MARCH 22 — A flustered call comes in on Day One of the movement control order (MCO) in Sabah, filled with anxiety about the dangerous intersection between his health, income level and legal status.
“I’m scared and I don’t know who else to call. Ada chek pree kah? (Are there free screenings?) Tau la sia ni teda pas (As you know, I don’t have documentation),” said Awang*, a 40-year-old undocumented person, uncertain if he may have come into contact with Covid-19, while working as a labourer.
Although we were able to notify him of the places he could receive thorough medical attention, he then revealed his other fear which we overlooked; he was petrified of the authorities and needed further reassurance that they would not refer him to the immigration office during the screening.
Those working closely with the undocumented community in Sabah would have received similar calls of late to recognise a major problem at hand: The grey zone of medical inclusivity.
Like Malaysia, many countries around the world have become devastated by the novel coronavirus, with hundreds and thousands experiencing not just illness, but also homelessness, displacement, loss of employment and an exponential number of deaths.
The slow but steady surge of the virus has forced the Malaysian government to take action in mitigating the effects of the pandemic by issuing a MCO enforced on March 18, 2020.
This was important for citizens of the state to feel that drastic measures are taken to ensure their safety and well-being. But in Sabah, with an estimated one third of its 2.9 million population being non-citizens, this translated differently.
In the days leading up to the call, Awang was restless, cowering at the sight of Rela volunteers who had been deployed to assist the police force and military in enforcing the MCO.
Fearful of being refused medical screening for Covid-19 or worse, detained at temporary detention centres, Awang went on without any certainty from any government authorities that those two situations will not occur.
Many more live with the same uncertainty of their own lives like Awang.
As they are not issued any government identity document, there are no civil rights for them to even speak of before the pandemic erupted.
Now, in the face of the virus, their situation is exacerbated by the silence from the authorities.
There is no way for Awang and many others in his shoes to find out whether there will be repercussions for them and their families should they even attempt to screen for the deadly virus.
While this may sound anecdotal to some, such vulnerabilities actually highlight alarming realities on the ground.
With such a massive undocumented population, the difficulty has always been keeping abreast with events and challenges in the community simply because we are left data blind.
Population demographics have always been kept confidential and their numbers have been mere estimations by civil society groups.
And while some of the greater issues surrounding undocumentedness have been their inability to access education, employment, shelter and documentation, healthcare is by far the most worrying of the pick in a Covid-19 stricken Malaysia.
To be fair, there has been offered assistance from public health centres for anyone in need, regardless of legal status.
In an effort to flatten the curve, a directive from the Malaysian Ministry of Health has announced that all foreigners who exhibit symptoms or who have had direct contact with infected persons will not be charged a medical fee for the screening and subsequent admission into the hospital.