Perhaps the ethnic sentiment is as nascent to human nature as other "social facts" like the religious and family sentiments, in the manner that some social scientists would claim. But the grand narrative of the ethnic nationalist is certainly a recent historical phenomenon that relies on a series of theoretical constructs.

At the most radical end of ethnic nationalism, the individual disappears in his sense of self-identity. A person is reduced to a mere member of an ethnic community, partaking in the collective characteristics and the common destiny of the group in all dimensions.

At the highest crest of this group hysteria, the world is truncated into a division between "them" and "us". High walls are then erected on the periphery of the imagined ethnic borders, presumably to keep out the threatening alien "Other", while they also effectively seal in the individuals of the select group within a mental cocoon.

Thinkers have lamented over the intellectual poverty of the theoretical constructs cooked up by the high culture of nationalism. Some would label it as sheer tribalism outright. Nevertheless, the ethnic sentiment has been the most powerful driving force in modern politics, and it shows no sign of subsiding any time soon.

Without a doubt, Dr Mahathir's once banned book Malay Dilemma has been the iconic work that has formed the backbone of our native Malay nationalist sentiment. It does not matter that the arguments and facts contained therein are full of holes. All that matters is that the ideas in the book have given the nationalists a body of theoretical constructs to derive and deduce their nation-building agenda.

Over the past three and a half decades, those ideas have been translated into concrete government policies. They have given broad outlines to our national life. Only recently, did Dr Kua Kia Soong try to debunk some of the established national myths. It is a miracle, or perhaps a sign of the changing times, that his recent most book has not been banned - yet!

Voiceless, faceless individuals

In this business of nationalism, the ontological relationship between the individual member and his ethnic group is never very well determined by anyone, past and present. Both self-identity and ethnic identity are philosophical issues beyond our ken, though not for lack of trying.

All I know is that, despite the broad ethnic characterisation in Malaysia, both by the government externally and by individual citizens internally, there are roughly 26 million people in Malaysia, and none of them have been spared the positive and negative consequences of Malay ethnic nationalism of various brands in our country.

Let us do a quantum leap and step away from the national grand narrative, and withdraw to the voiceless faceless individuals at the further fringes of the mainstream. This is just another exercise in theoretical construction that is neither more nor less valid than the discourse of ethnic nationalism.

Then, we have 26 million souls in Malaysia, 26 million centres of the same universe, and 26 million stories to be told.

I can pick anyone at random, but I will tell the story of Kak Shima, whose path crossed mine via the grapevine of the work place in a one-in-26-million-chance. Her plight came to my attention because of the edifying pattern of her personal life. Her eldest son, who was studying in Form 4, had died in a self-inflicted motor-cycle accident, and she was devastated.

Earlier on, she had considered moving out of the Malay kampong in Gombak, and into a mixed or Chinese area, so that her son would not lepak all day with other idle Malay kampong youths or seek the thrill of speeding on his father's old motor bike. The young boy of 16 had had several accidents before, and she had to take emergency leave to tend to him in the hospital, much to the displeasure of her employer. The boy had done badly in school, and showed neither ambition nor interest in anything that would improve his lot in life.

But to have his life taken away so suddenly like that, crashing into a roadside lamp-post, was too much even for a hardy down-to-earth woman like her. She was devastated and inconsolable.

She blamed herself for having to go out and work in one of those prestigious firms in the KL Golden Triangle. Her husband used to work as a security guard, making something like RM800 a month, on and off. She had two other growing children to think of. In the nation's capital, a family teetering on the threshold of poverty will require two incomes just to make ends meet, barely. But then, if she had stayed at home, she would have provided adequate attention and supervision over her boy.

It was too late to blame her husband for being useless.

Kak Shima hailed originally from the Malay rural heartland of Kelantan. She had finished her SPM, and like millions of Malay youths all over the country, she had slowly but surely drifted to KL, in search of good jobs, excitement, and perhaps a better life.

She had done several clerical jobs, and had her share of good time. But like all young Malay girls then, the family and social pressure for her to marry early was tremendous. Finally, she just married the first man who came her way. The fellow had been alright, but he could not afford to look after the family, a fact that many young Malay girls would choose to ignore in the intensity of passion.

When children came along, life became very hard.

Then a few years ago, the husband bought a Proton car with a loan borrowed in her name. They needed it for going to work in KL, he had said. Unfortunately, his employment was never secure, and he was out of work for a year. Without telling his wife, he had defaulted on the car loan repayment. The finance company got a judgement, and Kak Shima now had to fork out well over RM500 every month in the next few years for a car that she no longer owns!

After many years of loyal service in the administrative and secretarial department of her employer's firm, her grand total salary comes up to the sum of RM1350. Subtract the EPF contribution and the repayment of RM500 plus to the bank, she has little to take home to her family.

Anguish deep in her heart

Everyday, she takes the bus to work, and the two trips would consume up to three or four hours of her waking moment, since the buses usually crawl at a snail pace in KL during peak hours. When she gets home at night at around 9 pm, she still had to prepare dinner for the family, do the washing, and such other household chore. By the time her over-exerted frame hits her bed, it would be near mid-night. The next day, she would wake up at 5, and the whole stultifying daily routine would repeat itself.

Recently, her eldest daughter had just finished her SPM exam. She could not find a job. The girl just does not have the drive to pound the pavement and knock on strange doors in search of a job. At times, Kak Shima feels as if it is expected of her to find a job for her daughter.

Then, just last month, her daughter decided to get married. Her equally young husband is a clerk making minimal wage. Kak Shima did not celebrate her daughter's wedding, and she did not tell anybody why. A heavy cloud hangs over the newly weds in more ways than one, but being city folks, her friends at the office have not poked their noses into her business.

At about the same time, her husband was relieved of his latest job as a security guard again. He was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Now Kak Shima is 45 years of age, and has a boy of four at home. She tells people she still has ten good years left until her retirement. From her large frame and her stoic features, you cannot tell what anguish broils deep in her heart, especially about her future. She did express her regret on the quiet about having married so early.

We know there are countless marginalised Malay women like her in KL. I see them walking at a brisk pace in waves, just after office hours, crowding the busy streets in the city centre, jamming the public transport system, packing the LRT and monorail trains, and the KL Rapid buses.

Every one of them must have an interesting story to tell. All their stories though, will be a million miles away from the world of fashion, cooking, and glamour as portrayed by the glossy women's magazine. Because their stories are not sexy, they will not be reported in the media.

When I see the leaders of women's wing from the various political parties shouting hoarse on TV about women's rights, I always think of Kak Shima. Ladies like her form a huge proportion of our labour force, and they make a great contribution to the development of the nation. But are they properly rewarded, financially, socially, and culturally?

Whatever the politicians may say, these women still survive barely, at the bottom of the political food chain.