Children of no country: Stateless and forgotten in Malaysia

With no legal status, a path to a better future eludes them.

Two children play in the cart they use to transport goods around the market for a small fee in Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia. Their parents are Filipino migrants. (Photo by Jefferi Chang)

Kota Kinabalu:  Amira broke into a smile when the word "school" was mentioned. "Do you want to take them? Do you know where I can send them?" she asks before adding, "no one wants them."

The mother of two was referring to five-year-old Nasir and three-year-old Noori, both sitting with her on top of an orange plastic container by the waterfront in Kota Kinabalu in Sabah state, Malaysia.

The three had just finished a lunch of rice, fish and vegetables and are heading home to a small room they rent for RM650 (US$155) a month.

They belong to no country, part of a steadily growing multitude with no citizenship or place to call home, unable to claim the things that governments can provide, like health care and education.

The 30-something housewife is keen for her children to get what she never had — a formal education that could lead to a better future.

"If they were in the Philippines they would be able to go to school," she says regretfully.

Nasir and Noori are among thousands of migrant children and refugees who have traveled to Sabah, a Malaysian state on the island of Borneo, in search of a better life. It has proved elusive.

There are no official figures but Torben Venning, a Dane who was involved in trying to provide basic education to thousands of immigrant children in Sabah, guesses there are tens of thousands.

He believes generations are being condemned to a life of hardship because they lack education.

"I worked with stateless and unregistered children in Sabah from 2004 - 2015," he said in an email.

Children born to migrant workers from Indonesia and the Philippines lack legal documents and are ineligible to attend state schools.

Aid projects run by NGOs and churches have limited impact. Authorities see aid as an encouragement to stay — a political minefield in a restive country.

As of last year, unregistered children born in Sabah to Indonesian parents are believed to number around 70,000 with 30,000 more from Filipino parents.

Most of the Indonesian children live in Sabah's palm oil plantations, where their parents work. Filipino children generally live in urban areas where their parents work in construction or domestic service.

Malaysian immigration law does not grant legal status to children of immigrants but with several hundred thousand immigrants having been in Sabah for decades, tens of thousands of children remain unregistered.

The Malaysian government has accepted NGOs to provide education to them, some plantation companies provide schools and, since 2006, the Indonesian government has been providing teachers and education.

Children of Philippine migrants generally have more difficulties. They only have access to informal and often unlicensed education projects in town areas.

The armed incursion by a band of Suluk Filipinos and violence on the east coast of the state in the town of Lahad Datu in 2013 disrupted life for Suluk families.

They live in constant fear of arrest. Many have lost their jobs due to discrimination making it hard for their children to attend even informal classes.

The Bajau Laut, a sea-dwelling people, also remain largely stateless without any access to school and medical care.

Their movement at sea has been restricted due to security measures after the incursion and many have been reduced to beggary. Their children roam towns as street children.

They are by far the most vulnerable migrants in Sabah. Infant mortality from curable diseases is said to be high and some of them can only access polluted drinking water.

Detention for long periods due to the lack of documents is common and there are unconfirmed reports of deaths in detention, especially women and children.

Amira, originally from Zamboanga in the Philippines, left Lahad Datu three years ago. "Life is better here in [Kota Kinabalu]. There are security checks and raids but it's okay. There is work and we can survive," she said.

"Our children make themselves useful selling plastic bags and carting goods for a little money," she says. It's a schooling of sorts.

Her son, Nasir takes a final gulp of water from a plastic Coca-Cola bottle and tosses it into the sea along with a plastic bag of fish bones. They join the flotsam and jetsam littering the waterfront.

Further away, two young boys are taking a break from helping their parents. One, pushing a cart, growls like a car engine and the other sits inside, playing along — a celebration of childhood and perhaps a rite of passage too.

Source: UCAN