STEREOTYPING

Those unjustly maligned Malays are some of the nicest folks in the world. At least those I befriended. I've been to the remotest of kampungs and always get invited into a stranger's home for a meal or a cuppa. Try knocking on a Chinese farmer's door and he'll probably take aim at you with a wild boar hunting rifle.

Of late, even some of those sweet Malays are turning and tossing in bed at night thinking: Are we really the whinest, laziest assed, poison penning, idle gossiping, pyramid scheming, under acheiving, daughter banging, bickering hypocrites some made us out to be?
For half a century, politicians would woo them with mental representations of a supreme race of the land, using popular catchphrases like ketuanan and maruah. They were handed crutches, loans and scholarships as reassurances. Then, every once in a while, a brave Malay leader thrashes them as ingrates and try to scare them with the globalisasi word.

Of course it is not easy making wake-up calls when there is a snooze button that runs forever. Even the indefatigable Tun Mahathir admitted he failed to transform the Malays after 22 years. Actually he was being humble. He created a handful of instant billionaires in his time, the fast track way.

No one told the Malays that the two satellites in our sky belong to an Indian. And that the richest man in the country is also an Indian and not a greedy Chinaman as they were brought up to believe. Then, there's the unfulfilled need for a Malay hero. Hang Tuah was a thug who probably never existed. Worse still, the Chinese are now spreading e-mails casting aspersions on good old Tuah's roots. They are now claiming he was Chinese! Chinese Malaysians need a hero badly too, I think.

The other dubious historical contender was someone who stabbed a British Resident in the back, literally. The last remaining hero, P Ramlee, is fortunately a lover not a fighter. He brandished a keris only on three occasions in real life; on his wedding days. Yet, the non-violent icon is now being demonised by the moral police for his joget culture and unwitting promotion of figure-hugging kebayas.

So one Malay thought up a brilliant and lazy plan: let's manufacture new heroes with government funds and awards. Just when they were about to reach the pinnacle of supremacy, up on a mountain somewhere, a pair of tactless Indians came from behind and snatched the glory. Serve those two Indians right. No land, cash rewards, bungalows, datukships, cars, single-digit car plates or even a kompang welcome party for them.

The clueless duo are still wondering what went wrong till today. The optimistic and irrepressible Malays moved on to cheer a sailor with a broken mast and a swimmer in a cage. But wait, they also just purchased a rocket ticket and discovered a lost ancient city, didn't they? They are back on a roll, thankfully. Otherwise, on the next party General Assembly, the non-Malays will be the handy beating boys yet again.

When a bunch of well-connected Malay scotch and bourbon aficionados got busted recently for close proximity with Jack & Johnny, they screamed bloody murder. What about the thousands of non-Malay partygoers who get herded into trucks and made to squat en-masse routinely? I like the fact that there are now more boozing Malays in town than any other race. The city's safer with less of those Samurai sword-swinging Chinese clubbers and bottle-throwing Indian patrons.

by TV Smith