Malaysian Craftsman Carves Out a Legacy in Traditional Chinese Coffins

In the Malaysian town of Muar, 69-year-old Goh Khuay Par continues a family tradition spanning three generations: the meticulous handcrafting of traditional Chinese Mei Hua coffins. The craft, named after the plum blossom, has been a part of his family's livelihood for over 50 years, but Goh acknowledges that the era of traditional coffin making is fading.

"Times have changed," Goh stated. "This line of work will eventually be phased out. There’s no one to take over."

Traditionally, Chinese funeral rituals and burial practices are deeply intertwined with beliefs about the afterlife and the importance of respecting ancestors. The coffin itself is considered the deceased's permanent physical resting place, traditionally made from durable, natural materials like the keledang wood Goh uses. The quality of the coffin was seen as an expression of filial piety and could also reflect the prestige of the deceased and their family. Some beliefs even held that a premium coffin subtly conveyed a hope for future resurrection or rebirth.

Scholars note that traditional Chinese beliefs often mirrored the earthly world, with rituals like crossing the symbolic "Naihe Bridge" aiding the deceased's transition. Practices such as offering food and burning incense and paper replicas during festivals like Qingming Festival were ways for the living to maintain a connection with ancestors, symbolically transferring worldly goods to the afterlife.

However, changing attitudes toward death and burial have significantly impacted traditional crafts like Goh's. Cremation has become increasingly accepted, a practice that was once considered disrespectful in traditional Chinese beliefs. This shift, coupled with the availability of modern funeral options, has led to a decline in demand for handcrafted wooden coffins.

Goh begins each coffin by sketching outlines on the wood before cutting and shaping it with hand tools such as an adze and an axe. The pieces are then assembled like a puzzle, with nails used sparingly. While the basic process has remained consistent, the physical demands of working with increasingly hard wood and the dwindling number of orders mean that Goh and his brother, the only two remaining craftsmen in the workshop, can now produce only about two coffins every six to seven weeks, a stark contrast to the up to five a month they once made.

"It’s been all right," Goh reflected. "It puts food on the table." Yet, the physical rigor of the work and the lack of younger individuals interested in learning the trade leave him contemplating the future. "It’s not about hoping," he said. "Young people, would they want to do it?"