WHILE many of the descendants who turn up to honour their dead at the Petagas War Memorial without fail every January 21 have been Chinese, there are also a fair number of Muslims.
This is because victims of both faiths numbering some 176 lay buried in the mass grave as the war provided no opportunity for the descendants to conduct separate prayers for their departed.
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They were supporters of Sarawakian Chinese medicine man Albert Kwok, who raised a civilian resistance movement against the Japanese in Jesselton (now Kota Kinabalu) during the closing stages of the Second World War.
Comprising Chinese, Bajau-Samah and Ubian as well as Kadazans and Dusuns, they were executed before dawn in what became known as the 1944 Petagas massacre. Five of the ringleaders were beheaded while the rest were machine-gunned.
It was the price these “Kinabalu Guerillas” had to pay for staging the only civilian uprising in Malaysia against the Japanese, whereby despite having no training, they managed to take over Jesselton for about two days after killing some 70 Japanese.
The shocked Japanese military command rushed reinforcements from Batu Lintang in Sarawak and ruthlessly hunted down all the insurgents.
Many of the Muslims inhabiting the islands on the west coast up to Mantanani were massacred in Japanese reprisals, while those hauled up on the mainland were interned at the Batu Tiga former British North Borneo constabulary headquarters, where the present Sabah College is located.
There, some 100 succumbed to torture while the rest, including Kwok, were loaded blindfolded onto rail wagons and transported to Petagas that fateful day before sunrise for their execution.
Abdul Rahim Nazal, 88, said his family was torn apart with his father and uncles among those executed at the memorial.
He recounted how Japanese soldiers arrived at Pulau Udar, now part of Kota Kinabalu, forcibly separating families and ultimately executing the men.
“A group of Japanese soldiers arrived by boat. They ordered all villagers to gather in an open area around 9am at gunpoint.”
His uncle, E. Mantuku bin Ulang, a fisherman who supported the family at Pulau Udar was among those taken aboard the Japanese vessel that day.
Rahim, only two then, depended on his uncle along with his late father, mother and sister.
He recalled his aunt witnessing the men being detained at Batu Tiga where they were tortured and beaten on suspicion of resisting Japanese forces.
“About a week later, all the women and children remaining at Pulau Udar were taken and sent to Kimanis,” Rahim said. The displaced families watched helplessly as Japanese soldiers burned their homes.
In Kimanis, the families were housed in longhouses built by the Japanese military and forced to grow sweet potatoes.
The bulk of the produce was seized by the soldiers, while workers received small tubers as payment every 15 days, along with rationed fish and rice, each weighing about 600gm.
“Our family kept waiting and praying for my uncle to be released, but it was in vain,” Rahim said. They were eventually informed by the work supervisor that all the male detainees were executed.
The news devastated the family. Rahim’s mother died from sorrow and was buried in Kimanis during the occupation.
After the Japanese surrendered, Rahim and his sister returned to Pulau Udar as orphans, having lost everything.
They were taken in by their aunt, Atom, but the siblings’ subsequent life was marked by displacement, moving between villages including Pulau Solog in 1951, Pulau Gaya in 1953, Kampung Sabang Kerambunai in Telipok in 1957, Kampung Gentisan in 1994, and finally settling in Kampung Kuala Baru, Jalan Pelabuhan Teluk Sepanggar in 1997.
Prayers resumed after deceased appeared in dream
CHINESE families traditionally observe the memorial by burning joss paper, offering prayers and laying flowers at the memorial site before dawn – to coincide with the time when their loved ones were executed.
Among the early arrivals was Phan Yee Chan, 55, from Manggatal, who was there before 5am with his father, Phan Kwun Fong, in his 70s.
Kwun Fong’s father, Phan Pit Chee, was among the resistance fighters. He was skilled in metalwork and crafted tools for the resistance.
“My grandfather made weapons to fight the Japanese,” Yee Chan said.
Shek Chai Ling, 62, from Papar, was also there at 5.30am with his father, Shek Yen Tien, in his 90s. He was continuing a tradition that began in the 1990s to commemorate his grandfather Shek Choon Fung and two granduncles, Shek Choon Hwa and Shek Choon Xuan.
The trio’s involvement in the resistance began when Albert rented a room at Shek Choon Fung’s shop in Jesselton. At the time, Shek Choon Fung operated both a coffee shop and photography business.
“Albert Kwok came to Jesselton and the war had not reached here yet at that time. Kwok contacted friends in Taiwan for help and my grandfather and granduncles all followed him to fight the Japanese,” Chai Ling said.
The decision to join the resistance came at a devastating personal cost. Chai Ling’s father was only 10 when his father and uncles were executed, leaving behind young children who had to grow up fatherless.
“We have been coming for the memorial service since the 1990s. My father managed to support the family through hard work even though he lost his own father at a young age,” said Chai Ling.
Chai Ling reflected on the difficult legacy his ancestors left behind.
“They left behind children who were still very young. They are dead, they have no more responsibilities,” he said. His father, nevertheless, managed to build a successful life.
The Shek family is part of a larger Hokkien community in Sabah, descendants of 108 families brought to then British North Borneo by the British who settled in Batu 5 Penampang.
Many intermarried with locals, creating an interconnected community that maintains close ties to this day.
“Just like the Foochows in Sarawak, our Hokkien family are also like that here. Our family still maintain that tradition of being together and keeping in touch,” Chai Ling said.
For the Shek family, the annual pilgrimage to Petagas remains a sacred duty.
“I guess our grandfather and granduncles’ spirits are with us. It is important to continue this tradition of paying our respects to our ancestors,” he said.
For Alayne Kwok, the journey from Singapore to the memorial is more than a family pilgrimage, it is a commitment to preserving a history that remained hidden for decades.
The third-generation descendant of resistance leader Kwok attended the ceremony for the fourth time, continuing her family’s mission to honour those who fought against Japanese occupation.
“It is important to not only remember but also acknowledge what happened in the past. History cannot be denied nor changed,” she said.
She said Kwok’s connection to Sabah’s wartime resistance was unknown to her family.
Alayne’s grandfather, George Kwok, was Albert’s younger brother who relocated to China following the massacre, taking the family’s wartime story with him.
The family secret only emerged during George’s final years, revealing a chapter of history that had been buried for decades.
Last year, Alayne attended the memorial service with her father, Dr Arthur Kwok, 74, a general practitioner based in Kuching, who made his first visit to the memorial at that time. He was unable to attend this year due to health matters.
Despite the challenges of distance and her parents’ advancing age, Alayne is determined to maintain the family’s connection to this pivotal moment in Sabah’s history.
Ensuring that this history is remembered and acknowledged remains a personal mission for her.
Datuk Lim Bum Poo, 65, came from Kota Belud with his wife Sally Tham and two sisters bringing offerings, including stout, to honour his uncle, Lim Kwi Ling, was killed at the site. Stout was his uncle’s favourite drink.
Recurring dreams of his executed uncle prompted him to revive his family’s memorial tradition, ensuring that the memory of local resistance fighters is not forgotten.
“My uncle, then in his 40s, was part of a resistance group led by Captain Tong King that fought against Japanese forces in Kota Belud.
“His execution at Petagas came after he and a friend killed two Japanese soldiers who had arrived on horseback near a bridge close to the Chung Hwa School in Kota Belud,” said Lim, recounting stories passed down by his mother.
The arrest triggered brutal reprisals against Lim’s entire family. His father and other relatives were detained and subjected to horrific torture, including being force-fed soap water before having their chests stomped on to expel it, a process repeated multiple times.
“When he was caught, the whole family was targeted. My father and other relatives were forced to drink soap water. Those who resisted were beaten to death,” Lim said.
His father survived by feigning death among a pile of bodies after being savagely beaten, then escaping through a hole in Tenghilan.
However, the torture left permanent damage to his lungs, requiring constant medical attention until his death at 95.
“My father survived that long but he had to constantly visit the doctor due to breathing complications. His lungs were damaged,” Lim said.
His uncle refused to drink the soap water and fought back. He was beaten severely before being brought to Petagas for execution.
“He left behind a son who later migrated to China,” Lim said. They recently visited China to meet his uncle’s grandson.
Lim said after both his parents passed away – his mother at 100 and father at 95 – he stopped attending the event. That’s when the dreams began.
“I started having dreams of my late uncle. So we decided to revive the tradition to offer prayers every year,” he said.
Lim noted that other families of resistance fighters from Kota Belud once attended the memorial regularly but have since stopped.
His family now appears to be the only one from Kota Belud maintaining this connection to the area’s wartime history.
