There’s something deeply unsettling about how, no matter how long we’ve been here—through generations, through independence, through building this nation’s backbone—we are still made to feel like outsiders. We work, we pay taxes, we celebrate victories as Malaysians, and yet, when an issue arises within the Indian community, it is never just a Malaysian issue; it is always framed as an ethnic issue.
The narrative shifts, and suddenly, we are no longer seen as part of the country we helped build, but as pendatang—a word meant to remind us that, no matter how deep our roots go, some will always see us as temporary guests.
Labels like 'pendatang' get thrown around, as if history and contributions mean nothing, as if roots can be rewritten at convenience.
Our history is intertwined with this land, but when it is inconvenient, it is erased. We stood at the frontlines of independence, laid the foundation for industries, contributed to the nation’s economy, and yet, we are expected to prove our belonging over and over again.
And when we do—when we succeed, when we thrive, when we dare to claim our space—resentment brews, and the labels return. As if our presence is only acceptable in silence, only tolerated when we do not ask for more.
And yet, when unity is discussed, vernacular schools become the scapegoat. We are told that they are the reason for racial division, that they must be abolished in the name of national integration. But integration into what, exactly?
Because even in a shared system, even when we speak the same language and walk the same streets, there is a constant reminder that true belonging is conditional. That no matter how much we assimilate, we will always be different—not because we choose to be, but because the system, the conversations, and the very fabric of societal perception keep us apart.
Unity is not just about speaking the same language; it is about being treated as equals. And that equality is something we are still waiting for.
Take the recent temple issue—what should have been a matter of law and governance quickly became a racial flashpoint. If an issue involves the Indian community, it doesn’t get handled as a national concern; it becomes an 'Indian' problem.
A burden we must carry, a stain we must answer for, even when the issue itself has nothing to do with race. It’s a pattern we see over and over again.
When a crime is committed by someone from the majority, it is the act of an individual. But when it is someone from a minority, it becomes a reflection of the entire community. A justification for slurs. A reason to question our place here again.
So when people say we should come together as one, when they ask why we feel the need to hold on to our schools, our culture, our identity—I wonder, what choice have we really been given?
Because every time we call this country home, there’s a voice, a slur, a system reminding us that while we are here, we are never 'theirs'.
And sometimes, in the quiet bitterness of it all, I wonder—if we are always going to be seen as migrants, then maybe, just maybe, it would be easier to be one somewhere else.
Navinn Gounder 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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