我经常被人以“不同之处”来介绍——一名马来穆斯林女性、来自民主行动党的国会议员，却代表著一个以华裔选民居多的选区。对某些人而言，这样的组合至今仍显得“不寻常”。但对我来说，在2026年的今天，这正是马来西亚的真实写照——无论我们是否已经准备好承认。
在当下的政治氛围中，身份不再只是个人属性，而成为一种政治筹码。人们先质疑种族，才讨论理念；先审视宗教，才评估表现；在事实尚未厘清前，就急著怀疑忠诚。太多时候，马来西亚人被要求先为“自己是谁”辩护，才被允许发声。
但我从政，并不是为了象征差异，而是为了服务人民。
当我走访槟城的巴刹、学校、寺庙、清真寺、教堂与咖啡店时，我每天都被提醒：领导力从来不是来自“相同”，而是建立在“信任”之上。信任，来自人们感受到被看见、被尊重、被倾听——而不是被简化成统计数字或刻板印象。
小贩忧心成本不断上涨；家长为教育与就业前景感到焦虑；长者担心在高龄化社会中被边缘化；年轻人则充满挫折感，觉得自己的声音无人倾听、无人代表。
这些问题，不是华人的问题、马来人的问题，或印度人的问题，而是马来西亚人的问题。
然而，近年来的政治现实却不断告诉我们相反的讯息。我们看见语言能力被武器化，用来质疑一个人的智慧或忠诚；“外来者”“过客”的指控死灰复燃，仿佛数十年来共同的牺牲、劳动与建国历程，可以被一句轻率的话抹去；人道课题、教育制度，甚至饮食选择，也被拖入种族或宗教的政治论战之中。
这不是力量的体现，而是披著民族主义外衣的不安与自卑。
作为一名穆斯林，我的信仰塑造了我的个人价值观——慈悲、公正、谦卑与问责。这些并非专属的价值，而是普世的价值。但在我看来，治理国家绝不应是强加信仰，而是建立公平——让每一位马来西亚人，不论种族或宗教，都能感到制度在保护他们，而不是威胁他们。
而若我们诚实面对现实，今天有不少马来西亚人，并没有这样的安全感。
我们亲眼目睹，多元如何轻易被操弄；听见有人仅凭语言能力，就质疑他人的忠诚；看见某些社群被称为“过客”，无视几代人共同走过的历史；也看见宗教场所、教育体系，乃至人道议题，被当成政治工具，用来制造对立、换取利益。
这一切，都没有让马来西亚更强大，只让我们变得更渺小。
服务一个以华裔为多数的选区，让我学到一个不那么舒服、却非常必要的事实：尊重不是要求来的，而是靠行动赢得的。它来自一贯的坚持，而非华丽的演说；来自持续的在场，而非象征性的姿态；来自实实在在的成果，而非空洞的口号。
马来西亚的多元，常被形容为“脆弱”，仿佛一件一碰就碎的玻璃饰品。但我并不认同。我们的多元经历过殖民统治、战争、骚乱、经济危机、疫情，以及一次又一次的政治动荡，依然存在。真正脆弱的，不是多元本身，而是我们的政治成熟度。
脆弱的是，当有人与我们意见相左时，我们的耐性；
脆弱的是，我们在不防卫的情况下倾听他人的能力；
脆弱的是，我们总是先看见标签，而不是人。
跨越差异建立信任
在2026年，马来西亚不只是与邻国竞争，而是在全球舞台上竞争——争取投资、人才、创新与信誉。成功的国家，并不是靠收窄身份认同前进，而是通过跨越差异建立信任，并以能力治国。
一个被猜疑吞噬的国家，无法有效治理；一个沉迷于“我们对他们”的社会，永远会落后于那些专注于“我们如何一起向前”的国家。
作为一名来自行动党的马来穆斯林女性，我常被问是否夹在不同世界之间。我的答案很简单：不。我拒绝接受我的身份是一种矛盾。它不是需要被解释的问题，而是一种需要被承认、被尊重的现实。
马来西亚本来就复杂。这种复杂性不是弱点；我们拒绝诚实面对它，才是真正的问题。
这篇专栏，并不是要说服任何人认同我的立场，也不是在寻求认同。它是一份邀请——邀请大家在没有恐惧的情况下进行更艰难的对话，在分歧中不去否定彼此的人性，也停止假装“团结”就等于“一致”。
你不需要认同我的政治立场，才能与我并肩同行；你只需要相信，马来西亚属于所有以这里为家的人——而不只是声音最大的人。
如果马来西亚要在未来继续前进，靠的不会是更响亮的口号、更尖锐的分裂，或无止境的猜疑；而是公平、勇气，以及拒绝利用恐惧来换取政治利益的领导力。
我们的差异，从来不是问题。
我们无法以成熟的态度面对差异，才是问题所在。
或许——真正的团结，正是从这里开始。
瑟丽娜《在质疑我的身份之前，请先读完这篇文章》原文：Before You Question My Identity, Read This
I am often introduced by what makes me “different” — a Malay Muslim woman, a Member of Parliament from DAP, representing a constituency where most voters are Chinese. To some, that still sounds unusual. To me, in 2026, it sounds exactly like Malaysia — whether we are ready to admit it or not.
In today's political climate, identity is no longer just personal. It has become political currency. Race is questioned before ideas. Religion is scrutinised before performance. Loyalty is doubted before facts. And far too often, Malaysians are asked to defend who they are before they are allowed to speak.
But I did not enter politics to symbolise difference. I entered politics to serve people.
When I walk through wet markets, schools, temples, mosques, churches, and kopitiams in Penang, I am reminded daily that leadership is not about sameness. It is about trust. And trust is built when people feel seen, respected, and listened to — not when they are reduced to statistics or stereotypes.
Hawkers are worried about rising costs. Parents are anxious about education and job security. Seniors fear being left behind in an ageing society. Young people are frustrated, feeling unheard and unrepresented.
These concerns are not Chinese issues, Malay issues, or Indian issues. They are Malaysian issues.
Yet in recent years, politics has increasingly told us otherwise. We have watched how language ability is weaponised to question intelligence or loyalty. We have seen accusations of “pendatang” resurface — as if decades of shared sacrifice, labour, and nation-building can be erased with a careless remark. We have seen humanitarian concerns, school systems, and even food choices dragged into racial or religious polemics.
This is not strength. This is insecurity dressed up as nationalism.
Being a Muslim shapes my personal values — compassion, justice, humility, and accountability. These are not exclusive values. They are universal ones. But governance, in my view, must never be about imposing beliefs. It must be about creating fairness — ensuring that every Malaysian, regardless of race or religion, feels protected by the system rather than threatened by it.
And if we are honest, many Malaysians today do not feel that way.
We have seen how easily diversity can be weaponised. We have seen public figures question the loyalty of Malaysians based on language proficiency. We have seen accusations that certain communities are “guests” or “pendatang” — despite generations of shared history. We have watched how places of worship, education streams, and even humanitarian issues are pulled into racial or religious battles for political gain.
None of this makes Malaysia stronger. It makes us smaller.
Serving a majority Chinese constituency has taught me an uncomfortable but necessary truth: respect is not demanded — it is earned. It is earned through consistency, not grand speeches. Through presence, not symbolism. Through delivering results, not slogans.
Malaysia's diversity is often described as “fragile,” as if it is a glass ornament that might shatter at the slightest disagreement. I disagree. Our diversity has survived colonial rule, war, riots, economic crises, pandemics, and repeated political upheavals. What is fragile is not diversity — it is our political maturity.
What is fragile is our patience when someone disagrees with us.
What is fragile is our willingness to listen without being defensive.
What is fragile is our habit of seeing labels before humanity.
In 2026, Malaysia is no longer just competing with our neighbours. We are competing globally — for investment, talent, innovation, and credibility. Countries that succeed do not do so by narrowing their identities. They succeed by building trust across differences and governing with competence.
A nation consumed by suspicion cannot govern effectively. A society obsessed with “us versus them” will always fall behind those focused on “how do we move forward together.”
As a Malay Muslim woman in DAP, I am often asked if I feel caught between worlds. My answer is simple: no. I refuse to accept that my identity is a contradiction. It is not a problem to be explained away. It is a reality to be acknowledged — and respected.
Malaysia is complex. That complexity is not a weakness. Our refusal to deal with it honestly is.
This column is not an attempt to convince anyone to think like me. It is not a plea for approval. It is an invitation — to have harder conversations without fear, to disagree without dehumanising, and to stop pretending that unity means uniformity.
You do not need to agree with my politics to walk alongside me. You only need to believe that Malaysia belongs to all who call it home — not just those who shout the loudest.
If Malaysia is to move forward in the years ahead, it will not be through louder rhetoric, sharper divisions, or constant suspicion. It will be through fairness, courage, and leadership that refuses to exploit fear for political gain.
Our differences were never the problem.
Our inability to handle them with maturity was.
And perhaps — finally — that is where real unity begins.
本文观点，不代表《东方日报》立场。
升旗山国会议员。
