Greetings from The Peranakan Association Singapore.

The Association celebrates her 113th Anniversary this year and in line with the Association’s constant effort of promoting the rich and unique Peranakan culture, we are organizing the Peranakan Ball 2013.The purpose of the Ball is to raise funds for the Association’s annual expenses as well as its cultural fund. As a non-profit heritage society, the Association relies on the generosity, donations and sponsorships from members, friends and all well wishers.

The Peranakan Ball 2013 will be held on Friday, 26th July 2013 from 7:00pm at the Concorde Hotel Ballroom, 100 Orchard Road.

This year’s theme is LAOK EMBOK EMBOK – A spread of Peranakan Food. Peranakan Food or Laok Embok Embok is well known and much liked by Peranakans and many non Peranakans.We invite you to savour a sumptuous feast of Laok Embok Embok prepared by the chefs of Concorde Hotel. The band Evergreen will be at the Ball, belting out lagu joget and many dancing favourites. The Association’s Peranakan Voices will be singing and a most enjoyable skit by a “Wak wak” will also be in the programme.

An attendance of about 400 persons is expected, including Peranakans from all over Singapore and beyond. The dinner and the Ball promise to be fun filled and colourful, in the spirit of the Babas and Nyonyas. Do join us for this event.

For booking of seats/tables, please contact Nyonya Irene Ooi at 96184038 or Baba Ee Sin Soo at 97882227 or email: geok@peranakan.org.sg. Attached is a booking form for seat/table.
Click this link to download the form. ( right mouse click or CTRL + Click to save as)

If you wish to make a donation or sponsor gifts for the Ball, please contact Nyonya Christine Ong at 97982176 or email christineknong@yahoo.com.sg, the sponsorship/donation forms are also attached herein.

The Peranakan Association Singapore wishes you and your family good health, happiness and abundant fortune. Thank you for your continuous and loyal support. See you at the Peranakan Ball.

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In these times of instant enlightenment, we start our quest by deferring to the almighty automation most commonly known as a Google search – the easiest way to call up all manner of information; a chance, literally, to “google” practically anything you might fancy! Search term: “Peranakan fashion”. Web results: approximately 390,000 instances. Images found: an overwhelming collection of ladies all dressed in that iconic technicolour combination of voile and batik we know as the sarong kebaya. Google searches, however, only reflect what a web-savvy generation associates with a term. For in-depth discourse, we seek the knowledge of disciplined specialists.

History

To arrive at a deeper understanding of Peranakan fashion, it is necessary to look back to history. Much has already been documented on the evolution of the sarong kebaya and batik. The Peranakan Museum staged the exhibition Sarong Kebaya: Peranakan Fashion and its International Sources, made possible by a donation of historic garments and textiles from our Honorary Life President Baba Lee Kip Lee, Mrs Lee and benefitting from the curatorial expertise of Baba Peter Lee. For more information, see “Frugality, Opulence or Magic”, The Perankan, Issue 2 2011 and also online coverage by FOM here.

When we recognise the sarong kebaya in the context of attire that has, as its origins, numerous global influences, Peranakan fashion reveals itself to be a hybrid mode of dress, incorporating prevailing tastes, available materials and resources and references both idiosyncratic and cultural.

Contemporary Interpretations

In 1972, Singapore Airlines launched the now iconic Singapore Girl marketing campaign formulated by Batey Ads. French haute couture designer Pierre Balmain was roped in to put his spin on the sarong kebaya and the resulting two-piece figure-hugging uniform comprising a scoop-necked blouse and pencil skirt rendered in a printed batik motif has been a part of SIA legend ever since.

Today, shops in the tourist district that passes for Singapore’s Chinatown sell knock-off Singapore Girl uniforms to amused foreigners who gamely don the outfit to make a play as local fancy dress. Singapore-born fashion designer Eugene Lin terms this phenomenon ‘souvenir Orientalism’ and is quick to dismiss the notion that his origins mean that he ought to design ‘Asian clothing’. In an interview with Her World magazine, he states, “I am very proud to be Singaporean, but my work has been described by buyers and press as firmly Euro- centric – combining the edgy prints London is known for with the sophistication of garment construction that Paris loves. One does not see Alexander Wang or Philip Lim making ‘Asian’ clothes, do they? This brings into the conversation a discourse of what Asian clothes are in this day and age … I believe my work is not bound by geography or cultural lines, as good design has an international audience.”¹

Lin’s words really herald the end of the line for modes of dressing particular to geographic regions and peoples. In the 21st century, what does the future hold for ethnic or ‘cultural’ dress?

In Singapore, whether for religious reasons or sheer force of daily habit, many locals continue to don clothing synonymous with traditional practice. Visit the markets of Tekka Mall and Geylang Serai to discover over a hundred vendors at each location selling iterations of baju kurung, headscarves, saris and embroidered dhotis all going for between $10 and $50. Clearly, the business of traditional clothing continues to thrive in certain quarters.

Parents merrily outfit their children in ‘ethnic’ clothing for Racial Harmony day. Traditional dress has evolved to become a form of instant identikit to show one’s affinity for culture. A much more controversial application of traditional attire is its merit as a National Dress. The late Mr Ong Teng Cheong the former President of Singapore, mooted the idea of rendering our national flower, the Vanda Miss Joachim in batik, and then tailoring shirts and dresses from the fabric to be donned by Singapore’s political and business elite at state functions. The idea never quite took off, but orchid-motif clothing has become de rigueur attire for many Singapore tour guides and front-line hospitality staff. These days, critics savage practically every interpretation of national costume trundled out at beauty pageants. Recently, many members of our Peranakan community expressed outrage at a costume designed by Mr Heath Yeo for Singapore Manhunt winner Jason Chee². This costume was apparently inspired by both ‘Peranakan elements and Sang Nila Utama’³. I recommend a Google image search for “Singapore National Costume” to provide a gallery of attire at once amusing and bizarre.

Not an Everyday Fashion

While Singaporeans’ conservatism has been described by the Discovery Channel as being “almost Victorian”⁴ thankfully, our everyday clothing is anything but! Tee- shirts. Bermudas. Flip-flops. Our tropical weather and fast-paced lifestyles demand attire that is comfortable, easy to don and off, and easy to maintain. On a typical day, you’ll hardly see any nyonyas in tighter-than-thou kebayas or babas in stiff batik shirts. Still, one item that continues to have its diehard advocates is the humble sarong. Baba Colin Chee often wears a sarong at home, and swears that there’s nothing quite like it for sheer “convenience”!

Peranakan fashion nowadays really occupies the realm of occasional dressing. “We plan the colours of our kebayas,” says Nyonya Angeline Kong of the Peranakan Voices. “This ensures that the choir always turns out in a spectrum of rainbow hues. It won’t do if too many of us show up in the same shade for a performance.” Indeed, Peranakan fashion, especially for the Nyonyas, has long been about showing oneself off. A kebaya’s elaborate embroidery and bright hues coupled with brooches, bracelets and hairpins all rendered in gold and studded with berlian, ensures the wearer will be looked at. To quote Harry Winston, “People will stare. Make it worth their while.” Every Nyonya certainly knew the value in committing those words to heart if she wanted to snare a good husband!

A Cherished Couturier’s Art

Also very fortunately, it is the painstaking, labour- intensive art that goes into making a good sarong kebaya that has put Peranakan fashion on the radar of many top fashion designers. The renowned fashion lines of Paul Smith and Dries van Noten, amongst others, have incorporated elements of the sarong kebaya in past collections, while locally, a small group of dedicated couturiers continually experiment in creating unique pieces inspired directly by Peranakan dressing. Peranakan fashion is unique because its quality simply cannot be reproduced on a commercial scale. The kebaya is clothing that demands the touch of a skilled hand throughout.

With a resurgence of interest in things handmade – we have lost count of the number of ‘artisan’ bakeries that have recently opened – at least we can be certain the techniques that go into making a sarong kebaya will not be forgotten soon, and there is hope that designers will find fresh ways of applying them.

Cross-Cultural Googling

Whether it is the much-mocked music video that is Ho Yeow Sun’s China Wine⁵ or the Rihanna-Coldplay collaboration Princess of China⁶, cross-cultural fascination continues apace. Call it the Pinkerton Syndrome, Eastern exoticism or Souvenir Orientalism if you must, there’s just no avoiding the fact that ethnic culture will continue to be a source of inspiration. At its best, clothing is spectacular, with symbolism and even controversial: just check out the reactions to Fan Bingbing’s white crane dress for Cannes⁷. The same applies for Peranakan fashion, whatever form it may take – long may it continue to captivate and embody the mystical mass of its numerous historical sources.

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Why do you collect Peranakan Tiles?

In the 1970s, I realized a lot of old Peranakan buildings were going to be demolished. I have a passion for Peranakan Tiles that can be found plastered into the walls. Peranakan tiles are a part of our heritage and I did not wish to see it destroyed, so I would salvage them piece by piece.

At that time, I did not have a lot of money, so when I started collecting tiles, I paid about $0.80 to a $1. At the time, my pocket money was about $3 a week. And I would spend up to a third of that to buy a tile a week.

I would go to the old Sungei Road to look for tiles, and then later I got to know antique collectors and contractors who were in charge of the demolition of such buildings and I would purchase the tiles from them. That was the start of my collection. Now I have about 8 thousand pieces with me now, most of them are in good condition. Most of my money is in these precious tiles!

When was the last time you purchased a new lot of tiles?

Just last week, I purchased about 200 tiles.

Over the years, I have learned to restore the tiles to their original condition, from cleaning the tiles to polishing them to be as good as new.

The appreciation of tiles and restoring them to their former luster is my passion and hobby, we also have workshops and classes to teach other Tile collectors how to salvage and clean the tiles to restore them back to their ‘original condition’.

It is my desire, that Peranakans can own a piece of their heritage.

Tile Cleaning Process

What is the process of cleaning and restoring the tiles?

After salvaging the tiles, we treat the tiles to get rid of dirt, dust. After which we soak it in chemicals to remove the cement and other deep stains. This entire process, weather permitting, takes at least 8 weeks in total. A minimum of 3 weeks for cleaning, that is provided all the stains can be removed using our standards we setup for cleaning. Some tiles have tougher stains, so we repeat steps within our process, to make sure when the cleaning is done, they are as good as new!

Are these tiles found in other parts of the world?

They are found in other parts of the world too, but in Singapore and Malaysia, they are called Peranakan Tiles, but in other parts of the world, they are called Majolica Tiles. That is the ‘international name’ for these tiles. The Peranakans commonly used them to decorate the walls in their courtyards, walls and walk-ways.

In Singapore, they were commonly found in the Peranakan enclaves of Emerald Hill, Jervois Road, Blair Road. If the owners of home there want to restore the tiles to be placed back in their homes after a renovation, the tiles are sent to us and we would restore them. See the gallery below for some samples.

Where else are these Tiles found?

They can be found in all the British colonies. Taiwan Burma, Singapore, India, Malaysia, to name a few. They are also found in Dutch colonies, but the styles are different, compared to the British Tiles. They originally come from England. The tiles are named after the port they would usually leave from which is Majolica, in Italy. In the 1890s, everything needed to be exported from there, but these tiles are originally from England.

In the 1920s, when the Art Nouveau period transitioned to Art Deco period, ( these tiles commonly had designs from both these styles) the British exported the machines used to make these tiles to Japan, as they had the same clay, to make the tiles there. A lot of the tiles we have today come from Japan. Japan helped the British to produce the tiles. The Japanese employed Chinese artists to draw on the face of the tiles auspicious elements such as the Dragon, Phoneix, the Xilin, and flowers and fruit such as the Pomergrate and Pineapple. These designs are specific and appreciated by the Chinese and the Japanese sold a lot of the tiles to South East Asia. It was certainly nearer to ship as compared to Italy!

Peacock Motif

What makes these tiles so special?

In 1935, during the Industrial Revolution, the production of these tiles stopped, and it was also during that time, that it was found that the raw materials used to make the tiles are toxic: lead, copper and cobalt amongst other things. Compared to what is used today, the glaze from that period is so different from what we use today, because it keeps the colour and tile intact. Even if the tiles are cracked, you can see here inside? And why won’t the pieces spill out? The tiles are being held together by the glaze! Not just to give luster to the colours of the tile, acts as a sealant, to ‘protect’ the tile even from the harsh chemicals we use to clean them! This is something that cannot be achieved today.

In the early days, the Peranakans acted as intermediaries between the local Chinese and the British. They were the ones with the money. These tiles were expensive. Peranakans also like to have things that are different. Look at Bukit Brown, the Peranakan tombs are also adorned with these Peranakan tiles as well. For those interested, we also conduct tours there.

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This recipe was taught to me by a very good friend, Uncle Kim Guan, a great Peranakan cook. He shared this recipe with me during my first visit to Katong Antique House, when I was still in the army.

In my research on this dish, I realised that this dish is, in a way, perfectly balanced. Ang-kak, is apparently a natural statin that reduces cholesterol, which together with the seray and garlic, may act to balance the fattiness of the pork belly. It has a great taste too! A lot of young Peranakans have never heard or tasted this dish and it has become long-lost and forgotten.”

Babi Tohay

(serves 4-6 people)
Ingredients

• 3 tbsp cooking oil
• 1 tbsp ground garlic
• 2-3 tbsp tohay paste (see recipe below) 15 daon lemo perot (kaffir lime leaves)
• 2 strips pork belly, or you can mix pork
• belly with lean pork, and slice not too thinly (boiled for 30 minutes). Remove meat, allow to cool, slice 0.5-1cm thick
• Pork stock (set aside from the boiled pork) 4 stalks seray (lemongrass), sliced thinly and fried
• 20 shallots, cut thinly and fried 20 garlic, cut thinly and fried
• 2 fresh red chilies, sliced
• 2 fresh green chilies, sliced

Method

Stir-fry the ground garlic in a frying pan for one to two minutes, then add the tohay with the daon lemo perot. Add the sliced boiled pork and some of the pork stock. Simmer for five minutes with half of the fried lemongrass, shallots and ground garlic till you get the aroma. Lastly, add the cut fresh chillies and garnish it with the remaining fried shallots, garlic and lemongrass, and serve.

Tohay

Ingredients

• 250g grago (tiny plankton shrimp) 50g uncooked rice (fry till very light brown, then let cool)
• 25g sea salt (fry till very light brown, then let cool)
• 20g ang-kak or red rice yeast (fry for one minute then let cool)
• 3 tsp brandy
• 1 tsp sugar

Method

Individually pound the grago, rice, sea salt and ang-kak and then mix them all into a porcelain or glass bowl. Add brandy and sugar, and stir well. Transfer the contents into a glass bottle and ferment for a minimum of five days, shaking the bottle three times a day.

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Babi Masak Garam Asam Timun (pork and cucumber in garam asam sauce) is a comfort dish that I grew up eating often at home. We had an aunt who ran a vegetable business in the 1950s who frequently gave us loads of cucumber, which made my mother concoct various ways of serving it. Mother used to cook with fatty samchan (belly pork), but I prefer the leaner cut of ribs. I love the spicy, tangy garam asam taste in the ribs combined with cucumber and it is a simple one- dish of meat and vegetable.”

Recipe of Tulang Babi Masak Garam Asam Timun

(serves 10 people)
Ingredients
5-6 tbsp cooking oil
Garam asam spice paste or rempah (see recipe below)
2kg meaty baby-back pork ribs, cut into 5cm lengths, washed and set aside
8 cucumbers, washed, quartered, and cut into 5cm lengths with skin intact with Asam water, comprising 100g asam
(tamarind) in 2 litres water, strained of pulp
Salt to taste

Method

Heat the kuali or wok. Add oil. Add rempah and tumis (stir slowly and fry) until oil separates from the paste and is fragrant. Add pork ribs and stir-fry until meat changes colour, sprinkling asam water if it becomes too dry. Add asam water and bring to boil. Lower fire and simmer for 15 minutes.

Add the cucumbers and continue to simmer till pork ribs are tender. Cucumbers should be soft but firm, and not mushy. Cooking cucumbers can also make the sauce too watery, in which case reduce over the flame, to thicken. Season with salt to taste.

Garam asam spice paste or rempah:

Pound in a mortar, or process in a mixer, the following:
8 fresh red chili and 10 dried red chili 8 buah keras (candlenut)
5 stalks seray (lemongrass)
5 thick slices lengkuas (galangal or blue ginger)
2inches kunyit (fresh turmeric) 20 shallots
1 thick slice toasted belachan

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The magnificent entry hall in the Tjong A Fie Mansion leads to a room-width four-panel screen with gilded carvings and lattice panels. Beyond is the courtyard. An early twentieth century photograph reveals that the room was once furnished with parallel rows of blackwood chair and table sets in addition to a round table with stools in the center. Embroidered wall hangings once ran the length of the room. The mansion is located at Jalan Kesawan Square, Medan, Indonesia

What drew you to the architecture of domestic houses of the Chinese in Southeast Asia?

My interest in Chinese houses within China goes back to field work in Taiwan in 1965-66 and has continued over t he past four decades through research and many books that have taken different approaches to Chinese houses, homes and families. Seeds of ideas in one book often led to expansion in another book. Indeed, my latest book The Peranakan Chinese Home: Art and Culture in Daily Life exemplifies this since it is the latest episode in an intellectual journey of discovery. Let me explain.

Although I had lived in Singapore for a year as a visiting professor at Nanyang University in 1971-72, travelling widely through Malaysia, it never occurred to me at the time that there was anything that one would call a ‘Chinese house’ in the region. And during that time, I don’t believe I ever heard the word ‘Peranakan’! For many reasons, my field research and writing subsequently focused on China exclusively.

After an absence of 35 years from Southeast Asia, I have now had a chance to recalibrate my research interests as I’ve become seriously interested in the material culture, including architecture, of this region, which has been so important in the Chinese diaspora.

After completing a successful book focusing on my favorite houses in China in 2005 for Periplus/Tuttle in Singapore, Eric Oey, the publisher, asked me if I would consider working on a book on Chinese houses in Southeast Asia. At the time, this struck me as a rather odd topic. Indeed, I had never ever considered that there were ‘Chinese houses outside of China’ and certainly hadn’t seen any when I lived in Singapore some three decades before. Still, I carried out some preliminary archival research once Eric brought up the topic and indeed found photographic evidence of typical Chinese residences in many areas of the region. The issue, of course, was whether any of these were still standing and what tales could be told of them.

I was very fortunate that A. Chester Ong, a well-known photographer who began to collaborate with me in 2003, agreed to join the project since the visual dimension of these projects is so critical. As Chester and I scoped out how we would approach the topic, the Periplus team in Singapore arranged for us to meet some owners of historic homes in Singapore, Malaysia and Indonesia.

Although narrower than many reception halls in larger residences, the one dominating the headquarters of the Persatuan Peranakan Cina Melaka (Peranakan Chinese Association of Malacca) on Heeren Street nonetheless maintains similar characteristics, with a mixture of Chinese and European furniture. Above the altar, the two characters yi qi translate as ‘righteousness’, which epitomises the character of Guan Gong.

Our initial objective was relatively modest, that is, finding and documenting some twenty old Chinese-style residences built between the late 18th and early 20th century. While we both were somewhat anxious about getting access to these homes, we were pleasantly surprised that owners were very generous with their time, often bringing out records and old photographs that helped move the project along. Some owners and others interested in local history introduced us to others. As a result, the project grew. After three long and productive trips, we realised we had documented some eighty homes, some of which were hidden behind high walls and never photographed. Nearly 40 of these are featured in our book, doubling our original plan.

What were your impressions of these houses?

Some of the homes featured in our books had been transformed into museums, businesses or hotels. Others are still maintained as residences by descendants who have great pride in their ancestry. We were very fortunate to visit and photograph Singapore’s NUS Baba House both during and after restoration, our first foray into an old home. The assistance of Jean Wee (who was then managing the house) and Peter Lee (its honorary curator) helped us understand not only the challenges and expense of restoration but also the extent to which research was necessary to answer key questions. Unraveling the past is not easy, but is critical if one is to appropriately furnish and interpret an old home. Singapore’s Baba House is a gem as are the terrace residences and shophouses in Joo Chiat and Emerald Hill, but we also came to enjoy residences elsewhere throughout Singapore. Singapore is fortunate also to have the Peranakan Museum, which is able to contextualise the social and economic circumstances that brought about the formation of the striking hybrid cultures of the region involving indigenous peoples with immigrants.

In Malacca and Penang, which abound with shophouses, some of which are maintained well, we were fortunate to meet many who cherish their old residences and marvel at the creative ways to maintain them for others to enjoy. Especially notable were the ancestral residences of Tan Cheng Lock and Chee Jin Siew as well as the home of Cedric Tan. While we were impressed by Malacca’s Baba Nyonya Heritage Museum, we regret that we were unable to get permission to do any photography there. In Penang, the sumptuous Pinang Peranankan Mansion, while no longer the residence of a Peranakan personage, today houses a rich collection of Peranakan Chinese artifacts. Going beyond the better known Straits Settlements to Phuket in Thailand as well as towns throughout Sumatra and Java in Indonesia, brought into sharper focus the extensive trading networks of Peranakan and non-Peranakan Chinese during the British and Dutch colonial periods. The residence of Tjong A Fie in Medan on the island of Sumatra stands out as an excellent example, but smaller and less lavish homes found in coastal towns are important as well. Chinese-style residences along the coast of Java from Tangerang in the west through Semarang, Surabaya and Pasuaran in the east, as well in the interior such as Parakan and Salitiga, among many others, were eye-opening as we came to appreciate the replication of Chinese cultural patterns in the adopted homelands of immigrants. Given the geographic scope of Indonesia, we regret not exploring outer islands such as Sulawesi but also ones closer to Singapore and Malaysia, like Bangka.

And, of course, the linkages between these Southeast Asian locations and sites of production in Europe, China and even North America underscore the globalised spread of material culture in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a subject that is still not well understood. For me, digging into archives to understand the circumstances of social, economic and geographic conditions in the past was very interesting, as it was to link these circumstances to actual family histories. In some cases, old homes were rather derelict, but there is hope that they will be restored and adaptively reused.

How did they conform to, or undermine, the traditional architectural principles of a Chinese house?

While residences all over the world share some common characteristics, there are some specific cultural differences. With houses in China, the presence of adjacent open/closed spaces, which are generally called “courtyards,” the hierarchical organisation of space, as well as the prominence of a room for altars are all fundamentally significant elements. These elements figure prominently in the structures built by Chinese — Peranakan and non-Peranakan — in Southeast Asia.

Beyond the organisation of space, the rich symbolic vocabulary that adorns the inside and outside of Chinese homes is very important in distinguishing these homes from others elsewhere in the world. This is because the symbolic vocabulary communicates broadly accepted Chinese cultural values as well as the hopeful aspirations of individual families in myriad ways. Auspicious imagery constitutes one of the deepest and most enduring traditions of Chinese visual culture in that it traverses class, wealth, education and place. A long chapter in The Peranakan Chinese Home reveals this quite clearly with abundant illustrations. No other book dealing with Chinese homes in the region explores this topic in such detail.

What are your overall impressions of the Chinese in Southeast Asia, and what place do you think it has in Chinese studies overall?

At the outset, it is important to recognise that anything described as ‘Chinese’ — even within China itself — exists in many variations,  variations on a theme, so to speak. Moreover, in the two provinces — Fujian and Guangdong — that have sent the greatest number of migrants to Southeast Asia, there are significant cultural variations even from county to county.

Whether moulded in porcelain or stucco, or painted on a wall, the peculiar citron, called “Buddha’s hand’ or foshou resembles the contorted hands of an old man. It has a homophonous relationship with fu and shou, the “good fortune’ and longevity’. Fascinating details of the Peranakan House Interiors can be found aplenty in this new book.

Most scholars who study China have limited knowledge of the Chinese in Southeast Asia, indeed the Chinese diaspora generally. This is due largely to the fact that there is comparatively little focus on the Fujian and Guangdong regions in China’s southeast, which is often deemed as peripheral to the main theaters of Chinese history in the great metropolitan regions of central and northern China. I rarely encounter a scholar of Chinese studies who has even heard of the words ‘Peranakan Chinese’ and thus have no clue to the vibrancy of their eclectic culture and significance in the historical narrative of Southeast Asia.

No scholar has done more to conceptualise the linkages between Chinese history and the patterns of Chinese emigration to Southeast Asia than Wang Gungwu at the National University of Singapore. I have learned a great deal from his work.

Do you have a favourite house and a favourite regional style? Or even a favourite object?

It is not possible to identify a favourite house, but it is easy for me to state my favourite regional style. Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate most the residences found in southeastern China, mainly Fujian and Guangdong but extending also to adjacent areas of Zhejiang, Anhui, and Jiangxi. I also must admit that I am most interested in rural dwellings, those found in villages and small towns rather than those in cities. That these vernacular traditions travelled to Southeast Asia kindled my interest in pursuing research in the Nanyang region populated by entrepreneurial Chinese immigrants.

While such sprawling residences no longer stand in Singapore, with the exception of that of Tan Yeok Nee, there are many throughout Indonesia, glimpses of which can be seen in our Chinese Houses of Southeast Asia. Of course, photographic evidence reveals that some Chinese in the past actually built houses that were essentially the same as those built in villages in Fujian and Guangdong. Labourers and material were brought from China to the building sites in Southeast Asia, but there is little concrete information of how this occurred. In addition, of course, old shophouses of many types were built throughout the region in many forms that express not only the times in which they were built but also the complementarity of Chinese family life and business activities.

This densely carved European-style marble-topped console, which is distorted by a single leg and has a mirror above it hugs the wall in the upstairs parlour of the Tjong A Fie Mansion

I always am impressed when I see that a family continues to maintain an ancestral residence that was built hundreds of years ago. While there are countless smaller examples, an especially fine example is the Tjong A Fie Mansion. Private conservation is not easy, since such houses require constant maintenance and often very expensive intervention to forestall deterioration. The adaptive reuse of old dwellings has given many structures a second life, not only saving them from the wrecking ball but also providing opportunities for bringing to life again forms and details that might otherwise have been lost. Yet, there are substantial challenges in ensuring an income stream that will assure future needs.

Then, of course, there is the comprehensive — and expensive — restoration of an old home, such as the transformation of the Wee family residence in Singapore to become the NUS Baba House, a generous gift from Miss Agnes Tan to the National University of Singapore. This was an exemplary work of both conservation and restoration involving a range of specialists as well as talented craftsmen. It complements well Singapore’s Peranakan Museum.

How does your new book differ from the earlier book?

While our new book The Peranakan Chinese Home in many ways resembles our 2010 book Chinese Houses of Southeast Asia, a careful reader will see striking differences in both approach and scope of the narrative. The most significant is that Peranakan material culture — objects — is emphasised more than architectural features. Thus, collectors as well as those who have inherited possessions from their forebears will find much of interest. We are grateful to Singapore’s Peranakan Museum as well as private collectors who were generous in providing access to photograph these objects. The long ‘Symbols and Iconography’ chapter also should help readers look at objects in new and more sophisticated ways. Moreover, The Peranakan Chinese Home takes an explicitly comparative approach, rather than the episodic house-by-house approach of our earlier book, in order to focus on generalisations that help illuminate similarities and differences. Inspired by the organisation of Peter Lee and Jennifer Chen’s fine 2006 book The Straits Chinese House: Domestic Life and Traditions, which updated their 1998 book Rumah Baba: Life in a Peranakan House, I decided to take a similar room-by-room view of Peranakan homes so that comparisons would be more explicit because of the juxtaposition of images and text. Moreover, this new book expands the geographic scope beyond Malacca, Singapore, and Penang to other areas occupied by Peranakan Chinese, especially Indonesia and Thailand.

All photographs by A. Chester Ong. Images courtesy of Tuttle Publishing.    

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Mama ada pergi tanya Datok apa pasal si Beng Chye selalu sakit. Datok chakap kita tak boleh teriak dia Beng Chye, kita kena panggil dia si Busok. kalau ini macham dia nanti kuat sehat sama panjang umor!

So what happened when Mama (grandmother) ruled the household and said that the Gods had advised that her grandson should not be called by his name Beng Chye and should be called Busok (the smelly one)? As Mama ruled the waves, Beng Chye was thereafter called and responded to the name ‘Busok’. By the way, Busok is still alive and well at the age of eighty eight!

Changing one’s name is done by a Deed Poll. As its name suggests, it is a document that a person must sign to have his or her name changed to that he or she desires; next to the signature of the person on the document would have to be a red seal as the document is a Deed.

Children and those below twenty one years can have their names legally changed also, but their Deed Polls would have to be signed by their parents together (or by one parent but with the written consent of the other parent). Surnames or family names and one’s race, cannot be changed, only the middle name and/ or the addition of Western or Christian names (but now any other names not deemed offensive or against public decency) can be added.

The name given at birth as shown in the birth certificate of the person who had legally changed name by a Deed Poll cannot be changed. The identity card and passport can be changed to reflect the new name.

So why do people change their names by way of a Deed Poll? Some consult Feng Shui masters or temple mediums or monks after experiencing mishaps or difficulties in their lives. Advice would be given to change their Chinese names or the character of their Chinese names as the strokes of the characters were not compatible. But some have names that do not sound right, for example, Tan Mah Tee, Lau Sai Chwee or Yao Siew Neo (all these names are fictitious, jagan marah!) so they have to change them!

You can change your name legally and be known by another name thereafter, but your family may still call you by your family ranking or nicknames. For example, si Baba (elder brother), si Teh Sar (the third child), or si Punggot (the adopted one). Sometimes for the worse, like si Taik Hidong Asin (the stingy one),i Kenching Papan (the repetitious one) or for the better, si Chantek (the pretty one), si Ho Miah (the fortunate one) and if you are rich and charitable, si Chay Suah!

A gentleman once had his name changed by a Deed Poll to Burok and after years of study he became a lawyer, hence he really became a lawyer burok!

The post It’s all in the Name appeared first on The Peranakan Association Singapore.

Anyone who tells you he can define the term Peranakan is trying to pull the wool, or should I say a batik sarong, over your eyes. Surely there is no one answer. Peranakan identity is multi-faceted, evolving, slippery, and full of contradictions. Perhaps therein lies its beauty. Perhaps also, all cultural identities are equally indefinable. Historians and ‘specialists’ try to draw clear boundaries, and contrive a world of black and white from the fifty, I mean, myriad, shades of grey. But how far do they reflect in reality? How Peranakan women have engaged with Chinese costume over the centuries, as pioneers of transcultural cross-dressing, reveals how nebulous the concept of ‘identity’ can be.

Young bride showing off the Straits-style of wearing the cheongsam: with loads of diamonds on her dress and hair, Penang, 1920s.

Peranakan women emerged from the cosmopolitan, mixed-race environment of Dutch and British colonial towns several centuries ago, via unions between Chinese migrant males from Fujian, and enslaved females from Bali, Sumatra or Sulawesi among other islands. They have been, from the very beginning, adept at performing a balancing act, or I daresay, at catwalking, or even doing the lenggang-lenggok, on the tight-rope of cultural identity. Ostensibly, Peranakan women can be identified as ‘Chinese’. Yet, even two old accounts from the 1690s Batavia would seem to question exactly how ‘Chinese’ such Chinese women were at that time. According to a 1699 entry in the Kaiba Lidai Shiji (the 17th and 18th century Chinese chronicles of Batavia, present-day Jakarta) a certain Madame Teo, a native Chinese woman appeared in a junk at the port of Batavia, and hordes of locals thronged the pier to catch a glimpse of a real China-born lady, the likes of which so few had ever seen. Even the governor of the city was curious enough to want to invite her to his palace. The French explorer François Leguat, who was in Batavia in 1696, also noted that in that city, “there were only three women born in China.”

Peranakan women spoke only the Melayu Pasar or colloquial Malay that was widely used throughout the islands of the archipelago, as they had no access to Chinese education like some of their menfolk. Yet as wives and daughters of Chinese men, they were all formally inducted into a Chinese cultural world through several ways, mostly ceremonial. One of the first steps in converting a non-Chinese into becoming one, was by adoption. In the records of the Chinese Council of Batavia, there is a 1788 case of a Chinese man, Chua Chiat Beng, who asked a close friend to adopt his prospective non-Chinese bride so that she could ‘become Chinese’ and be therefore acceptable as his wife. She adopted a typical Hokkien girl’s name: Tan Hian Neo. There were many instances though, where slave girls remained slave girls, even though they produced offsprings for the Chinese men who owned them. For example, the late 18th century will of Tan In Sing of Malacca, filed among India Office Records now in the British Library, the slave Tjoenoea was recognised as the mother of his daughter Tan Soei Hon. So if a slave or concubine of a Chinese man was not officially inducted into the Chinese cultural and family circle, at least her children were recognised, by virtue of their Chinese names, as Chinese.

Details of Chinese bridal headgear from Ambon, illustrated in François Valentijn’s Oud en Nieuw Oost Indien (1726).

Baptism and Burial by Baju

Another way in which Chineseness was asserted was through dress. It is unclear when the wives of Chinese men in the Malay archipelago first donned Chinese costume. But certainly by the early 18th century, Chinese fashions were certainly being worn by brides and daughters of the Chinese in far-flung Dutch colonies. The Dutch author and pastor François Valentijn witnessed such an occasion in 1709 at the wedding of the daughter of the Chinese kapitan of Ambon:

“At six in the evening we found the bride sitting in a large side parlour. She was wearing a wide Chinese skirt of apple- blossom-coloured silk, a beautiful piece of work, which was held around her waist with a precious black leather belt, or girdle, adorned with massive golden sheets that were artfully decorated; it was about three fingers wide and tied together.

On her head she wore a beautiful apple-blossom-coloured silk cap, or round bonnet, with a similar trim or edge as the belt around her waist, but a little narrower, but with the same gilded decorations on a black ground, on top of which there were also many pearls, diamonds, and other gemstones, in addition to several more rows of threaded pearls hanging from the cap, as long as a hand span.

She had on her feet silk stockings and white mules, and looked more like a man than a woman in this outfit, especially since she was a rather fat female of about nineteen or twenty.”

Among the many fascinating illustrations in this book is a rather detailed rendering of the head ornaments worn by a Chinese bride at that time, including the small gold or silver repousséed figures of the eight immortals applied onto a cloth headband worn by the bride. These are almost identical to the headgear of Peranakan brides in the early twentieth century. They reveal the continuity and persistence of wedding attire for the Peranakan Chinese throughout the Malay Archipelago.

Clearly Chinese silks, fashions, and tailors were evident in Batavia in the 18th century. This is apparent from contemporary illustrations, such as by the missionary Jan Brandes, who depicted high-ranking Chinese of the town in Qing court robes. In the early 19th century, the records of the Chinese Council of Batavia also make references to silk and clothing shops in the town. One 1824 case describes a clothing shop run by two partners, Loh Poh and Chia Koh Chin, and their stock included imported satin, various types of Indian cloth including some from Calcutta, some Chinese cloth, and also Chinese vests.

The earliest photographic images of what could possibly be a Nyonya bride from Batavia (present-day Jakarta) were taken by the studio of Woodbury and Page, some time in the 1860s. The Batavian bride is dressed in what can best be described as a pastiche of an ensemble, put together in a manner that suggests that fine China- made embroidered robes were somehow unavailable at that time, perhaps a consequence of the tumult from the Taiping Rebellion in the 1850s, as a baju kurung had been paired with an embroidered Chinese skirt. Jewels made up for simplicity, as gold and silversmiths were readily available in Batavia. Although photography had arrived in Singapore by the mid-19th century, brides and grooms seem to have shied away from the camera until the 1910s, and by then the full finery and excess of Peranakan bridal costume (baju kawen or baju kemanteng) were fully evident, and by then the full finery and excess of Peranakan bridal costume were fully evident, and finely embroidered wedding robes were readily available.

Up to the early twentieth century, the only other possible occasions a Nyonya donned a Chinese robe happened upon reaching her 61st birthday, or every decade thereafter. The multi-layered baju tua (robe of old age) was ordered by local agents and came from China, and it was understood that the same robe would be used to dress her remains upon her demise. The term and practice derive from the ancient Hokkien tradition of teo lao (张 老, announcing old age), which referred to preparations for one’s death, such as the acquisition of grave clothes (寿 衣, siu-i), coffin, silk hangings, in one’s lifetime, which a woman was permitted to own from the age of 61. Burial clothes were known as teo lao sah (张老衫) or teo lao e mih (张老物). There could be between three to eleven layers of Ming-style robes (seven was considered appropriately grand), and among Babas, the clothes were also crudely referred to as baju mati (death robes).

Straits Chinese reform and the baju koon-sah

One of the biggest impacts of the age of imperialism in Asia was the push to articulate and define ethnicity and nationality. Not only the natural world, but human life also, were subjected to a world defined by classifications of race and nationality . In the struggle to contrive a space in this new world order, Peranakan leaders invented the concept of the Straits Chinese, and in 1900 formed the Straits Chinese British Association (the first incarnation of The Peranakan Association), which loudly proclaimed that their mixed-race community was by definition Chinese, yet geographically located in the Straits, and loyal only to the British crown. The British-educated lawyer Song Ong Siang and medical doctor Lim Boon Keng, were the leaders of this movement. Through their mouthpiece, The Straits Chinese Magazine, both promoted the idea of ‘civilising’ the Nyonya through Christian morals, education, and understanding Chinese culture, as they considered many social habits and superstitions of the nyonyas as degenerate. This degeneracy was also a byproduct of the ‘racial deterioration’ (Lim Boon Keng’s words) that came about when people were of mixed blood. The irony of the situation was that Lim Boon Keng, a vocal promoter of Chinese culture, could barely speak Chinese himself.

As a result of their harangues, Peranakan women were encouraged to, and began wearing Chinese fashions, especially on occasions where members of other communities were present. In a family context (at weddings and birthdays), a woman could relax and be comfortable as a Malay-speaking nyonya dressed in a sarong kebaya. But when she stepped out into the public eye, she had to pretend to be a demure Chinese lady. The latest Chinese fashion, an ensemble comprising a skirt (裙, koon in Hokkien) and blouse (衫, sah in Hokkien), was adopted by the nyonya wives of several prominent babas, referred to in Baba Malay as baju koon-sah. The outfit could be in colourful silk brocade, or in cool tropical white cotton, trimmed with lace or broderie anglaise, and always worn with the latest flapper-girl high heels and mary-janes. Some nyonyas, like Mrs Lee Choon Guan, first president of the Chinese Ladies’ Association, never ever wore sarong kebaya once they switched to Chinese fashions. There was one marked difference of this fashion worn in the Straits Settlements: nyonyas pinned enormous diamond brooches, the larger the better, on their blouses. Such massive brooches were conceived long before flying saucers were even thought of! Mrs Lee Choon Guan and Mrs Tan Jiak Kim were among the chief advocates of this excess, although the pioneer was probably the famous and infamous Ho Sok Choo Neo, older  cousin of Mrs Lee Choon Guan, and widow of Wee Siang Tat, heir of shipping tycoon Wee Bin’s fortune. She had the initials of her name fashioned into search-lights for her kebaya, assembled from loose diamonds kept in cigarette tins. But even they were completely overshadowed by the Peranakan bride during the chia lang khek, or wedding banquet, who, like the world’s first zero-carbon- emission Christmas tree, would be dressed in a version of this costume, termed a baju hock chiew, emblazoned with diamond jewellery sparkling across the front of her blouse.

Dr Lee Choo Neo, the first Chinese woman in Singapore to become a doctor, favoured the simple and feminine white cotton version in the 1910s and 1920s (see next page). In the Indies, the movement to be ‘re-Sinicised’ was even more strident and powerful. Chinese fashions were equally popular in the early 1900s, and variations in style were even more creative and stylish, with versions even made of printed cottons and plush velvet. The blouse, referred to as a baju péki, was worn either with a matching Chinese style skirt, or with a fine batik sarong.

Cheongsam and Sam Foo

The Manchurian qipao (旗 袍), the official robe at the Chinese imperial court for both men and women during the Qing period (1644- 1911) began to be modernised in the early 20th century. That was when influential women such as Wan Rong, wife of the last emperor of China, dressed in a form-fitting version. Often worn with a magua (马褂) or vest, the first modern qipao filtered down the social ladder, and was adopted even by courtesans. In the 1920s, fashionable girls in Shanghai began wearing a scandalously short version, showing off their calves and fashionable silk stockings. By the 1930s the influence of the Shanghai cinema resulted in the birth of a long, ankle-length version of the qipao, with a high side slit. This became the iconic costume for Chinese women of the twentieth century, and was immediately adopted by fashionable ladies in the Straits Settlements, where it was first known as a Shanghai gown and a chongsum (sic, 长衫, a rather poor transliteration of the Cantonese term for a long gown) in the local press. Modern nyonyas in the 1930s abandoned their sarong kebayas for this, while older ladies chose to wear the qipao at formal events where members of other races were present. It was not until the 1950s that the term cheongsam, a more accurate Cantonese pronunciation of the term for a long gown, became widely current, perhaps as a result of the rise of Hong Kong as the centre of popular Chinese culture and film production.

From the 1910s young girls also began wearing the more casual samfoo (衫裤, blouse and trousers, also a Cantonese term) comprising a short-sleeved or sleeveless blouse and matching trousers, which was derived from a traditional Chinese costume. Mrs Betty Lim Koon Teck, a descendant of Tan Tock Seng, remembered that as a young girl in the 1910s she was dressed in “striped or floral samfoos and beaded slippers”. She and her sister were among the first nyonyas to switch to cheongsams:

“Amy and I wore cheongsams to the party and caused quite a stir because in those days most women wore sarong kebayas or skirts and blouses. In fact, from the age of fourteen or fifteen we had already started wearing sarong kebayas whenever we attended any formal parties. For this particular party, we wore three-quarter-length cheongsams which had short slits. They were very fashionable. We were also given permission by grandma to apply rouge on our cheeks and a little lipstick which my brother had brought back from Shanghai. Amy had her hair in a traditional sanggol but I had my hair in the style of a straight bob with a fringe.”

By the 1950s the cheongsam had reached the apogee of its popularity, and not only women wanted to be dressed in one. Ruby Lee, jailed at Outram Prison in 1955 for failing to pay a traffic fine (how things haven’t changed!), was discovered at the prison medical examination to have been a man. Dressed in a powder blue cheongsam, she was interviewed by the papers upon her release, and was questioned about her fashion choices. “But why this chongsum? Don’t you like trousers?” the journalist enquired. “Pants! I hate pants. I love to be a woman. I have always wanted to be one. Prison, ridicule, persecution. Nothing will change me. I will fight back with lipstick and mascara,” she replied. When asked what she missed most in jail, she said, “Why, of course, my lipstick, you silly.” (“The man in a woman’s world brazens it out with lipstick and mascara”, The Straits Times, 7 October 1955, p. 7.)

In the second half of the 20th century, western fashions replaced not only the sarong kebaya but also the cheongsam. Both stopped becoming fashionable and were frozen in time as traditional costume. Up to the present, like the nyonyas before them, Peranakan women dress according to their mood, the occasion, and to which of their own cultural personality they wished to present. Like chameleons, they donned the latest fashions from Prada, to sarong kebaya from Rumah Bebe, or a seductive cheongsam from Lai Chan, at their whim and fancy. These unapologetic shifts and choices can best be summed up in a conversation I recently had with my 92-year old aunt, who grew up wearing samfoo, sarong kebaya, cheongsam, and Gucci. “Are you Peranakan or Chinese?” I asked. “Peranakan of course,” she replied without hesitation. “So why do you wear the cheongsam then?” I challenged. She looked at me incredulously, as if I were asking her the silliest question she had ever heard in nine decades, and proclaimed, “Because I am Chinese!”

The post Cross Dressing Chameleons appeared first on The Peranakan Association Singapore.

The new year also marks a new editorial direction for The Peranakan. Each issue for 2013 will be spearheaded by a different member of the editorial committee. I have been tasked to present the first issue. As a tribute to the Chinese New Year, I have compiled some stories concerning Peranakan expressions of Chinese identity. There is one burning question facing every baba and nyonya that has no immediate answer: what does it mean to be Chinese? The Peranakans have a particularly complex relationship with identity, and being Chinese. Even today, the modern Peranakan grapples with being Peranakan, Chinese, Singaporean, as well as a global citizen.

The acronym for the Oversea-Chinese Banking Corporation (whose first chairman, incidentally, was
a Baba), was appropriated in the second half of the 20th century to describe
the Peranakans. OCBC expresses a certain perspective of Peranakan identity: Orang China Bukan China (Chinese but not Chinese).

Our nyonyas have been dealing with similar issues since time immemorial. The article Cross- Dressing Chameleons puts the spotlight on how Chinese costume has been employed by Peranakan women to express a facet of themselves. An article about a new exhibition at NUS Baba House also draws attention to evolving expressions of identity in portraits of Peranakans, and how Chinese dress is also presented or adapted as part of the process.

The houses and interiors of the Peranakans in Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore and Thailand are also stages where Chineseness, Peranakan-ness and modernity are negotiated. On this subject we have the insights of American author Ron Knapp, who brought global attention to the subject of Peranakan homes with his Chinese Houses of Southeast Asia (2010), and has now completed a second work on this theme: The Peranakan Chinese Home.

On a humorous note, our resident legal pundit looks at identity through personal names. Ironically choosing to write under a pseudonym, Lawyer Burok, the author elucidates readers on legal issues pertaining to personal names. As a final treat, may I invite you to wallow in Chineseness… three chefs, Bebe Seet, Philip Chia and Sylvia Tan, reveal their guilty pleasures… their favourite pork recipes, in Babi Baba, our tribute to this most beloved of Peranakan ingredients.

This first issue for 2013 ultimately aims to celebrate and liberate Peranakan identity. As a community we need to blur the barriers, reach out to draw more links and connections to other communities, and to stop thinking of ourselves in terms of what makes us different (and to many of the old generation, ‘superior’), but rather, what makes us the same, what draws us to common ground. I hope we can obliterate the contradictory term Peranakan jati (pure, or true Peranakan) — it is as ridiculous as the idea of a pedigree mongrel — and ultimately, to celebrate the multiple facets of who we are, radiant like a brilliant-cut diamond.

Selamat Taon Baru.

Peter Lee
Guest Editor for Issue 1, 2013

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