Halal and non-halal segregation

Not too long ago, a friend and I were reminiscing about growing up in Penang. She is one of my few close friends who still reside on the island.

We spent most of our time remembering our mischief at school, exploits at Komtar, more affordable cost of living, but most of our memories consisted of our favorite eateries and the distinct Penang hawker food.

Predictably, we spent most of our conversation obsessing over the history of hawker stalls across the island, and new stalls that have cropped up since our secondary school and college days. Almost always, we circle back to Penang’s Food Mecca, the infamous Gurney Drive.

What I remember most about Gurney, and still yearn for, is the mingling aroma of scrumptious asam laksa, rojak, char kuey teow, pasembur, lok lok, sotong bakar, chee cheong fun, hokkien noddles, and satay weaving a cocoon of heavenly pleasure, enveloping my sense of smell, and inducing euphoria. Smoke from the woks, people jostling for tables and the chance to place their orders, and the hustle bustle of food and money exchanging hands. This, coupled with sweat dripping down my face and neck as I savored every morsel and enjoyed the occasional ocean breeze, remains an unrivaled life experience.

Curious about my friend’s thoughts on the halal and non-halal hawker section at Gurney, I asked why food segregation is fast becoming the norm. She said, “I don’t eat at Gurney anymore because it’s not very clean. Even if I did, I prefer the separate Muslim and non-Muslim areas because looking at and smelling the non-halal stuff 'buat I meloya' (makes me nauseous).”

Curious, I pressed her further and she reluctantly clarified, “Chinese food is dirty and smelly, babi (pig) is gross and I don’t want to smell babi or anything of that sort.” I have to admit that I was not surprised by this viewpoint but I was sorely disappointed.

Why am I not surprised? Because over the years I have heard similar thoughts expressed about Chinese food and hence, why it needs to be isolated from Muslims.

The shift in socio-cultural attitudes and the gradual Islamisation of society along with Malaysia’s drive towards becoming a global halal hub plays a role in structuring the segregation.

I have seen this transformation in my own neighbourhood. For as long as I can remember, my neighbour, Mr. Chan and his family, had open house during Chinese New Year celebration with a buffet they prepared.

However, in the past ten years, neighbourhood gossip about the inappropriateness of cooking and serving Muslims with the same pots/plates/utensils, and dwindling attendance prompted Mr. Chan to employ a separate catering and buffet spread for Muslims.

A few years ago, citing the rising cost of hiring caterers and increasing religiosity of neighbors, he cancelled his open house practice altogether.

Food segregation was anomaly during my youth except for supermarkets where pork related products and alcohol were tucked away in a corner. In Penang, it was a fact of everyday life that pigs hang from hooks at pork shops all over town and Indian Muslim cendol stalls were found next to a bah kut teh stalls. Penangites ate together on the streets without letting faith or the divisive interpretation of it come between them and their favorite pastime—eating. That was how I was raised—there was nothing wrong and/or unacceptable about the co-mingling of diverse food cultures.

The privilege of being born and raised a Penangite has shaped my appreciation of food as a window to understanding pluralism.

In this sense, for me, Gurney Drive before halal and non-halal segregation was a space where different cultures encountered each other, entered into conflict, and grappled with the differences, and in the process, searched for commonalities.

I don’t consume pork and pork by-products, but was never taught that these foods are “unclean” or that I cannot buy goreng pisang from a hawker that sells his delicacy next to the bah kut teh stall or eat my goreng pisang while standing/sitting next to someone eating bah kut teh.

I used to sit with friends who brought pork to school for their lunches during recess and ate communally without any fanfare about halal and non-halal spaces.

Today, I no longer see bah kut teh next to the roti jala, lok lok next to pasembur, or pork and pork intestine satay next to the Malay nasi lemak stall at my beloved Gurney Drive.

The Malays eat in their confined area and everyone else in the larger, open section of non-halal food. Malay hawkers frown upon the non-halal sellers entering their space to serve Muslim customers ordering laksa or even rojak. While there are the occasional Muslims who eat in the non-halal section and order from the halal section, these sights are becoming few and far between.

But what pains me the most is that I no longer see Malay or Chinese hawkers extending a hand to each other, helping with small change or picking up/washing plates together. This is the effect of halal and non-halal segregation.

My point in remembering this communal act of eating is to tap into that space within us that wonders from time to time, should we not have faith in our ability to live pluralism and not engage in exclusionary practices?

Can the desegregation of our national pastime, our sacred institutions—hawker stalls and food courts—be a small step towards repairing our fragmented racial relations? Can we reclaim through food culture intercultural interactions that strengthen co-existence and national reconciliation?

The reports of elevators and shopping carts designated halal and non-halal is worrisome. What will we wake up to tomorrow? A halal and non-halal restroom? Parks? Libraries? Banks?

If we cannot eat together without designating some ethnic food “unclean”, we cannot co-exist. It is as simple as that because co-existing requires respect, understanding, and dialogue. - October 31, 2013.

* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of The Malaysian Insider.