瑟丽娜：当普通马来西亚人感到自己“被看不见”

如今的政治，似乎比以往任何时候都更加喧闹。

每天，马来西亚人打开手机，迎面而来的总是无止境的政治争论、疯传视频、相互指责、记者会以及各种承诺。有人责怪对手，有人声称自己掌握解决方案。社交媒体更把每一个课题都变成了战场。

然而，在这些喧嚣背后，马来西亚各地其实正悄悄上演著另一种现实。

普通人民，正在艰难挣扎。

几个星期前，在一次选区服务日里，我接见了一名年近60岁的妇女。她前来寻求协助，整个人看起来身心俱疲。她一边照顾中风卧病在床的年迈母亲，一边还要负担失业已久、迟迟找不到稳定工作的儿子。

她告诉我，自己其实早已尝试申请援助。

“有时候，会觉得普通人很难获得关注，YB。”

她说这句话时，语气里没有愤怒，只有失望。坦白说，这句话在她离开后，依然久久留在我脑海里。

因为我相信，如今许多马来西亚人，其实都有同样的感受。大家都累了，未必时时刻刻都愤怒，但在日复一日艰难求生的过程中，同时不断听见“经济正在改善”的消息，确实令人感到身心俱疲。

是的，我们听见许多关于投资、经济成长、数码转型、人工智能以及国家发展蓝图的宣布。这些都很重要，也关系著国家长远未来。但与此同时，许多普通马来西亚人回到家后，依然忧虑著自己的薪水是否足以撑到月底。

对很多家庭来说，他们每天面对的烦恼，其实都非常现实而基本。日益上涨的食品价格、房租、孩子教育费、医疗费、托儿费、汽油开销，以及照顾年迈父母的负担。

这些，才是每天晚上，在全国无数家庭餐桌上真实发生的对话，而当人民无法从日常生活中感受到改善时，政治便会逐渐显得遥远、脱节。

挫败感不只是钱的问题

这一点，政治人物，包括我自己，都必须诚实面对，我们不能只会谈数据，就期待人民自动感到充满希望。对于一个月薪2200令吉、还得苦苦支付城市房租的年轻毕业生来说，GDP成长数字并没有太大意义。外国投资听起来很亮眼，但人民真正想知道的是：生活究竟何时才能变得没那么辛苦？

或许，今天马来西亚人最大的挫败感，并不只是钱的问题。

而是“没人听见他们的声音”。很多人觉得福利制度难以申请；有人因为经济困难而感到羞愧，不敢开口求助；也有人已经被不断地“踢皮球”折腾得筋疲力尽，在不同部门之间奔波、重复填写表格，但真正急需解决的问题，却始终没有下文。

在基层，我们看见许多鲜少登上新闻版面的现实。

单亲母亲默默背负债务；独居长者因为孩子离乡工作而无人照料；家庭成员独自承担长期卧床父母的照护责任；年轻人面对心理健康问题，却负担不起适当治疗；退休人士在退休年龄之后仍继续工作，只因为他们根本无法停下来。

这些，早已不再是个别案例，它们正在逐渐成为马来西亚社会的现实缩影。随著我国逐步迈向高龄化社会，这些问题只会越来越严重。

有关福利、医疗、退休保障、照护体系以及心理健康的讨论，已不能再被视为“次要课题”。它们正逐渐成为决定马来西亚未来的重要国家议题。

有时候，我会觉得如今的政治，似乎过于沉迷于“赢得争论”，却忽略了解决问题。我们花太多时间争论种族、宗教、意识形态以及政治策略，却渐渐忘记普通马来西亚人真正想要的是什么。

其实，大多数人民并不要求完美，他们只是希望生活稳定，希望活得有尊严，希望知道：只要努力工作、为社会付出，他们依然能够在马来西亚建立一个体面的生活。

身为一名马来穆斯林女性，我或许与许多阅读这篇专栏的读者背景不同。但当你长期接触来自不同阶层、不同族群的马来西亚人时，你会慢慢明白一件非常重要的事。

痛苦，没有种族之分。忧虑，没有宗教之别。而努力让家人活得有尊严的挣扎，是每一个马来西亚人都能理解的事情。

无人看见的重担

无论是一位仍在长时间工作的华裔老伯，只为了继续养家；一位同时兼顾两份工作的马来单亲母亲；还是一对既要照顾年迈父母、又要养育孩子的印裔夫妻——在所有差异背后，人们的希望，其实往往都一样。

人民希望拥有安全感，希望孩子拥有机会，希望父母能够有尊严地老去，希望自己依然能在这个国家找到属于自己的位置。

我想，这也是为什么今天许多马来西亚人会感到情绪疲惫。不是因为他们讨厌这个国家，而是因为他们太爱这个国家，因此对它抱有更高期待。

或许，如今的政治，需要少一点呐喊，多一点聆听，少一点沉迷于网络流量与政治表演，多一点真正理解：为什么越来越多普通人民，开始觉得自己与那些本应帮助他们的制度渐行渐远。

那天，我办公室后来与多个单位协调后，终于成功协助那位妇女获得援助。但在她离开后，我不断思考：还有多少马来西亚人，正默默承受著无人看见的重担？

有多少年迈父母明明并不好，却假装自己一切安好，只因为不想成为孩子的负担？有多少中产家庭默默减少伙食、医疗或生活开销，只为了撑过下一个月？又有多少年轻人在人前微笑，私底下却担忧自己是否永远无法拥有稳定未来？

一个优秀的国家，并不只是看它拥有多少摩天大楼，或者经济数字有多亮眼。真正的衡量标准，在于普通人民是否能在艰难时刻感受到被照顾。

挣扎中的家庭，是否感受到支持，而不是被忽视，年长者在奉献一生建设国家后，是否依然获得尊重。

而或许，这才是政治真正应该关注的事情，不是权力，不是无止境的政治闹剧，也不是谁在网络上赢得最大声的争论，而是“人”。

因为有时候，一位领袖最有力量的事情，并不是说得最大声，而只是让人民感觉：自己被看见了。

瑟丽娜《当普通马来西亚人感到自己“被看不见”》原文：When Ordinary Malaysians Feel Invisible

Politics today feels louder than ever.

Every day, Malaysians open their phones and are greeted with endless political arguments, viral videos, accusations, press conferences, and promises. One side blames the other. Another side claims they have the solution. Social media turns every issue into a battlefield.

But beyond all the noise, there is a quieter reality unfolding across Malaysia.

Ordinary people are struggling.

A few weeks ago during one of my constituency service days, I met a woman in her late 50s who came to seek help. She looked exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She was caring for her elderly mother who had suffered a stroke while also supporting her unemployed son who had been unable to secure stable work for months.

She told me she had already tried applying for assistance before.

“Kadang-kadang rasa macam orang biasa susah nak dapat perhatian, YB.”

There was no anger in her voice. Only disappointment.

And honestly, that sentence stayed with me long after she left.

Because I think many Malaysians today feel exactly the same way.

People are tired.

Not necessarily angry all the time, but emotionally drained from constantly trying to survive while hearing that the economy is improving around them.

Yes, we hear announcements about investments, economic growth, digital transformation, AI, and national development plans. These things matter and they are important for the country’s long-term future. But many ordinary Malaysians still go home worrying about whether their salary can last until the end of the month.

For many families, the daily concerns remain painfully basic.

The rising price of groceries. Rent. School expenses. Medical bills. Childcare. Petrol. The cost of caring for aging parents.

These are the conversations happening at dinner tables across Malaysia every single night.

And when people cannot feel improvements in their daily lives, politics slowly begins to feel distant and disconnected.

This is something politicians, including people like myself, must acknowledge honestly.

We cannot speak only in statistics and expect people to automatically feel hopeful. GDP growth means very little to a young graduate earning RM2,200 a month while struggling to pay rent in the city. Foreign investments sound impressive, but families want to know when life will actually become less stressful for them.

Perhaps one of the biggest frustrations Malaysians have today is not simply about money.

It is about feeling unheard.

Many people feel welfare systems are difficult to access. Some feel embarrassed asking for help because there is still stigma attached to financial hardship. Others feel exhausted from constantly being pushed from one office to another, filling forms after forms while urgent problems remain unresolved.

On the ground, we see realities that rarely make headlines.

Single mothers silently drowning in debt. Elderly citizens living alone because their children have moved away for work. Families caring for bedridden parents with very little support. Young Malaysians struggling with mental health issues but unable to afford proper treatment. Retirees who continue working well past retirement age because they simply cannot afford to stop.

These are not isolated stories anymore.

They are becoming part of the Malaysian reality.
As our country slowly moves towards becoming an aging nation, these issues will only grow larger. 

Conversations about welfare, healthcare, retirement security, caregiving, and mental health can no longer be treated as secondary matters. They are becoming central national issues that will shape the future of Malaysia.

Sometimes I feel politics today has become too obsessed with winning arguments instead of solving problems.

We spend so much time arguing over race, religion, ideology, and political strategy that we sometimes forget what ordinary Malaysians are actually asking for.

Most people are not demanding perfection.

They simply want stability. They want dignity. They want to know that if they work hard and contribute to society, they will still be able to build a decent life here in Malaysia.

As a Malay Muslim woman, I may come from a different background than many readers of this column. But when you spend enough time meeting Malaysians from all walks of life, you begin to realise something very important.

Pain has no race.

Worry has no religion.

And the struggle to provide dignity for our families is something every Malaysian understands.

Whether it is an elderly Chinese uncle still working long hours to support his family, a Malay single mother juggling two jobs, or an Indian couple trying to care for both aging parents and young children at the same time — beneath all our differences, the hopes are often the same.

People want to feel secure. They want their children to have opportunities. They want their parents to age with dignity. They want to feel that this country still has space for them.

I think this is why many Malaysians feel emotionally exhausted today. Not because they hate the country, but because they love it enough to want better from it.

And perhaps politics today needs less shouting and more listening.

Less obsession with viral moments and political theatre. More focus on understanding why ordinary people increasingly feel disconnected from systems that are supposed to help them.

The woman I met that day eventually received assistance after my office worked together with several agencies. But after she left, I kept thinking about how many more Malaysians are silently carrying burdens nobody sees.

How many elderly parents pretend they are okay because they do not want to burden their children? How many middle-class families quietly cut back on meals, medical treatment, or personal needs just to survive another month? How many young Malaysians smile in public while privately worrying whether they will ever be able to afford a stable future?

A good nation is not measured only by how tall its skyscrapers are or how impressive its economic numbers look on paper.

It is measured by whether ordinary people feel cared for during difficult times.

Whether struggling families feel supported instead of invisible.

Whether elderly citizens feel respected after spending decades helping build this country.

And perhaps that is what politics should truly be about.

Not power. Not endless political drama. Not who wins the loudest argument online.

But humanity.

Because sometimes, the most powerful thing a leader can do is not speak the loudest.

But simply make people feel seen.

本文观点，不代表《东方日报》立场。