the
moral protection of their “wards.”
Parents’ meetings had perhaps more critical uses for the manage-
ment. At one meeting I attended, the rural folk arrived, dazed after a
hot trip, and were ushered into the cool conference room where they
fell into an awed silence. The personnel manager handed out color-
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
ful pamphlets on his company (in both English and Malay), while
delivering a public relations pitch. After explaining the factory work
and bus schedules, he said he hoped their “discussion” (it had been
a monologue) would be a “dialogue.” This was received in baffled
silence since villagers were not accustomed to bureaucratic Malay lib-
erally sprinkled with American clichés. He wanted to know whether
the workers had any problems at home, whether they complained
about problems at work but were too “bashful” (malu) to let factory
personnel know. He reassured the parents that their “female chil-
dren” (budak budak perumpuan) cried easily and would surely confess
problems to their mothers and fathers. However, he was practically
their bapa angkat, so if the parents would “cooperate,” let them tell
him the complaints of the children. The sole response was a father
from Banting who wanted to know about medical care for workers.
sity students, but the press has chosen to highlight such activities
among working class Malay women. An operator from Sungai Jawa
commented with some bitterness that the public considered fac-
tory women on the same low level as streetwalkers. She pointed
out that office workers were also known to be “immoral” (tak ada
moral-lah), but the public “raised itself above those who work in fac-
tories because they did not have [high academic] qualifications.”
By riveting public attention on the female workers’ consumption,
the press trivialized women’s work and helped divert discontent
over their weak market position into the manageable channels of a
“youth culture.”
The mass circulating press, radio, and t.v. talk shows also oper-
ated as a vehicle for public officials and politicians to make
pronouncements on Malay working class women, amplifying events
factories were said to become “less religious and have loose morals.”
As a champion of the export-industrialization program, he advised
that the solution to the problems was not to blame the factories but
for people to guide the “young girls” to “the right path.”6 The pub-
lic association between Malay factory women and “immorality” had
become such a national issue that further state action was required to
quell the fears of Malay parents back in the kampung. In the next year,
the Welfare Minister called for orientation programs to be set up by
kampung youth associations to prepare village women for urban life
so that they would not fall into the “trap” and “discard their tradi-
tional values” in town.7
The academic community stepped in to define the problem of
“immorality” among Malay factory women as the outcome of “rural-
urban migration” and Westernized urban culture rather than industrial
villages, “Men did not look for beauty when they asked for a wife”
(1972: 71). In mukim Telok, factory women were still very much
bound by their noncapitalist sense of work relations and obligations
to family claims.
The overlap between family and factory interests in keeping young
working women in a socially subordinate position impressed on the
factory women a hierarchical image of society. Moreover, the ever-
present charge of nonkampung and “unIslamic” behaviour operated
as a powerful sanction against activities which could be construed
as violations of local norms of male-female, child-parent relations.
Islamic resurgence among the Malay intelligentsia, and general pub-
lic surveillance, made factory women “increasingly aware of their
duty to guard and uplift their public image,” as a social welfare offi-
cer urged.14
Thus, Engel’s assertion that the first condition for the liberation
of women was their entry into public industry (1972: 137–38) not-
withstanding, there was less individuation among factory women
in Sungai Jawa and surrounding villages than one might expect.
The majority conformed to kampung norms of male authority, female
modesty, and maintenance of obligations to one’s family and com-
munity. In their daily lives, as previous chapters have shown, factory
women adhered to what constituted “proper behavior” in kampung
and Malay-Muslim terms. They voiced approval of “punishment”
for those who deviated from the norm. Within the factories, opera-
tors themselves were a force for cultural conformity, bringing pres-
sures to bear on those women seen to flout Malay-Muslim norms. To
their more conservative sisters, workers unrestrained (bebas) in their
handling of money and social intercourse were seen as responsible
for tarnishing the collective image of Malay factory women, bring-
ing shame (malu) to their community and disgrace to Islamic wom-
anhood. It bears repeating that such self-regulation sprang as much
from private resentment as imposed conformity; in certain situa-
tions, peer pressure also constituted tactics of resistance to unequal
treatment on the shopfloor.
All the operators I asked agreed that they considered themselves
members of a single family at their workbenches; all were ready to
help each other out. People often stopped their own work (at some
cost to their wages) to help neophytes who had trouble assembling
microchips or understanding orders. As one explained:
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
(T)here are those who like a sosial life, and those who do not.
[Those who are] bebas like to do their work in their own way.
Some of the workers are like this. There are others who, follow-
ing our elders, do not like to be sosial, do not like to mix freely
with men. Sometimes, those who are sosial do not do their work
correctly. They play at work because what they really want is to
be free to move around. Yes, they can be cooperative [at work]
but outside the kampung they just want to go places, near and
far. In the factory, they follow others; outside, they do not.
The term “sosial” had entered Malay parlance to refer to young
unmarried women and men who freely mix with each other, quite con-
trary to kampung adat, which expected informal segregation between
single members of different sexes. Thus, the word was a slang term
not applied to villagers of other age groups, who were usually quite
sociable, as required by custom. Factory women who were sosial (i.e.,
unhampered by convention or bebas) were seen to be less hardwork-
ing, careless about their work, seeking self-gratification, and unre-
strained by parental guidance. Another operator elaborated:
(O)ur values and theirs are entirely different. . . they want bebas
values, do not want to be tied down. They do not want to be
shackled (berkongkong kongkong) so that they can go out and
be bebaslah. The wages they receive they keep for themselves,
only occasionally do they contribute to their families. It would
be better if their earnings are for their families, that way, they
will not bring disaster to their families, do something that will
bring them shame.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
I think that the workers who are bebas, I believe most of them
live in rented rooms, not with their families. It is possible that
this is one reason why they are not guided or restrained by
their families. Because of this, they feel bebas. Most of the [local]
workers do not want to be bebaslah, they are true Malays who
have been properly brought up by their parents.
Generally, migrant female workers were viewed by others as “not
wanting to follow kampung ways,” their general conduct frequently
described as “not Malay” (bukan Melayu).
Social independence displayed by some factory women was per-
ceived by the majority not only as a violation of local norms but a
road to personal disaster. Those women who want too much kebe-
basan (unseeming liberty), who wanted to do things their own way, it
was thought, would inevitably fall victim to unscrupulous men. Such
women, it was remarked, were “so free that they had no thought for
their families.” They followed “whatever their hearts desired” and
ended up “damaging themselves” (merosakkan diri sendiri), i.e., preg-
nant and abandoned. To most factory women, the charge of being
“too bebas” or “too sosial,” when they only sought freedom of move-
ment outside the kampung, was loaded with the implicit meaning
of looking for illicit sexual activities. Gossip became such a power-
ful mode of social control that the women themselves, by criticizing
others perceived to be more bebas while idealizing chastity, enforced
their own lack of emancipation, despite their ability to earn money
of their own.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
sexual drives and provide cultural means for their adequate satisf-
action in daily life. Up until recently, parents arranged early mar-
riages for sons and daughters for (among other things) the legitimate
management of sexual needs (see Banks 1982: 88–90). When marriage
was delayed for women, their sexuality became more susceptible to
individual control; greater social discipline was considered neces-
sary to reduce this threat to male authority. Thus, the self-esteem and
self-image of rural factory women became inextricably tied to pro-
longed junior status, increased Islamic chastity, and the rejection of
social emancipation promised by wage employment. Many working
women continued to share the kampung and Malay vision of society
which was Islam-informed, dominated by men, and in which women
could not seek social autonomy. When asked about the distribution
of authority within her factory, an operator replied:
I think all [authority positions are filled by] men, only the charge-
hands and lineleaders are female. I feel that this [arrangement] is
just normal. . . . This I feel is really because we are women and
so must follow the orders of a man. In the house, this depends
on persons concerned, but outside the house, in the factory,
then we better obey [men’s] orders, whatever they say. Because
they are men and also their [work] rank is higher than ours. We
are only ordinary operators. If we have female foremen or female
supervisors, we will also have to follow their orders.
Another worker did not see any flexibility in male-female power
balance within the family, although she too saw the possibility of
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Spirits of Resistance
Ronald Dore has remarked elsewhere that the Japanese factory system
“enhances enterprise consciousness; it also . . . does less to develop
individualism” (1973: 215). Of course, extrafactory influences can
undo corporate restraints of self-expression.
For the village adolescent girl working in a Japanese factory,
her meager earnings became a means to venture further afield, to
explore and acquire a shifting, partial view of the widening social
universe. New relationships, ideas, and images imparted a fresh
self-consciousness and promptings to greater individual determina-
tion in thought and behavior. Assertion of individual versus family
interests has its source in a new subjectivity constituted as much by
educational practice, state agencies, and the media as by the labor
process. In the factories, consciousness of mistreatment as human
beings (manusia) by particular foremen or the management (majikan)
was partial and discontinuous; there was no coherent articulation of
exploitation in class or even feminist terms. At the most, one may
say that the following instances of individualistic conduct, acts of
defiance, and violent incidents were scattered tactics to define and
protect one’s moral status; as such they confronted the dehuman-
izing aspects embedded within capitalist relations of production. At
issue is not a conscious attack on commodity relations but rather the
self-constitution of a new identity rooted in human dignity.
A New Subjectivity
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
bought the rice. She said that such an arrangement could be “consid-
ered fair” (jadi kira adillah juga).
Yet another operator chafed at her low wages and complained that
her co-workers did not have the proper perspective with which to
compare their earnings or situation with conditions in urban-based
factories. She commented:
(T)he workers, they cannot differentiate between the section in
which they work and other divisions. Thus, the party above
[i.e., the management] likes their ignorance and they work as
if they are imprisoned (kena kongkong). As we Malays say, “like
a frog beneath the coconut shell,” they don’t know about other
things.
A few factory women were concerned not with looking for better
conditions in factory work but viewed their wages as a means to
improve their technical qualifications in order to compete for better
jobs. Seventy percent of the interviewed workers had Form Three to
Form Six certificates; one-third were using a portion of their factory
earnings to pay for typing or academic classes which they attended
after the factory shift. These classes were based in urban institutions,
usually in Klang, and the commuting involved additional expenses.
Most of the operators aspired to permanent careers in government
service, stating that they would not stop work even if they got mar-
ried and had children, because civil employment was well-paid and
secure. Some factory workers had voiced interest in becoming police-
women, and one, in becoming a nightclub singer or firefighter.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
For most adolescent girls in the kampung, looking for a steady job
has become the rule once they left or dropped out of school. Earlier
generations of young women had fewer years of schooling, married
in their teens, and only worked intermittently for wages in village
smallholdings or estates. With the introduction of mass education,
better communications, and establishment of the factories, village
girls wanted to seek their own employment and earn their own
income of their own accord and not just under family pressure. For
instance, an 18-year-old woman from the rice district of Sabak Ber-
nam had left a large family of girls to stay with her married sister in
Sungai Jawa in order to work in the FTZ. When asked why the pub-
lic looked askance at outstation factory women, she answered:
Maybe village people regard female workers as less than sweet
(kurang manis) because a nice woman in their view stays in the
house. But because in this era women and men are of the same
status (sama taraf) then we also want to seek experiences like
men, in earning a living, looking for a job. . . .
Seeking work for their own economic interest also meant facing the
uncertainty of their market situation, compared to the relative secu-
rity of peasant families who could make a living off their own land.
When asked whether her economic situation could be considered
better than her parents’, a factory woman replied:
I feel that [comparing] myself with my parents, their work situ-
ation is better. Since I work in the private sector, the manage-
ment at whatever time . . . can throw me out (bolih membuangkan
saya) . . . but in their work, my parents are self-employed and
there is no one who can prevent them [from working].
“Making jolly with money” (jolli duit) was also part of the overall
attempt by some rural women to change their status from ascribed
(kampung) to attributional. In their excursions into towns and farther
places, young village women were exposed to an alternative status
system based on the attributes of an urban-based, Westernized cul-
ture. Some working women demonstrated this alternative status
largely defined by consumption and “presentation of self” (Goffman
1959). They went into town in their Malay baju kurong and returned
with special places marking the boundary between human and natu-
ral worlds. These include (1) aboriginal (Negrito) and animal spirits
inhabiting old burial grounds, strangely shaped rocks, hills, or trees;
(2) holy men or well-known ancestors (datuk) dwelling in sacred
abodes (kramat), such as grave sites and natural objects; and (3) syaitan
(evil spirits) of Islamic origin. Malays believe that women lacking in
spiritual vigilance become possessed by angry spirits (kena hantu)
when the victims wander unsuspectingly onto the sacred dwelling
places of spirits. In his study of spirit seances in Kelantan villages,
Clive Kessler observes that middle-aged women were particularly
susceptible to spirit affliction, possibly because of their vulnerable
social status at this phase of their life cycle (1977). Susan Ackerman
maintains that in rural Malacca threats of spirit possession operate as
a sanction against self-assertion on the part of young Malay women
engaged in industrial work (1979: 13). Over the past decade, spirit
possession episodes have proliferated among the young Malay
women who flock in the thousands to urban institutions. Newspa-
per reports of the sudden spate of “mass hysteria” among young
Malay women in boarding schools and modern factories have inter-
preted their causes in terms of “examination tension,” “the stresses of
urban living,” “superstitious beliefs,” and, less frequently, “mount-
ing pressures” which induced “worries” (keciwa) among female
operators.5
that the place is rid of ghosts. Furthermore, the factory nurse period-
ically toured the shopfloor to encourage female workers to talk over
their problems with the “industrial relations assistant.” Complaints
of “pain in the chest” (sakit dada) meant that the workers were emo-
tionally upset and should be allowed to go to the clinic. The nurse
also recommended that spirit possession victims be sent home for a
day or two on medical leave. However, neither she nor the industrial
relations assistant was consulted about the policy to sack workers
after their third affliction. She noted:
It is an experience working with a Japanese company; they do
not consult women. To tell you the truth, they don’t care about
the problem except that it should go away.
EJI also commenced operations in a spate of spirit possession
incidents. The production supervisor told me that in the following
year, a well-known bomoh and his retinue were invited to the factory
surau where they read the yasin prayer over a basin of “pure water.”
Those who have been visited by the devil drank from it and washed
their faces, a healing ritual which made them immune to future
spirit attacks. A kenduri of saffron rice and curry chicken was served
to managers and officers, but not a single operator (or victim) was
invited. A month after the ritual, spirit attacks resumed, but involv-
ing smaller numbers (one or two) of women in each incident. The
bomoh claimed that the hantu controlling the factory site was “very
kind”; he merely showed himself but did not disturb people. Now
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
spirit attacks occurred only once a month. Last year, the supervisor
sent home a possessed woman who was all rigid, with eyes turned
inwards. She had put up a terrific struggle. Since the nurse could not
do anything to help, the victim was given special leave of up to a
week, to be healed by the bomoh in her home village. The supervisor
admitted, “I think that hysteria is related to the job in some cases.”
He explained that workers in the microscope sections were usually
the ones to kena hantu, and maybe they should not begin work doing
those tasks. However, he quickly offered other possible interpreta-
tions. There was one victim whose broken engagement had incurred
her mother’s wrath; at work she cired and talked to herself, saying
“I am not to be blamed, not me!” Another worker, seized by posses-
sion, screamed, “Send me home, send me home!” Apparently, her
mother had taken all her earnings. What do the spirit attacks really
mean to factory workers themselves?
scattered flour all over area where the incident broke out. He
recited prayers over [holy] water. He sprinkled water on places
touched by the hantu. . . . The bomoh chanted incantations (jam-
pi jampi) chasing the hantu away. He then gave some medicine
to the afflicted . . . He also entered the clinic, jampi jampi.
[After their recovery, the victims] never talk about [their afflic-
tion] because they don’t remember . . . like insane people, they
don’t remember their experiences. Maybe the hantu is still
working on their madness, maybe because their experiences
have not been stilled, or maybe yet their souls are now dis-
turbed (jiwa terganggu).
Other interviews elicited the same images: the erection of the FTZ on
the burial grounds of aboriginal groups; disturbed earth and grave
spirits swarming through the factory premises, weretigers roaming
spirit attacks. Using terms like penyakit histeria, some operators have
come to accept scientific explanations of these events, as offered by
the management. Thus, one operator mused:
They say they saw hantu, but I don’t know. . . . I believe that
maybe they . . . when they come to work, they did not fill their
stomachs, they were not full so that they felt hungry. But they
were not brave enough to say so.
The male technician gave an even more alien reading of the women’s
afflictions, as much to convince the anthropologist as himself.
I think that this [is caused by] a feeling of complex, that
maybe inferiority complex is pressing them down, their spirit,
so that this can be called an illness of the spirit (penyakit
jiwa), conflict jiwa, emotional conflict. Sometimes, they see an
was retained and told to modify his conduct. Of the operators he had
terrorized, only one resigned in protest. I have already mentioned the
Chinese foreman who was beaten up for dating an operator. Another
Chinese foreman said that this was only part of the story. All male
supervisors in the factory, he claimed, had been privately warned by
Malay youths that reports of their mistreatment of women workers
would invite physical retaliation. Operators pointed fingers at fore-
men who were said to restrict their rights to pray, to move about
on the shopfloor, or who pressed them too hard to attain high pro-
duction targets. Kampung youths, in the tradition of enforcing rough
justice and settling scores, were ready to make covert attacks on the
blacklisted factory men. Possibly, in the case of the Chinese foreman,
his romance with a Malay worker marked him out as a scapegoat
to be used as warning to all male factory staff. There had been at
least two other incidents of nocturnal attacks on male workers —
none of local origin — outside the FTZ gates. Rural youths not only
empathized with the women’s harassment in the workplace, they
were also resentful of these outsiders, both non-Malays and Malays,
placed in daily contact with nubile Malay women.
The policing of rural society by young men focused on deviant social
behavior, particularly when “outsiders” were involved. Kampung
elders gave tacit approval to such activities, including attacks on out-
side men who were perceived to be infringing on local territory and
young women. Any untoward behavior, such as frequent visits to the
home of an unmarried woman, could be considered as “dishonoring”
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Conclusion
women, exciting dates, and old maids were generated out of their
changing position in the labor market and a break with the custom-
ary life cycles of village women. For their families, and village men,
these young women displayed an uncomfortable degree of poise in
negotiating their own future; their sexuality came to be perceived as a
threat to social norms at home and within kampung society.
In Part III, this theme of the making, breaking, and remaking of
cultural images and practices was pursued within spheres kampung
women were drawn into as members of a nascent industrial force. In
Chapter 7, I described how the Malaysian state operated as a coordi-
nator of different structures of power: foreign corporate investments
were linked to the state apparatuses for the ideological domination
and political disciplining of the new Malay working classes. Draw-
ing on Foucault’s insights, I discussed novel power configurations in
Preface
1. “Malay” refers to persons of Malay-Muslim identity in Peninsular
Malaysia, including immigrants from other parts of the Malay-Indonesian
archipelago who have been assimilated into the dominant indigenous
group. Malay identity is defined in the Federal Constitution of Malaysia.
Since the late 1960s, the term “bumiputra” (“sons-of-the-soil”) has been
applied to denote Malay-Muslims who are collectively guaranteed a share
of the national wealth (Siddique 1981). The local populations in this study
are mainly Malays of Javanese descent in Kuala Langat.
2. Throughout this study, “Malaysia” is used to refer to only the Peninsu-
lar segment of the country (i.e., West Malaysia).
3. i.e., different claims to “truth” about working Malay women and what
their sexuality may mean to social order.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Introduction
1. For further elaborations beyond this book, see Aihwa Ong, “The Pro-
duction of Possession: Spirits and the Multinationational Corporation in
Malaysia” American Ethnologist 15(1):28–42; Aihwa Ong, “Japanese Factories,
Malay Women: Industrialization and Sexual Metaphors in West Malaysia,”
in Power and Difference: Gender in Island Southeast Asia, eds. J. Atkinson and
S. Errington, 385–442. Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 1990; Aihwa Ong,
“State versus Islam: Malay Families, Women’s Bodies, and the Body Politic in
Malaysia,” in Bewitching Women, Pious Men: Gender and Body Politics in South-
east Asia, eds. Aihwa Ong and Michael Peletz, 159–194. Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1995.
2. Just to mention a few: Diane Wolf 1992; Mary Beth Mills 1999; Carla
Freeman 2000; Leslie Salzinger 2003; Pun Ngai, 2005.
3. Aihwa Ong, Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transna-
tionality. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1999; and Neoliberalism as
223
Chapter 1
1. Thus E.P. Thompson’s much-quoted model of class as a “self-making”
cultural formation (1963), although commendable for returning to laboring
classes their own history, has perhaps overlooked the structured nature of
responses by subjects who are also the objects of historical processes.
2. In an arresting piece on English labor history, “Time, Work Discipline
and Industrial Capitalism” (1967), E.P. Thompson documents the arduous
processes involved in transforming an agrarian population into industrial
laborers.
Chapter 2
1. A process of family dispersal and settlement rather in the manner of
shifting agriculturalists for whom tolerable population-land ratio, rather than
rigid adherence to descent rules, dictated postmarital residence. For an analo-
gous example, see Derek Freeman’s ethnographic study of the Ibans (1970).
2. See Michael Adas (1981) for a comparative discussion of flight as a cus-
tomary mode of peasant response to intolerable state expropriation and vio-
lence in precolonial and postcolonial Southeast Asian societies.
3. Between 1874 and 1895, direct British rule was introduced into the
west coast states of Selangor, Perak, Negri Sembilan, and, on the east coast,
Pahang. These “protected” Malay States signed treaties admitting “advice”
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
dispensed by British Residents in each state but giving the crown no juris-
diction in their territories. While in theory the British Resident was restricted
to supervising the collection of revenues and general administration outside
of “Malay religion and custom,” he came to acquire all executive and legisla-
tive powers in the name of the sultan. The latter, handsomely pensioned off
and elevated to the ceremonial role of symbolising Malay unity, became in
effect a British client. For a detailed description of the Residential System in
the Malay States, see Sadka (1968), Chapters 6 and 7, and also refer to Ralph
Emerson’s trenchant exposure of British “direct” and “indirect” rule in the
Malay Peninsula (1964).
4. This is perhaps an underestimation. Nevertheless, under the “stabi-
lized” conditions of British rule, the Malay population doubled in the next
four years, mainly through encouraging settlement by Malay immigrants
from Sumatra, Borneo, and Java. Sadka reports that by 1886 two-thirds
of the Malay population in Selangor consisted of “natives of Netherlands
India” (1968: 327–328). For a breakdown of the population in the first census
taken in 1891, see Table 1. In that year, Selangor had 26,578 Malays (Dodge
1980: 463) but 75,000 Chinese who flooded tin mining camps as the industry
and trade expanded rapidly under British control (Jackson 1964: 45–51).
5. The British tax collector stationed in the old royal seat of Kuala Langat
reported his plan to increase the Malay population in Selangor:
The neighbourhood of Jugra I propose to populate with ‘orang dagang’
[traders] and for this purpose suggest the appointment of Haji Tahir
as headman . . . I would recommend that [he] receives a regular sal-
ary as Immigration agent and be assisted with loans to enable him to
make advances to new settlers . . . [I advise] the appointment of a duly
authorised agent at Malacca who would meet all steamers arriving
from the Dutch territory and by paying the debts of those who are
looking for work induce them to come to Selangor (SSF 2546/1886).
6. In 1898, the Malay States under direct British rule were constituted as
the “Federated Malay States,” in contrast to other states under indirect British
administration — the “Unfederated Malay States.”
7. See Kernial Sandhu for a historical demography study of the recruit-
ment and employment of Indian immigrants in the Malayan plantation
economy (1969).
8. For a recent account of the colonial plantation economy in Deli, North
Sumatra, see Ann Stoler’s social historical study of confrontations between
imported Javanese workers and Dutch estate management (1985).
9. E.P. Thompson (1963) and M. Lazonick (1976) have discussed British
upper class perceptions of the “lower orders” in eighteenth and nineteenth cen-
tury England in unsurprisingly similar terms with regard to their lack of moral
rectitude and work discipline. The Methodist Church and mass education
became strategic institutions for socializing the laboring classes to the require-
ments of industrial capitalism.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
10. See for instance, Lim T.G.’s (1974) account of peasant protests against
colonial discriminatory limits imposed on smallholding rubber production rel-
ative to plantations during the years of slumps in the rubber market. Another
example of the new social history is Shahril Talib (1983). For an exemplar eth-
nography of colonialism, see Vincent’s fine account of Ugandan “history from
the bottom up” (1982).
11. See AR K. Lgt. 135/36. In the early 1930s, hundreds of immigrants from
Java and Banjarmasin were provided with land titles, subsidies, and seeds to
develop sawah lands out of jungle and swamp in the coastal districts north
of Kuala Langat. Many kampung were founded in this manner by immigrant
gangs and ex-contract laborers whom colonial officers thought were more
experienced rice growers than local Malays (SAR 1938: 124).
12. Michael Swift, doing fieldwork among Minangkabau peasants in Negri
Sembilan during the early 1950s, observed that the economic activities of
these sawah-rubber cultivators were in large part governed by the rise and
fall of world market prices for rubber (1965).
Chapter 3
1. Following communal riots in May 1969, in which many youths from
Kuala Langat took part, the Malaysian Government introduced the New
Economic Policy (NEP) which emphasized massive institutional changes to
increase wealth held by the Malay population as a whole vis-à-vis the other
two ethnic groups.
2. These fenced-in industrial estates, also known as “export-processing
zones” in the Philippines, are usually so situated in parts of developing
countries so as to be best served by the national transportation and com-
munications systems. Governments competing to attract the subsidiaries of
transnational corporations site their FTZs in the outskirts of cities, at the
nodes of road, rail, and air transportation lines, for the rapid exit of manu-
factured products and sustained inflow of rural labor. These zones are thus
geographically “free” as well as “free” of most taxes and duties. In a basic
sense, the FTZ is “an alien territory within a national territory” (Tsuchiya
1977), more integrated in the international networks of Japanese, American,
and West European corporations than in the local economies.
3. Since the late 1960s, thousands of illegal Javanese and Sumatran immi-
grants have been flowing into the Malaysian Peninsula, their small crafts
easily penetrating the long and permeable coastline. They blend into hun-
dreds of kampung, many founded by earlier immigant Malays, where they
constitute a cheap source of labor reserve for the plantation industry increas-
ingly beset by rising labor costs. A large number of them has also moved into
the urban centers and married local Malays.
4. Upon the death of the father, who usually has the larger property, it
is common practice for his widow to hold his land in trust, using proceeds
from the holding to raise the children. Grown, married sons are usually
given informal access to their parents’ holdings, especially for house-sites.
Formal partition of the land rarely takes place so long as one parent is still
alive.
5. During the late 1950s the land office had opened up remaining for-
est reserves in the mukim in order to make grants of three-quarter acre lots
to families from Sungai Jawa, the largest village in the district. The kam-
pung also provided land for local ex-service men who had signed up during
the Emergency. However, some of those who had been awarded land titles
could not afford to pay the premium and instead sold their shares to rich vil-
lagers and civil servants from Kampung Telok. They employed the original
titleholders as regular laborers (buroh tetap) to prepare the land and cultivate
permanent crops. In 1978, the Selangor government announced that 18,000
acres would be opened under its “green revolution” program. Each district
would receive about 200 acres for distribution; “the landless would be given
priority” (New Straits Times, June 25, 1978).
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
12. The current number of immigrants from the Indonesian and Philip-
pines islands to Malaysia is estimated at 430,000. About 37% of them are
employed in the plantation sector and 16% engaged in manufacturing
industries. See Far Eastern Economic Review, April 20, 1984, p. 106–111.
13. The “popular history” model of laboring class action in the context of
capitalist transformation, as most brilliantly developed by E.P. Thompson
(1963), is not applicable to many peripheral capitalist societies. Although
many Marxist scholars will be disappointed, in Malaysia at least, there are
historical and political limits to the forging of “a working class culture”
among the Malay laboring populations.
Chapter 4
1. The household census of 242 households covered approximately one-
third of the total population in Sungai Jawa, a Malay Reservation. I conducted
over one-third of the survey, while two local assistants completed the rest.
Scheduled interviews elicited information on domestic membership, orga-
nization, family history, property, occupations, and budget arrangements.
This census provided a statistical profile of the community and operated as
a check on data gathered by other methods, such as participant observation
and case studies.
A small sample of forty households was selected on the basis of differen-
tial land access (landless, landpoor, small, and rich) and willingness on the
part of members to impart further information. This sample provided infor-
mation for time budget studies and a survey of nutritional information.
2. A small but increasing number of time-allocation studies conducted
among Asian peasantries has shown that child labor is not uniformly or
necessarily of economic value to all rural parents. See, e.g., Mueller (1976)
on Taiwanese farm families, and das Gupta (1978) on a North Indian case.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Recently, White called for the need to go beyond purely quantitative mea-
sures of child labor, urging attention be paid to the subordination of children
and their possible evasion of control (1981).
3. Forty households with children ages six years and above were chosen
for the recording of daily events. Since cash cropping villagers (excepting
rice growers) in Malaysia experience negligible seasonal changes in their
agricultural tasks, the time-allocation survey was conducted over a period of
only six months, including Ramadan and school holidays, in order to obtain
as accurate a measure as possible of the daily activities which reflected the
rhythm of work and leisure in Sungai Jawa.
Each household member aged six and above was interviewed about his/
her activities on the previous day, from rising to going to bed, one day each
week, for six consecutive months. Since village life was much influenced
by the clock — for example, timing of school lessons, factory schedules,
and the Islamic calls for prayer — the informant’s recall of time spent in
different activities was relatively accurate. The various types of work and
Chapter 5
1. Local Malay cultures in different parts of the country vary according
to their adherence to certain sets of customary practices and in their absorp-
tion of Islamic principles. For contrasting case studies before and after
the Second World War, see Raymond Firth, Malay Fishermen: Their Peasant
Economy (1966); Rosemary Firth, Housekeeping Among Malay Peasants (1966);
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Michael Swift, Malay Peasant Society in Jelebu (1965); and David Banks’ Malay
Kinship (1982).
2. By taking “the native’s point of view,” Clifford Geertz (1979) empha-
sized how symbols operate as vehicles of culture within a particular concep-
tual structure. In his Reflections on Fieldwork in Morocco (1979), Paul Rabinow
discloses his ethnographic experience as a “dialogic construction” in which
informants played a critical and acknowledged role. For another approach
which would look beyond native reification of their given cultural catego-
ries to an analysis of the interactions between historically conditioned ideas
and social phenomena, see Michael Taussig’s The Devil and Commodity Fetish-
ism in South America (1980).
3. The secular education system is built upon the British model. The
pre-university system is divided into a primary school education, graded
from Standard (Std.) One through Six, and a secondary school, which is
internally-ranked from Form One through Form Six (Lower and Upper
levels). Children take their first nationally certified examination at the end of
Standard Six. Secondary school students sit for three sets of nationally certi-
fied examinations: at the end of Forms Three, Five, and Upper Six.
4. In 1911, a schoolroom was established in Sungai Jawa to instruct village
boys in the Koran and in writing the Jawi script and romanized Malay. The
Malay teachers were paid by the colonial government to also give instruc-
tions in arithmetic, geography, and vegetable gardening, subjects considered
adequate from boys who would grow up to be farmers. Girls were gradually
admitted to the village school, which also operated as a temporary clinic
and dispensary. By independence, approximately one-third of the 400 pupils
were female, and they were mainly taught classes in hygiene and sewing.
Each year, a handful of children sat for the Standard Six examination. Only
one or two boys from the village were chosen to go on to the Kuala Kangsar
College, Perak, a prestigious school for training upper-class Malays for the
British Civil Service (Source: village school records).
5. Tamil and Chinese children in the district attend other schools, where
their own languages, and sometimes English, are taught.
6. In 1979, there were altogether 32 teachers, including the headmaster,
in the primary school. Of these, 11 were female teachers. All but one teacher
were Malay, and 12 lived in local villages, the rest commuting from town.
7. Benjamin White reports a similar pattern of household resource sharing
among Javanese peasants. He notes “a general though not necessarily total
pooling” of resources among members, “since the individuals concerned
might retain separate control of different forms of wealth” (1976: 217–218).
8. They had no natural children of their own. During her lifetime, his late
wife had neglected to make a will transferring her property to their adopted
child. If Islamic law of inheritance were allowed to proceed unmodified, the
property would be divided among her surviving siblings, three sisters. (She
had no brothers, otherwise they would have been the first claimants after
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
her natural children.) However, the sisters agreed that after having the land
transferred to their names they would will the property over to the adopted
daughter, whom they felt should rightfully inherit. The daughter had mar-
ried a petty trader and was then living in Shah Alam.
9. He was not alone in being influenced by American programs shown
on Televeshen Malaysia. American slang words and media personalities were
well-known among villagers, including parents, the vast majority of whom
could not speak American or other versions of English.
10. Most men commuting to work in urban centers like Port Klang, Shah
Alam, Sungai Way, and Kuala Lumpur used motorbikes. Unless desperately
in need of a job, young men refused to take the public transportation, which,
in any case, was often not on schedule and very slow. Thus, young educated
men starting urban employment insist on first saving for a motorbike, which
has also become a powerful symbol of modern masculine identity.
11. In fact, the local nickname of Sungai Jawa was “Kampung Toyol,” an
index of its enviable reputation as a community of enterprising villagers
Chapter 6
1. The study of family development in agrarian societies began with
A. V. Chayanov’s construct of household behavior among Russian peasants
in the 1920s. He suggested that the biological basis of the family determined
its composition at different phases of development, and in thus affecting its
producer-consumer ratio was responsible for varying levels of labor produc-
tivity and of consumer demands (Thorner 1966: 57–60). Anthropologists elabo-
rated upon the concept of domestic cyclical process. Meyer Fortes’s notion of
“the developmental cycle of the domestic group” (1970) showed that previ-
ously abstracted family “types” (based on descent and residential patterns of
African lineages), were in actuality successive phases in the “developmental
cycle” of a single general family form in the society concerned (1958: 3). In
his view, “political-jural institutions” interacted with physiological changes
in the “family cycle” to precipitate structural changes in prescribed cultural
ways. Although Chayanov was concerned with variations in household labor
productivity, and Fortes with variations in family structure, their use of the
domestic group as the unit of analysis assumed an inevitable unfolding of the
family process according to the biological imperative, without considering how
external relationships (beyond abstracted cultural norms), might have affected
the developmental process. See Jack Goody (1973) for a note on Fortes’s work.
2. The wang mas was set by the religious authority and usually involved
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
a very small sum, compared to wang hantaran, since wedding expenses were
used to furnish a bridal suite, pay the imam (marriage official) a small fee,
and provide a wedding feast. The guests made cash contributions that helped
defray the cost of the feast, which in the prewar years were small affairs involv-
ing immediate relatives and friends. In marriages to janda, i.e., nonvirgins, the
bridewealth was minimal and the wedding meal even more modest.
3. A Haji is a man who has performed the hajj to Mecca. The female
equivalent is Hajjah. The village has had a tradition of men — and to a lesser
extent, women — performing the pilgrimage in old age. In the past decade,
cash income has enabled the well-off and well-placed to undertake the trip
in middle age or even earlier. Some haji make a second pilgrimage, which
they hope will become a spiritual farewell from earthly life.
4. This dual ethnic identity is reflected in daily language; the majority
of villagers in Sungai Jawa are bilingual, preferring to use the Javanese
dialect when speaking to one another. Among the younger school-going
generations, this habit has not taken hold; instead, boys and girls merely
understand the dialect but use the national language Malay (Bahasa Kebang-
saan) in daily speech. Except when dealing with Chinese and Japanese, my
daily conversations with village folk, officials, and Tamil workers were all
conducted in the Bahasa.
5. As we shall see below, actual marriage negotiations concerning bride-
wealth are conducted by the parents and their representatives, not the
engaged couple themselves.
6. The popularity of policemen as husbands among rural women
stemmed from their practical recognition that although no high educational
qualifications were necessary, the police force was the fastest route to eco-
nomic security, political power, and high social status for men of kampung
origins. Since the Emergency, villagers have been well-acquainted with the
benefits of such government employment, especially the regular paycheck
and the pension.
7. According to Islamic law, women over eighteen years of age could
not get married without parental consent unless (1) a wali (guardian) had
been appointed by state authorities in place of her blood kinsmen (e.g., as
in the case of the marriage of Malay women of Chinese ancestry adopted in
infancy), or (2) she was caught in flagrante delicto, in which case the kadia cts
as wali. However, the resolution of individual cases may not be as clear-cut
as this statement may imply. I am grateful to William Roff for drawing my
attention to this point.
8. Raymond Firth reports that the Kelantanese Malays used credit pro-
duced by feasting to purchase capital like boats and nets (Firth 1974: 178–182).
In Sungai Jawa, such windfalls can perhaps be invested in livestock but are
too limited to purchase desired capital like a motorbike or land. They are nev-
ertheless a significant form of credit internally generated within the village
community.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Chapter 7
1. See The Third Malaysia Plan, 1975–80 (1976) for the government pro-
gram of large-scale state intervention into the rural and urban sectors of
the Malaysian economy. Lim Mah Hui (1985) has made a careful study of
how state-sponsored programs since 1972 have been directed towards the
growth of Malay capital, greatly benefiting individual members of the politi-
cal elite at the expense of the emergent Malay petty bourgeois class.
17. FIDA 1975. See Haraway (1984), for political questions about “sex,
race, and class as scientific objects” constituted in structures of domination
developed since the nineteenth century.
18. In 1979, I spent two months interviewing the managerial and supervi-
sory staff of all three factories in the Telok FTZ. The management of EJI was
the most forthcoming in this exercise. Interviews on their work force, pro-
duction processes, and corporate policies were mainly conducted in English;
occasionally, Malay and Hokkien were used.
19. This statement is misleading. In 1975, Japanese women comprised
some 50 percent of the total labor force in Japan. Even with the same edu-
cational background as men, women by the age of 35 earned less than one
half of men’s wages. Moreover, since women cannot be considered part of
the permanent labor force, men are the beneficiaries of lifetime employ-
ment provided only in large-scale enterprises (Cook & Hayashi 1980: 1–14;
Matsutomo 1981: 62).
20. In 1979–80, the basic production processes in semiconductor manu-
facturing transferred to Malaysia by electronics industries included the
following steps: selection of pellets, pin insertion, mounting, bonding,
molding of components, and quality control testing and packaging. The
first four processes required continual use of the microscope for the intri-
cate wiring and assembly of the microcomponents. In the mounting sec-
tion, an operator was expected to process an average of 2,500 microchips
per day, although some workers reached a target of 4,600. In the bonding
section, operators assembled between 3,200 and 6,000 pieces in the eight
hour daily shift.
21. See Braverman 1974, Chapter 4, for a discussion of the development of
Taylorist “scientific management” in American industries. In his view, Tay-
lorism achieved its goal of adapting labor to capital needs through (1) the
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
progressive deskilling of the labor force, and (2) the extreme fragmentation
and control of successive steps of the production process.
22. The interview, like all others, was conducted in Malay. Whenever an
English term was used, it is italicized in the quote. Altogether, I conducted
35 structured interviews with female operators and some male technicians
in their homes. The interviewees were chosen on the basis of their willing-
ness to be interviewed, and they included workers from EJI (16), ENI (17)
and MUZ (2).
23. Such employment practices were also evident among American elec-
tronics companies based in Penang.
24. Not unexpectedly, the only other area of female-dominated activity in
the corporation is the typist pool, which came under the administrative divi-
sion. Most of these jobs, particularly those in finance, accounting, and pub-
lic relations work, were filled by outstation Chinese women. A few Malay
women took typing classes after their factory shift to compete for these jobs
from the outside, but only a mere handful were successful.
Chapter 8
1. For instance, Linda Lim (1978) and Patricia Kelly (1980) have discussed
processes of market segmentation whereby third world women are subor-
dinated in the new international division of labor. However, they tend to
reduce “patriarchal” or male-supremacist notions to cultural ephiphenom-
ena which could be used by capitalist enterprises to justify or enhance the
subjugation of labor to capital.
2. As Mark Poster has pointed out, Foucault’s own discourse on the his-
tory of “sexual politics” does not offer a basis to consider sexuality in a given
society except within a general framework. The different sexual practices of
social groups cannot simply be explained on the basis of a totalizing view of
discourse (1984: 136).
Chapter 9
1. Sunday Mail, Jan. 27, 1980.
2. Jamilah Ariffin notes that newspaper reports of abandoned infants
outside urban FTZs indicated the inability of unwed factory women to cope
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
with critical life situations (1980: 56). These factory women in cities probably
did not have easy access to female kin, the basic source of emotional and
social support in rural society.
3. For a description of the indigenous status classificatory system in the
Malay states, see Gullick (1958) and Milner (1982). Social rank and pres-
tige were derived from the political system based on the sultanate. In Telok,
the traditional strata of raja, orang besar, and rakyat; were still regarded as
culturally salient even though the traditional prestige system has been
restructured and emasculated under British colonial rule and modern state
formation. For instance, the term orang besar applied to surviving members
of aristocratic families has been bestowed on contemporary power holders
of “common origins”: civil servants and elected representatives who consti-
tute the upper stratum of rural society (A. Kahar Bador 1973).
4. See e.g., Wolf (1969); Scott (1976); Nash (1979); Taussig (1980).
5. For a report on “hysteria-exam blues link,” see New Straits Times,
Oct. 23, 1981.
women
bantah argue, dispute, contest
bapa angkat foster father
bebas at liberty; not restrained in speech and behavior
bidan Malay village midwife
bomoh Malay spirit-healer
budak budak children; also maidens
bujang unmarried man or woman
bumiputra “sons-of-the-soil,” legal definition of Malay-Muslims
who enjoy special rights under the Malaysian constitution
bunga “flower,” euphemism for disguised interest on investment
239
* The spelling follows the common system adopted by Malaysia and The Republic of
Indonesia. Some words were defined by consulting the dictionary Kamus
Lengkap, by Awang Sudjai Hairul and Yusoff Khan. Petaling Jaya, Malaysia:
Pustaka Zaman Sdn Bhd., 1977.
———. 1979a.
“On Governmentality.” Ideology and Consciousness (Autumn 1979):
5–21.
———. 1980.
The History of Sexuality, Volume I. Translated by Robert Hurley.
New York: Vintage Books [org. pub. Paris, 1976].
Freeman, Derek. 1970.
Report on the Iban. New York: Humanities Press.
Gay, Jill. 1983.
“Sweet Darlings in the Media: How Foreign Corporations Sell
Western Images of Women to the Third World.” Multinational
Monitor, 4(7): 19–21.
Geertz, Clifford. 1964.
The Religion of Java. New York: The Free Press.
———. 1973.
“Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture.”
In The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays, by Clifford Geertz.
New York: Basic Books.
———. 1979.
“From the Native’s Point of View: On the Nature of
Anthropological Understanding.” In Interpretive Social Science:
A Reader, edited by Paul Rabinow and William M. Sullivan.
Berkeley: University of California Press [org. pub. 1976].
Gluckman, Max. 1958.
Analysis of a Social Situation in Modern Zululand. Manchester
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———. 1977.
The Age of Capital 1848–1875. London: Sphere Books Ltd. [org.
pub. 1975].
Jackson, James C. 1964.
“Population Change in Selangor State, 1850–1891.” Journal of
Tropical Geography, 19:42–57.
———. 1968.
Planters and Speculators: Chinese and European Enterprise in Malaya,
1786–1921. Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press.
Jamilah Ariffin. 1980.
“Industrial Development in Peninsular Malaysia and Rural-
Urban Migration of Women Workers: Impact and Implications.”
Jurnal Ekonomi Malaysia, 1: 41–59.
———. 1983.
“Capitalism, Imperialism and Patriarchy: The Dilemma of Third
World Women Workers in Multinational Factories.” In Women,
Men and the International Division of Labor, edited by June Nash
and Patricia Maria Fernandez Kelly. Albany: State University of
New York Press.
Lim Mah Hui. 1980.
“Ethnic and Class Relations in Malaysia.” Journal of Contemporary
Asia, 10(1–2): 130–154.
———. 1985.
“Contradictions in the Development of Malay Capital: State,
Accumulation and Legitimation.” Journal of Contemporary Asia,
15(1): 37–63.
Lim Teck Ghee. 1974.
“Malayan Peasant Smallholders and the Stevenson Restriction
Scheme, 1922–1928.” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal
Asiatic Society (JMBRAS): 105–119.
———. 1977.
Peasants and their Agricultural Economy in Colonial Malaya, 1874–
1941. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press.
Lukács, Georg. 1982.
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Translated by Rodney Livingstone. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press
[org. pub. Berlin, 1968].
Lyon, Margo. 1979.
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Athelone Press.
Nash, June. 1979.
We Eat the Mines and the Mines Eat Us: Dependency and Exploitation
in Bolivian Tin Mines. New York: Columbia University Press.
Ong Aihwa. 1984.
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Malaya. Special Issue of Journal of Tropical Geography, 12.
Poster, Mark. 1984.
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Information. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Bomoh (spirit-healer), 88, 204–208. 110; world system of, 15, 25, 33,
See also Spirit possession 74, 216. See also Capitalist disci-
Boserup, Ester (economist), 23 pline; Class formation; Colonial
Bourdieu, Pierre, 6, 108, 116, 121 rule; Labor; Labor relations; Land;
Bourgeoisie, Malay, 47. See also Peasants; Proletarianization; State
Class; Civil servants Capitalist discipline: and cultural
Boys: and education, 57, 79, 81, 86, discourse, 142–43; definition of,
90–99; and kampung work, 67; labor 1–2, 4–5; use of gender and race,
time allocation, 65; socialization of, 151, 154; and the state, 146. See
91. See also Youths also Burawoy; Capitalism; Dis-
Braverman, Harry (sociologist), courses; Foucault; Labor; Labor
234n.21 Relations; Marx; Politics; State;
British East India Company, 14 Weber
Brooklands Estate, 47 Capitalist “mode of production,”
Budak budak (children/maidens). See 3, 215
Factory women Carey Island, 42
259
Cash cropping, 15, 21, 24–28, 29, 41, Coffee smallholdings, 24, 41
63, 83. See also Peasants Colonial rule, British: adminis-
Chayanov, A. V., 62, 230n.1 tration, 11, 224n.3; and capital
Chettiar money-lenders, 19 approriation, 15; and children,
Children: average labor time alloca- 26–27; and concept of “Malay
tion, 65; dispersal from home, 70; yeomanry,” 18–21, 33; and com-
in household economy, 26, 27, modification of agriculture, 15,
62, 66, 75, 94; “value of,” 62, 66, 18–34; and commodification
68. See also Boys; Girls; Family; of land, 18–21; and constitu-
Household tion of subject populations, 22;
Chinese: dock workers, 32; labor construction of Malay ethnic
contractors, 42, 80; land pur- identity, 20–21; and “divide
chase by, 46; immigrants, 15, 28; and rule,” 16; and gender rela-
merchants and traders, 25, 27, 39, tions, 23; and image of “Malay
76, 80; plantation workers, 32; indolence,” 15, 21–23, 33; and
planters, 19; relocation to “New immigrant labor, 15–18; Malay
Villages,” 43; squatters, 38, 47; peasants under, 15–24; and
and tin-mining, 14, 21 women, 27. See also Peasants;
Civil servants (Malay): and bureau- Sultanate system
cratic culture, 49; and Chinese Consumer Association of Penang,
businessmen, 80; under colonial- 185
ism, 29, 30, 34; and corruption, 51; Corporate culture: biological con-
land concentration by, 43, 44–46, struction of gender, 152; demand
143; and job allocation, 81; as role for young women, 154; and disci-
models in village society, 135; plinary mechanisms, 8; and fam-
and students’ aspirations, 55, 106; ily ideology, 162–63, 170–78; and
sought in marriage, 79; in Telok, “grievance procedure system,”
39. See also Bureaucratic culture; 173, 235n.30; and kampung elders,
Class; Pembangunan; UMNO; State 174–78; reconstituting kampung
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Class: access to the state system and values, 169, 170–71; representa-
labor markets, 57–58; aspirations tion of women as children, 137,
and social mobility, 6; conscious- 170–71, 174–75; view of “mass
ness, 180, 193, 201, 202; cultural hysteria,” 204–206; and young,
perceptions of, 74–79; emergent, single women, 154. See also
in kampung society, 74–84; and Discourses; Electronics factories;
female sexuality, 113, 180, 235n.2; Factory women
identification as ethnic status, 7; Cultural, the: change, 2-3, 216; as
resistance, 150, 178, 220; sources construction and reconstruction
of livelihood, 60–61; new middle, of meaning, 3–5, 219; definition
79. See also Civil servants; Peas- of, 2–3; oppositional forms,
ants; Proletarianization 185; 186–193; dialectic between
Clifford, Hugh (British colonial resistance and discipline, 9–10,
official), 15, 122 220. See also Discourses; Factory
Coconut smallholders, 24–26, 41. Women; Gender; Labor Relations;
See also Cash cropping Sexuality
ity, 8, 108, 220; public, on factory “philosophy” of, 170; and pushing
women and morality, 195–213; workers 165; strike at, 173; in Telok
oppositional, by factory women, FTZ, 150; treatment of spirit pos-
195–213. See also Cultural, the; session victims, 206; and worker
Factory Women; Dakwah,; EJI; resistance, 164. See also Electronics
ENI; Foucault; MUZ factories
District officer: colonial, 18, 19; in “Emergency, the” (communist insur-
Kuala Langat, 49 gency, 1948–60), 31–33, 38, 43
Divorce: causes of, 131–34. See also Employment status; bonded worker
Marriage (wong tebusan), 17; contract worker
Dore, Ronald (sociologist), 196 (kerja kontrak) 78; factory worker
Dukun (sorcerer): 119, 120. See also (pekerja kilang) 55, 83, 95; govern-
Sorecery ment worker (kerajaan), 55, 79,
84, 95; hired farm laborer (buroh
Electronics Factories, Japanese: tetap), 78; labor contractor (tukang
change in production tebus), 17; labor gang leader
(mandur), 42; laborer (kuli), 55; low marriages, 191–92; and demand
status labor, 83; migrant worker, for humanitarian treatment, 167,
81; oddjobbing (ambil upah), 186, 196, 202, 213, 220; and dual
78; peasant (tani), 84; post-war employment policy, 160; and
occupational system, 76, 78–79; employment in electronics indus-
self-employed (kerja sendiri), 78; try, 141–48; and experience of
sharecropping (bagi-dua), 78; wage new power relations, 7; and fac-
worker (makan gaji), 78, 84. See also tory work schedule, 111–112; and
Factory Women; Labor; Peasants feeling of being bodily controlled,
Engels, Frederick, 187, 195 168, 189, 197; and global produc-
Electronics Nippon Incorporated tion systems, 145; and hostility
(ENI): allowances in, 166; to bebas women, 188; “illicit love”
“Eastern” philosophy of, 170–71; and pregnancy, 191, 199–200,
use of family ideology, 163–65; 236n.2; and kampung expecta-
female operators in, 151; grounds tions of 186; as labor reserve for
for dismissal, 117; nurse in, 200, industry, 136, 146; and liaisons
206; and outstation workers, 177; with non-Muslims, 169, 189;
parents meetings in, 175–76; and machine wrecking, 210–11,
personnel relations in, 174–75; 236n.10; and need for spiritual
organization of production in, vigilance, 207; and new eco-
161; productivity rates attained, nomic power, 107; oppositional
163; recruitment of rural women culture and class sexualilty, 185,
by, 154; in Telok FTZ, 150; treat- 186–93, 195–213; outstation, 177;
ment of spirit possession victims, peer pressure of, 190–91; protest
205–206, 210; work shifts in, 167. against labor relations, 165–69,
See also Electronics factories 206, 202–03; and prostitution, 171, 182,
210; work shifts in, 167. 193; public censure and negative
Export-Industrialization: to images, 146, 181–86; recruitment
integrate Malays into capitalist by electronics industry, 153–55;
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
119; threat of, 127. See also Spirit as pemuda, 87, 90; and perceptions
possession of working women, 135; primary
Malacca, 189, 190, 203 occupations of, 83; as suitors,
Malay business: shopkeeping, 126; 119, 122
See also Peasants Minangkabau, 17, 121
Malay culture: variations in, 229n.1 Minge-Kalman/Minge-Klevana,
Malay population: in Selangor, 18 Wanda (anthropologist), 73–74
Malay Reservations Enactment: in Mobility, social: downward, 6, 83, 84,
Selangor, 20–22. See also Colonial 143; mediated through marriage,
rule 115–16, 121; upward, through
Malay identity: definition used in education, 54, 56; upward,
this text, 223n.1; colonial defini- through marriage, 122–28
tion of, 20, 21; kampung defini- Modernization theory, 3, 215
tions of, 202, 231n.4, 236n.3. See Mother-daughter bond: strength-
also Bumiputra status ening of, 107. See also Family;
Malaysian ringgit: value in 1979–80, Household budgetting;
227n.6 Parent-child relationship
Mukim Telok, 37, 45, 91, 92, 93, and poverty, 143; protest against
195, 202 colonial policies, 28–34; reconstitu-
MUZ (Musical Movements tion as petty commodity produc-
Factory): female operators in, 151; ers, 23–28; resistance to colonial
organization of production and policies, 28–34, 225n.14; resistance
wage rates, 162; “philosophy” of, against eviction, 46, 47; self-defini-
170; productivity rates, 162; recre- tion of, 202, 236n.3; incipient social
ational activities in, 172; recruit- differentiation of, 28–35; “social
ment of rural women by, 154; engineering” of, 39–40, 145; as
in Telok FTZ, 150; treatment of urban migrants, 144–46. See also
women workers, 165; union and Family: Household; Household
strike at, 171–72. See also Electron- Census: Kampung
ics factories Pemuda. See Boys; Men; Youths
Pemudi. See Girls; Factory women;
Nagata, Judith (anthropologist), 184 Women
Nash, June (anthropologist), 216 Pesaka (inherited land property):
Netherlands East Indies, 16 brought into marriage, 128;
New Economic Policy, 39, 49, 143 definition of, 58; transmission at
“New Home Economics,” 61–62. See children’s marriage, 118, 119, 123
also Labor time allocation Pembangunan (development):
Oil palm: crop acreage 25, 41; defined, 48; funds and UMNO,
cultivation, 40, 43 50–51, ideology of, 48, 54, 149–50,
183, 218. See also Civil servants;
Parent-child relationship: and child dakwah; State, the; UMNO
labor, 68; claims on daughter’s Petaling Jaya, 82
wages, 83; divergent expectations Plantation: definition of, 37;
of son and daughter, 98, 105, 102; Chinese, 38; European 38, 42; staff
restructured, 6, 98, 107. See also and workers, 80; system, 40, 42
Family; Factory women; House- “Plural society,” 16
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Residential system, 15, 224n.3 168, 179, 181, 183, 185, 198–99:
Rubber: boom in, 29; companies, contradictory representations of,
19, 225n.14; crop acreage, 25, 41; 8; as discipline and female sexual-
government curtailment of pro- ity, xi-xii, xvi 53; as effects of
duction, 26, 33; and indigenous capitalist control, 8, 113; corporate
capital accumulation, 30; prices discourse on, 152, 168, 170–71,
of, 24–28; smallholder resistance, 174, 177–78; as cultural construct,
29; as smallholding crop, 24–28; 4-5: dakwah view of, 136, 184–85,
and social differentiation in 53; and delayed marriage, 134;
kampung society, 28–34; Stevenson as key image of cultural change,
Restriction Scheme, 29. See also 4; and oppositional culture, 185,
Cash cropping: Peasants 186–93, 195–213; public discourse
Rural-urban transition: and genera- on, 181–86; and wedding images,
tion gap, 105; and “mass hyste- 124. See also Discourse; Electronics
ria,” 205; migrant circuits in, 81; factories; Factory women: Gender
and restructuring of political Shah Alam, 81, 82, 105
economy, 39–40, 144–46; statistics Shahnon Ahmad (novelist), 36, 187
of, 232n.3; and links to urban- Shamsul A. Bahruddin (anthropolo-
based classes, 57–58, 81, 82; and gist), 277n.11
view of academics, 182–83. See Siblings: cooperation and conflict
also Factory Women; Peasants; among, 99–108; and inheritance
Proletarianization; Schools rules, 43–44: as model of work
relations, 188; changing relations
S. Husin Ali (anthropologist), 28, 58 among, 7, 107; solidarity among,
S. Hussein Alatas (sociologist), 22 81, 100, 102, 107. See also Daughters;
Sadka, Emily (historian), 13, 16 Family; Household budgetting
Schools: adult education, 52; Slametan, 110
Arab-Islamic, 91, 97; and bureau- Sons: and cash contributions to
cratic values, 54, 55; examinations family, 71, 100, 107; planning
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
in, 94, 97; failure of girl students, for education and occupation,
93; government scholarships, 55, 84; and inheritance, 44; parents’
92, 93, 122, 136; madrasah (Islamic expectations of, 98, 102; unem-
boarding), 118, 120; primary, 51, ployment of, 107. See also Boys;
91, 229n.4; qualifications and Family; Household budgetting;
job-seeking, 144; secondary, 91, Parent-child relationship; Youths
93; and social policies, 51–56; Sorcery: accusation of, 119; and ill-
and streaming of boys and girls, ness, 120, 136. See also Dukun
54–55. See also Boys; Girls Spirit possession: in factory
Scott, James (political scientist), 2, women’s words, 207–10; inci-
6, 180 dents of, 204–210, 220; images of
Selangor, 12, 16, 19, 25, 147 filth, 209, 213; management fear
Selangor State Development Corpo- of contagion, 208; medical model
ration (SSDC), 150 of, 209–10; viewed as “mass hys-
Sexuality: as arena of contestation, teria,” 204–206; as protest, 7–8,
220; class, 180, 234n.2; expressed 205, 206, 207, 210; and need for
in clothing, 123–24, 135, 136, spiritual vigilance, 207, 209; and
urban migration, 204, 205. See also Taylorism: defined, 234n.21; and
Factory women; Spirits class ideology, 233n.15; and labor
Spirits: beliefs and industrialization, process, 161, 162, 172
141; datuk, 203, 205; djinn and Technology and social control, 142
hantu, 88; langsuir, 89; pontianak, Televeshen Malaysia, 79, 181, 230n.9
89, 203; syaitan, 203, 213; toyol, Telok Datuk, 38, 46, 79
203, 230n.11. See also Hantu; Spirit Telok FTZ: female workers at, 54,
possession 63, 82, 112, 129, 153, 186, 190, 193,
Squatters: on private and state 197, 200; and female students,
lands, 45; resistance to eviction, 92–93, 97; and “rural indus-
46–47; urban, 144. See also Land; trialization,” 39, 40, 48, 51, 80,
Peasants; State 150–51; productivity rates at, 162;
State, the: and bureaucratic capital- machine-wrecking at, 210; violent
ism, 43–48; countering resistance incidents in, 212
from below, 5, 6, 9, 147, 150; Temporary Occupation Licenses
and export-industrialization, (TOLs), 47
143–50; and ideology of pemban- Third Malaysia Plan, 143
gunan, 149–50; and industrial Thompson, Edward P., 108, 178, 223n.1
discipline, 146; and kampung Time: and capitalist production,
families, 55; as multiple-foci of 111, 112; control of, in facto-
power, 150, 219; and political ries, 167–68; fracturing the day,
party domination, 51, 52; peas- 108–112, 183; new sense of in
ant resistance to, 28–34, 46, 47; kampung society, 86, 110. See also
and political disciplining, 5, 7, Labor time allocation
150; and rural discontent, 143;
and societal engineering, 145; UMNO (United Malays National
squatter resistance to, 46, 47; Organization), contracts, 51, 122;
and women workers, 52. See election tactics, 50; and “fence-
also Bureaucratic culture; Civil sitting” youths, 51; in mukim
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Ong, Aihwa. Spirits of Resistance and Capitalist Discipline, Second Edition : Factory Women in Malaysia, State University of New
York Press, 2010. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/monash/detail.action?docID=3407268.
Created from monash on 2024-10-07 03:59:20.
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
Ong, Aihwa. Spirits of Resistance and Capitalist Discipline, Second Edition : Factory Women in Malaysia, State University of New
York Press, 2010. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/monash/detail.action?docID=3407268.
Created from monash on 2024-10-07 03:59:20.
ANTHROPOLOGY
In the two decades since its original publication, Spirits of Resistance and
Capitalist Discipline has become a classic in the fields of anthropology, la-
bor, gender and globalization studies. Based on intensive fieldwork, the book
captures a moment of profound transformation for rural Muslim women even
as their labor helped launch Malaysia’s rise as a tiger economy. Aihwa Ong’s
analysis of the disruptions, conflicts, and ambivalences that roiled the lives of
working women has inspired later generations of feminist ethnographers in
their study of power, resistance, religious upheavals, and subject formation
in the industrial periphery. With a critical introduction by anthropologist Carla
Freeman, this new edition upholds an exemplary model of anthropological in-
quiry into cultural modes of resistance to the ideology, discipline, and workings
of global capitalism.
“This work … remains powerful for its refusal to over-simplify the complexities of
export industrialization as a model for economic development, and for its demon-
stration of the intimate dialectics of culture, economy, gender, religion, and class,
and the meaningfulness of place amid the swirling forces of global capitalism …
[It] opened up many of the questions that should continue to inspire our analyses
of globalization today. Indeed, these questions are equally compelling for the
reader returning to this work after twenty years and for the reader new to this
text and to the intriguing and complex puzzles of globalization.”
— from the Introduction by Carla Freeman
Copyright © 2010. State University of New York Press. All rights reserved.
State University of
New York Press
www.sunypress.edu
Ong, Aihwa. Spirits of Resistance and Capitalist Discipline, Second Edition : Factory Women in Malaysia, State University of New
York Press, 2010. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/monash/detail.action?docID=3407268.
Created from monash on 2024-10-07 03:59:20.