Friday, May 18, 2018

Amina Describes Her Ordeal (Reprise)

On 8 November 2006 The Star headlines read: "Bone fragments of model found on hill." Eleven years down the line the key figures behind the gruesome murder of Altantuya Shaariibuu have yet to be investigated for their complicity in this high-profile crime of mind-boggling proportions, involving billions of ringgit worth of military spending and kickbacks - and implicating those now enthroned in the highest positions. Not only is the Malaysian government guilty of a massive cover-up, so also are all of us who choose to ignore the rotting elephant carcass in our living rooms....

[From a statutory declaration dated 1 July 2008, signed by Balasubramaniam a/l Perumal, private investigator...]
On Oct 19, 2006, I arrived at Abdul Razak Baginda’s house in Damansara Heights to begin my night duty. I had parked my car outside as usual. I saw a yellow Proton Perdana taxi pass by with three ladies inside, one of whom was Amina. The taxi did a U-turn and stopped in front of the house where these ladies rolled down the window and wished me ‘Happy Deepavali.’ The taxi then left.

About 20 minutes later the taxi returned with only Amina in it. She got out of the taxi and walked towards me and started talking to me. I sent an SMS to Abdul Razak Baginda informing him “Amina was here.” I received an SMS from Razak instructing me “to delay her until my man comes.”

Whist I was talking to Amina, she informed me of the following:

i) That she met Abdul Razak Baginda in Singapore with Najib Razak.

ii) That she had also met Abdul Razak Baginda and Najib Razak at a dinner in Paris.

iii) That she was promised a sum of US$500,000.00 as commission for assisting in a submarine deal in Paris.

iv) That Abdul Razak Baginda had bought her a house in Mongolia but her brother had refinanced it and she needed money to redeem it.

v) That her mother was ill and she needed money to pay for her treatment.

vi) That Abdul Razak Baginda had married her in Korea as her mother is Korean whilst her father was a Mongolian/Chinese mix.

vii) That if I wouldn’t allow her to see Abdul Razak Baginda, would I be able to arrange for her to see Najib Razak.

After talking to Amina for about 15 minutes, a red Proton Aeroback arrived with a woman and two men. I now know the woman to be lance corporal Rohaniza and the men, Azilah Hadri and Sirul Azahar. They were all in plainclothes. Azilah walked towards me while the other two stayed in the car.

Azilah asked me whether the woman was Amina and I said “Yes”. He then walked off and made a few calls on his handphone. After 10 minutes another vehicle, a blue Proton Saga, driven by a Malay man, passed by slowly. The driver's window had been wound down and the driver was looking at us.

Azilah then informed me they would be taking Amina away. I informed Amina they were arresting her. The other two persons then got out of the red Proton and exchanged seats so that lance corporal Rohaniza and Amina were in the back while the two men were in the front. They drove off and that is the last I ever saw of Amina.

I don't know where they are taking me. At first I thought they would take me to the police station and question me, but we seem to be going away from the city. Maybe they are taking me to the airport and throwing me out of the country. More than half an hour later the car enters a gated driveway leading to a double-storey bungalow in a big garden. It's a very quiet area and I have no idea where I am. I feel very worried about the situation, but I try my best to look calm.

One of the men tells the lady something in Malay and she nods and returns to the car. The men then push me inside the house and force me to go upstairs. I am beginning to feel frightened, because this is definitely not a police station. What will they do to me?

One man opens a bedroom door and the other pushes me inside. I fear they may try to rape me as we appear to be alone in this big house. The men ask me for my handbag and they take away my watch, cellphone and jewelry. Then they push me inside a big empty wardrobe and shut the door. It is very dark and musty inside and I hear a key turning in the wardrobe door. I hear the men's voices discussing something, then they leave the room, and I am alone in the total darkness. I can hear my heart pounding very loudly. The sound of traffic from a great distance tells me we are quite far from the city.

I have no sense of time. I may have dozed off after an hour, I can't be sure. My stomach is growling, so it must be long after dinner time. I feel stiff and uncomfortable and my bladder is ready to burst. Amy must be wondering why I am not back at the hotel yet. I hope she will call Ang to enquire about me at the police station. That Razak is a coward. He dare not face me. Instead he has asked the police to kidnap me....

There are voices in the room and a key turns. The wardrobe door opens and I see several figures as my eyes adjust to the light. They are wearing black hoods and I can see only their eyes - but two of them are women. I am dragged out roughly and pushed to the floor. Now I am really scared. These people are dangerous, they are not behaving like police officers at all, more like members of a secret society.

While one of the hooded men lifts me off the floor, the large woman is shouting angrily at me, calling me all kinds of names. Suddenly she steps forward and slaps me very hard across the face - again and again and again - while my arms are held tight by the men. Tears sting my raw cheeks and I tell her stop but she keeps hitting me and spitting in my face.

She calls me a dirty prostitute and says I deserve to die. I don't know who this woman is but she is totally crazy, like a demon. Sometimes she shouts at me in English and then she says something in Malay. The other woman steps forward and tears the front of my dress with great force. She pulls off my bra and gags me with it, and then she yanks down my panties, so they are around my ankles.

The men push me to the floor and take turns raping me. One tries to sodomize me but gives up and forces himself into my mouth instead. I bite him and he screams in pain and hits my head very hard, till I almost lose consciousness. This is a horrible nightmare. It can't be happening to me! Who are these insane people? They can't be policemen! They are monsters! I can hear the large woman laughing like a witch...

Suddenly I am looking at the scene from somewhere above. My body is badly bruised and almost numb with shock. It's a strange feeling, to feel so detached from my body. I feel no anger. Only sadness and pity for my attackers who are so depraved they are no longer human. I know I will never see my family and friends again, because these people intend to kill me.

I am back in my body and it hurts all over. The woman is mercilessly beating me with a cane and kicking me while the others stand back. She keeps whacking my genitals until I feel nothing... then I am thankfully out of my body again.

I watch my unconscious body being carried downstairs. They tape my mouth shut and tie my hands and feet tight with plastic rope. Then they throw me into the back of a 4-wheel-drive and slam the door shut. The vehicle drives off, followed by two other cars.

After a long time the 4-wheel-drive stops and a few people climb into it. The road is very bad and bumpy but I am hovering close to my body, observing everything that happens. There is no more sound of traffic. We must be in the jungle somewhere because all I can hear are insects chirping loudly, and heavy breathing as my body is placed on a stretcher and carried by two men along a jungle path.

When they finally stop and put down the stretcher I hear the woman's voice again. Cold water is thrown on my face and I return to my body with a jerk. Slowly I try to open my eyes but I can't focus on anything because it is very dark, except for the flashlights carried by a few of my abductors. The woman's voice is very close to my ear as she hisses: "So long, Amina. Lovely to meet you at last. Have a pleasant journey." She laughs grotesquely and rips off the tape covering my mouth. "I want to hear you scream. Do you have any last words... dear Amina?" She has removed her hood so I can see her face. It's a very cruel face indeed. The others are not wearing hoods but I don't know who they are. The large woman is obviously their boss.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch the metallic gleam of a gun near my face and I know this is the end of my story. I gather my strength and say as calmly and clearly as possible, so they will hear every word: "You are evil people. I curse you forever. You will never know peace again." I feel myself transforming into a mother wolf, ready to pounce in defence of her cubs...

Then I hear a click and there is blinding flash. I am floating ten feet above my twitching body. After a while I see someone attaching something to my now lifeless body. I cannot believe they intend to blow up my corpse with explosives, so nobody will ever find my bones!

I look up and see a beautiful blue sky. The sun shines brilliantly over the distant mountains. I can hear voices singing in overtones the ancient melodies of the great steppes where my ancestors hunted and fought their battles. Suddenly I am flying like an eagle over the rugged landscape that feels so familiar. I am free as a bird and I am home at last.

[First published 19 October 2008. Reposted 8 November 2011 & 19 October 2014]

Thursday, May 17, 2018

ProGnosis (revisited yet again)

We started out with a discussion on "Evil" - its definition and possible origins. Now it seems we are attempting to summarize EVERYTHING we think we know about EXISTENCE and post it via email to Edward Kemp, investigative anthropologist residing in Quebec, who will then pass it around a few others on his mailing list - who, no doubt, will have lots more to add to this virtual conference, which in theory could go on indefinitely like a verbal marathon, till one by one the participants drop away through boredom, fatigue, or irritation.

WHY are we doing this? WHY am I writing what I'm writing now? Knowing full well I really don't have to - even if I did promise Ed I'd sum up the situation the best I can, if only to clear the cobwebs in my brain. Clearly, there is pleasure in hearing the sound of our own voices, especially if we believe someone is actually listening. Sweet nights under the starry desert sky, passing a portable hookah around while waiting for the coffee to brew, in the company of savant mystics, each with 1001 anecdotes to relate, and a dozen theories to propound. That's the image I get out of this exercise.

At this moment my mind is a blank slate. Many, many moments ago I was omniscient, knew just about everything, or thought I did. But it now feels as if I have passed through an etheric membrane, like bursting through an amniotic sac, and I am like a newborn babe in a world completely unfamiliar and incomprehensible. Yet I do have a genetic archive where memories are haphazardly filed away (some day I'll get around to sorting out the mess, some day!)

Arcane knowledge, esoterica, the occult, Mystery Schools, the Gnosis... ahhh, the long road we have traveled around and around the zodiac. All this juxtaposed with massacres, blood sacrifice, witch-hunts, secret police, bioweapons, reptilian-Anunnaki Illuminati cabals, MK-ULTRAACIOMen In Black, Zeta-Drako agents in cahoots with the military top brass, mind control, ELF, The Frequency Fence, Priory of Sion...

Where's the Cartoon Universe? Lemme outa here!

The Mystery is My Story. It's as simple as That. And my story is told in spiralling fractals of prismatic LIGHT, moving as information through neurons and synapses in billions of Other Aspects, occasionally recognizable as fragments of my Original Core Self. From the Unnameable issues all names, from the One comes the Many, from Nothing Everything emerges.  From My Story is born All Stories - and stories are all we have to go by. Some stories make you cry, some make you laugh, some make you go Aha! And some just put you to sleep.

The ones that put you to sleep are told by Dark Sorcerers who steal power from you by putting you under their hypnotic spell. The Eater of Souls is one whose stories are deadly dull and cluttered with meaningless facts and figures - try reading an Environmental Impact Assessment report for a World Bank funded dam project!

EVIL is LIVE in reverse, just as EROS is SORE!

Is EVIL really VILE or just a VEIL for the Sacred Bride? A ROSE for My Lady! I arose for my lady but she was still sore at me so Eros has to wait. Words, wordplay, in the beginning was the Word. The Logos. Is Logic our friend? Do I sound Antisemantic?

In 1976 Julian Jaynes wrote The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind, in which he postulated that auditory commands registered in the right hemisphere of the brain are rendered into language by the left and interpreted as Orders from Above. The book almost put me to sleep so it's obvious where he's coming from! Are my thoughts influenced by Archetypal imprints transmitted via photons? Are the Ascended Masters and the Archangels and Pleiadian Councils guiding the way I evolve as a hybrid humanoid with an unknown number of lineages seeded over countless aeons by legions of ultra-, meta- and extraterrestrials? Are the Sun and the planets and myriads of stars talking to Me? I am a Descended Master - and a family man - and you have my email address!

God Immanent and Transcendent: Within and Without! As an occasional Solipsist, I revert to being God in the privacy of my own Mind - but in public my divinity is externalized and God becomes my cosmic Father/Mother. The Undotted I from Whom i originated. Great Spirit! Does God know humility? Why so many Names? Mind Games...

If Linear Time is an illusion, what does that make "history"? His story, her story, Whose Story? Who Else? Virtual Reality hologram movies made by Whom? ME? Did I invent the Suns of the One and the Paradise Sons? Did the shadows they cast as they acquired density become the Sons of Belial? My Shadow Selves are legion. Do shadows have Free Will? A life of their own? The Pinocchio Effect: does it apply to shadows, who take on a life of their own as our Evil Twins, our Doppelgängers, our Ids? Pleasure to meet you, Mr Hyde, would you like some tea?

If I didn't do all this.... WHO did? Greg? Ed Kemp? Mr Baggy? Queen Kate? Maisoon? John Kaminski? Pancho Villa? The Man of La Mancha? Onaxis? Atmanu Ram Anu? Prime Creator Source? Are Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld really part of me? Retch.  Puke. Vomit. Poison in the bloodstream. Stupid White Men in their Dark Suits and Blood-Red Ties. Their insane arrogance and incurable halitosis. Do I HATE them? Sometimes, yes!

I hate bits of myself sometimes. My receding chin, puffy eye bags (legacy of my mother's dragon bloodline, degenerate nobility, mercenary magicians). Reptilian DNA. Reptilian implants. (Some good news here: the Great-Great-Granddaddy of them Rebel Reptiles that invaded and colonized the Earth 225 million years ago has recently been vaporized by Prime Creator Source and the hypothalamic reptile brain is rapidly losing its deadly stranglehold on the angelic humans!) But I have no bone to pick with the Great Reptile Families. Only a handful are mean-minded and totally mad. They think they can hijack Creation and make it their very own Miscreation.

What about all those scary entities you hear about? Choronzon, Ialdabaoth, Samael, Nosferatu, Kahotep, Aleister Crowley, Lafayette Ron Hubbard, Anton La Vey, Idi Amin, Robert Mugabe, Jeffrey Dahmer, Armin Meweis, George Herbert Walker Bush, Ku Nan the Barbarian, Rosmah Mansor... Tales from the Crypt!  The Undead. Shudder... Enochian magicians are such Woeful Wankers!

Which parts of me are they? Denizens of my Unconscious, terrorizing the Collective Psyche into sheeplike submission through their dominance of the Airwaves and the Microwaves and the Ultrawaves, killing off Cetaceans so we will be bereft of our Memories of the Deep from Antediluvian Days. Who are all these Zeta-Drako-Human clones in the Office of Naval Research and who now occupy the penthouse floors of the Pentagon? Who do THEY worship? What Secret Chiefs? Marduk? Lucifer? What Nameless Ones do they sacrifice young children to? In the robes of Aztec priests or Dark Druids, with their hideous addiction to solemn ritual, they are the inner core of a Kosmik Ku Klux Klan. Always looking for Niggers to lynch, are they the Great White Brotherhood?

The Sirius Lodge and the Orion Light Council... Galactic Federation... Ashtar Command... Pleiadian Agenda... Guardian Alliance... Melchizedek Cloisters... United Intruder Resistance... Stargate Keepers... Multidimensional Vortex Merkabas. Seems I'm getting so complicated I'll never understand Myself completely! Jesus H. Christ may be a curse on some people's lips - but he's a good friend of mine. Long live Christos Power!

The Wars of Gods and Men are giving me a monster bellyache! 'Scuse me, folks.... gotta go make a Leviathan Poop! Maybe I'll start an organic fertilizer business. See you in a bit ;-)


[First published 10 December 2003. Posted 11 July 2012 & 26 January 2015]

Tuesday, May 15, 2018


It never ceases to amaze me when perfectly intelligent folk keep parroting unoriginal notions acquired from coffeeshop gossip and loose talk over a few beers. How many times have I been told by those supposedly in the know that “Anwar can’t be trusted. He’s a chameleon.”

Dammit… look at that bunch of utter nincompoops strutting around the corridors of power today: anal-retentive Umno stereotypes like Najib Razak, Zahid Hamidi, Nazri Abdul Aziz, Tengku Adnan, Hishammuddin Hussein, Noh Omar, Khairy Jamaluddin… DO YOU TRUST THESE CREATURES? They can’t even speak in public without sounding like robots or reading from scripts! Anwar is human and passionate and you can sense a burning intelligence in his eyes.

Okay, back in the mid-1970s when I first read about this hotheaded leader of ABIM (Muslim Youth Movement), I went ho-hum. Back then Anwar Ibrahim was your archetypal ethnocentric nationalist sporting the mujahideen goatee - but at least he was outspoken on issues affecting the rural poor, and that got him into jail. Seeing his leadership potential, Mahathir persuaded Anwar to join Umno and got him spewing forth the expected foam about bangsa and ugama. I confess that in 1989 I actually did a caricature of him and labeled it "Anal Ibrim" little suspecting that within a decade Anwar would be plagued by that very word. And I'm still troubled by a rumor I once heard, naming Anwar Ibrahim as the minister who came up with the wicked idea to convert the dysfunctional Jabatan Hal Ehwal Orang Asli (Orang Asli Affairs Department) into a tool for converting the Orang Asli to Islam and assimilating them into the Malay mainstream.

Well, I don't know if there's any truth to that accusation - but even if it were true, that was back in 1990, and the man has suffered six years in prison for that reprehensible gaffe. You could say Anwar has paid all his karmic dues. Let's delete Anwar's slightly murky past when he was Umno deputy president and Dr M's hand-picked protégé, and take a closer look at what happened around the time of the currency depreciation in mid-1997. A bunch of young Turks in Umno were pushing Anwar to the forefront as a potential heir to the throne, goading him to attack Mahathir on the corruption front, the old man's weak underbelly. The Mamak didn't like that one bit - and neither did his former finance minister, Daim Zainuddin. Anwar was given the option to hand in his resignation - or face extreme vilification and political damnation.

Anwar, unlike other DPMs, refused to yield to Mahathir’s awesome might and megalomaniacal ego. Anwar fought back when he could have cut his losses by taking up a diplomatic or academic post abroad, returning quietly to the Umno fold a few years later like Musa Hitam.

On September 2nd, 1998, Anwar Ibrahim underwent a radical transformation from Umno bigwig to political renegade - he literally took on the mantle of a messianic cult hero when Malaysia urgently required one. I’ve watched him closely since his sacking and subsequent arrest - and he has performed impeccably as a spiritual warrior and icon of righteous resistance. Over six years of incarceration Anwar maintained his dignity, focus, perseverance and humanity - and that’s when the beautiful, strong women in his life rose to the occasion.

No man who has seen his wife and daughter go through so much on his behalf would ever behave like a male chauvinist pig; he would have a healthy respect for the feminine principle. This is what I see in Anwar and that is why I have publicly hailed him as Malaysia’s best hope at this critical juncture in our political evolution.

Anwar has every quality that marks him as a man of extraordinary destiny. I trust him as much as I trust myself - and because I fear him not, I would walk up to him and tell him to his face if ever I felt he was turning into a tyrant. As a former victim of Dr M's tyranny, Anwar would never want to go down that ignominious road.

In 2001 while overnighting at a friend's house, I flipped through a copy of Anwar Ibrahim's Asian Renaissance I found in his library. Anwar came across as somebody I could imagine having a damn good conversation with on a one-to-one basis. But what most impressed me and turned my views around on politicians in general and Anwar in particular - was the bibliography at the end of the book which listed - among a broad spectrum of classics including the sublime poetry of Rabindranath Tagore - the Tao Te Ching. Now, anybody who can claim to have read that supreme masterpiece in pithy, organic wisdom is welcome in my household anytime. And if he decides to run for high political office, I'd put my money on him. These are no ordinary times we are living in. Successfully navigating the uncharted political seas immediately ahead calls for an extraordinary helmsman - one who has survived the worst storms!

[Here's an inspiring perspective on Anwar Ibrahim by Charles R. Avila that was uploaded 11 June 2008 on Din Merican's blog.]


Wednesday, 30 July 2008

Malaysia Today

At 2.30pm on Wednesday, 25 June 2008, Senior Assistant Commissioner (SAC) II Mohd Rodwan Mohd Yusof met Mohd Saiful Bukhari Azlan in room 619 of the Concorde Hotel in Kuala Lumpur. Prior to this secret meeting, Rodwan and Saiful spoke on the phone at least eight (8) times.

Three days later, at 2.00pm on 28 June 2008, Saiful went to see Dr Mohamed Osman Abdul Hamid of the Hospital Pusrawi to ‘complain’ that he had been sodomised by ‘a very important person’ and that he wished to lodge a police report. The doctor, however, found no traces or evidence that he had been sodomised and suggested, for purposes of the police report, that Saiful go to a government hospital.

Who is Rodwan, other than the fact that he works for the IGP and is known as the police chief’s bagman and go-between with the organised crime syndicate that controls all the drugs, prostitution, loan-sharking and gambling rackets? Well, read the following archived reports to get a better understanding of this scumbag and slime-ball named Rodwan. Maybe then you can understand why he met Saiful in a hotel room three days before the sodomy allegation against Anwar Ibrahim exploded.


This comment was posted 30 July 2008 on Susan Loone’s blog:


I would like to write the following statement in the name of GOD whom I believe.

I am a government doctor in the rank of consultant working in Hospital Kuala Lumpur (HKL). I know personally the doctors who examined Saiful on that day - 28 June 2008.

The so-called medical report mentioned in the NST is a fabrication or imagination by the UMNO paper. There is no such medical report submitted to the polis yet.

When examining Saiful, the specialist could not find any signs of Saiful being sodomised. Saiful was very cheerful, unlike real sodomised patients who will usually be very sad and disturbed.

Saiful was subsequently admitted to the ward and observed for a day. He was completely well in the ward and not emotionally disturbed.

[First posted 30 July 2008]

We can only conclude, in view of Umno's psychopathological obsession with anal sex as a means of destroying Anwar Ibrahim's personal reputation and political career, that the Ketuanan Melayu party is possessed by far more dangerous demons - and is collectively a smellier asshole than Saiful Bukhari Azlan.

[Last posted 17 January 2012, reposted 22 March 2014 & 12 April 2016]

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Rosmah Mansor, Uncrowned Queen of 'Putrakaya' (repost)

I don’t recall when I first heard the name Rosmah Mansor, but I clearly remember that whatever was said about her wasn’t exactly flattering.

Indeed, I can’t think of any Malaysian public figure around whom swirls so many ugly rumors and who is more feared and loathed.

What is it about Rosmah Mansor that makes her such a controversial figure? Is it just her big hair and penchant for Birkin bags and multimillion ringgit bling-bling? Well, that doesn’t help her public image, that’s for sure – especially at a time when most Malaysians find themselves seriously burdened by the ridiculous cost of cars, houses, education; while prices keep going up as the ringgit shrinks in value with no corresponding rise in household incomes.

Born 10 December 1951 in Kuala Pilah, Negri Sembilan, to schoolteacher parents, Rosmah holds a Bachelor’s degree in sociology and anthropology from Universiti Malaya, as well as a Master’s in sociology and agriculture from Louisiana State University, from which she graduated in 1978. She then joined Bank Pertanian as an executive and, in 1983, switched to property development with Island & Peninsular. Those were boom years in the local economy and Rosmah did extremely well selling expensive properties to nouveau-riche Umnoputras, especially political bigwigs.

There was talk that she was eyeing Rahim Thamby Chik, then Chief Minister of Melaka. However, her foxy instincts served her well and she redirected her feminine charms at another rising star in Umno, Najib Razak, then Minister of Culture, Youth and Sports. In 1987, Najib divorced Tengku Puteri Zainah Tengku Eskandar, his first wife, and married Rosmah Mansor.

A Nasty Reputation

By 1991 Najib Razak had been appointed defence minister, which presented him with great opportunities to strengthen his political (and financial) position – while Rahim Thamby Chik was forced to step down as Chief Minister in 1994 after he was charged with statutory rape. The case was thrown out and Rahim Thamby Chik was quietly made chairman of Risda, a post he still holds, despite being recently found guilty of screening pornography at Carcosa Seri Negara.

Even as Najib Razak craftily navigated his way through the Byzantine intrigues of Umno politics, Rosmah Mansor was acquiring a nasty reputation in her own inimitable style. Stories began to circulate about her penchant for expensive trinkets and how she would unashamedly throw her weight around, intimidating owners of jewelry stores for outrageous discounts. One apocryphal tale relates how she even threatened to shut down the business if they didn’t accede to her demands – and having been appeased with the offer of a free gift worth tens of thousands, she simply took the gift and walked out without buying the item she had originally haggled over.

When news broke just before Bersih 2.0 that Rosmah Mansor had imported a $24 million diamond ring from a famous New York jeweler, most Malaysians were aghast at the cost - but found it easy to believe that she was perfectly capable of such unimaginable extravagance, considering her collection of Birkin bags worth approximately $150,000 each.

Soul Mortgaged

How does one explain such an unsavory personality trait? It has to be examined in the context of provincial Malay culture, which is still largely feudalistic at its core. Social status is extremely important to the rural psyche and any ambitious ego would certainly strive to amass sufficient material wealth and political influence to qualify for entry into the rarefied realms of the traditional aristocracy.

Some say Rosmah Mansor is Malaysia’s version of Dr Faustus, a respected scholar who, in his overweening ambition to unravel the secrets of the universe through the practice of dark sorcery, mortgages his soul to the Devil. In Rosmah’s case it isn’t knowledge that she craves, but queenly power. We are hardly surprised, then, that she would dub herself “First Lady of Malaysia” shortly after her husband’s anointment as sixth prime minister (or crime minister, as some prefer to call him) – a title reserved for the wives of presidents or, in the case of Malaysia, the Raja Permaisuri Agong.

Her desperate hunger for self-glorification knows no bounds. This is, in fact, her greatest weakness, and it has been exploited by her business proxies who conspire to gratify her enormous ego with “sponsored” accolades like the dubious “International Peace and Harmony Award” conferred on her on 16 April 2010 by the Business Council for International Understanding in New York. This was commemorated with a double-page full-color ad in the New York Times which was signed off: “Best wishes from family and friends in USA and Malaysia.” A full-page black-and-white ad in the prestigious New York Times can cost up to $230,000 (RM736,000). It has been estimated that a double-page full-color center-spread would cost at least twice that amount.

On 11 February 2012 Curtin University, which enjoys close ties with the Malaysian education ministry, conferred an honorary doctorate on Rosmah Mansor. This news triggered a wave of ridicule and outrage, particularly among former Curtin graduates who protested that the university had debased and degraded itself by pandering to the whims of the widely-loathed FLOM (acronym for First Lady of Malaysia which those with barbed tongues often read as Fat Lady of Malaysia).

To be fair, we must concede that Rosmah certainly possesses enough smarts to have earned that doctorate, since she obtained her Master’s degree from Louisiana State University long before she achieved notoriety as Najib Razak’s spouse.

Indeed, on 7 May 2012, Rosmah acquired another honorary doctorate, this time from the Universiti Pendidikan Sultan Idris in Tanjong Malim – and on 20 June 2013 she was conferred yet another honorary doctorate and even made an honorary professor – but this time the news created hardly a ripple, since it was from  Kazakhstan University (and everybody knows Rosmah’s daughter, Nooryana Najwa, is married to Daniyar Nazarbayev, step-nephew of the President of Kazakhstan).

FLOM Fiasco

Ironically, the more vainglorious one’s ego, the less admirable one appears in other’s eyes. Surrounding herself with sycophantic courtiers and obsequious bottom feeders, Rosmah has turned into a walking caricature of evil personified, reminding us of Walt Disney’s tyrannical witch queen Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty (who commands a palace guard of mindless minions ever ready to defend her public image against all detractors). 

Indeed, such is her clout around the palace in 'Putrakaya' (where those who have gained instant wealth by manipulating an “affirmative” economic policy based on spurious notions of racial supremacy have entrenched themselves) she has been granted hundreds of millions for her assorted pet projects – none of which is subject to public scrutiny or financial accountability – and even her own quasi-governmental department with a salaried staff. When the FLOM website was launched, the public outcry was so loud it was quickly shut down within days.

Although Rosmah’s distinctive hairdo (which resembles a pharaonic headpiece) has been the brunt of political cartoonists (notably Zunar) she has nonetheless been taken seriously enough by world leaders like Lee Kuan Yew, who insisted on paying her a personal visit during his official Malaysian tour in June 2009. Speculation was rife about what might have been discussed. Political pundits pointed to Lee’s paying Rosmah homage as a clear sign that she was indeed the real power behind her pink-lipped husband’s throne.

When Rosmah flew to the 4th Qatar International Businesswoman’s Forum on a government-funded executive jet – and then stopped over in Dubai to do some shopping and hobnob with Princess Haya, wife of the ruler of Dubai – another hue and cry was raised in parliament by the opposition. Under questioning it was revealed that the average “official” flight costs nearly RM500,000. Less than a week earlier, the nation had been shocked to learn that Rosmah and Najib’s annual electricity bill amounted to RM2.2 million.

Red Queen and Knaves

Clearly, the problem with Rosmah Mansor is that she revels in the imaginary splendor of living the luxurious lifestyle of ancient queens in an age when such excesses only invite disgust and odium. Nevertheless, to the BN ministers beholden to her husband, Rosmah can do no wrong and they have stuck their necks out in her defence.

Deepak Jaikishan
Rosmah Mansor was at one time close to carpet seller Deepak Jaikishan who scurried around doing her every bidding and lavishing on her gifts of expensive jewelry in exchange for business favors. 

Then something soured the relationship and Deepak began to hold media conferences denouncing the FLOM and even released online a poorly written book (The Black Rose) detailing her reliance on talismans and magical spells. Not too many eyebrows were raised, however, as Malaysians had long known about Rosmah’s superstitious dependence on dark sorcery, even dubbing her “Perempuan Puaka” (meaning witchy woman).

In the digital age, not many take seriously the idea of black magic or voodoo – and perhaps that is why they can unwittingly succumb to it. How so? The secret history of political power on this earth has from time immemorial been associated with occult forces. In The Origins of Man and Universe: The Myth that Came to Life the mystic philosopher Barry Long hypothesized that the first tribal chiefs were shamans whose advanced psychic powers awed and intimidated others into following their vision of reality. Despite all the trappings of modernity a vast majority of people still cling to a superstitious belief in sorcery – and it is this barely concealed fear of the unknown that makes them susceptible to being hypnotized and subtly possessed by strongly focused wills.

When Najib Razak was nominated Umno president by 191 allegedly bought-off party division chiefs and installed as prime minister on 3 April 2009, video footage revealed a beaming Rosmah Mansor luxuriating in her moment of victory. Very quickly a strange pall of petty bickering descended upon the opposition parties, resulting in a slew of defections, which had a depressing effect on an electorate yearning for radical change.

Call it what you will – dark sorcery or voodoo – the effects aren’t always spectacular or even visible to the unobservant eye. More often the spell cast upon an unsuspecting populace merely enfeebles their resolve, dilutes their aspirations, and brings out the worst in their own psyches. 

The sense of larger community is replaced by aggressive surges of communal self-interest; individual egos become more isolated in their sense of separateness from others – and therefore more prone to acts of violence against others when threatened by acute financial despair.

Tim Burton released his version of the classic Alice in Wonderland in 2010 which carried a strong undercurrent of social and political commentary. In Burton’s film, decay and entropy lay waste to a once beautiful world, and the inhabitants are subdued and oppressed by fascist control mechanisms. Under the Red Queen's demented and tyrannical rule, Wonderland becomes Underland - a subterranean dream/nightmare with surreal overtones, where the Jubjub Bird and the Frumious Bandersnatch and the Burbling Jabberwock serve as the Red Queen's law enforcement agencies. A riot squad of playing cards stands ready to quell rebellion with the Underlandish equivalent of tear gas and water cannons - and bloodhounds are blackmailed into the Knave of Hearts's secret service.

Alice slays the Jabberwock
But all ends well when the innocent and pure-hearted Alice arrives in Underland, summoned by the White Rabbit (who symbolizes a civil service loyal to the land and not a specific political faction), wields the Vorpal Sword (of enhanced intelligence) and lops off the head of the Jabberwock (the Specter of May 13 and divide-and-rule politics). The White Queen reclaims her throne, life springs anew, and joy returns to Bolehland, oops, I mean, Wonderland.  

[From Malaysia Chronicle, 21 November 2013. First posted 14 January 2014, reposted 27 February 2015]