AUg 15 — Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim’s announcement that the government intends to abolish the Universities and University Colleges Act 1971, better known as AUKU, is important. For many students and academics, it marks a reform that has been a long time coming.

Still, there are reasons to be cautious. AUKU has become the most recognisable symbol of control in Malaysian universities, but the restrictions on academic freedom today cannot be reduced to AUKU alone. In many ways, the deeper problem lies in the wider legal, institutional and political environment in which universities operate.

Anwar made the announcement on August 15 during his presidential policy speech at the PKR National Congress and said the proposal would be brought to Cabinet on August 19. Higher Education Minister Zambry Abdul Kadir later said that repealing AUKU could not simply mean removing the Act. Since it also provides the legal basis for the establishment, administration and governance of universities, he said its repeal must be accompanied by a new and more comprehensive legal framework.

The political timing is also difficult to ignore. This was, after all, an announcement made by the PKR president at his party congress. AUKU has long carried symbolic weight in Malaysia’s reform politics, particularly among students and younger Malaysians. Earlier this year, students marched to Parliament demanding its abolition.

There is another reason for caution. In January this year, Zambry said the government had no plans to repeal AUKU in its entirety. By February, amid renewed student demands, he was defending AUKU as a law that had evolved while signalling openness to further discussion and review. Now, six months later, the government intends to repeal it.

There is some historical irony here too. In October 2014, when Anwar was opposition leader, Universiti Malaya tried to prevent him, one of its own alumni, from entering the campus to speak at a student-organised event. The programme was banned, the campus gates were closed and students eventually pushed through the gates before Anwar addressed the crowd.

More than a decade later, Anwar is now the prime minister proposing the repeal of the law so closely associated with restrictions on political space in our universities. The contrast is worth remembering, not least because it reminds us that the question has never been about AUKU alone.

AUKU was enacted in 1971 and became much more restrictive after amendments in the 1970s, following a period of intense student mobilisation that included the 1974 Baling protests. Over time, it became closely associated with state control of student politics and university life.

It is also important to acknowledge that AUKU has changed. The restrictions imposed decades ago have been relaxed. Amendments in 2012 opened greater space for student participation in political organisations outside campus. Further changes removed restrictions on political party activity on campus, while amendments passed in 2024 gave student representative councils and student bodies greater control over their finances.

AUKU in 2026 is therefore not AUKU in 1975. But neither is that the same as saying Malaysian universities are free.

For more than a decade, we have also been told that our public universities enjoy autonomy in areas including governance, finance, human resources and academic administration. Yet we are still asking how far that autonomy really goes.

The appointment of vice-chancellors is one obvious example. Under the present structure, the process involves recommendations and several levels of screening, but the final selection is made by the minister under AUKU. In Parliament in February 2025, Zambry rejected claims that such appointments were made hastily or on political grounds, stressing that they followed established procedures and recommendations from within the university system.

But the larger issue is not simply whether the procedures are properly followed. If public universities are to be genuinely autonomous, there is a strong case that the final authority over the appointment of a vice-chancellor should rest with the university rather than the minister.

And this is where the conversation has to move beyond AUKU.

Public university academics also operate under the Statutory Bodies (Discipline and Surcharge) Act 2000, or Act 605. Its disciplinary framework includes restrictions concerning public statements by officers of statutory bodies. This matters particularly when academics speak about government policy, institutions or politically contentious questions.

Zambry himself acknowledged the problem in October 2024, when he said Act 605 should be reviewed to give public universities greater latitude and allow academics to express their views without fear. That discussion cannot simply disappear because AUKU disappears.

Indeed, only three weeks before Anwar’s announcement, the Malaysian Qualifications Agency took a rather different position. On July 24, its chief executive argued that neither AUKU nor Act 605 restricts academic freedom. The two laws, he said, provide guidelines so that academics express themselves responsibly, professionally and constructively.

This is where the confusion. Who decides what is responsible? When does criticism become professionally unacceptable? What happens when protecting an institution’s reputation begins to matter more than allowing disagreement within it?

Academic freedom is still rarely discussed in Malaysia as a distinct principle in its own right, even though it is one of the foundations of a university. It is often folded into broader conversations about autonomy, governance or freedom of expression. But these are not quite the same thing.

This is also a subject close to my heart. I have written on academic freedom for years and co-founded the Southeast Asian Coalition for Academic Freedom, also known as SEACAF. I also know personally how quickly the space for academic expression can become uncertain.

In 2015, I was investigated by the police over an article I wrote questioning police actions following the #KitaLawan rallies. That experience has stayed with me. It is one reason I do not see academic freedom as an abstract principle, but as something that shapes whether scholars feel able to speak, question and disagree without first calculating the possible consequences. It is also why I want to see this reform succeed, even as I remain cautious about what comes next.

Academic freedom is also not always restricted through an explicit order to keep quiet. In our university culture, much of the restraint comes through what is understood rather than what is formally prohibited. Academics learn which topics make administrators uncomfortable. Organisers know which speakers may attract unwanted attention. Students discover that some discussions are easier to hold than others. After a while, people learn to anticipate the reaction before anyone has actually drawn the line.

The Bruce Gilley controversy at Universiti Malaya in 2024 was one visible example of how quickly an academic controversy can become something larger. His comments about Malaysia and the Israel-Palestine conflict caused legitimate outrage and deserved robust criticism. Academic freedom has never meant being protected from criticism. The more interesting question was what happened institutionally. His remaining programmes were cancelled, the university apologised and the ministry ordered an investigation. The episode raised questions about how much room universities have to manage controversial ideas themselves before political considerations enter the picture.

There have been quieter incidents too. Events, exhibitions and discussions regarded as politically sensitive have been cancelled or disrupted in recent years. Each case has its own circumstances and should not simply be bundled together as evidence of repression. But collectively they tell us why removing one law will not settle the academic freedom question.

Universities can be autonomous from government and still restrict people inside them.

Repealing AUKU after more than five decades would be historic. It would also create a real opportunity to rethink how our universities are governed and what academic freedom should mean in practice. That opportunity should not be underestimated.

But passing or repealing a law is the easier part. The harder test is whether universities become places where disagreement can be managed without political anxiety, where academics can criticise policy without first calculating the institutional consequences, where students are trusted to think politically for themselves, and where autonomy means more than administrative freedom granted from above.

AUKU may go. If this reform is followed through seriously, it could mark an important turning point. Whether academic freedom follows will tell us how much has really changed.

*Khoo Ying Hooi, PhD is an associate professor at Universiti Malaya. She is also a co-founder and advisor of the Southeast Asian Coalition for Academic Freedom (SEACAF).

** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.