Subang Jaya, Selangor – Legal battles are the last thing on Francis Koh’s mind. The deputy chairman of the Putra Harmoni Residents Association stood inches from the charred remains of his neighborhood today, his voice cracking as he declared: Right now, welfare comes first. Our people just want to go home.
Koh’s plea comes as 364 residents—74 families—remain stranded in temporary shelters weeks after a gas pipeline explosion ripped through Jalan Putra Harmoni on April 1. The blast, likened to a volcanic eruption by witnesses, left a 32-foot crater and reduced 115 homes to ash.
Safety Over Lawsuits
It’s too early to talk lawsuits, Koh insisted, sweat dripping under the midday sun at the disaster zone’s security checkpoint. We’re focused on phased re-entry for safety checks—electrical wiring, structural stability. Let investigations finish first.
But patience wears thin. Secretary of the residents’ association, known only as Lau, slammed authorities for leaving families in the dark. We need real-time updates. People are anxious, confused—they don’t even know if their pets survived, she said, referencing a database the association compiled detailing residents’ belongings and animals.
Phased Return Begins—But Trust is Fragile
Petaling District Officer Huzunul Khaidil Mohammed confirmed Phase 1 re-entry started today for 41 homeowners on Jalan 1/3A. If wiring passes inspection, electricity will resume. Residents must inventory losses before moving back, he said. Yet, many fear hidden dangers. What if the walls collapse? What if gas lingers? asked retiree Mei Ling, 62, clutching a photo of her tabby cat, still missing.
The April 1 inferno—sparked by a ruptured Petronas pipeline—sent flames roaring 600 meters skyward, melting cars and shattering windows. Over 500 residents fled in minutes, some barefoot, as embers rained down. Now crammed into mosques and community halls, families rely on donated meals while awaiting answers.
Residents Beg for a Seat at the Table
Lau urged authorities to include the association in crisis meetings: We have the data. We know who’s struggling. Let us help. Her appeal echoes growing frustration over sluggish communication. Single mother Aina, 29, scoffed: Officials promise ‘transparency,’ but we’re stuck refreshing WhatsApp for crumbs of info.
Meanwhile, volunteers distribute toothbrushes, diapers, and pet food near the cordoned-off site. We’ve lost everything except each other, said construction worker Rizal, 38, hugging his son outside their temporary shelter. But how long can we live on hope?
