• +6012-6268490
  • hey@thegblog.org

Tag Archives: Writer: Miss Lennial Pink

Cis-temic Oppression

thegblogteam No Comments

The radio was blasting pop tunes, my car going 110 km/hour. I was singing along to the songs at the top of my lungs with a huge grin on my face. A cute boy had just invited me to a house party. I was feeling great and looking super cute as I made my way there. My makeup was on point, my outfit took an hour to be picked out and I was ready to party. I got to the Airbnb they rented and we started drinking, smoking and having a good time talking and laughing. That was how the night started: with me, a regular 22 year old girl, going to a regular house party and doing regular things. But little did I know, what started out as a great night turned into the most traumatizing experience of my life.

The police raided the house. One of them whipped out his badge but that one badge didn’t allay our suspicions as to whether they were real cops as none of them were in uniforms and they were behaving incredibly shadily. They didn’t allow us to call our parents and started confiscating our phones as soon as they could. “No recording, we don’t want this going viral.”

If they were truly cops, conducting legal raids and going by procedure, why would they be afraid? Surely they would have wanted our parents to know what was happening to their own children? One girl’s parent tried to call her repeatedly only to have one of the female cops tell her to ignore it. That certainly raised warning bells. Despite that, everything was still under control until they made me hand over my identity card. From there, everything went downhill.

First came the confusion, then the insensitive and downright derogatory questions. “Tulen ke palsu?” they wanted to know. Was I a “real” woman? I looked them straight in the eye and told them that I am transgender. They exchanged looks. Then they laughed at me and called me names. Up till that moment, I was just a regular girl attending a party. Suddenly, I wasn’t a regular girl anymore. I was a ‘bapok’. I was less than human. I was something not worthy of being treated with respect and basic human decency

I was on the verge of having a panic attack but despite the turmoil going on within me, I plastered a bored and dismissive look on my face to let them know that I wasn’t about to engage with low-lives like them. They were not going to have the pleasure of seeing me vulnerable. I tried to get my breathing into a steady rhythm and silently prayed to the Goddess that they would leave me alone.

I later learned that they were narcotics and I felt a little relieved, hoping that they would soon leave as they had found no drugs.

Until they did.

They looked extremely pleased as they announced that they would have to bring us down to the station. “Boys first!” they called out. I remained seated on the ground starting to hyperventilate when one of the cops pointed at me. “That means you too,” he said, with a smirk on his face. I can’t express how much I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. We were taken to a station about five minutes away and had to be tested for drugs, which meant a urine test. We were numbered and given a container to pee in. No problem, right? Just pee in the container, prove that you’re clean and leave, right? Wrong.

I was worried that my hormones would affect the results as I have heard stories of hormones creating false positives during drug tests.

I was also dehydrated. I had been drinking all night and did not have a sip of water. I asked them to give me some water to drink but they told me that they didn’t have any. After much begging, one of the policewomen opened a drawer full of water bottles and handed me a tiny bottle. I gulped it down but it wasn’t enough. I begged for some more and one policeman brought yet another tiny bottle of water which I immediately chugged down.

I walked to the bathroom, and there was the third problem. I had to pee in front of a male policeman. I stood with my back facing him as he watched. He insulted me with slurs while the rest of them laughed at me. I really tried to pee but I just couldn’t. My anxiety was through the roof and their patience was wearing thin. One of the policemen threatened to beat me up while making violent gestures right in my face. He also threatened to throw me in lockup which scared the hell out of me.

I’ve read enough to know that trans women don’t fare well in prison. They were discussing if they could throw me in jail just for being me and wearing what I was wearing. “Unfortunately, she was in a private place and she didn’t resist arrest, so we can’t throw her in jail,” one lady replied.

I was humiliated.

The people who were at the party with me were people whom I had just met, and they had heard every single derogatory term hurled at me and watched as I was threatened violently. I felt less than human. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to die. I begged and begged for more water only to be told to drink from the tap or from the bucket of water in the bathroom. I couldn’t believe my ears. Were these people really the police? How could they treat people this way? I was trying my very best to cooperate! Everyone else had been cleared and my hopes were slowly fading. I did my best to prepare myself for the worst. I was already hyperventilating at this point and ready to pass out at any second, what with the slurs and threats.

It was then that my friends, who are prominent LGBT activists in Malaysia, showed up. I had used my phone to send them a location earlier, before it was confiscated, and they had managed to find the closest police precinct and found me. They convinced the police to let them give me water and the police finally agreed. A big bottle of water was given to me and not long after I managed to pee. When the results came, the two police officers exchanged looks. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “well, what can we do?”

I was clean.

I got out of there as fast as I could, my whole body shaking. I was in shock till the next day, when the tears finally came. For the next few weeks, I found myself unable to sleep or eat and I was constantly anxious. I would see flashes of what had happened whenever I closed my eyes. I talked till I couldn’t talk about it anymore and cried until there were no more tears. I felt like my world had come crashing down and for weeks after I would not get my life back in order. My room was a mess, my affairs in chaos and my studies took a hit. I felt like the world was not real anymore. My reality and everything I knew had been disrupted, leaving me with a broken dystopian version which made me feel like a freak. I felt like my humanity had been stripped away.

This was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to recover and heal from. The worst part of it all is that there would be no way to hold the police accountable for their actions. No means of recourse. They did whatever they wanted, however they pleased, with no standard operating procedures and that left me broken, angry and filled with hatred. I had to deal with these emotions with no outlet to vent and move on from my trauma. These people didn’t care, they had no training in gender sensitivity and no basic common decency – they were just agents of an oppressive system who got off on abusing their power. This is the same system that degrades and abuses trans people, making us more vulnerable to attacks, abuse and worse.

In Malaysia, I have no validity. I’m not allowed to exist.

 

1

Get in Touch!

We're fun to talk to. We promise!