On Censorship, Identity, and Final Thoughts

I grew up as an upper-middle class, white, conservative Midwesterner and fought to stand out through most of grade school and high school by being “the leader,” “the ambitious girl” and the “world traveler.” Not surprising, since that is exactly the type of person that a Fulbright grant attracts. My identity was tied up in these boxes—I attended private school where I received an incredible education, but also learned that I was most comfortable in my boxes. A big fish in a small, very specific, pond.

I struggled a little bit with identity at the start of Fulbright orientation because I no longer knew how to stand out in a crowd of peers with very similar talents and interests. I had mentally prepared myself to be surrounded by some very smart people and visualized ways to make myself stand out in the Fulbright pond, but hadn’t thought much about how my very identity would change and I would be pushed out of my comfortable boxes merely because I now lived in Malaysia and not in the United States.

I had never thought much about self-censorship become coming to Malaysia. Even if it had been present in my daily life, I didn’t notice. I dressed professionally, didn’t consider curse words to be part of my vocabulary, and would blush during any conversation deemed NSFW. I felt I didn’t need to censor myself because as the old adage goes, I never did anything that my grandmother wouldn’t be proud of. Before living in Malaysia, I also had a very different conception of self-censorship. I thought it extended to keeping drunk photos off the internet, saying “what the heck” instead of “what the hell” in front of your little brother, and making sure your pencil skirt is long enough for work.

Then, I arrived in Malaysia and spent weeks in KL learning about high context culture, conservatism, and Islam. The moment I boarded a bus for state orientation, I closed the lid on my “boxes” and began to censor myself. I became very acutely aware that my American conservatism from the land of free speech and (semi) tolerance was not the global standard. I was now living in a world where “don’t do anything your grandmother wouldn’t approve of” was not a relevant threshold. I quickly became so concerned with being culturally appropriate in the Malaysian context that I no longer knew how to even introduce myself— will they understand what I mean by liberal arts? Should I talk about my childhood on the swim team or do I just stick to soccer? Do I tell people that I’m married so it’s easier for my boyfriend to visit later? I couldn’t talk about my professional interests in cross-cultural training or event marketing; college years in a sorority; the fact that I share a political party with Donald Trump; or the fact that I am immensely proud of writing a 30-page thesis on transgender narratives in French literature (in French!!). My very identity changed when I was forced to censor myself in this way. The less I talked about college and being in a sorority, the less I identified with it. The more I talked fondly about my days on the DePauw’s field hockey team to relate to students, the less I remembered how frustrating the experience was for me and how I hated athletics at the end of college. I stopped talking about how I studied French for 18 years because a good number of people in Malaysia don’t even know that French is a language.

I didn’t quite know how to define myself when I arrived in Jengka, and because of that, I unintentionally invited others to make assumptions about me—assumptions about what the typical American should be or do. I was expected to be like girl from the Hollywood movies. I was expected to be the savior of English, the grammar savant, and defender of Donald Trump. I was expected to be rich enough to buy iPhones for all the students and expected to consult Malaysian administrators on how to make Malaysian schools more like American schools. The problem though, was that for a long while, I didn’t know what to tell people to dispel these stereotypes or even better their understanding of me as a person. I was so flustered by these perceived responsibilities that I didn’t know what to say to pad their understanding of America or even help them to better understand who I am as a person. At the end of the day though, I think time was the great equalizer. The more time passed, the more students became comfortable around me, the more comfortable I became with discussing my ear piercings, Christianity, body image, and world travel. I was relieved to learn that the more honest I was with my community, the more respect and kindness I received. This also made me start to realize, however, that as a white native English speaker, I was automatically granted a huge amount of power. The same rules that applied to the rest of Malaysian society didn’t apply to me. No one minded if I wore skintight leggings; I was lauded for speaking even a syllable of Bahasa Malayu while I floated through Jengka expecting everyone else to use English with me; I was allowed to come and go from school as I pleased, essentially had access to unlimited vacation days, and could wear flip flops when no one else could. In Malaysia, I became very aware of my whiteness for the first time and the privileges that come attached to my skin color both here and in the United States.

“Malaysia” submitted for the Underneath Creative Writing and Arts Competition by Siti Noor Aishah Binti Muhamad Saad, 4AK, SMK Jengka 18

I was privileged in the States because I didn’t have to think about my race every day and in every interaction. Being white in the US awarded me with many advantages and one of those was that I didn’t have to worry if people would misconstrue my words or treat me differently simply because I existed in the same space. While I was definitely treated differently as a white minority in Malaysia, I was awarded power because of my whiteness, not stifled because I was a minority. Before coming to Malaysia, I never before had to censor my actions merely because of my race. One of the biggest shifts in my identity this year was a heightened awareness of how my whiteness impacts those around me. Race in Malaysia is part of the public domain— the people you interact with not only have the right to partake in your racial identity but they’re also almost expected to discuss it with you. My whiteness was constantly being compared with other people’s non-whiteness— putting me in a position of power I didn’t think I deserved. I suddenly became hyper aware of the privilege and power I had inherited simply because I was fair skinned and fluent in English.

Growing up I had been taught to believe in the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” narrative and that if you worked hard, you could achieve anything and define your own identity. However, living in Malaysia made me feel like I was losing control of that right. No matter how hard I worked at defining myself, I often felt powerless and like those around me were picking and choosing my “worthy” attributes. I was given unfair advantages and instead of being recognized because I’m an extremely hard worker and innovative thinker, I was recognized because my “ears are so cute” and my “freckles are just barely visible on my cheeks.” No one in Malaysia saw me as “the leader,” “the ambitious girl” or the “world traveler.” For most of the year, I had a very hard time grappling with the fine line between being culturally sensitive and also staying true to myself. Do I dare change my own identity at cost of being respectful? Or do I just censor those things for a year? What parts of me become public and what stays private? Those things didn’t always line up in reality the way that my head and my conscience wanted them to. Living up to someone else’s definition of me was extremely taxing. American-Kacy was locked away in a box and Malaysian-Kacy took the form of a rag doll— empty and exposed.

The longer I was in Malaysia, the more comfortable I became with Malaysian-Kacy. As I got better at navigating expectations at school and finding new comforts in town, I eventually became comfortable enough to redefine myself. Even though hiding American-Kacy away meant hiding my goals and passions for the year, it also gave me the opportunity to put my American insecurities to rest. I think the most important way that I’ve grown this year is that I stopped saying no. I was constantly agreeing to take selfies with strangers; attend weddings for the distant relative of some acquaintance; try every rice/anchovy/sugar/sambal dish; and perform in every Teacher’s Day/ Sports Day/ Motivation Day talent show that I eventually stopped telling myself no. I pushed myself out of the realm of possibility for American-Kacy and finished a half marathon even though I’d never run a day in the US. I emailed and emailed and called and emailed to convince American celebrities to reach out to my students. I co-published a student anthology of raw, creative work. I applied for and got into programs at University of Chicago and Northwestern. I finished two murals, choreographed a dance and wrote scripts for science talk show. I learned to be fearless, independent, and flexible. I found strength in redefining myself.