White Ribbon Day

I was a victim of domestic violence many years ago and although the physical scars left a long time ago, the indelible imprint created from the fear of living in such an abusive relationship, remains.

It was a hard time, a very hard time and back then, the lack of support from the police, family and friends, made this even harder.

To the police, I didn’t act like how a victim should act and I was deemed not to be credible. To my family, perhaps if I had tried harder, my husband wouldn’t have a reason to be angry with me and to our friends, they believed his lies that I had been having an affair and therefore, he had a right to be angry.

To people looking in, they really had no idea what happened within that family home. I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t have the strength to leave. I didn’t know what I could do and as I was ashamed, I never told anyone what was happening.

I married when I was 24 and I knew he had some anger issues, but there has always been a part of me who feels that everyone deserves a chance, plus, he could be very charming. The signs were apparent early on. He found fault with my friends, eventually causing a rift between us. In fact, he actually found blame with everything in life. His job, his family, his responsibilities, the stress of having 4 young children, the list continued, but in hindsight, the fault was with him and his inability to accept that his actions were wrong.

I could tell you the countless times when he beat me with his fists, kicked me when I was down and once, he even grabbed a stick to continue the abuse and although this is very painful to remember, I think domestic violence is so much more than just the beatings and this is why I'm speaking out now.

Domestic violence to me, was the many years that I was told that I was worthless and deserved it. It was the many years that as an uneducated woman with 4 small children, I couldn’t financially survive without him. It was the many years of being told that I was fat, stupid, ugly, a slut, and a worthless piece of shit. This possibly made it even harder to reach out and eventually say, enough.

You see, as a victim of domestic violence, being caught up in this situation is more, so much more, than the actual violence.

I remember my eldest at the age of 6, ringing up the police in tears, sobbing to them, “Daddy is hitting Mummy” and although it broke my heart, I didn’t have the strength to leave. Leaving a domestic violent situation takes a strength which one doesn’t have at the time and so, the cycle continues.

AND there were always the apologies. The flowers, the promises, the gifts, BUT eventually, the cycle begins to change. The apologies become less, because eventually, it became my entire fault. If the baby hadn’t cried all night, he wouldn’t be so tired. This was my fault as I hadn’t been able to settle a teething baby. I could continue telling you the many scenarios where I was told that I was the blame and eventually, I was so worn out, I believed him.

I remember I had a little bag packed when things would get really bad, so that I could jump in the car with 4 kids in tow and I would drive around for hours and hours, just sobbing, not knowing where I could go, until eventually I would find myself back at the family home, because I had nowhere to go. I was so ashamed. My friends that I had before I was married were long gone. I just couldn’t be bothered with the fights created by seeing them. You see, they were part of the innercity crowd. They were the thinkers and the artists and perhaps my husband could see that they were a threat to our union. As an uneducated woman who had never finished highschool, he gained his strength by reinforcing the fact that I was an uneducated idiot.

And as I said earlier, domestic violence is derived from so much than just the violence. In my case, it was also the control factor. His wealthy parents had bought us a home when we had gotten married and this was thrown in my face often. I wouldn’t get a cent and as a mother to 4 children under the age of 5, I was financially reliant upon him.

Yes, you can question why I became pregnant in these types of circumstances, but as I have said, there were the apologies and at first, the actual violence was infrequent. I lived in hope. I didn’t want to fail at the only thing I thought I had. My marriage. I was scared of being alone. I was frightened of becoming a single mother, but more importantly, I didn’t have the self-worth to leave. In many ways, I had started to believe that this was all I deserved.

My saving grace was cancer and as I woke up from the surgery to remove my cancer, my selfish, abusive husband was nowhere in sight. So, alone and terrified, I waited for the results, sobbing to the nurse. That moment in time will never leave me. I have never felt so alone in my entire life. My cancer may have been removed that day, but something started to grow and I’ll call it faith. A little part of me started to believe that I deserved more than my life thus far.

Perhaps my closeness to death had made me realise that I only have this one life to live and suddenly, I decided I needed more. It didn’t happen overnight, but what began that day, was a fight to live. I started working out at the gym and as I pushed weights, I started to feel an inner strength.

It was also around this time, my ex had decided that we required extensions on our family home and it was through the support of a complete stranger that I found for the first time, the objectivity I required.

He was one of the builders and as a kind, elderly Italian, he found it within himself to tell me that I truly deserved more. Yes, a complete stranger looked at the holes in the doors and sat me down and told me that it was never going to get any better. Maybe, just maybe, I felt that I finally had someone on my side. That’s all it took, a stranger’s kindness. So, coupled with my inner strength and just a little belief in myself, I told him to leave.

 I’d love to say that this was how it all ended, but it didn’t. Despite an AVO, my ex continued to come around and assault me. In actual fact, that piece of paper only aggravated the situation and every time the police came around, to them, I didn’t appear as a victim. You see, not many people will ever see me in tears and many years of abuse has given me a tough façade. Perhaps the police were sick of the countless times they’d been called around. Perhaps they were sick of my refusal to lay charges and perhaps, I was wrong in not following through, but a part of me just wanted the whole situation to go away. Eventually though, I did lay charges, but he told everyone that I had created the whole situation and he had only wanted to see his children as he loved them so much.

I think some of these abusive men can really be rather charming. I’ve stood there watching him tell people that it was actually him not me, who was in fact, the victim, and people believed him. The builder who had helped me was accused of having an affair with me and breaking up our loving home, but more importantly, as the loving father of the year, he missed his children and was heartbroken.

This was the time when his family began to collude with him. The frequent phone calls from his mother and her partner. Now, as people begun to see the breakdown of the family unit, many believed his stories of my infidelity. Despite the years of abuse, he was deemed as the victim. It would appear that all the years of keeping the abuse quiet, was in his favour.

As the violence escalated, it became obvious that my safety couldn’t be assured. I had been driven off the highway as he chased me one night. He would turn up at all hours of the night hurling abuse at me and I was left with no choice but to put the plans in motion to leave.

AND this is where the family court system of that time comes into play. I had to go to mediation and as he abused me in front of them, the two mediators eventually had to escort me to my car and as they did so, they told me that although I couldn’t use this in a court of law, to get as far away as possible.

I did. I was not allowed to leave the state, so I moved to far northern NSW, enrolled in TAFE, completed my HSC and won a scholarship to study law and psychology which enabled me to move further north to further my career. Unfortunately, that relationship to date has left me with an inability to trust a man. You see, the abuse didn’t just end with me moving, the phone calls continued for many years, but what did change was how I handled it.

In many, many ways, I had to become empowered to make it stop and I do believe in my situation, this was what I required, the strength to say, enough.

My blog on Haris Ibrahim

A dangerous man called Haris

Mary O'Donovan 11:08AM Nov 7, 2013

COMMENT I've just spent the last five days staying with Haris Ibrahim in Melbourne and from the moment I met him, I became aware of how dangerous he could become for the Malaysian government.        

Yes, in the world of activism, I am the greatest cynic. I don't trust anyone on face value. I don't believe most of what I hear and even less of what I see.

I've interacted with many activists both in Australia and overseas, and there are those of which I am quickly dismissive. They are the ones who are just angry with their lot in life and wave a banner for social reform irrespective of the cause. I say that these people would even turn up for the opening of a paper bag.

There are also those who are driven by ego. They just love being in the spotlight and if offered a chance for change, they won't accept it because it removes their platform. I am always bemused by the altruism derived from an ulterior motive.

Then there are those whose motives are real, they have the backing of the public and they have the composure, nous and the ability to convey the social reforms to the people and consequently, see it happen. They are always highly intelligent, extremely affable, have attained much in life both professionally and personally, but have decided that the cause isn't about them, it is about the people.

So, I asked Haris many, many questions, because I just didn't trust him. I had no reason to. I didn't know him. Sure, I'd read his blog. I'd seen his videos. I knew his ideology. But I wanted to test him. I wanted to know why. I wanted to know why this man calls himself an activist, what motivates him, if there was there a contributory factor that made him choose this path, and I also wanted to know who he was. Haris, the person.

Thus, what did I deduce from our time spent together? This man is dangerous for the Malaysian government and there isn't a thing the government can do to stop him. Haris has them in a corner. If they put him in jail or have him killed, ABU and the people now have their martyr, further inciting anger; but if they don't stop him, they now have a revolution.

Being Malay made him differentI went in search for the very essence of why he is an activist. To me, there is always one defining factor as to why people are activists and in response to my question, Haris said there wasn't one. But in fact, there is. It is the fact that he was born Malay of interracial parents in Malaysia. Just by being born, Haris was already an outcast, and this has defined him over the years.

Haris grew up in a government house with a Malay father and Ceylonese mother. As a child, he would sit on the steps listening to tales from family members about law and his passion for social justice was fostered. He told me that although these stories were possibly embellished, the seed had been planted.

The first time Haris realised that being Malay made him different to his friends was after an incident with his closest childhood friend. His friend was Chinese and although he received a higher mark than Haris, he was not eligible to further his education, whereas, Haris was. As a consequence to this, his closest friend never spoke to him again, leaving an indelible imprint on his psyche.

As such, the inequalities within Malaysia led him to turn his back on his beloved country to become educated in England. He hoped that his law degree would now mean something to his fellow Malaysians. He told me about the client who initially refused to see him as soon as he saw the Malay surname. He also told me why he eventually walked away from his beloved career as a lawyer.

Haris had a very successful career as a lawyer, working many pro bono cases regarding religion, but eventually, his conscience wouldn't allow him to continue.

"In 2010, there was an increasing sense that the judiciary, which in every jurisdiction is supposed to be final bastion that preserves the fundamental rights of the citizenry, no longer served the purpose. I could no longer, in all good conscience, bow and say, 'Oh, wise one'." He consequently deduced that change had to be a political process.

Naturally, Haris is angry. The government and their policies have encroached on every aspect of his life. They have violated his dreams, his friendships, his character and his career. He has the anger, but does he have the ability to be powerful within Malaysia? Anger will only go so far to stir up trouble, for someone to become really powerful, they must have the ability to convey the message and more importantly, have that message heard by the people.

Witty and intelligent
Haris does. I watched him interact with the people. He is affable, he is witty, he is intelligent and people were drawn to him. As he spoke at the forum in Melbourne, people were leaning forward in their seats, hanging on to his every word and he left the people hungry for more. Someone said the next day that they were yet to sleep, as they had spent the night in deep thought.

Another quality of Haris is his ability to listen. He wasn't constantly telling people his views, he wanted to hear what other people thought and as he sat and listened, I could see him thinking and digesting what they said. He was never dismissive of a person, he made the people feel like they were heard and it didn't matter what was said, they were made to feel important.

And as I said, this man is dangerous. He is dangerous due to a myriad of reasons. He won't stop until he sees the change he wants and the more the government attempts to stop him, the more passionate he will become.

He is dangerous because this isn't a man aimlessly running amok. This is a man whom I would consider to be a genius, carefully strategising change. He has decided that Bersih is no longer conducive to his cause. "What does one mean by being non-partisan? They say that ABU is pro-opposition, this is not true. I am partisan, but I am pro people and it is for that reason, when the need arises, to slam the opposition if the position they take does not auger for the interest of the people."

He is dangerous because he has a soul. He spoke to me about walking from the law courts to lunch one day and seeing a woman without any limbs, begging on the streets of Kuala Lumpur and as he sat in the restaurant, he realised that the ringgit he had given her, were useless. So, he bought her some food and sat beside her, feeding her. As he spoke, his voice broke with emotion. He told me that she gave him more than he had given her.

He is dangerous because he isn't ego driven and he has the ability to articulate what people are thinking, on a grand scale. He is giving the people a voice. People want change. They are angry at the lack of democracy in Malaysia. They are angry with the inequality found within the races. They are angry at the crime and corruption which is rife within Malaysia. They are angry at so many things, especially with the outcome of GE13.

Will he just walk away disheartened? I have no doubt that his unwavering conviction won't allow this. He has already given up his lucrative law degree and sold his family farm to dedicate his life to change. He has already turned down a copious amount of money to just go away. So, he isn't going to stop now.

He wants change implemented and he has the means to do it. He has a lot of support and ironically, each time he was arrested, the donations to ABU came flooding in. Unwittingly, each time the government attempted to stop him, they have actually created a situation far worse than imaginable.

Are his strategies plausible? Definitely! He is working with a team who are doing their research and they have realised the areas which need to be addressed and have started to go out and educate these people about their rights. With every lie proffered by the government, he counteracts them with an educated response filled with facts and figures. He wants accountability.

Ironically, the man is only dangerous to the government because the government has created the need for change. If so many people weren't looking for change, they wouldn't be looking for someone to lead them to the answers and as I said, Haris has the intelligence, the passion, the unwavering conviction and the strategies to do it.

Paradoxically, as the government attempts to silence him, they are only creating a greater platform for him to be heard, both in Malaysia and internationally. His visit to Australia is proof of this. By charging him with sedition resulting in his first visa to Australia being declined, they actually created a greater platform for him to be heard internationally.

The media in Australia wanted to know why he had been denied entry over here and although there was nothing sinister about this, it gave him the podium to speak about the corruption within the government, the gerrymander which is in place, the 40 percent poverty that exists, the indelible ink which wiped off within 10 minutes and the list continued, and as he spoke, I'd glance across to the people listening to him and I could see how much they liked him and the effect he had on them.

I almost laughed when I saw Jim Middleton, a reporter for the esteemed ABC, inadvertently smile as Haris spoke. I could see that even as a seasoned reporter, Middleton liked what he was hearing. Haris is a brilliant orator and people want to hear him speak.

Right man for the job
Although finding himself inadvertently at the forefront of the movement, to me, he is the right man for the job. Malaysians want change, and with his intelligence and his unwavering conviction, he has the passion and the heart to get it done.

Upon telling him that many would see him as some sort of idol, he dismissed this by saying that this isn't what he desired; Malaysians need to believe that they themselves can do it. He wants to empower the people, not lead them and I believe that change is imminent and the only people who should be afraid is the government and anyone else involved in the corruption within the Malaysian society.

Malaysia, Haris wants a revolution. "I don't want a Bersih rally with grandparents and young children all going home at six, I want people who are ready to never leave until we get what we want." Malaysians are becoming increasingly frustrated. They have tried the court system to initiate change, but to no avail. They have demanded through rallies a democratic system and weren't heard.

As Haris said, "They won't give us the demands, because if they do, the government will lose." The people have finally had enough and through Haris and ABU, they won't stop until they are heard.

Malaysia created Haris and now the government wants to silence what they created. It won't happen.

---

MARY O'DONOVAN is law graduate from Australia who is well versed in Malaysian politics. She has recently completed an internship at the Malaysian Centre for Constitutionalism and Human Rights. Her passion is human rights.

Under-aged prostitution; my time in a top-tier law firm in Singapore.

Recently, I participated as an intern with the Singaporean top-tier law firm, Dodwell & Co and it was an amazing experience, albeit, far too short. After interning for six weeks with the Malaysian Centre for Constitutionalism and Human Rights, I wasn’t really sure what Singapore would be like.

 

I know from the moment that I arrived, the contrast between Malaysia and Singapore was readily apparent. I almost felt like I’d gone from the chaos of a spin dryer to an elevator, complete with the piped music.

 

Starting anything new is always a bit nerve wracking and the first impression I wanted to make as I walked through the door straight from the airport, ended up being a stark deviation to my reality. I was tired; my hair a complete frizz from the humidity and lugging a large suitcase had left a great ladder running up my stockings. As I required scissors to open up the security tabs on my bag to grab a fresh pair, I just hoped that it wasn’t obvious. It was!

 

The time I spent there was the most challenging time of all my internships. Not only was I dealing with law for the first time from a practical perspective, I also had to question my values derived from a feminist ideology and I was surprised when I found myself saying that the law pertaining to under-aged prostitution in Singapore, was incorrect. I worked on a couple of cases with the firm, but I found this one to be the most intriguing.

 

Singapore recently changed their laws to stop the Asian trafficking of minors for the sole purpose of sex, but in doing so, they omitted mens rea, or in layman’s terms, ‘a guilty mind’ or ‘criminal intent’.

 

In all commonwealth countries except Singapore, when a person has sex with a prostitute under the age of 18, the courts will look at the person’s intention and if the person has taken reasonable steps to ensure she is over 18, the legal system will take this into consideration and most likely, no charges will be laid.

 

Let’s be realistic, people will frequent prostitutes and if the person is willingly selling their body for sex, the predominantly male clientele do have this right to participate in an act of sex with a prostitute, without any repercussions.  Furthermore, it is not an illegal act to obtain the services of a sex worker in Singapore.

 

To me, it isn’t some moralistic dilemma and if a woman has made the choice to sell her body without any coercion, she has the freedom to do this within a safe environment; but I must admit, that any form of child abuse, including the act of having sex with a child whilst paying her, is abhorrent and the adult should be charged accordingly.

 

So, how did I find myself saying that in the case of the under-aged prostitute and the 50 plus men who were charged in Singapore, it is the men, who are in fact the victims?

 

For those who aren’t aware of the situation in Singapore, over 50 men were charged with having sex with an under-aged prostitute and the facts of the case are:

·         She was advertised on the website as being 18

·         In all correspondence with the ‘pimp’, the clients were told she was 18

·         Some of the men had actually wanted a particular older girl, but were told that she was busy.

·         Some of the men had directly asked the girl how old she was and she replied that she was 18.

·         One man even went so far to ask the girl for identification and in response to this, she proceeded to show an ID, but unbeknownst to him, it was a fake ID.

·         It must be noted that the girl was over 17 and in some cases, a few months less than 18

·         The age of consent in Singapore is 16. (Therefore, if no money was paid, none of these men would have been charged)

 

In Parliament, it was discussed that the ‘intention and need to protect minors from sexual exploitation’ was their reasoning for implementing the act. Mr Lim Biow Chuan (Member of Parliament for Mountbatten) stated: “We should not allow such young and impressionable persons to be exploited by sexual predators”. Hence, the ‘provision was enacted in 2007 by parliament with the express purpose of protection of young and vulnerable persons from sexual exploitation’[1]. So the question must therefore be asked, were the clients sexual predators exploiting a minor? The answer is a resounding, no. They were not looking for a minor to have sex with and as such is my reasoning for being on the client’s side.

 

Singapore ratified the act to be in line with the rest of the commonwealth and derived the law from a Canadian Act, but in doing so, omitted the defence afforded to every other Commonwealth nation, if the client takes reasonable steps to ensure that the prostitute is over 18, no crime was committed. One must therefore ask, why did Singapore fail to include this defence in The Act?

 

To be honest, how can anyone now be sure that they are not committing a crime? I imagine the only way to ensure this, is if they seek out a prostitute who is closer to 60. In this day and age and the way many girls present themselves, one can never be sure of the age of someone and if they are told that the person is over the age 18, one usually believes that they are being told the truth, but unfortunately in Singapore, a person can no longer be afforded this luxury. 

 

I do understand why the law was implemented and I wholeheartedly agree with their underlying principles, but I do grapple with why Singapore failed to implement this defence.

 

Yes, sex with a minor is a heinous crime, but if these men thought they were being told the truth by the advertisement on the internet, via messages with the pimp, through the interaction with the prostitute and even by being shown identification by the girl that she was over 18, how can these men end up finding themselves in jail for a period of time, when their intention was never to have sex with a minor? Therefore, how do they have a guilty mind?

 

So, it comes to play, that the majority of these men have now had their reputations tarnished with a criminal record and have spent a period of time in jail, the remaining men are still attempting to fight this in the courts. As in the world of Monopoly, after one wrong roll of the dice and irrespective of your surrounding circumstances, one must go directly to jail and one must definitely not collect $200.

 

There is no defence, one cannot plead innocence in their defence, and they cannot argue that their intention was never to have sex with a minor, they cannot argue, as in every other Commonwealth country, that they went to reasonable steps to ensure that the girl was over 18.

 

This is wrong, very wrong.

 

I did learn a lot from my time at Dodwell & Co, and I feel very privileged to have this opportunity to watch how a law firm works from a practical perspective. I was able to follow two of my colleagues to court to watch them appear, I was asked my opinion on a number of issues and I was treated like part of the team.

 

The only negative perspective was that I didn’t manage to spend more time there. It was a valuable experience, one that will hold me in good stead in my future career.

---

[1] Public Prosecutor v Sim Choon Wee Kenny [2013] SGDC

Commuting, Cold and Clueless

My first week as an intern at SNAICC almost comes to an end and this could also be known as the week of commuting, being cold and being totally clueless. J

I arrived in Melbourne on Sunday after a far too brief week of recuperation on the Gold Coast. At the last moment, I grabbed my jacket I lovingly refer to as ‘My Melbourne Jacket’ and have never been more proud of a decision in my life. You see, being spring, I momentarily thought it would be warmer. Huh, such delusion!

So I find myself in Melbourne and for the best part, I think I look like the Michelin man.

In the last week, I have almost perfected the art of commuting, (a 6 hour round trip), I can almost appear like I know what I am doing, when I obviously don’t (didn’t the Malaysian and Singaporean internships teach me anything) and I understand when people in Melbourne speak about layering (Baby, it’s cold outside, but not as cold as 3 hours ago; hence, the big thick jacket will come off, but not the thinner jacket, until much later on, when the t-shirt will be enough. This will be reversed as the day continues).

If I was looking for an adventure whilst I am down here, my first day of commuting would be suffice.

I was up at 5 in the hope of making a great first impression. My hair would be perfectly straight, my attire would be neat and very professional looking, and I would arrive on time. Actually, I would prefer to be early, to enjoy a coffee and a last minute smoke to calm my nerves before heading in to The Secretariat of National Aboriginal and Islander Child Care (SNAICC), which is a non-government organisation representing the interests of Aboriginal families and children.

Nothing could be further from the truth!

As I said, I woke up at 5 and then the day decided to throw me into a spin dryer until eventually I ended up at work over an hour and a half late. Hmmmmm

First my hairdryer blew up and to all those women out there who know what this means, I thank you for your condolences. Next was the clothes situation – having put on a copious amount of weight in the 7 weeks preceding, this just became a process of elimination as I went through the suitcase saying, ‘Nope, that doesn’t fit anymore’. In fact, I can’t even remember what I ended up wearing except for the big thick grey jacket, a long scarf which was doubled over for warmth, leggings and my boots….naturally.

Since my friend was driving me in to the Station, I woke him up at 7 to be told that I actually should be leaving by 7 and why hadn’t I woken him up earlier? Errr, I really don’t like to wake people up. (BTW, from that day forward, I’ve caught the bus at 6:30)

To cut a very long story short, the morning unfolded with a series of mishaps, including catching many wrong trains, losing a packet of smokes and eventually getting off at the wrong station leaving me with a twenty minute walk to work. 

AND so I arrived, blonde hair frizzed out everywhere and badly in need of a smoke. Actually, in hindsight, the frizzy hair was possibly calmer than my general frazzled appearance.

I briefly met with my supervisor as she had a meeting to attend and I was left in the very capable hands of a girl called Sarah who promptly told me to sit, relax and enjoy the warm coffee she had placed in my hands and as I sat, the peeling of the layers began. I know you possibly want to think of this as some great metaphorical significance, but I am being literal here………I began to take off the layers. Scarf, jacket 1, jacket 2……etc. 

So, now it is Friday and what have I done? I am learning how to be a policy writer. I have never done this before and in fact, I really wanted to google the word ‘policy’ to see what it was, but drew the line at doing this, for didn’t law school teach me anything? Errrr, don’t answer this.  (Well actually I did open a law book occasionally, quite a number of times. Insomnia will make you go to great lengths to send you into some type of slumber)

BUT seriously though, this first week has been many things. I know I am working with a great bunch of people. They are all very approachable and many times, we have shared tales which have left us all in fits of laughter and in fact, someone just bought me a coffee from the café downstairs.

I do feel very comfortable here and I am slowly, but surely, learning. I have always found in life that everything is a process and as in anything I do, it is in the journey and not in the destination that I find out so much about myself……. This is also true in the art of policy writing, I am learning about how this is done via the readings and the researching.

A wise man said to me in Singapore, “Mary, read everything before you ask a question, because you will usually find the answer within”. I remember thinking at the time that he was an hubristic arse, but as the time in Singapore unfolded, he was right and actually a rather interesting and very witty guy.

So, I will continue to read and research and as I have always said, there is never a stupid question, but sometimes, one must go in search for the answer themselves, before just relying on another for guidance and please, don’t get me wrong, occasionally I have sought out my supervisor just to make sure I am on the right path.

AND for all those who wanted the layering to hold some great metaphorical significance, there it is…..well, sort of.  

Goodbye and thanks for the memories.

 

So, alone and in some 5 star hotel in KL, I find myself pensive and wondering. I’m wondering how the time went so fast. I’m thinking about the people I met. I’m analysing the situations I found myself in and in turn, I question my reactions and responses. Could I have done this differently? Only a fool would answer, “No”, but I must also say that a fool in its innocent wisdom would also know that one can’t change anything that happened in the past, and the wiser person would then say, “But one can learn from their experience”.

Have I learnt anything? I find myself laughing at this question. The answer, although apparent in many ways, will not be answered in its entirety until I find myself in a similar experience many years from now and when challenged, will I momentarily reflect on a time in 2013 when feeling out of my depth and grappling for air, I turned to someone and said, “Just fuck off”. So, who knows?

Wow, is this blog beginning to question existentialism or am I really just becoming self-indulgent? AND therein, I begin to question that question. Um, did I say that I was pensive?

A plethora of thoughts enter my mind and I question each and every one, some in minute detail, others enter and are dismissed as quickly as they encroach on my mindset.

Perhaps I should maintain brevity in the hope that I don’t confuse you and just say, Thanks……..for the experience. I assure you that much was gained from this experience and I am not only talking about my weight gain.

When I’ve had time to analyse this experience from a distance, I assure you, I will write in depth about this whole experience. The people I met who enriched my life by something as simple as a hug, a word or an act. The people who left an indelible imprint through their hubristic approach to life.  The sights, the sounds….everything.

So, terima kasih………for everything.

The day the aliens came into town and took over Chow Kit

The day they took over Chow Kit……..

Ha, it sounds almost alien like. The day they came from a land far away and imposed their views upon the locals, but in many ways, it was exactly what they did and hence, today’s blog will be known as the day the aliens came into town and took over Chow Kit. The place which had become my home for around two weeks now.

 

Perhaps it is because I have been battling an illness, but the last few weeks have been hell for me in many ways. My work at the pusat has suffered, I’ve left many social engagements early or I’ve had to cancel and I’ve spent many an hour in some low budget hotel in a notorious part of town, known as Chow Kit.

Many of my friends have questioned my choice of locality and many, many more have questioned if I would be safe, but ironically, as years of crime have left an indelible imprint in this area, there are even more security guards than anywhere else I’ve been to in KL. They are outside every hotel, place of business and heck, there is even one positioned right in the middle of the pedestrian overpass. In fact, I’ve never felt safer.

There is actually something more real about this place than in parts of Bangsar. At least here, I know who I am dealing with. In Bangsar, the façade is refined and those who feel the need to prove their self-worth, surround themselves with the sycophants who will dutifully prove their value.

So, as I battled my flu, I’ve found myself struggling to write, but as I began my battle with the aliens, I discovered my breakthrough and as I watched these aliens wield their magic sword, I found the cynic within, begin to grow and the words began to swirl in my head until I found myself back in my hotel haven, writing this blog.

AND who are the aliens who came into my haven and took control? They are the dreaded International film crew.

The day began much like any other, I went to the pusat, coughed my way throughout the morning until I eventually succumbed and took leave in a taxi back to my haven. The little budget hotel with a fairly comfortable bed, a TV with limited channels, but a never-ending supply of tissues, a restoran which eventually stopped charging me tourist rates and a bunch of locals who will always greet me with a smile.

There is a little bottle shop on the corner and the local drunks sit in the street drinking their cheap ales and they always give me a high five and a smile as I walk past. One day, one asked me where I came from and upon answering Australia, he began to discuss the political contrast between Australia and England, and as I walked away, I remember thinking that one never knows what can happen to someone in life. This man, who was obviously highly intelligent, was some drunken bum, sitting on the footpath in the notorious part of KL. He told me how his daughter now lived in Melbourne, but he was yet to visit, and then he wished me well.

It’s an aspect I’ve always enjoyed about the less savoury parts of a town, when you interact with the characters, there are usually no hidden agendas. They just talk with you and enjoy the interlude. Honesty rarely found in amongst the so called elitists of society.

So, perhaps in some way, the day the aliens came to town, I found myself rather annoyed, because suddenly my haven had been taken over by a group of people who believed they had the right to be treated like some deity.

I don’t know, perhaps the short period of time I spent in drama school and working in films, have left me jaded. Or perhaps I just knew the way we acted, no pun intended, but the hierarchy, the egos, the sense of entitlement had left me wanting more substance in life and that belief that all because someone looked good, acted well or worked in films gave them the right to believe they were the beautiful people and better than others, has always left me confused.

Even in Sydney, we had the right to enter certain clubs that those less fortunate would never be allowed to frequent. I remember, well, I actually cringe, at the time we all got on the dance floor and danced the same dance that we had learnt that day in class……..oh, puhlease. :p

It was possibly the same time that I decided that I really didn’t want to be an actress. I’m sure if you find some old film from the early eighties, you may see me in the background, or I could tell you about the actors I dated……..but this isn’t about that.

It’s about the day I found my haven invaded by the false people.

So, as I semi laid in the back of a taxi waiting to curl into bed and sleep, the taxi was stopped from entering the little lane which would eventually turn into the road where my budget hotel was situated, because the powerful people had come to town.

The bums had been moved off the footpath, the hawkers had been stopped from selling their wares and the place was swarming with the police.

After a lengthy detour, I put my laptop into my room, grabbed my purse and headed off to get something cool to drink and I was faced with a roadblock. Too annoyed to be stopped, I walked straight through. Perhaps because I am a blonde white woman, the police stupidly assumed that I was with the crew and allowed me through.

I remember being somewhat cynical about the fact that if a crime happened in KL, the chances of such a police presence being in existence, would be fairly remote, but get in an international film crew and the world comes to a standstill.

And I came ‘home’ and slept. I was hoping to get back into work this evening as they had a training session that I really wanted to attend, but I slept and slept and slept and upon eventually awakening, it was too late to attend.

So, I headed downstairs to my favourite restoran which had finally stopped charging me tourist rates and there they were. The aliens who had taken over.

I approached the cordoned off area and I came across a sign which I photographed with my usual anti-authoritative stance. The sign was telling me that I was not allowed to take any photographs and this set me off on my mission. I was just curious, how many photographs could I take as I walked through the cordoned off area?

 

I don’t know, sometimes I think I like to see how far I can go before someone eventually tells me, “enough”, but as I snapped away, I was still surprised when a hand reached out to stop me. As I questioned what he was doing, he told me that I wasn’t allowed to take any photographs. “Why not”, I questioned and began some tirade on property rights which I knew left the local cop completely confused.

AND I continued to take photographs again and again and again.  

I don’t know if they just didn’t know what to do, but they kept asking me to stop until the ‘boss’ of the film came up to me and asked me to stop taking photos. I challenged him too and he told me that I had possibly ruined the last half hour of filming with my flash and walking into scenes I shouldn’t have been in. Oh, well. They had stopped the locals from enjoying their freedom and making a living.

I told him that I was amused that they had the ability to have a group of police as security when the locals struggled to get assistance. He told me that they were paid to assist. I replied, “this is Malaysia, they are always paid off” and he laughed and said that they had just been in Indonesia, they had cost even more.

Bored with my antics, I went in and ordered at my favourite restoran until filming finished and the crew came in to eat.

I suppose in some way, this group of locals will be compensated. As I watched the huge crew order their food, I was pleased in some warped way………they will be charged as tourists.

Malaysia According to Mano Maniam ........#UndiMsiaChats 48

Malaysia According to…Mano Maniam.  #UndiMsiaChats 48

 

Photo courtesy of UndiMsia Facebook page

 

On Saturday the 27^th July 2013, I had the privilege to meet and listen to Mano Maniam give a talk on what Malaysia means to him. I’ll momentarily digress and attempt to explain who he is. I do say attempt, because this man is many things and if one was to try to capture who he is in a few simple words, one will inadvertently miss out on many aspects of this great character.

Mano is a scholar who has taught in many universities, both here in Malaysia, and overseas. He is an actor who has portrayed many characters in both film and theatre. He is a poet, a writer, an environmentalist, an activist, an……….the list continues; but last Saturday, to me, he was a man who provoked thought through his rather unusual but very interesting way of telling the 30+ people who came to pusat (centre) to hear him talk and explain, what Malaysia means to him.

He started off with an around the room introduction and as each spoke about who we are, he momentarily  took the time to acknowledge an aspect of what we had said and as we became more comfortable with being there, this man whose words commanded great attention, began to take us all on a journey.

He asked us what we thought was prevalent in Malaysia today and people spoke out about Education, Islamization, Women Oppression, Electoral Questions, Freedom, Inequality, and Crime; lastly, I said, Racism.

He looked at me, the girl visiting from Australia and then asked the group, “Why did it take a visitor from overseas to be the one who said what we all live and breathe on a daily basis”?

Mano’s journey through words and drawings, took us from a time of dinosaurs to the present day and as he spoke, he never told us what we should think, he never stood up on some soapbox demanding to be heard, he never raised his voice in anger, and he didn’t need to. He knew he had a story to tell and with that quiet confidence of his, he spoke in a voice which was almost soothing to listen to.

I looked around the room and I could see that those around me where equally intrigued and mesmerised by the way he spoke. His teaching was almost subliminal and I found myself over the next few days thinking about what he had said and I realised that the impact of his story wasn’t actually on the day, but in the days that followed.

The main premise of his story was, who are we, and how are we defined in Malaysia? He spoke of growing up in a time when race wasn’t really a defining factor.

It’s interesting, this seems to be a reoccurring theme amongst the many Malaysians that I have had the pleasure of meeting. They speak of a time when their friends were Malays, Indians or Chinese and segregation wasn’t apparent, but they also speak about today, when race as a dividing factor, has become more apparent.

During my last visit to Malaysia, just under a year ago, I spoke about the racism that I noticed, perhaps it was somewhat subtle, but it existed and I actually spoke about how surprised I was when people spoke out angrily when the PM announced that the Chinese tsunami had played a major factor in the election.

Why was I surprised? I was surprised because all through the lead up to the election, the media made constant reference to which race each candidate appealed to. Some candidates were even bold enough to express that if people voted for a certain candidate, it would be a downfall in the teachings of Islam.

He spoke of the time that as a young man, he went to India for the first time expecting to be returning home and the shocking realisation that he wasn’t an Indian; India was only his ancestry and the realisation that he was a Malaysian. Perhaps this was the the exact moment that he became passionate about speaking his truth.

This appears to be a reoccurring theme amongst many Malaysians. Never have I heard in Australia that I am Irish because my dad migrated to Australia many years prior, it has always been accepted that I am an Australian. This is the same with the Italians, the Lebanese, the Chinese and anyone else who has an ancestry that is different. We are all Australians because we are either born here or chose to make it our home; but here, in Malaysia, one is constantly defined by their race. So, was it really a surprise when I mentioned racism at the beginning of the talk?

To me, this is the point that Mano wanted to make. “Forget about labels and all those things. Talk about mankind and life.”

This brought him to his next point, what does culture mean to him? To Mano; values, identity and soul are derived from culture, and from these three things, we have attitudes. He told us the story about Viktor Frankl, who, whilst in a concentration camp, despite having lost everything, remained alive whilst those around him died and he deduced that it was because he had hope. To Mano, he could be left with absolutely nothing, but no-one could take away his very being and hence, he will continue to speak out for everything that he believed in. That Malaysians could all live as one!

His parting words were, “The challenge at the moment is who you are. Ask yourselves, who are you and the answer will come down to your values.”

So, Mano wove a colourful tapestry through his words. And like any tapestry being woven, the picture isn’t clear at first and one will often question why a dark thread is being used in that place and why the same colour is being used again…..and sometimes, even when the tapestry is complete, the clear picture isn’t apparent until sometime later. AND even then, one will go back to the tapestry and look at it from a different perspective and realise that what you think you saw at first, isn’t how you see it now.

For those who don’t know what UndiMsia is, I shall give a brief overview. UndiMsia is a non-partisan movement geared towards educating the youth of Malaysia ‘through the use of simple, do-it-yourself citizen action tools’ http://www.loyarbarang.com/shop/books/activating-malaysians-the-d-i-y-toolkit/  and one form of educating the youth is known as UndiMsiachats which are held at ‘The Centre’ on Saturdays.