What defines the Malay identity other than arts, culture and religion? — Chan Tak Kong/THE STAR
THE Malay identity is a prickly issue, or euphemistically, a complex creature of sorts, given the myriad of cultures among Malays of different backgrounds.
For instance, among the Malays, some find it easy to form bonds in urban and rural settings, but many others find themselves ostracised for speaking English, holding differing views, or simply having more non-Malay friends.
For those who scrutinise the nuances of “Malayness”, the question persists: What defines the correct Malay identity?
“That is a good question,” says Dina Zaman, author of the soon-to-be-released Malayland, which delves into the complex factors that shape Malay culture today in contrast with the past, while examining their social impact.
Dismissing the accusations of racism often flung her way, Dina, who is also a columnist with Sunday Star, stresses that her longtime exploration of what it means to be Malay is mainly driven by curiosity.
The question of identity is also not just an intellectual exercise for Dina – it’s personal. As the daughter of a diplomat, she spent much of her childhood attending international schools abroad, following her father’s postings. And every time she returned to Malaysia, she felt disconnected from the culture she was expected to fit into.
“I never fit into the typical Malay mould. I never knew why.
“When I came back to Malaysia, people would ask if I was really Malay. They’d say I looked Chinese or comment on how fair-skinned I was.”
Dina examines the Malay identity in her new book.
She believes her experience parallels that of “third-culture kids”, a term used to describe children raised abroad by expatriates or military personnel. These children often struggle to reintegrate with their native culture after years of living in international environments.
“I read an article in The New York Times about third-culture kids and it hit home,” Dina says. “For years, I thought something was wrong with me, but it was just the way I grew up.”
Dina’s quest to understand the Malay identity has been lifelong. However, she observes that for many Malays, the answer is straightforward: “Being Malay is enough, as long as you pray.”
Still, she wonders if this view is shaped more by societal expectations and indoctrination than genuine self-awareness.
“We all have our ideas about being Malay. Everyone has his or her own identity. But if you ask people whether they follow Wahhabi, Salafi, or Shafi’e teachings, most won’t really know.”
Dina notes that many Malays who leave their hometowns in search of better opportunities in cities often leave behind parts of their cultural identity, including traditional beliefs that once served as moral guidelines.
“When Malays move to urban areas – not just Kuala Lumpur – they leave the ‘kampung’ lifestyle behind. Whether they live in PPR flats or middle-class neighbourhoods, they have to adapt to city life, which doesn’t include the traditions of the Malay past.”
Dina reflects on the ways these old traditions and folktales were once used to instil discipline.
“Back in the day, parents would tell their children to return home before Maghrib [evening prayer] or the ‘hantu kopek’ [a bosom demon] would kidnap them. It wasn’t real – it was just a way to make sure kids got home in time to bathe and pray. But haven’t we lost something along the way?”
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Dina also hopes that some Malays raised in cities will show more empathy towards their rural counterparts who move to urban areas.
“During one of the general elections, some people questioned why ‘uneducated’ Malays voted for certain parties and why such people should even have a say.
“What they don’t realise is that these Malays contribute to the country. Their English may not be as polished and their parents might not be illustrious, but they are as much a part of Malaysia as anyone else.
“Are we really saying their thoughts and ways of life don’t belong just because they’re supposedly lesser than us?”
Dina’s thoughts reflect findings from a recent Merdeka Centre survey, which found that only 75% of Malays trust their fellow Malays, compared with a 95% level of trust among Chinese respondents and 85% among Indians.
As Dina approached the end of her Malayland project, someone asked her which version of Malay identity she felt most comfortable with.
“I was a bit dumbfounded,” she admits. “There are days when I feel like I’m not very Malay at all. But whenever I return to Tereng-ganu, I feel at home. The traditional practices there, like Malay healing and Mak Yong [a traditional dance], feel natural to me, even though some Malays label them ‘khurafat’ [deviant].
For Dina, identity isn’t just about fitting into a rigid mould:
“I’m comfortable with all of it,” she says.
Her book, Malayland, is set to hit bookstores on Nov 2, offering readers a chance to explore the many layers of Malay identity alongside her.
So, what does it mean to be a Malay in the 21st century?
Malayland is a reflective book that seeks the answer to the question.
For Dina, it begins with her memory of the birth of Reformasi in 1998, a movement that changed the political landscape of Malaysia and birthed a new form of Islamic revivalism.
“It’s an awakening,” she says.
Here is an excerpt from Malayland: “Prologue: In the Beginning”:
IN 1998, then deputy prime minister of Malaysia, Anwar Ibrahim, was arrested for alleged sodomy. I remember a flurry of discussions at work, on the office intranet system, now heated up by mentions of Islam and Anwar. I knew that Dr Mahathir Mohammad, the Prime Minister of Malaysia at the time, was angry with him, but over what exactly, I didn’t know.
I didn’t feel good that morning, and once I was deep inside the Commissioning Department and Production team of the fledgling broadcasting station where we worked odd hours, it took a different medium for the news to reach me.
I was apolitical then, very much like many young women in Kuala Lumpur who wanted to earn good money and marry men with similar family and economic backgrounds. Perhaps one difference was wanting, and failing, to write the Great Malaysian Novel, and so I was awaiting the results of the Chevening scholarship, having applied for a master’s in creative writing. But the unsettling news of Anwar’s arrest and its possible implications refused to abate as I drove back home that afternoon from Seri Kembangan, where the drivers all seemed to be looking upwards. Helicopters. The menacing sound of their whirring blades droned into my car as I entertained the thought of one of them crashing into me.
We lived a few roads behind Anwar’s house in Damansara Heights — swarms of people and cars had almost choked off all access; many held placards demanding his release. Leaving my car near someone’s house, I ran uphill back home, pushing my way through the crowd. Inside, I found my mother speaking into the orange telephone with its gaudy Telekom sticker, rehashing the news with her sisters.
My mother hung up and turned to my father. “What was going on?” she demanded. “How can the papers write ‘xxxxt’ on the front page? We are Malays. We do not use such words. There are students, young people reading newspapers.”
My father, normally a calm and quiet man, snapped. “If you mention that word again, I will rotan you. That is a bad word!”
He rolled up the papers and struck the dining table. Our cats ran off and the maids retreated into their rooms at the back of the house as he sat down on the sofa, cradling his head with his hands.
“Today is the day we Malays have lost our moral compass.”
He looked at us steadily.
“Your mother and I lived through the Japanese occupation, our Independence, and May 13. And now this. I cannot believe this has happened.”
–
When I think of the conclusions of the focus group discussions that we conducted for Iman Research since 2016, my memory of my experience that fateful day always returns. Our focus groups had found that the overwhelming consensus among young Malaysians was one of disempowerment. Where did all this negative sentiment come from? How did we get here? The answer is tricky to pin down, but the rise of the Reformasi movement in Malaysian politics, and the turning point of Anwar’s accusation, form key components.
The Reformasi movement that began in the late 1990s — during a period of unrest and acute financial crisis — was a direct response to the previously hedonistic and materialistic fervour that had swept the country. Money and success were king, and the Bumiputera commercial class dominated media and gossip in Kuala Lumpur. I think almost every Malay person then had high hopes of making it big, or at least joining the middle class. Or perhaps it began earlier, with Dr Mahathir Mohamad — the prime minister that spearheaded many economic drives to create Bumiputera millionaires since taking office in 1981; whose mode of governance relied less on the social welfare and affirmative action policies of the past decade, and more on the advancement of the commercial class.
However, such “progress” had several faces and was steered at Mahathir’s whims. As Sonia Randhawa writes, “[It was n]ever attached to democracy, Mahathir found in neoliberalism, particularly when married to neoconservatism, an ideological ally”.
In the nineties, before the Reformasi movement kicked off, conservatism was completely alien to us in 1990s Kuala Lumpur. Women taking to the tudung were shunned as backwards — indeed, the privileged and the professional danced at clubs like Tin Mine, Regine’s and Scandals, owned by the nightlife impresario Rhona Drury. The younger set, many of whom benefited from government scholarships and support, danced their nights away as well, and went to work nursing hangovers in a city flush with money, success and great pride; all taken in by the notion of national success.
Perhaps Professor Shaharuddin Maaruf was correct in a prescient assessment, written at the start of Mahathir’s ascendancy, when he argued that the elite were less enamoured with Umar Ibn Khattab or Jose Rizal than they were with the Rothchilds.
Religious belief, national pride and personal fame were nowhere as valued as financial and material wealth. Meanwhile, (some businessmen) could remain shrouded in mystery, but none dared to ask more questions because they were Bumi billionaires.
Dina Zaman is co-founder of Iman Research, a think tank studying society, religion and perception. The views expressed here are entirely the writer’s own.
Dina Zaman’s new book Malayland is published by co-publishers Faction Press and Ethos Books of Singapore in November 2024. Malayland is now on advance order at Lit Books, and Dina will present it to the public for the first time at Kalam KL on Nov 2, 4pm, at Mountbatten Café KL.
