Yesterday, there was considerable hullabaloo in the Malaysian Parliament over the sheer volume of entry permits granted to foreigners residing in the country. Home Minister Datuk Seri Saifuddin Nasution Ismail clarified that these permits would not be issued indiscriminately, nor would they be detrimental to Malaysians.
To reinforce this defence, the Immigration Director-General presented data on the Migrant Repatriation Programme 2.0, which reportedly repatriated 100,000 undocumented migrants to their home countries.
According to the Department of Statistics Malaysia’s July 2023 survey, there are approximately three million migrants in Malaysia — accounting for just under 9.8% of the population. Immigration has always been a sticky issue here, which is ironic considering Malaysia itself is a nation of immigrants, dating back seven to eight centuries. This historical reality creates a peculiar dynamic: we now speak of two categories of immigrants.
The first group — those who settled on these shores pre-independence — are regarded as an integral part of Malaysia’s societal fabric. Most are citizens. Their contributions laid the foundations of modern Malaysia; they are, in many ways, the architects of the nation we recognise today.
Then there is the post-independence wave — migrants who arrived as Malaysia prospered. They are often perceived, somewhat unfairly, as opportunists capitalising on the harvest planted by the “sentinel migrants,” so to speak. They hail from countries such as Nepal, Bangladesh, and junta-ruled Myanmar, and they sustain entire sectors — construction, security, hospitality. Yet their contributions are frequently trivialised, quietly swept aside, and rarely etched into the Malaysian consciousness.
This extends even to international students, many of whom spend five or six formative years here largely insulated within international circles, their presence economically valuable but socially peripheral.
Of course, Malaysia is hardly alone in this debate. Immigration anxieties ripple across the globe. In the United Kingdom, for example, Reform UK has spearheaded a nationwide anti-immigration campaign that continues to gain traction. Yet it would be somewhat callous for Malaysians to condemn immigrants wholesale when many of our own citizens have migrated to countries such as the UK, the United States, Australia, and New Zealand — contributing meaningfully to those societies.
What would Malaysia be without Nepali security guards vigilantly manning our condominiums and campuses? Without Burmese waiters gliding between kitchen and table? Without Bangladeshi construction workers braving 34-degree heat to propel Kuala Lumpur’s skyline ever higher?
The million-dollar question remains: how much immigration is too much — and where do we draw the line?
Perhaps the answer lies not in quantity, but in quality.
If a migrant contributes constructively and demonstrates a willingness to assimilate, pathways to permanent residence and eventual citizenship should be accessible. Conversely, those who engage in crime or show no effort to integrate should not be afforded the same latitude.
Mechanisms already exist to distinguish between the two — structured interviews, competency-based job assessments, and language proficiency requirements such as the IELTS. Selectivity need not mean hostility; it can mean standards.
The deeper issue, however, is our inability to differentiate. When nuance fails, generalisation thrives. We lump all migrants into a single basket and apply uniform prejudices accordingly — a phenomenon that is commonplace in many nations of the West.
Media portrayals compound this. Bollywood films, for instance, which are immensely popular in Malaysian cinemas and households, increasingly depict Pakistan and Pakistanis as villainous caricatures — narratives that propitiate certain domestic audiences but risk shaping external perceptions.
Yet personal experience often dismantles prejudice more effectively than policy ever could. In the year 2023, I happened to be acquainted with a person of Pakistani origin who was already residing in Malaysia for many years at the time. They had a heart of gold, spoke impeccable English, assimilated with Malaysian culture, possessed great intellect and morals and they were taking up a course with great intent to contribute to Malaysian society. And I met many other Pakistanis, Nigerians and people from all other nationalities during my work tenure in the UK who were the same – lovely people inside and out.
Immigration is indeed a double-edged sword. But it is also a mirror: it reflects our capacity for discernment. The kind of immigrant described above enriches a nation — economically, intellectually, culturally. That is the calibre we should welcome, and, in time, offer citizenship.
Allow me to conclude with food for thought from Singapore’s founding Prime Minister, Lee Kuan Yew, who remarked when commenting on immigration in America during a 2009 interview with Charlie Rose:
“Immigration has been a great strength for America. But mind you, immigration of the highly intelligent and highly hardworking. If it’s immigration of fruit pickers (laughs), you won’t get very far.”
Thillak Sekaran (thillaksekaran@gmail.com) is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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