Kiasu Culture: When Winning Trumps Kindness

Kiasu Culture: When Winning Trumps Kindness #

The term “kiasu” – Hokkien for “fear of losing” – might hail from across the causeway, but its spirit undeniably pulses through Malaysian society too. It manifests not just in ambitious drive, but in a creeping social corrosion where getting ahead, by any small margin, often eclipses simple kindness. We see it daily, this subtle shift where winning the trivial contest becomes paramount.

Observe the supermarket queue: the trolley angled aggressively, edging forward millimetres at a time, ensuring not a single soul dares cut in. Witness the car park predator, engine idling, ready to pounce the millisecond reverse lights glow, indifferent to the driver patiently waiting first. Or the buffet line warrior, heaping plates sky-high with the “best” pieces, leaving scraps for those behind – a tangible metaphor for the “me-first” scarcity mentality.

This isn’t just harmless competitiveness; it’s a zero-sum game mentality infecting everyday interactions. It’s the refusal to let a car merge in heavy traffic, the scramble to grab the last roti canai without a glance at fellow patrons, the elbows-out rush onto public transport. The underlying message is stark: My minor convenience, my tiny victory, matters more than your dignity or our shared comfort.

The cost? Erosion of the very muhibah (goodwill) we pride ourselves on. That spontaneous helpfulness, the patient queueing, the small courtesies that oil the wheels of a diverse society – they wither under the relentless pressure of kiasu. We become islands of self-interest, suspicious and guarded, less willing to extend the simple kindnesses that make communal life bearable, let alone pleasant.

Ambition isn’t the enemy. Striving for success is natural. But when that striving manifests as an inability to yield, to share, to simply wait without scheming for microscopic advantage, we sacrifice something fundamental. We trade collective warmth for individual, often meaningless, points scored. Is the parking spot secured by aggression, or the extra piece of chicken snatched, truly worth the communal chill it leaves behind? Perhaps it’s time to ask: in our relentless pursuit of not losing, what valuable kindness are we sacrificing? That teh tarik tastes far better shared without elbows on the table.