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Generally speaking, antique shops around popular tourist attractions are best to approach with caution. Fakes are quite prevalent in those places, poorly made and artificially aged, and not only that, far more expensive than they should be. When it comes to ancient ceramics in Hội An, Vietnam, however, you may rest assured that you're in good hands. Not only are they genuine pieces of 15th-century China, but they also come with an intriguing provenance.

Located a little off the bustling streets of Hoi An Ancient Town, Nam Trân is a small family-run shop that offers a wide array of antique ceramics, particularly those recovered from a local shipwreck, which still lies about 25 miles off the coast.

Discovered by local fishermen in the early 1990s, the so-called Hoi An Shipwreck is believed to date to the mid-to-late-15th century and was carrying a huge cargo of Vietnamese ceramics when it sank to the bottom of the South China Sea. It soon fell prey to much looting, with the artifacts appearing in markets around the world. The authorities had to act quick to excavate the wreck.

In 1996, the National History Museum of Vietnam and York Archaeological Trust teamed up to excavate the site, collecting a third of a million pieces of pottery and ceramicware over three seasons. After distributing the best of the artifacts among six museums across Vietnam, the remaining 90 percent of the ceramics were sold off at a Butterfield auction in San Francisco, circulating into the hands of collectors and partially funding the Vietnamese authorities.

Because of the abundance, the Hoi An shipwreck ceramics are less likely to be reproduced and often available at an affordable price. At Nam Trân, there are plenty of perfume boxes, jars, and dishes for sale, many starting around 15 USD. In fact, there are even more pieces from the shipwreck here than you'd see at the nearby Museum of Trade Ceramics.

A majority of them are imperfect, of course—often faded, chipped, or broken in half; encrustation is common and most lids don't match. But the blue glaze has survived, more or less, decorating the wares with flower motifs. It's a once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity to get your hands on centuries-old ceramics from a shipwreck, and the owners will gladly help you select your souvenirs.

Originally named Wat Kok Khwai, the Buddhist temple now known as Wat Yannawa or the “Boat Temple” was built during the Ayutthaya era, before the founding of Bangkok. It was merely a local place of worship until King Rama I granted it royal status and made the ordination hall known as subosot in Thai.

During the reign of Rama III (1824-1851), a defining feature was added to the temple complex: a viharn (monastery) in the shape of a Chinese junk. At the time, the junk ship was becoming obsolete and starting to be replaced by newer, more modern vessels. It is believed that King Rama III wished to preserve the image of the Chinese junk in the mind of his people.

Thanks to this unique feature, it was not long before the locals started to coin its nickname, Wat Yannawa (literally “boat temple”), which would stick and become its official name. With the two chedis designed to resemble masts, it also gained the nickname Sampao Chedi, the “Chinese junk with chedis,” as it looked more like a ship than a temple.

Today, besides the junk-shaped viharn, the temple complex contains multiple buildings enshrining images and a relic of the Buddha, effigies of Kuan Im, the goddess of mercy, and large paintings of the Loy Krathong lantern festival. In front of the “boat” stands a bronze statue of Rama III, looking proud that his image of the Chinese junk has lived on beyond his life.

In 1960, Princess Samdech Preah Reach Kanitha Norodom Rasmi Sobbhana published one of the first definitive texts on her country’s cuisine. L'Art de la cuisine cambodgienne, or The Culinary Art of Cambodia, was an extensively researched, beautifully illustrated tome years in the making. It came at a pivotal moment, just seven years after Cambodia declared independence, when the nation was fighting to codify an identity beyond that of its former French-colonial rulers.

Only a few years after the princess’s death in 1971, civil war ripped Khmer society apart. The Khmer Rouge, under the leadership of Prime Minister Pol Pot, purged Cambodia’s artists and intellectuals, along with records that detailed much of what came before “Year Zero” on April 17, 1975. Copies of The Culinary Art of Cambodia all but vanished.

Nearly half a century later, Rotanak Ros, better known as Chef Nak, has dedicated her career to preserving and reclaiming thousands of years of Khmer culinary history. After leaving her position at a nonprofit organization in 2017, Ros traveled throughout the Cambodian countryside documenting recipes from home cooks that culminated in her 2019 cookbook, Nhum: Recipes from a Cambodian Kitchen.

For her second work, Saoy: Royal Cambodian Home Cuisine, Ros turned her lens from home cooking to the lofty kitchens of the Khmer palace at the height of its influence. Saoy roughly translates to “dining in a royal setting” and the recipes here are the kind that might have once been served at state dinners. Princess Rasmi Sobbhana—a highly educated, fiercely independent maverick who met with President John F. Kennedy, refused to marry, and spent her life advocating for women—became something of a personal inspiration for the project. While the recipes in Ros’s work have all been thoroughly tested for a modern audience, the book is very much an homage to this powerful figure in Khmer history.

Gastro Obscura spoke with Ros about unpacking the essence of a cuisine, cooking with flowers, and the unlikely series of events that landed an original copy of the princess’s manuscript in her possession.

What drove you to shift your focus to the cookbook space?

Not a lot of historic landmarks in Vientiane remain in their original forms, having been numerous wars and invasions—particularly the Siamese onslaught of 1827 and the Indochina Wars that lasted for 55 years. A few exceptions are Wat Si Saket, a Buddhist temple built in 1818, and That Dam, an ancient stupa steeped in legend.

Standing in the center of a roundabout near the Talat Sao morning market, the stupa is believed to be around 500 years old, though the exact date of construction remains uncertain. The name That Dam (not that dam) means “black tower” in Lao, based on its current status. However, it was not always darkened and overrun with weeds; local legends claim that it was once gilded over and that the gold was all stripped away by the Siamese invaders.

Generally, stupas are built to enshrine Buddhist relics, most often the ashes of monks and nuns, sometimes of kings. In the case of That Dam, it is unknown what is buried inside, but locals whisper of an intriguing legend. According to them, lying dormant underneath the stupa is the Naga, a seven-headed serpent that will awaken whenever Vientiane faces a crisis. Many of them believe that it has protected the city from the 1827 invasion, as well as on other historical occasions.

The stupa has fallen into disrepair since the Naga last showed itself, weather-worn and all but neglected, but there are still believers in the powerful serpent. In fact, some locals seem to continue to visit the ancient monument to dedicate flowers to the forgotten guardian of Vientiane, in hopes that its peaceful slumber will never again be disturbed.

In a Malaysian boutique, a small group of seamstresses sit at clattering sewing machines, stitching bright flowers and leaves into kebayas, traditional blouses worn by women around Southeast Asia. The kebaya is currently having its moment in the spotlight as Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, Brunei and Thailand — in a moment of unity — have jointly nominated it for the UNESCO prestigious intangible cultural heritage list, with a decision expected in 2024.

What makes kebayas special is that they are worn by women of all ethnic backgrounds in a diverse region, according to Lim Yu Lin, who co-runs the family business her grandmother founded in 1955.

“It’s not only meant for one culture,” she told AFP.

Suited to hot tropical weather, the intricately embroidered blouse is usually long-sleeved, and ranges from loose-fitting to semi-transparent, figure-hugging cuts.

A kebaya can cost as little as USD 7 (SGD 9.50) for a simple, machine-made design, to around USD 1,200 (SGD 1,622) for a more intricate handmade piece.

The kebaya: A national symbol and potential UNESCO heritage icon?

Indonesia picked the centuries-old kebaya as its national dress for women after it declared independence from the Netherlands in 1945.

Malay-language arthouse horror film Tiger Stripes has made a groundbreaking achievement by becoming the inaugural Malaysian movie to secure the top honor for best feature at Cannes’ Critics’ Week, a prestigious section of the Cannes Film Festival that showcases debut or sophomore films.

Directed by Amanda Nell Eu, a Malaysian filmmaker making her directorial debut, the film triumphed at the 62nd edition of Cannes’ Critics’ Week, earning the grand prize of €10,000 (RM49,400).

Tiger Stripes is also currently in contention for the esteemed Camera d’Or award, bestowed upon the best first feature film from the Official Selection, Directors’ Fortnight, or International Critics’ Week categories at Cannes.

Audrey Diwan, the president of the 2023 Critics’ Week jury, described Tiger Stripes as “Irreverent and uncompromising,” noting its refusal to conform and its captivating distinctiveness.

She conveyed to Screen Daily, “It was the first film of the selection that we saw. It has passed the test of time.”

Produced under Eu’s own production company, Ghost Grrrl Pictures, Tiger Stripes revolves around a 12-year-old girl struggling to comprehend the changes her body undergoes during puberty.

The film features a cast of talented newcomers such as Zafreen Zairizal, Deena Ezral, and Piqa, alongside established actors Shaheizy Sam and Fatimah Abu Bakar.

Eu, aged 37, has the distinction of being the first female director from Malaysia to present a film at the Cannes Film Festival.

Tiger Stripes holds the distinction of being only the fourth Malaysian feature film showcased at Cannes, following U-Wei Saari’s Kaki Bakar in 1995, Karaoke by Chris Chong Chan Fui in 2009, and Woo Ming Jin’s The Tiger Factory in 2010.

Timor-Leste independence hero Xanana Gusmao has won the parliamentary election, but the country’s first president may contest the count after his party fell short of an outright majority.

The result of Sunday’s election paves the way for a return to power for the 76-year-old, Timor-Leste’s first president, if he can form a coalition.

Fellow independence figure Dr Mari Alkatiri’s incumbent Fretilin party, formerly the Revolutionary Front for an Independent East Timor, won only 25.7 percent, according to the Electoral Commission.

Dr Andrea Fahey from the Australian National University said the results signalled a desire for political change from the people of Timor-Leste.

“The management of the covid pandemic and the fact the government closed down, it was a big punishment vote on the government for that,” she said.

“For Dr Alkatiri, maybe it’s time to pass the torch.”

If there is no outright winner from the election, the constitution gives the party with the most votes the opportunity to form a coalition.

The next government will need to decide on allowing the development of the Greater Sunrise project, which aims to tap trillions of cubic metres of natural gas.

Dr Fahey said Gusmao was expected to move forward with engaging the Australian government on the project.

There are also growing calls for Timor-Leste to join the Pacific Islands Forum (PIF), which could owe to its cultural connections to the region.

“It’s kind of the bridge between both regions,” Dr Fahey said.

“Timor-Leste would be a positive addition to the Pacific Forum, and could bring a loud voice [since] Timor has a strong international presence.”

The Circle of Silence is a work of witness, remembrance and hope. Directors Luigi Atquisto and Lurdes Pereira, with the help of the late Shirley Shackleton, turn the latter’s book into a cold case investigation.

The result is a powerful investigation of what really happened to the Balibo Five in 1975.

The Balibo Five were a group of five Australian television journalists, murdered by Indonesian military forces at the beginning of the invasion of Timor-Leste.

Atquisto’s fifth documentary about Timor-Leste is a true homage by a director passionately involved in the country’s struggle for recognition and justice. By following Shackleton’s unstinting pursuit of the death of her journalist husband, we are offered an unsettling account of Canberra’s cosy relationship to the military regime.

The pastiche of smiling Prime Ministers, from Gough Whitlam to John Howard — hugging, dining and cheers-ing Suharto — is enough to make the stomach churn.

This is the man who orchestrated the massacre of more than a million Indonesians, shoring up his 30-year rule through the brutal crushing of the Indonesian Communist Party.

The first four years of Indonesia’s occupation of Timor-Leste, under Suharto, led to the deaths of 200,000 Timorese through army killings and bombings, forced relocations, starvation and disease.

Perhaps most disturbing element of The Circle of Silence is the portrayal of Australia’s incipient role in the invasion.

In the aftermath of the Balibo Five murders, as a self-conscious Indonesia lingered five weeks to gauge international reaction, it was Australia who greenlit Jakarta’s path forward.

Fully aware that these were, in fact, murders, Whitlam chose to support Indonesia’s accounts that these were unfortunate deaths in the crossfire of a legitimate invasion: this paved the way for 24 years of brutal occupation.

While Australia has since recognised these murders, official Indonesian accounts deny them to this day.

Of course, as Atquisto and Pereira point out, oil was at the heart of this decision. Whitlam, like a dutiful contortionist, was able to frame Indonesia as the rightful ruler of Timor-Leste by keeping his gaze steadily on oil in the Timor Sea, where confirmation of bountiful deposits had been made in 1974.

Thanks to Canberra’s shonky sketching of maritime boundaries, these deposits secured A$4 billion before they were realigned post Timorese independence.

The directors point out that this makes Timor-Leste Australia’s largest foreign aid donor.

The subsequent question and answer session traced how this film might find oxygen beyond its limited screening tour. How might an audience of committed and passionate viewers be grown when a generally obsequious corporate media is keen to bury any serious questioning of Canberra’s relationship to a well-documented human rights perpetrator?

The directors would like ABC and SBS to screen The Circle of Silence. You can request to host a screening by clicking here.

Indonesia is the largest democracy in the world without a law to protect its domestic workers. That may be about to change, with a bill that also paves the way to better rights for millions of Indonesians in places such as Hong Kong and Singapore.

But at home, many domestic employees will miss out on the law’s protections completely.

Almost 5 million domestic staff serve as the invisible backbone of South-East Asia’s largest economy, looking after upper-middle-class homes and freeing richer Indonesians to pursue more lucrative careers.

But they are often physically and socially isolated, leaving them particularly vulnerable to exploitation, assault and modern slavery.

The Domestic Workers Protection Bill, which President Joko Widodo aims to pass into law this month, gives household employees - three-quarters of whom are women - more of the rights afforded to formal workers.

Without it, "slavery will be much more entrenched in Indonesian mindsets,” said Lita Anggraini, the country’s leading activist on domestic workers’ rights.

She sees the bill as an important protection against the idea that "anything is acceptable for a domestic worker.”

Siti Khotimah, 24, is an example of just how bad things can get. She was just four months into working for a family in an affluent southern Jakarta neighborhood when her employer chained her, beat her and doused her with boiling water as punishment for a minor theft.

In the months that followed, she was forced to work up to 21 hours a day, her mobile phone was confiscated and her monthly pay of 2 million rupiah ($134) - less than 50% of Jakarta’s minimum wage - was withheld.

"I want to forget everything, but I can’t,” Khotimah said in an interview. The treatment she received during her eight-month stint as a domestic worker left her limping and desperate to return to her home, more than 300 kilometers away.

"I no longer want to work outside” the village, she said. "I’m traumatized.”

While there is friendly rivalry between Singapore and Malaysia over who makes better food, for one notable family in Singapore, the best sambal belacan (a spicy condiment made from shrimp paste) indisputably comes from Malaysia, though only from a very special source.

In 2019, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong conveyed his thanks to the Malaysian queen for regularly sending over her sambal belacan to his family. “Thank you for your warmth and kindness, sending my father (and me) your special sambal belacan all these years!” he tweeted on 28 October 2019. “I hope you enjoy making it as much as we enjoy eating it!” A few days before, Raja Permaisuri Agong Tunku Hajah Azizah Aminah Maimunah Iskandariah had shared on her Instagram account a letter written in July 2009 by former Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew. He wrote that the six packets of sambal belacan she had given him were delicious. “I shared them with my two sons. They have all been consumed. It is the best chilli belacan we have tasted. Can my family have a few more?”1 Since then, she has been regularly sending her sambal belacan across the Causeway.

Sambal belacan is a regular accompaniment to rice in Malay, Eurasian and Peranakan  meals. It is made by pounding toasted belacan with chillies and adding calamansi lime juice, salt and sugar to that mixture. While it is popular with many people, its key ingredient, belacan, has a somewhat malodourous reputation.

Hugh Clifford, who served as Governor of the Straits Settlements between 1927 and 1929, referred to belacan as “that evil-smelling condiment which [had] been so ludicrously misnamed the Malayan Caviare” in his 1897 account of the Malay Peninsula. He wrote that the coasts reeked of “rank odours” as a result of women villagers “labouring incessantly in drying and salting the fish which [had] been taken by the men, or pounding prawns into blâchan” throughout the fishing season. The stench was so strong that “all the violence of the fresh, strong, monsoon winds” would only “partially purge” the villages of it.2

In his book, A Descriptive Dictionary of the Indian Islands & Adjacent Countries (1856), John Crawfurd, the former Resident of Singapore, describes balachong (belacan) as:

“[A] condiment made of prawns, sardines, and other small fish, pounded and pickled. The proper Malay word is bâlachan [belacan], the Javanese trasi [terasi], and the Philippine bagon [bagoong]. This article is of universal use as a condiment, and one of the largest articles of native consumption throughout both the Malay and Philippine Archipelago. It is not confined, indeed, as a condiment to the Asiatic islanders, but is also largely used by the Birmese [Burmese], the Siamese, and Cochin-Chinese. It is, indeed, in great measure essentially the same article known to the Greeks and Romans under the name of garum, the produce of a Mediterranean fish.”3

Today, the Malay term belacan is commonly used in Singapore, Malaysia, Brunei and parts of Indonesia to refer typically to shrimp paste. In Thailand, Laos and Cambodia, it is called kapi, which is borrowed from the term ngapi (literally “pressed fish”) used in Myanmar, while it is referred to as mắm tôm or mắm ruốc in Vietnam.

Because it is rich in glutamates and nucleotides, belacan imparts savouriness to any dish, what is often described as “umami”. Other foods that are rich in umami include fish sauce, soya sauce, kimchi, mushroom, ripe tomato, anchovy and cheese.

Making Belacan

A 17th-century account gives a remarkably detailed description of making belacan. In 1688, the English privateer William Dampier encountered people making a paste of small fish and shrimps called balachaun during his visit to Tonkin (North Vietnam). He saw how this process produced nuke-mum or nước mắm (fish sauce) as well. His account, published in 1699, provides one of the earliest Western descriptions of making fish/shrimp paste:

A year after Nobel Peace Prize winner Jose Ramos-Horta reclaimed the presidency, other familiar faces are hitting the campaign trail in the lead-up to a crucial parliamentary poll, which will determine who forms government.

Not for the first time, the poll has been cast as a showdown between independence hero Xanana Gusmao’s National Congress for Timorese Reconstruction (CNRT) and Mari Alkatiri’s Fretilin. There is a great deal at stake.

In the backdrop is the country’s unsteady reliance on natural resources, a plight highlighted by the projection that its petroleum-based sovereign wealth fund, which pays for more than 80 per cent of state spending, will run dry in a decade.

Gusmao, the former guerrilla fighter and Timor-Leste’s first president, is seeking to return his party to power, championing his long-held vision of piping liquified natural gas from the $50 billion Greater Sunrise fields to the country’s south coast in a bid to secure its economic prosperity.

It’s a cause that has also been taken up with gusto by Ramos-Horta since he became president again with the backing of Gusmao and CNRT, by hinting that the country could turn to China if Australia and commercial partner Woodside Energy insists on processing gas in Darwin instead.

The potential geopolitical ramifications mean Canberra will be watching the May 21 election particularly closely.

Polls are also looming large elsewhere in South-East Asia.

Thailand is gearing up to vote next month, Cambodia will follow in July while in Malaysia, the tenuous grip of Anwar Ibrahim’s coalition government may be put to the test by the results of half a dozen coming state contests.

The pace is also starting to pick up in Indonesia’s 2024 presidential race, with a likely field of three candidates taking shape.

There are asterisks of varying size that can be applied to some of this year’s elections.

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

*Siti Mazidah Mohamad is Visiting Fellow at the Regional Social and Cultural Studies Programme, ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute. She is an Assistant Professor and Director for the Centre for Advanced Research (CARe) at Universiti Brunei Darussalam, research Muslim youth culture and engagements with popular culture and new media in Southeast Asia.

In the heart of Kuala Lumpur's Chinatown, there is a hidden cul-de-sac alleyway between the busy streets of Lorong Panggung and Jalan Petaling. Long neglected and in bad shape, a project was recently initiated to give this secret alley a big makeover to bring back the golden age of Chinatown.

The alleyway is called Kwai Chai Hong, literally meaning "Little Demon Alley." It is believed to be a reference to the naughty children that once lived on this street, as the word kwai (which means "demon" or "ghost") and its variations are often used to refer to brats in Asian culture. Alternatively, some say that the alley was teeming with drunkards, drug addicts, and the like, or that it was a haunt of some street gang whose members called themselves kwai chai.

Today, the refurbished alley is home to restored buildings and shophouses from the pre-war era, as well as murals depicting everyday life in 1960s Chinatown. As you enter the almost-inconspicuous gate, you will be greeted by a quaint bridge called Hong Qiao leading back to the past. Inside an alleyway lined with ornamental red lanterns, adds vintage charm and character.

Kwai Chai Hong is now quite popular for its interactive art. There is a chair to sit on in front of the mural of a barber, for example, and a real-life jumping rope in front of a mural of little girls playing on the street. One of the murals is also very recognizable, depicting the iconic hair-rollered landlady from the 2004 action comedy film Kung Fu Hustle.

If you look closer, you may notice that every one of the murals has a QR code beside it. By scanning the code, you will get a soundtrack fitted for each mural, further immersing you in the atmosphere of Chinatown’s golden age.

Another attraction in the alley, often overlooked by photo-op seekers, is the old lamppost standing in the corner. Installed around 1903 when the city of Kuala Lumpur got electricity for the first time, this lamppost is believed to be the only one that has survived from that first, early 20th-century set.

In the middle of Sarinah, Indonesia's first modern department store stands the country's oldest escalator. Built in 1966, the escalator no longer operates but still sits between two working escalators. Narrow and with colorful sides, the escalator is almost like a Time Machine bringing visitors back to 1960s Jakarta.  

Like the escalator, the Sarinah Department Store building has undergone a complete renovation and no looks more like mall, complete with other shops and restaurants.  Come for the escalator but give yourself some time to check out the extraordinary fabrics and other Indonesian products made throughout the archipelago!

This aptly hidden attraction lies on the edge of the Thăng Long citadel complex—Hanoi’s only World Heritage Site. Known as the Military Operation Bunker General Command Headquarters, or simply as the T1 Operation Command Bunker, this relic played an important role in the Vietnam War, or the American War as it is known in Vietnam.

The construction started toward the end of 1964 to serve as the military headquarters of the freedom fighters of Vietnam. Today, the subterranean exhibits showcase artifacts from the war, such as maps and military uniforms. The site consists of tactical briefing rooms with telephones used for correspondence with President Ho Chi Minh.

In 2013, the 40th anniversary of the signing of the Paris Peace Accords, the secret bunker was finally opened to the general public. It remains a lesser-visited, under-appreciated attraction in the medieval citadel complex.

It was a clear day when Kham set out from his home in northwestern Laos for what he thought was a chance to make money in the gilded gambling towns of the Golden Triangle, the border region his country shares with Thailand and Myanmar.

On that day – a Friday, as he recalled – the teenager had gotten a Facebook note from a stranger: a young woman asking what he was doing and if he wanted to make some cash. He agreed to meet that afternoon.

She picked up Kham, 16, along with a friend, and off they went, their parents none the wiser.

“I thought to myself I’d work for a month or two then I’d go home,” Kham later said. (RFA has changed the real names of the victims in this story to protect them from possible reprisals.)

But instead of a job, Kham ended up trafficked and held captive in a nondescript building on the Burmese-Thai border, some 200 miles south of the Golden Triangle and 400 miles from his home – isolated from the outside world, tortured and forced into a particular kind of labor: to work as a cyber-scammer.

In recent years, secret sites like the one where Kham was detained have proliferated throughout the region as the COVID-19 pandemic forced criminal networks to shift their strategies for making money.

One popular scheme today involves scammers starting fake romantic online relationships that eventually lead to stealing as-large-as-possible sums of money from targets.

The scammers said that if they fail to do so, they are tortured.

Teen victims from Luang Namtha province in Laos who were trafficked to a place they called the “Casino Kosai,” in an isolated development near the city of Myawaddy on Myanmar’s eastern border with Thailand, have described their ordeal to RFA.

Chillingly, dozens of teenagers and young people from Luang Namtha are still believed to be trapped at the site, along with victims from other parts of Asia.

The case is but the tip of the iceberg in the vast networks of human trafficking that claim over 150,000 victims a year in Southeast Asia.

Yet it encapsulates how greed and political chaos mix to allow crime to operate unchecked, with teenagers like Kham paying the price.

The promise of cash

Typically, it starts with the lure of a job.

In the case of Lao teenagers RFA spoke to, the bait can be as simple as a message over Facebook or a messaging app.

Other scams have involved more elaborate cons, with postings for seemingly legitimate jobs that have ensnared everyone from professionals to laborers to ambitious youths.

What they have in common is the promise of high pay in glitzy, if sketchy, casino towns around Southeast Asia – many built with the backing of Chinese criminal syndicates that operate in poorly policed borderlands difficult to reach.

By Nuurrianti Jalli, Assistant Professor of Communication Studies College of Arts and Sciences Department of Languages, Literature, and Communication Studies, Northern State University

Researchers and civil society organizations must start to study TikTok’s potential impact on Indonesia as the country will hold its general and presidential elections in February 2024.

Indonesia is home to the platform’s second-largest audience globally.

Research has also found TikTok has a role in facilitating the spread of hate speech as well as misinformation and disinformation.

So it is imperative to scrutinize its potential impact on Indonesian public opinion. And the public must also pressure TikTok to boost monitoring of what is said on the platform.

Ethnoreligious propaganda on TikTok

TikTok has experienced remarkable growth and gained immense popularity, especially among younger audiences in Southeast Asia, underlining its significant effects on public opinion and behaviors.

This was clearly demonstrated during protests against the 2020 Indonesia Omnibus Law on Labor, when young Indonesians effectively utilized the app to disseminate political messages and rally support.

In Indonesia, a multicultural country with a multitude of ethnic and religious communities, the rise of ethnoreligious hate speech as well as misinformation and disinformation in the digital realm has emerged as a pressing issue.

Ethnoreligious propaganda, including hate speech, misinformation and disinformation, is undeniably widespread across various social media platforms.

But TikTok’s distinct features and expanding influence in Indonesia make it particularly noteworthy.

In the heart of Singapore's vast Gardens by the Bay, a colossal baby floats weightlessly as if in zero gravity—or in his mother's womb.

Simply titled "Planet," this piece of public art is a work by British visual artist Marc Quinn, known for his marble sculptures that explore the human body. The sculpture was originally commissioned in 2008 by the estate of Chatsworth House and installed in its 1,000-acre garden famously landscaped by Capability Brown.

Made in painted bronze and steel, the enormous sculpture measures nearly 32 feet (10 meters ) long and 13 feet (four meters) high. It's based on Quinn's earlier work titled "Innoscience," a sculpture of his first son at seven months old.

After being tabled for its third reading in Parliament today, a Bill proposing to make the death penalty optional rather than mandatory was passed by voice vote.

Deputy Dewan Rakyat Speaker Alice Lau called for the vote after Deputy Minister in the Prime Minister’s Department (Law and Institutional Reforms) Ramkarpal Singh gave his concluding remarks on the Bill, Malay Mail reported.

Ten MPs had taken part in the debate on the bill.

Ramkarpal said it was crucial to abolish the mandatory death penalty in favour of alternative sentences as the death penalty was “irreversible”.

“The death penalty has not brought the results it was intended to bring,” he said when winding up the debate in the Dewan Rakyat.

“We must have confidence in the judiciary to exercise their discretion in a fair manner.”

Before deciding to abolish the mandatory death penalty, the government, according to Ramkarpal, sought input from family members of murder victims.

He went on to say that the families of the victims had also been contacted by former chief justice Richard Malanjum, who oversaw a special committee for the investigation of alternatives to the mandatory death penalty in 2020.

“The government did not just seek the opinion of only one side, but from both sides – the pro-abolishment and the anti-abolishment groups – in making this decision,” he said.

“This decision also considered other factors such as the principle of proportionality, which is whether the death penalty sentence is proportionate with the crime committed, the human rights of the offender and whether restorative justice will be achieved.”

The Abolition of the Mandatory Death Penalty Bill would allow judges to impose the death penalty at their discretion rather than requiring them to do so when convicting for crimes that made it mandatory.

In addition, the life sentence and natural life imprisonment (until death) alternatives to the mandatory death penalty are being replaced by a new alternative that calls for a jail term of 30 to 40 years and a minimum of 12 cane strokes.

Before being presented to the Yang di-Pertuan Agong for royal assent, the Bill must now be approved in the Dewan Negara as well.