By Sikh from East Malaysia

I am writing about my experience of being Indian from an East Malaysian perspective.

It has been difficult. Oftentimes it seemed like I was writing the same thing: “Malaysia is a multiracial country with three main races, Malays, Chinese, Indians, living in harmony.” Just as this statement is untrue, writing from an Indian perspective on life in Borneo also rings untrue for me.

I am ethnically Punjabi but I do not, as a Malaysian Bornean, understand or identify with the notion of racial boxes or boundaries. Like sexuality and gender, race is a social construct that has been used by colonial powers and those in power to control the narrative.

I learnt about these racial boundaries when I moved to peninsular Malaysia to go to a public university as an undergraduate. It was an utterly shocking cultural experience as everything seemed to revolve around the notion of race.

“Come support our college Indian team playing against the Malay team,” I was told. “We must band together as Indians; if not, no one will help you at university.”

There were, of course, like-minded East Malaysians I banded with, and peninsular Malaysians who understood the doctrine of race but ignored or expertly navigated through it. Perhaps one of them would have been better suited to write this.

Nevertheless, let me tell you what it is like being an East Malaysian. First of all, our respective state flags mean more to us than the Malaysian flag. Our state anthem is always sung more loudly than the national anthem.

We would never post on Facebook describing how the “Chinese” uncle helped the “Malay” child cross the road. We would simply write about how “the uncle” had helped “the child” across the road.

Why is it this way when both East and West Malaysia share the same systems of government, education, and languages (although we have others of our own) – not to mention, historically, the same colonial masters?

I believe the answer is simple: it’s because we are an inclusive bunch. Just as some of our coffee shops have both halal and non-halal food, it is also not uncommon to have people of different faiths, such as Christians and Muslims, within the same family.

Seeing our Muslim brethren at gurdwara or church or temples for weddings, celebrations, and funerals is the norm, not the exception.

But the truth is, we, too, have racial issues in East Malaysia, such as the politicisation of the stateless-migrant issue and the favouring of certain ethnic groups for state civil-service jobs.

When I was a child, Sikh boys were at times made fun of for their joora (man bun) and the majority did not keep long locks; while girls were laughed at for the coconut oil in their hair. Many parents of those of my generation wore turbans in the 1980s, and would be on the receiving end of stares or giggles.

I am also part of the LGBTIQA+ community. Yet, despite having formally come out on social media, I feel safe at my gurdwara, and have openly talked about being a gay person on rare occasions when I am asked why I am not married.

I have not felt like I was in danger – although at times I have been nervous – and I recognise the privilege of this and am ever thankful that the multiracial Sikhs of East Malaysia choose inclusion and acceptance over hate and exclusion. I wonder if this is because we know everyone in our small gurdwara communities, or simply because we are inclusive Borneans.

As an East Malaysian, being excluded or included has never been part of my psyche growing up. I believe it allows us a special worldview, one that sees a sense of togetherness instead of being othered.

This I think is what gives Sabah and Sarawak our greatest strength, and I can only wish this to be the future for all Malaysians.

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.