What are we really protecting: culture or boundaries?

We often say that we must protect our own culture.

There is nothing wrong with that statement by itself.

A language, an education system and a community’s inherited way of life deserve to be valued. This is especially true in a country where communities do not have equal resources, population sizes or political power. Concerns about cultural loss cannot simply be brushed aside by saying that we are all Malaysians.

But lately I have found myself asking another question more often.

Whenever we say we are protecting culture, are we always protecting culture?

Or are we sometimes protecting the line between “us” and “them”?

This question is not only for politicians.

It is also for commentators, online creators and everyone who talks about ethnic issues every day.

It is a question we should ask ourselves too.

When news breaks, is our first response to what happened, or to the ethnicity of the person involved?

When a policy is introduced, do we first ask whether it is fair, or calculate how much our community received and how much another community took away?

When someone from another community does something we dislike, do we criticise that person, or do we naturally pull the entire community into the criticism?

These may look like nothing more than a few comments.

Accumulated over time, they become the way we imagine this country.

Politicians certainly carry a large share of responsibility.

Ethnicity has long been one of Malaysia’s easiest political languages for mobilisation.

Tell a group that it is losing something, then tell it that another group is gaining something, and fear can quickly become unity.

Then someone can step forward and say: only we can protect you.

Whenever someone calls for grand ethnic unity, I think we should ask one more question.

What happens after the unity?

Is that community genuinely better off?

Or has it simply become more afraid of another community?

Has Malaysia genuinely improved?

Or has someone’s political position become more secure?

If a politician needs people to remain afraid of losing their community in order to justify their own importance, do they really want a country where the problem is solved, or one where the problem never disappears?

But blaming politicians alone is also too easy.

Ethnic politics no longer lives only in Parliament and political parties.

It also lives in our phones.

A video uses the most extreme case to represent an entire community.

A headline deliberately emphasises someone’s ethnicity.

A commentator begins with public policy but ends with “our people” and “their people”.

Content that makes its own community angry earns views, shares and applause.

Over time, we begin to believe that we are defending our community.

Perhaps we are only feeding its anxiety again and again.

That is why everyone who speaks about ethnicity, including me, should keep asking a few difficult questions.

Am I saying this because I genuinely want my culture to live more fully?

Or because seeing another community criticised gives me satisfaction?

Do I want institutions to become fairer?

Or do I simply want “our people” to win?

Do I want the next generation to retain its language and culture?

Or do I really want them never to forget who counts as one of “us”?

The differences can be subtle.

But the outcomes are completely different.

Someone who truly protects culture should want that culture to remain alive.

It should be learnable, understandable and open to being appreciated by others. It should be confident enough to exist alongside other cultures.

Someone who protects boundaries needs to keep reminding everyone: this is ours, that is theirs, and you must not forget which side you are on.

When every community begins doing this, the strongest thing left may not be any culture.

The strongest thing may be the boundary itself.

We become increasingly certain about who is not one of us, while thinking less about the Malaysia we hope to become together.

I do not think ethnic issues should become something that cannot be discussed.

Unfairness should be named.

Cultural erosion should be named.

A harmful policy should certainly be challenged.

But we should hold ourselves to the same standard.

Before speaking, ask: if the ethnic label were removed, would I still consider this unfair?

If someone from my own community did the same thing, would I apply the same standard?

Does what I am about to say move the problem closer to a solution, or push “us” and “them” further apart?

Most importantly, am I merely trying to win a moment of pride for my community, or trying to preserve the possibility of a better Malaysia?

Politicians change.

The mood of the internet changes too.

But what we repeatedly teach the next generation about how to see another community is what eventually becomes the culture of this country.

Perhaps the real warning sign is not only the people who openly practise ethnic politics.

It is the day all of us become accustomed to explaining everything through ethnicity while continuing to believe that we are only protecting culture.

By then, we may have preserved many boundaries.

But we may no longer be able to preserve Malaysia.