“HE looks not like one of us, but he has the same heart as ours.”
These were the profound words that Bah Kenraak, a Semai Orang Asli halaa’ (shaman), was believed to have uttered to his gunik (spiritual helper).
In the dark room, where no light was permitted to avoid scaring off the gunik, were seated about 20 Semai from the Orang Asli village where I had lived for 14 months in the early 1980s.
They sang, chanted and danced along with Bah Kenraak, while a few of them pounded bamboo tubes on pieces of wood to produce an entrancing beat. Soon after, Bah Kenraak entered a trance state. It was an unwell child believed to be suffering from “soul loss” that prompted this ritual séance.
Bah Kenraak’s words do not sit well in a world preoccupied with how we look. Based on such appearances as skin colour, facial features, dress and wealth objects, people are often categorised into races, ethnic groups and social classes.
Some Malaysians I’ve observed are obsessed with ethnicity. When meeting someone for the first time, for instance, some would enquire about the ethnic identity of the person, if “looks” are not telling enough. Even the food is “ethnicised”, as in Malay, Chinese or Indian yong tau foo or rojak.
It has been pointed out that if one looks like an Orang Asli, he is likely to be treated poorly. It is not just because of how the Orang Asli looks, it is also but how they smell, behave and think that are often the subject of ridicule and derision.
Once, someone who gave me a lift apologised for what he perceived to be bad odour and untidiness in his car. He explained that it was due to the Orang Asli whom he ferried from their village to attend a religious service.
To my question about the traditional religion of the Orang Asli, he replied that, “they were people who did not have a religion”. This couldn’t be more wrong. For the Orang Asli, their traditional religion, ecology and social behaviour are interlocked. They believe that nature is animated with spirits, mostly benevolent, and some evil.
To avoid incurring the wrath of evil spirits or deities, they must respect nature and take from it only what is needed. Over-exploiting or disrespecting nature and other creatures will bring about spiritually induced sickness, bad luck, and even death.
To hunt, fish or farm successfully one must seek the permission of the spirits believed to inhabit the area and appease them with ritual offerings. Before a hunted animal takes its last breath, the Orang Asli will apologise to the animal for the cruelty necessitated by their quest to feed themselves. Such display of sympathy is to appease the hunting spirit, but it is also a demonstration of respect for fellow creatures. This is in stark contrast to how people in the “modern world” treat nature.
The wise words of Bah Kenraak highlights another lesson. They challenge us to think differently about how we relate to one other. The sharing of the same heart metaphorically means that we are all connected at a deeper level.
The heart is shorthand for compassion, empathy, kindness and generosity. By saying that I have the same heart, what Bah Kenraak means is that “I am part of a community bonded by mutual sharing, respect and empathy”.
Hence, instead of being hung up by how people look or how different they are, our world will be a better place if we focus on what connects us all — a common humanity, and how we can foster a respectful relationship with nature.
Let’s all strive to have the “same heart” as the first peoples, a heart that is kind, generous and empathetic.
The writer, an anthropologist, has studied the Orang Asli since 1975. He is Emeritus Professor of La Trobe University, Melbourne, Australia, and global director of the Dialogue, Empathic Engagement and Peacebuilding (DEEP) Network