Sang Kancil was an independent online journal that was the cumulative observations of our very own veteran journo MGG Pillai. Apart from Sabri Zain’s online Reformasi Diary, which was a brilliant documentation of the day-to-day street protests, there was no other alternative. The real news was out there on the streets, and we were being fed lies by the mainstream papers.

Sumi stood up, then sat down again, quickly.

Oh god, too much gin.

It’s the Sempoerna. Goes straight to your head.

She sat down again and inhaled deeply.

What if? What if?

What?

If we started something!

Like…?

An alternative newspaper, something that we can all write for.

What do you mean?

Citizen journalism.

I sat up, lit another Sempoerna and sloshed more gin into my empty glass.

You think Fairman would approve?

Heck, he’d fund it, no?

It could be like an underground newspaper, something that we can send out to everybody.

Alternative news—on the Internet, on a website…

From the street!

Opinions, columns, photos—document it all! We can do this.

I was drunk, but it made sense. Why not? Take it into our own hands.

Call him now!

We did. And that’s how it started. After half a bottle of gin and many more Sempoernas, Saksi was born.

Saksi. Witness.

We were going to bear witness to the Reformasi movement. We were going to do it our way. And we were going to do it right.

The People Accuse

Saksi is a site for independent journalism. Our first issue focuses on 20 September 1998, when a massive demonstration took place in Kuala Lumpur. Features, opinions, photography and other stories analyse and document the events of the day and subsequent developments. Saksi is a weekly magazine that is constantly updated. Saksi will present news that is real. News from the streets. News from our reporters who are not afraid of telling the truth.

“Blue Boy, please.”

Marina had said “please” almost like “peh-lis”, which sounded like “polis” to the taxi driver who picked her up. She didn’t know why she was so nervous, she just was. Maybe she should have just said, “BB, please.”

KL’s first gay bar, opened in the 80s, was located on the corner of a slip road off Jalan Bukit Bintang, right beside the five-star Regent Hotel. Open till late on weekends, it had become an institution, where men went to meet other men to be entertained. Where drag queens donned wigs and powder, fake eyelashes and heels, padded bras and gowns, and sang gay anthems like “YMCA” and “I Will Survive” with heartfelt gusto.

The taxi driver had been listening to a religious channel on the radio. He cleared his throat and turned it up even louder. Unperturbed, Marina settled back in the seat and observed the traffic. Cars choked the road she was on. Motorbikes weaved in and out, families thronged the Batu Road night market on her left. She saw a woman struggling with plastic bags, dragging a screaming child behind her. High above, invisible wires held up a glowing tapestry of crisscrossed lights. Even the trees had lights that streamed downwards, and then upwards, like shimmery magic wands.