SURIANI Kempe knows firsthand the emotional and logistical challenges of growing up without citizenship. "My sister and I were born in Germany, which is how we ended up in this limbo," she shares, smiling wryly, her words tinged with a mixture of nostalgia and frustration. Moving to Malaysia just in time for Suri (as she's fondly known) to start kindergarten, the reality of their situation didn't quite sink in at first.
"For me, it was just how life was. I didn't realise how different I was from the other children. The constant visa runs to Singapore and those endless immigration office visits felt like part of the routine, something I never questioned," she explains.
It was only much later that she began to understand the full weight of what her family had endured. "Looking back now, I can't even imagine how much stress my mother went through trying to ensure we could stay in the country. For me, it was just normal, but for her, it was a constant struggle."
The encounters with unsympathetic immigration officers left lasting marks, especially on her mother. "They would question her, asking, 'Why are you bringing these children back here?' as if we didn't belong," Suri recalls, adding: "I mean, what did they expect her to do? Send us back to Germany where we had no family, no support system at all?"
The law that Suri's mother faced — Article 15(2) of the Constitution — may seem neutral on the surface, but the true issue lies in Articles 14(1)(b) and 14(1)(c) alongside the Second Schedule.
These provisions expose a glaring gender disparity: while Malaysian fathers can automatically confer citizenship to their overseas-born children, mothers are denied the same right.
The imbalance is clear: Fathers can still register their child's citizenship at a consulate even after a year or more has passed since the birth abroad, but this crucial option isn't available to mothers. This explicit exclusion of mothers further highlights the inequity, ensuring that women bear an unfair burden in securing nationality rights for their children.
Her mother's resilience in the face of such harsh treatment is something that stays with Suri to this day. "It's not like she had any real options. We were home in Malaysia, but the system made it feel like we didn't belong anywhere."
After years of living in this uncertain space, constantly on edge about their status, a breakthrough finally came. When Suri turned 18, her long-awaited application for citizenship was finally approved.
"It was a moment of relief, not just for me but for my entire family. It meant stability, security — it meant we finally had a place where we belonged, officially." The years of endless paperwork and emotional strain had paid off, but the scars of that long battle linger. "My mother still has PTSD about her run-ins with Immigration to this day!" she quips, chuckling.
PERSONAL BATTLE
Years later, Suri found herself entangled in the very same archaic law that had once defined her own childhood — this time as a mother. "I was heavily pregnant, but I had to stay in the United States to defend my thesis," she recalls, the irony of the situation not lost on her.
As the clock ticked towards her due date, Suri was consumed with worry, not just about becoming a mother, but about whether her child would face the same struggles she'd endured.
She sought advice from the Malaysian embassy, hoping for a solution to her predicament. They assured her that if she registered her child within six months of birth, the child could still secure Malaysian citizenship.
"It was supposed to be a simple process, a matter of paperwork," she explains. But as Suri knew all too well, nothing about Malaysia's citizenship laws, particularly for women, is ever simple.
When Suri returned to Malaysia, she was met with endless bureaucracy. Her first application for her child's citizenship was rejected — after 4½ years of waiting. "By then, I had managed to secure supporting letters from at least two ministers!" she recalls, wincing at the memory.
But the real shock came during her citizenship interview when an official asked her if she was getting divorced. "I was stunned. What did that have to do with my child's citizenship?" she says, still incredulous. The woman casually explained that it would make the process easier.
Frustrated, Suri pressed for a list of requirements so she could ensure her application was complete. The response was even more baffling: "There's no list," the official told her, adding: "Because if we made a list, people would try to fulfil it!" It was a stark reminder of how arbitrary and opaque the system could be.
After venting her frustrations on social media about the seemingly impossible task of navigating the system, Suri's story caught the attention of the then-minister of home affairs, Datuk Seri Hishammuddin Hussein, who intervened on her behalf. Six months after submitting her second application, it was finally approved.
"As much as I felt happy and relieved, I couldn't help but think about other women facing the same struggle," she reflects, adding: "I was a directly affected mother, and while I'd resolved the issue for myself, I knew the problem still remained for countless others. It wasn't enough to win this battle for me alone."
FAMILY FRONTIERS
When Suri was later approached by a friend to join the National Campaign for Equal Nationality Rights for mothers whose children born abroad were denied Malaysian citizenship, she didn't hesitate to say yes.
"This campaign united so many affected mothers from all walks of life," she recalls. The campaign brought home the reality that this wasn't a problem faced by just a few; it was widespread, cutting across socioeconomic lines.
The stories of these mothers were nothing short of heartbreaking. Despite Article 15(2) stating that children under 21 with at least one Malaysian parent can be registered as citizens, the reality for Malaysian mothers seeking citizenship for their overseas-born children was a long and grueling process.
For decades, many of these cases were brushed aside, with applications either left "pending" indefinitely or rejected without explanation — until December 2020, when the issue finally started gaining attention.
An official statement in 2019 revealed that the average citizenship application took over three months at the National Registration Department and up to eight months at the Home Ministry. If rejected or unresolved, the process could drag on until the child aged out of eligibility at 21, leaving them stateless. Without citizenship, these children would struggle to access basic services like healthcare, education and employment.
"Why can't we be held to the same standard as men?" Suri asks, her frustration evident. "All we want is to be treated equally, with the same value, the same worth and the same dignity. We pay taxes just like men and contribute to nation-building. In fact, women carry the majority of unpaid care work in this country every single day!"
Malaysia, she explains, is one of only 25 countries that still deny women the automatic right to pass their nationality to children born overseas. This glaring injustice spurred a group of women, led by Bina Ramanand — an advocate and co-founder of the Foreign Spouses Support Group — into action.
Following the conclusion of the national campaign in 2018, they decided to formally establish Family Frontiers, a non-governmental organisation (NGO) dedicated to championing these rights.
Suri was invited to join the inaugural executive committee, helping to drive the organisation's mission to secure equal citizenship rights for Malaysian mothers.
FIGHT CONTINUES
Family Frontiers, along with six affected mothers, filed a suit against the government in the High Court, challenging the conflicting provisions in the Federal Constitution.
The case centred on Article 8(2), which states that no one should be discriminated against based on gender, directly contradicting the citizenship laws that clearly favour men.
"Our citizenship provisions blatantly discriminate based on gender," Suri explains. The suit aimed to harmonise these contradictory laws and secure equal rights for affected Malaysian mothers.
In September 2021, the court ruled in their favour, marking an unprecedented victory for Family Frontiers and the affected mothers. It was a monumental step towards securing equal citizenship rights.
However, the victory was short-lived. The government quickly filed an appeal, and in a disappointing turn of events, the NGO lost in a majority decision of two to one.
Undeterred, they continued to lobby and advocate for change, trying to get politicians and ministers to lend their support towards changing the bill. "This is where our mothers were fearless. It was so powerful seeing impacted mothers; ones who would never have otherwise spoken out, advocating for a change and speaking up in public," recalls Suri.
Last year, it seemed as though their efforts were rewarded when there was an announcement that an amendment would be made to the Federal Constitution to ensure that Malaysian mothers had the right to confer citizenship to their children.
Undeterred by the legal setback, Family Frontiers continued their relentless lobbying and advocacy, rallying politicians and ministers to support an amendment to the bill.
Their persistence seemed to pay off last year when the government announced that the Federal Constitution would be amended, finally allowing Malaysian mothers to confer citizenship to their children. It was a moment of hope and validation for the countless women who had fought for years to secure equal rights for their families.
1 STEP FORWARD, 2 STEPS BACKWARDS
However, the irony of their joy was revealed when the proposed bill was unveiled. "The bill, in its current form, contains critical flaws, including three regressive constitutional amendments that will have far-reaching consequences for vulnerable communities across Malaysia, especially the indigenous populations of Sabah, Sarawak and Peninsular Malaysia," Suri reveals.
Among the "troubling" changes are lowering the age limit for stateless children's citizenship applications from 21 to 18 and imposing a new requirement on foreign spouses married to Malaysian men. These spouses must remain in the marriage for two additional years after receiving citizenship, or risk having their citizenship revoked.
One of the most concerning amendments involved the removal of citizenship rights for children born to parents with a red MyKad (permanent residents). "This would have devastating consequences," shares Suri, adding: "We know of so many indigenous communities who struggle to register their children, as well as other vulnerable groups who would be deeply affected by this repeal."
The amendment threatened to further marginalise these already vulnerable communities, cutting off their access to basic rights and protections that citizenship provides.
She paints a grim picture of a future for these individuals. "They will have no access to education, healthcare or employment. Essentially, they'd be invisible — living in a country that refuses to recognise them." The repercussions of such an amendment could create a deep humanitarian crisis, affecting the most vulnerable communities.
What's also troubling is that while the bill includes a provision allowing Malaysian mothers to automatically confer citizenship to their children born overseas, it doesn't apply to existing overseas-born children, including those over 21. These individuals will still be denied the right to automatic citizenship, leaving many families still in limbo.
"Everything hinges on this bill that will soon be read in Parliament, but there's been no transparency about fine-tuning it to ensure no one gets shortchanged," Suri emphasises. "It's crucial that Malaysians understand the far-reaching repercussions and come together to speak out for equal rights — without sacrificing the rights of vulnerable communities."
The fight is still far from over for Suri and her band of advocates. "We will not back down," she insists firmly, adding: "We're not simply asking for equal rights to be granted to mothers so that they can confer citizenship to their children. This is about ensuring justice and dignity for all, without stripping away the rights of others."
Their mission extends beyond individual victories; it's about reshaping the system to protect everyone, especially the most vulnerable. Concludes the passionate activist: "We'll continue to push, to advocate and to speak up — because this isn't just a fight for us, but for future generations as well."
Suri Kempe will be speaking at the ZafigoX 2024: Rejuvenation Conference today. For details, visit https://zafigo.com/zx/women-of-zafigox-2024-driving-change-social-causes/