瑟丽娜：海纳百川，有容乃大

卫塞节前几个星期，我收到一则讯息。不是来自记者、不是来自政治对手、也不是来自选民，而是一位穆斯林朋友。

他问我：“YB，穆斯林可以参加卫塞节庆典吗？”

看到这则讯息时，我沉默了一会儿才回复。并非因为我不知道答案，而是因为这个问题提醒了我——马来西亚已经改变了许多。

或者更准确地说，是马来西亚人改变了许多，小时候，我们不会花那么多时间去思考自己是否可以参加别人的节庆活动，我们只是自然地参与其中。

我们出席婚礼，拜访朋友的开放门户，接受朋友的邀请，当遇到不了解的文化或习俗时，我们会主动提问。

那是一个充满好奇心的时代，而今天，似乎更多的是焦虑，每逢佳节，总会出现类似的问题：我可以参加吗？、我可以向他们祝贺吗？、我可以进入寺庙吗？、别人看到我出现在那里会怎样吗？

对于许多华裔马来西亚人来说，这些问题或许听起来有些不可思议；但对于许多穆斯林而言，这些却是非常普遍的疑问，而这或许正反映了我们社会目前的状态。

因为在某个时刻开始，许多马来西亚人不再透过友谊认识彼此，而是透过新闻标题、社交媒体争议，以及各种政治叙事来理解彼此，我们知道什么会冒犯对方，却越来越不了解什么对对方真正重要。

身为一名马来穆斯林女性，我理解这些担忧从何而来。对于穆斯林而言，信仰不仅仅是身份证上的一个类别，而是一种生活方式。它影响我们的生活、祈祷、庆祝方式，以及我们如何理解自己在这个世界上的责任。

因此，穆斯林希望在尊重他人的同时，不会无意间跨越自己不完全理解的界限，这是很自然的事情，然而，谨慎与恐惧之间，是有区别的。

而我越来越担心的是，许多马来西亚人正在让谨慎演变成恐惧，今年卫塞节期间，我出席了数项庆典活动，最令我印象深刻的，并不是仪式本身。而是人们展现出来的善意。

在我抵达之前，主办方义工已经细心确认现场准备的食物是否适合穆斯林食用。有人耐心向我解释哪些环节属于宗教仪式，哪些则只是文化活动。还有人主动告诉我，只需以自己感到舒适的方式参与即可。

没有人向我施压，没有人质疑我的信仰，更没有人要求我为了表达尊重而减少自己的穆斯林身份。事实上，我遇见的佛教徒，似乎比我自己更在意如何照顾我的宗教敏感度。

这一点让我感触良深，因为它让我意识到一件许多人已经遗忘的事实：绝大多数普通人，其实都在努力尊重彼此，真正制造不信任感的，往往来自其他地方。

来自政治言论、来自社交媒体、来自那些依靠煽动恐惧获利的人，他们不断说服我们，相异是一种威胁，而非现实。

美好的马来西亚

在庆典现场漫步时，我想起了一句我一直非常欣赏的中华谚语：“海纳百川，有容乃大。”大海之所以伟大，不是因为它消灭了河流，而是因为它接纳了所有河流。

这正是我心目中最美好的马来西亚，不是让所有河流变成同一条河，而是让不同的河流在保留源头的同时，汇聚向前。佛教徒依然是佛教徒、穆斯林依然是穆斯林、基督徒依然是基督徒。

我们的目标从来都不是一致化，而是共存。然而，不知从何时开始，我们逐渐把“尊重”误解成“妥协”。有人认为，参加其他族群的节庆活动，就等于认同对方的一切。

也有人认为，了解其他宗教，会削弱自己的信仰，但我的经历恰恰相反。我越了解别人，就越清楚自己是谁，因为理解不是投降，好奇不是皈依。

尊重也不等于认同。伊斯兰教其中一个重要教诲，就是一切行为都取决于意图，意图非常重要，如果我以朋友的身份、带著尊重与善意出席卫塞节庆典，那么这个意图很重要。

如果佛教徒朋友以同样的善意和友谊参加我的开斋节开放门户，这个意图同样重要，试想，如果我们都愿意从这个角度看待彼此，马来西亚会变成什么模样？

当我们看到一个人出现在寺庙时，不是立刻质问：“她为什么在那里？”而是先问：“她的意图是什么？”

不是先假设恶意，而是先保持好奇，不是先怀疑，而是多一点宽容，坦白说，我有时会觉得，尽管我们生活在同一个国家，却越来越像彼此的陌生人。

我们知道彼此的节庆，但我们了解彼此的恐惧吗？我们知道彼此的食物，但我们了解彼此的价值观吗？

我们知道彼此的刻板印象，但我们了解彼此的人生故事吗？然而，我在基层看到的马来西亚，依然让我充满希望。

一个健康社会

那是佛教义工主动确认食物是否符合清真标准的身影，那是华裔阿姨知道我正在斋戒，因此提醒我昏礼时间即将到来的体贴。

那是穆斯林与非穆斯林邻居隔著篱笆互赠食物的温暖画面，那是人们在坚定自身身份认同的同时，也懂得欣赏别人身上的美善。

这些故事很少登上新闻头条，但这才是真正的马来西亚，而让我最感到遗憾的，并非我们彼此不同，因为我们一直都不同。

真正令人担忧的是，我们越来越被鼓励用怀疑的眼光看待这些差异，而不是以自信面对它们。

然而，一个健康社会最需要的，正是这种自信，一个有自信的穆斯林，不会因为了解佛教而感到受威胁。一个有自信的佛教徒，不会因为认识伊斯兰而感到不安。

一个有自信的马来西亚人，也不需要透过贬低其他群体来证明自己的安全感。离开卫塞节庆典时，我再次想起朋友当初发来的那则讯息：“穆斯林可以参加卫塞节庆典吗？”

或许，更值得我们思考的问题是：如果我们连彼此了解、彼此庆祝、彼此支持都做不到，那么我们究竟在保护什么？

因为一个国家的建立，从来不只是依靠道路、政策或选举，一个国家真正的基础，是信任。

而信任始于我们不再把彼此视为需要提防的风险，而是值得理解的邻居，正如海洋接纳百川一样，马来西亚的力量从来不是让所有人变得一样，而是在保留自我的同时，依然有勇气携手向前，共同奔流向未来。

瑟丽娜《海纳百川，有容乃大》原文： A Hundred Rivers, One Sea

A few weeks before Wesak Day, I received a message.
Not from a journalist.
Not from a political opponent.
Not even from a constituent.
It was from a Muslim friend.

"YB, can Muslims attend Wesak celebrations?"

I stared at the message for a moment before replying.
Not because I did not know the answer.
But because it reminded me of how much Malaysia has changed.
Or perhaps, how much Malaysians have changed.

When I was growing up, many of us did not spend so much time wondering whether we could attend one another's celebrations. We simply showed up. We attended weddings. We visited open houses. We joined our friends when they invited us. We asked questions when we did not understand something.

There was curiosity.

Today, there seems to be more anxiety.

Every festive season, some version of the same question returns.

Can I attend?

Can I greet them?

Can I visit a temple?

Can I be seen there?

To many Chinese Malaysians, these questions may sound strange. To many Muslims, they are surprisingly common.

And perhaps that says something about where we are as a society.

Because somewhere along the way, many Malaysians stopped learning about one another through friendships and started learning about one another through headlines, social media outrage, and political narratives.

We know more about what offends each other than what matters to each other.
As a Malay Muslim woman, I understand where some of these concerns come from.
For Muslims, faith is not merely an identity card category. It shapes how we live, how we pray, how we celebrate, and how we understand our responsibilities in the world. Naturally, Muslims want to ensure that in respecting others, they do not accidentally cross boundaries they do not fully understand.

But there is a difference between caution and fear.

And increasingly, I worry that many Malaysians are allowing caution to become fear.
I attended several Wesak Day programmes this year.

What struck me most was not the ceremony.

It was the kindness.

Before I arrived, volunteers quietly checked whether food prepared for guests was suitable for Muslim visitors. Someone carefully explained which parts of the programme were ceremonial and which parts were simply cultural. Another person reassured me that I should only participate in ways I felt comfortable with.

Nobody pressured me.

Nobody questioned my faith.

Nobody expected me to become less Muslim in order to show respect.
In fact, the Buddhists I met seemed more concerned about protecting my religious sensitivities than I was.
That stayed with me.
Because it revealed something I think many Malaysians have forgotten.
Most ordinary people are trying very hard to respect one another.
The distrust often comes from elsewhere.

From political rhetoric.

From social media.

From people who profit from convincing us that our differences are threats rather than realities.

As I walked through the celebrations, I was reminded of a Chinese proverb I have always admired:

The sea embraces a hundred rivers; it is great because it is inclusive.

To me, that is Malaysia at its best.

Not a country where every river becomes the same, but one where many streams can flow together without losing their source.

A Buddhist remains Buddhist.
A Muslim remains Muslim.
A Christian remains Christian.
The goal was never uniformity.
The goal was always coexistence.

Yet somewhere along the way, we began confusing respect with compromise.
Some people assume that attending another community's celebration means endorsing everything about it. Others assume that understanding another faith somehow weakens their own.

My experience has been the exact opposite.

The more I learn about others, the more secure I become in who I am.

Because understanding is not surrender.

Curiosity is not conversion.

Respect is not agreement.

One of the most important teachings in Islam is that actions are judged by intentions.

Intentions matter.

If I attend a Wesak celebration as a guest, out of friendship and respect, that intention matters. If a Buddhist friend attends my Hari Raya open house out of friendship and respect, that intention matters too. Imagine how different Malaysia would feel if we gave one another the benefit of that assumption.

Instead of immediately asking, "Why is she at a temple?"
We might ask, "What is her intention?"
Instead of assuming bad faith, we might begin with curiosity.
Instead of suspicion, perhaps a little generosity.
Because if I am being honest, I sometimes feel that Malaysians are becoming strangers to one another despite living side by side.
We know each other's festivals.

But do we know each other's fears?

We know each other's food.
But do we know each other's values?
We know each other's stereotypes.
But do we know each other's stories?

The Malaysia I encounter on the ground still gives me hope.
It looks like a Buddhist volunteer checking whether food is halal.
It looks like a Chinese auntie reminding me that Maghrib is approaching because she knows I am fasting.

It looks like Muslim and non-Muslim neighbours exchanging food over a fence.
It looks like people secure enough in their own identities to appreciate the goodness in others.

Those moments rarely make headlines.
But they are the real Malaysia.

And perhaps that is what saddens me most about the state of race relations today.
Not that we are different. We have always been different. It is that we are increasingly encouraged to view those differences through suspicion instead of confidence. But confidence is exactly what a healthy society needs.

A confident Muslim does not feel threatened by learning about Buddhism.
A confident Buddhist does not feel threatened by understanding Islam.
A confident Malaysian does not need to diminish another community to feel secure in their own.

As I left the Wesak celebration that day, I found myself thinking again about my friend's message.
"Can Muslims attend?"
Perhaps the better question is this.

If we cannot even learn about one another, celebrate with one another, and show up for one another, then what exactly are we trying to protect?

Because a nation is not built merely through roads, policies, or elections.
It is built through trust. And trust begins when we stop seeing one another as risks to be managed and start seeing one another as neighbours to be understood.

Like the sea that welcomes a hundred rivers, Malaysia's strength has never come from making us the same.

It comes from allowing us to remain ourselves while still finding the courage to flow forward together.

本文观点，不代表《东方日报》立场。