Many left-wing Malay nationalists saw communism not as an end in itself but as a vehicle for independence and social transformation. To reduce their struggle to mere ideological subversion is to flatten the rich and complex motivations that drove anti-colonial resistance.

Within the MCP’s armed wing, the Malayan National Liberation Army (MNLA), Shamsiah rose to prominence in the 10th Regiment, the Malay guerrilla unit formed on May 21, 1949.

The 10th Regiment was not a marginal formation. Scholarly estimates suggest that it comprised several hundred members, drawn largely from Malay communities in states such as Pahang, Perak, Kelantan, and Terengganu.

Many Malays from Pahang, including Siti Norkiah, the Awas leader from Benta, joined the MCP in 1948. Others, such as Pak Saud and his wife Mak Tijah from Arau, Perlis, also became part of this movement.

Their participation decisively challenges the simplistic narrative that communism in Malaya was an exclusively Chinese phenomenon.

Staunch feminist

Shamsiah’s own motivations were deeply personal as well as political. As Mahani Musa notes in her article “Women in the Malayan Communist Party, 1942-89” (2013), Shamsiah was driven to join the nationalist struggle “by her own marital breakup and wish to free women from the bondage of feudalism, capitalism, imperialism, and masculine oppression”.

Divorced when she was eight months pregnant, she transformed personal adversity into political commitment.

Her own words in her memoir capture this dual struggle with remarkable clarity: “Aku hanya seorang pejuang wanita yang berjuang melawan British untuk kemerdekaan tanah air dan untuk emansipasi (kebebasan) wanita.” (I am only a woman fighter who fought against the British for the independence of the homeland and for the emancipation [freedom] of women).

This statement is not the voice of an ideologue, but of a nationalist and a feminist - one who saw independence as inseparable from the emancipation of women.

In 1991, the Malay magazine Dewan Masyarakat published a seven-part series of articles on Shamsiah written by Fatini Yaacob, reflecting sustained scholarly and public interest in her life.

Such engagement underscores an important point: Shamsiah is not an obscure or marginal figure, but one whose life story opens a window into the broader currents of Malayan history - anti-colonial struggle, ideological contestation, and the role of women in nation-building.

Who are we to judge?

To label her simply as a “communist insurgent” is therefore historically reductive and morally questionable.

Who are we to judge and condemn her without understanding the circumstances that shaped her choices? Was she not, in many respects, a freedom fighter who was compelled by circumstance to adopt a radical path in pursuit of national independence?

She was, arguably, a “victim of circumstances”, joining the MCP to avoid detention and to continue her struggle when all legal avenues had been closed.

Indeed, according to Aisyah AB Rahim in her Master’s thesis (2012), entitled “Shamsiah Fakeh (1924-2008): Kajian Terhadap Perjuangan Wanita Islam di Tanah Melayu”, Shamsiah was “seorang nasionalis sejati dan anti-British yang tegar” (a true nationalist and a staunch anti-British figure).

More fundamentally, her life challenges the dominant narrative that independence was achieved solely through moderate, elite-led politics.

While constitutional negotiations and diplomatic efforts were undoubtedly crucial, armed struggle, labour movements, and left-wing activism also played significant roles in weakening colonial rule and shaping the political consciousness of the masses.

To erase these contributions is to present a sanitised and incomplete version of history.

Propaganda is not knowledge

This brings us to the crux of the matter: the banning of these books is not merely an administrative act, but an assault on historical inquiry. There are several compelling reasons why such a ban is unjustified.

First, historical scholarship cannot be equated with ideological endorsement. The study of communism in Malaya does not promote communism any more than the study of colonialism endorses imperialism.

Academic and memoir works such as “Memoir Shamsiah Fakeh” are essential for understanding the past in its full complexity. To suppress them is to conflate knowledge with propaganda.

Second, the ban undermines intellectual freedom and the right of Malaysians to access diverse perspectives on their own history.

A mature nation does not fear its past; it confronts it, debates it, and learns from it. Shielding the public from “uncomfortable truths” only perpetuates ignorance and weakens critical thinking.

Third, the prohibition distorts the historical record. Hundreds of Malays did, in fact, join the communist insurgency.

This is not a matter of opinion but of documented history; to deny or obscure this reality is to falsify the past. A nation that selectively remembers its history risks building its identity on fragile foundations.

Fourth, the ban marginalises the contributions of left-wing nationalists who, despite their ideological affiliations, were part of the broader struggle for independence. Their sacrifices, motivations, and aspirations deserve to be studied and understood, not erased.

As Pierre Le Moyne, a 17th-century historical theorist, reminds us, “Truth is the very soul of history.” Hence, we must not marginalise the contributions of the left-wing nationalists and the communists in the struggle for national independence.

Where’s the line?

Finally, the banning of these works sets a troubling precedent. If historical narratives can be suppressed on the grounds of ideological sensitivity, where does one draw the line?

Today, it may be communism; tomorrow, it could be any interpretation that challenges the official narrative, such as that the Orang Asli are the truly indigenous people of Peninsular Malaysia or that Parameswara died a Hindu-Buddhist.

Such a trajectory is incompatible with a democratic and intellectually vibrant society.

Shamsiah’s importance lies not only in what she did, but in what her story reveals.

It reveals a Malaya in flux, where competing visions of independence coexisted and clashed. It reveals the agency of women in a patriarchal society. It reveals the moral ambiguities and difficult choices faced by those who lived under colonial rule.

Above all, it reveals that Malaysian history is far richer, more contested, and more inclusive than conventional narratives often suggest.

To understand Shamsiah is to understand that history is not a monolithic tale of heroes and villains, but a tapestry of human experiences shaped by context, conviction, and circumstance.

She was a nationalist, a freedom fighter, and a champion of women’s emancipation - albeit one who chose a path that remains controversial. But controversy is not a reason for erasure; it is a reason for deeper engagement.

As a nation, we must have the courage to accept history as it happened. This includes acknowledging that segments of the Malay population participated in the communist insurgency, not out of blind ideological zeal, but out of a desire to end colonial domination and transform society.

It also means recognising that the road to independence was neither linear nor uniform, but marked by multiple trajectories and competing visions.

In the final analysis, the banning of “Memoir Shamsiah Fakeh” and “Komrad Asi (Rejimen 10)” does a disservice not only to the individuals concerned but also to Malaysia itself.

It deprives Malaysians of the opportunity to engage critically with their past and to appreciate the diversity of experiences that have shaped the nation.

History must never be something we fear - it must be something we confront with honesty and courage.

It should be rigorously studied, openly debated, and deeply understood in all its complexity. For it is only when history is told truthfully and inclusively that it can fulfil its highest purpose: to unite a nation.