Lanes intersect and entwine in layer after layer. From the back seat of the taxi, flyovers fill my vision, extending endlessly as if to track the memories of the city. On this drizzly evening, the lines of cars are stationary, breath held, waiting to move. My own destination is Fragments of Tuah, a new production by the Kuala Lumpur-based performing arts collective Five Arts Centre. My driver asks, in the usual manner, where I come from. Despite living here for two years already, and having the features of a fellow Asian, I remain an outsider. When I reply Japan, he asks me what music I would prefer to hear, and invites me to choose.

Through the car window Malaysian flags flutter in the breeze en masse. Above portraits of a racially diverse lineup of people—Malay, Chinese, Indian, indigenous—smiling and fist-pumping the air, a giant LED display proclaims “HARMONY.” Everybody smiling, everybody belonging equally “here.” The symbolic scene gradually fades into the distance as the taxi advances. I overlay on it an outline of the show I am about to take in: the tale of legendary Malaysian hero Hang Tuah. A slogan proclaiming harmony; the handing down of an heroic tale: both acquire realness in the telling, and “truth” in the repeating. I tell the driver I want to listen to Malaysian music.

In this country Independence Day on August 31, and Malaysia Day on September 16, marking the founding of the Malaysian Federation, are both important holidays.¹ During this period flags are raised all through the streets, giving everyday routine a festive air. Museums and art galleries stage special exhibitions tracing the nation’s journey, and the memories of its people. In response to my request, the driver too plays a succession of patriotic tunes bursting with passion and pride.

After a while, out of the blue he asks what similar songs we have in Japan. I cannot even sing “Kimigayo” (the Japanese national anthem) properly, let alone anything expressing pride in being Japanese. His question gives me pause for thought, and at the same time makes me realize that my unease at the sight of flags filling the streets, is a discombobulation of sorts brought on by something I have never seen before.

At no time of year did the Japanese flag ever insinuate itself into everyday life so assertively. Nor was I accustomed to hearing the national anthem. The only flag displays I recalled were of the Hinomaru being waved at the Olympics, or maybe the World Cup, but this was more as an encouragement to the individual athletes, than the nation itself. Since Japan’s defeat in 1945, downplaying nationalism had been the norm in Japanese society, a value I had probably internalized, unaware.

Coming to live in Southeast Asia has prompted me to think a lot more about history and identity. What was actually going on in this place at the height of World War II? Perusing publications it had previously never occurred to me to pick up, visiting unfamiliar places, and listening to people’s stories, I realized just how ignorant I had been about the historical background of Southeast Asia, and Asia as a whole.

Following centuries of invasion, colonial control, independence, conflict, this region had built a society of multiple races inhabiting the same space. Malaysia’s occupation by the Japanese still casts a long shadow over that process. I have yet to grasp entirely a past characterized by the complex intertwining of pain and pride, and reside here not entirely accepting of my own position. And reflecting on the bias of being one who writes, leaves me ill at ease with my own storytelling.

How have we viewed Asian history to date? Exactly whose viewpoint has it been told from? And how should we set about relating to that history anew, today?

Confronting the past can bring a sense of helplessness, or uncertain footing. Yet persisting nevertheless with addressing memories not found in history textbooks, should go beyond the domain of personal reflection. How can people, even carrying the weight of such memory, tell their stories with no rigid discussion of identity, resisting the kind of oppression repeated without their knowledge, or polarization that can divide us?

Starting with Fragments of Tuah by Mark The / Five Arts Centre , I should like to contemplate some of the works of art full of history, memory, and profound insight into modern society encountered during my two years in Southeast Asia. These are works that shook up my preconceptions and slowly changed the way the world looks to me. How can art as expression or technique be involved in such a challenging aspect of existence? And can art quietly yet definitively expand people’s cognitive horizons? As I unravel the works, I hope to throw into relief art’s unique modality in that regard.

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1. Independence Day (August 31) celebrates the independence of the Federation of Malaya (forerunner to today’s Malaysia) from Britain in 1957, and Malaysia Day (September 16) the establishment of the federal state of Malaysia in 1963, merging the Federation of Malaya, North Borneo, Sarawak and Singapore (which then broke away from the federation in 1965). Both dates have symbolic meaning in the birth of the independent nation, and in shaping the coexistence of multiple communities.

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About the series
“Intersections: Meditations on Southeast Asia” is a series by Malaysia-based arts and culture researcher Kanai Miki, in which she unpacks the art of Southeast Asia from multiple perspectives, including those of history, regional characteristics, and solidarity among peoples, contemplating the relationship between Southeast Asia today and art, including from a Japanese perspective.

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Kanai Miki
A researcher of arts and culture, Kanai documents and analyzes artistic and cultural phenomena first hand as a journalist, and links this practical knowhow to her studies. Following an MA in 20th-century art history at Goldsmiths College, University of London, she spent around two decades based in Berlin, covering the art scene closely in over 20 European countries. Two years of this period were spent as a Japanese Agency for Cultural Affairs Program of Overseas Study for Upcoming Artists grantee (art criticism). Kanai has written for a number of Japanese art magazines including Bijutsu Techo, Geijutsu Shincho and ART iT, and also for cultural magazines such as Seikatsu Kosatsu and Studio Voice. She has introduced the European art scene and European artists to Japan through the writing and editing of books, websites, and exhibition catalogues, and as an exhibition coordinator. Currently based in Malaysia, in addition to research and writing she also helps to organize exhibitions and workshops. Member of the German branch of the International Association of Art Critics (AICA).