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2003-09-09 - 2:36 a.m. The Malay Writer Writing in English (Or, Notes on Writing in the Margin between the Post-post-colonial and the Pre-multicultural) "I opened my eyes. The darkness gradually softened and I could discern the elongated springs of my sister's bed. A light draught slipped through the windows and I pulled my sarong over my chest. Adik's small fan whirred softly in one corner. I wondered why Adik needed the fan when the night breeze was sufficient. Waste money, only. Pampered child, what. That's why, lah, everything he want they give. I want to buy story book cannot. Now, Adik want sport shoe can. Where got fair? Suddenly, I sat up. "Wow! I'm thinking in English! I'm really thinking in English! I said to myself. I wanted to tell someone my elation, of this metamorphosis within my mind. The snake skin in me was giving way." -Derik Mosman, 'A Modern Boy' 1) In Singapore, the Malay writer writing in English (henceforth referred to as 'the Writer') finds himself subjected to a position which is in many ways determined by external forces--demographics, state prescriptions of race and the available canon of Singaporean English writing. Much of his work will involve resisting this position, which is that of a representational entity. 2) A personal anecdote: in the review for my first poetry collection, 'One Fierce Hour' a sub-editor of the Straits Times decided to tag on the laudatory epithet 'Bilingual Triumph', despite the fact that the book was written entirely in English (with the inclusion of a smattering of untranslatable non-English words and phrases such as 'imam' or 'buaian'). 3) This betrays a possible misconception: that the Writer's native language or natural 'mother tongue' is Malay, and that his English output is a secondary project, a crossover attempt which simultaneously implies an ascent and a matriculation into the English-speaking canon and community. 4) There is a twofold racism which informs such preconceptions--firstly, that the English language is necessarily more sophisticated and hence superior to other Asian languages, and secondly, that the phenomenon of the Malay writer (as opposed to the Chinese or Indian one) proficient in English is inconceivable, given his various 'cultural deficits'. An assessment, written in 1984 by the academic Kirpal Singh, reads as follows (the italics are mine): "For some peculiar reason very few Malays in Singapore have attempted to write in English. The bulk of poetry, prose and drama seems to be written by Indians and Chinese. Whether this indicates that the Malay is reluctant to use a language not inherently his own, or whether this indicates a shyness or lack of confidence, is a matter for further investigation. Like the Indians and Chinese, the Malays have generally enjoyed the same kind of exposure to English as anyone else in Singapore and their competence in the language is ably demonstrated in their professional work. So it is a little difficult to fathom as to why they have not ventured to creative writing. I suspect that a possible explanation could lie in the culture itself--a culture nourished essentially by the soil and therefore not very comfortable in a highly technological, urban setting where the cerebrum predominates. Traditional Malay literature tends very much to be in the romantic mode, and this, of course, does not find a ready audience in tough-minded Singapore. A few of the attempts that I myself have seen reflect the unease of the Malay writer almost to the point of excruciation; it is hoped that this unease will diminish with the years." 5) Tokenism can be defined as the perpetuation of racist attitudes, under the disguise of recuperation. Even though Singapore can hardly be described as the most politically correct of societies, it is extremely tempting to impose a politically-correct reading of the works of the Writer. Such an analysis is in effect, the most superficial approach to understanding texts: it is reading that is unfiguratively skin-deep. 6) In a society saturated with simpleminded notions of cultural representations, the Writer is automatically assumed to inscribe a Malay-ness into his work. It is not necessary that the literature he produces speaks of Malay experience, or seeks negotiations between the Malay and English languages (for example, producing hybrid grammatical structures within a language system commonly referred to as ethnically-neutral 'Singlish'). It is sufficient that he writes in English (the lingua franca and thus signifier of 'commonality' and 'unity') and has marked the front cover of his book with what can be unambiguously identified as a Malay name. 7) In this sense the Writer is in danger of being cited as proof of a viable multicultural environment, if indeed texts are read as material reflections of a society. His work is at risk of being co-opted into a discourse where it will stand as a signifier of his society's standards of inclusiveness. The other aspects of his work--its literary merit, for example, are subordinated to the work's symbolic value and tokenistic utility. Its function is pared down, debased: to occupy the existing lacunae in an idealised and fallacious model of the Chinese-Malay-Indian-Others grid. 8) The Writer has to realise from the onset that it is never his task to give credence to nation-building agendas--particularly the ones which celebrate illusions of equal racial representations. Evidence of multiculturalism does not lie in the mere presence of minority writers in the 'scene', but within texts which explore multicultural, and more importantly, intercultural experiences. If true multiculturalism is to find its way into a country's literature, it should be a responsibility borne by all its writers, and not only its minority members, who otherwise will never rise above an emblematic stage. 9) True multiculturalism is not an anthology of writings in four official languages. It is not a checklist of names on a contents page denoting discrete and indisputable ethnic origins. True multiculturalism is born, for example, when the Chinese writer attempts to write a character whose ethnic background differs from his own. 10) Such an undertaking is not without its dangers. There is the risk of stereotyping, of being judged as inauthentic, of not knowing enough. But good writing always involves hazards, and better writing comes from a situation where a writer's credibility, and not just aptitude, is open to scrutiny. 11) To reiterate the potential cost of such writing: the greatest crime a writer can commit is not to leave the reader unimpressed, or unmoved, but unconvinced. 12) But isn't this then another form of tokenism? Are we not familiar with those almost-archetypal names in Primary School books: Peihua, Weiming, Sumei, Ahmad, Siti, Minah, Gopal, Bala and Devi? The Chinese with not Anglicised nor 'dialect' but Hanyu Pinyin names, the Malays with bucolic ones, the Indians all Tamils and Hindu? 13) We choose then: a tokenism of writers, or of characters. 14) In the former case, the real becomes the invented: one is no longer the author but the authored in a scripted model of multiculturalism. One is depersonalised: to cultural ambassador, to pageant delegate, and finally to festival effigy. 15) In the latter case, one invents a reality. And to invent a reality, one has to have contact with a fragment of the real. So the writer who wishes to engage with multiculturalism in his writings will find himself performing research, putting himself in situations, however contrived and orchestrated, where meaningful exchanges can take place. 16) Excursions to the forts and ghettoes, journeys beyond the fictions represented by statistics and tabloid headlines, to the places where he will be confronted not only with strangeness but his own status as a stranger. The path is the reverse of that described in point 14), a microscopic contraction, still, but one towards intimacy rather than diminution: he will begin as tourist, embedded ethnographer, and then a fellow traveler. 17) That old excuse, 'we write what we know', will become an obsolete maxim. In its place, a new pledge: 'we will know what we intend to write'. 18) The beginning of such knowledge is that multiculturalism in this country is still in its infancy. 19) The infant's first words: What you have contributed is not merely volume, but nuance. You do not fill potholes in a scarred landscape with words, but use these very words as instruments to burrow, excavate, unearth. Propaganda serves--through campaigns, Racial Harmony Days, tokenism--to build bridges between those that share a piece of land. But it is literature that seeks to discover where the fault lines are laid—prepares us for what to do when an earthquake catches us by surprise in the middle of a swaying bridge. 20) A fact: every bridge connects two sides. And the more work done by our writers, the greater our assurance that whichever side of the bridge we run to, we will find aid and relief, a place of safety.
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