I want to go back to the 2021 doctors’ strike. I’m not going to dwell on what caused it.
I’m just simply fascinated by the collective force of the thousands of people at the heart of the strike – doctors – and how it had everyone involved with the #HartalDoktorKontrak stepping out of their medical facilities in unison at 11am.
For the people of Terengganu, that same collective spirit is experienced annually. It is, of course, less a doctors’ meet and more a full-blown, petrol-fuelled apocalypse of awesome. They call it the RXZ Members gathering. I call it the Woodstock of the working class.
Forget your silent electric scooters and your pretentious adventure bikes. This was all about the Yamaha RX-Z. A machine so gloriously un-PC, so wonderfully loud and smoky, it’s practically a middle finger to the entire concept of environmental responsibility. And tens – no, hundreds – of thousands of these oil-belching beasts descended upon Terengganu recently, creating a symphony of high-pitched whines and the kind of air pollution that would make Greta Thunberg spontaneously combust.
It was beautiful. In a terrifying, magnificent way.
Now, picture this: a sea of humanity, not swaying to the gentle strumming of an acoustic guitar, but bouncing to the rhythmic sound of highly strung engines. The merchandise wasn’t organic cotton tote bags, but rather aftermarket carburettors and piston rings.
The communal experience wasn’t sharing a questionable veggie burger, but swapping tales of near-death experiences at illegal street races (allegedly, of course).
This wasn’t a bunch of trust-fund kids finding themselves on a beach. This was the glorious, unadulterated passion of the bloke down the road who’s spent his weekends lovingly tinkering with a machine that’s probably older than himself.
But here’s where it gets properly spicy. This year, the glorious, grassroots eruption of petrolhead enthusiasm somehow managed to get the attention – and more importantly, the cash – of the federal government. Yes, you heard that right. Hundreds of thousands of ringgit poured in, presumably from the same pot of taxpayers’ money that usually funds things like… well, sensible stuff.
And where was this happening? In Terengganu, a state represented by MPs who sit on the opposition bloc in Parliament. A state where federal funds would always find themselves conveniently losing their way to the state coffers. The political gamesmanship was thicker than the two-stroke smoke.
It was like watching your divorced parents trying to bribe you with ice cream to pick sides. Except the ice cream was a roaring motorcycle rally.
The state chaps looked about as happy as a vegetarian at a barbecue. Apparently, they felt a tad… overlooked. Sidelined. Excluded from their own party. Which, frankly, adds a delightful layer of political farce to the whole shebang.
You’ve got this roaring, independent movement, fuelled by pure petrol passion, becoming just another pawn in the never-ending chess game of Malaysian politics.
So, what’s next for these magnificent purveyors of controlled explosions? How must they navigate this political minefield? Simple: they need to become Switzerland on two wheels. Neutral. Impartial.
So committed to the roar of the engine that the bickering of politicians fades into the background like a distant mosquito whine.
First off, the organisers should register themselves as a proper club. A registered entity. A place where the only colours that matter are the iconic hues of a well-maintained RX-Z. This allows for proper accounting, transparency, and stops any bright spark from the opposing side of the political spectrum from thinking taxpayers’ money is being used to fund someone’s personal joyride.
Secondly, acknowledge everyone’s support with the enthusiasm of a polite hostage. “Thank you, government A, for your generous contribution. And thank you, government B, for letting us use your tarmac.” No need for effusive praise or flag-waving. The sound of your engines is loud enough.
Finally, and crucially, ban all political paraphernalia from the event. This isn’t a rally for this party or that. It’s a rally for the glorious, smoky, utterly impractical Yamaha RX-Z.
Anyone caught waving a political banner should be immediately subjected to a communal oil change with the cheapest, nastiest lubricant available.
RXZ Members 7.0, held in Gong Badak, was a glorious reminder that sometimes, the most powerful movements aren’t born in boardrooms or political rallies, but in the shared passion of a group of people who just really, really like a specific kind of motorcycle.
It was raw, it was loud, it was politically awkward, and it was absolutely brilliant.
The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer and do not necessarily represent that of Twentytwo13.
Main image: Facebook | RXZ Members – Official
