A decade ago, I spent a week in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah, delivering lectures to Malaysian farmers on emerging yet practical agricultural technologies.
The focus of these sessions was clear and hopeful: empowering smallholders to strengthen food security and improve rural livelihoods. We discussed FAITH (Food Always In The Home) gardening as a way to ensure daily household nutrition, the System of Rice Intensification to raise yields while reducing inputs, and rice–fish integration to diversify income and enhance ecological balance.
The formal lectures were engaging and productive, marked by thoughtful questions and genuine enthusiasm from participants eager to improve their farms and futures.
Yet, while the conference halls and training venues reflected progress and innovation, it was my visits beyond the city center—particularly to the coastal suburbs—that left a far deeper and more unsettling impression.
Near the shoreline, hidden from tourist routes and urban development, I encountered clusters of stilted shanties inhabited largely by Filipinos, most of them originally from Sulu.
These makeshift homes were constructed from scrap wood, rusted sheets of metal, and cardboard walls, perched precariously above shallow waters. There was no electricity, no piped water, and no sanitation infrastructure.
Human waste was disposed of directly into the sea, with residents waiting for the tide to wash it away. The smell, the visible pollution, and the constant exposure to disease painted a grim picture of daily life. For children growing up in these conditions, the risks were especially severe—malnutrition, infections, and accidents were ever-present threats.
The stories behind these settlements were as complex as they were tragic. Many of the adults had arrived in Sabah decades earlier as fugitives, fleeing the long-running Christian–Muslim conflicts in parts of Mindanao.
Others came simply out of economic desperation, hoping to find work and a chance to survive as undocumented migrants.
Over time, they married, built families, and established fragile communities on the margins of society. Their children were born in Sabah, yet these children were neither recognized as Filipino nor accepted as Malaysian citizens. From birth, they existed in a legal vacuum—stateless, invisible, and unprotected.
Statelessness imposed a harsh and unforgiving reality. Without legal identity papers, these children had no access to even basic primary education. They could not enroll in public schools, and informal learning opportunities were scarce.
As they grew older, the lack of documentation closed off any pathway to formal employment. With no legal means to earn a living, many were pushed into survival strategies that exposed them to further harm.
Girls were particularly vulnerable, often ending up in prostitution, while boys drifted toward drug use, petty crime, or drug pushing.
Health care was another distant privilege; unlike Malaysian citizens, they could not access public hospitals or government clinics. A simple illness or injury could easily become life-threatening.
Their insecurity was compounded by the constant threat of police raids. Illegal settlements were periodically dismantled, and undocumented residents were rounded up and deported to the Philippines. Yet deportation rarely marked an end to their ordeal.
With no livelihoods waiting for them back home and no support systems in place, many found their way back to Sabah through the same illegal routes that had brought them there in the first place. The cycle of displacement, return, and renewed illegality continued unabated.
The Philippine government is not entirely unaware of the existence of these stateless children in Sabah. However, concrete and sustained action has been limited.
Agencies, such as the Department of Foreign Affairs, have shown little enthusiasm for large-scale documentation or systematic repatriation.
The challenges are real: lack of birth records, high logistical costs, and the daunting prospect of absorbing a population marked by deep poverty and limited immediate economic prospects. Still, inaction only allows the problem to fester.
Addressing this humanitarian crisis demands coordinated, multi-level responses.
First, the Philippines and Malaysia must strengthen bilateral cooperation to document stateless children and determine nationality through simplified, humane, and child-centered processes.
Second, temporary legal status should be granted to allow access to education, health care, and basic legal protection while long-term solutions are developed.
Third, international agencies and non-government organizations should be engaged to provide schooling, livelihood training, and community health programs that restore dignity and opportunity.
Finally, lasting peace-building and inclusive economic development in conflict-affected areas of Mindanao are essential, so migration is no longer driven by fear, violence, and desperation.
Without decisive action, statelessness in Sabah will remain a silent tragedy—one quietly inherited by each new generation, unseen by many, yet devastating in its human cost. | NWI
