What does it mean by being Malaysian?

Recently someone I knew through Facebook posted a note concerning a Race Relations Act proposed by the Malaysian government. According to this writer, there shouldn’t be a need for such an act as matters concerning racial harmony should be natural. For this I am in complete agreement.

The writer then went on to suggest that the best start is for Malaysian ethnic minorities (non-Bumiputeras), mainly the Chinese and Indians to start referring themselves as Malaysians. His thoughts were that these minorities fear that by regarding themselves as Malaysians, they are betraying their racial and cultural identities. He went on further by writing that learning and speaking the national language should not be a threat to their mother tongues. If they can get past this first barrier without any resentment, then it’s a huge step worthy of congratulations.

As a second generation Malaysian of Chinese descendant, I was a bit upset reading this. I felt that it has been unfair to put this “initiation” responsibility on the non-Bumiputeras only. In order to illustrate my point, I posted a comment on his post based on my own personal experience.

When I was fifteen years old, I did rather well for my PMR (lower secondary examination) and was second best student in my school. At that time, the local newspaper (The New Straits Times) decided to provide two awards for each school in the entire Klang Valley. The best student was another Chinese student. So, technically, we were both supposed to receive the awards but my school decided to give one to her and the other to a Malay student who came third.

I remember how my spirit was crushed and at that time, I didn’t really understand what was going on because I haven’t really grasp the whole concept of Bumiputera privilege. This goes to show how I had regarded myself as Malaysian and the fact that my parents had sent me to a public national school proved that they had wanted me to learn Bahasa Melayu together with all the other races. When I was growing up, I had never once heard my parents badmouthing the Malays or Indians, etc. So, I was not brainwashed into believing which race is superior and which not.

Then, I went on to explain how I had supported the Malaysian national badminton team during the Thomas Cup, being an avid badminton fan at that time. I would argue and fight with my father who were supporting the Chinese team (it didn’t mean that my father was influencing me in any way. It was his choice and that was it).

Mainly, my point was that we are not the only who should regard ourselves as Malaysians, but the Bumiputeras should as well.

Then, someone else responded to my comment by saying that I should be happy being second and the award was not important. I responded back by saying that the award wasn’t the main point. It is about fairness and equality. The person responded back by saying that there wasn’t any point for us (the Malays and the rest) to harp on this issue and we should just get along. I commented that I agree with his view but I was merely pointing out what I thought was a flaw in the writer’s post.

The funny thing is, nobody else added on to our comments. It was just between me (the Chinese girl) and him (a Malay guy).

So, these are just some opinions and sentiments expressed between a very small group of Malaysians. However, in reality, this is precisely what is happening here in Malaysia at a national level.

You have someone who made, what I consider as a one sided opinion, a Chinese who expressed an opposing opinion, another Malay who tried to “hush” or shove the main issue under the carpet by saying that we should all get along and finally the rest who just remain silent possibly for fear of incitement of racial hatred. This is the current state of Malaysia,

What I want to say is, I don’t support the Race Relations Act but at the same time, neither do I support the Sedition Act where Malaysians are being hushed up in order not to create any incitement to racial disharmony. The sad thing is, usually when a Malay proclaims the supremacy of its race, he/she gets away with it but if the Chinese or Indians fight to maintain their mother tongues in National Type Schools (where Chinese and Tamil languages are used in the medium of teaching), they are being seditious.

So in the end, who is more Malaysian? Someone who wants to see his/her nation progresses by living up to its duties to all Malaysians, or someone who tries to stick his/her head under the sand?

As long as all races are not being considered and treated as equal, do not expect all of them to feel as one.

Of childhood idealism

 

(Picture above: Students at the Mittapheap Primary School)

Those of you who have watched the Pixar animation Ratatouille will remember the scene where food critic, Anton Ego, floated down memory lane as soon as he had his first bite of Remy’s special ratatouille. My trip to Kampong Chnang yesterday was precisely so, except it didn’t really remind me of anything I did when I was a child. It did much more than that. It allowed me to live part of my imagination when I was a child.

Most Malaysians my generation will remember popular local children’s tales based on characters such as Pak Pandir and Sang Kancil in primary school. These simple tales not only impart moral values and wisdom, it made the Malay kampong (village) life sounded charming and yet so foreign for many of us who live in bigger towns or cities.

I don’t know about you, but whenever I was asked in school to draw a house, for some reason, a wooden house on stilts was always a natural choice. Then, there would be visions of chickens running freely underneath the house, an orchard filled with bananas, rambutans and jackfruits by the side and not forgetting the glorious picture of a sun (it didn’t matter whether it was rising or setting but it just had to be in the picture) on the horizon. I don’t know why, but the Malay kampong life was so fascinating and exotic to me.

Being in Kampong Chnang, I was awakened by all the forgotten senses I had as a child; mainly innocence and the simplicity of life. It was a little bit like that eccentric character of Beatrix Potter and her sketching of Peter Rabbit coming to life. The only difference was that the actual wooden houses I saw along my journey were a hundred times more magnificent than what I had imagined as a child. You could see that the local villagers live a modest life but at the same time, you can’t help but notice the careful and loving attention they gave to their houses. Their architecture may be traditionally Khmer but you can still see the French influence on the louver windows painted in navy blue.

The roofs are particularly beautiful. Unlike the common tin or thatched roofs you would normally associate with traditional Malay wooden houses, many are made from beautiful tiles giving them a striking resemblance to the roofs seen on Chinese Buddhist temples.

There were very few cars and most people travelled by bicycles or bullock carts along the mostly narrow unpaved laterite soil. Many of them, sporting the ubiquitous kromar (see above), a versatile Cambodian scarf used for almost anything from being a turban to strapping babies on one’s body, were seen going about unassumingly with their daily lives. On our way, we saw several mosques, apparently funded by the Malaysian government, indicating the presence of ethnic Cham community. I was told that they speak Melayu and the similarity does not end there. They looked and dressed like the Malays. I never thought I would see someone wearing a baju kurung here.

We stopped by a warung (stall) to have what they called Cham kuey teow, which initially led me to believe that it was similar to our very own version of char kuey teow (fried thick and flat rice noodles) but I was wrong. It bore no resemblance whatsoever, even the noodles didn’t come close. Cham kuey teow is thin rice noodles served in steaming bowl of beef soup. The locals eat them with a squeeze of lime juice, a few dollops of chilli sauce and a shocking generous tablespoon of sugar heaped onto the middle of the noodles to allow it to seep slowly into the soup. For those who have never tried this, it may all sound a bit strange but for soup-lovers, you definitely want to taste it.

I even came across a local fruit, referred to as Milk Fruit (see above), freshly plucked from the tree by a friendly and hospitable restaurateur. It looks like an orange-sized round aubergine when ripe but tastes and smells very much like young coconut; sweet and creamy. The texture is rather similar to a mangosteen. Overall, a delightful find.

(Picture above showing our car being transported across a river to get to Kbal Koh Primary School)

Anyway, the purpose of my trip to Kampong Chnang was to assist the NGO which I am volunteering with, to do some monitoring activities for its school construction project. The NGO has constructed about 5 schools in Kampong Chnang last year. The schools are usually funded by individual donors and cost from USD17, 000 to USD50, 000 each depending on the number of classrooms and latrines.

It will take me another full article to describe my school visits but to cut a long story short, it was a humbling experience at the end of my journey. The juxtaposition of school conditions and the children’s appearances provided a huge contrast. While the schools look grand in comparison to its surrounding, many of the students still struggle to buy uniforms and stationeries. Most of the classrooms were bare, furnished with only a blackboard and handmade tables and chairs. Despite its lack of furnishing, the rooms were brightly decorated with works of students hanging on the wall and ceiling.

Many of the students do not even have shoes (see above) and looked as if they have not had a shower for a long time. The children’s concern definitely didn’t involve who has the nicest shoes, bags or pencil cases when each pencil and notebook are cherished until the next rare supply comes along.

There are not enough teachers in Cambodia to keep up with the increasing number of schools built by NGOs. I was told that most teachers are forced to teach two shifts a day and sometimes several classes simultaneously. On one hand, it is a delight to see a classroom brimming with students but on the other, the teachers are killing themselves trying to accommodate the increasing number of student enrolment each year due to more schools being made available in isolated communities. If the Cambodian government wants to reach its own Education For All goal by 2015, it should start to address this issue soon.

(Pictures above: Students receiving new stationeries from the NGO)

I was then thinking about my own school days. We had a lot to be thankful for, the teachers included. When I thought about how we worried about not having the latest trendy school bags or shoes for the new school term, these children worry about how they would get to school safely during the flooding season. Students have been known to drown or strike by lightning while trying to cross rivers to get to their schools.

Teachers who lack motivation should be sent to these villages to experience how it feels like to teach under such trying circumstances. One teacher recounted the time when he had to row his boat for 5km just to get to school when the whole village was flooded. Another one remembers how she had to take care of four classes at a time when the only other teacher was on sick leave, with her baby strapped to her chest.

Yesterday was indeed a day unlike any other. I was filled with a lot of mixed emotions. When I saw the elation on the students’ faces and appreciation on the teachers’ eyes, I suddenly felt the kind of happiness which I had never felt before in my life while working, although I have not contributed to any of the school projects. Very often, with the kind of jobs I was doing, it is extremely rare to see tangible or direct results of someone else’s work. More than anything else, a lot of it had to do with people killing and torturing each other. Most of the time, my spirit was crushed by the atrocities of human beings. Yesterday it was something different and for a lack of a better word, nice.

Under the sweltering heat of the January sun, I was pulled by something which draws me to an unexpected and long forgotten sensation, to be a child and idealistic again. These are the things which I am continuously grateful for with the kind of life I lead and the work I do. Like the sun in my childhood drawings, I hope that such experiences will always be present in my life.

“W”anity speaks “W”olumme

I will be starting an 8-week training workshop on effective writing for all the staffs at this NGO I am volunteering for. The whole idea came about when the country representative feels that the staff’s writing and reporting skills need to be improved. Since I have done training before and have a law degree, she thought that I would be able to manage this task. I was happy to do it, although not without some apprehension of my own since the last time I carried out a training was probably four years ago.

I had my first introduction last Friday and for those who have been following my blog, you would know that my main concern was figuring out a way to control my urge to laugh impulsively when something tickles me. You will be happy to learn that I managed to stifle the giggles although there were potential moments which called for such threats. Perhaps, I was nervous, meeting most of the staffs for the first time and being given the centre stage. That helped a lot in suppressing my generous appetite for laughing.

Many people who know me would never assume that I am the shy type but I am. I think it’s mainly because I’m afraid of embarrassing myself and pay too much attention on what others think about me. So, I understand very well when I was told that I shouldn’t expect all the staffs to participate willingly during the workshop, for very similar reasons. As Asians, we have a strong dislike towards losing face. Sure, everyone doesn’t like to lose face but Asians do take it a notch higher.

Anyway, I tried to figure out a way to encourage the staffs to speak and tried to make them understand that there are worse repercussions than just losing face. I have learned this myself over the years and therefore, I am able to stand up today in front of a bunch of strangers and talk. I wanted to share that anecdote with them.

When I was in secondary school, I forced myself to be a member of the debating team. Note the word “force” because every time it was my turn to speak, I would shit in my pants, figuratively of course. This wasn’t the worse part because the night before, I would literally sweat while tossing and turning in bed, picturing the scene which were to take place the next day. That was the extent of my glossophobia (fear of public speaking).

In college, I made the effort to join the Toastmaster International, again in an attempt to “cure” my phobia. It didn’t really help.

Then, came university. I used to have a problem pronouncing the letter “V”, as in I would pronounce it as “W” instead. So, I would say something like, “I am wying for a Wolwo or Wolskwagen”. I never really realise this problem until my two closest friends at that time pointed it out to me by laughing hysterically, in my face. It was embarrassing and annoying but instead of awoiding (oops! I mean, avoiding) using words that begin with “V”, I started practising hard and I am cured now (although it comes back and bites me occasionally but what the heck, at least I can pronounce my private part correctly whenever I want to).

Well, this taught me a lesson. I am thankful for these two friends who made fun of me mercilessly. If not for them, I would never know my own weakness as most people will be too polite to say anything.

So, now I tried to share this with my colleagues. We can try to use our distaste for losing face either to our advantage or disadvantage. You can either stay quiet and die of ignorance or you can learn to improve yourself so that you won’t be laughed at again.

As to how I have come to change myself, I have perhaps two persons to be grateful for; my trainer in Timor Leste who had taught me that training can be fun and filled with laughter and hence was also the person who helped develop my interest in using unconventional methods for adult learning.

The other person is myself. It may sound arrogant but in the end, it is really up to you to make that change because what people say about you being your own worst enemy, it is all true.

The 21st century slavery (Part VI)

Dreams, aspirations and reality

I had an interesting discussion with some people recently about employment opportunities for the rehabilitated women. The issue was about whether an expat living in Cambodia would be willing to hire these women as nannies. This idea came about when I discovered that there is a high demand for nannies here among the expat community. In Phnom Penh, there is a high concentration of international NGOs and UN agencies and since it is a family accompanied mission area, many staffs bring their families along. When both parents work, it is common for them to hire a nanny to look after their children.

Unfortunately, there is very little supply for this since many expats require nannies to speak basic English. So, I thought there may be an opportunity there if these women are trained in this field. On top of that, I also thought that perhaps it might provide a good family environment for the women. One of the main concerns we have when assessing the types of marketable jobs for the women is to ensure that their work environment will not expose them to the risk of being trafficked or forced into prostitution. Jobs which require them to spend  huge amount of time in the street or male-dominated outlets are likely to present them with such threat, although not entirely so.

However, while keeping in mind that their interest and well-being are a priority, it doesn’t mean that the potential danger it might bring to others should not be considered. So, the debate was whether nanny is a suitable job for the women. Some of the comments I received were valid as well as an indication that the stigma attached to the women, regardless of whether they were forced into prostitution or not is very much present.

Most of the people I discussed with said that they would not be willing to hire these women as a nanny. The reasons were not solely based on the fact that they were sex workers but  also the psychological vulnerability of the women. Some expressed that the women may not be psychologically well enough to be entrusted with the responsibility of handling children. This is particularly a concern if they are HIV positive too. This is a valid point especially when it involves the well-being of a child. If a nanny agency were to be established for this purpose, then there must be sufficient policies and standards to ensure accountability.

There are a few who said that they would be willing to consider if the women were indeed being forced into prostitution and a strict screening process should be carried out to determine this. Then, there were some who raised the question of whether it is a legal or ethical requirement for the women to reveal their past. My thought on this was that if their past identity would become a basis for discrimination, then perhaps they are not legally bound by it.

Finally, there was one person who asked whether it is wise to limit the women to domestic jobs only because by virtue of that, we are narrowing down their options based on their education level. Perhaps we might want to encourage them to become more than just nannies, domestic helper, waitress, etc. After all we don’t really know what are the aspirations and dreams of these women. We might not expect them to be rocket scientist or doctors, but secretarial or managerial positions may be some of the options.

The truth is, judging from the cultural aspect and reality of the situation, it is not an easy task if we were to cater to each and every woman at the centre. There are presently more than 50 women being rehabilitated at the centre and we certainly would like to see the women achieve something which they can be proud of but at the same time, the more pressing issue to tackle, bearing in mind the limited resources available, is how to ensure that the women can earn some money while maintaining their dignity.

There are very few women who have seized the opportunity to hold professional jobs, mainly with AFESIP. Then, there are the majority who said that they would be happy with any jobs, as long as they get one. So, in the end, it is up to the women. If they desire to be something more and show the potential to achieve that, then the doors remain open to them.

The 21st century slavery (Part V)

Starting all over again

Cambodian women are known to be one of the preferred choices of being a life partner for many foreigners. Their caring, selfless, gentle and hard working nature, make them desirable in this modern age when women are becoming more individualistic almost everywhere in this world. I’ve been told many times that Cambodian women takes the responsibility of feeding their family very seriously and this is perhaps one of the reasons why many of them are being sold as prostitutes.

As they often say, you can’t teach old dogs new tricks and this proverb applies to cultural upbringing too. Fortunately enough, as human beings, we are a lot more intelligent than dogs and are able to change our views of things and learn to differentiate what is right and wrong.

For now, this culture remains in Cambodia. With this in mind, AFESIP provides two training options for the women at the Tom Dy Centre; sewing and hairdressing. On top of that, they are given basic education in English, Khmer and Mathematics since most of them do not even have primary school education. Other essential knowledge such as hygiene, domestic violence, HIV/AIDS, labour law, human rights are also being taught.

All these courses are seen as important life skills which will facilitate the women to start their lives all over again. Somaly Mam applies very pragmatic methods to ensure that these women are not being sheltered permanently at the centre. After all, this is not the purpose she sets out to do.

She pushes the women to do something for themselves and believes that at the end, most of them have a choice. They can either stay in the centre to be rehabilitated and trained, or they can choose to be returned home. But for those who choose to stay, they must go through the programmes catered for them. Her view is that if the women are left there with nothing constructive to do, they will not leave but rather treat the centre as a permanent vacation home. One can easily understand why since the centre is much more comfortable than majority of the homes here.

AFESIP’s training programme is rather progressive in the sense that it doesn’t want to limit the women to only two options. At the moment, with the NGO that I am volunteering with, we are trying to carry out a market analysis to provide the women with more skills and training options that will give them more employment opportunities. This remains as a huge challenge.

When laughter becomes a liability

 

I have a disease and I don’t know how to deal with it. I wouldn’t normally see this as a disease but when it comes to a point where it interferes with my work and being socially inappropriate, it is a disease.

You see, I have a tendency to laugh uncontrollably, sometimes even when there seems to be no reason for me to laugh. It is not intentional. I just have no control over it.

I hope you won’t think that I am crazy because I assure you that I am not. For those who have managed to witness this disease of mine must be told that I laugh not without reason. It’s just that you don’t know the reason. Very often when I remember a hilarious incident  or a joke or something that tickles me hard,  I would burst out laughing hysterically, much to everyone’s discomfort and confusion. For that I apologise but again, it is never my intention to be rude or behave crazy.

I am supposed to conduct a training workshop next week and I am consumed with fear that I might burst out laughing as soon as someone mispronounces something. For instance, I swear, if someone starts to say, “We conduct anal (as oppose to annual) assessment regularly” I would not only have the urge to laugh, I would just crack my butt laughing and nobody would understand. Even if someone does, how appropriate is it for a trainer to laugh herself silly when her trainees are talking?

I am not joking because this has happened to me before. Once, I was training a group of people and someone mispronounced something (it happens a lot because English is not their first language) and I swear I was going to explode but I tried my hardest to control it. I was somehow successful as no sound came out because I forced my mouth shut. Unfortunately, instead of laughing, I ended up looking like someone with Parkinson’s disease. My whole face turned red and my body shook uncontrollably, not to mention a tad too violently as well. It took me at least 5 minutes to recover myself.

I also realise that this disease has a larger implication on others. I don’t really mind if I am the only one inflicted with such tragic disorder  but when it affects other people’s self-esteem, it’s just not funny.

Once, my cousin’s daughters came to visit me at my apartment in Kuala Lumpur. They were extremely excited and they had other reason to be because they would be meeting my husband for the first time. So when one of her little ones came into the house, she did a curtsy for my husband. What was supposedly a cute and sweet gesture where the only appropriate reaction would be to gush, I burst out laughing. Yes, I did and much to her horror and embarrassment.  I reproached myself for this because that poor girl probably rehearsed everything the night before, thinking that it would charm the first French man she met. Alas, my only thought was, “Did she think that French people greet each other like that?”

So, you see, I have a disease and I don’t know how to deal with it.

P/s: I can’t even find the right category to put this article in. I think instead of starting a new category under “Disease”, I opted for Humour instead. Maybe this will help others to see the humourous side of things, rather than a liability.