[2171] Of a story of migration

A dear friend was in Sydney recently. For old times’ sake, he called me up and asked if I was free for the day. I said yes. How could I say no? Both of us are Malaysians and both of us attended Michigan. We had some good times together.

We had not met for a long time prior to that meeting in Sydney. The last time we had a meal together was in Singapore, when we visited yet another alumnus of Michigan. That was a good four years ago.

February is a good time to visit the city of Harbour Bridge and Opera House. Apart from the rain, the weather is generally just fantastic. There are tons of activities to do without the need to worry about the presence of morality police. When they are not cracking jokes and become all-sarcastic, which is cute, Sydneysiders will generally leave you alone. To find a close friend visiting Sydney should not be a puzzle.

We had a long chat, reminiscing the days in good old Ann Arbor, our spur-of-the-moment road trip into the heart of South Dakota and our childish arguments. And we updated each other about our mutual close friends. I learnt that one is working in Germany.

Several are living in the United States. Another is just due west in Melbourne.

The conversation went on innocently until I felt that something was amiss. He asked, “How are they toward you?” He was referring to Australians.

The question slightly took me aback. I figured he was concerned with reports of racism in Australia. The country does have issues with racism. It is not as prevalent as in Malaysia but it is a problem nonetheless.

Yet, his tone was one not of interest in current affairs, or a concern for me. It is a tone reserved for the motive of self-interest. I became suspicious of his motive and began to challenge my assumption that he was here for vacation.

“Why are you here, exactly?” Jokingly, I added, “Do you really miss me that much?”

His answered forthrightly. He already had his application for permanent residency approved by the Australian immigration. All he needed was to have his passport stamped at an Australian gate. He needed to do that to activate his permanent resident status. “And here I am.”

I have friends who have decided to live abroad, or who have left Malaysia for good. I have heard and read stories of strangers, Malaysians nonetheless, doing the same. It is not a rare phenomenon but to hear it from him”¦ somehow, his answer surprised me.

My reaction to those who find solutions in migration had been, please, do not go, or if you do go, do come back.

It is almost a plea, because more often than not, those who chose to migrate share my values: liberty and equality. The more Malaysians holding these values leave, the harder will it be to man the dike against the tide of illiberalism, a hodgepodge of racism, religious bigotry and lack of trust in individuals that Malaysian politics is known for.

Under the bright sun, I did not find myself making such plea to him. I myself am unsure what the future holds for me any longer. Such act of convincing appeared futile to me, when I can hardly convince myself of it.

For a short moment, my mind raced to another occasion, where an Australian friend asked what I would do after earning a Master’s degree. I told him what I told so many others, “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you just stay here? There are so many problems in Malaysia. I can’t find a reason why anybody would want to be there. Even you, as a Malay, get discriminated simply because you refuse to blend in. Besides, the pay here is much better, don’t you think so? What is the PPP per capita for Malaysia? Australia’s is over thirty thousand US dollar.”

At yet another occasion, a Malaysian who has been residing and working in Sydney for some time asked me the same question. I told him that I do not know but I would return to Malaysia.

“Why?”

I said because it is home.

“It is good that you still have the notion of home. As for me, it means nothing anymore.” He said that with incredible nonchalance that I almost took it as an insult. Deep inside of my heart however, I know that home is where liberty is.

My mind returned to the moment. Kids in school uniforms were flowing out of a building. Near the door, there was a banner, suggesting that these kids were there for some sort of recital.

The plaza besides the Town Hall is always buzzed with activities. Just days ago, a group of Iranians were there to remember February 11, the 21st anniversary of the collapse of the Pahlavi dynasty.

The Islamic Republic of Iran rose over the ashes of old Persia soon after that. I am unsure which one of these two is worse but I know for sure that they do not have the same liberty in Iran to hold public gatherings. Or in Malaysia for that matter.

I had to return to the moment.

“Will you apply for citizenship?”

“No,” he said.

“Why not take the extra step and be done with it?” I was the devil’s advocate.

“Malaysia is a good country. Only those who are managing the country are not.”

He did not see me rolled my eyes. I was not dismissing his opinion.

On the contrary, I share his sentiment. All I wanted to do was to let go a silent sigh.

This article was first published in The Malaysian Insider on March 2 2010.