The lion doesn’t sleep in Malaysia

OF the many traditions and practices associated with Chinese New Year, two of my favourites are lou sang and the lion dance.

Both have strong connections with Malaysia. The former is a dish comprising finely shredded vegetables, fruits, sauces and condiments, and raw fish that are all tossed together by diners into one gorgeous, colourful delicious mess. I absolutely love it and can wolf it down many times over the festive period.

While there are claims the dish originated from southern China among the Cantonese who traditionally eat raw fish on the seventh day of the new year, the dish as we know it today is said to have been created by a chef in Seremban in the 1960s and quickly became popular.

I, for one, remember as a child eating the dish in a Chinatown restaurant in Kuala Lumpur and getting an allergic reaction to the raw fish. My lips swelled up like a puffer fish. Back then, the fish that was tossed was grass carp (wan jyu) and not the sashimi-style salmon that is the rage now.

As for the lion dance, Chinese New Year is simply not complete without it, and I look forward to watching it every year.

So far, I have only managed to catch one performance at a mall, but it was a bit disappointing because it seemed like a rushed job. Perhaps the performing troupe had too many engagements lined up that day.

There are lots of YouTube videos of lion dances, but there is nothing like watching it live with a ringside view.

Undoubtedly, the lion dance originated in China, but the version we are familiar with – done on tall poles – is truly a Malaysian innovation – and that is an achievement that even China has acknowledged.

That’s probably why China together with Malaysia have nominated the lion dance to be inscribed on Unesco’s Intangible Cultural Heritage List.

Malaysia’s contribution to the lion dance was clearly acknowledged in a news report by CGTN headlined “Chinese New Year: Malaysia takes lion dancing to new heights”, which was screened last month. It credited Malaysia as “the birthplace of this high-flying form of art” – the acrobatic lion dance on tall poles.

According to Wikipedia, CGTN stands for China Global Television Network, the English-language news channel of Chinese state broadcaster China Central Television, which is under the control of the Central Propaganda Department of the Chinese Communist Party.

You can’t get more official recognition in China than that.

The news report singled out 69-year-old Selangor-born Siow Ho Phiew as one of the pioneers of acrobatic lion dancing on tall poles as well as the creator of the now internationally sought-after lighter, sturdier and more expressive lion head.

“Usually, a lion head is made out of bamboo, but Malaysia has a lot of rattan. We have the best rattan in the world. It is very durable and firm,” Siow told FMT.

“The high pole lion dance performance was founded in Malaysia. The lion dance competitions we have here are more creative than in any other country. That is why Malaysia has been labelled as ‘the kingdom of lion dance’.”

The CGTN report also noted the growing participation of non-Chinese in the art form. Indeed, there are many stories of lion dance troupes with young Malay and Indian performers.

A 2023 Al Jazeera report, for example, interviewed Mariam Abdul Nazar on her participation in the Khuan Loke Dragon and Lion Dance Association. In her late 20s now, she started at the age of 13.

Similarly, CGTN featured Muhamad Syahmi Hafiz, who is also with Khuan Loke Association, whose ambition is to go overseas to perform or compete.

What a far cry this is compared to the time when the lion dance was considered to be too foreign for the National Cultural Policy. So much so that it was reported that in May 1979, Home Affairs Minister Tan Sri Ghazali Shafie declared that the lion dance could never be accepted as part of Malaysian national culture because it reflected the characteristics of another culture from outside the region and would hinder the formation of a national Malaysian culture.

Ghazali even suggested renaming it “Tiger Dance” since the tiger was the national animal of Malaysia, and adding instruments like the gamelan.

While it is unclear whether the lion dance was actually banned in the 1980s, Ghazali did say, in response to a question in the Dewan Rakyat, that the government “disallowed all forms of processions” including the lion dance as they could affect public order.Since the 1990s, when the unofficial ban was lifted, the lion dance, Malaysian style, has grown by leaps and bounds – pardon the pun – and has put the nation on the world map for this daring art form.

Within Malaysia, as Siow said: “We used to say that the lion dance is part of Chinese culture, but Malaysia has three major ethnicities, and the art has captured their hearts, too. That’s why we like to say it belongs to everyone now.”

Perhaps that’s why while there are still segments in society and politics that continue to view anything Chinese with suspicion and resentment, the announcement of the joint nomination for the lion dance for Unesco listing did not elicit knee-jerk outrage and rejection the way the 2023 proposal to name bak kut teh as a national dish did. (Despite the objections, the pork ribs in herbal soup was gazetted as a national dish in February last year.)

Siow himself has been listed by the Malaysian Handicraft Corporation as an “adiguru”, or master craftsman of the lion head. I would think he is worthy of a Datukship too.

Meanwhile, I have written to CGTN urging them to invite a leading Malaysian lion dance troupe, like the multiple-award-winning Khuan Loke Association, to perform at their Spring Festival Gala 2026.

Now, wouldn’t that be super cool for Malaysia, especially if the lion dance gets the Unesco listing by then?

The views expressed here are the writer’s own.