Was sharing a light-hearted conversation with two La Salle PJ ex-schoolmates via Facebook this morning, following the events of Bersih 2.0 rally in Kuala Lumpur yesterday.
Now, one of my ex-schoolmates is an Indian, and the other is a Chinese. During the conversation, the Chinese chap would call the Indian chap ‘estate’, referring to the days when the first generation of Indian migrants to British Malaya worked in the rubber estates. In turn, the Indian chap would call the Chinese chap ‘lombong’ (mine), referring, in turn, to the days when many of the first generation of Chinese migrants worked in the tin mines of Perak’s Kinta Valley.
Firstly: These nicknames are not recent ones; they date back almost 20 years, to the time when we were all in high school back in the 1980’s/early-1990’s. Secondly, and this is the most important point: There were never any hard feelings, and the thought of the nicknames being offensive never crossed any of their minds. Back in our time, we could call each other ‘estate’, ‘lombong’, ‘ikan’, ‘sawah padi’, ‘dhut’,… whatever. And at the end of the day, we were all one jolly band of brothers kicking the same soccer ball together on that muddy LSPJ sad-excuse-for-a-football-field. Why? Because we recognised and embraced our diversity (note: not difference). As such, we were totally comfortable about laughing at and poking fun at each other without malice.
Even so-called ‘multi-cultural’ Australia cannot claim to be able to do that comfortably, as there is still the need to observe sensitivity and be politically-correct. In that sense, the Malaysia I knew back in my schooling days was culturally more mature than what Australia is today. We were already way past the stage of toeing the line, comfortable enough with our diversity to be able to cross those lines without fear of repercussions. The trivial nicknames aside, ultimately we still respected one another, and enjoyed our visits to friends’ homes for Hari Raya Aidilfitri, Chinese New Year and Deepavali.
Allow me to put this into further perspective. My ex-boss in Malaysia was an expatriate from England, also called Mark. One day, one of our mutual colleagues, a Scottish expatriate by the name of Bob, stepped into Mark's office while we were having a discussion, and said, “Mark, I need to speak to you.” Not sure which Mark he wanted to speak to, I light-heartedly asked him, “Which Mark – the Englishman or the Chink?” My boss commented, “Watch it, you’re being racist there.” I was incredulous. Excuse me, I just called myself a Chink – how does that make me racist? But the point is, he did not understand that in Malaysia, differences in cultural background are openly recognised and celebrated. Nor did he see the parallel between this and the equally-benign habit of the English poking fun at the Irish. And by the way, Bob the Scotsman grinned and replied without even batting an eyelid, “Actually, I’m looking for both of you.”
What has happened to all that in Malaysia today? Nowadays, silap panggil satu kali, itu parang pun kasi keluar, tahu...
