I remember the first time I heard someone mention the word ‘naturalisation’. It was in 1998. France was host to the FIFA World Cup and witnessed one of the most transcendent of sporting triumphs.
The victory of the French football team in the 1998 World Cup drew its immense symbolic power from the convergence of several factors: a restless political background in which the Front National was on the rise; the disenfranchisement and under-representation of the banlieues, the working-class city suburbs which largely consisted of immigrant communities; and the racial diversity of the team, famously nicknamed the “Black, Blanc, Beur” (black, white, Arab).
Blink and you would have missed it. But here we are now, 27 blinking years later, and this thought process is now shaping our entire football policy.
Did you notice that this concept is not foreign to Malaysia at all? In actual fact, the policy blends amicably with the traditional generous reception and warmth of the people of Nusantara, which is also rooted in how the country was historically formed back in 1957.
And if you were on the ball, you’d have also picked up on the fact that the golden age of our football has always been attributed to a melting pot of people from different cultures and ethnicities. But before we had a chance to work out why, there was a tidal wave of political carvings, which resulted in a growing social divide and disenfranchisement.
In our moment of hope and strife for football glory, the naturalisation of heritage footballers symbolises the reconciliation of a nation-state with its past, and the celebration of a new multicultural nation, a modern Malaysia. For me, the current backend works of Tunku Ismail Ibrahim are a profoundly inspiring moment.
The naturalisation of heritage players, to a certain extent, is exactly what the late prime minister of South Africa, Nelson Mandela, said, “It gets people together, in order to unify.”
It amazes me how people from diverse communities and backgrounds can come together behind one objective, and it amazes me more to see how young Malaysians, like my son, relate that to their lives and feel how important it is to people outside football.
At the moment, I don’t see the kind of France ‘98 narrative with the current Harimau Malaya. But ever since Brendan Gan was accepted as a local footballer a decade ago, we have seen significant improvements.
And as we further open our doors to the world, to embrace the multi-ethnic realities of modern Malaysia, we could potentially find ourselves whiskers away from the front door of the prestigious FIFA World Cup.
We may never be able to recreate what Zinedine Zidane and his teammates did in France ‘98, but there would still be something powerful in the sight of a diverse Harimau Malaya battling together to achieve our dreams of qualifying for the World Cup.
For young Malaysians, like my son, who do not go to an ethnically or racially diverse school or live in an area in this country that does not have that diversity, to repeatedly see these multi-ethnic faces represent modern Malaysia remains important. It still has societal power and significance. I believe in the power of that symbol.
The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer’s and do not necessarily represent that of Twentytwo13.
