Antiaris toxicaria, Ipoh's terrible tree

I had this article published in the Star Newspaper yesterday and am placing it in my blog for those who do not read the Star.

Ipoh’s terrible tree

Ipoh is named after the ipoh tree, famous as the source of blowpipe poison. When the Portuguese attacked Malacca in 1511, the native weapon they most feared was the blowpipe with its poisoned darts. It was reported that every Portuguese soldier hit by darts died except one.

The Portuguese had cannons. Replicas of such cannons may be seen as decorative items in historic Malacca and elsewhere. These cannons could not be accurately aimed and they ran hot when fired, making reloading difficult between shots. Many early experiments in science by Galileo in the 1600s and Newton in the 1700s were driven by curiosity about how cannons worked—how the balls shot forward while the cannons themselves recoiled backward, how action and reaction were equal and opposite, and how far a cannonball would fly in relation to its angle of lift. All this is now elementary physics, but in 1511, physics was not yet a science. The Portuguese had learnt to use cannons in earlier battles in Europe, and had already used cannons with devastating effect in sea battles in India. Lack of accuracy was more than compensated by power to shock and awe. Each shot generated its own lightning and thunder, causing the earth to shake and hearts to tremble. The din of native war drums and gongs was totally outclassed by the thunder of cannons. Cannon smoke reduced visibility to near zero, interrupted only by blinding flashes of cannon-lightning. The acrid smell of exploding gunpowder became the smell of destruction and death. A native war boat could be sunk with a single hit, and the native war boats advancing in close formation presented easy targets.

After the fall of Malacca, it took the Europeans more than a century to track down the source of the terrible blowpipe poison. It was the latex of a tree growing in deep forests. The German botanist Georg Everard Rumph, better known by his Latinized name of Rumphius (1628-1702), never saw the tree himself though he was stationed in the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) as an employee of the Dutch East India Company. From information given to him about ipoh trees in the interior of Celebes, he wrote “The tree grows there on bald mountains, and one will know it from afar in that no trees grow near it, and that the soil beneath it is barren and singed. “ Every living thing that got close to the tree would die. Each tree occupied a bald mountain, with feathers and skeletons scattered on the ground around it. To obtain the latex, the collectors covered their bodies and heads with cloth because one drop of latex on the skin was enough to cause the body to swell. The latex was obtained with a bamboo stake sharpened at one end. The sharp point would be used to pierce the bark from a safe distance and the sap would run into the hollow of the bamboo.

Rumphius named the tree Arbor Toxicaria (the poison tree) but the word ‘tree’ is not considered suitable as a plant name. It is actually not allowed under the International Rules for the naming of plants. Arbor Toxicaria was renamed Antiaris toxicaria (the poisonous Antiaris) by the French botanist Leschenault de la Tour in 1810, who Latinized its Javanese name antjar to antiaris. Leschenault’s specimen of the ipoh tree became the TYPE specimen of Antiaris toxicaria, and it is permanently preserved in the Museum of Natural History in Paris.

The scientific names of all plants and animals and even minerals are similarly anchored by TYPE specimens. Type specimens define their species and because they are real, they have more authority than any description, drawing or photograph. Most of the type specimens of the world are preserved in the great natural history museums of London, Paris, Leiden and Washington DC, which have consequently become the major centres of reference of the world’s biodiversity.

When plant explorers finally tracked down ipoh trees in their native habitats, such trees were found to be harmless, growing together with other plants and often festooned with epiphytes. Ipoh latex has been closely examined by chemists and physiologists and found to contain cardiac glycosides that interfere with the heart muscles and cause heart failure. However It has to be introduced into the blood stream to be effective. Even so, it is not strong enough and is often mixed with the latex of another plant, Strychnos, which contains strychnine, to make it more potent. The mixture is concentrated by heating over a fire. In the process, its colour changes from white to dark brown. The tips of blowpipe darts are armed by dipping them into the sticky concoction. Blowpipes are still used by the Orang Asli for hunting, but only for small game such as birds, squirrels and monkeys.

Botanists have gradually pieced together the global distribution of Antiaris toxicaria. It turns out to be amazingly widespread. In Asia, it is found from southern India to southern China and throughout South East Asia to Northern Australia, Fiji and Tonga. In Africa it occurs south of the Sahara from Congo to Madagascar. Curiously, the traditional knowledge and use of ipoh in hunting and warfare has always been confined to South East Asia.

An ipoh tree grows in front of Ipoh’s iconic railway station, but the label in front of the tree fails to do justice to its legend. A bald mountain topped by ipoh trees and littered with animal skulls and bones, as visualized by Rumphius, would convey a better idea of the terror that ipoh trees evoked. The city authorities should consider creating such an experience, perhaps in Old Town, close to Concubine Lane, where one can enjoy Ipoh White Coffee in pre-war kopitiams.

(Orang Asli are aboriginal peoples in Peninsular Malaysia; a kopitiam is a Malaysian coffee shop)

Secret Garden of 1 Utama: New Times

The Secret Garden of 1 Utama will, from December 2011, be open on Public Holidays, Saturdays and Sundays. Also, the hours will be extended from 10 am to 10 pm. Lights have been installed to enable visitors to experience the garden at night. Entrance continues to be free.

A new coloured brochure is being prepared and should be available by Christmas.

The walkways have been upgraded and should not be slippery anymore. A new fountain is being installed in the Kinta Orchid area. We will be putting in new plants that emit fragrance at night and plants that stand out in soft light, i.e. plants with white or silvery leaves and flowers.

The night garden will be a new experience for us. The public, as always, are welcome to share in the experience and to make comments and suggestions.

I met an American couple from Missouri (which has one of the best botanic gardens in the world) in the Secret Garden last week. They come to Malaysia every year and make it a point to visit the Secret Garden. Each year, they notice that the garden looks much better than the year before. I have also met a Professor from Holland--a professor of the history of ideas--who visits the Secret Garden every year, and blogs about it.

What tree did Parameswara really see in Malacca?

It is taken as a historical fact that Malacca was founded by Parameswara, who named it after the melaka tree. Parameswara, in the legendary account of the founding of Malacca, actually had no idea what the tree was. He had just seen a mouse deer kick one of his hunting dogs and, inspired by the fighting spirit of the mouse deer, he asked his followers “What is the name of the tree under which I am standing?” His followers replied “It is called melaka, your Highness”. Nobody said “Wait, let us check this out.”

I would like to present evidence that Parameswara was wrongly advised. Before anybody questions whether I am qualified to change history, let me explain that my comments are based on botany, and I am, after all, a qualified taxonomic botanist—one who deals with the naming and classification of plants.

The melaka tree, known in Sanskrit as ‘amalaka’, has an ancient and venerable history in Sanskrit culture and medicine. When the Swedish founder of modern plant classification, Carolus Linnaeus, gave this tree its scientific name in 1753, he Latinised ‘amalaka’ to ‘emblica’ and placed it within the genus Phyllanthus. Hence the melaka tree became known in science as Phyllanthus emblica. Phyllanthus emblica is now planted all over Malacca as the state’s iconic foundation tree. Its fruits are sour but edible.

However, what Parameswara saw must have been another species, Phyllanthus pectinatus, which has a superficial resemblance to Phyllanthus emblica.

Phyllanthus pectinatus was first described and named by Joseph Dalton Hooker in 1890, based on specimens collected in Perak, Malacca and Singapore. I first became aware of the possible misidentification when I planted ‘melaka’ trees in FRIM (Forest Research Institute Malaysia), some from seeds collected in a forest, and some from seeds collected from a garden. When the trees grew up and produced flowers and fruits I found that they represented two utterly different species. These differences are obvious when specimens of the two species are placed side by side for comparison. In Phyllanthus emblica, the fruits are clustered at the base of rather robust leafy shoots whereas in Phyllanthus pectinatus they sway in the wind at the ends of the finely feathery leafy shoots. Inside the fruit is a hard stony structure containing the seeds. This stony structure is sharply 3-angled in Phyllanthus pectinatus but rounded in Phyllanthus emblica. There are also differences in flower structure and in the appearance of the bark.

In trying to figure out the relationship between the two species, I checked the specimens of ‘melaka’ preserved at the herbarium of FRIM. A herbarium is a place in which specimens collected by plant explorers are permanently preserved for scientific study and reference. The FRIM herbarium serves as the national herbarium for Malaysia and it has specimens from all over the country, collected by botanists and foresters during the past 100 years of forest exploration. All the specimens of ‘melaka’ in FRIM, collected in forests, were of Phyllanthus pectinatus,

When I had the opportunity to visit the world herbarium at Kew, I examined the collections from all over Asia, including the specimens seen by Joseph Dalton Hooker. I also went to the Botanic Gardens Singapore to check the specimens in its herbarium, which is a regional herbarium for South East Asia. Putting all the information together, the picture that emerged was that Phyllanthus emblica has its natural range across India, Burma, Thailand, Indo-china and South China. In contrast, Phyllanthus pectinatus has its natural range within the Malay Archipelago, especially in Sumatra, Malay Peninsula and Borneo. In their natural state, there is no geographical overlap between the two species.

In brief, Phyllanthus pectinatus is a true forest tree of the Malay Archipelago and it is particularly common in the forests of Malacca state. In contrast, Phyllanthus emblica occurs only as a planted garden tree in the Malay Peninsula and Malay Archipelago. It has never been able to escape and establish itself in our forests.

The best place to see Phyllanthus pectinatus is in the recreational forest of Ayer Keroh just outside the city. This area is now designated as a botanical garden, but its core area is maintained as natural forest. In this forest, there are many natural trees of Phyllanthus pectinatus, mislabeled as Phyllanthus emblica. Just outside the forest, the true Phyllanthus emblica has been planted in various prominent locations for the benefit of visitors. Nobody has noticed that the planted trees are a different species from the natural trees in the forest. What Malacca needs is a botanist, ideally a taxonomist cum horticulturist, to manage its botanical garden.

Malacca may have to accept that it has two iconic foundation trees: the tree that Parameswara saw and misidentified, and the tree it got mistaken for. To me, the native tree is the more attractive of the two.

(An earlier version of this article was published in the Biz Week of the Star newspaper on 5 Nov 2011.)

What are PhDs good for?

I wrote this piece for the Star Newspaper's BizWeek supplement on September 3. In a remote sort of way, it is related to horticulture and gardening, because my PhD thesis happened to be on the classification of a group of plants called Diospyros, which includes persimmon fruits, ebony timbers and various species now used in bonsai horticulture in Thailand. Since then, I have resisted all attempts to nail me down as a Diospyros expert. It is like Sean Connery refusing to play James Bond so that he could be accepted as a versatile performer. For me, to work for a PhD in order to be nailed down as a narrow expert would be a disaster.

I am now a budding newspaper columnist but since newspaper articles have the shortest life of any publication, I thought I would republish this piece as a blog, which seems to have a better life expectancy.

The piece reflects my role as consulting editor to a scientific journal. I have to tell scientists in Malaysian universities and institutions that they have to publish to stay relevant. They like to claim that they are too busy in 'teaching' or 'administration'.

What are PhDs good for?

Universities award bachelors and masters degrees in different areas of learning, but regardless of the starting point, the apex of academic training is the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. So when I am asked what my doctorate is in, I would say “philosophy”. This would be followed by an awkward silence before we change to a more comfortable topic of conversation.

It is awfully difficult to talk about philosophy, and the modern degree of PhD is not about classical philosophy. While watching an old movie The Wizard of Oz with my granddaughter, it dawned on me that The Wizard of Oz had the answer. In the movie, the Wizard reacts to the scarecrow’s desire for a brain by explaining that the brain is actually a very mediocre commodity—every living creature has one. What the scarecrow really needed, and which the Wizard grants, is the degree of ThD or Doctor of Thinkology. Voila! Thinkology—the art and science of thinking—that is surely what the PhD degree is all about.

Ordinary thinking is what every creature does, each in its own way. But the thinking that goes into becoming a Doctor of Philosophy is very different. What a PhD candidate does is to select a topic for research, and proceed to work on it in an organised and disciplined way. The end product will be a thesis, which would be a new book on the topic. Up to the level of Bachelors, or even Masters, one acquires knowledge from books written by other people, but in a PhD programme, the candidate writes a book for others to use. To emerge from a lifetime of reading books to writing one’s own book requires a metamorphosis, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly, but it would be an intellectually traumatic experience. Many candidates burn out in the process.

The candidate cannot simply copy what is in other books. That would be plagiarism and a plagiarist faces total disgrace if found out. The PhD candidate has to become totally familiar with the present state of knowledge of the topic by immersing himself or herself in what has been published about it, but in a critical way—questioning previous interpretations and assumptions and re-evaluating the evidence. At the same time, the candidate looks for new evidence or generates new data by experiment. Finally the candidate has to write a book to make all previous books on the topic obsolete.

The topic of a PhD thesis is not as important as the critical thinking skill that is acquired. Its aim is to generate more knowledge about the topic. Whether this results in solving a problem is secondary. It is assumed that by generating more knowledge on a topic, other benefits will follow.

Now and then, an Einstein produces a thesis that revolutionises the state of knowledge of an entire topic, but in most cases, a successful thesis is merely the starting point of a career in disciplined thinking, provided that the new Doctor of Philosophy is employed in a university, a research organization or a think-tank, where he or she can continue to do disciplined thinking.

It is not necessary to have a PhD degree to be a disciplined thinker but for employment in an intellectual or academic position, the PhD has become the normal requirement. But how do we know if PhDs are doing what they are paid to do? The only way is to enforce a publication rule. Under this mechanism, people employed to think have to show proof by publishing their work as ‘papers’ in peer-reviewed journals. Peer-review means that the editor of the journal will send each submitted paper to at least two persons known to be knowledgeable in the topic, for review. The submitted paper is examined like a mini-thesis: it has to be original (not a rehash of previous work), and it must significantly contribute to new understanding of its topic. Only papers that pass peer review get published. A productive average rate of publication for a serious researcher is two papers a year.

Once a paper is published, the title of the paper and its contents, together with the names of the authors and their institutional affiliations (institute and country) are captured in global databases. The papers that attract attention would be referred to ‘in citation’ by other scientists, and all such citations are captured in global databases. This has made it possible to keep track of the number of times each paper is cited after its publication, to provide a measure of the impact that each and every paper makes on the global intellectual community.

By tracking the number of times an author is cited, one can get a measure of the impact that the author has made. Such information is used to analyse the performance of authors. It is often used in making decisions on appointments, salary increments, promotions and terminations.

Scholarly journals are themselves ranked every year by the frequency of citation of the papers they publish. The ranking of journals, usually announced in June, is anxiously awaited by editors to see how they have performed from year to year. Editors strive to improve their journal ratings by imposing higher standards on the papers they publish. It is the editors who enforce and manage the peer-review process.

The body of data on publications and citations, sometimes in combination with other indicators, is also used to rank universities, and such ranking has become an annual global affair.

In 2004, in an interesting and innovative use of publication databases, Sir David King, Chief Scientific Advisor to the British Government ranked countries according to their output of scientific papers. He found that 31 countries produced over 97% of the worlds’ output of scientific papers in peer-reviewed journals. These are the developed western countries, with USA in the lead. Of the non-western countries, Japan and Russia are prominent in the list. Of developing countries, China, Brazil and India moved into the top 31 recently. China is showing the fastest rate of growth in number of papers published, but in quality, as measured by citation rate, it is still far below USA. Nevertheless, the rise of China, Brazil and India confirms the close linkage between economic growth and scientific performance, first observed in the rise of Western Europe during the Industrial Revolution, followed by the rise of USA, Japan and Russia. The remaining 162 countries—including Malaysia—contributed a combined total of only 2.5% to the growth of scientific activity in the world.

Through the global tracking of publications, made possible by powerful computers, intellectual activity has become open, measurable, and thereby manageable. The main tool of management is the application of the rule “Publish or Perish”. An academic community that has never been subjected to this rule will strongly resist attempts to apply it. This is the challenge that Malaysian institutions face.

Pruning of avocado

This grafted avocado tree grows in front of my house in Kuala Lumpur. It was planted in June 1997 and first flowered in Mar 2002 but did not produce fruits. It next flowered in May 2003 and produced 55 fruits. Since then it has fruited at unpredictable intervals, roughly once a year, the last time producing 156 fruits. This picture was taken today, 9 Oct 2011. The tree has been kept small by pruning. It is about 12 ft tall and 12 ft in diameter. Without pruning it would have grown to over 30 ft tall and the fruits would have been out of reach. By keeping the tree small, I was able to harvest all the fruits by hand or with a long-handled fruit-picker.

The flowering month varies from year to year: in this case the sequence was Mar 02, Dec 02, Mar 04, Aug 06, Mar 07, Nov 07, Jan 09, Jan 10, Feb 11.

In modern fruit orchards, trees are kept small by pruning so that fruits can be harvested carefully. Any fruit that hits the ground is effectively damaged because the tissues will be bruised at the point of impact.

How a leper settlement, Sungei Buloh, became the horticultural hub of Malaysia

Gardeners all over Malaysia know of Sungei Buloh as the hub of horticulture in Malaysia. Centred on the grounds of the old Leprosy Hospital and Settlement, Sungei Buloh has, during the past 50 years, become the place to see what is new and available in garden plants.

In the early years of the 20^th Century, lepers were sent into exile in islands such as Pangkor Laut and Pulau Jerejak. In 1930, the Hospital and Settlement in Sungei Buloh were established by the Government of British Malaya to serve as a central facility to treat and house leprosy patients, and the island settlements were gradually closed. Sungei Buloh became one of the largest leper settlements in the world and a centre for research on the treatment of leprosy. The patients lived in simple one-room duplex houses with a bit of land around each house on which they could grow vegetable and keep chickens. The patients and their families had practically no prospects of getting out and reintegrating with society at large.

By the 1950s the doctors were confident that leprosy was treatable and not as infectious as previously thought, but social acceptance of patients posed a huge problem. Then John Wyatt-Smith of the Forest Research Institute (FRI) at Kepong a few miles down the road decided to do something about it. He arranged for about 30 able-bodied men from the settlement to be employed at the Institute. This was no small undertaking. No other organization was willing to offer employment. FRI was able to take the lead because John Wyatt-Smith was such a respected and towering figure at the Institute.

When I joined FRI in 1964, Wyatt-Smith had just retired, but the men from Sungei Buloh had become indispensable. They did all the toughest jobs, moving heavy loads, felling trees, clearing land, and looking after the plant nursery. In the process they earned the respect of their co-workers.

Meanwhile, others in the Settlement were encouraged by the Hospital to take up the growing of ornamental plants, to sell by the roadside in front of their houses. Slowly overcoming their fears, people in Kuala Lumpur began to go to Sungai Buloh to buy plants, because such plants were cheap compared to elsewhere. In the 1960s, the Hospital organised a garden show, in which Lam Peng Sam and I were the judges.

My nurseryman at FRI was Mat Isa bin Bulat. He died a few months ago, by then a highly successful businessman and living in a big bungalow at Sungei Buloh. As a youth in Langkawi, Mat Isa’s world crashed when he was diagnosed with leprosy. Sent to Sungei Buloh for treatment, he was one of those selected to work in FRI. I was at that time making an encyclopedic survey of fruits, seeds and seedling of forest trees. This work would eventually be published in two thick volumes and to become the reference textbook for those in the business of raising forest trees for urban planting. At that time no such business existed.

Mat Isa looked after the hundreds of species of forest trees that I was raising, learning to recognise all the plants and their names. He learnt not only their Malay names but also their scientific names (Greek and Latin to most people) from the labels I attached to the plants. Then one day, he shocked everybody by announcing his resignation, to go into business. Kuala Lumpur was taking up urban greening in a big way and there was a willingness to try new species of trees from the forests. Mat Isa saw his opportunity. He could recognise and name hundreds of species of forest trees by their local as well as their scientific names. He rented land from his neighbours to set up nurseries in Sungei Buloh, and was able to supply the growing demand. I did not know how he was progressing until some years later, when he overtook me on the on road to FRI and waved cheerily. He was driving a Mercedes while I driving my Datsun. On another day, while having a drink with him in a coffee shop he told me how he had just lost a large sum of money. It was stolen from his car when he had stopped for lunch after withdrawing the money to pay salaries. It was something like RM 20,000. ‘Did you report to the police?’ He merely shrugged, ‘What’s the point?’.

Over the years, Sungei Buloh has become the centre of a highly innovative network of self-made men and women engaged in the horticultural business in Malaysia. This network keeps thousands of people employed, not only in Sungei Buloh but also in feeder nurseries outside KL, and as far distant as Cameron Highlands and Muar. New flower varieties are usually first offered in Sungei Buloh before they appear elsewhere.

From its original hub at the hospital area, flower nurseries have been established in the surrounding area. Sungei Buloh provides a good example how the best commercial or industrial hubs come into existence ‘organically’ through time. It requires the interaction of many individuals, in unique ways, in some unique place. Such a hub can be easily destroyed but not easily duplicated elsewhere. As an example of how planned hubs can fall short, we have the so-called ‘green lane’ on the road from the Sungei Buloh junction to the Rubber Research Institute. All along one side of the road, the land has been divided and let out to nurseries, but such nurseries are strung out for several miles, and the road has become a noisy, busy highway. It is unpleasant to walk from one nursery to the next and dangerous to park and re-park on the roadside. It is also impossible to make a U turn. At the historic hospital hub, one can visit a large number of different nurseries within a small area, in peace and quiet.

Now that leprosy and been beaten and its hospital relegated to history, the horticultural hub and its historical buildings, especially the one-room duplex houses, survive as a monument to an ancient and terrifying scourge finally overcome by medical science. There are those eying the hospital land for redevelopment, who have no interest in history nor in the role of Sungei Buloh as the hub of the Malaysian horticulture industry—an industry that, unlike other industries, has been developed by gutsy individuals with little or no political support.

(An earlier version of this article was published in the Star Newspaper on 2 July 2011)

Putrajaya Floria 2011

I have just come back from Putrajaya after spending the day at this year's Flower Show or Floria 2011. This is the best flower show I have yet seen in Malaysia. It is certainly full of colourful flowers and some designs are finally reaching international standards.

In the evening, at 8 to 10 pm there was a splendid parade of decorated floats on Putrajaya Lake -- a first for Malaysia -- accompanied by fireworks and music. The concept and technology were copied from Soochow, China, and there was a team from Soochow in attendance to see how Malaysia was doing. Pretty good for a first attempt! Fourteen gaily decorated barges took part, sponsored by various states and corporations, including one from Brunei. We were told that one barge tipped over and sank during preparation.

The best time to go is morning when the plants are fresh. In the afternoon many plants are visibly drooping. They perk up again in the evening when it is cooler. Those going in the evening will not regret staying on for the float parade.

The show is for 9 days, which I think is far too ambitious. The plants are all in pots and many of them will have to be replaced from day to day. By the fifth day some of the exhibitors may run out of replacement plants.

The political protests in Kuala Lumpur today may have reduced the number of people at Floria 2011 but even so the car parks were full, and the evening crowd was dense.