Independence. Yeah, right.

Malaysia celebrated its 53rd independence day just over a fortnight ago. As always, there were enough parades, platitudes and shows of patriotism to make one gag.

The overwhelming displays of national pride, for me, usually results in paroxysms of public spirit. Most years, I would dutifully stand up and sing the national anthem, and thank God to have been born and to live in this land of milk and honey.

This year, something was different. Was it the cumulative effect of a largely crappy year? Was it a result of finally opening my eyes to reality? Was it overwhelming cynicism? I don't know. All I know is that there was only one thought in my mind most of the time; that Independence for a lot of people in this country merely meant a change from one overlord to another.

Is it an unfair statement to make? Perhaps. Can I be excused for feeling that way? Let's see. Malaysia is independent. Yet, I am still often told that I am a squatter, an immigrant. I am often told that I should go back to "my homeland" if I don't like the way things are run over here. The fact that I am a fourth-generation Malaysian whose family has been here for almost 100 years has no bearing whatsoever on things. As far as the government and a lot of the people are concerned, I am and always will be a second-class citizen who should be thankful that I'm "allowed" to live in this country.

My people are the poorest of the poor. They have no affirmative action policies in their favour, despite many of them being no better than slaves. My community has the highest crime rates, the highest alcoholism rates, the highest domestic abuse rates, the highest proportion of people in prison. While others grow fat and happy with their mouths firmly locked on the teat of Malaysia's bounty, there is an entire generation of my people dull-eyed and sullen faced, kicked in the teeth one too many times by a system and a country that has failed them.

Where's our place in the sun?

Thousands of us died laying the roads most people walk on today. Thousands spent their lives as bonded labourers in estates around the country. Thousands still do. Thousands served faithfully in the early civil service only to be later cast asunder as Malaysia forged its identity in this Brave New World.


With this as a backdrop, should I feel guilty for not frothing at the mouth with patriotism? Should I feel guilty for being less than enthused that "my country" has been independent for 53 years? Perhaps I should. But I really don't and really don't care that I don't.