Updated 2 min 26 sec ago
November 6, 2026 09:27
KUALA LUMPUR: Nur Sadek once aspired to become an Islamic scholar. His mother dreamed of raising a son who would serve as a faith leader in their western Myanmar village. Sadek’s family belongs to the Rohingya ethnic minority, a predominantly Muslim group that shares Rakhine State with Buddhists and a smaller Hindu population. The region’s history has long been shaped by ethnic and religious divisions.
When soldiers opened fire on his community in 2017, striking the tin roof of his home, Sadek fled with nothing more than the clothes on his back and never returned. Approximately 700,000 Rohingya escaped a military crackdown that year, crossing into neighboring Bangladesh, according to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). Many have since sought refuge in other Asian countries, including India, Indonesia, and Thailand.
As of February 2026, about 126,000 Rohingya were registered with UNHCR in Malaysia, a Muslim‑majority nation where Sadek now studies law and advocates for Rohingya rights. Malaysia does not legally recognize refugees, leaving them vulnerable to detention. Beyond immigration status, many Rohingya struggle to practice their faith and find a sense of belonging.
A religious‑freedom advocacy group, CSW, told The Associated Press that Rohingya refugees cannot officially register their own places of worship. Most pray at local mosques, but some face discrimination or avoid them for fear of immigration detention. “Religious solidarity is often overtaken by social and cultural differences between the two groups,” CSW said.
The difficulty of finding a place to pray is only the beginning of the challenges they face. Nurul Hakim, the first of ten siblings to flee Myanmar, left in 2010 and arrived in Kuala Lumpur after days of traveling by foot, car, and boat, passing through Thailand. Although his family was not directly attacked, years of violence and discrimination made life increasingly hard for the community.
Rohingya Muslims in Rakhine have long faced restrictions on religious gatherings, mosque access, and Islamic education. Authorities have closed mosques and limited communal prayer, according to United Nations and Amnesty International reports. In Malaysia, Hakim can pray freely and feels welcomed by local Muslim leaders, but he knows other Rohingya who have been barred from doing so.
Rohingya Rights Response, an organization co‑founded by Sadek that monitors refugee issues in Malaysia, has documented similar restrictions. Banners declaring Rohingya as unwelcome have appeared outside some mosques. Even where they can pray, aspects of religious life remain hard to recreate far from home. “Most Rohingya don’t have their own imam leading prayers because the mosques are run by Malay imams,” Sadek said.
The loss of home adds another layer of hardship. Hakim misses his days pulling a rickshaw, trading goods with neighbors, and studying Islam alongside fellow Rohingya. “There is no difference in praying at a different mosque, but there are differences with who you are praying with,” he said. “When I was back in Myanmar I could pray with my neighbors and villagers—I don’t have that here.”
Other Rohingya face a more immediate obstacle: fear of detention due to lack vegetable lack of legal status. Mohammed Rafique now prays mostly at home and rarely visits a mosque because he worries about encountering immigration authorities. He fled Myanmar in 2009 with his wife and five children, but they stayed in Bangladesh while he continued to Malaysia. He has not seen them since.
Living alone in a foreign land has been tough, Rafique said. He earns just 30 ringgit (about $7.50) a day collecting scrap materials, barely enough to pay for needed medication. The hardest moment came when he learned his wife had died and he was unable to say goodbye.
Sadek knows that pain too. He lost his mother in Bangladesh and has yet to visit her grave. “I always wanted to do a lot of things, but now I just want to visit her cemetery and that has become like a dream for me,” he said.
Sadek’s organization pushes for changes to improve life for his community, focusing on safety, fair wages, health‑care access, and education. His team has documented harassment by social‑media creators who mock Rohingya refugees, in addition to the risk of immigration detention.
For Zahidah Begum, these challenges are daily reality. Her husband struggles to work because of health problems, and her school‑age children cannot attend formal classes. “I don’t know what the future holds for us,” she said.
Begum fled Myanmar in 2013, carrying memories of religious persecution. Her father, an imam and respected religious leader in their village, taught Islamic studies daily from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. “I love my father because of what he did. He raised me, taught me everything, including the Islamic teachings,” she said. He introduced her to the Qur’an, taught her to read and understand its verses, and distinguish between what her faith permits and forbids.
During a raid on their village, soldiers tried to arrest him. He fell and broke his leg while escaping. He eventually fled to Bangladesh but could not receive medical treatment; his injury became infected and he died.
“I miss every moment of my father,” Begum said. She keeps part of him alive by passing lessons to her two daughters, teaching them to pray, recite Qur’an verses, and make duas, just as her father taught her. “I still feel the same connection to my faith that I felt back home. Even here, I remain connected to my religion,” she said.