Pudu area in Kuala Lumpur has been placed under ‘semi-enhanced movement control’ guarded by armed forces personnel and cordoned off by razor-wires since May 15, 2020.
By Tan Su Chen, Ph.D.
In the thick of Covid19, we are faced with and challenged by various stressors on an unprecedented scale. Given the uncertainty of the pandemic as well as restrictions in which we have been thrust, against our will and beyond our control, individuals and families are stretched and overwhelmed – physically, mentally, and emotionally. Yet at a time when we are pressed and strained, our best selves can emerge. Yes, we have, dear Malaysians. Our best selves are seen in the coming together across races and socioeconomic status to attend to and help the vulnerable in dealing with coronavirus and its inevitable repercussions. While we are gratified by the spirits of altruism and benevolence among Malaysians, however, xenophobia against refugee communities in Malaysia is becoming increasingly visible and abhorrent. This, in my observation, is our worst selves.
I write today, not to shame our apathy or inhumanity against people seeking refuge and safety on our blessed shores, but to invite us to reconsider our response toward a different global crisis plaguing millions across the world. Because like us with the pandemic, refugees find themselves in a situation against their will and beyond their control. But unlike us who could attain safety holed up in our homes, they had to flee theirs.
Over the last decade of contact with refugees, as a researcher, counsellor, refugee school consultant, and as a friend, I’m often viscerally shaken by the fragments of lived experiences to which I am exposed – and I’m always, always amazed. Astonished by their strength and resilience surviving war and persecution, the refugees continue to wrestle, perseveringly, for safety and stability. What the refugees strive so hard for, we take for granted so easily. We arise from our bed making plans for the day ahead. We do not wake up fearing our family is dead, hurt or missing, our house burned or destroyed, and whether we have clean water or enough food to survive. And the list goes on, dreadfully. Torture, rape, assault, severe deprivation of basic needs, as well as insurmountable losses of belongingness, identity, and income.
In the global mental health movement, “Triple Trauma Paradigm” illustrates multiple traumatic experiences of forced migration throughout a refugee’s journey in 3 phases – i.e., pre-flight, flight/encampment, and post-flight/resettlement. As a non-signatory of the 1951 Refugee Convention, Malaysia is a transit country for refugees seeking and awaiting resettlement to a welcoming third country. While they reside among us, spanning from a few years to a decade or more, refugees are denied access to work, education, and healthcare. How does one live meanwhile? Trapped in a constant limbo of stuckness and uncertainty. Having fled the terror of war and persecution, fear of arrest, refoulement, and discrimination continue to plague them in Malaysia. How have we allowed these, and how does our conscience sit with such palpable maltreatment right under our nose?
As I beheld recent photos of razor-wires locking down Pudu in which refugee communities reside, and as I heard desperate cries of women and children detainees hauled up like criminals, my stomach turned. I teared as we inadvertently push them to the ledge of suicide. They are traumatized and retraumatized. In order to survive yet another day at the hands of the merciless, refugees often yield in silence. But you and I need not be silent, my fellow Malaysians. As we consider a different and more humane response toward a community disproportionately impacted by the pandemic, let us raise our voices. Post on social media, forward news articles, create awareness among friends and family, dispel myths against them, highlight their strengths, show kindness through practical help, and hold our authorities accountable for their actions. Because, our best selves can shine through here, too. Because, refugees are human, too.
Refugee communities in the Pudu area receive regular groceries aid from Michael Moey and team, thanks to the public’s generosity.
