My Anglo-Malaysian Grandfather

Growing up in Malaysia, since kindergarten, and all the way through life, we are asked, what race are you?

There are three major races in Malaysia; Malays, Chinese and Indians (as in East Indians for those N. Americans). Also, there are subcategories, orang-asli or native people belong to the Malay category but do not always have equal rights of other Malays.

I myself am properly categorized as a second-generation Eurasian. As I was growing up I was asked what are you, and still to this day. The implication I hear is, there is something wrong with you, you do not fit in, you are not one of us.

As a kid in kindergarten, when I was first asked that question, the natural instinct to belong kicked in, and I said I am Chinese. After-all I am mostly Chinese aren’t I? However, it seemed that the entire class including the teacher chimed in… “No you are not!”.

Living in Canada, I have come to realize my multi-racial dilemma was not limited to me and my sisters. Many people of non-Anglo origin endure a similar self-doubt, as they try to reconcile their culture to that of Canada. While Canada may be a very accepting country, many still consider it to be a white or white-founded nation.

So does adopting Canadian culture mean giving up one’s heritage?

All of a sudden, I realized that my maternal-grandfather that caused me to stick out like a sore thumb, and who I always considered to be British, was actually not British, but Malaysian. I wonder what kinds of identity issues he had as Malaya was gaining independence from colonial rule.

This is a man that was born in Borneo, Malaysia. Who lived his entire life in Malaya as it was then called, married local, spoke the local languages, was the local administrator for Sabah. He knew the land so well, that when Prince Philip came visiting, my grandfather was the official that was his guide.

My grandfather in his second marriage, after his first wife passed away, married my Chinese grandmother. She did not speak English, he did not speak Chinese, they communicated in Malay.

Here was a Malaysian through and through.

Hope died a long time ago

Once upon a time there was a girl born in the Kingdom of Purplaya. A land that promised so much to its inhabitants. A land of peace, harmony and beauty for all. She grew up as a child sharing within the wealth of cultures that lived in this warm and sunny land.

The seeds of disharmony however, had been planted a little time ago by the colonialist powers. In their guilt and shame, they sought to undo any damage they had wrought on the Venice of the East. The colonialists brought with them notions of race and racial divide.

Their efforts to preserve harmony amongst the inhabitants have created a widening divide, a chasm that appears to be impossible to surmount. I will examine with further blog posts why the notion of race and culture is flawed, and the disastrous consequences of mummification of culture and race.

This tiny citizen of the Kingdom of Purplaya witnessed a shocking turn of events before her twelfth birthday that caused her to turn blind in one eye. Operation Lalang transformed the land into one of intolerance and fear, where leading community figures disappeared without a trace in the middle of night, as if snatched by a supernatural entity and transported to another dimension.

Her parents decided to send her and her sisters to a new and promising land, Canada. There she discovered hope again, and discussed ideas with some of the smartest youth of Canada, in Montreal. However all was not well. The 1995 referendum in Montreal brought her back psychologically and paralyzed her to being a scared child of 12. The verbage used by the politicians in their desire of special rights and privileges for the ‘pur laine’ terrified her. Thankfully the referendum was not won, but the closing remarks of Parizeau echoed in her consciousness for years to come, as he blamed “l’argent puis des votes ethniques” for his defeat.

blog moved

Blog posts moved to teanitiki.com