The Death of Critical Thinking

“You will recall how you were inspired to think critically and to question without fear,
to seek out radically different solutions and to voice them without reprisal,
to read widely and deeply, and to examine without end and grow intellectually . . .
What I ask is this: pass it on.”

- Navy Adm. Mike Mullen, June 11, 2009

“If you can find but one person who deals honestly and seeks the truth,
I will forgive this city.”

- Jeremiah 5:1b

I heard the toll of a death knell the other day. It announced the death of Critical Thinking in our education system.

The funeral was solemn, but not tearful, because we still did not realize what we had lost. The man who stood up to deliver the eulogy said that, had he lived, Critical Thinking would have fathered a whole new generation of mature thinkers armed with the ability to engage intelligently with current issues, question given propositions, and respond intellectually to problems they encounter. This generation will then transform our nation. But this hope for a generation of thinkers has thus perished along with the death of Critical Thinking.            

“Alas,” the man concluded, “Critical Thinking was too good to be true. He was too good for our education system.”

I found out later that Critical Thinking was brutally murdered. He was attacked by a gang of Machiavellian politicians who only sought to retain power for themselves, while the indifferent and ignorant masses had left him out in the cold to die a slow and painful death.

In spite of the politicians’ efforts to portray him in the pink of health, I remember when Critical Thinking plunged into a steady decline. I was sitting in a Pendidikan Moral class then, holding before me a list of moral values that I had to memorize and regurgitate in all my exams regardless of whether or not I understood them; whether or not I agreed with them; whether or not they reflected my personal beliefs. I was told that, in order to excel academically, I had to accept unquestioningly all that my textbook said. There was only one correct answer: the one that echoed the politicians’ own words. And so, every “correct” answer that was generated struck a blow at Critical Thinking.

I also remember sitting in my Sejarah class on the day when we were supposed to learn about the May 13 Incident. I had heard about the racial riots from my mum who witnessed the riots herself but was too young to comprehend what was going on. I was anxious to discover the truth about what happened on that day so that I can decide for myself who was right and who was wrong. I wanted to see with my own two eyes what was written on that smeared page of our history book. But in class that day, my teacher merely told us that riots were bad, and therefore, we should take care not to approach these “isu-isu sensitif”—issues concerning race, religion, and special rights—lest we stir up yet another round of racial riots. She said those words “isu-isu sensitif” with a scandalized undertone as though they were taboos, and I could not help wondering if she herself knew what happened on 13 May 1969. The deathly silence that followed her comment delivered yet another blow to Critical Thinking.

But the final blow that effectively put an end to Critical Thinking was struck just a few weeks ago. Fearing that the Public Service Announcements on government-owned broadcast channels had not sufficiently demonized Bersih, the politicians deemed it necessary to feature the picture of a Bersih rally in an SPM trial exam, requiring students to conclude, at least on paper, that Bersih corrupted the morals of the nation. Their efforts paid off, because a friend* of mine told me that, in his Sejarah class, the students and the teacher agreed that Bersih was “an immature demonstration that [brought] humiliation to the country.” However, when he asked how was Bersih immature, neither the students nor the teacher managed to justify their conclusion.

Critical Thinking thus slipped stealthily into non-existence. The shrewd politicians orchestrated his death, but the ignorant masses buried his dead body. With the death of Critical Thinking, there is nothing left to redeem our education system from its sorry state. And so, our education system continues churning out generation after generation of robots that do not have the ability to think for themselves.

At the end of the funeral when everyone walked up to the coffin to pay their final respect to Critical Thinking, I turned around and walked out, because I could not bear the sight of a stillborn.

*Special thanks to Calvin Choong, whose brave act of defending the cause of Bersih in his Sejarah class inspired this post.

On Being Chinese Malaysian

“Are you Chinese?”

Due to the colour of my skin and my features, I have had to answer this question way more often than I would have liked to when I am overseas. Yet every time when I am considering my response, I would pause in an awkward silence, unsure of what my answer should be. Sometimes, I would reply with an ambiguous and prolonged “kinda,” and sometimes, I would hesitantly answer and say, “Well, yes and no.” At other times, especially when I am feeling particularly patient, I would seek clarification.

“What do you mean by ‘Chinese’?” I’d ask.

And this question has never yet failed to elicit a perplexed look.

Having spent four years studying abroad, I have learned to be very patient in explaining my complicated identity to my American friends. They seem to be baffled by the fact that I am both Malaysian and Chinese.

“Wait, I thought you’re from Malaysia,” they’d remark, utterly confused. “So are you part Chinese part Malaysian?”

This is the usual prologue that leads into a detailed analysis of how Malaysian is my nationality and Chinese is my ancestry.

“So,” I’d conclude, “I am fully Malaysian and fully Chinese, just like Jesus Christ, who is fully man and fully God.”

As difficult as it was at times to explain the difference between my nationality and my ancestry, I must admit that, deep within me, I found a mysterious pleasure, an inexplicable joy in sharing my unique identity as a Malaysian to my non-Malaysian friends. I was secretly proud of my twofold identity.

However, I never thought that I would have to explain this distinction to my fellow countrymen because I thought they would understand. Recently, a friend* of mine posted on Facebook that he was asked by a Malaysian boy of another ethnicity if he was half Malaysian, half Chinese. Although my friend answered and said that he is a Malaysian, the boy insisted that he is half Malaysian, half Chinese. I know that if I were in my friend’s shoes, I would have been very disappointed that even my fellow countryman fails to understand who I really am. It is one thing to enlighten my non-Malaysian friends about how I can be both Malaysian and Chinese at the same time, but it is quite another to have to explain it to a fellow Malaysian.

I realize that the terms “Malaysian” and “Chinese” are deceptively self-explanatory: we often think we know who these words refer to, but in reality, many who identify themselves as one or the other hold on to very different notions of what they really mean by the use of these terms. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, “Malaysian,” when used as a noun, refers to “[a] native or inhabitant of the Malay Archipelago, or (more recently) of the Federation of Malaysia.” Since the word “Malaysian” is derived from the root word “Malaysia,” there were no Malaysians until 16 September 1963, the day when Malaysia was born. Likewise, the word “Chinese” is also derived from the name “China,” and the Oxford English Dictionary defines a Chinese as “[a] native of China.” In that case, the terms “Malaysian” and “Chinese” evoke national identities, not racial ones.

So I struggle to comprehend how anyone can be “half Malaysian, half Chinese.” After all, you can only be a native of one place—the place where you were born. Besides, in order to be half-and-half, one must obtain dual citizenship. But as far as I know, Malaysia does not allow her citizens to hold more than one citizenship, and neither does China. Hence, one is either a full Malaysian, or one is not; one is either a full Chinese, or one is not. And since I, and many others like me, were born and bred in Malaysia, could we honestly identify ourselves as anything else but 100% Malaysians?

But just in case any of you are about to accuse me of forgetting my heritage (or, worse yet, betraying my race!), rest assured, for I have no intention of denying the fact that I am of Chinese descent. My elders have taught me the Chinese proverb “饮水思源,” and I have also been warned against behaving like a kacang yang melupakan kulit. I have not forgotten that my ancestors relocated from China to the Malay Peninsula during the First World War, and that is why I spend 15 days every year in January or Febraury to celebrate Chinese New Year; why my family and I still eat dumplings and mooncakes every year in spite of their soaring prices; why I speak both Cantonese and Mandarin fluently, and can read and write in both languages even though I had to stay back for extra classes after school just to learn Chinese. Yes, I can say with no reservations that I am of Chinese descent.

Nevertheless, I am essentially a Malaysian, a Malaysian of Chinese descent—a Chinese Malaysian. However, for generations, we have called ourselves Malaysian Chinese, thus suggesting that we are fundamentally Chinese, and that “Malaysian” is merely an adjective that specifies what kind of Chinese we are. No wonder others are confused if we are Malaysians or Chinese! We ourselves seem just as confused! “Malaysian Chinese” and “Chinese Malaysian”—an inversion of the two words makes a whole world of difference. For instance, “sky blue” is a colour, a shade of blue, but “blue sky,” on the other hand, is a sky that is neither grey nor white. Therefore, I proudly call myself a Chinese Malaysian because I am a native of Malaysia with a Chinese ancestry. I am first and foremost a Malaysian, and Chinese is an adjective that describes my cultural heritage. Since multiculturalism is that which makes Malaysia so unique, using an adjective to complement my national identity as a Malaysian is a celebration of this diversity.

Why should I be deprived of the right to call myself a full Malaysian? And why must I be forced to identify myself with the nation of China when I have never even set foot on Chinese soil? I pledge my allegiance to no other flag but the Jalur Gemilang. To those who frequently tell us Chinese Malaysians to balik kampung, let me tell you that my kampung is Kuala Lumpur because I was born here and I have spent 20 years of my life here, with many more to come, Lord willing. I believe that I have every right to call myself a Malaysian, and I will certainly not give in to anyone who attempts to rob me of my proud identity as a Chinese Malaysian.

 

*Special thanks to Chua Woon Chen, whose Facebook status inspired this post.



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