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“如果你说某个人不好，你可以说这个人不好，但不要牵扯整个国家。如果我不好，你不需要说巴基斯坦人都是这样。因为你提到的是一个人错，不是整个国家的错。请试着理解这点。”——马力克 在加影一家24小时营业的Mamak档里，早班收银员马力克（Malik）从早上七点起，就已经在柜台前待命。39岁的马力克来自巴基斯坦，三年前为了寻求生计，离开了家乡来到马来西亚。他回忆道，刚到马来西亚时，他先在柔佛新山工作了半年，之后才辗转来到吉隆坡这座繁忙的城市。从一开始在新山的商场工作，到如今在Mamak档，他一做就是三年。 在马来西亚，许多 Mamak 档都是 24 小时营业，特别是在吉隆坡，更是随处可见。马力克说，他每天必须在店里工作 12 小时——这是 Mamak 档里默认的“潜规则”。 “只要是 24 小时营业的店，工时一定是 12 小时，没有兼职，也没有少于这个的选择，就是持续上 12 个小时。”对马力克来说，他也只能慢慢习惯这样的节奏。 剩下的 12 个小时，就是他一天里唯一能休息的时间。 在语言与牵挂之间的坚持 马力克回忆到，当初来到马来西亚的时候，对他来说最难的不是体力活，而是学会并且运用一门语言。“当你不懂怎么工作，也不懂这里的语言的时候，你会遇到很多的问题。但是你必须忍耐，并且需要学习。当你学会之后，自然什么事情你都会做了。” 休息时间，也是马力克能和家人保持联系的时刻。他几乎每天都和远在巴基斯坦的妻儿通话。他基本上每个月都会汇钱回家，寄出的通常是薪水的大半部分，剩下的则是给自己备用和购置生活用品的经费。他表示虽然每个月的金额不固定，但都会尽力把最好、最多的留给他心爱的家人。因为他知道，那是孩子的学费、家里的生活费，也是他坚持留在这里的理由。“我想念他们，我也想回去。但我正是为了他们才留在这里的。” 异乡中的信任与依靠 谈起雇主和员工的关系，马力克对自己的老板赞不绝口。他提到，“老板对我，对所有人都一样好。”马力克在这家Mamak档工作了两年，他坦言自己非常喜欢这里的工作环境，和老板、同事们相处融洽，因此不打算离开。 马力克在这里，也有一位非常要好且信任的人，那就是他的哥哥——哈斯纳 (hasnad)。哈斯纳来马来西亚工作已有七年，这里的每一位老板都认识他。如今，哈斯纳已经帮忙老板打理三家门店。每当马力克的证件出现问题、需要寄送物品，或是遇到生活上的难题时，他总是会告诉哈斯纳，而哈斯纳便会赶过来关心他。 为家人奔赴的未来 聊起未来的计划，马力克透露自己明年想要回到巴基斯坦，开一家他一直很想开的五金店，做一些水电、电工相关的生意。回到巴基斯坦，也意味着他即将和家人团聚，生活在一起。“我的梦想是，我的家人、我的孩子，无论他们想做什么，我都想帮他们完成他们的愿望。” “我不是标签” 谈话来到尾声时，马力克突然灵机一动，叫住了我们，请我们打开相机继续摄录；像是有什么很想说的却又一直不敢说的，在这一刻将要被释放。马力克说，这是他一直收在心里面的一些想法。 “如果你说某个人不好，你可以说这个人不好，但不要牵扯整个国家。如果我不好，你不需要说巴基斯坦人都是这样。因为你提到的是一个人错，不是整个国家的错。请试着理解这点。” 在马力克的眼睛此时此刻更加明亮，这番话也让他变得更加勇敢。 夜色再次笼罩加影，Mamak 档的灯光依旧亮着。柜台前的马力克，继续重复着熟悉的动作，把一天又一天的时间投入这间不眠的店铺。他的生活看似单调，却在每一次汇款、每一通跨国电话、每一个忍耐与坚持之中，被赋予了重量与意义。对马力克而言，马来西亚不仅是一处工作的地方，更是一段为家人而走过的旅程。而在无数个24小时不停运转的Mamak档里，像他一样的外籍劳工，用自己的青春与劳力，支撑起城市的日常，也悄悄编织着属于自己的未来。 Introduction “If you want to say that someone is bad, you can say that person is bad—but don’t drag an entire country into it. If I am wrong, you don’t need to say that all Pakistanis are like this. You are talking about one person’s mistake, not a whole nation’s. Please try to understand this.” — Malik At a 24-hour mamak restaurant in Kajang, Malik, the morning-shift cashier, has been standing behind the counter since seven o’clock in the morning. The 39-year-old came from Pakistan three years ago in search of a livelihood, leaving his home and family behind to work in Malaysia. When he first arrived, Malik spent six months working in Johor Bahru before moving to Kuala Lumpur. From a job in a shopping mall in Johor to his current position at a mamak  restaurant, he has now been working continuously for three years. In Malaysia, many mamak  restaurants operate around the clock, especially in Kuala Lumpur, where they are found almost everywhere. Malik explains that he works twelve hours a day, it is an unspoken “rule” in the mamak  industry. “As long as the shop operates 24 hours, the working shift is always twelve hours. There are no part-time options, no shorter shifts. You just work for twelve hours straight,” he says. For Malik, adapting to this rhythm was not a choice but a necessity. The remaining twelve hours of the day are the only time he has to rest. Holding On Between Language and Longing Looking back on his early days in Malaysia, Malik says the hardest part was not the physical labor, but learning to understand and use a new language. “When you don’t know how the work is done, and you don’t understand the language here, you face many problems. But you must endure, and you must learn. Once you learn, everything becomes easier” he reflects. His rest hours are also the moments when he stays connected with his family. Almost every day, Malik speaks with his wife and children back in Pakistan. He sends money home nearly every month, usually transferring most of his salary. What remains is used for his own basic needs and daily expenses. Although the amount varies from month to month, he says he always tries to send as much as he can. He knows the money is for his children’s school fees, household expenses, and daily survival, and it is also the reason he continues to stay. “I miss them, and I want to go back. But it is for them that I stay here.” Trust and Support in a Foreign Land When speaking about the relationship between employers and workers, Malik has nothing but praise for his boss. “My boss treats me well, he treats everyone the same,” Malik says. He has been working at this mamak  restaurant for two years and describes the workplace as one he truly enjoys. He gets along well with both his employer and colleagues and has no intention of leaving. In Malaysia, Malik also has someone he deeply trusts, that was his older brother, Hasnad. Hasnad has been working in Malaysia for seven years and is well known by many employers. Today, he helps manage three outlets for his boss. Whenever Malik encounters problems with his documents, needs help sending items, or faces difficulties in daily life, Hasnad is the first person he speaks to. His brother would come by to check on him and offer assistance, providing both practical help and emotional reassurance. A Future Built for Family When asked about his plans for the future, Malik shares that he hopes to return to Pakistan next year to open a hardware store, something he has long dreamed of. He plans to run a small business related to plumbing and electrical work. Going home also means reuniting with his family and finally living together again. “My dream is that my family, my children, whatever they want to do in the future, I want to help them achieve their wishes,” he says. “I Am Not a Label” As the conversation drew to a close, Malik suddenly asked us to turn the camera back on. It was as if he had something he had been holding for a long time, something he was finally ready to say. “If you want to say someone is bad, you can say that person is bad. But don’t involve an entire country. If I am bad, you don’t need to say all Pakistanis are like this. You are talking about one person’s fault, not a whole nation’s fault. Please try to understand this.” At that moment, Malik’s eyes seemed brighter. His words made him sound braver, firmer, and more certain of his own dignity. Night once again falls over Kajang, and the lights of the mamak  restaurant remain on. Behind the counter, Malik continues his familiar routine, pouring day after day into this sleepless shop. His life may appear repetitive, but in every remittance sent home, every cross-border phone call, and every act of endurance and persistence, his days are filled with weight and meaning. For Malik, Malaysia is not just a place of work—it is a journey undertaken for his family. And in the countless 24-hour mamak  restaurants that never stop running, migrant workers like him uphold the city’s daily rhythm with their youth and labor, quietly weaving futures of their own.

在我家里，有一位已经陪伴我23年的外籍女佣，她的名字叫做 Dorkas，大家都亲切地叫她 Dora。38 岁的 Dora，总带着一抹温和的笑容。她来自印度尼西亚东努沙登加拉省的松巴岛（Sumba, Nusa Tenggara Timur），是一位坚韧而善良的女性，也是我们家中不可或缺的一份子。 为十二份希望远行的故事 “我的姐姐很想继续念书，但家里真的负担不起高昂的学费。”说到这里，Dora 的眼神里交织着对亲人的爱与无奈。 Dora 的故事，始于一份沉甸甸的家庭责任。作为家中十二个兄弟姐妹之一，她深知家里的经济压力有多么巨大。为了减轻负担，她不得不放下课本，提前踏入大人的世界。 15 岁那年，本应是无忧无虑的青春时光，Dora 却做出了改变人生的选择：离开家乡，踏上陌生而遥远的旅程。 她决定成为一名家庭帮佣，用自己尚显稚嫩的肩膀，扛起整个家庭对未来的期望。 23 年的菜市场生活 Dora的工作主要是协助我妈在清晨的菜市场里卖菜。这是一份与日出赛跑的工作，每天都需要早起准备。她坦言，这份工作固然辛苦，但她却由衷地享受其中。 “我很喜欢这份工作，因为我感受到被信任，被欣赏。”她说这话时，眼中闪烁着光芒。她对自己的薪水很满意，更感激地说我的母亲对她非常好，这份被尊重的感觉，远比金钱更加珍贵。 和 Dora 一起吃西餐后的合影。 一场疫情，我们成了一家人 Dora 分享了一个发生在 COVID-19 疫情期间，让她感到温馨的小故事。 那段时间，我和姐姐、还有 Dora 先后感染了病毒。家里唯一没有染疫的人，是我的母亲。为了照顾我们三个病患，母亲几乎是夜以继日、不眠不休地悉心照料着我们，也从未因为 Dora 是外籍劳工而有丝毫区别对待。 “我真的非常感动，妈妈把我当成家人一样。”Dora 说这句话时，眼眶微微泛红。 那一刻，她深刻地意识到，她来马来西亚工作的意义，早已超越了单纯的赚钱。更重要的是，她遇见了一个真正接纳、包容她的家庭。在这异乡，她找到了属于自己的安身之处。 努力换来的丰盛 Dora 靠着自己多年辛勤工作赚来的钱，成功地将家乡的老房子翻修一新，让家人的生活质量得到了改善。她的奉献，为远方的家人带来了实实在在的舒适与希望。 她计划继续留在马来西亚，直到我的侄女长大开始上学。当我问起这段异乡打拼的经历教会了她什么时，她回答道： “它让我学会了如何为自己负责，让我懂得如何去争取自己想要的生活。” 聆听 Dora 的故事，我彷佛看见一束微小却坚韧的光芒。这更让我由衷地感到庆幸，能遇见 Dora。 她从小陪伴着我长大，无微不至地照顾我的生活起居，我们之间的情谊早已如同家人般亲密。虽然社会上偶尔会出现外籍劳工的负面新闻，但 Dora 以她的正直、踏实与奉献证明了：人与人之间的真诚与善意，是可以跨越国界、跨越身份的。   Dora来参与我diploma的毕业典礼 并给我买了一束花。 At home, we have a migrant domestic helper who has been with us for 23 years. Her name is Dorkas, but everyone affectionately calls her Dora. At 38, Dora always carries a gentle smile. She comes from Sumba, Nusa Tenggara Timur in Indonesia, a resilient and kind-hearted woman, and an indispensable part of our family. A Journey for Twelve Hopes  “My sister really wanted to continue her studies, but the family just couldn’t afford the high tuition fees,” Dora said, her eyes reflecting a mix of love and helplessness. Her story began with a heavy family responsibility. As one of twelve siblings, Dora knew all too well the weight of her family’s financial struggles. To ease the burden, she had to put down her books and step into adulthood early. At 15, an age that should have been carefree, Dora made a life-changing choice: to leave her hometown and embark on a long, unfamiliar journey. She decided to become a domestic helper, carrying on her still-young shoulders the weight of her family’s hopes for the future. 23 Years of “Pasar” Life Dora’s work mainly involves helping my mother sell vegetables at the market in the early mornings. It’s a job that races against the sunrise and requires waking up very early every day.She admits that it’s hard work, but she genuinely enjoys it. “I really like this job because I feel trusted and appreciated,” she says, her eyes sparkling. She is satisfied with her salary and even more grateful that my mother treats her so well. That sense of respect, she says, is far more precious than money. Photo caption: A photo taken after having Western food with Dora The pandemic brought us together as a family. Dora shared a heartwarming story from the COVID-19 pandemic. During that time, my sister, Dora, and I all caught the virus one after another. The only person who didn’t get sick was my mother. To care for the three of us, my mother worked tirelessly day and night, never showing the slightest difference in treatment toward Dora, even though she is a migrant worker.” “I was truly touched, she treated me like family,” Dora said, her eyes slightly misty. At that moment, she deeply realized that working in Malaysia meant more than just earning money. More importantly, she had found a family that truly accepted and embraced her. In this foreign land, she had found a place to call her own. The Rewards of Hard Work Thanks to her years of hard work, Dora managed to renovate her family’s old home back in her hometown, improving their living conditions. Her dedication brought real comfort and hope to her loved ones far away. She plans to stay in Malaysia until my niece grows up and starts school. When I asked her what working in a foreign land has taught her, she answered: “It taught me to take responsibility for myself and how to fight for the life I want.” Listening to Dora’s story, I see a small yet resilient light. I feel deeply grateful to have met her. She has been with me since childhood, taking care of me in every little way. Our bond has long grown as close as family. Though there are occasional negative news stories about migrant workers, Dora has shown through her honesty, diligence, and dedication that sincerity and kindness can cross borders and transcend social identity. Photo caption: Dora attended my diploma graduation and bought me a bouquet of flowers

Basit 来到马来西亚后的第一份工作是割草工，现在是 MKH2 Boulevard 的其中一个领班（Supervisor）。如今他与一名室友合租在附近公寓，月租700令吉。每逢周末双休，他最喜欢到武吉免登（Bukit Bintang）逛街或简单地在家补眠，日常饮食多是杂饭、咖喱，偶尔自己做印度烤饼（Capati）。虽然没有特别的娱乐爱好，但他偶尔喜欢打排球，让自己在工作以外保持放松。最让他牵挂的是爸爸送的那件金饰，它象征着家乡的温暖。 Basit’s first job in Malaysia was as a grass cutter, and he now serves as a supervisor at MKH2 Boulevard. He shares a nearby apartment with a roommate, paying RM700 per month. On weekends, he enjoys visiting Bukit Bintang or simply catching up on sleep. His everyday meals usually consist of mixed rice and curry with occasional self-made Chapati. Though he has no particular hobbies, he enjoys playing volleyball from time to time to relax outside work. What he treasures most is a piece of gold jewellery given by his father, a symbol of warmth and connection to home. Basit的家庭照 A family photo of Basit.

Sana Khan 自 2001 年因为家乡无工可做而来到马来西亚。他持有合法准证，一开始在建筑业工作，完成六年合约后，于 2014 年回巴基斯坦。随后，现在又在一家马来人经营的店铺工作。 虽然一年能放两个月假期，但平日没有休息日，生病也必须上班，否则就没有当日的薪水。老板在加影租了房子并提供免费住宿，而吃饭则需自费，因此他常把开销分成"吃一半、存一半"。 长期在外的日子里，他最想念的是家人，只能靠视讯通话保持联系。 Sana Khan came to Malaysia in 2001 due to a lack of work opportunities back home and holds a legal work permit. He first worked in construction. After completing a six-year contract, he returned to Pakistan in 2014. Later, he returned to Malaysia and resumed work at a store owned by a Malay. His passport is kept by his employer. While he can take up to two months of vacation per year, he has no regular days off and must work even when sick; otherwise, he loses that day’s wages. His employer provides rented accommodation in Kajang, but meals are at his own expense, leading him to adopt a strict “eat half, save half” approach. During his long time away from home, what he misses most is his family, staying in touch only through video calls. Sana Khan 的家庭照 A family photo of Sana Khan.

Sabuti Source: mylocalpassion.com 来自缅甸的 Atin，在马来西亚工作已有一年。她有两个兄弟和三个姐妹，是家中的老幺。她与她的家人都是为了躲避家乡的战事而来到了马来西亚。 目前她在富都（Pudu）租住单人房，每月房租 RM600，不含冷气。她每天的工资大部分都寄回给父母。她最想念的就是家乡的传统食物——沙布提（Sabuti），十分怀念那份家人烹煮的味道和关怀。 Atin, from Myanmar, has been working in Malaysia for a year. She is the youngest of five siblings. She and her family came to Malaysia to escape conflict in their homeland. Atin currently rents a single room without air conditioning in Pudu for RM600 per month. Most of her daily earnings are sent back to her parents. What she misses most is the traditional food of her hometown—Sabuti—cherishing the taste and care her family used to provide.

来自孟加拉达卡的 Md. Mahbud 于 2023 年来到马来西亚，最初在加影担任裁缝，制作各族群的服装，但最终因为不喜欢而离开了那份工作。后来在兄弟朋友的引荐下，他转到如今的 Mamak 档，负责制作西式餐点，也是餐馆里唯一能偶尔请假的人。 工作之余，他几乎把所有时间投入电子竞技，是 DW 战队的指挥兼队长。他平时会指挥团队参加比赛，得到的奖金也全部分给队员，仅仅是因为队员没有收入而他本身已有工作。 对他而言，在马来西亚的经历既美好又艰难，美好来自友善的环境，而艰难则来自对家乡与家人的思念与牵挂。 Md. Mahbud from Dhaka, Bangladesh, arrived in Malaysia in 2023. He first worked as a tailor in Kajang, able to make clothes for different ethnic groups, but he left the job because he did not enjoy it. With recommendations from friends and family, he moved to a Mamak restaurant, where he now prepares Western-style dishes and is the only staff member that can to take occasional days off. Besides work, he devotes nearly all his time to e-sports. He is the captain and leader of the DW team, guiding them in competitions, and shares all winnings with the team, simply because his teammates have no other source of income. For him, his experience in Malaysia has been both rewarding and challenging: rewarding because of the friendly environment, challenging because he longed for home and family. Md. Mahbud 与朋友的合照 A group photo of Md. Mahbud with friends.

离乡的抉择与最初的挑战 在马来西亚这片土地上，有一个关于伊姆兰（化名）的故事——一个关于无奈、辛酸与坚韧的漂泊者故事。他来自异国，那里的动荡迫使他做出艰难选择：为了生计和家人，他踏上了这片薪资更高的异乡土地，如今已两年有余。 偷渡惊魂：高风险的入境之路 当初，他来到马来西亚的道路充满风险——他是通过中介偷渡入境的。他坦言，当时别无选择：政府为了管控外籍劳工的数量，暂时收紧了临时就业准证的配额数量，导致他想要透过正规途径入境无望，只能走这条路。 那段旅程惊险万分。中介安排他们在夜色掩护下，藏身于运输蔬菜的货车底层，上层堆满新鲜农产品。沿途可能会遭遇检查，但据说中介已通过“打点”化解风险。到达边境时已是凌晨，前方有检查站，中介催促他们从货车后方迅速逃离。 所有人匆忙跑进幽深的森林，借助树木掩护，终于成功潜入马来西亚境内。他们争分夺秒地奔向早已安排好的接应地点，那里另一批中介等待着将他们接走。直到凌晨，他们才登上接应车辆。然而，一些同伴因动作慢，被发现并遭到逮捕。 隐蔽的打工生活与突发变故 他说，中介早已提前安排好了他们每个人的落脚点，顺利接应他们后便一一把他们送到对应的工作地点。他被安排的第一份工作是在一家餐馆，最初负责制作饮品，过了试用期后才开始学习做服务员。虽然工作的问题解决了，但他需要自己解决住宿问题，因为他的雇主并没有为他提供住宿。 语言是他跨越的第一道障碍。初来乍到时，他仅会极少的英语，对马来语则一窍不通。在马来西亚的餐馆里，他常常只能依靠笨拙的手势和肢体动作来揣摩顾客的需求。随着时间的推移，生活逼着他学习，从简单的词汇开始慢慢累积，他也渐渐适应并熟练起来。 后来，由于这家餐馆在警察的突袭检查后被强制关闭，他不得不换工作。然而，那天他正好轮休，也亲眼目睹了自己的朋友们被一网打尽。无助之下，他再次联系了当初的中介，目前他正位于吉隆坡的一间茶餐室工作。 简朴的日常与遥远的归期 如今，他依然过着简朴的生活。自己租房，与他人合租一间条件普通但租金便宜的房间。最近底薪有所调涨，让他觉得日子似乎慢慢好转了些。 漂泊至今，他还未能回家。他的心愿是等家乡局势真正安定后，再踏上归途。他用自己购买的手机与家人保持联系，但由于网络状况不佳，并未能每天都能通话。每一分钱的收入，他都委托中介汇寄给远方的父母，并通过电话确认，以确保家人收到了这份沉甸甸的爱与牵挂。 他的故事，是千万异乡漂泊者中沉默的一个缩影，是关于生存、关于家的思念，以及在黑暗中默默坚守的希望。 Source: NotebookLM The Choice to Leave Home and the Initial Challenges On Malaysian soil unfolds the story of Imran (alias)—a story shape/d by helplessness, hardship, and quiet resilience. Fleeing turmoil in his homeland, Imran was forced to make a painful decision: to leave everything familiar behind in search of survival and stability for himself and his family. Drawn by the promise of higher wages, he arrived in Malaysia more than two years ago, carrying with him both hope and uncertainty as he stepped onto unfamiliar ground. The Perilous Journey: A High-Risk Entry At the time, the path to Malaysia was filled with danger—he entered the country illegally through an agent. He admitted that he had no other choice: legal channels for work permits were no longer available, and all formal routes had become impossible, leaving him with no other choice. The journey was extremely dangerous. The agent arranged for them to hide under trucks transporting vegetables under the cover of the night, with fresh produce piled on top of them. The agents reportedly also "took care" of potential risks of inspection along the way. Before dawn, they reached the border and approached a checkpoint, and the agent urged them to quickly escape from the back of the truck. In a hurry, everyone  ran into the dense forest, using the trees as cover, and eventually succeeded in crossing into Malaysian territory. They raced against time to reach a pre-arranged pickup point, where another group of agents waited to take them away. It was only at dawn that they got onto the vehicles. However, some companions were caught because they moved too slowly and were arrested. A Hidden Working Life and Sudden Setbacks He said the agent had already arranged a place to stay for each of them. After the agents safely picked them up, they were taken to their respective workplaces. His first job was at a restaurant, initially making drinks, and only after the probation period did he start learning to serve as a waiter. Although the job was stable, he still had to find and pay for his own long-term accommodation. Language was the first barrier he had to cross. When he first arrived, he knew very little English and didn't know Malay at all. In the Malaysian restaurant, he often had to rely on clumsy gestures and body language to interpret the customers’ needs. Over time, life forced him to learn the languages, starting with simple vocabulary, he gradually accumulated knowledge and eventually became proficient. Later, the restaurant was forced to close after a police raid, and he was forced to change jobs. Coincidentally, he was off shift that day, but he happened to be nearby and witnessed his friends being rounded up and arrested. Feeling helpless, he contacted the same agent again, and he is now working at a tea restaurant in Kuala Lumpur. A Simple Daily Life and a Distant Return Now, he continues a simple life. He rents a room shared with others—basic but affordable. Recently, his base salary was slightly increased, giving him a sense that life might be slowly improving. After drifting for so long, he has yet to return home. His wish is to wait until the situation in his homeland truly stabilises before returning. He keeps in touch with his family using the phone he bought himself, though poor network conditions prevent them from calling each other every day. Every penny he earns is entrusted to the agent to send to his parents, and he confirms by phone to ensure that his family has received this deep love and care. His story is just one among millions of silent wanderers, a tale of survival, homesickness, and the hope that is silently held onto in the darkness.

在日常生活里，美食常常成为人与人之间最自然的连接点。一道看似平凡的料理，既能开启新的话题，也承载着个人与社区的细微故事。 余岸鹏（Elroi Yee）是Dari Dapur的创办人之一。从2023年开始，他与潘思翎（Puah Sze Ning）就开始了Dari Dapur这个计划，旨在利用食物带出马来西亚外劳和难民的故事。在投身社会企业之前，Elroi就已经深切体会到马来西亚民众对外籍劳工的复杂态度。 记者生涯中的沉思与转变 Elroi 曾是一名调查记者，多年来持续深入关注外籍劳工与难民群体，长期报导他们在马来西亚所面临的结构性困境。然而，在多年实践中，他逐渐意识到一个令人沮丧的现实：无论他在报导中如何努力说服公众——引用详实的数据、采访相关领域的专家，或是让外籍劳工与难民亲自讲述自身经历——社交媒体上的舆论，依然充斥着对这些“外来者”的负面评论与敌意。 为此，他开始寻找一个新的方式来呈现难民和外籍劳工的故事。而有一次他偶然吃到了缅甸一种名为Balachaung的辣椒，其好吃程度让Elroi都有些许上瘾，就在那时他就有了一个灵感，自己是不是可以用食物带出这些难民和外劳的故事？ “我想以一个不同的方式讲述他们的故事，一种通过共同点吸引人们的方式。” 以美食为媒介：沟通与共鸣的起点 我们在构思 Dari Dapur 这个概念时，思考的是：究竟有什么东西能让马来西亚人感到共同的骄傲，而且超越种族与族群的界线？答案其实很简单——美食。 Elroi 认为，外籍劳工远道而来，往往经历过许多创伤。他们的个人经历通常都较为私密，想深入了解时较容易受到抗拒。而这个时候，美食就成了能打破隔阂的“万能钥匙”。与马来西亚人一样，这些外籍劳工对自己的家乡食物感到非常骄傲，并乐于分享。Dari Dapur 通过食物制造共鸣，让马来西亚社会能更好地接受这些“外来者”。 初期，Dari Dapur 主要以记录食谱为主——先介绍美食，再借此引出背后的迁移故事。到了后期，他们开始邀请马来西亚的知名人士到难民或外籍劳工的家中，一起用餐、聊天，用更轻松、人性化的方式呈现这些故事。 Elroi 发现，当双方坐下来边品尝美食边交流时，总能自然而然地找到共同点——无论是家庭、孩子，还是梦想——而这些共通之处也自然而然地连接到他们的迁移经历。同时，他也注意到，相比在新闻标题中直接标注“难民”或“外劳”，以食物为切入点的方式更容易获得正面回应，负面评论则显著减少。 后来，Dari Dapur 开始频繁与学生合作举办活动。他们希望为年轻人打造一个能够与这些群体直接交流的空间——在同一张餐桌上用餐、聊天，并在交流中逐渐认识彼此。毕竟，唯有在充分了解之后，人们才有可能重新审视既有的印象，进而松动甚至消除长期存在的偏见。 家人：所有迁移故事的共同动力 Dari Dapur 至今已拍摄了八集与移民群体一起用餐的视频，并举办了近 20 场活动。他们发现，这些远道而来的人都有一个共同点：对家人的思念。 他们和我们一样，都是有情感的人类。无论是为了逃避战乱、政局问题，还是为了赚钱养家，他们都不会忘记自己的家庭。Elroi 认为，外籍劳工的故事与马来西亚华人多年前来此谋生的经历有着惊人的相似性。 “如果当时我的曾祖父从广东或广西来的时候，以现在的标准来说，我的曾祖父可能是难民吧，但那时候就是没有这样的概念。他逃了过来，在这里找工作，找吃。” 为此，他鼓励每个人反思自己的历史。 这些从外地来的人，尤其是难民，往往是在没有选择的情况下才来到马来西亚。他们寻求的可能是安稳、谋生，甚至是追求梦想。唯一的不同，只是他们没有我国的身份证。因此，Elroi在看到他们时，往往只会觉得看到了自己的故事，他也鼓励大家看到难民或外劳时，可以多认识他们，从他们的生活中看到自己的故事。 食物的迁移与演变：创造“新马来西亚美食” Elroi 观察到一个有趣的现象，马来西亚周边的国家似乎都有自己的“Laksa”。这种以鱼汤、香料和面条为主的烹饪方式在东南亚地区意外地普遍。这些食物放到马来西亚的环境中并不陌生，只是融入了他们独有的文化。就比如缅甸有Mohinga, 柬埔寨有Nom Banh Chok, 马来西亚和印尼也有各式各样的Laksa. 我们现在习以为常的美食，都经历了各自的迁移故事，在不同地方融合了不同的文化，最终才得以成为“马来西亚美食”，成为代表我们的象征。就像 Nasi Lemak 原本是从印尼过来的，或是华人的肉骨茶和辣汤，都是经过了这里的环境演变出来的。 当外来者尝试制作他们熟悉的食物时，必然会先适应马来西亚的材料和环境并作出改良。那么，他们是不是也在创造着新一代的马来西亚美食呢？ 食物的非凡意义：力量、身份与连接 对这些外籍人士而言，食物的意义远不止果腹。它是一种力量，支撑着他们，也给予他们希望与机会。Elroi分享了一些故事：有一位克钦族的朋友常常会在多种传统克钦美食放入一种叫 magram 的材料，他也曾经为Dari Dapur团队煮菜时用了他已故母亲从缅甸寄给他的最后一包；一位叙利亚妈妈因为无法找工作，通过 YouTube 学习烹饪，最终靠餐饮工作在马来西亚生存，并成功移居加拿大。食物对于他们，是转机的象征，也是与故土、与家人的情感连接。 食物也代表着他们的身份，或是与自己社区的连接。就像住在马来西亚的客家人，可能会向外国人推荐 Nasi Lemak，但最让自己觉得熟悉的依旧是酿豆腐。虽然你身处马来西亚，拥有马来西亚人的身份，但你同时也保有客家人的身份，而食物便成为了这些不同身份的象征与表达方式。 这些食物即使因环境限制无法百分之百还原，但它们依旧是这些外来者身份的代表，承载着他们的记忆、思念，以及与社区、国家的连接。 In everyday life, food often becomes one of the most natural bridges between people. A seemingly ordinary dish can spark conversation while quietly carrying the intimate stories of individuals and communities. Yee Ngan Pang, also known as Elroi Yee, is one of the founders of Dari Dapur. Since 2023, he and Puah Sze Ning have been developing this initiative, which uses food as a medium to tell the stories of migrant workers and refugees in Malaysia. Long before venturing into social entrepreneurship, Elroi had already become deeply familiar with the complex and often ambivalent attitudes Malaysians hold toward foreign labour. Reflections and Shifts from a Journalist’s Career Elroi was once an investigative journalist who spent years reporting on migrant workers and refugees, consistently highlighting the structural challenges they face in Malaysia. Over time, however, he began to confront a discouraging reality: no matter how carefully his reports were constructed, supported by data, expert interviews, or first-hand testimonies from migrants themselves, public discourse on social media remained saturated with hostility and negative stereotypes toward these so-called “outsiders.” This prompted him to search for a different way to tell their stories. One day, Elroi gets a chance to try balachaung, a type of Burmese chilli condiment. Its flavour left such a strong impression on him that it sparked an idea: could food become a way to open conversations about the lives of refugees and migrant workers? “I wanted to tell their stories differently, one that people might find easier to accept.” Food as a Medium: A Starting Point for Communication and Empathy When conceptualising Dari Dapur, the team asked a simple but crucial question: what is something Malaysians collectively take pride in, something that transcends ethnic and cultural boundaries? The answer was clear: food. Elroi observes that migrant workers often arrive in Malaysia carrying deep personal trauma. Their life stories are private and sensitive, and direct questioning can easily be met with resistance. Food, however, becomes a “master key” that unlocks trust. Like Malaysians, migrant workers take pride in the food of their homeland and are often eager to share it. Through food, Dari Dapur creates points of resonance that allow Malaysian society to approach these “outsiders” with greater openness. In its early stages, Dari Dapur focused on documenting recipes—introducing a dish first, then gradually unfolding the migration story behind it. Later, the project began inviting well-known Malaysians into the homes of refugees or migrant workers to share meals and conversations. These encounters offered a more relaxed, humane way of presenting their stories. Elroi noticed that once people sat down together to eat and talk, common ground emerged naturally: family, children,and aspirations. These shared themes often led organically to discussions about migration. He also observed a significant shift in public response: when stories were framed through food rather than headlines explicitly labelled “refugees” or “migrant workers,” positive engagement increased, while hostile comments noticeably declined. Eventually, Dari Dapur began collaborating frequently with students, organising events that created spaces for young people to interact directly with these communities. By sharing meals at the same table, participants could talk, listen, and slowly come to understand one another. After all, only through understanding can long-held assumptions be questioned, softened, or dismantled. Family: The Common Thread in All Migration Stories To date, Dari Dapur has produced eight videos featuring shared meals with migrant communities and has organised nearly twenty events. Through these encounters, one recurring theme consistently emerges: longing for family. “If we bring Malaysians to talk with migrant workers or refugees, the conversation will always end up being about family. I think everyone can see that whatever we do in life, it ultimately comes back to family, whether it’s returning home or thinking about our loved ones. That’s the motivation for everyone.” Like anyone else, these migrants are deeply emotional beings. Whether they fled war, political instability, or came simply to earn a living, family remains central to their lives. Elroi sees striking parallels between their stories and the migration histories of Malaysian Chinese generations ago. “If my great-grandfather came from Guangdong or Guangxi under today’s standards, he might be considered a refugee. Back then, that label didn’t exist. He fled, found work, and found food here.” For Elroi, this comparison is an invitation for reflection. Many of those who arrive in Malaysia, especially refugees, do so with little choice. They seek stability, survival, or even the chance to pursue a dream. The only real difference, he says, is that they do not possess Malaysian identity cards. When Elroi encounters them, he often feels he is seeing fragments of his own family’s past. He encourages others to do the same, to look beyond labels and recognise shared histories in the lives of migrant workers and refugees. The Migration and Transformation of Food: Creating “New Malaysian Cuisine” Elroi also observes an intriguing culinary pattern: many countries around Malaysia have their own version of laksa. This style of cooking, based on fish, spices, and noodles is surprisingly widespread across Southeast Asia. These dishes feel familiar in Malaysia, even though each carries the cultural imprint of its origin. Myanmar has mohinga, Cambodia has nom banh chok, while Malaysia and Indonesia boast countless variations of laksa. Many foods now considered “Malaysian” are themselves the result of migration—shaped by different cultures, ingredients, and environments over time. Nasi lemak traces its roots to Indonesia, while dishes like bak kut teh and spicy Chinese soups evolved within the Malaysian context. When newcomers cook familiar dishes in Malaysia, they inevitably adapt to local ingredients and conditions. In doing so, are they not also creating a new generation of Malaysian cuisine? The Extraordinary Meaning of Food: Strength, Identity, and Connection For migrant communities, food is far more than sustenance. It is a source of strength, hope, and opportunity. Elroi shares several stories: a Burmese friend who always adds an ingredient called magram to his cooking, the last packet his late mother ever sent him from Myanmar; a Syrian mother who, unable to find employment, taught herself to cook through YouTube, eventually sustaining her family through food in Malaysia and later resettling successfully in Canada. For them, food represents a turning point: a tangible link to home and family. Food also signifies identity and belonging. Just as a Hakka Malaysian might recommend nasi lemak to foreigners, yet feel the deepest sense of familiarity with yong tau foo, individuals often carry multiple identities at once. Food becomes a way to express and navigate these layered identities. “We all carry many identities. In different situations, different identities come to the surface. We move through life with all of them. Perhaps food works the same way; it’s a way of expressing who we are.” Even when ingredients are substituted or flavours altered by circumstance, these dishes remain powerful symbols of identity for migrants. They carry memory, longing, and an enduring connection to community, to homeland, and to the place they now inhabit.

马来西亚的经济发展长期以来高度依赖外籍劳工，他们在制造业、建筑业、农业与服务业等领域扮演着不可或缺的角色。然而，这种深度依赖的背后却是一套矛盾重重、长期失衡的管理体系：腐败的跨境招募流程、模糊不清的法律身份界定，以及屡次成效不彰的合法化措施，都让劳工权益与雇主需求难以真正被满足，也进一步削弱国家整体的劳动力治理能力。面对持续扩张的产业需求，一个透明、高效且以实际需求为导向的外籍劳工招聘与管理机制，不仅是保障劳工基本权益的必要基石，更是维护经济稳定、提升产业竞争力，并确保社会秩序的核心支柱。 然而，马来西亚现行的外籍劳工聘用机制在实践中已偏离其初衷，演变成一个由无良中介主导、灰色地带巨大的“赚钱机器”。唐南发明确指出，政府与中介之间长期存在的腐败勾连，使得本应服务于经济需求的外劳招聘过程，沦为一门纯粹的“生意”。 长期关注难民与外籍劳工议题的唐南发，一直都在密切追踪政策的变动与执行状况。以下内容所呈现的，正是基于他多年来的观察与研究所形成的观点与分析。 在唐南发的观察下，这种系统性失灵的核心表现为“配额交易”的盛行，其具体操作如下： 超额引进：部分雇主或中介机构通过虚报或夸大用工需求，向政府申请远超其实际所需的劳工配额（quota）。由于审批过程缺乏透明度和严格的尽职调查，这种操作得以轻易实现。 配额贩卖：这些通过不正当手段获取的“剩余配额”并不会被退回，而是被中介公司当作商品，在市场上公开或私下出售给其他未能获得足够配额但又急需工人的雇主。这使得劳工配额脱离了与真实产业需求的直接关联，成为一种可供投资的“资产”。 劳工困境：在这一运作模式下，首当其冲的受害者是那些被招聘而来的外来劳工。尤其是来自孟加拉和尼泊尔的劳工，在支付了高昂的中介费后被带到马来西亚，却发现根本没有承诺中的工作岗位。例如，在2023年12月，边佳兰（Pengerang）曾发生171名孟加拉劳工集体示威，抗议被中介欺骗，抵达后无工可做。他们被滞留在陌的外来劳工。生的国度，求助无门，陷入极度困境，这在事实上构成了“人口贩卖”的罪行。 总而言之，招聘环节的失序不仅导致了严重的劳工剥削，也直接制造了大量劳工身份的法律困境，使他们在抵达马来西亚的那一刻起，就陷入了“合法”与“非法”的模糊地带。 政策制造的身份陷阱：“合法”与“非法”的任意切换 清晰的法律身份不仅是保障劳工个人权益、使其免受剥削的基本前提，也是国家进行有效社会管理和执法的根本依据。然而，马来西亚现行政策在实践中制造了一个巨大的灰色地带，使得一个名义上“合法”的劳工随时可能被定义为“非法”，其根源在于混乱的劳工分配与管理体系。 一个极为普遍且荒谬的现象是“证件与雇主不符”。理论上，一名持有政府签发的临时就业准证[Visit Pass (Temporary Employment), VP(TE)]的工人应被视为合法劳工。但在现实中，如果执法人员检查发现，该工人所在的实际工作单位与其工作准证上注明的公司名称不符，他便会立即被认定为“非法劳工”并面临被逮捕的风险。 这个问题的根本原因在于先前所提到的配额贩卖，劳工被当作商品一样，从获得配额的公司“转卖”给真正需要用工的企业，但他们的官方证件却未能或无法随之更新。这一系统性缺陷同样也困住了许多的雇主，他们因急需劳动力而通过灰色渠道聘用工人，从而被迫承担非法用工的罚款风险。 与此同时，现行政策对劳工更换雇主设置了极其严格的限制，进一步加剧了他们的脆弱处境。在正常情况下，外籍劳工的身份与其第一位雇主牢牢绑定。除非他们能够向劳工局投诉并成功证明自己遭受了严重的剥削，例如长期被拖欠薪资或遭受虐待，否则几乎不可能获得官方批准以转换雇主。这种制度设计使得劳工在面对不公待遇时，除了“逃跑”成为无证人员外，几乎别无选择。 为了应对日益庞大的无证劳工群体，政府虽推出了劳工合法化（俗称“漂白”）计划(Program Rekalibrasi Tenaga Kerja, RTK)，但这些计划本身也因其高昂的成本与苛刻的门槛而步履维艰。 “漂白计划”的局限性：高昂的成本与苛刻的门槛 政府推行漂白计划是想要解决国内大量无证劳工的滞留问题，将其重新纳入规范化管理，从而稳定劳动力市场并减少社会治安隐患。理论上，这是一项重要的补救措施。然而在实践中，这些计划因其严苛的申请门槛和被层层加码的办理成本，覆盖率和成效十分有限。 尽管“漂白”的官方要求是：劳工需持有有效期至少为 18 个月的护照、无犯罪或黑名单记录、且无从前任雇主处“逃跑”的记录，以及承担官方费用约至少两千令吉。 然而，劳工和雇主在现实中面临的障碍远比官方要求复杂和高昂： 证件门槛过高：许多劳工，尤其是难民群体，他们根本没有护照或护照早已过期，无法满足最基本的申请条件。 纪录问题：许多无证劳工正是因为不堪忍受原雇主的剥削才选择逃离，这一“逃跑”记录反而使他们被视为违规者，失去通过合法化计划获得新生的机会。部分人也可能因早期的逾期逗留等轻微违规行为而被移民局记录在案，从而失去资格。 实际成本暴涨：官方费用总计约两千令吉，但雇主若通过中介办理，实际总花费往往高达七千令吉。这笔费用中包含了高昂的中介服务费，且不排除存在用于疏通关系的“台底钱”。 综合评估下来，他预测该计划的整体成效远未达到预期。高昂的成本让许多中小企业雇主望而却步，宁愿继续承担非法用工的风险。严苛的资格审查则将绝大多数真正需要帮助的无证劳工排除在外。 结论与政策反思 唐南发揭示了马来西亚外籍劳工管理体系中的一个核心困境：一个由不透明的招聘机制、模糊的法律身份界定、失效的合法化途径以及普遍的社会歧视所构成的恶性循环。 为推动建立一个更人道、高效和可持续的管理体系，唐南发认为政府应该： 重建透明、以需求为本的招聘体系：当务之急是彻底打破当前由中介操控、腐败滋生的招聘模式。政府应建立一个按照行业需求、过程完全透明、可追溯的官方引进机制，从源头上杜绝“配额贩卖”和超额引进等问题，确保每一位被引进的劳工都有确切的工作岗位。 加强对中介机构的监管与问责：必须对所有从事劳工招聘的中介机构进行严格的资格审查和持续的行为监管。应设立清晰的问责机制，对于“贩卖”劳工配额、滥收费用、提供虚假工作承诺等违法行为，必须予以严厉打击，并追究其法律责任，以净化市场环境。 唯有打破这种由腐败、剥削和政策失效构成的恶性循环，以尊重人的基本尊严为出发点，马来西亚才能真正化解这种“依赖与困境并存的现实”，确保经济发展与社会公正能够和谐并进。 Malaysia’s economic development has long depended heavily on migrant workers. Migrant workers play indispensable roles in manufacturing, construction, agriculture, and the service sector. Yet behind this dependence lies a deeply contradictory and chronically imbalanced governance system. Corrupt cross-border recruitment processes, ambiguous legal status classifications, and repeatedly ineffective regularisation programmes have prevented both workers’ rights and employers’ needs from being adequately met, while simultaneously weakening the state’s overall capacity to manage its labour force. As industrial demand continues to expand, a transparent, efficient, and needs-based migrant workers recruitment and management system is not merely essential for protecting workers’ basic rights, it is also a critical pillar for economic stability, industrial competitiveness, and social order. However, Malaysia’s current migrant workers recruitment mechanism has deviated far from its original intent. It has evolved into a profit-driven system dominated by unscrupulous intermediaries and vast grey zones. Josh Hong points out that long-standing collusion between government actors and labour agents has transformed what should be a demand-oriented recruitment process into a purely commercial enterprise. As a writer who has followed refugee and migrant workers issues for many years, Josh Hong has closely tracked policy changes and their implementation on the ground. The analysis below reflects insights formed through his sustained observation and research. Quota Trading: The Core Mechanism of Systemic Failure At the heart of this systemic breakdown is the widespread practice of “quota trading,” which operates through several key stages: Over-recruitment Some employers or labour agents exaggerate or falsify workforce needs when applying for government-approved labour quotas. Due to a lack of transparency and rigorous due diligence in the approval process, such applications are often easily approved, resulting in quotas far exceeding actual demand. Quota resale Instead of returning unused quotas, intermediaries treat them as commodities, selling them openly or covertly to other employers who urgently need workers but were unable to secure sufficient quotas themselves. In this way, labour quotas become detached from real industrial demand and are transformed into speculative “assets.” Workers caught in the system The most immediate victims of this arrangement are migrant workers themselves. Workers from countries such as Bangladesh and Nepal often pay exorbitant recruitment fees, only to arrive in Malaysia and discover that the promised jobs do not exist. In December 2023, for example, 171 Bangladeshi workers staged a protest in Pengerang after being deceived by agents and left without work upon arrival. Stranded in a foreign country with no means of redress, they were pushed into extreme precarity conditions that effectively constitute human trafficking. In short, disorder at the recruitment stage not only facilitates severe labour exploitation but also directly produces legal identity crises, placing workers in a blurred zone between “legal” and “illegal” from the moment they arrive in Malaysia. Policy-Created Identity Traps: Arbitrary Shifts Between “Legal” and “Illegal” Clear legal status is the foundation for protecting workers’ rights and enabling effective governance and enforcement. Yet Malaysia’s current policies generate a vast grey area in which a worker who is nominally “legal” can be reclassified as “illegal” at any moment, an outcome rooted in chaotic labour allocation and management systems. One common and absurd scenario is the mismatch between work permits and actual employers. In theory, a worker holding a government-issued Visit Pass (Temporary Employment), or VP(TE), is legally employed. In practice, if enforcement officers find that the worker’s actual workplace does not match the company listed on the permit, the worker is immediately deemed “illegal” and subject to arrest. This problem stems directly from quota trading: workers are effectively “resold” from quota-holding companies to businesses that actually need labour, while their official documentation remains unchanged or cannot be updated. This systemic flaw also traps employers, who are desperate for manpower hire through informal channels and consequently face fines for illegal employment. At the same time, policies governing job mobility place extremely strict limits on workers’ ability to change employers. A migrant worker’s legal status is tightly bound to their first employer. Unless they can file a complaint with the Labour Department and successfully prove severe exploitation, such as prolonged wage theft or abuse, it is nearly impossible to obtain approval to transfer to a new employer. This leaves workers with few options when faced with injustice, often forcing them to flee and become undocumented. To address the growing population of undocumented workers, the government has introduced regularisation programmes, commonly referred to as “amnesty” or “whitening” schemes, such as the Program Rekalibrasi Tenaga Kerja  (RTK). Yet these programmes are themselves plagued by high costs and restrictive eligibility criteria. The Limits of Regularisation Programmes: High Costs and Stringent Barriers The stated aim of regularisation programmes is to bring undocumented workers back into the formal system, stabilise the labour market, and reduce social risks. In theory, they represent an important corrective measure. In practice, however, their impact has been severely limited by rigid requirements and escalating costs. Officially, applicants must meet several conditions: possession of a passport valid for at least 18 months, no criminal record or blacklisting, no record of absconding from previous employers, and payment of official fees amounting to at least RM2,000. In reality, the obstacles faced by workers and employers are far more complex and burdensome: Documentation barriers Many workers, especially refugees, do not have passports, or their documents have long expired, making them ineligible from the outset. Problematic records Many undocumented workers fled abusive employers, yet this act of “absconding” became a mark against them, disqualifying them from regularisation. Others may be barred due to minor past infractions such as overstaying their visas. Escalating real costs While official fees total around RM2,000, employers who rely on agents often end up paying as much as RM7,000. These costs include inflated service fees and may also involve informal payments to “facilitate” approvals. Based on these factors, Josh Hong predicts that the programme’s overall effectiveness falls far short of expectations. High costs deter small and medium-sized enterprises, which may prefer to risk penalties for illegal employment. Meanwhile, strict eligibility criteria exclude the very workers most in need of protection. Conclusion and Policy Reflections Josh Hong  exposes a central dilemma in Malaysia’s migrant workers governance: a vicious cycle formed by opaque recruitment systems, ambiguous legal identities, ineffective regularisation pathways, and pervasive social prejudice. To move toward a more humane, efficient, and sustainable system, he argues that the government must take decisive action: Rebuild a transparent, demand-driven recruitment system The most urgent task is to dismantle the agent-dominated, corruption-prone recruitment model. The government should establish a fully transparent, traceable, and industry-based recruitment mechanism that directly reflects labour demand, eliminates quota trading and over-recruitment, and ensures that every worker brought into the country has a confirmed job placement. Strengthen regulation and accountability of intermediaries All labour recruitment agencies must be subject to rigorous licensing, continuous oversight, and clear accountability mechanisms. Practices such as selling labour quotas, overcharging fees, and making false job promises must be met with strict enforcement and legal consequences in order to restore integrity to the system. Only by breaking this cycle of corruption, exploitation, and policy failure. By placing human dignity at the centre of governance can make Malaysia truly resolve the contradiction of dependence amid precarity, ensuring that economic growth and social justice progress hand in hand. 唐南发 -自由撰稿人，长期关注马来西亚难民与移工议题 Josh Hong - Freelance reporter, has long focused on refugee and migrant worker issues in Malaysia

唐南发是马来西亚的自由撰稿人，长期关注社会议题，尤其是难民与外籍劳工问题。他多年致力于外籍劳工议题的跟进与研究，并与许多外籍劳工建立了友谊，从而获得对其日常生活更为深入的理解。他关注这一群体的原因，可追溯至其早年经历的一段重要事件。 异乡人的回响：伦敦的启示 深刻的同理，往往源自塑造它的亲身经历。对于自由撰稿人及社会评论家唐南发而言，他对马来西亚外籍劳工课题的关注，源于一段长达十二年的异乡生活。中学毕业后，他远赴英国，在那个陌生的国度里，他并非一个无忧无虑的留学生。由于家庭经济条件有限，他必须靠自己打工来维持学业和生活。这段经历让他深刻体会到，当一个人远在异国、语言不通、被视作“外人”时，生活的艰辛便可想而知。 在伦敦的岁月里，唐南发的生活与工作构成了一幅多元文化的画卷。为了生活，他从事过各种各样的工作，这段经历也让他接触到了来自世界各地的人。 在与这些来自中东、非洲、南美和亚洲各国的同事共事时，他感受到一种纯粹的合作关系——大家都是同事，一起努力把事情做好。然而，在这样一个国际大都市，歧视依然无处不在。他曾遭受过来自不同群体的言语偏见，不仅有白人的，也有来自其他地区的华人，例如香港人、新加坡华人或是台湾人。他至今仍记得，曾有人因他当时的英文不够流利而轻蔑地对他说：“你赶快把英文学好才来跟我讲话。” 这些不愉快的遭遇，最终让他获得了最宝贵的启示：只有当自己身处异乡时，才能真正体会那种被排挤、无法融入的感受。 他人生中第一次接触到沙巴人，就是在伦敦的餐馆里一起打工。他们是所谓的“跳飞机”，也就是逾期逗留的无证工人。因为同样身处社会边缘，同为“外来者”，他们之间产生了一种独特的联结。在那一个夏天里，他不仅与沙巴的朋友们建立了深厚的友谊，甚至连自己的客家话也因此变得流利起来。 正是这份亲身经历，成为了他理解并共情马来西亚移工处境的基石，使他能够穿透标签，看见背后那一张张真实而有血有肉的脸。这段在伦敦身为“局外人”的经历，如同一面棱镜。日后，他正是透过这面棱镜，才得以清晰地审视自己家园里那些同样“被看不见”的局外人。 马来西亚社会的一面镜子：我们身边的偏见 从英国回到马来西亚后，唐南发对他所处的社会有了一种全新的、甚至是震惊的观察。他发现，社会中弥漫着一种针对外籍劳工的根深蒂固的偏见。一次，他无意中将一位印尼摊贩误认为马来人，与唐南发同行的马来同事立刻表现出被羞辱的神情，反复强调那个摊贩是印尼人，并惊讶地反问：“You cannot tell the difference?”（你分不出来吗？）。这个小插曲让他第一次意识到，即使在文化和语言极为相近的族群之间，也存在着一条无形的社会分层。 这种偏见体现在日常生活的方方面面，形成了一种刻板印象与现实之间的巨大鸿沟。 “哇，你好像外劳这样哦，只有外劳才骑脚车的嘞。” 当在唐南发告诉别人自己是骑自行车来参加活动时，这是他得到的答复。一句不经意的调侃，却像手术刀一样，精准地切开了马来西亚社会深处一个病态的脓疮：我们一方面极度依赖他们提供的便利与劳动力，另一方面又将“外劳”这个词污名化，将他们视为社会的底层。 他强调的核心观点是：“他们其实也跟我们一样，有血有肉”。他们有家庭，有情感，会因为被亏待而难过，也会因为做好一件事而开心。我们需要改变的，不仅仅是言语上的称呼，更是内心深处那份根深蒂固的偏见与傲慢。 超越标签，看见人性 回顾这一切，唐南发的核心呼吁其实非常简单：马来西亚人必须正视自己的历史。远在马六甲王朝之前，就已有来自不同地区的移民在这片土地上生活。承认这片土地自古以来就是由不同时期的移民共同建立的，我们才能接受，社会的人口结构并非一成不变，它会随着经济和时代的需求而不断演变。 他也提到，我们最需要培养的，是两种最基本的人类品质：同理心和对他人尊严的尊重。我们能做的最简单、也最重要的事情，就是停止歧视。无论对方的国籍、肤色或法律身份如何，都应给予平等的尊重。 正如唐南发所说，如果我们之中的任何一个人，有朝一日被迫到国外成为一名无证劳工，就能立刻体会到，那种时时被人排斥、处处被人提防、甚至在言语上被公然羞辱的滋味，是多么令人痛苦。将心比心，或许是我们学会尊重他人的第一步，也是迈向一个更成熟、更包容的社会的必经之路。 Josh Hong is a Malaysian freelance writer who has long focused on social issues, particularly those concerning refugees and migrant workers. Over the years, he has closely followed and researched migrant labour issues, building friendships with many migrant workers and gaining deeper insight into their daily lives. His commitment to this subject can be traced back to a formative experience in his early adulthood. Echoes of Life Abroad: Lessons from London Deep empathy often grows out of lived experience. For Josh Hong, his concern for migrant workers in Malaysia began during twelve years spent living overseas. After finishing secondary school, he travelled to the United Kingdom. There, he was far from a carefree international student. Due to limited family finances, he had to support himself through part-time work while studying. This period allowed him to experience firsthand the difficulties of living in a foreign country, navigating unfamiliar systems, limited language proficiency, and the constant awareness of being seen as an “outsider.” During his years in London, Josh Hong life and work unfolded within a richly multicultural environment. To make ends meet, he took on a variety of jobs, which brought him into contact with people from the Middle East, Africa, South America, and across Asia. Working alongside colleagues from such diverse backgrounds, he experienced a sense of genuine camaraderie, everyone was simply trying to do their job well. Yet even in a global city like London, discrimination was never absent. He was subjected to verbal prejudice from different groups, including white Britons as well as other ethnic Chinese communities, such as those from Hong Kong, Singapore, or Taiwan. One remark remains vivid in his memory: someone once dismissed him for his limited English, saying, “Learn English properly before you talk to me.” These encounters, though painful, led him to a crucial realisation: only by living as a foreigner can one truly understand the feeling of exclusion and alienation. His first encounter with Sabahans in his life also took place in a London restaurant where they worked together. Many of them were undocumented workers who had overstayed their visas. Sharing the same marginal position in society, they formed a unique bond. That summer, Josh Hong not only developed deep friendships with his Sabahan colleagues, but even became more fluent in Hakka through daily interactions. This lived experience became the foundation of his empathy for migrant workers in Malaysia. It enabled him to look beyond labels and see the real, human faces behind them. His years as an “outsider” in London became a prism through which he would later examine the lives of those who remain unseen in his own country. A Mirror of Malaysian Society: Prejudice in Everyday Life Upon returning to Malaysia, Josh Hong observed his own society with fresh and often unsettling eyes. He became acutely aware of the deeply entrenched prejudice directed at migrant workers. On one occasion, he casually mistook an Indonesian street vendor for a Malay. A Malay colleague who was with him immediately reacted with visible discomfort, repeatedly stressing that the vendor was Indonesian and asking in disbelief, “You cannot tell the difference?” This small incident revealed a larger truth: even among communities that share close cultural and linguistic ties, invisible social hierarchies persist. Such prejudice permeates everyday life, creating a wide gap between stereotypes and reality. “Wow, you look like a migrant worker, only migrant workers ride bicycles.” This was the response Josh Hong received when he mentioned arriving at an event by bicycle. The seemingly casual remark cut like a scalpel, exposing a deep social contradiction in Malaysia: while society depends heavily on migrant workers for daily convenience, the term “migrant worker” is simultaneously stigmatised, used to mark people as inferior. Josh Hong’s central point is simple yet profound: “They are just like us, flesh and blood.” Migrant workers have families, emotions, and aspirations. They feel pain when mistreated and pride when they do something well. What needs to change is not only the language we use, but the deep-rooted prejudice and sense of superiority that reside beneath it. Beyond Labels: Seeing Humanity Reflecting on these experiences, Josh Hong’s core message is clear. Malaysians must confront their own history. Long before the Malacca Sultanate, migrants from different regions had already been held on this land. Only by recognising that Malaysia has always been shaped by waves of migration can society accept that its demographic makeup is neither fixed nor static, but continuously reshaped by economic needs and historical forces. He emphasises that two fundamental human values must be cultivated: empathy and respect for human dignity. The simplest and most essential step is to stop discriminating. Regardless of nationality, skin colour, or legal status, every individual deserves equal respect. As Josh Hong points out, if any one of us were someday forced to live abroad as an undocumented worker, we would immediately understand how painful it is to be constantly excluded, suspected, and openly humiliated. To place ourselves in others’ shoes may be the first step toward learning respect and toward building a more mature, inclusive society.

来自印度的 Nadhan，今年 42 岁，自 2004 年起断断续续来马来西亚工作，只为了在这里挣取稳定收入。早年家乡环境艰难，他跟随中介来到马来西亚，从洗碗工做起，一步步学会煮 Roti Canai、咖喱、炒煮等厨艺。 因兄弟姐妹已经结婚，自己也经历了结婚又离婚，他几次往返马来西亚与印度，如今再次来到这里继续工作和存钱。尽管在这里几乎没有休息日、也必须独自承担整间 Mamak 档的烹饪工作，他仍努力维持规律生活，把寄钱回家和未来成家视为人生的首要目标。 他目前希望再攒够一笔钱回家乡重新开始、建立自己的家庭，最大的愿望是期望有一天能经营一门属于自己的铁类贸易生意。 Nadhan, from India, is 42 years old. Since 2004, he has been coming to Malaysia intermittently to earn a stable income. Coming from a difficult environment back home, he arrived via an agency and began working as a dishwasher. Over time, he learned to cook Roti Canai, curries, and stir-fried dishes, gradually building his culinary skills. With his siblings already married, and having experienced both marriage and divorce himself, Nadhan has travelled back and forth between Malaysia and India several times. He continues to work in Malaysia, saving money with the goal of returning home to start his own family. Despite having almost no days off and being solely responsible for cooking in the Mamak restaurant, he maintains a routine and prioritises sending money home. His ultimate dream is to one day run his own iron and steel trading business.

这个故事是唐南发在一次由劳工权益组织所举办的研讨会上听到的，有一位菲律宾家庭佣工分享了她在马来西亚工作了近九年的经验。她的故事让在场的所有人陷入了沉默与心酸。 那天，她平静地分享道，当天正是她女儿九岁的生日。 “我已经三年没有见到我女儿。我生下我女儿没有多久，我的女儿才几个月大，我就来马来西亚工作。今年是她的九岁生日。这些年来，我都在照顾我雇主的孩子，我帮我雇主的孩子过生日，帮他们准备蛋糕，买礼物……但是，我这些年来，从来没有帮我女儿庆祝过一次生日。” 这番话语如同一记重锤，敲在每个人的心上。它提醒着我们，每一个我们称之为“kakak”或“外劳”的人，背后都有自己的家庭和孩子。他们为了生计，牺牲了与子女共度的宝贵时光，将母爱倾注在我们孩子的身上，却只能通过手机屏幕，对自己的孩子说一句“生日快乐”。 这些个人故事的背后，反映的是更广泛的社会偏见。正是这种集体性的漠视，让无数的牺牲与辛酸变得理所当然。 This story was shared by Josh Hong at a seminar organised by a labour rights organisation. During the session, a Filipino domestic worker spoke about her nearly nine years of working experience in Malaysia. Her story left everyone in the room silent, weighed down by sorrow. That day, she spoke calmly. It was her daughter’s ninth birthday. “I haven’t seen my daughter for three years. Not long after I gave birth, when my daughter was only a few months old, I came to Malaysia to work. This year, she turns nine. All these years, I have been taking care of my employer’s children. I celebrate their birthdays, prepare cakes, buy gifts for them… but in all these years, I have never once celebrated my own daughter’s birthday.” Her words struck the room like a heavy blow. This story serves as a reminder that behind every person we refer to as “kakak” or “migrant worker” lies a family and children of their own. In order to survive, these women give up the chance to watch their own children grow, pouring their care and maternal love into other people’s families, while only wishing their own children a happy birthday through a phone screen. Behind such personal stories lies a deeper and more systemic form of social prejudice. It is this collective indifference that renders countless sacrifices invisible, normalised, and taken for granted. 故事来源：唐南发 Story source: Josh Hong