The deplorable conditions refugees face in Malaysia

It is ironic that we, a country formed mostly from descendents of immigrants, somehow treat immigrants (legal, illegal, as well as UNHCR registered refugees) like they are nothing more than annoying insects to be mistreated at will, killed as if their lives are worth less than the soil we walk on. While our government sees it fit to keep condemning the alleged or proven tortures and mistreatment of detainees in Guantanamo Bay and the infamous Abu Ghraib prison, we are surprisingly and oddly oblivious to the equally, if not more, horrendous condition of our very own immigration detention camps. People seem to forget that one of the longest running court trial involving Dr Irene Fernandez, director and co-founder of Tenaganita, is precisely over such horrendous condition. The government, instead of acknowledging the problem, choose to clamp down hard on the tireless people who care enough to dig up these issues.

Irene Fernandez, for example, was charged with "publishing malicious false news" and was sentenced to 12 months imprisonment. This when countless of Bangladeshi immigrants who went through hell in those camps were called as witnesses. It seems to be a common affliction among Malaysians that when something is wrong in this country, the first thing to do is always deny, then point fingers at someone or something else, and then go after the whistleblowers. What progress are we talking about when we can't even have a culture of responsibility and accountability? As of today, if I am not mistaken (please update me if I am wrong), Dr Irene is still waiting for her appeal to be heard.

Malaysians always seem to miss the trees for the forests. In their legitimate concern with the increasing crime rates recently, only about 2% of incidents can be directly attributable to foreign workers. It is symptomatic of the blame culture among Malaysians: when something happens it is always someone else's fault. And because the foreign workers or immigrants are, so to speak, at the lowest level of the Malaysia social rung or food chain, they are convenient scapegoats for all the troubles we face. They are not asking for much, leaving their faraway homes in search of a better life (just like some of us who go overseas to find jobs, albeit in a much better condition). All they are asking for is some appreciation for their immense contribution to our economy (our buildings are practically ALL built by them, our estates are fast being worked upon only by them, and our factories have big numbers of immigrant employees), and to be treated as human. The plight of the refugees are the worst since the Malaysian government has seen it fit not to recognize the UNHCR registration. Perhaps it's time we start treating these people like fellow humans, and not like insects.

I am reproducing the following real life stories of Burmese refugees, published in Malaysiakini on 23 and 24 Apr 2007. For the sake of raising awareness among Malaysians on the plight of our fellow human, I hope Malaysiakini will not sue me for this:

Life as a refugee in Malaysia (Pt 1)
Fatima and Jalaludin
Apr 23, 07 2:33pm
http://www.malaysiakini.com/opinionfeatures/66322

We left Myanmar in 2003 and worked for a short while in Thailand. But we were scared that the police might catch us, so we decided to come to Malaysia. We found an ‘agent’ - someone who knows how to get people over the border – and he drove us into Malaysia. We hid in the back seat of the car.

At first I worked at a construction site in the jungle near Alor Setar. Then we came to Kuala Lumpur and found a place to live near a wholesale market. We share it with quite a lot of other people from Myanmar – people come and go but there are normally about six of us living in the place.

Our daughter is two and Fatima is nine months pregnant with our second child. We have a small room for the three of us and we share the kitchen, toilet and shower with everyone else.

Fatima stays in the flat most of the day, washing, cleaning and cooking. I found work at the wholesale market, making roti bread outside a restaurant.

In 2005 we went to UNHCR – the UN organisation responsible for the welfare of refugees – to ask to be registered. They gave us both a letter that confirmed we were persons of concern to UNHCR.

In November last year, I was working at the restaurant when there was an immigration raid. I wasn’t worried because I had the letter from UNHCR. But even though I showed it to the immigration officials, they took me to the police lock-up. I stayed in detention for a month.

Finally they told me that there would be a court hearing. I phoned Fatima and she contacted UNHCR to ask them to come. But unfortunately they didn’t show up.

Detention centre

When they read my name in court, they said that I was an ‘undocumented Indonesian’. I told them that they were wrong – that I am from Myanmar and not Indonesia, and that I had given my papers to the immigration official. But they said that there was no record of the document. I was sentenced to three months in Semenyih detention centre.

I was also lashed with a whip as a punishment. It was extremely painful. I couldn’t walk afterwards. I was bleeding but they didn’t give me any medication. I just had to lie down until I could walk again.

At the detention centre, everybody slept on the floor. There were about 400 of us. When they turned out the lights it was impossible to sleep because it was so crowded.

They gave us very little rice and we didn’t even eat twice a day. There were seven toilets, but some of them were not working and they were in a bad condition. When the water ran low, we were not able to shower.

When people got sick, they just gave them a Panadol. Two if they were lucky. There were weekly medical clinics, but it was up to the guards to decide who was allowed to go and who not.

I was released from that place recently. I was worried, because I have heard many stories about what happens to people when they are deported. If you are handed over to the Thai authorities, and they hand you over to the Burmese authorities, you might be killed.

Sixty of us were put in two buses and driven north to the Thai border. It was about 11 o’clock at night when we arrived. The immigration officers told us to get of the bus and cross a stream. On the other side, there was a group of people traffickers waiting for us, armed with sticks and metal weapons. Some of them were Malaysians, others were from Thailand and Myanmar.

They made us sit down on in lines of five. Then they asked us who had friends who could pay for us to go back into Malaysia. About 20 people raised their hands to say they could pay. We were separated from the rest of the group and taken to one side.

Beaten up

I didn’t really see what happened to the others, but I heard people being beaten up. As my group left, they were making the people who couldn’t pay walk one by one along the jungle path – I don’t know where they were going. Maybe to be sold or killed.

The human traffickers called the number that I had given them of my friend back in Kuala Lumpur. They asked him if he could pay RM1,600 he said yes. Then I was put in a car with eight other people and driven to Kota Bahru.

There were local Malaysians waiting there to take us in cars back to Kuala Lumpur. Once we got here, we were locked up in a block of flats and they called our friends to come and pay for our release. My friend came with the money and I was allowed to go.

I saw my wife and daughter for the first time in three months.

Now we are in a difficult situation and I am very worried. I owe my friend RM1,600, but I no longer have my letter from UNHCR so I am scared to go back to work. I don’t know how to get another document from them. The judge told me that if I get caught again in Malaysia I will be lashed four times a day and will have to spend a year in prison.

Fatima is due to give birth in two weeks. She has been going to a clinic run by MSF every week for the last two months for check-ups.

She will deliver at the government hospital, but I don’t know how we are going to pay the hospital costs.

Article courtesy of Doctor Without Frontiers (Medecins Sans Frontieres [MSF]).

-----

Life as a refugee in Malaysia (Pt 2)
Mee Chung
Apr 24, 07 10:33am
http://www.malaysiakini.com/opinionfeatures/66355

I grew up in a small village in Mon state, which is in the east of Myanmar. My mum and dad had a small farm and grew rice.

My older sister got married and had two children. But she found it very hard to make enough money to survive, so she came to Malaysia with her husband in 2004. They left the children with my parents, so that they could be looked after.

I was scared of staying in my village. The military sometimes came and harassed people, especially women on their own. My parents were very old, and were worried about my safety, since I didn’t have a brother or husband to protect me. So I decided to run away to Malaysia.

I took a fishing boat with 15 other people and we travelled along the Myanmar coast to the Thai border. We came with someone who knew the route. When we got to the border, we had to climb a mountain and walk through the jungle for about four hours. I didn’t have anything with me apart from the clothes I was wearing and some money.

When we got into Thailand, we travelled to Koh Samui, a tourist island where many westerners go on holiday. I worked in construction, helping to build hotels. My job was mainly carrying cement, stone and wood. I slept in a small container with three other girls. I worked very hard and was exhausted. After a month, I called my sister and asked if she could help me come to Malaysia.

I found an ‘agent’ who said he would take me for RM1,100. I had to pay him half before leaving Koh Samui and pay half when I got there.

First we went from Koh Samui by boat and then travelled by motorbike and car across the border. Finally the man put me on a train - I had to be very careful at the train station because there were lots of police around.

Fall from balcony

I arrived in Malaysia in August 2005. At first I had a job working in a cake shop. I slept there, too. But I couldn’t speak Malay and people were very hard on me. In the end I had to leave. I moved in with my sister and her husband - they have been helping me.

One day last October I was hanging up washing on the balcony. A piece of clothing fell off the washing line and I leant over the balcony rail to try and get it. But I lost my balance and fell through the corrugated iron, all the way down to the floor below.
I lost consciousness for a few moments, then I was screaming with pain. The people who live downstairs found me, and four of them carried me back upstairs. Someone called my brother-in-law and he came to help me.

First he called the Chinese medicine man, who did some traditional massage on my back. But that just made it more painful. I was in agony and was very confused. I was just lying on my back, unable to move.

I was really worried, because I had no money to pay for medical care. I told my brother in law that I couldn’t go to hospital because I had no documents, and was scared of getting reported. People had told me that if you go to hospital without documents you are arrested. I had never tried to get official documents from UNHCR, because I didn’t know how to.

Eventually my brother-in-law called the community leader who represents the Mon people in Kuala Lumpur. He called Medecins Sans Frontieres and the doctor there wrote a referral letter saying that I was an emergency case.

I was taken into hospital straight away and they operated on me. I had two fractured vertebrae and a fractured foot. The operation cost a lot of money, which MSF paid. I would never have been able to pay for it myself. I had to stay in hospital for a month afterwards.

When I came home I couldn’t walk without crutches. Now I have to wear a brace every day - I have had it for four months and I have another eight to go.

My back is still quite painful and I can’t get up by myself. My sister is helping me a lot.

This is the second of three articles in conjunction with the release of a report by Doctor Without Frontiers (Medecins Sans Frontieres).