Race to where ah?

“Eh Chinaman. Gee-me your physics homework. I kena copy.”
“WTF, you Thambi busy ah last night?”
“Ya lah, go see movie with Wira. That Mat osso wanna pinjam from you aft’wards.”
“Naah tek lah…. Next week my turn copy from you OK”

That was 1980. We were in Form 4. That was how we spoke. Among friends and among schoolmates, that was the norm. Racial slurs, jibes, thrust and parry. And we all laughed in good fun. We were coloured, yet colour-blind. We weren’t unique. Whether it was friends I made in Sibu, Kuching, Kuantan, PJ and yes, Singapore, it was the same.

So there we were, a couple of Chinamen, a Bhai complete with turban, a couple of Mats, and a Thambi, we did stuff – cycle to the beach, spear baby ikan keli, at night we’d lie on the putting greens at the Royal Kuantan Golf Club and talked about that ah-moi babe in Form 6, and that minah in Singh’s class.

And so it formed, my impression of Malaysia as far as the skin went. It was a collage in Technicolor. There were accents, subtle tones and hues, a layered composition that constantly sought a dynamic balance. We, the people, composed it. And arguably above all, that wonderful person film-maker/actor/singer P Ramlee composed it. He cucuk-ed just about every ethnicity that had a foot set in this country. Racial slurs, jibes, thrust and parry. We laughed, and of course we gawked at Saloma’s waistline.

I left Malaysia in ’84 and for 18 years satiated my curiosity about what’s out there. Many a time I was caught breathless. Be it nature or culture, be it the soft gaze of a white mother upon her adopted black child, be it the harvest moon. I soaked it all in awe. Yet through all that, I held in my heart’s pocket those gems about my homeland. They were unique. One gem was the impression – freeze-framed – that when it came to colours, Malaysians cared more about the aura than the pigment of the skin.

I am now back in tanah-air and I am angry. Somewhere in the time between disco and trance, between Ilmu Alam and Geografi, between KL Turf Club and KLCC, polarisation took place.

I am angry because that wonderful collage which graced my early years is being recklessly slashed by graceless, clumsy hands. Hands which stir hatred, bigotry, and fear in order that they grasp greedily at power. At every opportunity, race is used to sow dissent. Damn you, who sow that seed. And damn you, who nourish that seed.

The latest ear squat episode is a query into possible police abuse. Simple as that.

Why is it turning into a racial issue? Racial slurs, jibes, thrust and parry. Thrust and parry. Thrust and parry. Thrust and parry. No one’s laughing his time around. I’ve visited a few websites and forums both political (govt and opposition) and personal. Some comments are bloated with bile and that’s scary. This making a mountain out of a molehill must stop.

Ugly politician, there is a difference between a rational argument and a thoughtless accusation. And that seat you occupy in Parliament is a locus of honour, not a badminton court – play your games and score your points elsewhere.

Parrot-journalist, there is a difference between tape-recorder reporting and critical reporting. I’ve read food stories that dissect the dish better than some political commentaries of yours. And grow a backbone – we’ve moved beyond jellyfish.

Slimy internet troll, there is a correlation between freedom and responsibility. And look for your soul – we are human no?

Hey, we are all coloured folk and we stand plain on this soil. Aspects of our cultures have fused over the decades and centuries. We were also enriched externally – from the Indians, Arabs, Chinese, Indochinese, Nusantara brethren, European colonists, Japanese occupiers, and our cultural landscape carries this legacy. We drew philosophies from Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism, Islam, Christianity, animism, and our physical landscape carries this legacy. Tell me, how many places on this planet can lay claim to that?

And hence given that, while we may be Malay, Chinese, Indian, Eurasian, Dayak, Melanau, Bajau, Orang Asli, behind that coloured skin we are mongrel. Mongrel nation, mongrel values, mongrel thoughts, and this ought to be our strength not our failing. Why allow petty issues like race shear our community when instead so much could be gleaned from humbly reflecting on a bowl of chendol or laksa? What about sago pudding, nasi lemak, kueh nyonya and the dozens of other hybrid dishes? There are many lessons and stories of constructive coexistence in each and every morsel of these local fare. Plus they taste bloody good…

Who knows perhaps someday, if our course is charted well with intelligent debates, openness and right action, I’ll chance upon a Form 4 Malay kid saying to a Chinese buddy:
“Eh, Pork-Eater. Gee-me your physics homework. I kena copy lah.”
“What lah, Sunat-Boy. Busy last night issit?”

Racial slurs, jibes, thrust and parry. They laugh and cucuk each other all the way to the basketball court.

As for now, just reading that gives you goose-pimples, doesn’t it? That’s how far we’ve fallen.