Celebration for some, not for others
Mohamad (not his real name) tries to get whatever work he can find. Without a work permit or valid passport his options are limited. He gets tense walking in public places, and is constantly on the lookout for the police. His wife and three children are waiting for him several miles away, hiding in the forest.
Like Mohamad, many others have also fled Burma since the military junta seized power in 1988. They sought sanctuary in Malaysia, their lives in limbo - hoping that either things get better in Burma so they can go home, or that the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) gives them refugee status.
Mohamad's wife, Aini (not her real name), says: "We are lucky. At least we have one another, and we are with some friends who are also in the same position. We try to help one another."
Things could be worse for Aini and her children. Just recently, three women had to be rescued from an illegal prostitution house. They were kept there against their will. If it were not for a few plucky individuals who came to their rescue, they would still be there, forced to sell their bodies again and again.
"At least we are together, as one family. At least, we aren't locked up. At least, we are surviving," says Aini.
Mohamad (not his real name) tries to get whatever work he can find. Without a work permit or valid passport his options are limited. He gets tense walking in public places, and is constantly on the lookout for the police. His wife and three children are waiting for him several miles away, hiding in the forest.
Like Mohamad, many others have also fled Burma since the military junta seized power in 1988. They sought sanctuary in Malaysia, their lives in limbo - hoping that either things get better in Burma so they can go home, or that the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) gives them refugee status.
Mohamad's wife, Aini (not her real name), says: "We are lucky. At least we have one another, and we are with some friends who are also in the same position. We try to help one another."
Things could be worse for Aini and her children. Just recently, three women had to be rescued from an illegal prostitution house. They were kept there against their will. If it were not for a few plucky individuals who came to their rescue, they would still be there, forced to sell their bodies again and again.
"At least we are together, as one family. At least, we aren't locked up. At least, we are surviving," says Aini.
People who don't belong
There are thousands of people in Malaysia in similar predicament. Their daily stresses aren't about bosses yelling at them. They wish they had bosses. They aren't upset at the marks their children got in their last report card, or worried about poor quality teaching in local schools. Their kids aren't allowed to go to school.
They are "illegal". In other words, people who don't belong.
They fear the strong arm of the law. They are scared of being arrested or having to pay bribes with money they need to buy food. They are afraid of being harassed and of being raped. They fear of being held in detention camps where they have heard the stories of the unsanitary conditions, inadequate food and water, the beatings, sexual abuse and the denial of medical care.
This makes them wary of hospitals, clinics and even the UNHCR.
"Even if they were able to get the help they need," says Maung (not his real name), a Burmese activist, "they are scared to go".
"They worry that they will be arrested. They worry that they will be seen."
Theirs is a life where gaining medical treatment is an achievement, and affordable legal assistance an inconceivable blessing..
The UNHCR has more applications for refugee status that they can cope with. Maung says those who dare to approach the UNHCR building have to wait long periods of time.
"When they first go there, they have to get a ticket."
This ticket, he says, puts them in a queue for the filing of applications, which happens about one or two months later. After they fill in their application forms, they have to take a second ticket. This one is for an interview to assess their application. This happens about two or three months later.
The UNHCR option
Rahman (not his real name), an Acehnese, says: "We are concerned about the recent events in Aceh. We expect that more people will try to flee Aceh, and try to seek help here. But even those who are already here don't have the skills to fill out an application form. Many don't read or write fluently. They need help to give the correct details on their form."
Every visit is a costly one for the people who try the 'UNHCR option'. They have to take taxis to the Kuala Lumpur office as no convenient bus services are available. Some get disillusioned during the long application process. Some give up before even trying.
Each visit is also a risky one. Before Malaysian law, technically, these people are undifferentiated from all other 'illegals'. Fleeing persecution in their home country is not a matter that the Malaysian police are required to consider.
In the United Nations Refugee Convention 1951, a refugee is someone who is outside his or her country of origin and has a well-founded fear of persecution because of his or her race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group or political opinion who are unable or unwilling to avail themselves to the protection of that country or to return there, for fear of persecution.
They are also those who have been "disowned" by the government of the country and are considered 'stateless' such as the Rohingyas from Burma.
Since the Malaysian government is not a signatory to the 1951 UN Convention on Refugees, the only hope for asylum seekers is the UNHCR. Some have been critical of the role that the UNHCR has played so far. However, the UNHCR treads an uneasy path in Malaysia. Its operation is therefore a limited one, and they have to negotiate carefully within the narrow space afforded to them.
Yesterday was World Refugee Day.
For some, secure in their new nation-states, this marks a day to be thankful. They can think about future careers, protected children, guaranteed liberties. For many others, it passes, yet another day of uncertainty in foreign soil, a place they can never call home. Let us remember each and every one of them.
JOSEF ROY is the coordinator for the Malaysian chapter of international human rights organisation Amnesty International.

