There is a good reason I could have been born a Malaysian, had my father’s ancestors from southern China landed not on the coast of western Java, but on British-held Malaya or the Straits Settlements (Penang and Singapore).

The more tricky part is imagining my mother’s heritage. Had she been Malay and my father was still Catholic, then we would have had trouble. The Malaysian government and society do not accept a Malay woman practicing any faith other than Islam, nor marrying a non-Muslim man who retains his religion.

So, for this experiment, I have to imagine that my mother is a Chinese, or Indian, or a native (orang asli) from northern Borneo.

As, if she were Malay (migrants from Java and Sumatra are also classified as Malays), then the government and society (and probably her family) would cease to look upon her as a Malay.

As a Chinese-Malaysian, my family could have carried my father’s Chinese surname. We would not have had to change it to a more Southeast Asian-sounding name like in Indonesia, Thailand or Vietnam. I might have had a southern Chinese given name and a Western given name too.

I could have gone to a religious private school to begin my studies as a child. If I had gone to public school (less of a possibility in Indonesia), then I would have gone to the Chinese Public School, where I would have learned three languages — Malay, Mandarin and English. On Sundays, I would have gone to an unmarked church, unless it was an old church built by the Europeans.

My teenage life would have perhaps been better than that which I had in Indonesia, if we assume the family had comparable income, was living in comparable area, and had suffered no personal tragedy.
Malaysia has no major city other than Kuala Lumpur. Its only competitor is Penang, whose population is a quarter of KL’s population. Both cities are dandy options. Penang is a Chinese city heavily influenced by Western culture, while Kuala Lumpur is the rival of Bangkok to becoming the number two city in Southeast Asia.

“Had I been a Malaysian, I would not able to write too many political opinion articles. That’s one positive thing of being an Indonesian.”

My social circle would have celebrated Christmas and Lunar New Year. I could have enjoyed good public transportation as KL was building the monorail before the Commonwealth Games and Penang is famous for its tramline and reasonable bus service.

I would have spoken English, although in conversation Chinese and Malay would have influenced my grammar and choice of words.

When the Asian Crisis of 1997 struck, no doubt my family would have been affected. But there were no riots and security fears.

I would have heard the prime minister ranting about a Jewish conspiracy on television, but there were no stories about a Chinese conspiracy as told by several Indonesian generals and ministers.

My father would have watched in horror the coverage of May 1998, which would have brought back his memories of May 1969.

We would have worried about whether a similar thing would happen in Malaysia, but since the government was strong, the Indonesian anarchy would not spread.

One year later, Malaysia was going strong while Indonesian problems were endless. That’s what you get for so-called democracy, the elders would have told me.

We take another line in these parallel lives — had I gone to Australia to study. No doubt in university I would have socialized with Singaporeans and with Indonesians — predominantly Chinese.

Every time I came home to Malaysia for holidays, I would have felt something was wrong with society.

The press was monotone; the government had no opposition and was without critics, the people lived divided by thick walls of ethnic and religious segregation.

Whereas in 2002-2004 I enjoyed a honeymoon of multiculturalism in Indonesia, as a Malaysian my trouble would have just begun.

After the resignation of PM Mahathir, religious and ethnic relations in Malaysia went into freefall. Not that it was ideal during Mahathir’s time. Like it was in Soeharto’s Indonesia, all tensions were held back and problems were hidden.

Then it all broke loose. As a Chinese-Malaysian, I could have spent my whole life without befriending a Malay. After 2003, myself and my compatriot friends (consisting of Chinese and Indians) would not have looked forward to going to places where we would encounter the Malays, although we would
still celebrate National Day at university, in apartments with barbecues and beer.

Now to the crossroads — would I have gone back to Malaysia or would I have stayed in Australia?

Australia has a large population of permanent residents and citizens who were born and raised in Malaysia.

They identify their background as Malaysian, but just don’t expect them to put the Malaysian flag around their shop, or for a visiting Malaysian minister to come to their nasi lemak and mie Penang restaurants.

Some of the Malaysian migrants have become entertainers, athletes and even ministers in Australia. I might have followed in their footsteps and applied to become an Australian permanent resident.

Whatever the decision, I would have watched helplessly as my homeland was crumbling, and the new premierships could not ensure safety and comfort for its minorities.

Sure, I would still have driven down an orderly street, watching the F1 race and taking photos in the heart of KL, and praising Jesus — in an economy that earns twice as much as in Indonesia; but eventually I would have heard somebody I know being yelled at by Malays with the words, “Go back to your country!” — be they Chinese, Indian, or perhaps even Eurasian.

Would I have ever heard about the buzz in Indonesia over Malaysia’s “stealing” of Indonesian culture? No. It was not big news in Malaysia. Not because it was censored, but because Malaysians thought it was too silly to be taken seriously.

I would not have cared if Rasa Sayang, this or that islet, or this or that dance was Malaysian or Indonesian. What mattered would have been how to make money, how to stay out of trouble, and how to make the most of one’s life.

If an Indonesian had asked me about my impression of Indonesia, I would have thought of Indonesian maids who don’t speak English, Indonesian labors turning to crime, and probably some charming Chinese-Indonesian or Batak girl I knew back in Australia. And their chaotic and dysfunctional capital city.

That ends the experiment. Of course, had I been a Malaysian, I would not able to write too many political opinion articles. That’s one positive thing of being an Indonesian.

The writer is a graduate from La Trobe University, Australia. He is currently writing a novel on city life.

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