It is gratifying to see some of our state assemblypersons coming out on facebook to acknowledge and celebrate George Town's World Heritage Day on the seventh of July this year. Have I missed out on anyone's poster? I hope not! There were also public acknowledgements from several agencies and businesses but I shall not show the businesses here as they were too numerous.
Captain Francis Light landed in Penang on 11 August 1786. This coming 11 August marks the 240th anniversary of his landing, as well as the 240th anniversary of the founding of modern Penang.Yet the authorities have remained completely silent. To date, no official celebrations have been planned, no commemorative ceremonies announced, as though this chapter of history never existed.This inevitably raises an important question: when politicians constantly proclaim that they are defending Penang’s sovereignty, are they truly defending its history, or merely exploiting it for political purposes?In recent times, whenever Penang’s status is discussed, politicians are quick to declare that they must “defend Penang’s sovereignty.” Yet when confronted with a significant historical milestone that embodies Penang’s identity and reinforces its historical consciousness, they have all fallen conspicuously silent.To defend a place, one must first understand it.Penang, as the state, international port, and modern city we know today, has an
undeniable historical beginning.
Commemorating the 240th anniversary of Francis Light’s landing is not about glorifying colonial rule, nor is it about celebrating British imperialism. It is about acknowledging the historical fact of Penang’s founding.A mature society does not erase history simply because it is complicated, nor does it rewrite or delete history in the name of political correctness.True sovereignty is never built on slogans. It rests upon historical identity, cultural confidence, and institutional continuity.A society that dares not commemorate its own founding anniversary, yet loudly proclaims its determination to defend its sovereignty every day, is displaying not conviction but emptiness; not confidence but insecurity.If we can simply ignore the 240th anniversary of Penang’s founding, then when others question Penang’s historical status, on what basis can we expect the next generation to stand up and defend it?Defending Penang’s sovereignty should never be reduced to a slogan repeated at press conferences, nor should it become another performance staged on social media.Real defence begins with respecting history, confronting history honestly, and passing history on to future generations.Otherwise, the rhetoric of “defending Penang’s sovereignty” will ultimately amount to nothing more than a political slogan—one that may sound thunderous, but cannot withstand the judgment of history.
Now, this is certainly an interesting topic. After all, 240 years is no small milestone. We readily celebrate centenaries, bicentenaries and other significant anniversaries. Penang itself has never been shy about commemorating important dates in its history. The state's bicentenary in 1986 was marked by numerous events, while George Town's inscription as a UNESCO World Heritage Site continues to be celebrated every year on the seventh of July.
Yet this 240th anniversary appears to have attracted little public attention. Of course, the issue is not as straightforward as it might seem. Any commemoration of Captain Francis Light inevitably raises the larger question of what exactly is being celebrated. Is it the arrival of a British trader? The beginning of British colonial rule? Or the birth of modern Penang as we know it today?
Whether one regards Francis Light as founder, coloniser or simply an important historical figure depends largely on one's perspective. History is seldom black and white. What cannot be denied, however, is that his arrival changed the course of Penang's history.
In recent years, we have periodically heard renewed claims from Kedah over Penang. Such statements invariably generate headlines and emotional reactions before quietly fading away until the next round of rhetoric. Yet they serve as a reminder that history often becomes a subject of attention when it suits the moment. Understanding how Penang came to be what it is today is therefore not merely an academic exercise; it is part of understanding the state's identity, its historical development and its constitutional place within Malaysia.
Commemorating the landing of Francis Light need not be interpreted as glorifying colonialism. Nor should it be seen simply as a rebuttal of Kedah's periodic claims over Penang. Rather, it can be viewed as acknowledging a turning point in history: the moment that eventually gave rise to the cosmopolitan Penang we know today. Mature societies are capable of recognising significant historical events without necessarily endorsing every aspect of the individuals involved or the circumstances surrounding them.
There is another interesting perspective. This year's 240th anniversary comes at the same time as the United States celebrating the 250th anniversary, or semiquincentenary, of its own founding on the fourth of July, just a few days ago. The Americans marked that milestone with nationwide events, exhibitions and educational programmes, not because every chapter of their early history was beyond criticism, but because understanding one's origins is part of understanding one's nation.
Perhaps Penang, too, could consider whether such milestones deserve greater recognition. Not necessarily through elaborate celebrations, but through meaningful public commemorations that encourage people to reflect on the island's long and fascinating journey over the past 240 years. It has been a journey shaped by indigenous roots, colonial encounters, migration, trade and the many communities that have made Penang what it is today.
Two days ago, my story on the Malaysian Chess Festival appeared on the ChessBase India website. It was only the second time I had written for this highly respected chess news portal. Interestingly, the first was almost exactly a year ago, when I had the pleasure of writing about Yeoh Li Tian's historic achievement in becoming Malaysia's first chess grandmaster.
I did notice that ChessBase India had edited my article somewhat, which is, of course, perfectly understandable. Editors have their own constraints and house style. Their version can be read here, and I hope it reaches far and wide, encouraging more players to enter this year's Dato' Arthur Tan Malaysia Open Chess Championship.
But for those interested, I'd also like to reproduce below my original version.
The Malaysian Chess Festival at Twenty-One
By Quah Seng Sun (former chess columnist of The Star, 1980-2012)
Come every August and September, the regional chess spotlight falls on Malaysia. That is when players from around the country and overseas converge on Kuala Lumpur for what has become one of the region's best-loved annual gatherings, the Malaysian Chess Festival.
This year marks the 21st Malaysian Chess Festival, which will be held from 28th August to 6th September 2026 at KL Gateway Mall in Kuala Lumpur. Over ten days, the venue will once again be transformed into a bustle of activity as players of all ages and abilities battle over the chessboard, renewing friendships while creating new memories.
It is remarkable how much the festival has grown. When it was first launched in 2004, it was a much smaller affair comprising just three tournaments: the Merdeka Team Chess Championship, the Malaysian Open Chess Championship and the Malaysian Chess Challenge. The latter was created with a simple but thoughtful idea in mind. Not everyone felt ready to test themselves against grandmasters and international masters in the Open. Players with more modest FIDE ratings were therefore given the option of competing in the Chess Challenge, where the opposition would be more evenly matched while still providing a serious tournament experience.Those were also difficult days for the festival's founder, the late Dato' Tan Chin Nam. He was still coming to terms with the tragic loss of his youngest son, Arthur Tan Boon Shih. Rather than allowing grief to overwhelm him, Dato' Tan channelled it into something positive through a game that had long been close to his heart. Arthur himself had developed a genuine love of chess from a young age. On two or three occasions in the mid to late 1970s, I happened to bump into him quietly playing chess in Kuala Lumpur. He was never one to seek attention, but it was obvious he genuinely loved the game.
From those early planning sessions emerged the concept of the Malaysian Chess Festival. One of Dato' Tan's first decisions was to incorporate the already well-established Merdeka Team Chess Championship into the new festival. This tournament had begun in 1981 and was then entering its 25th edition. It was an inspired move. Players could begin the festival with two days of fast-paced team chess before settling into the longer and more demanding classical time controls of the Malaysian Open or the Malaysian Chess Challenge. It proved to be a winning formula.Since then, there has been no looking back. The programme has steadily expanded to cater for virtually every section of the chess community. Various junior age-group championships, both individual and team, were introduced to encourage young players. Senior events were added. Blitz championships became traditional curtain-raisers and finales. Over the years, the Malaysian Chess Festival has grown into a celebration of chess in almost every form.
This year's programme is among the most comprehensive yet:
While every event has its own attraction, the undisputed centrepiece remains the Dato' Arthur Tan Merdeka Open Chess Championship (previously known as the Dato’ Arthur Tan Malaysian Open Chess Championship). Over the past two decades, it has established a reputation as one of Asia's finest proving grounds for emerging talent. Long before many players became household names in international chess, they were already testing themselves across the boards in Kuala Lumpur.
The list is extraordinary. Future world-class stars such as Wang Hao (China), Le Quang Liem (Vietnam), Wesley So (the Philippines, later the United States), Alireza Firouzja (originally from Iran but now representing France), Dommaraju Gukesh (India) and Nodirbek Abdusattorov (Uzbekistan) all played in the Malaysian Open while they were still teenagers or pre-teens. A very young Gukesh played in three editions of the Malaysian Open from 2015 to 2017. Today, they are recognised among the world's elite, several having risen into the FIDE Top 20 and even the Top 10. Gukesh went on to become World Champion, while So and Firouzja both reached World No. 2 and Abdusattorov World No. 4.Many others have similarly passed through Kuala Lumpur on their journey to international prominence, including Yu Yangyi (China), Li Chao (China), Ni Hua (China), Parimarjan Negi (India) and Lu Shanglei (China).The women's list is equally distinguished. Current Women's World Champion Ju Wenjun (China) and former women’s champions Xu Yuhua (China) and Tan Zhongyi (China) have competed here, as has former World No. 2 Koneru Humpy (India) and current World No. 2 Lei Tingjie (China). Other recognised names include Dinara Saduakassova (Kazakhstan) and Mary Ann Gomes (India) who have appeared in the FIDE Women's Top 100.
Perhaps that is the Malaysian Chess Festival's greatest achievement. It has never tried to be merely another tournament. Instead, it has become a meeting place where schoolchildren play alongside senior citizens, ambitious juniors test themselves against seasoned professionals, and tomorrow's stars often appear long before the rest of the world notices them.
Although Dato' Tan Chin Nam passed away in 2018, his vision lives on. Every year his name continues to be associated with several events within the festival, a fitting tribute to Malaysian chess's greatest benefactor. The festival itself also honours the memories of Arthur Tan Boon Shih and Daniel Yong Chen-I, ensuring that their contributions to Malaysian chess are never forgotten.
For anyone who enjoys competitive chess, whether as a serious title aspirant or simply as someone looking for a well-organised tournament in a friendly atmosphere, the Malaysian Chess Festival remains one of the highlights of the regional chess calendar.
Entries are now open. Players wishing to participate may contact Tournament Director IA Abdul Hamid Majid at aham@pc.jaring.asia for further information, or register directly at http://register-datchesscentre.com
If the past twenty years are any indication, this year's festival promises another memorable chapter in one of the enduring success stories of Malaysian chess.
Have I let the cat out of the bag? Apparently, I have. In my last posting about this year's durian glut, I casually mentioned that we had been in Kuala Lumpur. Well, the secret's out now. Yes, we spent a few days there last week, mainly to chill with our daughter and enjoy a short change of scenery.
But if I'm being honest, the healthcare visit wasn't really the main reason we went to Kuala Lumpur. The real reason was batik.
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| The men in batik, from left to right: myself, R Subramaniam, Abdul Rahman Ahmad, Chan Swee Loon, Hu Yu Kwang, Tan Bian Huat and Christi Hon |
One or two years later, the Penang Chess Association also thought that batik was a pretty good idea when our team travelled to Hong Kong for the Asian Cities Team Chess Championship. I was issued with a batik shirt again but after returning home from that trip, I don't think I ever wore it again. To me, the colour was simply too loud and, dare I say it, rather hideous. At that stage of my life, batik just wasn't something I could imagine myself wearing all the time.
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| And also from left to right, the Penang chess team in Hongkong: Lam Leong Yew, Goh Yoon Wah, Jimmy Liew, myself and Eric Cheah |
That attitude began to change only two or three years ago when we became involved in the activities of SAMENTA, the Small and Medium Enterprises Association. Their functions often encouraged members to wear batik for uniformity, and before long we found ourselves acquiring a few shirts that were much more tasteful than those I remembered from years gone by. The designs were subtler, the colours more restrained, and I found myself wearing them with increasing frequency.
Well, we were wrong. The more we looked at them, the more we wanted to see what else was available. It's rather like discovering a new genre of music or a favourite author. One purchase somehow leads to another. So while we were in Kuala Lumpur, we decided to continue the hunt.
Our search took us first to Central Market, where batik has long been one of the attractions. We wandered in and out of the boutiques, taking our time to admire the colours, motifs and different styles. From there we strolled around the Petaling Street area, popping into shops whenever something caught our eye. We even made our way to Publika in our search.
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| The SAMENTA people in batik |
I have a feeling this won't be the end of our batik adventure. Once you've begun to appreciate the artistry behind the patterns and the craftsmanship that goes into making them, it's difficult not to look a little more closely whenever you pass a batik shop. Who knows? We may well be wandering into yet another boutique, telling ourselves we're "just looking". I've learnt by now that those are probably the two most dangerous words a batik enthusiast can utter.
P.S. I should also mention that the SAMENTA batik shirts we wear for official functions were specially tailored at the Penang Batik Factory in Teluk Bahang. It's well worth a visit. Besides the showroom, visitors can watch the craftsmen at work and even try their hand at making their own batik prints in a hands-on demonstration section. It gives visitors a much better appreciation of the skill and patience that go into every piece. I also like the fact that Penang Batik Factory continues to use traditional cotton rather than silk or synthetic fabrics. Somehow, cotton just feels more authentic in our tropical climate. Maybe my appreciation of batik didn't begin in Jogjakarta after all. Indonesia deepened it, but Penang has been keeping the tradition alive all these years, right on our own doorstep.
This is durian season. It has been going on for about a month now and, from what I can see, we're in the middle of a real glut. Not just in Penang, but in Kuala Lumpur and many other places as well. Prices have dropped to levels I haven't seen in quite a while. Musang King, for instance, has been selling for around RM15 a kilogram. That's really, really cheap. Even Black Thorn, nowadays the premium variety, has come down to about RM35 to RM40 a kilogram.
A few days later we found ourselves in Kuala Lumpur, where I suggested to our daughter that we should go for a durian session. This time we stopped at Seri Kembangan and came away with three durian - a Musang King, a Black Thorn and a D101 - all for RM110. Again, a bargain considering what these varieties usually fetch outside the peak season.
The last significant heritage site our group visited in Jogjakarta was the Prambanan Temple compounds. We arrived there in the afternoon of our second and final full day, just when the Central Javanese sun seemed determined to test our endurance. After the misty disappointment of Mount Merapi earlier that morning, we found ourselves at the opposite extreme. The heat radiating from the stone pathways was intense and the occasional shadows cast by the soaring temple towers became our brief moments of relief as we wandered through the grounds.
After spending so much time among the serene Buddhist monuments of Mendut, Pawon and Borobudur, arriving at Prambanan felt like stepping into a different chapter of Java's past. If Borobudur is a vast stone mandala inviting contemplation, Prambanan reaches skywards with dramatic confidence. Its tall, slender towers seem almost weightless despite being carved from thousands of blocks of volcanic stone.
Built during the ninth century under the Hindu Sanjaya dynasty, Prambanan is the largest Hindu temple complex in Indonesia and one of the grandest in South-east Asia. The central compound of the Candi Roro Jonggrang is dedicated to the Trimurti of Shiva the Destroyer, Vishnu the Preserver and Brahma the Creator. The towering Shiva temple rises nearly 50 metres above the plain.
Elsewhere, one encounters finely carved kalpavriksha or wish-fulfilling trees, lions seated within niches and graceful apsaras. The craftsmanship is extraordinary. Each panel seems to invite visitors to slow down, linger and notice the details.
Through the decades, Indonesia has remained determined to preserve these monuments despite the enormous challenges involved. Restoring ancient stone structures in an earthquake-prone region is neither simple nor inexpensive. It requires patience, expertise and international cooperation. In recent years, India has pledged assistance in the conservation of Prambanan, recognising the shared cultural heritage that links the two countries across centuries of maritime exchange and civilisation.
As we trod wearily through the afternoon heat, I could not help but marvel at how remarkable these towers still stand at all. They have endured earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, political change and centuries of abandonment. And perhaps that is what makes places like Prambanan and Borobudur so compelling. Despite civilisations evolving, beliefs changing and societies moving in new directions, the past need not be erased to make room for the present. It can simply be remembered, respected and carried forward.
Before play began, I had the privilege of saying a few words as chief arbiter. I welcomed the participants and expressed the hope that they would make full use of the occasion. A simultaneous exhibition is not really about trying to beat the master, although if someone does manage it, we'll probably be hearing about it for years to come. The real value lies in watching how a strong player thinks, learning from the experience and, above all, enjoying the game.
I briefly ran through some of his achievements: Malaysian National Champion in 2001, multiple national age-group champion, MSSM Under-12 champion, ASEAN Under-18 bronze medallist, SEA Games bronze medallist, two-time Penang Closed Champion, Royal Selangor Open champion, FIDE Master with a peak rating of 2349 and, away from the chessboard, a consultant radiologist by profession.
The simultaneous exhibition eventually stretched over three hours and 40 minutes. At the start, everything happened at breakneck speed. Ronnie moved briskly from board to board, making his opening moves almost without breaking stride, while his challengers scrambled to keep up. But as the middlegames began to develop and complications arose on virtually every board, his pace inevitably slowed. 
After about an hour and a half, only five games had been decided. The remaining boards were still full of life, with players hanging on stubbornly and trying to find ways to make life difficult for the master. Gradually, however, experience began to tell. One after another, Ronnie's opponents were forced to resign.
As the number of games dwindled, the pace picked up again. During the final hour, only five or six boards remained in play, allowing Ronnie to devote much more time to each position. The last player standing was Chan Kah Poh, whose steady, solid game proved surprisingly difficult to crack. As is customary in simultaneous exhibitions, once only a single game remained, a chess clock was introduced so that the contest could proceed under normal tournament conditions. In the end, Ronnie's greater experience prevailed, bringing an end to what had been an absorbing afternoon of chess.
