25 things about Malaysia and me
By HUZIR SULAIMAN
In the last few days, on the social networking website Facebook, people I know have been sharing lists of 25 facts about themselves and eliciting similar disclosures from 25 of their friends.
At first I had no intention of joining this particular confessional chain letter, because I am generally uncomfortable talking about myself, and because I cannot imagine that anyone would be interested.
But after looking at my friends’ lists of seemingly random facts, I realised that many of their 25 things tended to cluster around a central issue uppermost on their minds: family, religion, hobbies, ideology, travel, etc. These lists were not disclosures so much as credos.
So then I realised I might just write 25 things about how I feel about Malaysia. In doing so, of course, I’d be talking about myself, for which I apologise. But here goes:
1. The idea of Malaysia seems to be a central issue for Malaysians from all walks of life. What is the nature of this country? What sort of a place is it?
2. Malaysians are very like Americans in this respect: we have strongly held and wildly differing ideas about what our country is and isn’t, and what our country should and shouldn’t be, and we invest a lot of emotional energy in maintaining and defending our beliefs against competing notions.
3. On one level, therefore, how we talk about Malaysia says far more about ourselves than it does about Malaysia.
4. And yet, paradoxically, this thing called Malaysia only exists as the sum total of the ideologies, policies, manifestos, acts of resistance, assertions and negations of identity, arguments, negotiations, trends, and unfettered enthusiasms that we have as a people.
5. In short, Malaysia only exists as the sum total of our feelings about Malaysia.
6. So what do I feel about Malaysia? For the purposes of this exercise, let me pick one thing: Malaysia’s racialist policies distress me. This might not be for the reasons some people assume.
7. Any strong feeling I might have is undercut by having to examine the historical context of the situation. I understand, economically, the need for affirmative action. I recognise how our ethnic divisions were codified and enforced by British colonial rule. I acknowledge that citizenship for non-Malays was something that the departing British pressured Tunku Abdul Rahman into accepting, despite enormous resistance from Umno. I note with regret how the imperfect execution of the New Economic Policy has led to deep social and political divisions in our society.
8. So I understand why people whose rallying cries and buzzwords are, variously, “the social contract”, “ketuanan Melayu” (Malay supremacy), “ketuanan rakyat” (supremacy of the people), “cronyism” and “Bangsa Malaysia” are all perfectly correct and justified, in their own way. I do understand the historical context for things, and the emotions involved.
9. My reason for being distressed by our racialist policies is purely personal. It’s because I’ve had to make conscious decisions about race my whole life. Race, for me, has had to be a performance.
10. Let me start at the beginning. My birth certificate declares my race to be Malay.
11. However, as far as I can ascertain, out of my 16 great-great-grandparents, 15 were born in India. They were from all over: Kerala, Tamil Na-du, Maharashtra and Uttar Pradesh.
12. The other great-great-grandparent – my mother’s mother’s mother’s father – was a Chinese Muslim from Yarkand, an old Silk Road town in what is now Xinjiang Province.
13. How all that makes me Malay I don’t know.
14. Of course there’s the three-point definition in the Federal Constitution, but even then I’m not sure I’m totally covered. Yes, I’m definitely Muslim – but I could always be a better Muslim. Yes, I speak Malay – but my English is a lot better. And yes, I practise some Malay customs – but how many customs do I need to practise before I’m considered Malay? How many is enough?
15. When I was a little kid I wasn’t really in a position to do anything about it. But in my teens, when I became socially and politically aware, I began to find this situation really strange. The identity crisis grew and deepened.
16. I was never comfortable with my bumiputra status – partly because I had problems with the New Economic Policy but mostly because I felt my status as a bumi was erroneous.
17. My more conventionally Malay friends – those whose great-great-grandparents were all born here, or nearby – tried to reassure me: “What is a Malay, after all? Malay-ness only exists in the minds of the Malays. If you think you are a Malay, you are a Malay.”
18. Another more cynical Malay friend put it this way: “A Malay is someone who is too polite to challenge someone who claims to be Malay.”
19. But I was still troubled, and so I never took advantage of my bumiputera status. As a consequence I have received no IPO share allocations, no unit trusts, no bank loans, no Malay Reserve land, no scholarships, and no government contracts. I don’t know whether I am proud of this, or whether it was just stupid, self-defeating stubbornness. If a clerk decided to classify me as Malay, why should I make my life needlessly harder by denying it – and for what? A principle?
20. Anyway, when I started working in Singapore, I had to go and get my Identity Card there. I had to fill in a form. Under “Citizenship” – Malaysian of course – there was a slot for “Race”. Suddenly I realised that I could choose what I wanted to be. I could tick any box I liked.
21. In 2003, at the age of 30, and in another country, I became Indian.
22. For the next few years, as I travelled back and forth between KL and Singapore, my race would change at the border. I was Malay in Malaysia, and Indian in Singapore.
23. Finally, when I updated my Malaysian IC to the MyKad, in the very last week that one could do it without penalty, I put down Indian as my “Bangsa”.
24. So now I am Indian everywhere. Or am I? I ask myself: how am I Indian? How can I justify calling myself Indian? Am I Indian just because 15 of my 16 great-great-grandparents were born in India? I’ve only been there once. I speak no Indian language. I love Indian food – but I love Malay food equally. What Indian customs do I practise? Does spending hours in bookshops count? Having a heavy lunch and then a nap? Arguing just for the sheer pleasure of it? Is that why I am Indian? If that’s the basis for it, I might as well be Malay. Or Chinese. Or – here’s a thought – just Malaysian.
25. Above all, I ask myself: how would my life have been different if my country had not made me spend so much time and energy agonising over these questions? And how much more could I have given to my country if I had not been so distracted by these questions of identity?
* Huzir Sulaiman writes for theatre, film, television, and newspapers.
- THE STAR
In the last few days, on the social networking website Facebook, people I know have been sharing lists of 25 facts about themselves and eliciting similar disclosures from 25 of their friends.
At first I had no intention of joining this particular confessional chain letter, because I am generally uncomfortable talking about myself, and because I cannot imagine that anyone would be interested.
But after looking at my friends’ lists of seemingly random facts, I realised that many of their 25 things tended to cluster around a central issue uppermost on their minds: family, religion, hobbies, ideology, travel, etc. These lists were not disclosures so much as credos.
So then I realised I might just write 25 things about how I feel about Malaysia. In doing so, of course, I’d be talking about myself, for which I apologise. But here goes:
1. The idea of Malaysia seems to be a central issue for Malaysians from all walks of life. What is the nature of this country? What sort of a place is it?
2. Malaysians are very like Americans in this respect: we have strongly held and wildly differing ideas about what our country is and isn’t, and what our country should and shouldn’t be, and we invest a lot of emotional energy in maintaining and defending our beliefs against competing notions.
3. On one level, therefore, how we talk about Malaysia says far more about ourselves than it does about Malaysia.
4. And yet, paradoxically, this thing called Malaysia only exists as the sum total of the ideologies, policies, manifestos, acts of resistance, assertions and negations of identity, arguments, negotiations, trends, and unfettered enthusiasms that we have as a people.
5. In short, Malaysia only exists as the sum total of our feelings about Malaysia.
6. So what do I feel about Malaysia? For the purposes of this exercise, let me pick one thing: Malaysia’s racialist policies distress me. This might not be for the reasons some people assume.
7. Any strong feeling I might have is undercut by having to examine the historical context of the situation. I understand, economically, the need for affirmative action. I recognise how our ethnic divisions were codified and enforced by British colonial rule. I acknowledge that citizenship for non-Malays was something that the departing British pressured Tunku Abdul Rahman into accepting, despite enormous resistance from Umno. I note with regret how the imperfect execution of the New Economic Policy has led to deep social and political divisions in our society.
8. So I understand why people whose rallying cries and buzzwords are, variously, “the social contract”, “ketuanan Melayu” (Malay supremacy), “ketuanan rakyat” (supremacy of the people), “cronyism” and “Bangsa Malaysia” are all perfectly correct and justified, in their own way. I do understand the historical context for things, and the emotions involved.
9. My reason for being distressed by our racialist policies is purely personal. It’s because I’ve had to make conscious decisions about race my whole life. Race, for me, has had to be a performance.
10. Let me start at the beginning. My birth certificate declares my race to be Malay.
11. However, as far as I can ascertain, out of my 16 great-great-grandparents, 15 were born in India. They were from all over: Kerala, Tamil Na-du, Maharashtra and Uttar Pradesh.
12. The other great-great-grandparent – my mother’s mother’s mother’s father – was a Chinese Muslim from Yarkand, an old Silk Road town in what is now Xinjiang Province.
13. How all that makes me Malay I don’t know.
14. Of course there’s the three-point definition in the Federal Constitution, but even then I’m not sure I’m totally covered. Yes, I’m definitely Muslim – but I could always be a better Muslim. Yes, I speak Malay – but my English is a lot better. And yes, I practise some Malay customs – but how many customs do I need to practise before I’m considered Malay? How many is enough?
15. When I was a little kid I wasn’t really in a position to do anything about it. But in my teens, when I became socially and politically aware, I began to find this situation really strange. The identity crisis grew and deepened.
16. I was never comfortable with my bumiputra status – partly because I had problems with the New Economic Policy but mostly because I felt my status as a bumi was erroneous.
17. My more conventionally Malay friends – those whose great-great-grandparents were all born here, or nearby – tried to reassure me: “What is a Malay, after all? Malay-ness only exists in the minds of the Malays. If you think you are a Malay, you are a Malay.”
18. Another more cynical Malay friend put it this way: “A Malay is someone who is too polite to challenge someone who claims to be Malay.”
19. But I was still troubled, and so I never took advantage of my bumiputera status. As a consequence I have received no IPO share allocations, no unit trusts, no bank loans, no Malay Reserve land, no scholarships, and no government contracts. I don’t know whether I am proud of this, or whether it was just stupid, self-defeating stubbornness. If a clerk decided to classify me as Malay, why should I make my life needlessly harder by denying it – and for what? A principle?
20. Anyway, when I started working in Singapore, I had to go and get my Identity Card there. I had to fill in a form. Under “Citizenship” – Malaysian of course – there was a slot for “Race”. Suddenly I realised that I could choose what I wanted to be. I could tick any box I liked.
21. In 2003, at the age of 30, and in another country, I became Indian.
22. For the next few years, as I travelled back and forth between KL and Singapore, my race would change at the border. I was Malay in Malaysia, and Indian in Singapore.
23. Finally, when I updated my Malaysian IC to the MyKad, in the very last week that one could do it without penalty, I put down Indian as my “Bangsa”.
24. So now I am Indian everywhere. Or am I? I ask myself: how am I Indian? How can I justify calling myself Indian? Am I Indian just because 15 of my 16 great-great-grandparents were born in India? I’ve only been there once. I speak no Indian language. I love Indian food – but I love Malay food equally. What Indian customs do I practise? Does spending hours in bookshops count? Having a heavy lunch and then a nap? Arguing just for the sheer pleasure of it? Is that why I am Indian? If that’s the basis for it, I might as well be Malay. Or Chinese. Or – here’s a thought – just Malaysian.
25. Above all, I ask myself: how would my life have been different if my country had not made me spend so much time and energy agonising over these questions? And how much more could I have given to my country if I had not been so distracted by these questions of identity?
* Huzir Sulaiman writes for theatre, film, television, and newspapers.
- THE STAR
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