TO LISTEN to the dire pronouncements from Malaysia's authorities, you might have expected a riot. But the big rally which took place in Kuala Lumpur this weekend, organised by Bersih—an electoral reform group angered by allegations of corruption in government—was a calm and joyful affair. Bersih (which means "clean" in Malay) reckoned that 200,000 marched to the capital's central square on Saturday afternoon to demand the resignation of the prime minister, Najib Razak; the police pegged the crowd at 30,000. Almost everyone wore Bersih's signature yellow T-shirts—despite the government's claim, at the eleventh hour, that they were illegal. One yellow-swathed campaigner waved a sunshine-yellow placard: "You can ban a T-shirt", it read, "but you can't ban an idea".

The rally began at 2pm on Saturday and continued overnight. Parents came with teenage and grown-up children (infants were discouraged). Supporters on Twitter quoted lines from "Les Misérables", and at least one rally chief tried to lead crowds in some of its tunes. A few campaigners sported bags that read "My prime minister embarrasses me"; one handy protester had carved a pint-sized model of Mr Najib from polystyrene, which perched on a swing inside a cage.

Beset by scandal, Malaysia’s prime minister cracks down on dissent Mr Najib has been on the back foot since early July, when a report in the Wall Street Journal alleged that payments of nearly $700m had entered his bank accounts in 2013 (he denies wrongdoing, and says he has never used public money for personal gain). The government said the rally was illegal, and blocked the organisers' website. The state news agency quoted Mr Najib as saying that the protesters appeared "shallow and poor" in their patriotism for holding the rally so close to Malaysia's independence day, which falls on Monday. Students were warned that joining the protests might endanger their scholarships; the foreign ministry said it would identify Malaysians participating in assemblies held in solidarity abroad. One big worry was the promise made by a pro-government group to hold a counter-rally. Its leader had claimed to be planning training sessions for participants which would involve swords and long knives. As it turned out, police presence was low-key, and its leadership pragmatic. The careful organisation of the protest doubtless helped. Having accepted that they would not be allowed to enter the capital's main square, organisers erected their own barriers at its entrance to keep protesters away from police lines. Where roads remained open to traffic—and initially only those closest to the square were closed—stewards parted the crowds for public buses, which chugged on incongruously. Law students with gas masks, who stood ready to advise any detained protesters, had little to do but observe.