I have been worked up, for a very long time, over the many things wrong in Malaysia.

When I was a boy growing up in Klang, a port town approximately 20 miles from the capital city of Kuala Lumpur, I lived on a street with about half Chinese homes and half Indian ones. In school however, my classroom was probably reflective of the racial distribution of the country, ie approximately 60% Malays, 30% Chinese and just under 10% Indians with the odd boy out who was English. I also remember an American who was of Italian descent. For a long time, the idea of racial differences was non-existent as I played the games boys played then, with boys of all races. We played marbles, tops, “chopping”, “galah panjang”, “counter-countee” (or “konta-konti”) and there was no racial identification with any of these games. The Malay marble sharp shooter was as feared as the Chinese one. A Chinese boy can whack his top down, spin it with ferocious velocity and scoop it up onto his palm as skilfully as the Indian boy and not think twice about it being a traditional Malay game. There were no off-limits for “chopping”. A Chinese boy is as fair game as a Malay or Indian boy. Yes, we may change our Indian accented English to Malay when we spoke to a Malay boy but it was just a communication thing, without any racial thoughts in our then innocent minds. There was the Malay rascal as there was the Chinese or Indian one. There was the feared Chinese bully as there was the Indian or Malay one. On the soccer field, the Malay player was as good or as bad as the Chinese or Indian one. Only on the hockey pitch was one race more prominent. The Indians somehow played hockey more than the Malays or Chinese. The badminton champion was a Malay but the sepak takraw hero was a Chinese. In the classroom, there would be the usual competition to top the class and such competition came from all races. I have my usual suspects who were my competitors for “first boy” and these came from all races. Sure, the Malay guy gunning for first spot would leverage against his superiority in the Malay language and the Chinese boy would have to pull his strength from the other subjects, usually mathematics. The Indian boy usually does well in English but everyone had a fair shot to top the class.

 

Racial differences simly did not register then, at least not in any significant or bigoted way.

 

Then, very slowly, we were made to feel and experience the differences. The Malay boy could get into a select school (usually in the capital) a lot more easily than the rest of us, though we all did equally well. There were schools only Malays could get into. There were also scholarships only Malays could apply for. Then we realised some schools had their hockey team wear full length track pants during games, even in the stifling tropical heat of Malaysia. And the Malays started wearing different clothes during Friday. Then we realised more and more differences. Some of these differences became more obvious. Some would stay away from activities during the fasting month and it became a bigger spectacle over time as more and more Malay kids would stay away from more and more activities at this time. Then after a while, they even got to leave school early during this period of time.  That they were a “special” bunch was unmistakable. Yet, just the mere awareness of this difference didn’t annoy or disturb me. There was no ill feeling. The only sentiment was one of slight unease but I was happy to just move along and do my thing.

 

When I was in University in Sydney however, I started to slog really hard for my keeps. I had previously written about what I had to do, to make sure I could pay the rent and not go hungry, as well as contribute as much as I could towards University fees. As I slogged, I realised many Malay students had it easy. They got married and had children while in University. Many changed Universities – from a “better” one to a “more ordinary” one, or switched from a challenging course to one less so. Some of these Malay students who were more industrious worked part time jobs but you soon see them in fancy clothes, buying new computers and going back to Malaysia for holiday, with their earnings. Kudos to them for sure for earning their keeps but the earnings went to luxury items (by my standards anyway) while mine went to bare essentials. By the time I finished my degrees, I had set my family poorer by about RM20,000. I had from my earnings, saved almost that amount, which I used for my airfare back to Malaysia and to start my new life back there. Soon however, I realised I had to battle again.

 

The preferential treatment dished out to the Malays when I was in University in Australia, was magnified many times over back in Malaysia. Getting a job, buying a home, investing, applying for anything from local, state or federal government, all these major areas of day-to-day life showed up the preferential treatments that the Malays received. It was still okay, because I had my job, earned my promotions, made my investments, established my network of friends and professional relationships – generally lived life. I could not however, eliminate the effect of being a victim of discrimination. It built up over time. Initially it was just a snide remark against it. As it became something in your face, the effect escalated.

 

Many things change when you have a child. As a parent you start to think ahead a lot more. You start to think not just about the battles you have to wage, but also how to equip your child for the battles she has to wage, as she grows up and goes through life.

 

As a parent, I no longer just get angry at injustices and inequitable policies. I start to think about how these injustices and inequitable policies would handicap my child’s battles. Life can be hard enough without these issues. If the energy spent on dealing with these matter could be channelled elsewhere, how much more productive, beneficial and therefore edifying our effort and work would be.

 

How then do I minimise the incidence of having my child battle these fronts, and how do I create better battlefields for her? By exercising my voting rights? I voted in 2 elections. Both saw the BN win huge victories. In one of them I worked for an opposition party. Starting from Lim Guan Eng’s arrest, I started being active in engaging in social and political causes. All along, I worked in the corporate financial sector. I saw how government officials use racial discriminatory policies to enrich themselves and their friends and relatives. I saw how political and business leaders robbed, stole and pillaged. Just before I left the country, I spoke up in my workplace too. An UMNO leader who is now the subject of blog scorns, was in the company I worked in. He mouthed off the usual racist policy hogwash and when challenged, stated these were givens and could not be questioned. I knew then where my child’s battlefield lies. It wasn’t in the country I grew up in. Not when the racist policies would continue. Not when the religious bigotry has started to take on very dangerous proportions. We left Malaysia 3 years ago.

 

It was a difficult rebuilding process. Our wealth here is only worth one third of what it was in Malaysia. Factor that into the higher standards of living here and we are no where near where we were in Malaysia. Professionally, my wife and I had to start again as well. From head of departments hiring and firing, we are now minnows seeking to be hired and avoid being fired. I went through 2 difficult jobs before landing my present one. We have had to move house twice, in search of equilibrium in terms of commuting, schools and neighbourhoods.

 

So there – much more to write but for now that will do. I just want to make an entry to the effect that I have been angry and frustrated but will be no more. I hope to now put it all past me and not get worked up anymore. I will try not to put Malaysian leaders down anymore, because my God wants me to love them, notwithstanding their acts and my feelings. As a start, I will try to stop this anger. Maybe.