MALAYSIA is the Promised Land, even if a trifling minority of ingrates denounce their homeland as such a sinisterly bigoted abode that they clamour to emigrate to the United States, United Kingdom or Australia in a prissy huff over turgid contentions of political, social, economic and educational oppression.

Notice that shiny glow oozing from the many entry points to the country? Massive yellow brick roads connecting Malaysia to our envious neighbours from the further east, the far north, the vast Indian sub-continent, some parts of the Middle-East and Africa, all merging in a scrappy diaspora that focuses on the promise of fabulous wealth and infinite opportunity Malaysia effortlessly spawns.

How do we know Malaysia is the Promised Land?

Simple. Ask the millions of Indonesians, Filipinos, Bangladeshis, Chinese, Indians, Nepalese, Myanmars, Africans, and, yes, even Mongolians, who made Malaysia home inspite of grave risk to life, limb and nationality.

Nationality? Yes. Ask also how many of these aliens, legal or otherwise, have forfeited or are willing to forfeit their respective nationalities for a MyKad and that little fortune they readily sacrifice to acquire a little piece of the Malaysian dream as long as it means never having to face forced repatriation.

You know Malaysia is the Promised Land when foreign prostitutes and comely guest relations officers come here in search of tricks, lusty men and sugar daddies. Check out the regular police raids on swanky apartments and ill-repute night spots and count the number of bodies for rent lumbered on the police trucks in any given operation.

You also know Malaysia is the Promised Land when foreigners masquerading as destitute beggars earn a comfy living amassing coins and spare change, converting reams of sympathies into an indigent racket worthy of double-entry, Microsoft Excel bookkeeping.

You are sure Malaysia is the Promised Land when the thugs who rob our homes and wherever loot prevails are the same brutes that behead their own kind on the basis of vicious tribal rivalry.

You definitely know Malaysia is the Promised Land when refugees of innumerable persuasions -- all 100,000 of them at the last count -- make Malaysia a natural pit stop on account that Malaysians are accommodative and besides, enforcement to kick back the refugees to where they originated from is laidback and lacking.

Our neighbours have been scrambling for decades despatching tsunamis of hungry and desperate citizens over here with the great hope of getting a piece of the Malaysian action, no matter how paltry, harsh and horrendous.

On the economic aspect, they have not been disappointed, given the billions (trillions?) in foreign exchange moved regionally on a daily basis. But even that is now inadequate.

From the millions that swarmed Malaysia, many of them have developed a taste for the good life and want to make their stay permanent, either by applying to become a Malaysian citizen or if that is too much to ask, live in the shadows and the fringes or buy one if one is surreptitiously made available.

How did Malaysia gain her celebrated reputation as the Promised Land? The characteristics are illuminatingly revealing of the Malaysian rectitude and moral fibre.

In fleeing the poverty, oppression, repression, disease, catastrophes, ravages, depression and unending feuds and bloody wars of their respective homelands, the alien horde perceived, correctly, that Malaysia is a sanctuary, a haven that shields them from being discriminated, downtrodden, exploited, enslaved and murdered.

Entering Malaysia is not a problem at all: the porous border with Thailand and the unguarded shores make access uncomplicated.

Such is the laxity of the passage, too, that human traffickers and their agents gleefully exploit the local conditions to expedite their illicit trade. It doesn't help that the alien horde are just as culpable by their gullibility to their perception that Malaysia is the Promised Land that embraces all transgressors.

Once established in a safe house in Malaysia, the alien horde's status, legal or otherwise, is speedily blurred -- notice how they fluently blend with the environment, the Malaysian multi-racial mix already a gifted proposition for the aliens though locals with the discerning eye can spot the distinct and contrasting nuances.

Once they have a feel for the country's ways and means, and the dawdling bureaucracy, the alien horde can begin to earn a decent living -- you see them everywhere in the service industry, plantations, construction sites, factories and homes -- any place where menial labour is shunned by Malaysians whose disposition is for white-collar comfort and the next reality show thrill.

Once they are at ease with the system, they began to reinforce the blending -- building homes overnight on idle lands in desolate jungles, and for the more daring, erecting lovely bungalows with materials siphoned from construction sites within a glimpse from the highways.

Soon enough, these bungalows and jungle homes in the city limits burgeon into a community and before you know it, a Little (insert name of any Asean city here) emerges from the hard work, forbearance and indomitability of the alien horde.

It's not enough that they subtly filch the land to build their communities in Malaysia, they -- at least the generation born here -- quickly mimic and emulate Malaysian habits and brogue and within the time it takes to understand the meaning of Malaysia Boleh, the alien horde become more Malaysian than Malaysians themselves.

Then the alien horde happen to read that Malaysia's richest people are worth a collectively staggering RM156.7 billion (S$65 billion) , putting unorthodox ideas into their minds that they, too, can strive to enter that fantastic league of the mega rich. This is Malaysia: anything is possible and dreams can come true.

And that is why, bloodied, crawling and scampering, they keep coming and returning to Malaysia. The Promised Land...