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Sentenced to jail for two
months, she endured the most
appalling abuses a person could
undergo. She was treated as
subhuman, a zombie and
experienced torment, both
emotional and physical.
“I was told to walk through the
cells topless,” she relates.
“Every day, vulgarities were
thrown at me – the words they
use are unimaginable.”
She was forced to take a
“boyfriend” to protect her so
she would not have to “serve”
the other inmates.
When asked why the wardens
didn’t help, she gives a wry
grin.
“My ‘boyfriend’ was a warden.”
Her name is Nisha Ayub, a programme coordinator with Pink Triangle Foundation (PT), an NGO which works with communities
affected with HIV. PT caters to sex workers, drug users and transgenders.
Nisha is tall and very attractive – dark hair with gold highlights, high cheekbones and a ready smile.
Biologically, she was born male, but her gender identity is that of a woman: she is a Mak Nyah.
The Mak Nyah community in Malaysia is, as minorities go, not small. Estimates say there are between 10,000 and 20,000
transsexual people in the nation.
Studies also show that about
half of them have been caught by
the police and religious
authorities for “indecent
behaviour and cross-dressing”.
Nisha finds this ridiculous. And
why shouldn’t she? As far as
she’s concerned, she is a woman.
In fact, the Mak Nyah community
does not appreciate terms such
as “drag queen”, “transvestite”
or “cross-dresser”, because that
is not what they are.
Transsexualism is an
individual’s identification with
a gender that is not their
biological sex.
I spent an afternoon with four PT employees to hear their stories: Brenda Sulastri, manager of PT’s transgender
programme; Rina, manager of the female sex workers programme; Manis, who works in PT’s outreach programme; and Nisha.
The women were friendly,
charming and personable. We
joked about boys, talked about
their work. It was a humbling
experience, and I am
immeasurably privileged to be
one acquainted with such
empowered and resilient women.
A lack of tolerance
The Mak Nyah community is often
disregarded, ignored, or met
with a range of emotions from
disgust to shock.
“Society doesn’t consider us human,” says Manis. “We’re here to be bullied, laughed at. They think we don’t know our rights.
It’s due to their ignorance, which is instilled by society, media, religion, parents, peers…”
She refers to the various
indignities that the community
endures, such as harassment from
the police or religious
authorities and, indeed, the
common man on the street.
Adding to this, Nisha relates
how the police tend to misuse
their powers.
“If we’re caught in club, we’ll
be the victims of extortion.
We’re asked for money. If
arrested, there have been
instances of women being
molested in cars, asked for
sexual favours – it’s like they
think we don’t have rights
because the law is against us.”
She tells the story of a friend
of hers, nicknamed “Amoi”, who
was found lying dead in a storm
drain in Setapak. She had been
robbed, beaten and stabbed to
death by a group of young men.
The case is still pending, but
no real action has been taken.
Brenda cuts in, saying that
“because she was a Mak Nyah, no
action was taken. It was swept
under the carpet”.
The religious authorities, too,
seem intent on stamping out what
they see as deviant behaviour.
“We have a very unhealthy
relationship with the religious
authorities because they refuse
to accept us,” Manis explains.
“They still consider us men. I’m
a ‘bad Muslim’ because of my
actions – but this is under
syariah law which is man-made.
The holy book has no specific
rule about this. I perform my
prayers. I recite my Quran. So
what’s the problem?”
The religious authorities have
even suggested a sort of
rehabilitation programme for the
Mak Nyah, in order to “fix”
them.
A better future
They are truly wonder women,
fighting for basic rights in a
nation where the majority of
folk choose to not understand or
respect them.
“Five years ago,” Manis says,
“there was a suggestion in
parliament that the Mak Nyah be
rounded up and given
testosterone. They think this
will make us ‘male’.”
What many do not understand is
that transsexualism is not a
disorder or an illness.
“We can’t be changed like we’re
from a factory,” says Manis.
“We’re okay with who we are,”
Brenda explains. “This is who I
am. We’ve accepted ourselves,
but society refuses to. We’re
born this way.”
Rina tells me about the
stereotypes which plague the
community: that they are all sex
workers, cross-dressers,
deviants.
Her tale is a heartbreaking one
– disowned by her family at 13,
she was homeless and was forced
to turn to prostitution and fell
into drug use to dull the pain.
“What did I do wrong? I didn’t
follow some sort of trend. I
didn’t ask God to make me this
way. It’s who I am.”
Rina took her destiny in both
hands and turned her life
around, eventually going on to
earn her Diploma in
Architecture. A few days before
she would earn her diploma, her
mother called with news that her
father was dying.
Rina wanted nothing more than to
return with her paper
qualification in hand and show
the man whose acceptance she had
craved her whole life what she
had made of herself. However, in
a heartbreaking twist of events,
he passed just three days before
she received her diploma.
She worked as a draughtsperson
for a brief period before
turning to social work in order
to help others who were going
through what she had suffered.
“I don’t want anyone going
through what I did. We’re here
to fight for the new generation.
Of course, I could leave the
country and go somewhere more
accepting, but what I want is in
Malaysia.”
PT, which is funded by the
Women, Family and Community
Development Ministry, has a
variety of measures by which to
do this. It has a drop-in centre
which operates during the day,
giving the Mak Nyah a place to
rest. Classes on HIV prevention,
sex education, and religion are
held regularly – and of course,
a large helping of care and
support from the organisation.
The social workers strongly
advocate more comprehensive sex
education in schools and the
decriminalisation of gender
fluidity.
“We’re not asking for special
rights. We want equal rights,”
Rina tells me. Her greatest
dream is that one day a Mak Nyah
will stand in parliament and
speak for the community’s
rights.
It is a fervent hope – not just
among the Mak Nyah, but the
Malaysian LGBT (gay, lesbian,
bisexual, transgender) community
in general – that one day,
things in Malaysia will change.
That their voices will be heard.
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