Legacy of Women

 

In the 1930s, women didn’t have very many options, or so Wan would say. It was very well and good that their counterparts in the Western world had won the right to vote, but as far as Malaysia was concerned, a woman was still expected to do as she was commanded.

 

Wan was a clever woman. At a time when most women were still illiterate, she was a bluestocking. History fascinated her, and she read voraciously. But she was a woman, and the reality was that women of her era had no place being anything other than a wife and mother. And despite her managing to evade marriage till the ripe old age of 18 (her peers were married at 14), she had no choice but to bow to her family’s wishes. So she married a man she didn’t know, much less love, and bore 4 sons and 4 daughters, 7 of whom survived to bury her.

 

She raised her daughters to strive for what she could never have – an identity that was not all about home and hearth. She wanted more for her children than what was given to her, to become people greater than she could ever be. She gave them the freedom to choose where to find love and family. And when they achieved all that and more, she thought them happy.

 

After all she had broken the legacy of women as chattel to give her daughters a chance at dictating their future. What else is there to want?

 

-x-

 

Wan’s daughter-in-law, Pap, was born from that generation of women who wanted more for their daughters. She was raised to know that the roles of women who came before her no longer applied to her, and that she was free to carve out a future for herself, within reason. Some conventions, however, were still sacred, and when the time came, she married and settled down. With the expectations of society around her, she learnt to juggle her role of wife, mother, employee, in-law, and friend.

 

From 9 to 5, she was the working woman who fought against the institutional gender discrimination borne from years of male machismo. And when she clocked out, she left the bristling female emancipist at the office, to return home to be the good wife and mother. And if there were times when the injustice of being considered a man’s inferior got to her, she never showed it. The reality was that her day job was merely a part of her night job – to help feed and clothe her family.

 

Through her 2 daughters, Pap dreamt for greater things. She raised her daughters to know that they were equals of any man. They could choose what role they wanted for themselves, whether to be a wife, or not at all. She taught them that they could be whatever they wanted to be, as long as they tried hard enough. Be the best, she would say, and reach for the stars. Never settle for anything less.

 

She had given her daughters the gift of choice, and broken the legacy of subservience that was forced upon her. And when she and her mother-in-law, Wan, sat down for a cup of coffee together, they would regard each other as equally battle-weary warriors who had dreamt of a better life for their daughters.

 

-x-

 

And so came forth Kai’s generation – women of the 21^st century who inherited from their mothers an unquenchable thirst for success. She believed what her Aunty Pap taught her – that anything was possible. Drawing pride from her high-flying career, she embraces everything – marriage, family; with the same spirit, the same need for perfection. She is Superwoman and Mother Theresa, all wrapped in a wool Armani suit and 3-inch Ferragamo heels. Changing a dirty diaper with her left hand and exercising a call option on wheat with her right hand, she is in her element – the benevolent career woman who is short on quantity but big on quality.

 

In her quest for the perfect marriage, the perfect children, the perfect career and the perfect life, she finds herself trapped. And every time she falls short of the standards that Society imposes on her or those that she imposes on herself, she punishes herself, and pushes herself a little harder. Every second wasted on mopping up spilt juice could have been used to structure a new deal, and every minute spent rectifying a mistake at work would have been better spent tucking in the little one to bed.

 

Until one day, she realizes that the life she fought so hard for, that her mother and her mother before that fought so hard for, is no longer her own. All she feels is a weariness and panic that overwhelms her when she wakes up. That same weariness and panic she has to put aside because she doesn’t have time to stop juggling. And now, faced with the hopeful angel eyes of her daughters, Kai is stumped.

 

It is our legacy, the women of Kai’s and my generation, to be tired.

 

So what do we teach the women who will come after us?

 

 

 

The Liars Strike Back

“We certainly lost the Internet war, the cyber-war,” Abdullah said in in a speech to an investment conference.

“It was a serious misjudgement. We made the biggest mistake in thinking that it was not important,” he said.

as quoted from AFP, Kuala Lumpur, Tuesday March 25 2008

 

Serves you right for calling us liars and hoodlums.

What worries me now is that the government now plans to look into the cyberspace to consolidate its position, having openly hijacked the newspapers, print media, and television.

“We thought that the newspapers, the print media, the television was supposed to be important, but the young people were looking at SMS and blogs.”

Despite what my mother claims about this-and-that being the straw that broke the camel’s back, I told her and my father and aunt who were all seated around the dining table, doing a post-mortem on the elections a week or so ago -

It is the Internet that was the downfall of the Government. 5 years ago, blogs were just starting, people were not attuned to having so much freedom to speak and to listen. Now, where we stand, everyone who has something to say can say it. Anyone who wants to say something about anything is able to, through blogs and discussion sites. Internet penetration has never been more responsible for the tide of change, for the fall of a giant. The Government, who specialises in shady transactions and backroom deals have transparancy forced upon them, whether or not they allow it through their puppet media.

I wonder if the Government will try to police this, now that they’ve realised that it is their Achilles heel?

It will be interesting to see what happens.

How the mighty have fallen

Even before the elections commenced almost two weeks ago (has it been two weeks already?!), I only had 2 wishes (of course, at that point, not anticipating BN could possibly lose their 2/3rds majority hahaha).

To see the changing of the guards for the Ministry of Works and the Ministry of International Trade and Industry (MITI).

I got my first wish on Election Day itself when Datuk Seri S. Vellu was not returned to office.

I got my second one today when Pak Lah announced the new Cabinet line-up and Datuk Seri Rafidah Aziz was conspicuously missing.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against these two people individually. My wishes were not born of spite or vendetta. Well, not for the most part anyway. It was just felt that these two ‘veterans’ of their respective ministries had been in office for far too long, riding on unchecked and feeding of the constant stream of revenue at their disposal.

I used to ask my mother – “Ma, why do they keep digging up our roads? Why can’t they do it systematically. Get everyone who wants to stick something down there to sit down and plan it out. That way, they won’t dig up these things so often”

To which she would answer – “Sekali korek, satu crony kaya. Dua kali korek, dua crony kaya. So kenalah korek banyak banyak”.

Wise woman, my mother.

After the debacle with the AP Kings of Malaysia, I was already annoyed with MITI, Rafidah in particular. Having met people who have benefited directly from a relationship with Rafidah, I was disgusted by the amount of money channelled to them, under the pretext of a reward for serving the country (my A$$!). When Pak Lah took over from Dr M, I half thought that the change of guards would finally happen. Not so, and the fat cats kept getting fatter.

Being an accountant within a large family of accountants, my father and I did what any normal accountant-family does during our outings. We calculated how much these AP Kings were getting.

“You know Tan Sri-or-Datuk so-and-so has X amounts of AP, yang tu yang published, toksah kira lah yang tak published tu. If each AP goes for about RMXXthousand, that means every year …”

We both look at each other. RM700m every year. For one person. Clean. APs, after all, have zero cost.

No wonder they’ve been strutting their stuff around like they own the place.

—

I would like to think that now that the reigns of Kak Dah and Uncle Vellu are over, these fat cats will face a hard life. Karma, and all that. Dah cukup senang, biar padan muka sekarang dah susah.

But they’ve made just too much money to fathom. Tak habis makan anak cucu.

Oh well, now its someone else’s turn. And no, I am not so illusioned to think that the new guys are any better or less corrupt. I’m just hoping that the fact that they’re new will mean that they won’t be quite so adept at moving money in the beginning. And hopefully, the 3 Stooges with their new mandate will be able to form some sort of check on them.

So who want’s to be the next AP King/Queen?

Malaysian Geniuses

A couple of days ago, the Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia (SPM) results were announced.

“Ma, 6,247 kids got straight As this year.”

“Kids nowadays, so smart.”

I looked at my mother. She was busy playing MsPacMan on a joystick consol she bought of eBay two weeks ago. Stupid PacMan’s girlfriend, my mother muttered, stop running away with my fruit.

“Ma, do you really think that the results are only because kids are getting smarter? I mean, seriously, do you honestly believe our kids are getting that smart?”

Knowing that I wouldn’t leave her alone until I got this out of my system, she sighed and put aside her game consol.

“You don’t think so?”

I shook my head and pointed at the papers.

“Come on, Ma. Be realistic. In my time, there were maybe 1 or 2 kids in each school who would manage to get straight As. Even then, not always A1s. And I came from a good school. That was about 10 years ago. You mean to say that in 10 years, kids have evolved to become so smart that these same schools now produce 30 kids with straight A1s every year? I’m sorry, but I don’t think so.”

My mother gave me that you’re-just-jealous-because-kids-nowadays-are-smarter-than-you look.

“Mama, I’m serious. Okaylah, maybe half of the increase (and I’m being generous here!) is because the kids are getting smarter. But you have to admit that exams are getting easier.”

Accuse me of being paranoid but almost 7 thousand kids are getting straight A1s? You have to question the quality of the certification. I think the Education Ministry has gone overboard in trying to show increased passes and improved results every year, to the point of sacrificing the very essence of the examination – to differentiate quality from quantity. I see nothing wrong with results going down in one year and going up in another. Just the way international examinations like GCSE and IB do.

I have always been the biggest advocate of the Malaysian Education system, even with all its flaws. I am a product of the system, and while I have many friends who share my educational background, I have also encountered people who are products and advocates of private/independent education. I argue that government schooling allows you to compete with people from all walks of life, as well as enabling everyone to see first hand how the other half lives.

I went to school with both a minister’s daughter and a car mechanic’s daughter, and I watched how these two fit in and respected each others’ backgrounds - becoming friends and learning from each other. This is what I have always championed, and what promised my daughters will experience, should I have any. How well you do largely depends on how hard you work, be it at a historic premier controlled convent, or your average residential concrete block.

At least until the Education Ministry setting the standards for these children start selling out to gain popularity.

Is it too much to ask that we keep our certification sacred?

My As from 10 years ago were worth something. It made people stand up and take notice. Will it still have the same effect, I wonder, 10 years from now?

Stirring Trouble

I suppose it was too much to hope that the recent political tsunami was an indication of smarter politics.

Datuk Ong Ka Chuan, the Perak MCA chief (probably steaming from the recent loss of office), has expressed displeasure at DAP being cheated of their rightful role at the helm of the new government. I suppose he has a point, with DAP actually holding most of the seats in the new government, as compared to their compatriats PKR and PAS. Fine, have issue with that. I don’t particularly care.

What I do have issue with is this (as quoted from The Star, 13 March 2008).

“Having a mentri besar from PAS creates fear among non-Muslims. This also creates political instability.” 

Look, dude, it’s a clear case of give and take. You think the Malays in Penang are not shaking their boots in fear of a new DAP government whose first move was to declare NEP null and void? But for the love of peace and for the sake of a better future for all, we mediate and try and find middle ground. We don’t make stupid remarks about creating fear.

We know what you’re up to, you small minded man. You think that if the Chinese revolt in Perak, you can get another shot at the seats. Fantastic, isn’t it, from someone who’s supposed to be working for the people’s best interest.

On the same note, kudos to Lim Guan Eng for insisting that the Perak assemblymen attend the swearing in of PAS’ Mohammad Nizar Jamaluddin as MB of Perak. This is the kind of goodwill gesture that will help meld the people of Malaysia together instead of creating barbs to keep them apart.

I have never been pro-Barisan or pro-PAS or pro-DAP or pro-PKR but I think, based on the above, it is clear that DAP has class. I can only hope the diplomacy of Lim Guan Eng pervades through the rest of the 3 Stooges (PKR+DAP+PAS). They’re going to need plenty of it as they set up their government. All the best to them.

And you, you BN spoilsports. Stop trying to stoke the fire! Take a page from Guan Eng’s books and learn to lose with dignity. Fix your own house before poking holes in other people’s walls. Haven’t you heard – the best way to lead is by example. So lead already. Enough of the childish playground politics. As shown to you only a week ago, it won’t work.

Patah kan tumbuh

Sunday, 9th of March 2008

That day, the future of thousands of people had a rebirth. A momentous occasion I will tell my children about one day, when we realised that all hope is not lost. When the people realised that the power was still in their hands.

But that’s old news really.

My mother has been buying rice and fish and cans of sardins. The NEP, she says as she packs food away in cupboards and freezers, has been abolished in Penang. You don’t know, she chides me, what it was like during 13 May. Laugh if you want, she grumbles, but you’ll be thankful if anything happens.

I reminded my mother about what Tun Dr Ismail said -that the NEP was like a handicap in golf which “will enable them to be good players, as in golf, and in time the handicap will be removed. The Malays must not think of these privileges as permanent: for then, they will not put effort into their tasks. In fact, it is an insult for Malays to be getting these privileges.”

It is all well and good, my mother replied, to know that we don’t need the NEP. But don’t forget, the Malays are a hot headed emotional lot. All it takes is one person to say something stupid, and you might not have your Chinese friends tomorrow.

It’s a painful time for her. My mother grew up in Kampung Baru during 13 May. She often retells the story of her Chinese best friend who walked to and back from school with her every day. She had long pigtails, my mother would say. And one day, she was gone. My mother didn’t get a chance to save her. Her whole family was killed and their house was burned to the ground.

I drove past my old house earlier, my mother whispered quietly to herself. The land where her family’s house used to stand is still empty, still vacant. No one survived to inherit that square piece of land. Whole family wiped out. Wiped out, just like that. When I went to school, her desk was empty, and my Chinese friends stared at me like I was the one who did it.

I know it’s painful, Ma, but it has to be done. This NEP nonsense is like a drug. We Malays are high, living with the purple hippos and the pink elephants dancing.

I know, I know. I’m just worried that’s all. Not everyone sees it that way, unfortunately. You and I do, but all it takes is one person who doesn’t understand, and all this will come to nothing.

For Posterity

As published in Rentakini on Dec 23rd 2005 (yes, they got my name wrong)

Before all else, let me be honest. I am not a particularly pious Muslim. I have problems keeping my 5 daily appointments with The Almighty. In my quest to become a better person and a better Muslim, I trip up all the time. I would probably be the last person I’d pick to write something like this. But life is full of funny coincidences. Today, after speaking to an old family friend about my experiences living abroad and the challenges I faced there as a Muslim, I received an e-mail asking for people who felt that they had a story to tell about being a Muslim. I may not be superstitious, but something inside me went “ping” and I found myself typing this.

During my time in secondary school, I used to hear about all sorts of goings-on from friends, teachers, parents – always in that hushed undertone of conspiracy. They would tell me about those who misbehaved, about Muslims who drank themselves into a stupor, teenage pregnancies, men and women co-habiting outside the bounds of holy matrimony. But all these seemed far away from my reality of obedient girls and polite young men who didn’t even shake hands with those they were not related to.

In my world, lying to your parents about watching television made you an evil child. Understandably, after a while, I thought all these people I heard about through the rumour mill were characters from a movie – almost but not quite real. When I joined a local college for my tertiary education, that opinion was strengthened. I was immersed in a culture of Islamic piety – where everything was run with religion as its guideline. It was difficult to imagine a society any different.

England o England

Perhaps Fate decided that I needed an eye-opener. Barely a few months later, I found myself making my way to a boarding school in the heart of England, surrounded by mat sallehs (caucasians) and international students. There were a handful of Muslim students, largely Bruneian and Malaysian, with a smattering of Nigerians thrown in. My parents had decided on the school because of its provision for Muslim students – we were given halal food and had usrah sessions twice a term with Mak Teh, an elderly Malaysian lady living abroad. My mother had hoped that being in an environment with Muslims would help remind me of my faith in the event my own faith was not strong enough.

There were fears, even from the very beginning. The fear that being around a culture so foreign would make me forget who I was. The fear that these foreigners would shun me for being a Muslim. I had never lived abroad before and didn’t know what to expect. And, upon arriving and finding a fellow Muslim was going to be my room mate, some of these fears were alleviated. I wasn’t alone. And as I met more Muslim girls in the room below ours, I could almost believe that everything would be fine.

As the initial pleasantries begin to fade and true colours began to emerge, I realised that things weren’t as I thought they would be. These same Muslim girls whom I thought would be my companions were unlike any I had ever encountered before. They reminded me of the stories I heard years ago – about Muslims who weren’t really Muslims. They drank, they ate non-halal meat, and they took pride in their “open-mindedness”. As a Muslim, I was taught that it was the responsibility of fellow Muslims to remind those around them of their religious obligations. Armed with that belief, I expressed my concerns about their behaviour, only to be attacked for my narrow-mindedness. They showed their displeasure by ignoring me, making it clear that I had no right to criticise their lifestyle, especially since I myself was not a perfect Muslim.

In those lonely days, I remember a quiet desperation. I have always been sociable and not having anywhere to turn to made me long for my protective environment at home. For the first time in my life, I was confronted with peer pressure at its ugliest – if you’re not like us, then we won’t talk to you. I knew all I need do was join them and all would be well. But something inside me would not allow it.

It was on a random train journey that my life took a turn for the better. I was travelling to the nearby town alone when a Chinese girl from my boarding college saw me. She introduced herself, and we started talking. She, too, had heard the rumours of the confrontation going on and wondered about the real story behind it. At first I was apprehensive, knowing that a foreigner and a non-Muslim would not be able to empathise with the sense of responsibility I felt towards my religion. But somehow, the story came out and she nodded, offering me a friendly smile. And it was then I discovered that tolerance would not be found in the company of my fellow Muslims, but in the understanding of those who weren’t Muslims.

Tolerance

From there on, it was a journey of discovery. I discovered that non-Muslims were more understanding and tolerant of Muslims that I gave them credit for. I found myself having open discussions about religion with atheists, freethinkers, Christians, Buddhists and Hindus. They respected my religious restrictions, never pushing me to pick up a glass of alcohol as they did, or partake in food that they ate.

The Chinese girl on the train soon became my closest friend and confidante, learning about Islam and helping me observe my restrictions. She became an expert on halal food, even checking the small “e” codes on the content list of food whenever she went out grocery shopping for us. She showed me that I could expect greater understanding from those who weren’t Muslims compared to those who were. It made me wonder whether the hostility of those Muslims were truly outrage at my criticism, or perhaps a defensiveness protecting their conscience from speaking out. They did not realise that my reminders were not born of jealousy or anger, but from a care of their person.

From then on, I kept away from the Muslims and immersed myself in the company of foreigners. They respected my prayer times and questioned my religious beliefs extensively, showing an admiration for the concepts and ideologies of Islam. And among these people, I found that my love for Islam was renewed. They helped me see the beauty of my religion and the simplicity of its teachings.

I returned to Malaysia with new eyes, finally seeing what I never saw before – the crumbling of Islam in modern Malaysian society. The hypocrisy of those who pretend to be pious are only matched by those who flaunt their behaviour, daring others to criticise and flaying those who do. I found that reminding others never ends well. There will always be other Muslims who defend their actions and take me to task for saying anything. They seem to forget that I am merely following my obligation as a Muslim to remind them. And the saddest part of it all is that they refuse to admit guilt. I remember giving a talk once at my college, together with another Muslim, on Islam and the misconceptions around it. At the end of it, we were posed questions by members of the floor.

“You are Muslims, and yet you do not wear the headscarf. I thought the wearing of the headscarf was compulsory in Islam?”

My fellow speaker answered, “Actually, I think wearing the headscarf in Islam is an antiquated and outdated idea.”

What’s right

As soon as I realised what she was saying, I had to interrupt her.

“It’s not about the headscarf being antiquated or outdated. The wearing of the headscarf in Islam is meant to protect women from being regarded as sex objects or inciters of lust. I myself used to wear the headscarf prior to coming to the UK. My family and I decided that I should take off the headscarf for a while as we were unsure about how you guys would react to it. I plan to put it back on one day, when I am ready. And even though I do not wear it now, it doesn’t mean that the headscarf is no longer relevant. I am aware that what I do is wrong. But it’s the same with Christianity – adultery is wrong. People still do it.”

I realised then that the only way my fellow speaker could convince herself that everything she did was acceptable was by making Islam’s teaching wrong. And that made it easier for them to deny the teachings of Islam. It was easier for Muslims to consume alcohol if they told themselves that the rules outlined in the Quran are no longer valid. And when they ask, “Who are you to decide what is right and what is wrong?”, I realised that if the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) himself came down to tell them, they would probably tell him he was old fashioned.

Years down the line, I have changed a lot. I have discovered that youths who observe the restrictions of Islam are the minority, not majority as I had previously thought. I have learnt that Muslims who do not toe the line do not regard themselves as sinful, merely ‘modern’. I have learnt that people do not want to be reminded. And I have learnt that following the teachings of Islam is regarded by society as a negative, not a positive. I have had my share of teasing and jeering for not wanting to “loosen up” and have a drink, and being called “silly” for not condoning premarital sex.

Modern Muslims say that they are being open and liberal, but the sad reality is that they are closing their minds to those who do not practice their lifestyle. Above all, I have learnt that a Muslim is neither pushy in their beliefs nor critical of others who do not share their beliefs. Islam preaches caring and tolerance – something that I feel Muslims today, liberal or otherwise, have forgotten.

What Politics means to me

As taken from Suara Anum 

The Sale of Democracy

As two friends, Present People and Future Generations, walked one day, with Truths jingling in their pockets, they came across a banner hung above a small path. It read “Sale – Cheap prices!” There were two groups of people handing out brochures for two different vendors. The venders urged them to visit the vendors as they passed, telling them that it was a one-day sale and that they would regret not knowing what the vendors were selling. The two friends’ interest was piqued. They took the dusty path, looking around at the myriad of banners.

The first vendor they came across was a famous one, The Ruling Party. Their merchandise were packaged professionally and their sales force dressed to the nines. They were the household name. Everyone bought from them. The vendors encouraged Present and Future to come nearer. They said they were the sole agents providing Democracy. They told me not to buy from their competitor whose products were shabbier than theirs. They guaranteed accessories with every purchase of Democracy from them – free stability, peace and development with every Democracy sold. After all, they said, who would know how to manufacture Democracy better than them. They had been doing it so long. They told the two friends that it would be better if The Ruling Party were the only manufacturers of Democracy. It would be less taxing. They wouldn’t have to work so hard to come up with new ideas. Buy from them and help put their undisciplined and uncouth competitors out of sight. Looking over their quotation, Present whispered to Future that, though the sales package was good, they did seem to charge a lot for after-sale care. Future nodded and added that the representatives of The Ruling Party reminded him of fat cats living in cream, indulging without hesitation in the profit of the company.

Present and Future looked at each other and told the vendors that they’d think about it while they shopped around.

Leaving the previous vendor behind as they shouted their persuasions, their eyes had already drifted to the second vendor, the only other vendor, The Opposition. The stall did look shabby, unprofessional, as if a group of preschool children had put it together. Their goods didn’t look as sharp as the first vendor’s did. Still, they were persuasive. They told Present and Future that their goods represented an improvement in the production of Democracy. The vendors promised them that change and fairness for all came with every purchase of Democracy from The Opposition, something that their competitors couldn’t give. Present and Future could tell they had big plans but they didn’t seem ready to take on the big guys. Their sales team was ineffective, conveying an air of uncertainty in dealing with the bigger picture. They were too caught up in trying to bring down their competition that they lost sight of what came after that. After-sale care was a bare minimum but they promised that it wouldn’t be needed with their version of Democracy.

Present and Future discussed it over. Which should they buy? In the end, between them, Present and Future bought Democracy from both vendors, thinking that surely if both of them wanted the same thing, wanted Democracy, then the end product would be similar and complimentary, aimed to provide the buyer with Democracy. The consumer would always win. They would always get Democracy. But as they waited for the bus home, their backs bent with the weight of their purchases, Present and Future looked at each other and realised one very important thing.

They were vendors after a quick sale, a quick buck. And, to their dismay, Present People and Future Generations realized that they had traded their Truths for a bag of Lies.

Why Malays should fight the NEP

As taken from Suara Anum  

Apartheid of the 21st Century 

“Initially, aim of the apartheid was to maintain white domination.”

In the 1960s, the idea of Apartheid was conceived in South Africa. Soon, the world began condemning this severe discrimination. Embargoes were placed, opinions and disagreements were voiced and the whole world looked over in horror as opportunities were taken away from some and given to others just because of the colour they were gifted with at birth. With the election of Mandela in 1994, apartheid ended in South Africa. We breathed easy again. Sure, there was racism in the world, but at least no government was promoting it. Were they?

Discrimination can take different faces, different shades. It is easy for us to point fingers at others when it is in black and white. Apartheid. That is wrong, isn’t it? How can you take away privileges from some people just because they were the wrong colour? God created us all equal, didn’t He?

After gaining our independence, there was dissension among the races in Malaysia. Due to the British rule of ‘divide and conquer’, distribution of wealth was unfair, to say the least. Money and power was centred in the hands of the Chinese whereas the Malays and the Indians had to content themselves with a smaller piece of the pie that was agriculture. The Malays rebelled, demanding control over the economy and the country. The 13^th of May came and went. Many became victims. But the Malays’ wishes prevailed. They got what they wanted. Bumiputera rights came into play, protecting the rights of the Bumiputeras, giving them every advantage to improve their social and economic standing within the community.

40 years has gone by. Where do we stand now? Not much further away from where we started, apparently.

The Bumiputeras are oblivious to the truth. They are so blinkered by the benefits that they apparently get, they do not see that it only makes them weaker. It is like a drug; it makes you feel good for a while, makes the whole world smile at you. Then, you become weak, dependant. You cannot survive without it. You have not become stronger. You have become more vulnerable, unable to stand on your two feet. And yet you feed, hoping the euphoria stays. But it goes. It always goes. You feed still, unwilling to feel the harshness of reality. But only the harshness can cure you. Only the harshness can wake you, shake you, and make you stronger. Yet, we shy away and run from it, scared to feel the pain. We want to be protected and cocooned. Keep those ugly realities away from us. We do not want to know.

There are rules in place to ensure that Bumiputeras get a decent education. Education, undoubtedly, is the best way to improve one’s place in the world. Quotas were made to ensure that we had the upper hand. If effort could be measured, what would have taken us 40 ‘efforts’ in the past only takes us 20 now. That means that we can go beyond what we could in the past. That was the objective. Yet, the Bumiputeras, as a whole, have become lazy, complacent. Why work 40 when the work can be done in 20?

Many argue that it is necessary to give the Bumiputeras a fighting chance against the significant power of the non-Bumiputeras. It is an advantage given to them. Nothing wrong with giving advantages, is there? Of course not.

Have the Bumiputeras who jealously guard and defend these rights as just and fair ever wondered what it would feel like to be in the other person’s shoes? Lets just try and take a walk on the other side of the park for a change.

Imagine being born and brought up disadvantaged. Knowing that you have to work harder to get the same things that others are getting. It’s like having a disability. You look around you and see people getting results only half as good as yours, and you know that for the same opportunities that the person will get, you have to come up with twice the distinctions, twice the commendations, work twice as hard. Even then, your place is not guaranteed like theirs. Knowing that you can only rely on those like you to help you. Giving up your dreams because you were not born the right race. Working hard, achieving excellence and yet becoming nothing because you were not Bumiputera. How would you feel, if you were in those shoes?

I am a half caste; half Bumiputera and half not. Actually, if I were to do the maths, I would find that I am less Bumiputera than anything else. But I was lucky. The original paternal component was Bumiputera. So, whatever the other 99% of me is becomes irrelevant. I am Bumiputera. I won the ultimate game of Russian roulette.

But I could have just as easily been 99% Bumiputera, unlucky enough to have that one percent on the original component that wasn’t. As is the case for my friend. She once reminded me that I needn’t work as hard as she had to because I was Bumiputera. All without malice. Just a hint of sadness at the unfairness of it all. I can see why. She isn’t rich. She works hard. Very hard, in fact. If that one percent had been in her favour, she would have had companies and institutions bending over backwards to offer her a chance to further her education. Yet here she is, working 2 jobs trying to pay for her degree. She could have gone to the top university but had to make do with one that wasn’t even worth her consideration because only they gave her the scholarship she needed. Why, had she not been given that grant, she wouldn’t have been able to study; this girl with her gleaming academic results. Dare you now tell me that the system works, that it is fair?

I benefit from the system, yet even I can see its flaws. What should be a system based on helping the weak and needy has become the modern equivalent of an apartheid nightmare. They say we Bumiputeras need it. Yet we abuse it. We are taking opportunities away from others yet we do not use it. It smacks of a little child hiding a toy because he doesn’t want to play with it but doesn’t want others to either. We complain that we are experiencing a brain drain yet we do not give these people a chance to give back to our community. Why does it matter what race you were born? Isn’t the fact that you need help enough for you to merit the assistance? Why are we Bumiputeras afraid to give them the same chances? Are we just hoarding our treasures? Or, perhaps, in our deeper consciousness, we realise that they would do so much more with what’s given than we would; that they would fully utilise what they get compared to us who just make do and watch life go by. They would become stronger. Of course, we could too. Except we don’t, do we? We just don’t try.

We say we are giving advantages to the Bumiputeras. But we conveniently forget that it is a double edged sword. When you are giving someone the upper hand, you are also taking away from the other the fairness of a level playing field. The advantages you gift with one hand causes disadvantages with the other.

Modern Apartheid of the 21^st century is here, my dear friends. And now, it’s time to stop pointing fingers because we are the propagators.

My Generation

As taken from Suara Anum  

My Generation (As I See It)

I’ve always been one to jump onto bandwagons when they’re already moving out of town, and it was thus that I’ve just now started a weblog. It was while reading some past entries that a realisation hit- all the entries have centred upon:

Me

My blog

Me.

How selfish. How narcissistic. Of course, if I was Narcissus, I don’t think those fun-lovin’ Greek Gods (Oh the creativity of Zeus disguising himself as a swan to rape Leda – yes, I am showing off my cleverness. Aren’t I clever?), would turn me into something as lovely as a… well, narcissus. It would probably be something ugly, like a rafflesia, or KL Tower.

Perhaps this spate of navel-gazing I’ve been indulging in lately is due to the fact that I have had a bare minimum of human contact recently. Or maybe I’m just egotistical- all that matters is Me Me Me. I can’t be bothered to think about the world around me, allowing catchphrases like ‘Palestine’ ‘Le Pen’ ‘Reformasi’ to wash over my oblivious consciousness, while I worry about trivial things like exams.

I don’t think I’ve always been this way, though. I recall at 20 being called a ‘Radical’ by my college’s Headmaster, who was, to be fair, a middle-class Englishman, and a Tory, to boot. So my erstwhile kurang ajar rhetoric (I remember strongly implying that he was a hypocrite in a school magazine article) must have seemed pretty far-out to his bourgeois mind. But I remember wanting to change the world back then. I thought, once I had gotten out of Malaysian air space, I wouldn’t be tied down by threats from draconian bogeymen like the ISA, the Universities and Colleges Act, the SB. I’ll really be Radical. Right. No such luck. Life seems to have trapped me in its seemingly meaningless routine. I seem to be stuck in a degree factory, one that is dedicated to churning out ‘top of the range’ graduates for the job market. Which is, of course, the only thing that matters.

I would say I was jaded, but youth has always claimed to be jaded – apathy is cool, sophisticated. Politics sucks, doesn’t it? The world will never change – Bill Gates will always hold the income of at least three Sub-Saharan African countries while Afghans die from starvation and American ‘anti-terrorist’ missiles; Israel will always fight rocks and suicide bombers with its tanks and hi-tech arsenal; Malaysia will go on building its Putrajayas while rubber-tappers and rural farmers exist not knowing where their next meal is coming from; and the same party will go on ruling year after year by holding us to socio-economic ransom. So what’s the point? If you can’t change the world, you might as well take what you can get from it. Right? Perhaps I may be ‘out of touch with my own generation’, I admit I’ve ensconced myself in my own middle-class Bumi milieu, but I look around me, at my own contemporaries, who are blessed enough to be crowned harapan bangsa dan negara and this is what I see: I see a generation that has known nothing but ease its whole life. Our grandparents fought for Independence, our parents fought for social justice and us? We fight – to get to the top of the Heap. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t even pretend to be the Voice of My Generation, I’m not Pete Townsend, this is just what I see. Perhaps there are young Malaysians out there struggling for a worthier cause than a piece of paper that will earn you a Proton Waja and a house in Hartamas, but they seem to be few and far between. People who while inspiring, invariably make me feel as if my daily concerns are too trivial to waste brain cells on.

Unfortunately, the majority of us have been conditioned to think that managing the world is what the Adults do, all we have to do is concentrate on our Studies and keep ourselves out of Trouble. Which is really what the Establishment wants doesn’t it? Hence for instance the Aku Janji - the pledge of loyalty to the Malaysian government signed by civil servants and University students. Now, I’m not too well-versed on the Law, but doesn’t this seem to be insulting the Constitution? Fine, one might argue that party politics should not enter into classrooms and student associations, but aren’t civil servants supposed to serve the people rather than whatever political party currently clinging to the top spot, and isn’t debate part of the educational process? Silly me, I forgot that the trees in UM’s speakers’ corner have been poisoned. And the poison it seems, has seeped into us, killing the social consciousness of our parents’ children. We are all drones, serving a single Queen Bee, with nary a thought for dissent.

I’m not too good with quotes, but didn’t Aung San Suu Kyi once say something to the effect of “Youth” being the “conscience of the people”? If that’s the case, then it seems to me as if the Malaysian conscience is, if not dead, then certainly a candidate for the ICU. Sometimes I envy our Indonesian counterparts. True, the success of their Reformasi movement is debatable, but at least they managed to oust a man who was, if not a tyrant, then certainly close to being one. Perhaps, their activism lies in the fact that they had nothing to lose – when you have nothing to lose, you tend to fight with all that you have, and hang the consequences. Malaysian youth, on the other hand, seem to think that there is everything to lose by not toeing the proverbial line – scholarships, a job, a Future. We have been preconditioned to think that a Good Future is synonymous with material well-being, as long as there’s rice on the table, who cares whether we’re free to open our mouths in argument without fear, to be able to experience a real democracy, to be living in a civil society? Heck, how many of us know that such a thing as a ‘civil society’ exists?

We may have had Independence for 45 years, but how free are we? Are we free enough to protest the trampling of our civil liberties? Are we free enough to question the liberties instead taken on our Constitution? Are we free enough to even disagree? But alas, who cares? Who cares about being a drone as long as you get your share of the honey? Who cares if some have more of a share than others, just because they choose to ingratiate themselves into the Queen Bee’s good graces, remaining there all their lives, without having to work harder than the rest?

I seem to be raving. For all you know, this might be another self-conscious, self-righteous, self-aggrandizing rant, and after this, I’ll go back to my routine-laden life, forgetting that I once wanted to change the world. But I hope not. I really do.