It is reasonable that most people shouldn’t have to hide from the law, that their children can receive an education, and that they can obtain medical care when they are ill. But for Burmese refugees in Malaysia, such hopes are beyond their reach. Unable to return to their homes, they can only do their best to survive in a foreign land.
It is still dark outside, but many people are already working and sweating at a large wholesale market in Selayang, near Kuala Lumpur, the capital of Malaysia. Goods come into the market from all over the nation and are then distributed to vendors or restaurants. Most of the laborers who help move the huge quantities of produce and goods here are foreigners.
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Each day, the Selayang wholesale market needs hundreds of laborers to move multitudes of goods. Most of the laborers are refugees, receiving a paltry 40 Malaysian ringgits (US$10.63) a day for their service. |
Statistics from the Immigration Department of Malaysia show that about five million aliens work in the nation. They mostly come from 12 nations, including Thailand, Indonesia, India, Vietnam, and Burma (also known as Myanmar). About half of them work illegally because they have overstayed their visas or because they are refugees.
Though it is a Saturday, it is not a day of rest for some people, and certainly not for Dawtsung’s husband, a Burmese refugee who starts his workday at the Selayang market bright and early. He makes 40 ringgits (US$10.63) a day as a laborer.
Dawtsung has been in Malaysia for more than two years, but she still speaks no Malay. She cannot carry on a conversation with local people, and she worries about running into the police. Consequently, she rarely goes out, and then only when she has no other choice.
There are eight people in her family. They live on the third floor of an old apartment building in Imbi, Kuala Lumpur. The landlord partitioned the apartment into three units, one of which Dawtsung rents. The unit measures 180 square feet. Though the space is small, the rent for it is not. At 800 ringgits (US$210) a month, the apartment is a very heavy burden for them. With a daily wage of 40 ringgits, Dawtsung’s husband has to work 20 days a month just to pay the rent.
Given these hardships, why did they leave their homeland in the first place?
Persecution
Burma is home to 135 ethnic groups. The Bamar (or Burman) is by far the most dominant group in the nation, comprising about two thirds of the population. Other major groups include the Shan, Karen, Chin, and Kachin. The military regime that took power in 1962 forced minorities to move military supplies, build roads, or put up military installations, all without pay. There have even been many reports of systematic rapes of ethnic minority women by soldiers.
Persistent oppression has led some minorities to resort to military resistance. Ethnic rebellions have erupted frequently, forcing members of minority groups from their homes. They have fled into neighboring nations, such as China, Thailand, and Malaysia. For example, the most recent conflict flared up in February 2015 in the Kokang Self-Administered Zone, located near the border of northeastern Burma and Yunnan Province in southwestern China. Tens of thousands of people fled to China to escape the fighting between government forces and rebels.
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Kuala Lumpur has long been a multiracial cosmopolitan city. Laborers from Southeastern Asian countries can often be seen in the city. On holidays, they gather on what is called “Burma Street” or “Nepal Street” to catch up with their fellow countrymen and to exchange money. |
Andrew Laitha, chairman of the Alliance of Chin Refugees (ACR), said, “Refugees used to rush into India, so the Burmese military tightened border control there. Then they went to Thailand, but they were turned back to the Burmese army on the border. Now they are choosing Malaysia as their destination.” The refugee population in Malaysia has been on the rise for the last ten years. According to Yante Ismail, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) spokesperson in Malaysia, there are about 150,000 refugees in the nation, of whom 140,000 are from Burma. Those 140,000 include more than 50,000 Chin, 43,000 Rohingya, and 12,000 other Muslims. The rest are from other minority groups.
Dawtsung’s family is an example of the largest group of refugees. Members of the Chin minority, long persecuted in Burma, they came to Malaysia in hopes of a better life. Sadly, the reality in their host country has not been rosy. Though refugees like them have become an important source of labor in Malaysia, Malay society has not accepted them. In fact, they are outright illegal.
Unfortunately for them, Malaysia was not a signatory of the 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees and its 1967 Protocol. The nation does not recognize refugees of any kind. It treats all refugees as illegal entrants and thus grants them no asylum. As a result, the Burmese expatriates find themselves in a predicament: On the one hand, they need to find work to support themselves and their families; but to work, they must expose themselves to public view and thus risk arrest or interrogation by police or immigration officials. However, they have no choice.
Chin refugees have formed many self-preservation groups in Malaysia. They issue ID cards to their members and collect nominal fees to help new Chin expatriates obtain medical care, settle down, or apply to the UNHCR for asylum. Dawtsung heard about the Chin Refugee Committee (CRC) from friends and went there to seek help. The committee was ensconced in an old apartment building. Even though it was broad daylight, the curtains were drawn in the narrow space to keep out prying eyes. The CRC needs to lie low and avoid attention because it is not legal in Malaysia. “In Malaysia, there’s nothing legal about refugees,” said David, head of the CRC.
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To save money, refugee families cram themselves into cheap tenements like these. In such crowded quarters, privacy is a rare commodity. Getting some fresh air on the balcony is the only luxury they can afford. |
“Many refugees apply for memberships at various refugee organizations, seeking multiple layers of protection,” said ACR chairman Laitha. “They really want to make sure that somebody will be there to help them when the need arises.” However, the truth is that the membership cards, no matter how numerous, offer no substantive protection. What refugees really want are refugee cards issued by the UNHCR. If they are unfortunately caught by the police, presenting a refugee ID card issued by the UNHCR may get them off the hook. Even if this ID card does not prevent an arrest, the UNHCR will intervene to bail the refugee out.
Given the importance of this card to them, thousands of refugees line up every day outside the UNHCR office in order to get one. It may take up to three years for an application for refugee status to be granted. Despite the long wait, the card is their only protective shield against law enforcement personnel in the nation, and it represents their only hope of being placed in another country. It is no wonder they endure whatever it takes to get one.
Children’s needs
Before they can secure a better future for themselves, refugees have to struggle to find a way to survive in Malaysia. But eking out a living is not their only problem. Refugees soon find that since they are not legal residents in Malaysia, their children cannot attend public schools. That is not good. Without an education, their children are more likely to end up working at hard labor, even if they are one day resettled in another country.
To help solve the problem, Chin people, with assistance from Christian churches, have set up community educational facilities which offer classes on such basic topics as English, Malay, and math. For example, the Talala school is located in a low house in a serene community. Small rooms equipped with chairs, desks, and chalkboards serve as classrooms. “We currently have a hundred students, 80 of whom live here. Nine teachers serve at the school,” said Principal Jacob.
Jacob is himself a Burmese refugee. He, his wife, a son, and a daughter live in the school. At bedtime, chairs and desks are pushed to the sides of the classrooms, and residents sleep on the open floors. Jacob’s daughter is a student there. His wife, besides taking care of their son, who is just learning to walk, also looks after the students, who have been all but forgotten by the world.
Dim Saun, 17, was teaching the students how to count when we visited the school. She was a graduate of the school and a current student at the Ruke Education Centre. She had a little spare time, so she returned to help.
Schools like Talala only offer elementary courses. When students have completed those, they often have a hard time finding a suitable school to continue their schooling. As refugees, they are not accepted by public schools, and their financial situations put private schools out of reach. In response, the refugees, again with help from a Christian church, started the Ruke Education Centre in 2011. “[With further education provided by the center], I believe that students will have better chances of being placed in a third country. This is their hope for a better future,” said Principal Jacob.
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Tzu Chi volunteers visit a refugee family at their home and give them daily necessities. Photo by Leong Chian Yee
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The education center charges only nominal fees from students, with the church subsidizing the rest of the costs. The man in charge of the center, Michael, also teaches in college. “Children of any ethnicity can apply for admission to the school,” he explained. “However, only those who have passed an English proficiency test will be accepted. They need to be proficient in English to keep up with the instruction.” A Christian of Chinese descent, he takes care of the students as if they were his own children. He says, “I consider educating these students my responsibility.”
Floating refugees
International human rights organizations have often described the Rohingya people of Rakhine State (also known as Arakan) in Burma as one of the most persecuted minorities in the world. There has long been friction between these Muslims and the Buddhist majority of Burma. They have even been denied the freedom to exercise their religion. They are prohibited, for example, from performing their five daily prayers.
As if perpetual religious persecution were not bad enough, the Burmese government does not even recognize the existence or legitimacy of the Rohingya people. In 1982, it stripped them of their nationality and began to use them as forced labor. It comes as no surprise that they do not want to stay in Burma. Recently, Rohingyas fleeing that country have created one of the largest exoduses of refugees in Southeastern Asia. Many have tried to find their way into Malaysia, where Islam is the state religion.
On May 11, 2015, three boats in which human traffickers were carrying more than a thousand Rohingyas reached the shallow waters off the resort island of Langkawi, Malaysia. At the same time, several other vessels were drifting off the coasts of Malaysia and Indonesia, having been denied entry into those countries. As the boats ran low on fuel, the traffickers abandoned them. Several thousand refugees were left floating at sea with very little food and drinking water. At last, Malaysian and Indonesian police took them onshore and put them into detention centers. The police estimated that boats holding about seven thousand more people were still drifting at sea, and there was no telling if they would be allowed onshore.
Even though the Rohingyas know the Malaysian government will not give them asylum, they are still trying to get into the country. Once they are in Malaysia, however, they, like the Chin people, face the same daunting reality that they are illegal, that they cannot legally work, and that their children cannot attend public schools. But unlike the Chins, they face an additional obstacle: They don’t have the help and support of any church. The Islamic community generally has not yet extended a hand to the Rohingyas in Malaysia.
Refugees without legal identities are like duckweed, having no root. Drifting with the wind or the current, they do not know where they will end up. Will they ever find a home?
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WAITING FOR PAPA TO COME HOME
When Rasidah Imran and her husband fled Burma more than a decade ago, they settled in Malaysia. She became pregnant five times, but with no citizenship or savings, hospital visits for prenatal checkups were not possible. She lost two of her children before they could even be born.
The couple never attended school, so they had no choice but to work as laborers, a path they do not want their children to follow. Thus they do all they can to put their children through school.
Their three children—Anand Nur Haq, 12, Wahida Nur Haq, 9, and Alias Nur Haq, 6—go to school every day without much fuss. Children from needy families often mature early. They attend an education center sponsored jointly by the UNHCR and Tzu Chi.
One February morning in 2015, as Rasidah accompanied her husband to the UNHCR office to apply for a replacement refugee card, they ran into immigration officials. The officials questioned her husband. “They took him away. I told them he was my husband, but they wouldn’t believe me,” Rasidah said to Tzu Chi volunteers, her refugee card in hand and tears in her eyes. The volunteers held her hand and promised to work with her to figure out what could be done to get him out.
Rasidah needs 4,000 ringgits (US$1,035) to bail her husband out. That is an astronomical sum of money for her, considering she makes only three ringgits an hour.
“Daddy hasn’t been home in a long time,” Wahida said softly as she leaned on her mother.
“Don’t worry, Mom is here,” Rasidah replied, one hand patting Wahida’s back, and the other wiping away her own tears.
Until her husband is released, she has to be strong to keep their family together.
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SETTLING IN
When Aziz, 8, smiles, his sparkling white teeth and two dimples invite people to smile along. If you do not look closely, you may not even notice the prosthesis that begins below his right knee.
A congenital defect left him without a right shinbone. When he was four, his mother started carrying him to school. He used his good leg for support and walked on his knees when he had to get around on his own.
Tzu Chi volunteers first noticed Aziz’s condition in 2011 in the religious school that he was attending. His right knee was connected with an atrophied but heavily calloused right foot. Aziz’s father, working as a laborer making 40 ringgits a day, could not afford a prosthesis for Aziz, so Tzu Chi volunteers paid to have one made for him.
On this day after school let out, we followed Aziz home. We went through a side door of the Selayang wholesale market out onto a wide road. The boy walked, skipped, and easily negotiated some pushcarts. We had to hurry to keep up with him. When we arrived at the building in which he lived, we climbed up to the fifth floor and walked to a room at the end of a long hallway. That was his home.
His father happened to have the day off, so he was home too. He was playing with a little neighbor girl. Aziz’s sister had come from Burma just over a year before. She greeted us with a shy smile. Their room was quite tidy. Some cups and plates were piled up at one side of the room. Aziz’s mother used to use them when she sold Burmese snacks. She had suspended that business for now because, patting her slightly swollen belly, she said that she was expecting a little sister or brother for Aziz.
Aziz smiled again. From his deep dimples we could tell how much he was looking forward to being a big brother.
A beam of sunlight shone into the room. When the whole family is together, even a strange land can be a homeland, too.
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KEEPING HOPE ALIVE
Led by David of the Chin Refugee Committee, we came to an apartment building in Imbi, Kuala Lumpur. Looking up, we saw rows of balconies where clothes of all colors and sizes had been hung out to dry.
“Each apartment has been divided into several rooms for rent,” explained Lee Mun Keat ('چ$م٣ا), a Tzu Chi volunteer from Malaysia. “Each room is probably occupied by two or three families, or 20 to 30 people. This is what it looks like on a sunny day when people wash and hang out their clothes.”
On the third floor, Dawtsung opened the door for us. She and her family lived in one of the three rooms in the apartment. Her daughter was cooking breakfast in the shared kitchen, which was nothing much more than a gas stove in a long balcony at the back.
The first room on the right was their home. The eight people in Dawtsung’s family lived in this 180-square-foot space with two desks, two wardrobes, an old TV, and some comforters. There was nothing else. The rent was 800 ringgits (US$210) a month.
Dawtsung’s husband and oldest son were at work when we visited the family. Their second son was a chef and the youngest son a waiter at a restaurant. The family has been in Malaysia for six years, but they still have not received their refugee cards from the UNHCR. Needless to say, they have not yet been considered by any nation for asylum.
Statistics show that of all refugees registered with the UNHCR, a mere two percent are eventually placed in a third country. With chances so remote and out of their control, Dawtsung and her family can only make the best of their current way of living.
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A BOY'S DREAM
After Ellyas Biri Soyad, second from right, was treated at the Tzu Chi Free Clinic in Kuala Lumpur, he recovered. But he also lost the ability to do heavy work. He began selling vegetables and fruit near his home.
His home is located in a deserted residential building. The refugee families living there were recently notified that the building would be demolished soon. That has put all the residents in the building on edge. Ellyas said that whenever they get wind of law enforcers coming to the building, they stay away to avoid arrest.
Though this is a deserted building, they did not live there for free. Ellyas used to pay 600 ringgits a month for his rental. But the purported landlord vanished after the demolition notice was put up.
So, for now, while they await workers to take down the place, they get to live in it for free. In fact, new people have moved in, including Abdullah, 24, who now lives in a unit just above Ellyas’s. The new neighbor speaks English well, so Ellyas lets his 13-year-old second son, Azizur Rahman (far left), learn from him.
Seeing Azizur talk to others in simple English, Ellyas hopes that his son will do better than he did. When asked what he wants to be in the future, Azizur said, “I want to be a doctor so I can help others.”
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