Oleh Nik Abdul Rakib Bin Nik Hassan
The
“Ferringhi’ (sometimes “Ferringi”, “Ferringghi”) is perhaps the most known
(archaic) moniker of the Western Other in Malay consciousness. The other is
“Orang Putih.” We know that Batu Ferringhi is in Pulau Pinang. If we translate
the name of that well-known beach area, it would mean “foreigner’s rock”. Not
many take the name seriously. I had imagined how the Malays in Kedah, like the
Malays in Melaka earlier or at the same time, had likened the foreigner a
Ferringhi (meaning foreiqgner or outsider). It depicts an early encounter
between East and West. Early Portuguese fleets, carrying hundreds of Portuguese
who had little prior interaction with non-Christians, were perceived as the
“Franks” by the larger non-European Asian population, especially in the
immediate geopolitical and cultural proximity of Turkey, the Arab World and
Persia. The Muslims who first encountered the Portuguese brought the idea of
the “Franks” as the people who had attacked the holy places during the
Crusades.
The
Farsi “Farang” or “Farangi”, from the Farsi meaning European, was derived from
the “Franks” It refers to the identity of the Franks (hence Frankish), once the
major (West) Germanic tribe ruling Western Europe." It is from the old
French word franc, meaning “Frank,” meaning Europeans. Some attributed Farang
to the Arabic “afranj”. Hence, we hear of the “Faranj”, “Franji”, “Paranki”,
“Parangiar”, and, of course, “Ferringhi”. The Farang also has a place in
contemporary Thai intellectual and popular thought. (The late Thai
anthropologist) Pattana Kitiarsa in a paper titled “Farang as Siamese
Occidentalism” (2005) re-read and re-interpreted Thai historical and cultural
constructions of the Farang.
Taking it as a reflexive subject to recapture its impact on the making and remaking of the Thai-self, he sees the idea of the Farang as “the wicked Other for the Thai. From time to time, the West has been represented as the giant, tricky wolf, while Siam the little helpless and innocent lamb”. A “Self-indulgent nationalism” robbing the production of thoughtful self criticism. While there is the “us-them” distinction, there was no presumption of moral or cultural superiority involved in the Malay categorisation of the Ferringgi as the Other. One of my earliest memories on narrations of Malay encounters with the West was the term “Benggali Putih” (White Bengalis) in a primary school history textbook from a chapter on the Portuguese in Melaka.
The
Malays have made classifications on other peoples throughout history. We know
this from early modern Portuguese records and of descriptions by the Malays
from classical texts and epics. Malay perception of the Portuguese in the 16th
century gives an idea of the first direct impact of these “Franks” in Southeast
Asia. Historian Anthony Reid in his book Charting the Shape of Early Modern
Southeast Asia (1999) describes the mission of Diego Lopez de Sequeira arriving
in Melaka in September 1509. The account from the Sejarah Melayu pictured the
Portuguese arrival as: “Then there came a Feringgi ship from Goa, and it came
to trade in Melaka. The Feringgi saw that the city of Melaka was magnificent,
and its port was exceedingly crowded. The people crowded round to see what the
Feringgi looked like, and they were all surprised at their appearance.” The
Melaka Malays likened the Portuguese to the Bengalis rather than Arabs where
the latter “had to be respected on religious grounds, however much laughed at
privately, but Bengalis were more numerous and more resented in Melaka.” Citing
Portuguese chronicler Tomé Pires (1515), when the Malays want to insult a man,
they call him a Bengali, “alleged to be sharp-witted but treacherous”.
Generally
Malay accounts of the arrival of the Feringgi are morally neutral. To the
Melaka Malays, or the various Malays in the Malay archipelago then, the
Europeans represented just another element — and were always welcome. We find
in indigenous and colonial sources that foreign merchants were acknowledged and
honoured figures in the diplomatic practice of the region. And language was not
a problem, for the lingua franca was always Bahasa Melayu. Malay classical
texts have a way of describing the geographical and cultural location, hence
self-identity — that of by reference to the term “atas angin” (above the wind)
and “bawah angin” (below the wind). The former refers to the Indo-Persian
world, the Arab world, Rome (usually described as Rum) and all points West. The
latter refers to the Malays and other peoples of the East — most obvious are
the Chinese and the Japanese. Indeed, the Malays initially perceived the
Europeans as a kind of people from “atas angin” who were distinguished by pale
skin and round eyes and displayed effectiveness with their shipboard cannon,
armour and firearms.
The
description by local Malay rulers of early encounters with the Ferringgis can
also be described as the first Malay “ethnography” of the Europeans. And not
always flattering at that. As we find in Italian explorer Antonio Pigafetta
(1524), when Magellan’s men reached the Philippines, a Muslim merchant in the
port of Cebu explained to its raja that “these were the same Feringgi who had
conquered Calicut and Melaka”. Despite accounts in Sejarah Melayu, Hikayat Hang
Tuah, Hikayat Tanah Hitu among the many Malay classical text across the Malay
archipelago, the conception of the Ferringi is unlike that of the Thai Farang.
The Ferringi, conceived as the “unproblematic Other”, was everywhere in the
Malay archipelago.
Hence, the presence of the Europeans in the Malay Archipelago was not unusual before the period of colonial rule. And such presence was either in actual encounters (Barnard 2014, Murtagh 2007, Reid 1999, 1993) or in classical narratives described as within the mythical and metaphysical realms (Braginsky 2013). The Malay world has been exposed to other worlds and civilisations long before the Europeans arrived. The Malays are familiar with the Feringghi, in popular Malay thought referring to the Portuguese and Belanda – the Malay word for Dutch – through a host of oral and written traditions which manifest themselves in Malay norms and sayings.
Before
the arrival of the West in the sixteenth century, we know from a variety of
sources that a multitude of different peoples had been visiting the Malay Archipelago
in particular (and Southeast Asia in general). The Europeans who first arrived
in Southeast Asia were often astonished by the fabulous wealth and diversity of
trade and traders that they found here. And, conversely, as Murtagh (2007)
notes in his Introduction to The Portrayal of Foreigners in Indonesian and
Malay Literatures, the inhabitants of the Malay Archipelago were used to seeing
a wide assortment of people coming to their ports and were not at all amazed at
the arrival of Europeans, who represented just another aspect of that diversity
(p.1).
Apart
from the Europeans, a large number of peoples from various areas of the world
had visited and traded in the Malay Archipelago for centuries. They were part
of extensive networks from China to India, and to West Asia and the
Mediterranean region. Another term us, more inclusive than the “Ferringhi” was
atas angin. From West Asia which includes India westwards – the peoples of atas
angin (above the wind) as a Malay geographical and ethnic marker – formed at
least semi-permanent communities in the main trading cities. Most often than
not, these atas angin ethnicities from the littoral areas of the Indian Ocean,
formed new communities in the Malay Archipelago, configuring upon the culture
and world views in the port areas such as Tanjong, Melaka, Singapura, Medan and
Batavia. The oft-quoted account of Portuguese historian Tome Pires mentions
1,000 Gujerati merchants, 4,000 Persians, Bengalis, Arabs together with a
sizeable number of Tamils (Pires 1944, 254-5).
As
a matter of comparison, the other ethnic marker (and self-identity) of the
Malays is bawah angin (below the wind), referring to most obviously the
Chinese, and the Japanese. While the atas angin in the Ferringhi was in the
immediate environment and the observable past, that of Rum seems to represent a
revered, an almost sacred realm in the traditional Malay psyche. In the
narrative of Hang Tuah, we find that Melaka had become a significant power in
the region and the Malay Archipelago, and it wanted to establish relationships
with powers of the negeri di atas angin (lands above the wind) such as Rum,
Egypt, and Makkah. Accordingly, Hang Tuah led missions to Majapahit, Kalinga,
Brunei, Acheh, and Rum.
On
a few occasions, he or representatives of the Sultan, bought gems and
elephants, to reflect their prosperity and, of necessity, purchased weapons
from Rum, as Melaka was being threatened by an invasion from the Ferringhi
(Portuguese). The unknown author of Hang Tuah portrayed Hang Tuah as a much respected
statesman in the various polities of the Malay Archipelago and also that of
“Byzantium, the outpost of Rome.” Rum also refers to the region of the farthest
extent of Hellenism and the Occidental reach in Asia. This would stretch until
the regions located toward the north of the Indian sub-continent,
geographically and culturally adjoining what is now the Turkish-speaking areas
in central Asia. Perhaps a re-reading of Rum as narrated by such texts,
including other known ones such as the Hikayat Merong Mahawangsa is inevitable
to demythologise the expanse of the Malay worldview. The Raja Rum, whether
understood to be a Greek, Persian, or Turkish ruler, is a popular figure in
traditional Malay literature. An array of the kings of Rum occurs in many Malay
literary genres conjuring images in the Malay imagination. From the known (or
unknown) writers, we know much of Malay society, encounters with and influences
from the outside world, as the Malay would say dari dunia luar.
Apart
from Malay travels to India and China in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries
as well as Arabia from the period of Islamisation onward, of note were Malays
who traveled inland into mainland Southeast Asia. An account of a Malay trader
who was met by two Dutch factors in Vientiane in 1642 was noted in Reid (1993,
53).
Encounters
with those from outside the Malay Archipelago was the convention for the
Malays. Malays knew much of the world then. That such outside knowledge was
incorporated locally, at least selectively was exemplified by the evidence
contained in Albuquerque’s letter to Manuel I of Portugal (1495-1521), where he
wrote of a map with place names written in Javanese, which he (Albuquerque) had
obtained from a Javanese pilot.
A
large map of a Javanese pilot, containing the Cape of Good Hope, Portugal, and
the land of Brazil, the Red Sea and the Sea of Persia, the Clove Islands, the
navigation of the Chinese and the Gores (Ruyukkan; B.M)…and the hinterland, and
how the kingdoms border on each other. (Albuquerque to King Manuel, 1512,
translated in Cortesão, 1944, Ixxviii).
How
can we be certain that there were Malay encounters with the West and other di
atas angin peoples as well as those of orang-orang di bawah angin? The marker
of “below the wind” could be derived from Malay encounters with the Persians.
This is found in descriptions of early Siam from a Persian source. In Ibn
Muhammad Ibrahim’s The Ship of Sulaiman the author was describing Bangkok
(mentioned as Suban) as a flourishing town. The following description suggests
bawah angin as a Persian identity marker for countries in the East:
All
around us were trees that never feel the withering touch of autumn, trees as
flourishing as the youthful hopes which old men nourish in their hearts. Most
countries of Below the Winds 3 evade the grip of autumn. The meadows and the
trees keep their skirts free from the chill touch of winter. But this garden
spot is surely the most blessed of all these regions. (4)
How
did the Malays describe them? Before the 1800s, Malays did not write memoirs,
travelogues, or any form such as the modern essay. But the Europeans did. Many
of the European encounters with the peoples in the Malay world are known
through writings in journals, memoirs, biographies, travelogues, notes,
narrations, and chronicles. One such early record, relates Murtagh (2007), was
provided by the Englishman Edmund Scot who was in Java from February 1602 until
October 1605. His account described the attitude of the local inhabitants
toward the English, and the Dutch. The confusion of the locals regarding the
various European groupings was revealed when, on the occasion of the
commemoration of the Queen’s coronation, the local chiefs could not understand
why not all Europeans were celebrating. There was confusion as to the different
political allegiances of the Europeans. Significantly, Scot’s remark on the
local children’s reaction to the Dutch and English serves as an early record of
Malay reaction to the European Other:
Many
others did aske us, why the English men at the other house did not so
(celebrate; B.M.): wee told them, that they were no English men, but Hollanders
[…] In the after noone I caused our men to walke abroad the Towne, and the
Market, whereby the people might take notice of them, and the red and white Scarfes
and Hatbands made such a showe, that the inhabitants of those parts had never
seene the like, so that even after that day, wee were knowne from the
Hollanders, and many times the Children in the streets would runne after us,
crying Oran Engrees bayk, oran Hollanda Jahad, which is, the English men are
good, the Hollanders are naught (Scot in Purchas 1905, II, 457-58).
There
was, however, one exception. This can be seen in the largest collection of
Malay letters in the world – the Light Letters – catalogued as MS40320. The
Letters, earlier endowed to King’s College in 1835, were later reposited at the
School of African and Oriental Studies (SOAS), University of London in 1816.
The Letters are part of the larger Marsden Collection. William Marsden in 1827
describes the Letters as Malay correspondence, consisting chiefly of letters
from the Rajahs and principal native merchants of the Peninsular and
neighboring islands, addressed to Capt. Francis Light and Capt. James Scott of
Pulo Pinang. In several Portfolios (Marsden 1827, 304) (Bibliotheca Marsdeniana
Philologica et orientalis. A catalogue of books and manuscripts, collected with
a view to the general comparison of languages, and to the study of oriental
literature (London). Printed by J.L. Cox.)
In
a later published catalogue, it was described as:
MS40320
A
collection of several hundred Malay letters in 11 bundles. Consisting primarily
of correspondences received (with some copies of letter sent) by Capt. Francis
Light and Capt. James Scott of Penang from (and to) rulers and dignitaries of
Malay Sultanates in the A.D. 1780s and 1790s. But there are also items from
Acheh, Jambi, Indragiri, Minangkabau, Palembang, Pedir, Siak, and other places
in Sumatera, from Brunei and Sambas, and from Tidore.
Various
papers, various sizes. Marsden collection. See Marsden, 1827, p. 304. Some of
these letters published with English translations in Marsden, 1812, pp. 137-57.
(In
M.C. Ricklefs, P. Voorhoeve and Annabel Teh Gallop (2014) Indonesian
Manuscripts in Great Britain. Jakarta: Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient,
Perpustakaan Nasional Republik Indonesia and Yayasan Pustaka Obor Indonesia).
The
correspondence, mainly between 1771 and 1794, represents an episode of early
encounters of the Malays in the Peninsula, Sumatra, Borneo, and the various
islands in the eastern part of the Malay Archipelago with the West. It
represents a complex relationship especially between the rulers of Kedah and
Francis Light as a representative of a foreign institution. Generally from the letters,
the Malays accept Francis Light as one of them, but with varying degrees of
respect and reverence.
The
period of correspondence was some years away from the emergence of Malay
writing in the modern sense. One of the earliest was Ahmad Rijaluddin Hakim
Long Kandu’s travel to Calcutta in 1810, and, probably on the prompting of a
European, recorded his impressions. 5 Another was Abdullah bin ‘Abdul Kadir
Munshi, known as Abdullah Munshi in his Hikayat Abdullah (1984), and Kisah
Pelayaran Abdullah ke Kelantan (1838).
Quite
apart from the numerous classical texts from across the “Malaysia” of the Malay
Archipelago, which need constant reinterpretations of their literary forms as
well as sociological, anthropological, historical, and geographical expressions,
there are also autobiographies, sociological and journalistic narratives that
deserve a revisit. Such initiatives could shed some light on the current
complexities of ethnic relations in Malaysia, and other parts of the Malay
Archipelago.
Footnotes
1.Before
the appearance of the newspaper Jawi Peranakan in that year, published in
Singapura. The lecture deals with the occasional text, mainly Malay manuscripts
and some early printed works. It excludes regular periodicals as in newspapers
and magazines whereby these would was induced the advent of print technology.
The production and reproduction of texts – the writing itself and the narrative
it spawned – ushers are different era, albeit a continuation, on Malay
engagements with the outside world.
2.Ibn
Muhammad Ibrahim, “Persian Views of Siam,” in Michael Smithies (1995),
Descriptions of Old Siam (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press), pp. 85-93.
According to Smithies, Ibn Muhammad Ibrahim’s account about Siam is the only
non-Western source used in his volume. Ibn Muhammad Ibrahim was the secretary
of the Ambassador, Haji Salim Mazandarani, sent by Shah Sulaiman the Safavid
(1666-94) to the King of Siam, Narai, in return for an embassy to the court of
Isfahan. The Persian embassy was also enjoined to make contact with the Persian
community in Siam. For an account of his observations and comments on life and
practices in Siam, see Ibn Muhammad Ibrahim (1972), The Ship of Sulaiman,
trans. John O’Kane (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul), pp. 50-1, 52, 59,
99-100, 120-1, 138-9, 148-9, 131-2.
3.This
could also refer to non-temperate regions as in the Malay Archipelago, the
Malay Peninsula, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam.
4.Smithies,
1995.
5.See Ahmad Rijaluddin’s Hikayat Perintah Negeri Benggala.
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