Forward:
I wish I could write the same story as eloquently for my children especially about my daughter, the youngest, who had gone through quite similar bullies when I enrolled her in a pretigous (kononnya) SRJK in a KL suburb. I have a permanent phobia of the school and negative perceptions of many SRJKs even Chinese SMJKs and I think it's quite difficult to forgive those chauvinis narrow minded bullies especially the teachers who suppose to teach delligently to fulfill banana parents' great wishes and hopes to see their children would not be bananas like them instead these teachers out of their own lag of motivation, teaching knowledges, lazyness, comfort seeking, internal teachers' politics etc. humiliated and demotivated these helpless banana students to embed all bad and negative outloook and characters of the Chinese school. Like this author who is now a succesful scholar even without gaining the 'sacred plus points' from the Chinese school as those morons proudly and arrogantly think need to be, and all my children as I would like to look at them as succesful and are members of International Community who can speak several languages including Mandarin and some main Chinese dialets (of course not really fluent but that too for many non-bananas) who can minggle around freely, intelectually, confidently with many International Communities including Chinese of banana or non-banana and at the same time still uphold and appreciate the principles and beauty of Chinese Cultures.
I Was Bullied In SRJK Chinese School Because I Was A Banana
This story is by a Malaysian Chinese girl who grew up in the home speaking English, and found herself bullied mercilessly by her Chinese friends in her school until she graduated._
“You’re not Chinese. Nobody wants you,” mocked the cruel voice through the toilet door.
“Let me out! Please!” I begged.“No. Go and flush yourself down the toilet bowl.
”I was in Standard 1.
I had been enrolled, against my wishes, in a famous SRJK(C) school in the Klang Valley. Early on, I had trouble making friends. One day, a group of my girl classmates invited me to go to the school toilet with them. Bursting with glee at the thought of being friends at last, I followed them… and they trapped me in a cubicle. I pleaded to be let out, but they refused, hurling insults at me through the shut toilet door. I’m a banana. I’m not Chinese enough. I’m a failure.
NowWell, they were right about the banana part. And because of this, my classmates took my pocket money. I speak English as a first language at home.
My values are western, and I enjoy western pop culture. So what? you ask. So a lot of things, to the teachers in my Chinese school. For one, I am most comfortable speaking English. Eventually, my class teacher got fed up. So, she decided that any one of my classmates could take all my money if they caught me speaking English.
My classmates would trick me into saying English words so they could pinch my cash, and when I did not fall for it, they would take my money by force.
For years, I lost my daily pocket money like this. I could not tell my parents, as they did not believe me. In fact, they would punish me further for “lying” or “exaggerating”.
Throughout my years in Chinese school, I was never allowed to forget that I am a banana. It was firmly embedded in my head that I was different. My teachers and classmates constantly reminded me that I was a shame to my parents, to my country, to the Chinese race. I would be better off dead. I had no future in life. Getting canned and screamed at became such a normal part of my day. And since the teacher couldn’t cane me into becoming a ‘better’ student, they sent me from class to class to tell them, “I am a shame to my parents. I am a lazy good-for-nothing. I am a useless girl.” Eventually, I had to go to the staff office to recite those lines, or to *the headmistress’ office. Actually, my poor performance was because English is my first language and I had trouble understanding the lessons in Chinese.
As far as I can remember, I was the only banana in my circle. I am sure there were more in my school, I just didn’t get to know them. However, I do remember this Eurasian girl—half white, half Chinese. She had light brown hair and Caucasian features, and I remember my peers disliking her for it, calling her names. I do wonder if she received the same type of treatment as me.
My class teacher from Standard 4 used to impress upon me how useless, lazy, and stupid I was. She also got a kick out of telling me to die so that my parents will not have to waste their money raising me. This was in addition to caning in front of the whole class. Twice a week after school, I would go to her house for tuition class, during which she would cane me further. She would burn incense, blare chants from Buddhist sutras while yelling at me as I sat there trying to complete my exercise sheets. “You’re a disgrace! Repent! Learn some shame!” she would scream. And when I made more mistakes, she would cane me some more. Once, I corrected her English, and she whisked out her kitchen knife, lecturing me about respecting my elders and teachers.
Both my parents were English-educated. Hence, they could not help me with any of my school work. However, they wanted my sibling and I to “go back to our roots”. They also figured that learning an extra language won’t hurt, as mastering Mandarin would mean more opportunities. As such, we were forced through the SRJK (C) system. I did not have a say in this.
Around Standard 3, I begged to be sent to a different school, but my mum convinced me that changing school would mean losing all my friends and never making new ones. I was determined not to lose my single close friend at the time, so I obliged and stayed on. But who am I kidding? Leaving wasn’t really an option. My English teacher in Standard 5 and 6 was the only reprieve I had. English class was the only class where I escaped the cane, because I thrived at English. Of all my teachers, this English teacher’s face has left the most lasting impact on me, because she always looked at me sadly.
In Standard 6, she picked me to join a writing competition. It was one of the proudest and happiest moments of my young life! My takeaway from my Chinese school experience is that a lot of Chinese people grow up in social bubbles. Quite often, their world views are narrow, fixed on one ‘best’ way to get things done. Throughout my six years there, the teachers and students knew only one means to education: rote memorization, straight-A results, and using physical pain to shame and push the children into “success”.
Not to forget all the propaganda: Calls to always remember your alma mater—the SRJK(C) school, likened to a firm but loving mother. “Be grateful to her.” “Support her financially.” “Chinese people are a superior race, as evidenced by our grades.”
Not to forget that Malaysian Chinese tend to have a victim complex, and this was drilled into us in Chinese school: “The government and other races do not like us Chinese, and they are all against Chinese education.
”The solution is that Chinese schools need to fund themselves, and thus the students are exploited, going door-to-door, bugging every relative and friend, begging for donations. Failing to collect a certain amount of donations earned me more caning. I failed every single time.
*No doubt there is beauty in Chinese culture, but they are only available to the insiders, not an outsider like me.*
Differences were not tolerated. Maybe my experience was unique, and it is possible to have a perfectly enjoyable SRJK(C) experience as a banana, but that was not what happened to me. Until today, I feel like a stranger in my own home.
The government labels me a “pendatang,” whereas my teachers and peers in school, as well as my Chinese-educated relatives full-on rejected me for being “not Chinese enough”.
Sometimes, I look at Chinese culture and feel like a tourist. I watch documentaries about what is supposed to be my own culture and wonder what it would feel like to have a sense of belonging and pride in family history and cultural roots.
Since then, I’ve visited China a few times, but I feel no connection to my ancestral motherland. It was a distant feeling, a far-fetched identity I could not claim. It’s been 4 generations since my ancestors left China, so that is not my home. Malaysia is.
Language greatly divides Chinese-educated and English-educated Malaysian Chinese. As a banana, I have greater, earlier, and far easier access to a larger Western pool of academic resources. Naturally, my perspectives will differ from Chinese-educated folks who have access to a completely different pool of resources and maybe only encounter new perspectives at the university level.
Nonetheless, I observe that because of these differing vantage points, there is conflict between Malaysian Chinese across the language divide. For example, Chinese-educated individuals tend to have Confucian values ingrained in them, which are collectivist in nature. Everybody has a role to play, which is also why gender roles are a norm in traditional Chinese households. The role of the children is to serve their elders, even if this means sacrificing their own sense of self, dreams, and ambitions. On the other hand, bananas are more individualistic. That’s why non-conforming bananas usually have an easier time than their Chinese-ed counterparts. In other words, to the Chinese-ed, the family is the smallest unit, whereas the bananas view the individual as the smallest unit. This would subconsciously affect one’s attitude about money, career, life partner, etc. I think more students would have thrived and lived far healthier childhoods if schools could accept “being different” as new learning opportunities, rather than punishing children for being who they are. I am still processing the trauma today.
,I am an academic. I hold a master’s degree. I also know 5 languages and 4 dialects, proving that I am actually good with languages.
Being a banana is who I am now, and who I was as a kid. Just because I speak English, enjoy western pop culture, or hold values associated with the west does not make me a failure in life.
I only wish that I could experience Chinese—both the language and culture—in a gentler environment. It does not mean that I have failed my parents, my ancestors, nor my country. I just wish my teachers knew that. Those six years in Chinese school cemented that I will never be Chinese enough. As a result, I leaned hard into the English language. Up till today, I have never touched any Chinese media or Chinese pop culture. I simply don’t want anything to do with Chinese culture anymore. Maybe many many years in the future, I would unlearn my hate and bitterness, and approach Chinese culture again. Maybe.
P/S : Many banana Chinese parents from their many years of life experiences realised the important of Chinese language and its values and wish to go back and to uphold their roots. They have taken the initiative and have surrendered themselves by sending their children to a Chinese school. They hope the school can help as patriotically as they have said to teach and uplift their children out of the banana mindset. But instead their children were bullied, demotivated, humiliated etc. This is not as what these self-superior concious teachers have said and help to spread the greatness of the language and the beauty of its values and cultures. They are irresponsible actually and not really Chinese language and culture patriots. They are riding it for own benefit, comfort and self ego.
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