AUGUST 22 — It’s not a question I ask myself. It did, however, appear on my timeline, courtesy of a friend who suggested perhaps Non-Muslims should consider exiting Malaysia, for their own good. It was not threatening, just advice from a Malaysian already residing abroad.
It’s a pertinent conversation piece for Bulan Merdeka, probably egged on further by the present incessant debates on identity, assimilation, integration and communal space.
It’s not a question I ask myself because I’ve a simplistic notion of home being where you are born.
Of course it was not something my grandfather necessarily shared when he left the village of Konapet, near Tamil Nadu’s Sivaganga’s town of Karaikudi, and set sail on a boat for Malaya. He died before his fifth born, my father, was delivered, therefore it’s academic to wonder if he desired to return to his “home.”
In the village, there’s a large courtyard before entering the houses and where I assume my late dad sat when he first went to India in the Sixties. Was it more compelling for him than it was for me standing there f50 years later? To me, it’s an emotional experience, a sort of pieces integral to my whole presenting themselves to all my senses in a lasting moment.
Perspectives
Home and nationality should be synonymous but aren’t in the case of hundreds of thousands of Malaysian-born undocumented individuals. For them probably, procuring a nationality matters massively more than to consider if they’d trade theirs for another. In this month, their plight is equally worth highlighting.
No less is the juxtaposition, with fading economic borders, increased connectivity and bristling opportunities, the concept of being overly sentimental about home, citizenship and patriotism is misplaced. An anachronistic conception slipping away from people’s consciousness, but necessary as a vehicle for administration, taxation and security, waiting for its demise when the world eventually comes together. One might suggest.
A different kind of hybrid home is being sold through the “Malaysia MY Second-home” policy as we earnestly attract foreign retirees to live out their days here without participation.
There is a certain coldness in this tropical proposition. To want long-term stays, but not for them to be Malaysians. Enjoy the sun and the air-conditioned malls, as long as the kids and grandkids are just Skype video-calls.
Then, there are the long-term expatriates. In their productive years.
My pal, Rico, has been living in Malaysia for 17 years with both his kids born here. Neither he nor his wife are Malaysian and they continue staying here as guests.
I wonder what Merdeka means for them, the children. Are they foreigners in the land of their birth?
The others
The key question remains.
Discussions about the long-term survival of Malaysians with non-Nusantara origins, are complex and laborious.
There’s the temptation to silence perceived insolences with the might of citizenship. It’s absolute and undisputed.
Yet, it still unsettles.
There are two sides to the contention, it’s one thing there are those determined to undermine the value of citizenship based on race, but what troubles me, is that there are Malaysians who begin to doubt their citizenship’s potency.
All Malaysians are welcome to seek better pastures abroad, it is the ethos of the world today, for all to pursue happiness wherever it may be, but if they love this home then there is no need to be fearful.
Stan Grant’s book Talking To My Country speaks about the tragedy of the early people, the Aboriginals of Australia; it offers stark observations for Malaysia. Even though the characters are reversed and racial obliteration is not present here.
But it is about how firm demarcation lines and superiorities “real or imagined” dominate polarised communities who occupy the same space, compounded by the fact today’s gains are linked to past regrets.
Everything’s a bit mixed and he recognises that it’s home for all who remain. And people might need to try to understand even if they ultimately fail to understand. It is in the trying that they make everyone welcome.
Coming home
So far it has been largely about citizenship rather than finding home, because the former is quantifiable and the latter is conceptual. Home’s the smoke in the citizenship jar.
The undocumented are Malaysians who need their government to recognise them, so that they can live as others do. They are Malaysians since they were born, it’s the government behind in its job. They are let down by their government.
The race-balance attitude to naturalisation needs to end. People who choose Malaysia as home should have the right to pursue citizenship, whether they were born in Wales or South Africa. The demographics has already irrevocably shifted, they are not evident because of the categorisation methods.
For most Malaysians, the Putera-AMCJA (Pusat Tenaga Rakyat and All-Malayan Council for Joint Action) had it spot on when it extolled in its People’s Constitution in 1947 that all who consider Malaya as their homeland and give it their undivided loyalty should be Malayans, and shall be referred to as “Malays” too.
They felt home is personal, and when one commits to it, who are other citizens to question them? Putera-AMCJA intended that classifications won’t be allowed to ruin the value of any countryman.
But the People’s Constitution was not accepted by the British and we’ve lived the reality of a different path, one in which race dictates the tune even if we all can dance in varying ways.
Home is a choice to be made. I can’t decide for others, but if this is home then walk without doubt and claim it. It is not up to others to legitimise your fondness for home.
This home is inseparable from me and defines much of me.
When I visualise home, I see my late mother sitting out on the verandah waiting for her children to come home. Or, the restless afternoons in my grandmother’s squatter house as cackling transistor radio music pierces from next door.
I appreciate my friend’s concern, and worry over developments here.
The world has twists and turns, and horrible things happen all the time, but it’s just that much more tolerable if it happens when you’re at home.
* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.
