Our clean park, their empty plates

 While they work silently to clean up after us, let us not forget that our migrant workers are humans too, with responsibilities to their families thousands of miles away.

The Sentral Spine Park in Bandar Sri Damansara is not just a recreational space; it is the beating heart of our community.

Stretching across several acres of carefully landscaped greenery, with open fields, walking tracks, and shaded pockets for rest and exercise, the park brings together more than 200 people daily.

It is where seniors gather for their morning tai chi, where teenagers chase shuttlecocks and handballs, where young children laugh under the watchful eyes of teachers and parents.

Roughly 80% of those who frequent this park are senior citizens. Another 10% are children, and 10% are teenagers. It is a living, breathing ecosystem of community life.

But behind this vibrant picture lies a quiet, uncomfortable truth, one that many of us choose not to see.

This park, pristine and welcoming, exists because of a group of men most of us barely notice — the foreign workers.

Every day, I see them. Sweeping dried leaves under the scorching sun. Cutting overgrown grass with precision. Pruning low-hanging branches so our paths remain safe.

They work silently, diligently, with a discipline that commands respect, if only we would stop long enough to offer it.

One day, something changed.

Midway along my regular morning walk, three of these workers approached me. Hesitant at first. Then, visibly distressed, their words came out slowly, weighed down by exhaustion and desperation.

They had not been paid for more than three months. No wages. No income. No ability to send money home. No means to pay rent. Some are struggling just to eat.

Let that sink in.

These are men who wake up early every day to maintain a park we proudly call our own, yet they are left to survive on nothing.

I immediately asked for the contractor’s contact details. When I called, he was still asleep at 10am.

Irritated, dismissive, and quick to defend himself, he claimed payments had already been made.

I made it clear that I would escalate this to MBPJ. Only then did he say he would “look into it”.

This is not just negligence. This is a failure of basic human decency.

How does a contractor get away with paying workers a meagre RM1,500, and then fail to even honour that? How do we, as a society, allow such practices to continue in plain sight?

We speak proudly about development, sustainability, and liveable cities. Yet the very people who make these ideals possible are treated as invisible, expendable, and undeserving of dignity.

These are people, not machines.

They are fathers who have children waiting for money to pay school fees. Sons supporting ageing parents. Husbands trying to provide for families thousands of miles away. They came here seeking a better future, not to be trapped in cycles of exploitation.

And yet, this is their reality.

The contractor responsible must be held accountable. Not with a warning, not with a gentle reminder, but with firm, decisive action.

Blacklisting should not even be a debate. Those who exploit labour have no place in any system that claims to uphold fairness and integrity.

Equally the authorities, especially MBPJ, must ask themselves: how did this go unnoticed? Where are the safeguards? Where is the monitoring? It should not take a passerby, a concerned resident, to uncover such a blatant failure.

We cannot continue to operate on a system that reacts only when someone speaks up.

As Malaysians, we must also reflect on our role.

It takes very little to ask a question. To check in. To notice. To care.

The next time you walk through a clean park, a swept street, or a well-maintained public space, pause for a moment. Look beyond the surface. Acknowledge the hands that made it possible.

Because dignity is not a privilege reserved for some. It is a basic right for all.

I am saddened. I am angered. But more than that, I am deeply disappointed that in a country we take pride in, such treatment still exists.

We can, and must, do better. - FMT

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of MMKtT.