SEPTEMBER 23 — By the time Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim (PMX) left New Delhi, more people had watched him serenade a piano with a Kishore Kumar classic than had likely read the communique from the 18th Brics Leaders’ Summit itself. The clip crossed a million views within days and was widely called the standout moment of the gathering, charming soft diplomacy that Malaysians are quietly known for.

But somewhere between the singing and the standing ovation, a far less photogenic line from the summit slipped past almost unnoticed. PMX named Islamic capital markets among the areas he wants Malaysia to pursue through its Brics partnership, alongside trade diversification, semiconductors and artificial intelligence.

Notwithstanding, the discussion since New Delhi has followed a familiar, one-directional register: what Malaysia can offer to the grouping. Islamic finance is usually presented as a ready-made Malaysian export, a mature ecosystem waiting to be shared with less-developed markets. Almost no one has asked whether the relationship could run both ways, and that omission is the more interesting story.

The more useful question is not what Malaysia can teach Brics about Islamic finance. It is where Malaysia and its Brics partners each hold a missing half of the same problem, and whether Malaysia is prepared to convene that exchange rather than simply narrate its own expertise.

Nowhere is this clearer than in the financing of halal small and medium enterprises, a problem every Brics economy with a meaningful halal sector is quietly struggling with, and none has fully solved.

Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim named Islamic capital markets among the areas he wants Malaysia to pursue through its Brics partnership, alongside trade diversification, semiconductors and artificial intelligence. — AFP pic

A structural mismatch, not a values gap

Halal SMEs, particularly exporters, are frequently locked out of formal credit not because their businesses are unviable, but because conventional, collateral-based lending does not fit how they operate. Their assets sit in inventory and supply-chain relationships rather than fixed property; their working-capital cycles are tied to certification timelines and export documentation rather than to the kind of balance-sheet strength banks are built to assess.

A halal exporter can hold a strong order book, verified export contracts and a clean certification record, and still fail a conventional credit assessment built around land titles and fixed collateral. This is a financing-architecture problem before it is a religious one.

That is precisely where Islamic banking and trade finance, not capital markets alone, has something more than symbolic relevance to offer. Instruments such as commodity murabahah (cost-plus-profit sale) and musharakah (joint-venture)-based working capital, both Islamic banking products, sit alongside supply-chain sukuk, a capital-market product, as practical tools for turning operational momentum into bankable risk.

That is not a new financial technique; Malaysia’s own SME Bank, now under the Bank Pembangunan Malaysia group, already practices versions of it. What has not yet been built is a shared, cross-border standard that lets this data travel, so that a halal exporter’s certification history in one Brics market becomes legible, and financeable, to a bank or fund in another. Without that portability, every country’s halal-SME financing effort remains a domestic pilot rather than a scalable model.

Where Malaysia is still the student

If the gap is financing architecture and the missing piece is comparative experimentation across Brics economies, the opportunity for Malaysia is not to hand over a finished model. It is to convene the exchange, using its regulatory credibility to host what individual Brics partners cannot easily build alone.

Concretely, this could take the shape of a Brics Halal SME Finance Working Group tasked with a narrow goal: a shared standard for translating halal certification data into underwriting-ready information across borders. It is less exciting than announcing a new sukuk facility, but it is the kind of unglamorous task that actually ‘moves the needle’ toward SMEs that are creditworthy in practice and invisible on paper.

Malaysia’s regulators and Shariah scholars are well placed to chair such a group, not because Malaysia has the answers, but because it has the institutional credibility to get competing standards to the same table. That distinction, chairing versus dictating, is what separates a convenor from a vendor.

A group like this would need to grapple honestly with what does not travel well: data-privacy regimes differ sharply across Brics jurisdictions, and no single regulator can simply impose its own standard on the rest. The convenor’s job is not to resolve these differences in advance, but to build the forum where they can be negotiated and tested at small scale.

A scorecard for convening, not just exporting

Malaysia’s Brics strategy has rightly been urged to measure itself against a public scorecard, but the metrics should match the role. If Malaysia positions itself as convenor rather than vendor, the right measures are not exports of Malaysian expertise but signs of genuine exchange: certification-to-financing standards adopted across more than one Brics market, SMEs financed under shared frameworks in partner economies, and, just as telling, practices Malaysia itself has imported from elsewhere in the grouping. A scorecard counting only what Malaysia gives away would simply repeat the exporter framing in a different form.

Strategic autonomy, as has been argued elsewhere, has value only when it produces capability. For Islamic finance, that capability will not come from Malaysia performing a solo it already knows by heart. It will come from admitting what it does not yet know about how its Brics partners are already solving the same problem, and pulling up a chair at a table small enough that everyone can, quite literally, start comparing notes.

* The authors are faculty members at the IIUM Institute of Islamic Banking and Finance (IIiBF), International Islamic University Malaysia (IIUM).

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

SEPTEMBER 23 — The internet has long been a reservoir of knowledge ever since it became ubiquitous within our lives. The phrase “just Google it” became a common response when someone had a random question pop into their mind — a sign of just how easy it is to look up information online. And now, the age of artificial intelligence (AI) is well and truly here, making it so much easier to not just find information, but to have it aggregated, organised, and presented to us in ways that make learning easier. So much so, that questions surrounding the necessity of a university degree have been getting louder.

While it is indeed true that information is more accessible today than it has ever been, there appears to be a misconception that accessing information is the same as getting an education. It is not. And it has now become the responsibility of universities to show that a campus is no longer just a source of knowledge and information, but a place where wisdom, critical thought, and intellectual independence are nurtured.

The accessibility of information online is a massive boon for society. A lot of knowledge that decades ago would be confined to university classrooms, libraries, or encyclopaedias can now be accessed by anybody on their smartphones from anywhere. However, we must not assume that because information is democratised, formal education has become obsolete.

Having information at your fingertips is not the same as building expertise or understanding the true depth and significance of that information. This can be seen with many social media influencers who make bold claims in fields such as healthcare and science which are not evidence-based. Generative AI can equally produce inaccurate facts which many might find feasible and logical. This is why accepting information you find online as fact can be dangerous if you are unable to evaluate whether those facts are accurate, relevant, or ethically framed. And this is where we see the difference between information and education.

The outcome of a university education is not merely a degree, but the graduates themselves. The experience, intellectual growth, and professional development gained over the three to four years it takes to obtain an education is what graduates come away with. — Mike van Schoonderwalt/Pexels pic

I’ve previously written about how the outcome of a university education is not merely a degree, but the graduates themselves. The experience, intellectual growth, and professional development gained over the three to four years it takes to obtain an education is what graduates come away with. And this epistemic reframing needs to be mirrored by society’s perceptions of a university’s mission. Higher education is not just about obtaining information or memorising facts. It’s about peer discussion, collaborative debates, interdisciplinary problem-solving, and cultivating individuals who will drive society forward.

Despite some arguing that universities are obsolete thanks to the internet and AI, I’d argue that those are the very reasons why a university education is indispensable. The very nature of the internet is that it is unguarded. Anybody can post anything without having the information vetted. This is why misinformation and disinformation are so prevalent in society. Education protects society from the perils of mis/disinformation by ensuring that learned individuals will always be around to share their expertise with the public. Additionally, while generative AI is good at summarising and organising knowledge, it only presents existing knowledge – it is not capable of creating new knowledge. Education creates individuals with in-depth expertise, skills, and intellect, allowing the discovery of new knowledge which pushes society forward.

A university education is not just a dissemination of knowledge. Students do not graduate merely with a collection of new facts. The cognitive growth, intellectual expansion, and capacity for deep and critical thinking are what graduates bring into society. It is commendable that many people find themselves learning new things on the internet every day, and indeed this curiosity should be encouraged. But it should not be assumed that learning off the internet has made a formal education obsolete. If anything, the role of universities has become far more critical. In a world where anyone can access information, society needs scholars, thinkers, and philosophers more than ever—not to tell us what to know, but to help us understand what it all means.

* The author is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Oral and Craniofacial Sciences, Faculty of Dentistry, Universiti Malaya, and can be reached at jazliaziz@um.edu.my

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

SEPTEMBER 23 — The Negeri Sembilan government yesterday suspended the state secretary and state legal adviser with immediate effect.

Menteri Besar Datuk Ismail Lasim said the decision was made unanimously at a special meeting of the State Executive Council (MMKN).

Menteri Besar Datuk Ismail Lasim said the Negeri Sembilan government yesterday suspended the state secretary and state legal adviser with immediate effect. — Bernama pic

Both state secretary and state legal adviser are appointees under the Laws of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan 1959 (UUTKNS).

Article 37 of the UUTKNS says that they are appointed “by the appropriate Service Commission from amongst members of any of the relevant public services respective Service Commission”.

Reference has to be made to the Eleventh Schedule of the Federal Constitution where Section 29 provides as follows:

“Where a written law confers upon any person or authority a power to make appointments to any office or place, the power shall, unless the contrary intention appears, be construed as including a power to dismiss or suspend any person appointed and to appoint another person temporarily in the place of any person so suspended or in place of any sick or absent holder of such office or place:

“Provided that where the power of such person or authority to make such appointment is only exercisable upon the recommendation or subject to the approval or consent of some other person or authority, such power of dismissal shall, unless the contrary intention appears, only be exercisable upon the recommendation or subject to the approval or consent of such other person or authority.”

Nothing in Article 37 of the UUTKNS provides that the appointments of the state secretary and state legal adviser are “exercisable upon the recommendation or subject to the approval or consent of some other person or authority”.

Even if they are so appointed, the power to suspend them remains in the “appropriate Service Commission” exercisable “upon the recommendation or subject to the approval or consent of” the State Government.

Meanwhile, Section 47 of the Interpretation Acts 1948 and 1967 provides as follows:

“Where a power to make an appointment is conferred by any written law, the appointing authority shall also have power (subject to any limitations or qualifications which affect the power of appointment) to remove, suspend, reappoint or re-instate any person appointed in the exercise of the power.”

Clearly the power to suspend any person appointed lies in the authority who has the power to appoint such person.

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

SEPTEMBER 22 — Malaysia’s labour market is entering a new phase as the government seeks to move beyond periodic minimum-wage adjustments towards more sustainable wage progression. At the centre of this effort is the Progressive Wage Policy (PWP), which links salary growth to employees’ skills, training, productivity and career advancement. The policy is voluntary and incentive-based, and it complements rather than replaces the statutory minimum wage. Its central idea is straightforward: employees should have a clearer pathway to higher pay as they acquire relevant competencies and contribute more effectively to organisational performance.

This distinction is important. The minimum wage establishes a legal wage floor, while the Progressive Wage Policy is intended to create movement above that floor. Malaysia’s RM1,700 minimum wage took effect in February 2025 for employers with five or more employees and employers carrying out professional activities, before being extended to all employers on 1 August 2025. The PWP addresses a different concern, which is how workers can experience meaningful and structured wage growth after entering employment instead of remaining close to the minimum wage for many years.

The policy began with a pilot in June 2024 and received further support under Budget 2025, which allocated RM200 million with the aim of benefiting 50,000 workers. Its voluntary design reflects the government’s intention to encourage employer participation through financial incentives while allowing firms to adapt wage progression to their operational circumstances. Employers that participate are expected to connect wage increases with recognised training and improvements in employee capability and productivity.

Recent wage statistics underline why this approach remains relevant. The Department of Statistics Malaysia reported that the median monthly wage of formal-sector employees reached RM3,027 in March 2026, while 7.9 per cent earned below RM1,700. The bottom 10 per cent earned RM1,700 or less, compared with at least RM11,500 for the top 10 per cent. Although these figures cannot be attributed directly to the PWP, they demonstrate Malaysia’s continuing wage-distribution challenge.

For employers, the PWP presents both an opportunity and a demanding organisational change. Affordability is an immediate concern, particularly for SMEs. Progressive wages require firms to plan for recurring salary growth rather than a single adjustment. Labour-intensive businesses may find this difficult while also managing higher costs for materials, rent, utilities and transportation.

The challenge is not simply paying more. It is building a credible relationship between higher pay and higher capability. Employers must identify the skills required for each job, establish suitable training pathways and determine how improvements in competence will be assessed. If wage increments are promised without clear standards, the policy may become another general salary adjustment. If the standards are too rigid or unrealistic, employees may view the system as inaccessible or unfair.

Productivity measurement is especially difficult for jobs where output cannot be captured through a simple numerical target. Customer service, teamwork, problem-solving, safety behaviour and service quality may be essential to performance but are not always easy to quantify. Employers, therefore, need balanced measures that consider results, behaviour and skills development. Managers must also be trained to make consistent assessments so that wage progression is not influenced by favouritism or poorly defined expectations.

Training presents another major issue. Learning produces little value if it is conducted merely to fulfil programme requirements. Courses should respond to genuine job needs and lead to capabilities that employees can demonstrate at work. SMEs may require support in identifying training needs, selecting recognised programmes and evaluating whether learning has improved performance.

The policy also creates administrative demands. Participating employers need reliable records of eligibility, wages, training, competency development and salary progression. Firms that depend on manual payroll and personnel records may therefore need to invest in basic digital HR systems.

Workplace training or learning new skills best reflects the PWP’s emphasis on linking higher wages with higher capability. — Pexels pic

Internal pay equity must also be managed carefully. Increasing the wages of selected lower-paid employees may narrow the salary difference between junior workers and experienced employees or supervisors. This wage compression can create dissatisfaction among employees who carry greater responsibility but do not receive a corresponding adjustment. Employers should therefore review the wider salary structure, not only the pay of employees covered by the policy.

Transparent communication will be essential. Employees need to understand who is eligible, what competencies are required, how training will be provided, how performance will be assessed and when wage increases may occur. Clear information can reduce unrealistic expectations and perceptions of unfairness. It also enables employees to take greater responsibility for their own development and career progression.

The PWP is particularly relevant to younger employees, who expect both fair compensation and visible opportunities for growth. A clear pathway linking skills, responsibility and pay can strengthen their prospects within an organisation and improve retention in sectors offering limited career development.

However, the success of the policy should not be judged only by the number of participating employers or workers receiving an initial increment. Evaluation should examine whether wage gains are sustained, whether employees acquire transferable skills, whether productivity improves and whether smaller firms can continue participating after incentives end. Without careful monitoring, there is a risk that participation becomes temporary rather than a lasting change to organisational pay practices.

Government support will therefore remain important. SMEs need practical guidance on job evaluation, competency frameworks, productivity measurement and training design. Industry associations and training providers can develop sector-specific skill pathways, while simplified procedures and accessible digital tools can reduce the administrative burden.

For employers, the most constructive response is to treat the Progressive Wage Policy as part of workforce planning rather than as a stand-alone wage programme. Salary structures, performance management, training and career development should be aligned. When these systems operate separately, employees may complete training without receiving meaningful opportunities to apply new skills, while managers may recommend pay increases without reliable evidence of improved capability.

Malaysia’s Progressive Wage Policy represents an important shift from protecting only a minimum wage floor towards encouraging continued wage progression. Its long-term value will depend on whether employers can translate the principle into fair and workable organisational practices. A well-designed system can provide employees with clearer career prospects while helping firms develop a more skilled, productive and committed workforce. The challenge is to ensure that progressive wages become a sustainable employment practice rather than a short-term response to government incentives.

* Johanim Johari is an Associate Professor of Human Resource Management at the School of Business Management, Universiti Utara Malaysia. Her research interests include human resource management, organisational behaviour, performance management, employee development and workplace wellbeing.

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

SEPTEMBER 22 — The possibility that Yemen could become Saudi Arabia’s “Vietnam” as reported in an Opinion Editorial in Newsweek may sound provocative. 

Yet behind the analogy lies a strategic development that Malaysia and Asean cannot afford to misunderstand.

Iran has demonstrated that power in West Asia does not have to be exercised exclusively through conventional armies, aircraft or naval formations. 

It can be dispersed, networked and exercised through armed movements possessing varying degrees of autonomy while benefiting from Iranian weapons, training, technology and strategic support.

The Houthis, or Ansar Allah, provide the most immediate example.

Their transformation from a Zaydi movement in northern Yemen into a formidable military organisation capable of deploying drones and ballistic missiles, striking Saudi infrastructure and disrupting maritime commerce is extraordinary.

This does not mean every Houthi decision is dictated by Tehran. Iran itself rejects the description of the Houthis as its proxy. 

The relationship is more complicated. The Houthis possess their own leadership, political objectives and Yemeni roots.

That distinction is precisely why Malaysia needs greater expertise on Iran.

The author argues that Malaysia must deepen its understanding of Iran and its regional networks because their influence increasingly affects Asean’s maritime security, energy costs and economic resilience. — File pic

Foreign policy cannot be based on caricatures. Iran should not simply be understood as a revolutionary state confronting the United States, Israel and their partners. 

Nor should every armed movement associated with Tehran automatically be treated as an Iranian puppet. Malaysia needs to understand the ecosystem.

Hezbollah in Lebanon, armed groups in Iraq and the Houthis in Yemen emerged from different histories and political circumstances. Their relationships with Tehran differ. Their interests are not necessarily identical.

Yet collectively they demonstrate something important about contemporary geopolitics: relatively inexpensive missiles, drones and decentralised military networks can impose enormous costs on substantially wealthier states.

Yemen demonstrates this vividly. The Bab el-Mandeb is one of the world’s most consequential maritime passages. 

The Houthis have already demonstrated their ability to disrupt shipping through the Red Sea.

When instability around Bab el-Mandeb coincides with disruptions around the Strait of Hormuz, the implications become global. This matters directly to Asean.

South-east Asia remains deeply dependent on maritime commerce. Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, Thailand and Vietnam rely on predictable sea lanes connecting the Indian Ocean, West Asia, Europe and East Asia.

The Strait of Hormuz and Bab el-Mandeb may appear geographically distant from the Strait of Malacca. Economically, they are not.

Disruption in one maritime artery migrates rapidly into higher freight costs, insurance premiums, energy costs and eventually inflation thousands of kilometres away.

Malaysia therefore requires something more substantial than episodic diplomatic reporting about Iran.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, universities and strategic institutes should cultivate specialists capable of understanding Persian political thought, Iranian domestic politics, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, Gulf security, Yemen, Iraq and Lebanon. Language expertise matters too. 

Countries cannot understand complicated strategic cultures entirely through English-language secondary sources.

Malaysia has historically developed considerable expertise on the Arab and Islamic worlds. 

This intellectual infrastructure should increasingly be complemented by Persian studies and systematic research into Iran’s political, economic and strategic institutions.

The objective is neither to become pro-Iranian nor anti-Iranian. Malaysia should root for a stable Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC).

At any rate, Malaysia has to become analytically competent. Putrajaya must maintain good relations across multiple divides in West Asia.

Kuala Lumpur can communicate with Saudi Arabia and the Gulf countries while maintaining diplomatic relations with Iran. 

This gives Malaysia diplomatic space that should not be underestimated.

But diplomatic flexibility must be supported by intellectual depth. The Houthis demonstrate why. 

Saudi Arabia intervened militarily in Yemen in 2015 with overwhelming conventional superiority. 

More than a decade later, the Houthis have not disappeared. Instead, their military capabilities and regional significance have increased.

There is a larger lesson. The international system is becoming increasingly polytropous. 

It means sates spread their options across conventional forces, economic instruments, cyber capabilities, drones, proxies, partners and political movements.

Iran understood aspects of this transformation comparatively early. Malaysia and Asean need to understand it too.

Understanding Iran does not mean endorsing Tehran’s policies.

Attempting to comprehend the Houthis does not mean accepting attacks against Saudi Arabia, civilian infrastructure or international shipping.

Houthis's drone attacks against Mecca and Riyadh in September need to be condemned.

Diplomacy begins with understanding how another actor sees the strategic board.

This is no longer an esoteric Middle Eastern specialisation. 

It concerns energy security, maritime security, inflation and Asean’s economic resilience. The lesson of Yemen is therefore larger than Yemen.

Malaysia cannot control these developments. But it can understand them much better.

In an increasingly turbulent international system, strategic understanding is itself a form of national power.

* Phar Kim Beng is Professor of Asean Studies at International Islamic University Malaysia (IIUM) and Director at the Institute of International and Asean Studies (IINTAS).

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

SEPTEMBER 22 — Four months ago, I wrote that there is already a constitutional body to solve the constitutional dispute in the State of Negeri Sembilan.

That body is the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang (DKU) established under Article 16 of Chapter 6 of Part 1 of The Laws of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan, 1959 (State Constitution).

As I wrote as well, the State of Negeri Sembilan is indeed unique. The State Constitution is in two parts, which were agreed to by the then Yang di-Pertuan Besar, Undangs of the Luaks of Sungai Ujong, Jelebu, Johol and Rembau as well as the Tengku Besar of Tampin.

The First Part “constitutionalizes” the adat perpatih on the customary ruling structure. There is no First Part in the other state constitutions.

There are eight Chapters and thirty-two Articles in the First Part.

Chapter 6 makes provisions on the DKU or The Council of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar and the Ruling Chiefs. The DKU is “to advise on questions relating to Malay Custom in any part of the State including questions relating to the election or succession to or removal from or vacation of office of any of the Ruling Chiefs referred to in Article 14 or on other matters which may be referred to it by His Highness or any of the Ruling Chiefs and to exercise such functions as may be conferred upon it by this Constitution or any other written law”.

The DKU has received the stamp of approval of the country’s apex court, the Federal Court, twenty-five years ago in the case of Dato Menteri Othman Bin Baginda & Anor v Dato Ombi Syed Alwi Bin Syed Idrus [1981].

In that case, the Federal Court (by a majority of 4:1, Lord President Suffian dissenting) held as follows:

A general view of the Negeri Sembilan State Legislative Assembly building in Seremban on April 23, 2026. The op-ed examines the constitutional role of the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang in Negeri Sembilan. — Picture by Yusof Isa

The apex court held, by a majority (Lord President Suffian dissenting), as follows:

(1)     the DKU was given power under the State Constitution to advise on matters relating to Malay custom and as the DKU in this case had blessed the appointment of the Second Defendant as the Undang of Jelebu. The court should not attempt to usurp the function of the Dewan, which was a more suitable forum for discharging that function.

(2)     The court should decline jurisdiction on the ground that it was forum non conveniens (Latin for an inconvenient court) and that there was another body which was more appropriate and which had been given power under the State Constitution to decide the matter.

(3)     The DKU having sat and deliberated upon the matter and finally given its ruling, the matter should have ended there.

Eighteen years later in the case of Dato’ Laxamana Dato’ Mokhtar Bin Dato’ Kelana Maamor & Ors v Lembaga Adat Istiadat Luak Sg Ujong [1998] when similar succession issue as Undang of the luak of Sungei Ujong came before the Melaka High Court, the learned judge, Justice Suriyadi (as he then was) referred to Dato Menteri Othman case and advised the four Plaintiffs before him as follows:

(1)     there were sufficient authorities to show that in matters of this nature – that is, customary succession matters – the civil court was not the appropriate body to resolve it.

 (2)     The High Court was a forum non conveniens.

The gist of the above is this: when the DKU has blessed the appointment of an Undang, it is not for the courts to usurp the function of the DKU. The DKU is a far more suitable forum. 

The DKU is the appropriate body to decide on the appointment of an Undang, and by extension on who reigns as the Yang di-Pertuan Besar.

The DKU has reaffirmed that Tuanku Muhriz Tuanku Munawir remains the legitimate Yang di-Pertuan Besar of the state, saying there is no vacancy in the position and no successor while it is lawfully occupied.

As former minister of law and former minister of foreign affairsTan Sri Syed Hamid Albar wrote, the State Constitution must prevail.

The apex court decision must be upheld.

Do not usurp the constitutional function of the DKU.

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

SEPTEMBER 22 — A recent discussion circulating online about PhD graduates looking for employment has brought an important issue into public attention. For someone who has spent years pursuing advanced education, the expectation of finding a suitable career after completing a PhD may seem natural. Yet, the transition from academic qualification to employment is not always straightforward. In Malaysia, the discussion deserves a closer look beyond the simple question of whether a person with a PhD is too qualified for a particular job.

Malaysia’s labour market remains relatively resilient, but the relationship between qualifications and the jobs people hold is still worth examining. The latest labour market figures show that skill-related underemployment among workers with tertiary education stood at 35.2 per cent in the first quarter of 2026 (DOSM, 2026). This means the conversation is not simply about whether graduates can find employment, but also whether their education and skills are being fully matched with the work they do.

A PhD is more than a qualification

A PhD represents years of research, discipline and specialised knowledge. It develops the ability to investigate problems, analyse information, work with evidence and produce new knowledge. It also requires independence, patience and the ability to deal with complex questions, often over several years of sustained academic work.

These abilities have value beyond the university. A researcher may spend years studying one specific subject, but the process also develops skills that can be useful in other settings. These may include analytical thinking, problem solving, project management, writing, communication and independent decision-making, all of which can be relevant across different professional environments.

For this reason, the value of a PhD should not be measured only by whether the graduate eventually becomes an academic. Some graduates will remain in universities and research institutions, while others may find opportunities in industry, government, consulting, education, technology or business. There is no single career path that defines the value of a doctoral qualification.

Finding the right market for expertise

This is where a marketing perspective can offer a useful way of looking at the issue. In marketing, positioning is about communicating value to the right market. A similar idea can be applied to career development, particularly for graduates with highly specialised knowledge.

A PhD graduate may have deep expertise in a particular area, but the value of that expertise does not necessarily end with the research topic. Years of doctoral training can develop analytical thinking, problem solving, research skills, communication and the ability to work independently, allowing graduates to apply these capabilities in different professional settings.

The writer says Malaysia can better connect advanced academic expertise with opportunities in the wider job market. — Unsplash pic

The challenge is to identify where these capabilities can contribute. An organisation may not necessarily be looking for a candidate whose research area exactly matches the job description. It may instead be looking for someone who can understand a complex problem, evaluate information and contribute to better decisions.

For PhD graduates, being able to communicate these capabilities clearly can help employers see the broader value behind the qualification.

When expertise meets employer needs

The Malaysian job market does not necessarily lack opportunities. The challenge can be finding the right match between what people know and what organisations need, particularly when qualifications and job requirements do not always correspond neatly.

For a PhD graduate, this may mean looking beyond the title of a qualification and considering the problems that their expertise can help solve. An employer may not necessarily need someone whose research topic is an exact match for the position. What may matter is whether the candidate can analyse a problem, interpret information, develop solutions and contribute to better decisions.

This also requires graduates to communicate their expertise clearly. A thesis title may be meaningful within an academic field, but an employer may be more interested in what the graduate can actually do and how those capabilities can contribute to the organisation.

Being able to explain research experience in practical terms can therefore make specialised knowledge easier to understand.

Beyond the idea of being overqualified

The term “overqualified” can sometimes oversimplify the situation. Having a PhD does not automatically mean that a person is unsuitable for a position. At the same time, not every position will require doctoral-level expertise, and this is where the question of suitability becomes more important than the qualification itself.

The more useful discussion is about fit. A graduate may have advanced knowledge but still need to find an organisation where that knowledge is relevant, while an employer may have a vacancy but need a specific combination of skills and experience. When these two sides do not meet, a mismatch can occur.

This is not necessarily a failure on either side. It is part of a labour market where qualifications, skills and job requirements do not always align perfectly.

Creating more pathways in Malaysia

There is also a role for universities in helping postgraduate students understand the wider employment landscape. Academic training remains essential, but students can also benefit from greater exposure to industry, professional networks and different career pathways while they are still developing their expertise.

This does not mean changing the purpose of postgraduate education or encouraging every PhD student to leave academia. Rather, it means helping students recognise that research skills can be applied in different environments and that their career possibilities do not necessarily end with a university position.

Industry can also play a role by recognising the broader capabilities of research-trained professionals. Organisations dealing with complex challenges may benefit from people who are trained to investigate issues carefully, work with evidence and develop informed solutions.

Stronger connections between universities and employers can help both sides understand each other’s needs and create more opportunities for specialised knowledge to be applied beyond academic settings.

From qualification to contribution

The discussion about PhD graduates looking for work should therefore be approached with some balance. It is not simply a story about graduates being unable to find jobs, nor is it a question of whether they are too qualified. Instead, it is about how expertise is connected to opportunity and whether the two can be matched more effectively.

A PhD remains a significant achievement. It represents years of learning, research and personal commitment. The knowledge gained through that process can contribute to society in many forms, whether through teaching and research, industry, policy, business or professional practice.

For graduates, the journey may involve identifying where their expertise can create value and developing skills that complement their academic background. For universities, it may involve creating stronger bridges between postgraduate education and the wider economy. For employers, it may involve looking beyond conventional job titles and recognising the capabilities that research-trained professionals can bring.

The viral discussion may eventually disappear from public attention, but the question it has raised is worth keeping. How can Malaysia create stronger connections between advanced knowledge and meaningful career opportunities?

Perhaps the answer is not to ask whether PhD graduates have studied too much. It is to ask where their knowledge can make the greatest contribution, and how employers, universities and graduates themselves can work towards creating that connection.

A qualification provides a foundation, while expertise provides value. The opportunity lies in creating the right connections between the two so that advanced knowledge can be applied in ways that benefit individuals, organisations and Malaysian society.

* Nurul Fardini Zakaria is a senior lecturer in Marketing at the School of Business Management, Universiti Utara Malaysia, with expertise in consumer behaviour, digital marketing, sustainable consumption and consumer welfare.

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

SEPTEMBER 22 — I spend much of my working life telling students to listen.

Listen to the instructions. Listen for the main idea. Listen properly before you answer. I am an English lecturer, so listening is not only something I want from my students, it is something I grade them on.

Then my birthday came and my students handed me something I could not grade at all.

They sang the moment they saw me. Someone had clearly organised it, because the singing kept happening, class after class, all day. And then the flowers came, bouquets, held out by students who suddenly looked shy after all that noise. Anyone who knows me knows flowers are my weakness. And there I stood: the lecturer who always has something to say, saying nothing at all.

My first thought was not profound. It was affectionate and a little bewildered: Madam marah pun kamu bagi bunga? Even after the scolding? The reminders? The times I made you do it again because I knew you had a better draft in you? We laughed. I said thank you more times than I can count, and none of them felt sufficient. But underneath the laughing and the gratitude, a question settled in and has not left since.

Had I noticed how closely they were listening? In a classroom, we judge attention by what we can see. The student who looks up seems attentive. The one who answers first seems engaged. When a student cannot repeat what I just said, out comes the question every teacher has asked: “Were you listening?” Sometimes I need to ask it. But it only measures one kind of attention, the kind that ends up on a transcript.

Students listen to the subject. They also listen to the person teaching it. Somewhere among the lessons and the deadlines and the small talk before class starts, mine had picked up something about me. A passing remark, maybe.

Something one of them overheard and repeated to the others. However it travelled, they had worked out that flowers would make their lecturer happy. I still do not know when they learned it and honestly, that is the part that gets me.

Something I said without thinking had been caught, kept and acted on. That is empathy doing its quiet work, not the version we define in a comprehension passage, but the version that pays attention to a person and then bothers to remember.

The writer reflects on how a birthday bouquet from her students reminded her of the importance of listening and paying attention to the people around us. — Unsplash pic

We usually treat listening as accuracy. Can you identify the main idea? Can you recall the details? Can you answer the question? All of that matters, and I will keep teaching it, because it opens doors for them. But outside the examination hall, listening looks different. It looks like remembering what makes someone glad and then doing something about it.

That day, it looked like singing in a corridor and flowers I had to carry in both arms. I will not pretend to know what the gesture meant to each of them. Some were probably just enjoying the fuss. What I can tell you is what it did to me. I felt appreciated. In a semester of marking and meetings and getting through the syllabus, I felt seen as a person and not only as the person in front of the room. Which, of course, turned the question back on me. I know who has submitted. I notice missing work, the same grammatical error for the third week running, the student who needs one more reminder before the deadline. That is the job, and I do it.

But am I as attentive to the cheerful one who has gone quiet? To the student who finally raises a hand after weeks of hiding? To “Sorry, Madam” when it comes out heavier than it did last week? Have I left them enough room to tell me something I never thought to ask? A birthday surprise does not answer any of that. It just makes me want to ask it honestly, which may be the more useful outcome. And this is not only a teaching problem. At home, at work, among friends, people hand us small details all day long. A favourite food. An appointment they are dreading. Something they have been looking forward to for weeks. A worry mentioned quickly, almost apologetically, before the conversation moves on.

My students reminded me exactly how that feels to be on the receiving end of. None of which requires flowers, I should say. Students owe their teachers nothing. Affection should never be measured by what a young person can afford, and I would be troubled if anyone read this and felt they had to spend money to show respect. A greeting in the corridor, a message that is not about an assignment, a quiet thank-you at the door. These carry the same weight. What matters is budi: the thought, the intention, the gesture offered freely.

That is what moved me. They took something they knew about me and turned it into a good morning. The flowers will fade. I have made my peace with this, reluctantly, as someone who has tried and failed to make bouquets last. What I hope stays is the question they left behind.

For years I have been asking, “Students, are you listening?” On my birthday, standing in a corridor full of singing and holding more flowers than I had hands for, I found myself asking a different one:

Have I been listening to them?

* The author is an English language lecturer at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Universiti Malaya, UM Education Centre, Bachok, Kelantan, and can be reached at afi qahanis@um.edu.my.

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

SEPTEMBER 22 — A few days ago, while I was settling into my office at UM Press, my secretary sent me a WhatsApp message.

“Prof, gentle reminder. Meeting with the Faculty of Law management at 2.30 pm today to discuss the faculty’s book publishing strategy.”

I replied with a simple, “Noted. Thanks.”

The rest of the day unfolded very much as expected. There were emails waiting to be answered, manuscripts to review, a couple of phone calls in between, and, of course, the meeting itself.

We discussed publishing plans, possible book titles and series (and a co-publication opportunity with an international publisher), timelines and the kinds of manuscripts that might interest a wider (non-law) audience.

Tea and sandwiches were served. I cracked a joke that made everyone laugh. Before long, the meeting ended and everyone hurried off to the next appointment waiting in their calendars.

If you had walked into the room that afternoon, you probably would not have noticed anything unusual about me. I doubt anyone else in the room did either.

It had only been nineteen days since Mak passed away.

Even writing that sentence now feels strangely unreal. Nineteen days is hardly enough time for life to make sense again, yet it is apparently long enough for meetings to resume, emails to keep arriving, and WhatsApp reminders to continue appearing on the screen as though nothing has changed.

For the writer, ordinary routines continued even as he was grieving the loss of his mother. — Pexels pic

Students still submitting their appeals for next semester’s accommodation, even if the deadline has long gone. Television producers and newspaper editors still call. Authors still ask when their books will be ready. The supermarket still runs out of the brand of Greek yoghurt we normally buy.

Life, it seems, is remarkably consistent in continuing with its ordinary routines.

I have come to realise that this is not life being insensitive. It is simply life doing what it has always done.

The calendar does not know that we are grieving. The clock does not pause because someone we love is no longer here.

Every new day quietly arrives, asking only for the next small thing. Another meeting appears on the calendar, another email lands in the inbox, another manuscript needs editing, and another drive to work begins.

Somewhere along the way, without ever making a conscious decision, we begin answering those requests one by one.

That afternoon, I genuinely enjoyed the discussion with our colleagues from the Faculty of Law. We exchanged ideas, debated publishing strategies and laughed together more than once.

None of it felt forced, and none of it felt like I was pretending to be someone I was not.

It has taken me a little while to understand that it is entirely possible to miss someone deeply and still find something genuinely funny. It is possible to carry grief into a meeting without making the meeting about grief.

Those experiences do not cancel each other out. They simply learn to exist within the same ordinary day.

The experience also made me wonder how often we misread the people around us.

We see someone smiling and assume life must be treating them kindly. We hear a cheerful voice on the telephone and imagine everything is going well. We watch a colleague confidently chair a meeting and conclude that they have everything under control.

Yet we rarely know what someone carried into the room before greeting us.

The young colleague having teh ais across the table may still be learning how to leave a toxic relationship behind. The receptionist who cheerfully says good morning may be worrying about an elderly parent. The Grab driver asking about your day may have a child sitting for examinations.

Or perhaps the person discussing book publishing strategies with you buried the only mother he will ever have just nineteen days earlier.

The older I become, the less convinced I am that strength is something we can recognise from the outside.

Many of the strongest people I know never speak about what they are carrying. They continue showing up because other people are depending on them, because responsibilities still need to be fulfilled, or simply because they understand that everyone else is carrying something unseen as well.

What looks like composure is often nothing more than quiet perseverance, repeated one ordinary day after another.

Tomorrow morning another WhatsApp reminder will almost certainly appear before I have finished my first cup of coffee. I will probably reply, “Noted. Thanks,” just as I always do, before getting on with another ordinary day.

The work will continue, the meetings will continue, and so, I suspect, will life itself.

Mak has already left me with many gifts over the years, but perhaps this is one more that I never expected.

Some of the heaviest things people carry are also the things we cannot see.

* The author is a professor of biomedical engineering at the Faculty of Engineering, the director of UM Press, and the principal of Tuanku Bahiyah Residential College (KK2), Universiti Malaya. He may be reached at nahrizuladib@um.edu.my.

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

SEPTEMBER 22 — Negeri Sembilan Menteri Besar Datuk Ismail Lasim said yesterday that the state's executive councillors (excos) remain in office, arguing that the Yang di-Pertuan Besar cannot remove them without his advice.

In a statement a day after the palace announced it had revoked the appointments of all excos, Ismail said the state's administrative system rests on constitutional monarchy and parliamentary democracy.

“Based on Part Two of the UUTKNS 1959, the sovereign power of the Ruler in matters of state administration shall be exercised on the advice of the YAB Menteri Besar and the State Executive Council,” he said, citing Article 40(1) of the Laws of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan (UUTKNS).

There are seven Chapters in Part Two of the UUTKNS 1959. Chapter 2 is on the Executive. The Chapter has 11 Articles — that is, Articles 35 to 44, including Article 39A which was amended into the UUTKNS in 1965.

Article 40 is rightly cited by Ismail as providing for the Ruler to act on advice.

But let’s not forget Article 37 on Appointment of State Secretary, Legal Adviser and Financial Officer. Clause (1) says there shall be constituted the offices of State Secretary, State Legal Adviser and State Financial Officer; and the appointments thereto shall be made by the appropriate Service Commission from amongst members of any of the relevant public services.

Clause (2)(b) says the State Legal Adviser shall advise on legal matters referred to him by the Yang di-Pertuan Besar or the State Government.

Under Clause (3), the State Secretary, Legal Adviser and Financial Officer official shall have the right to take part in the proceedings of the State Executive Council and the Legislative Assembly and may be appointed to any Committee thereof but shall not have any vote in the State Executive Council or the Legislative Assembly or in any such Committee.

The State Legal Adviser must have rendered his legal advice to the Yang di-Pertuan Besar in respect of the latter’s revocation of the appointments of the excos with immediate effect for breaching their oath of office through their actions and statements on September 15.

Yang di-Pertuan Besar of Negeri Sembilan Tuanku Muhriz Tuanku Munawir (centre) receives a memorandum from non-governmental organisations, presented by Prof Dr Mohd Aluwi Sari, after Friday prayers at the Tuanku Munawir Royal Mosque in Seri Menanti on September 18, 2026. The Negeri Sembilan Ruler’s powers and the role of the Menteri Besar are at the centre of a constitutional dispute over the state executive council. — Bernama pic

The same legal adviser should be advising the State Government headed by Ismail on the legal matter.

So, it is curious that Ismail should say that the Yang di-Pertuan Besar “cannot remove [the excos] without his advice”.

Who is advising Ismail?

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

SEPTEMBER 21 — In football, gegenpressing (Jürgen Klopp’s Liverpool tactical masterclass) is often mistaken for the frantic chase after possession is lost. But its real intelligence lies in compact spacing, rehearsed triggers in transition play, and several players closing the same escape routes before the opponent reorganises. One player running alone is exertion. A formation moving in concert creates real pressure.

Brics is arriving at precisely this distinction in economic statecraft.

The New Delhi Declaration, adopted at the 18th Brics Summit, does not disguise the terrain. It registers concern over unilateral tariffs and non-tariff measures while condemning unilateral coercive measures contrary to international law, including economic and secondary sanctions. However, its significance is not just naming the pressures on the Global South — Brics has done that before, consistently and with increasing clarity. The more consequential material lies deeper: payment interoperability, local-currency financing, multilateral guarantees, insurance and reinsurance capacity, a New Investment Platform (NIP), settlement infrastructure and the further development of the Contingent Reserve Arrangement (CRA).

This is not a grouping lacking ideas or institutions. It is an emerging financial formation approaching its operational phase.

As EMIR Research argued last year in “Mapping the Rise of Brics: Declarations, Designs and a Future Unfolding”, the movement is from declaration to design. Read against the 2025 Rio de Janeiro Declaration, New Delhi continues that shift, laying the foundations for genuine financial autonomy.

Rio proposed the Brics Multilateral Guarantees (BMG) initiative, with guidelines to incubate it in the New Development Bank (NDB). New Delhi moves it toward pilot transactions.

(From left) Egypt’s President Abdel Fattah al-Sisi, Russia’s President Vladimir Putin, India’s Prime Minister Narendra Modi, China’s President Xi Jinping and South Africa’s President Cyril Ramaphosa planting trees during the 18th Brics Summit in New Delhi September 12, 2026. — India’s Ministry of External Affairs handout pic via AFP

Insurance and reinsurance talks have gained institutional shape through the proposed Brics Insurance Resilience Centre (BIRC) and India’s Brics Risk Lab at GIFT City’s IFSC. The NIP has moved from concept to finalised guidelines and a dedicated Study Group. Settlement and depositary dialogue has produced a technical workshop. The CRA is being refined through treaty amendments and onboarding talks, its ninth test run pending.

Even the frequently misunderstood payments agenda has advanced, albeit deliberately. The Brics Payment Task Force (BPTF) is studying interoperability of payment and financial messaging channels while discussions continue on local currencies in trade and investment.

This is how institutional vocabulary matures: frameworks to rules, rules to pilots, pilots to ordinary transactions.

The NDB provides the clearest evidence that implementation within the wider Brics architecture is already more than rhetorical. By its own assessment, local-currency financing was 45.9 per cent of 2025 approvals and 34 per cent cumulatively, beating its 30 per cent strategy target. The financing has mainly involved the renminbi (RMB), South African rand and Indian rupee. In September 2026, the NDB issued another RMB 7 billion Panda bond, bringing cumulative issuance in China’s interbank bond market to RMB 94.5 billion.

However, the next Brics challenge is less about institutional invention than institutional orchestration.

Brics financial components mature unevenly. The NDB is operational and expanding. The CRA is an established safety net undergoing refinement and testing. The proposed guarantee mechanism nears pilot stage. Payment, insurance, investment and settlement initiatives remain at varying degrees of technical development. There is nothing unusual about such asymmetry. The risk arises only if these mechanisms continue advancing along parallel tracks without eventually meeting.

Brics should use its next cycle to run at least one fully integrated, documented cross-border transaction linking these instruments — testing whether the emerging architecture can operate as a system rather than as a collection of promising components.

Consider, for example, an infrastructure or renewable-energy supply chain involving a producer, contractor and buyer operating across several Brics economies. The NDB could provide an appropriate local-currency financing component. A pilot under the BMG initiative could mitigate part of the credit or political risk. The functions envisaged for the BIRC and Risk Lab could be tested against the transaction’s foreign-exchange, logistics and sovereign-risk profile. The NIP could examine avenues for mobilising institutional investors, while the BPTF could test interoperable messaging and payment arrangements between participating financial institutions.

This is important because one integrated transaction could teach Brics more about its emerging architecture than another year of parallel technical discussions. Such a pilot would not begin Brics implementation, already under way, but its operational integration.

Importantly, the New Delhi Declaration itself recognises “no one-size-fits-all” for cross-border payments. That logic recurs throughout: voluntary participation, interested members, national priorities, country-specific circumstances, a phased, member-driven approach. Far from signalling weakness, this may reveal one of the most promising institutional advantages of Brics: the ability to build economic cooperation without demanding premature uniformity.

Brics economies differ substantially in exchange-rate regimes, capital-account rules, banking structures, technology and commercial priorities.  Imposing uniformity at the outset would turn ambition into immobilisation.

The practical model is interoperability without compulsory uniformity: common minimum standards, modular participation, bilateral or plurilateral corridors, and a clear route for other members and partners to join once a mechanism proves useful.

A modest Brics implementation compact could provide: each presidency identifies a finite number of cross-institutional pilots, assigns responsible bodies, sets dates, and reports measurable outcomes at the following summit. This would require no new supranational authority and no abandonment of consensus. It would simply give the machinery already authorised by Brics a shared operational rhythm.

Predictably, there will be critics for whom anything short of a common currency represents failure, just as there will be supporters tempted to treat every new declaration as delivery. Both positions misunderstand how financial orders change over the course of history. Instead of disappearing in a single dramatic rupture they often recede as alternative channels become sufficiently numerous, credible and interconnected that no single gatekeeper can close every exit.

Against President Donald Trump’s renewed tariff threats and Washington’s continued reliance on sanctions, EMIR Research repeats a consistent point: Washington’s coercive leverage rests on the inflated assumption that access to the United States (US) market is indispensable. With approximately 342 million people, the US is little more than 4 per cent of humanity. The eleven Brics members, the institutional core of Brics+, account for 49.5 per cent of the global population, 40 per cent of global GDP and 26 per cent of global trade. Their combined population base is roughly twelve times that of the US.

Headline US consumption figures also conceal how unevenly the income underpinning that consumption is distributed. In 2025, the highest-income quintile received 52.4 per cent of aggregate household income before tax and 48.7 per cent after taxes and credits, while only 63 per cent of adults said they would cover a hypothetical US$400 emergency expense entirely with cash or its equivalent.

These figures do not make the US market irrelevant, nor does population alone create effective demand. They do, however, expose the absurdity of treating it as indispensable. Tariffs retain leverage where economies remain excessively dependent on American demand, but that leverage is far from absolute. The proper Brics+ counterpress, therefore, is to convert its vastly greater demographic and productive scale into effective internal demand through deeper intra-Brics trade, local-currency settlement, multilateral guarantees, trade insurance and NDB financing.

Malaysia too, as a Brics partner, should read New Delhi as both opening and test. Partner status must gradually gain practical economic content. Malaysia should actively seek defined, opt-in routes for partner countries to join appropriate Brics financial pilots.

Malaysia possesses relevant capabilities. Its experience in Islamic finance and sukuk could inform investment-platform and infrastructure-financing models. Its takaful and retakaful ecosystem could contribute expertise to the emerging insurance architecture. Its participation in regional payment connectivity initiatives, its trade-finance institutions and its position within the Asean manufacturing networks make it a natural testing ground for cross-border transactions.

One meaningful assignment would be worth more than a ceremonial seat: participation in a payment-interoperability pilot, contribution to risk-modelling work, an insurance collaboration or a trade corridor through which guarantee and settlement instruments can be tested together.

EMIR Research’s earlier mutual credit-clearing proposal (“Brics’ Currency Dilemma: A Necessary Quality Leap Beyond the Dollar”) remains relevant for reducing scarce reserve currency needed to settle recurring trade. It need not compete with current instruments. On the contrary, the practical data and institutional trust generated by payment and settlement pilots could eventually provide the foundation for it.

In short, New Delhi does not reveal a Brics trapped in declarations. It reveals an increasingly sophisticated financial architecture whose separate components are moving, albeit unevenly, towards operational maturity. However, the external pressures that vindicate this architecture also demand that Brics accelerate the transition from parallel initiatives to coordinated resilience. The formation is taking shape. It must now learn to move as one.

* Dr Rais Hussin is the president/CEO of EMIR Research, a think tank focused on strategic policy recommendations based on rigorous research.

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

SEPTEMBER 21 — Artificial intelligence has become a field in which terminology often races ahead of reality.

Generative AI, agentic AI, artificial general intelligence and superintelligence are increasingly spoken of as though they belong to the same technological continuum and carry essentially the same dangers. They do not.

Generative AI can produce text, images, computer code, audio and increasingly sophisticated combinations of them. 

Agentic AI goes further by allowing systems to pursue specified objectives through sequences of actions, sometimes with limited human intervention.

Both create serious problems. 

Hallucination, cyber vulnerability, manipulation, privacy breaches, labour displacement, concentration of computational power and excessive human dependence on automated decision-making deserve sustained attention.

But these are not necessarily systemic risks in the strongest meaning of the term.

The deeper threshold would be crossed with what can loosely be called Super AI: an artificial intelligence possessing capabilities vastly beyond those of human beings across numerous intellectual domains, potentially combined with a capacity for recursive self-improvement.

The distinction is fundamental. Generative AI generates. Agentic AI acts within assigned parameters. Super AI, if it becomes technically possible, could potentially improve the very architecture through which it thinks and acts. That changes the nature of the problem.

The logo of US AI firm Anthropic is pictured here in Paris, February 13, 2026. — AFP pic

The central issue is no longer simply whether an AI system produces an incorrect answer or whether an autonomous agent performs the wrong task. 

It becomes whether human institutions can retain meaningful control over systems capable of improving their capabilities at speeds that regulation, governments and perhaps even their creators cannot match.

This is where AI risk becomes systemic.

A financial crisis becomes systemic when difficulties originating in one institution spread throughout the financial architecture. 

A pandemic becomes systemic when contagion overwhelms the ability of individual jurisdictions to contain it. 

Super AI could become systemic for similar reasons: its consequences may not remain confined to the laboratory, company or country where it originated.

This possibility becomes especially serious when combined with geopolitical competition.

The United States, China, Europe and other technological powers increasingly regard advanced AI not merely as commercial technology but as part of national power.

Semiconductor capacity, cloud computing, data centres, algorithms, electricity supplies and highly specialised human talent are becoming components of AI sovereignty.

Asean cannot remain outside this discussion.

Singapore and Malaysia are developing important positions within the regional AI and semiconductor ecosystems. 

Indonesia, Vietnam, Thailand and the Philippines are also building digital capabilities. Asean therefore sits increasingly close to the infrastructure through which the global AI economy operates.

Yet Asean should resist treating every form of artificial intelligence as an existential danger.

Over-regulating generative and agentic AI because of hypothetical dangers associated with superintelligence could impose substantial economic costs.

Southeast Asia still needs AI to increase productivity, improve healthcare, modernise education, strengthen logistics, expand financial inclusion and help smaller companies compete internationally.

The correct response is therefore differentiation rather than panic.

Generative AI requires standards concerning accuracy, copyright, privacy, transparency and responsible deployment. 

Agentic AI requires stronger safeguards because autonomous actions can produce consequences beyond the generation of information. Human oversight, audit trails, permission boundaries and emergency shutdown mechanisms become increasingly important.

Super AI would require another level of governance altogether.

The danger would become especially acute if recursive self-improvement allowed an advanced system to redesign portions of itself, test those improvements and repeat the process.

Whether such a technological trajectory is achievable remains uncertain. 

But precisely because its consequences could be extraordinary, governments should begin discussing the governance architecture before the technology reaches that point. 

The analogy with nuclear weapons is imperfect but instructive.

Humanity did not abolish nuclear physics because nuclear weapons were dangerous. 

It differentiated peaceful nuclear applications from weapons systems while constructing elaborate regimes of safeguards, verification, deterrence and arms control. AI governance requires comparable conceptual discipline.

Asean should consequently support international discussions on advanced AI safety while preserving sufficient regulatory space for beneficial AI development. Its traditional preference for dialogue among competing powers could become useful here.

Washington and Beijing may disagree profoundly over technology, semiconductors and strategic primacy, yet neither has an interest in losing control of increasingly autonomous artificial intelligence.

This is where Asean’s circumscribed power may nevertheless prove consequential.

The region cannot determine the trajectory of global AI by itself. 

But it can advocate clearer distinctions between ordinary machine learning, generative AI, agentic AI, artificial general intelligence and potential superintelligence.

Without these distinctions, public policy risks oscillating between complacency and alarmism.

The most immediate task is not to fear every chatbot or autonomous software agent. It is to understand where the technological thresholds lie.

Generative AI is already transforming how human beings create knowledge. Agentic AI may transform how organisations execute decisions. Both require serious governance.

Super AI represents something categorically different.

If machines eventually acquire the ability not merely to assist human intelligence but to surpass it broadly, improve themselves recursively and operate across interconnected digital systems, humanity would confront a systemic risk of an altogether different order.

The challenge is therefore neither to stop AI nor to surrender to it.

It is to ensure that as intelligence becomes increasingly artificial, authority remains unmistakably human.

* Phar Kim Beng is a professor of Asean Studies at International Islamic University Malaysia (IIUM) and a director at the Institute of International and Asean Studies (IINTAS).

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

SEPTEMBER 21 — Nine months to this day, High Court judge Alice Loke (as she then was) delivered her judgment dismissing a judicial review application by former prime minister Dato’ Sri Najib Razak seeking orders of mandamus to allow him to serve his imprisonment sentence under house arrest.

Concluding her judgment, the learned High Court judge said as follows:

“[T]he [Yang di-Pertuan Agong] is a constitutional monarch, and he exercises powers and functions in accordance with the provision of the Constitution. The exercise of the prerogative power of mercy is no exception. It must be exercised within the legal framework providing for safeguards and limits in the Constitution.”

Earlier in her judgment, the learned High Court judge considered Article 42 of the Federal Constitution as “essentially the prerogative of mercy” and the following as the essential features of the Article:

1.    the YDPA has the power to grant pardons, reprieves and respite;

2.    the Pardons Board for the Federal Territories shall comprise of the Attorney General, the Minister responsible for the Federal Territories of Kuala Lumpur, Putrajaya and Labuan and three other members appointed by the YDPA;

3.    the Pardons Board tenders its advice to the YDPA for the purpose of exercising his powers of pardon;

4.    before the Pardons Board tenders its advice, it shall consider any written opinion of the Attorney General; and

5.    the Pardons Board must meet in the presence of and be presided over by the YDPA.

The learned High Court judge then referred to the case of The Attorney General of Malaysia v Dato’ Sri Mohd Najib bin Tun Hj Abdul Razak and another appeal [2025] where the Federal Court explained that the powers of clemency are subject to procedural limits in Article 42 of the Federal Constitution when exercising powers of pardon.

Former prime minister Datuk Seri Najib Razak is pictured at the Kuala Lumpur Court Complex December 6, 2024. — Picture by Firdaus Latif

The apex court said:

“Article 42 of the Federal Constitution governs the royal prerogative of mercy, whereby the Yang di-Pertuan Agong (YDPA) is empowered to grant pardons, reprieves, and respites in respect of all offences committed in the Federal Territories of Kuala Lumpur, Labuan, and Putrajaya.

“The exercise of such clemency by the YDPA is not absolute. It is to be carried out in accordance with the constitutional limits prescribed by Article 42, particularly through the framework of advice and procedure embedded therein.

“Pursuant to Article 42(4)(b), the YDPA is required to act on the considered advice of the Pardons Board for the Federal Territories. His function in the clemency process is therefore inextricably tied to the deliberations and recommendations made by the Board established for that purpose.

“The Pardons Board for the Federal Territory of Kuala Lumpur is constituted under Article 42(5) of the Federal Constitution, and comprises the learned Attorney General, the Prime Minister [sic], and three other members appointed by the YDPA.

“Article 42(8) further mandates that any meeting of the Pardons Board must be held in the presence of the YDPA, who shall preside over its proceedings. This requirement is both procedural and constitutional in nature.”

“Any failure to adhere strictly to the procedural safeguards and substantive requirements under Article 42 will render the entire clemency process susceptible to constitutional challenge and judicial review.”

Now, in respect of a house arrest, the learned High Court judge said that a “house arrest order made in exercise of the powers of clemency is without precedent” and “fundamentally alters the nature of the imprisonment term”.

Significantly, the learned High Court judge was of the view that “a house arrest order is not capable of execution, there being no legal provision for such mechanism in Malaysia”.

Shamsul bin Bolhassan (with Ahmad Hanir bin Hambaly @ Arwi, Nurhafizza bt Azizan, Safiyyah bt Omar, Ainna Sherina bt Saipolamin and Zulkifli bin Sulaiman) from the Attorney General’s Chamber appeared for the respondents.

In that The Attorney General of Malaysia v Dato’ Sri Mohd Najib bin Tun Hj Abdul Razak and another appeal case, the Attorney General (AG) himself appeared before the Federal Court.

We can agree that the learned High Court judge’s views are obiter and therefore not the binding part of her judgment. But her views are now widely known by the public to the extent that calls have been made for the AG’ written opinion on Najib’s house arrest to be made public.

So, does the AG share the learned views of Justice Alice Loke?

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

SEPTEMBER 21 — We are a country of laws. Yet several events of the past few days have wrought chaos upon the sanctity of the rule of law and the institutions established under the Federal Constitution. 

On September 16, 2026, Malaysians were shocked by the news that the Yang di-Pertuan Besar of Negeri Sembilan, Tuanku Muhriz Tuanku Munawir, had purportedly been deposed unilaterally and unceremoniously by the Negeri Sembilan State Executive Council (exco), without any stated grounds, due process, or enquiry.

The reported conduct of the exco is an egregious violation of the Laws of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan 1959 (LCNS 1959), and a direct and unlawful assault on the institution of the constitutional monarchy.

The removal of a reigning constitutional sovereign is an extraordinary measure of the gravest constitutional consequence. Political expediency, backroom manoeuvres, and unilateral executive decrees can never be a substitute for due process. In Negeri Sembilan, that removal process is strictly governed by Article 10 of LCNS 1959, which stipulates three conditions. 

The first condition for initiating the removal of the Ruler is the holding of a “full and complete enquiry by the Undangs” to establish whether valid and sufficient grounds exist for such an extraordinary course of action. Based on media reports, there has been no evidence that any enquiry was ever conducted. No charges or grounds of misconduct have ever been made known to the public. Most crucially, it appears that His Royal Highness was never notified of any allegations, let alone afforded the elementary right to be heard. 

This state of affairs sets a dangerous precedent for the constitutional monarchy and the future of this country — a country that must, at all times, chart its course strictly in accordance with the law. — Unsplash pic

Attempts by the exco to assert that an enquiry was held do not stand up to scrutiny, having been advanced only belatedly and without any explanation as to whether His Royal Highness was notified or given any opportunity to be heard. In any event, such an alleged enquiry cannot constitute the “full and complete enquiry by the Undangs” required under Article 10(1) of LCNS 1959.

The second and third conditions stipulate that a proclamation must be executed “under the hands of the Undangs and the Menteri Besar”. Serious questions arise as to the validity, propriety, and legality of the purported Proclamation dated April 19, 2026, which has been denounced by the former Menteri Besar Datuk Seri Aminuddin Harun; and disavowed by the current Menteri Besar Datuk Ismail Lasim, who has stated that he signed it under duress, and in respect of which he has lodged a police report. Further, if the purported proclamation is dated April 19, 2026 but was signed by this Menteri Besar only on August 3, 2026, this raises a fundamental question as to its validity, given that he was not the Menteri Besar on April 19, 2026. 

The exco’s announcement on September 16, 2026 smacks of blatant executive overreach. The exco possesses no constitutional mandate, jurisdiction, or power to unseat a ruler. Any such unilateral pronouncement is an ultra vires act that strikes at the very foundation of the constitutional order. 

It is noteworthy that the invalidity of the proclamation has been affirmed by the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang and, separately, by the Attorney General’s Chambers. The State Secretary’s Office has likewise concurred with the latter’s position and declined to proceed with the gazettement of the purported proclamation.

We, the undersigned, call for an immediate and complete halt to this assault on the constitutional sovereignty of the Negeri Sembilan monarchy and the rule of law. We strongly urge the state government of Negeri Sembilan, all public officials, and all citizens of Malaysia to faithfully uphold the Federal Constitution and the Laws of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan 1959, preserve the rule of law, and fully respect the sovereignty and constitutional standing of Tuanku Muhriz Tuanku Munawir as the sole, lawful, and reigning Yang di-Pertuan Besar of Negeri Sembilan. 

The exco is not above the law, and its unlawful conduct in this matter must be curbed.

We call on the Federal Government to step in and finally resolve these troubling issues. This state of affairs sets a dangerous precedent for the constitutional monarchy and the future of this country — a country that must, at all times, chart its course strictly in accordance with the law. 

Such unbecoming and undignified conduct, as well as such utter disrespect for the law, must stop.

* Former presidents of the Malaysian Bar: Mah Weng Kwai, Kuthubul Zaman Bukhari, Yeo Yang Poh, Ambiga Sreenevasan, Ragunath Kesavan, Lim Chee Wee, Christopher Leong, George Varughese, Salim Bashir, and Karen Cheah Yee Lynn.

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

SEPTEMBER 21 — As a schoolboy, there was one shirt I desperately wanted to wear.

It was not particularly fashionable. In fact, it was simply a blue school uniform shirt. 

But in my secondary school, that blue shirt belonged to the librarians. They stood out from the rest of us, and to me they represented something rather special. I hoped that one day I would be chosen to wear it too.

I never was. At the time, it felt like a small disappointment. Looking back now, however, I realise that not wearing the blue shirt mattered very little. 

The librarians I admired all those years ago gave me something far more enduring than a different coloured uniform: They quietly taught me to keep looking.

Even as a young student, I was happiest whenever I found myself surrounded by books. Storybooks, science fiction, comics, travel writing, history and geography all competed for my attention. 

Among my favourite places was the reference section, especially the Encyclopaedia Britannica. I could spend hours reading its entries, not because I was searching for a particular answer, but because one topic would naturally lead me to another. Curiosity seemed to have a way of choosing its own direction.

There was no internet then. There were simply books, curiosity and time.

When I entered Universiti Malaya, that habit continued almost without my noticing. The Main Library felt enormous, with its shelves stretching across three floors. 

I often arrived looking for a particular book or journal, only to leave having discovered several others I had not intended to read. 

Looking back, I realise the library was quietly teaching me that learning rarely follows a straight line. Sometimes the most valuable discoveries begin with a question we never intended to ask.

The librarians I admired all those years ago gave me something far more enduring than a different coloured uniform: They quietly taught me to keep looking. — Unsplash pic

Years later, as a lecturer and researcher, the medical library became almost a second workplace. Research was very different in those days. 

We searched card catalogues, walked patiently through rows of bound journals and photocopied the articles we needed. 

When a journal was unavailable locally, we submitted requests through the inter-library network and waited, sometimes for weeks, hoping the paper would eventually arrive.

By today’s standards, the process seems slow. Yet I do not remember it as frustrating. I remember it as purposeful.

The librarians were always there to help us navigate the ever-growing world of knowledge. 

They knew where information might be found, but more importantly, they encouraged us not to stop searching simply because an answer was not immediately available.

Over the years, the library itself continued to evolve. Book talks brought authors into conversation with readers. Exhibitions celebrated not only academic achievements but also photography, art and creative work across the university community. 

One programme that particularly stayed with me was the Human Library, where instead of borrowing a book, we listened to someone share the story of their own life.

I remember listening to Sister Mathina Bee Gulam, a retired nurse who had served in humanitarian missions and refugee settings. 

Her experiences could certainly have been written down, but hearing them directly from the person who had lived them was something altogether different. 

That afternoon reminded me that learning does not exist only between the covers of a book. Sometimes it is found in another person’s experiences, generously shared.

Looking back, I realise these programmes were never simply about expanding library services. 

They reflected a much deeper understanding of what a library is meant to do. A library is not merely a place where knowledge is stored. It is a place where curiosity continues to grow.

Today, almost every journal article, textbook and scientific paper can be reached within seconds. Information has become astonishingly accessible, and researchers like myself have benefited enormously from these advances. 

Yet easy access to information does not automatically make us lifelong learners. Information answers the questions we already know to ask. Curiosity encourages us to ask the next question.

That is the quiet lesson libraries have been teaching all along.

As technology changes, libraries will undoubtedly continue to change with it. Shelves may become smaller, digital collections will continue to expand, and new ways of sharing knowledge will emerge. 

None of these developments concern me particularly. The true measure of a library has never been the number of books it holds, but whether it continues to nurture minds that remain open, inquisitive and eager to learn.

Sometimes I think back to that blue shirt I so badly wanted to wear as a schoolboy. I never became one of the librarians who wore it. 

Yet, over the course of a lifetime, I have come to appreciate what they quietly represented. 

They were not simply looking after books. They were looking after something much more precious: a place where generations of students, researchers and readers could continue asking questions long after their formal education had ended.

Perhaps that is why libraries continue to matter so deeply, regardless of how much technology changes. They remind us that learning is never really about reaching the final answer. It is about preserving the desire to keep looking.

* Ng Kwan Hoong is an Emeritus Professor of Biomedical Imaging at the Faculty of Medicine, Universiti Malaya. A 2020 Merdeka Award recipient, he is a medical physicist by training but also enjoys writing, drawing, listening to classical music, and bridging the gap between older and younger generations. He may be reached at ngkh@ummc.edu.my

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

SEPTEMBER 21 — The recent High Court verdict involving the 15-year-old boy who was acquitted of murder on grounds of insanity should make us pause before rushing to explain horrific violence through fashionable labels such as violent extremism, nihilism or terrorism.

The case was undeniably tragic and the loss of life devastating. But the court’s finding reminds us of a fundamental principle of criminal justice: the seriousness or brutality of an act does not, by itself, determine its legal or criminological classification.

An act can be violent without being terrorism. It can be shocking without being violent extremism. And a young person can commit a horrific crime without being ideologically radicalised.

This distinction matters at a time when there appears to be an increasing tendency to interpret serious youth violence through the lens of violent extremism.

The problem is particularly acute when “nihilism” or the absence of ideology is itself treated as an ideology. 

If no ideology can become an ideology, then the boundaries of violent extremism become virtually meaningless. Any unexplained act of violence can potentially be labelled extremism, and any disturbed or troubled young person can become a potential terrorist.

The recent High Court verdict involving the 15-year-old boy who was acquitted of murder on grounds of insanity should make us pause before rushing to explain horrific violence through fashionable labels such as violent extremism, nihilism or terrorism.— Picture by Raymond Manuel

That is not only conceptually problematic. It is dangerous. Violent extremism is not synonymous with terrorism.

In the context of terrorism, violence is generally connected to a broader ideological worldview or cause, whether religious, racial, ethnonationalist, supremacist or political. But even ideological violence does not automatically constitute terrorism in law.

There must be a demonstrable ideological nexus and a legally sustainable basis for categorising conduct as terrorism.

We cannot simply take a violent act and retrospectively search for an ideology because the consequences are shocking.

The absence of an obvious motive does not automatically establish the presence of an ideological one.

Terrorism must never become a residual category for violence we do not understand.

Malaysia has confronted this distinction before. During the height of the Jemaah Islamiyah and later Islamic State threats, the police did not arrest everyone who attended the funerals of some known notorious individuals. Not everyone present subscribed to the ideology of JI or IS. Some were relatives. Others were neighbours.

The same principle must apply elsewhere. Sympathy for an oppressed community is not automatically support for terrorism. Ethnic or political solidarity is not necessarily terrorist allegiance.

The law must distinguish carefully between sympathy, association, ideology, support and actual participation in terrorism.

Once these categories become interchangeable, the threshold for state intervention becomes dangerously low.

Of course, young people can be radicalised. There are genuine cases involving minors who have embraced extremist ideologies, pledged allegiance to terrorist organisations or prepared violence in furtherance of an ideological cause.

Where such evidence exists, the threat must be taken seriously. But the assessment must begin with evidence of radicalisation, not with the assumption that violence itself proves extremism.

A child exhibiting disturbing behaviour may require psychiatric intervention. Another may be experiencing trauma or social alienation. Another may have committed a serious crime. Another may genuinely have been ideologically radicalised.

These are not the same thing.

To collapse them all into the broad category of violent extremism risks replacing proper diagnosis and intervention with securitisation.

The recent verdict is a powerful reminder of this. The court was required to consider not merely what happened, but the accused’s mental capacity and legal responsibility at the time. 

Criminal justice requires precisely this kind of distinction, even when the facts are horrific and public emotions are understandably strong.

The same intellectual discipline must apply to terrorism.

We cannot decide that an act is terrorism because it was particularly violent. We cannot decide that a young offender is an extremist because the conduct appears irrational. And we cannot treat “no ideology” as sufficient ideology simply because we need a label for violence we find difficult to understand.

There is a danger in expanding counter-terrorism frameworks to encompass every form of serious violence.

When everything becomes extremism, genuine extremism becomes harder to identify. Intelligence and enforcement resources are diverted from real ideological threats. Vague indicators can replace evidence, and counter-terrorism risks becoming profiling.

Precision does not weaken counter-terrorism. It strengthens it.

Crime should be treated as crime. Mental illness should be addressed through appropriate medical and legal processes. Child vulnerability should trigger protection and intervention. And terrorism should remain a distinct category requiring clear evidence of the elements that define it.

Not every violent act has an ideology. And not every ideology produces terrorism.

And the absence of ideology should never become an ideology merely because we are searching for an explanation.

The tragedy of the recent school killing demands serious reflection. But we must resist the temptation to securitise what we do not understand.

If we get the label wrong, we may also get the response wrong. And in criminal justice, that can have consequences far beyond a single case.

* Dr Haezreena Begum Abdul Hamid is a Criminologist and Senior Lecturer at the Faculty of Law, Universiti Malaya, and can be reached at haezreena@um.edu.my

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

SEPTEMBER 20 — When agarwood (gaharu) is mentioned, many of us might immediately think of aromatic wood burned for its distinctive fragrance or processed into expensive perfumes and oils. Yet behind its unmistakable scent, lies economic potential that extends far beyond these traditional uses - a potential that remains largely untapped.

Agarwood is more than a valuable forest resource. With the right combination of research, technology, innovation and marketing, this natural treasure can be transformed into a diverse range of value-added products, opening new opportunities for local entrepreneurs and industries.

The karas tree, particularly Aquilaria malaccensis, is among the species associated with the production of agarwood. Its uniqueness lies in the formation of resin-rich wood that produces its distinctive aroma. This remarkable characteristic has given agarwood a long history of use, particularly in fragrances, cultural practices and traditional medicine.

Beyond fragrance

The perception that agarwood is valuable only as aromatic wood or perfume oil needs to be changed. In today’s vibrant economy, the value of a natural resource is no longer determined solely by the price of its raw material. More importantly, value lies in how effectively that resource can be converted into marketable, value-added products.

This is where innovation becomes essential. 

Rather than simply selling natural resources in their raw form, local industries need to move proactively into downstream product development, research and development (R&D), branding and marketing. The greater our ability to create value from local resources, the greater their potential contribution to industry and the national economy.

Technological advances are also opening new possibilities for the agarwood industry. Scientific methods can now be used to evaluate the quality of agarwood and its oil, including analyses of their composition and chemical characteristics. Such developments demonstrate that agarwood should no longer be viewed solely as part of a traditional industry. It has considerable potential to develop into a knowledge-driven industry supported by research, science and technology.

This view is shared by Aminudin Md Hafidzin, an entrepreneur and researcher actively involved in agarwood-related research. The participation of industry players in research is particularly important because the future of the sector will depend on their ability to move beyond supplying raw materials towards creating commercially valuable innovations.

The author argues that Malaysia should move agarwood beyond raw-resource exports by building a research-driven, value-added industry around innovation, branding, market insight and local products. — AFP pic

Unlocking opportunities for local industry

Undeniably, Malaysia has an advantage. Agarwood is not an unfamiliar resource in this country. Yet the availability of a valuable natural resource alone does not guarantee the success of an industry. The real question, therefore, is how Malaysia can unlock the full potential of agarwood by transforming this natural treasure into innovative, high-value products that command strong brand recognition and sustainable market demand.

This is the challenge facing local industry.

Among the local industry players exploring the commercial potential of agarwood-based products is Malga Industries Sdn Bhd, a Bumiputera company with extensive experience in agarwood-related research. One of the company’s latest innovations is Malga Gold Plus, a product formulated from premium-grade distilled agarwood water extracted from agarwood trees and developed for its potential health-related applications.

What is particularly significant is not simply the creation of a new product, but how research and innovation can transform agarwood from a valuable natural resource into high-value downstream products with strong commercial potential. It demonstrates that the value of agarwood need not end with the sale of raw wood or the distillation of oil. Through innovation, agarwood can be brought closer to consumers through the development of new products and applications. According to Bukhari Rusli, Marketing Manager of Malga Gold Plus, the company’s various research and market development initiatives indicate that downstream agarwood products have room to grow beyond the resource’s conventional uses.

Such developments matter to Malaysia’s local industries. The country should not allow the value of its natural resources to end at the raw-material stage while greater economic returns from processing, innovation, branding and marketing are captured elsewhere.

From natural resource to marketable brand

The next challenge is the market.

Creating an innovative product is only part of the journey. A product must also earn consumer confidence and market acceptance. Today’s consumers have unprecedented access to information. Before making a purchase, they compare products and prices, read the experiences of other consumers and seek information through various platforms. Therefore, companies developing agarwood-based products must therefore understand more than the technical characteristics of their products. They must also understand the people who buy and use them. These are important questions for the future of the industry.

This is where market research becomes an important bridge between agarwood innovation and the consumer. The potential of agarwood does not depend solely on the uniqueness of the resource or the novelty of the products developed from it. It also depends on whether those products meet consumer needs and gain market acceptance.

Decisions about developing and marketing agarwood-based products should therefore not be based on assumptions alone. Consumer data and feedback can help businesses better understand market acceptance, satisfaction and trust, while identifying more effective marketing strategies.

Collaboration between the agarwood industry and academic researchers can also become an important catalyst for the sector’s development. Researchers in marketing and consumer behaviour, for example, can help businesses better understand their markets, while expertise in science and technology can support further research and product development. When academic research expertise is combined with the practical knowledge and experience of industry players, agarwood can become more than an object of study. It can provide the foundation for commercially viable innovations that respond to genuine consumer needs.

It is this synergy between research, industry and the market that can help ensure Malaysian agarwood is recognised not merely as a valuable natural resource, but also as the foundation for competitive local products and brands.

Building a Malaysian agarwood brand

It is time to view agarwood from a much broader perspective.

The question should no longer be simply how much a kilogramme of agarwood is worth or how expensive its oil can be. The bigger question is how Malaysia can develop the entire agarwood value chain; from cultivation and resource production to research, processing, product development, branding and marketing. We have the natural resources. We have researchers. We also have entrepreneurs and local companies willing to explore new opportunities. What is needed is an ecosystem capable of bringing these strengths together.

If Malaysia can combine its natural resources with research, technology, entrepreneurial creativity and a deeper understanding of consumers, agarwood has the potential to become part of the country’s high-value product industry.

The efforts of local companies such as Malga Industries Sdn Bhd to explore the development of agarwood-based products demonstrate that opportunities for innovation do exist. To take the industry further, however, stronger collaboration among growers, businesses, universities, researchers and relevant agencies will be essential.

Malaysia should aspire to be more than simply a country blessed with agarwood resources. The greater ambition should be to build Malaysian knowledge, innovation, products and agarwood brands capable of creating value for the national economy and competing in wider markets. Agarwood has long been treasured for its fragrance. The challenge now is to ensure that its fragrance carries with it the name of Malaysian innovation to the world.

* Professor Dr Nor Azila Mohd Noor is attached to the School of Business Management, Universiti Utara Malaysia.

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

SEPTEMBER 20 — The decision of DAP secretary-general Anthony Loke to offer his resignation as Transport Minister should be understood for what it is: a serious political signal.

However, one deliberately calibrated not to become a constitutional confrontation.

This distinction matters.

Why?

Following the conditional pardon granted to former prime minister Najib Razak – allowing him to serve the remainder of his SRC International sentence under house arrest until August 23, 2028 – DAP faced an obvious dilemma.

It had to demonstrate that its long-standing position on corruption had not disappeared merely because it was now part of the Federal Government.

Yet it also had to recognise that Malaysia remains a constitutional monarchy operating through institutions, conventions and carefully delineated powers.

The pardon was granted through the constitutional pardons process chaired by the Yang di-Pertuan Agong.

Loke’s response therefore carries considerable significance.

It was measured and principled.

DAP secretary-general Anthony Loke’s offer to resign as transport minister following former prime minister Datuk Seri Najib Razak’s conditional pardon has prompted debate over how the party should register its disagreement while maintaining political stability. — Picture by Firdaus Latif

As the Secretary General of DAP, Loke has offered to relinquish his Cabinet position while the other DAP ministers and deputy ministers remain in government.

Loke said explicitly that this was intended to register the party’s position without producing political instability.

DAP also reiterated that it respects the Yang di-Pertuan Agong’s constitutional authority over pardons.

That is sufficient.

A mass resignation would convey something fundamentally different.

If every DAP minister and deputy minister were to leave simultaneously, especially if such action threatened the survival of the government, the political meaning could easily move beyond disagreement with the treatment of Najib.

It could be perceived as a direct and frontal political challenge arising from the exercise of the monarchy’s constitutional prerogative.

This would be unwise.

Malaysia’s constitutional system was never designed to resolve every disagreement through institutional escalation.

Its genius, when functioning properly, lies precisely in the opposite direction: checks and balances, parliamentary accountability, Cabinet responsibility, judicial independence and constitutional restraint.

These are mechanisms for containing disagreement, not multiplying it.

Malaysia also inherited important conventions from the Westminster and Whitehall traditions of government.

Ministers can disagree.

Ministers can resign.

Parliament can scrutinise.

Political parties can protest.

Courts can adjudicate matters properly before them.

But the responsible government also depends upon restraint.

Not every disagreement requires the maximum constitutional weapon available.

Indeed, parliamentary decorum becomes particularly important at moments such as this.

Parliament is not merely a numerical battlefield where one coalition attempts to bring another down whenever an objection arises.

It is an institution whose durability depends upon members understanding the distinction between opposition, dissent and systemic confrontation.

Loke’s resignation occupies precisely that middle ground.

One resignation says: we disagree profoundly.

A mass Cabinet walkout could be interpreted as saying: the political arrangement itself can no longer continue because of this constitutional decision.

Those are very different messages.

DAP therefore does not need multiple ministers resigning together.

As and when appropriate, Nga Kok Ming can be the second Minister to resign in due course at some point in future.

Why?

Nga once affirmed that if Najib is released, although to be fair, Nga did not anticipate the concept of conditional house arrest, he would resign.

Thus if Najib is released, Nga has to resign too.

As it is, due to the need not to trigger any extreme political turbulence, Pakatan Harapan does not need an avalanche of ministerial resignations merely to demonstrate moral seriousness.

Tantrums are imbecilic in statecraft.

They don’t and must not be allowed to co-exist.

Malaysia is a trading nation and a hub of Asean that others would like to look up too.

Therefore, other office bearers in DAP can retain the option to resign as and when Najib is pardoned time and again in other corruption trials.

That option itself constitutes political leverage guided by maturity.

To be sure, Loke said other DAP leaders had been prepared to relinquish their positions.

But the party’s Central Executive Body, composed of 30 members, decided they should remain to protect political stability.

This is not necessarily a weakness.

It is constitutional proportionality.

Malaysia has already experienced extraordinary political instability since the 2020 Sheraton Move.

Governments changed.

Parliamentary majorities shifted.

Political alignments were repeatedly reconstructed.

The key lesson from 2020 should not be that every controversy must produce another political earthquake.

The opposite lesson is more useful.

A mature parliamentary democracy should possess gradations of response.

A minister can protest.

A party can issue a dissenting position.

Parliamentarians can demand explanations.

Civil society can criticise.

The media can investigate.

Lawyers can debate constitutional implications.

And voters ultimately retain their judgment at the ballot box.

These constitute the ordinary checks and balances of parliamentary government.

They are deliberately less spectacular than a political counter-offensive.

That does not make them less important.

There is another reason why restraint matters.

Najib’s legal position has not simply vanished.

The conditional pardon concerns the remaining sentence arising from the SRC International conviction.

Separately, Najib was convicted in December 2025 in another 1MDB-related case and sentenced to 15 years’ imprisonment; he is appealing that conviction.

In other words, Najib could be convicted yet again on his ongoing 1MDB trial.

There has been no total and absolute miscarriage of justice or due process writ large.

Malaysia therefore should not confuse clemency with the disappearance of the judicial process.

The latter remains.

The judiciary has its role.

The monarchy has its constitutional role too.

Parliament has its parameters to continue to convene accordingly.

The Cabinet has its collective responsibilities as well.

Political parties have every right to express disagreement within this elaborate but judicious architecture.

The danger begins when these separate roles are compressed into one enormous political confrontation.

This is why Loke’s single resignation can suffice.

It registers DAP’s discomfort without requiring DAP to abandon the government.

It demonstrates political accountability without automatically destabilising Parliament.

Most importantly, it allows disagreement to exist without turning disagreement into an institutional collision involving the Cabinet, Parliament and the constitutional monarchy.

There is wisdom in knowing when enough is enough.

Besides, the Westminster and Whitehall traditions that influenced Malaysia’s parliamentary institutions were built not merely upon written rules but upon conventions of restraint.

Constitutional government survives because political actors possess powers they sometimes deliberately choose not to exercise to their fullest extent.

Malaysia needs more of this instinct, not less.

Loke can resign.

Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim shall consider, ideally, approve the resignation with utmost care, invariably, speed.

* Phar Kim Beng is professor of Asean Studies, and director at the Institute of International and Asean Studies, International Islamic University Malaysia.

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

SEPTEMBER 20 — “Pet parent” is a term that has become increasingly familiar in everyday conversations. It describes people who see their pets as more than animals in the household and who take an active role in their care, comfort and wellbeing. The term may sound simple, but it reflects a relationship that is becoming increasingly emotional and personal.

The growing use of the term “pet parent” reflects a broader change in how many Malaysians view their companion animals. Pets are increasingly seen not merely as animals kept at home, but as companions that receive attention, care and a meaningful place in everyday family life.

That relationship is also changing the way people consume. What a pet parent chooses to buy is not always about necessity. Food, healthcare, grooming, toys, accessories and other services can carry a deeper meaning when they are connected to someone we care about. A purchase that may once have been considered ordinary can become a way of expressing affection, responsibility and concern for a pet’s wellbeing.

This is where the idea of pet parenting becomes interesting from a consumer behaviour perspective. The things we buy are often influenced by how we feel, what we value and the relationships that matter to us. When those emotions enter the shopping decision, consumption takes on a different meaning and the question of value becomes more personal.

When love influences what we buy

Consumer decisions are not always as rational as they appear. Price and quality remain important, but emotions can quietly influence the final choice, particularly when the purchase is connected to someone or something we care about.

For pet parents, the question may not simply be whether a product is affordable or useful. It can also be whether it offers better care, greater comfort or something that feels worthwhile for their pet. A purchase can therefore become an expression of responsibility, with spending a little more feeling justified when the decision is associated with providing better care.

The value of a product is no longer determined only by what it does. It can also depend on what it represents to the person making the purchase.

The social media effect

The growing role of pets in family life is also changing how people consume, with purchases increasingly shaped by affection, responsibility and perceptions of good care. — Unsplash pic

Social media has made pet parenting more visible than ever. People can now see how others care for their pets, what they buy and the lifestyles they create around them. This constant exposure can influence expectations, particularly when certain products, services or routines appear repeatedly in online content.

Over time, something that was once seen as optional can begin to feel like a normal part of being a responsible pet parent. Seeing what others provide for their pets may encourage people to explore new products and services, but it can also create a sense that they should be doing more.

This is where social influence becomes part of consumption. What people see others doing can shape what they consider necessary, desirable or worth paying for.

When marketing meets emotion

This changing behaviour has not gone unnoticed by businesses. The pet market has expanded beyond basic necessities, with products and services increasingly built around comfort, wellbeing, convenience and lifestyle. For marketers, the emotional relationship between pet parents and their pets creates an opportunity to communicate with consumers at a more personal level.

A product can be presented as a way to provide better care rather than simply as something to buy. The message becomes less about the product itself and more about the kind of care the consumer wants to provide. This changes the way value is communicated because a product may be seen as more meaningful when it is connected to affection, responsibility and wellbeing.

Marketing, in this sense, does more than respond to consumer needs. It can also influence how consumers understand those needs and what they believe represents good care.

When good care becomes a standard

As the market grows, pet parents are exposed to more choices and more ideas about what good care should look like. Some of these choices may genuinely improve wellbeing, while others may simply add to the list of things consumers feel they ought to buy.

The distinction matters because responsible consumption requires consumers to separate genuine needs from products or services that are simply attractive or heavily promoted. A more expensive choice is not automatically a better expression of care, just as a simpler choice does not mean that someone cares less.

Businesses also have a role to play in this process. Marketing can inform and inspire consumers, but it should not make people feel inadequate because they cannot afford every product or service available. When emotional attachment becomes part of the selling process, there is also a responsibility to ensure that affection is not turned into guilt.

A new culture of consumption

The rise of pet parents reflects a wider change in consumer behaviour. People increasingly attach emotional meaning to what they buy, particularly when their purchases involve relationships that are important to them. The pet market provides a clear example of how consumption can become connected to identity, affection and responsibility.

For businesses, understanding this emotional dimension can lead to more meaningful marketing. At the same time, understanding consumers means recognising that not every emotional need has to be answered with a purchase.

Perhaps the real question is not how much we spend on our pets, but how easily love can influence what we are willing to buy.

* Nurul Fardini Zakaria is a senior lecturer in Marketing at the School of Business Management, Universiti Utara Malaysia, with expertise in consumer behaviour, digital marketing, sustainable consumption and consumer welfare.

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

SEPTEMBER 20 — We often think of dementia as a disease of forgetting. But sometimes, the first signs are not simply about memory. They can appear as small changes in everyday life — moments when things that were once familiar begin to feel a little less easy.

These changes can be subtle. A television remote they have used countless times may seem difficult to navigate, leaving them wondering why the TV is not working. A recipe they have followed for decades may become harder to follow, leading them to wonder whether something is wrong with the ingredients. 

The same question may come up again and again in a conversation, without them realising it has already been answered. Because these changes can be gradual, they may easily be overlooked or simply put down to getting older.

We all have moments when we forget a name, lose our train of thought, or walk into a room and forget what we intended to do. Ageing, stress, tiredness, or other health conditions can affect memory and thinking. 

Not every change means dementia, and these signs alone cannot confirm a diagnosis. But when these changes persist and begin to affect everyday life, they are worth noticing rather than simply being dismissed as normal ageing. Speaking to a healthcare professional can help determine what may be happening.

This World Alzheimer’s Month, the campaign carries a simple but important message: “The Earlier You Know, The More You Can Do: A Dementia Diagnosis Matters.”

Although dementia cannot currently be reversed or cured, an early diagnosis gives individuals and families more time to understand what is happening, explore available support and treatment options, and prepare for what lies ahead. It can also help the person living with dementia maintain independence and live as well as possible for as long as possible.

Dementia also affects the people who love and care for them. As dementia progresses, communication can become more difficult. A person may struggle to find the right words, follow a conversation or express what they need. For families and caregivers, adapting to these changes can be challenging.

When communication changes, we need to change the way we communicate — not the relationship. This might mean using simpler words, allowing more time for an answer, or offering reassurance instead of correcting. 

The writer says early recognition of dementia can give individuals and families more time to understand the condition, explore support and treatment options, and prepare for what lies ahead. — Unsplash pic

It may mean finding a different way to approach a difficult moment and meeting where they are, rather than expecting them to communicate as they once did. Memories may fade, and dementia may change the conversation, but the need to feel loved, understood and connected remains.

This World Alzheimer’s Day, let’s start by noticing the changes and learning to listen differently. Because the earlier we know, the more we can do — for the person living with dementia, for the people who care for them, and for the relationships, choices, and moments that matter most.

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

SEPTEMBER 20 — As the extended Visit Malaysia 2026-2027 campaign gains momentum, homegrown initiatives are creatively showcasing the nation on a global stage. From urban quests to exotic beach escapades and lofty mountaintop retreats, Malaysia offers an unmatched variety of natural ecosystems waiting to be discovered or perhaps, re-discovered.

Among the nation’s premier draws are its coastal zones and marine biodiversity. However, rapid tourism growth necessitates robust legal safeguards to ensure high-value tourism does not compromise delicate coastal habitats.

Malaysia’s marine biodiversity relies on statutory protections under the Fisheries Act 1985, which designates under Section 41 to Section 45 under Part IX authorised for the establishment of marine parks in Malaysia. By virtue of the divisions of powers under the Federal Constitution, these existing marine parks fall under the federal jurisdictions and are formally institutionalised under the Marine Parks Division under the Department of Fisheries Malaysia, which is a federal agency. Furthermore, mandatory Environmental Impact Assessments (EIAs) under the Environmental Quality Act 1974, particularly Section 34A, ensure that mainland and island resort expansions implement sustainable waste and sewage infrastructure before opening to international visitors.

Action-driven conservation: The Sea Heroes movement

Complementing these statutory protections, public and private NGO partnerships directly engage tourist agencies and creators in environmental stewardship through structured conservation missions:

Coral Ecology and Debris Removal, where it aligned with World Oceans Day 2026, programmes supported by the PADI AWARE Foundation, YBD Dive Centre, YBD Conservation, and Perhentian Marriott Resort & Spa successfully executed underwater cleanups, extracting marine debris and 10 meters of abandoned ghost nets.

The Clean Wave: Scheduled for International Coastal Cleanup Day, this initiative organizers island-wide cleanups, debris classification, and waste data collection to support localized coastal management policy.

Reef Warriors: Focuses on active reef protection through training in Crown-of-Thorns (COTs) starfish identification, population surveying, safe removal techniques, and ongoing ecological impact assessments.

Industry implications: From compliance to competitive advantage

The writers assert that stronger environmental safeguards are needed to protect Malaysia’s marine biodiversity as coastal tourism grows. — Pexels pic

For tourism and hospitality operators, these environmental safeguards are not external constraints but part of the licensing architecture they already work within. The Tourism Industry Act 1992 (Act 482) requires tour operators and travel agencies to be licensed by the Commissioner of Tourism, while Part IV makes it an offence to guide visitors for remuneration without a valid licence.

In marine settings, this matters greatly. The Ministry of Tourism, Arts and Culture (MOTAC) issues a Local Nature Tourist Guide licence tied to specific nature and eco-tourism sites, meaning the person interpreting a coral reef to a diver should be trained in reef ecology rather than merely fluent in storytelling. The same Act governs the registration and star-rating of tourist accommodation premises, giving regulators leverage over island resorts whose wastewater and solid waste directly determine reef water quality. Read alongside Section 34A of the Environmental Quality Act 1974, the operating licence becomes a conservation instrument in its own right.

Hospitality businesses also operate under a parallel set of voluntary standards: the ASEAN Green Hotel Standard, MS ISO 21401 for sustainable management systems, and eco-certification promoted under the National Ecotourism Plan 2016-2025. The National Tourism Policy 2020-2030 positions these as the route to branding Malaysia the “Top of Mind Ecotourism Destination of the World.”

The commercial logic is straightforward. Carrying capacity limits, mooring buoy systems and conservation fees protect the very asset guests pay to see, and a bleached reef yields nothing. Programmes such as Sea Heroes therefore double as product development, converting passive beach stays into certified, high-value experiential packages that command premium rates and longer length of stay.

By pairing enforceable environmental laws with creator-led public awareness, Malaysia establishes a sustainable model for coastal eco-tourism and protecting marine habitats while sharing them with the world.

* Redza Zakaria is the head unit of Maritime Law, Policy and Governance at the Institute of Ocean Earth and Sciences and Senior Lecturer at the Faculty of Law, Universiti Malaya. Mohd Zulfakar Mohd Nawi is a senior lecturer at the Department of Professional Education and Postgraduates, Faculty of Technical and Vocational Education, Universiti Tun Hussein Onn Malaysia.

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

SEPTEMBER 20 — The Public Officers (Conduct and Discipline) Regulations 1993 [PU(A) 395/1993] apply to a member of the public service of the Federation (referred to as an officer).

PART II of the Regulations provides for the Code of Conduct for all officers. Under Regulation 4(1) an officer shall at all times give his loyalty to the Yang di-Pertuan Agong, the country and the Government.

Regulation 4(2) then sets out what an officer shall not do – paragraphs (a) – (j).

Under paragraph (i), an officer shall not “be insubordinate or conduct himself in any manner which can be reasonably construed as being insubordinate”.

What is insubordination?

In OP Malhotra’s The Law of Industrial Disputes (6th Edn Vol. 2 at page 1153), the learned author explained the word as follows:

“The word ‘insubordination’ means unwillingness to submit to authority; disobedience to orders; infraction of rules, or generally disaffected attitude towards authority. The Concise Oxford Dictionary gives the meaning of ‘insubordination’ as ‘disobedient’, rebellious’. The two meanings given by the dictionary do not mean that only a rebellious conduct would amount to insubordination but even disobedient conduct would amount to insubordination.

“The Random House Dictionary gives the meaning of ‘insubordination’ as ‘not submitting to authority; disobedient, one who is insubordinate’. These meanings would indicate that any person who is ‘disobedient’ becomes ‘insubordinate’ and his conduct amounts to ‘insubordination’.”

In simple words, insubordination is a refusal to subordinate oneself to authority. But it does not follow that a mere failure to obey an order amounts to insubordination.

The Negeri Sembilan State Secretariat building in Seremban. The state secretary’s office has said it will not gazette the April 19, 2026 proclamation after the Attorney General’s Chambers deemed it invalid. — Picture by Yusof Isa

The elements of insubordination were set out in a recent High Court case of Muehbaeur Technologies Sdn Bhd V. Chan Shee Chuen  [2022] where Judicial Commissioner Quay Chew Soon (as he then was) said that for insubordination to arise, the following elements must be present:

(a)     the superior must have issued a lawful instruction;

(b)    the instruction was conveyed to the subordinate; and

(c)     the subordinate had disobeyed or failed to have complied with the lawful instruction.

That the superior must have issued a lawful instruction is fundamental.

So, can the Negeri Sembilan State Secretary (SUK) be said to be in insubordination when he refused to take any action to gazette or enforce the April 19, 2026 proclamation regarding the position of the Yang Di-Pertuan Besar Tuanku Muhriz Tuanku Munawir?

The SUK’s office has asserted that the decision not to gazette the proclamation “aligned with the Attorney General’s Chambers (AGC) ruling that the proclamation was invalid, rendering any gazettement unconstitutional”.

“Furthermore, there is no legal basis for the State Executive Council (MMKN) members to rely on the proclamation dated April 19, 2026 for their announcement,” the office said.

The fundamental element of insubordination is arguably absent.

Accordingly, there cannot be insubordination.

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

SEPTEMBER 19 — I understand why the Government is seeking a practical and durable solution to the presence of large numbers of Myanmar nationals in Malaysia, including the Rohingya. Malaysia cannot be expected to carry this burden indefinitely, and diplomacy requires engagement with difficult actors and the pursuit of solutions that serve both humanitarian and national interests. 

But diplomacy is not simply about opening doors to anyone. It is about knowing what we want to achieve, building leverage and securing commitments before we make concessions. 

That is why I do not believe that inviting Min Aung Hlaing to Malaysia is the right diplomatic move at this stage. 

This is not about refusing to communicate with Myanmar or its leaders. It is about how we conduct diplomacy and what political value we choose to confer through that engagement. 

A Prime Ministerial invitation gives Myanmar’s military leadership political access, international visibility and legitimacy. That is precisely why such an invitation should follow meaningful political movement, rather than precede it. 

In serious negotiations, we establish our objectives, build leverage, seek reciprocal commitments and test whether the other side is prepared to change. We should not offer the diplomatic prize before the negotiation has even begun. 

The author does not believe that inviting Min Aung Hlaing to Malaysia is the right diplomatic move at this stage. — AFP pic

What has Myanmar actually committed to? 

Today, the military continues to use violence against civilians, while political repression and violence continue across the country. There has been no indication that Naypyidaw is considering any amendment or abolition of the 1982 Citizenship Law which stripped the Rohingya of their citizenship. They refuse even to refer to the Rohingya by their ethnic name — choosing instead to call them by the exclusionary and derogatory term “Bengali”. The situation facing the Rohingya in Rakhine State remains deeply insecure and legal protections are non-existent. 

Of particular concern is the forced conscription and recruitment of Rohingya by the Myanmar military to fight the Arakan Army. This move is profoundly dangerous and destabilising. Forcing the already displaced and oppressed Rohingya into an ethnic conflict risks further turning them into targets, fuelling new cycles of violence and hatred, and triggering new waves of displacement. More fundamentally, it risks cementing their permanent exclusion from Myanmar — making the conditions for safe, dignified and sustainable repatriation impossible to establish. 

Repatriation cannot be separated from political reality 

You cannot create the conditions for repatriation by forcing the very people you claim you want to bring home to fight in the conflict. That is a recipe for deeper hostility, further displacement and permanent exclusion. 

There is also a fundamental political reality that Malaysia must recognise: the Myanmar military does not control most of Rakhine State. After five years of post-coup conflict, the Arakan Army has de facto control of the vast majority of the State. 

Whatever one’s view of the Arakan Army, any serious discussion about the future of the Rohingya and the conditions for their return must take account of who exercises authority on the ground. That means that a bilateral discussion with Naypyidaw alone — and in particular with Min Aung Hlaing — cannot determine the conditions under which Rohingya would return and live in areas controlled by another armed authority. 

This is why Malaysia should use its diplomatic weight differently. 

Malaysia knows how to navigate conflict and difficult negotiations 

Malaysia is not new to difficult political negotiations or conflict mediation. 

Our experience in Mindanao and Southern Thailand has demonstrated the importance of understanding the interests and positions of different parties, building confidence, maintaining channels with difficult actors and ensuring that commitments can be monitored and implemented. These experiences have also taught us that dealing with conflict requires more than access to one powerful actor or a single high-level meeting. 

Malaysia knows the difference between engagement and effective political negotiation. We know that access is not the same as leverage, that a meeting is not a negotiation, and that a promise is not a political settlement. 

We should bring that experience to Myanmar. 

A sustainable political settlement cannot be negotiated by one party alone, particularly when that party does not control most of the territory to which the Rohingya are expected to return. 

Malaysia must protect the credibility it has built 

There is another reason why we must approach this carefully: Malaysia’s international credibility and our commitment to international law. 

In January 2020, the International Court of Justice unanimously imposed legally binding provisional measures requiring Myanmar to protect the Rohingya from acts prohibited by the Genocide Convention and, specifically, to ensure that its military does not commit such acts. 

On 27 November 2024, the Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court applied for an arrest warrant for Min Aung Hlaing, alleging his criminal responsibility for the crimes against humanity of deportation and persecution of the Rohingya committed during the 2017 violence; that application remains for the Court’s judges to determine. These are not peripheral considerations. 

Malaysia has rightly spoken forcefully on Gaza, insisting on international law, protection of civilians and accountability. We have argued that the lives and rights of civilians cannot become secondary to political convenience. 

The same principles must apply to the Rohingya. 

This is not about equating Gaza and Myanmar. They are different conflicts. It is about demonstrating that Malaysia’s commitment to international law and civilian protection is consistent and universal. 

That consistency matters to our standing in Asean, in the Muslim world and in the wider international community. 

Malaysia has built its foreign policy reputation over many years on being balanced, independent and principled — engaging even when we disagree, maintaining channels of communication while standing by our principles, and seeking practical solutions without abandoning international law. 

This balance has been one of our diplomatic strengths. We should be building on it, not undermining it. 

If Malaysia now appears to confer political legitimacy and prominence on the very military leadership facing international accountability for atrocities against the Rohingya, the reputational cost will not be confined to this particular issue. It risks raising wider questions about the consistency and credibility of Malaysia’s foreign policy. 

Malaysia’s influence has never depended on being the biggest country or the most powerful country. It has depended in considerable measure on the credibility of our diplomacy — our ability to speak to different sides, maintain trust and act with principle while remaining pragmatic. 

That is an asset we should protect, not spend lightly. 

Malaysia can pursue diplomacy without legitimising Min Aung Hlaing. There are channels for communication that do not require us to confer the political legitimacy and prominence that a Prime Ministerial invitation would provide. 

Malaysia’s engagement must be broader 

Malaysia should start with Myanmar’s regional neighbours and engage the wider range of Myanmar stakeholders. 

Bangladesh carries the immediate burden of the Rohingya refugee crisis. Thailand shares a long border with Myanmar and has dealt directly for decades with conflict, displacement and refugee movements. 

Malaysia has already demonstrated during our 2025 Asean Chairmanship that we can engage a broad range of Myanmar stakeholders, including the military, democratic and ethnic political actors, and both Rakhine and Rohingya representatives, while maintaining our diplomatic position. We should build on that experience, not narrow our diplomacy to the Myanmar military alone. 

Malaysia should use the relationships developed during our Chairmanship to engage Myanmar’s democratic and ethnic political stakeholders, Rohingya representatives and those exercising authority on the ground, alongside Bangladesh, Thailand and our wider international partners. 

This is not about recognising or legitimising any particular actor. It is about engaging the political realities that will determine whether any agreement can actually be implemented. 

From there, Malaysia can build a wider diplomatic coalition, including Türkiye, China and the United Nations. 

One essential element should be the independent third-party monitoring of any future Rohingya return, including an appropriate role for the United Nations. 

If Myanmar is genuinely serious about safe and sustainable return, it should be prepared to accept independent verification. Such monitoring would help establish whether return is genuinely voluntary and whether people remain safe after they return. It would also prevent the process from being controlled or manipulated by any one party. 

The objective should not simply be to negotiate the movement of people across a border. It should be to create the political and security conditions in which people can actually return and remain. 

What Malaysia can offer 

Our leverage lies precisely in what we are able to offer — and when we choose to offer it. That leverage should be used to secure meaningful commitments, not surrendered at the outset of the negotiation. 

Malaysia has something valuable to bring to this crisis: our diplomatic credibility, our relationships across the region and our experience in navigating difficult political processes. We have dealt with governments, armed groups, political movements and communities in conflict. We should draw on that experience now. 

The invitation should be the consequence of meaningful political movement, not the inducement offered in advance. 

Malaysia can be pragmatic without abandoning principle. Indeed, our principles are part of our diplomatic strength. 

The question is whether this approach will strengthen Malaysia’s position and advance our regional role, or whether it risks becoming a devastating diplomatic miscalculation — undermining the credibility we have built and undoing much of the diplomatic progress and Asean standing Malaysia worked so hard to establish during its 2025 Chairmanship. 

That is the real test of Anwar’s balancing act on Myanmar.

* Tan Sri Datuk Seri Dr Syed Hamid Albar is the former minister of foreign affairs of Malaysia and chair of the Malaysian Advisory Group on Myanmar

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

SEPTEMBER 19 — Malaysia has spent decades cultivating an image in Asean that rests on something more important than military strength or economic size. 

It has relied on diplomatic credibility, institutional maturity and the capacity to present itself as a country governed by laws and functioning institutions.

The decision allowing former prime minister Najib Razak to serve the remainder of his SRC International sentence under house arrest therefore carries consequences extending beyond domestic politics.

On September 18, the King granted Najib a conditional pardon permitting him to serve the remainder of his sentence at home until August 23, 2028, provided that he pays the RM50 million fine and observes the conditions attached to the pardon. The decision concerns the SRC International case alone.

That distinction is crucial. Najib was originally sentenced to 12 years’ imprisonment and fined RM210 million after his conviction involving RM42 million belonging to SRC International. 

The Federal Court dismissed his final appeal in August 2022, after which he began serving his sentence at Kajang Prison. 

A previous pardon subsequently reduced the imprisonment to six years and the fine to RM50 million.

Former prime minister Datuk Seri Najib Razak arrives at the Kuala Lumpur High Court Complex on December 22, 2025. — Picture by Yusof Isa

Yet the SRC case is not the end of Najib’s legal difficulties.

On December 26, 2025, the High Court convicted him on 25 charges involving abuse of power and money laundering concerning approximately RM2.3 billion connected with 1MDB. 

He received a maximum concurrent sentence of 15 years and a RM11.38 billion fine. Najib has appealed both the conviction and sentence.

This means Malaysia must be exceptionally careful about the distinction between clemency and exoneration.

A pardon or conditional pardon is an exercise of a constitutional power. 

It does not by itself rewrite the factual and judicial history of the conviction to which it applies. 

Nor does the latest decision determine Najib’s separate 1MDB appeal.

That distinction matters enormously to Malaysia’s international standing.

Soft power is accumulated slowly but can be damaged quickly. Malaysia cannot compete with the United States or China in hard power. 

It does not possess their military reach, financial resources or technological scale. What Malaysia can possess, however, is credibility.

That credibility has been particularly valuable inside Asean.

Malaysia has repeatedly presented itself as a country capable of speaking about governance, moderation, institutional stability and the rule of law. 

Kuala Lumpur has also sought to exercise diplomatic influence disproportionate to its material capabilities.

But diplomatic credibility begins at home. The danger is therefore not simply what Malaysians think about Najib. 

Malaysians are entitled to disagree passionately over him. His supporters retain the right to defend him and to pursue every legal avenue available. 

Those who remain indignant about corruption are equally entitled to insist that accountability must have meaning.

The larger question is how Malaysia’s institutions are perceived abroad.

The 1MDB scandal was never an exclusively Malaysian affair. Investigations and asset-recovery efforts extended across several jurisdictions. 

The United States Department of Justice famously described the affair as an enormous kleptocracy-related asset recovery case.

Consequently, developments involving Najib are inevitably observed beyond Malaysia.

Malaysia must therefore avoid creating the international impression that political stature produces a different standard of accountability.

This is especially important in Asean. South-east Asia is competing for capital, technology, semiconductor investment, artificial-intelligence infrastructure and highly skilled talent. 

Investors increasingly examine not merely tax incentives and labour costs but also regulatory predictability, institutional reliability and political stability.

Governance itself has become an economic asset. Malaysia consequently has something valuable to protect.

The conditional pardon should also not be confused with the separate judicial process surrounding 1MDB.

Najib’s 15-year sentence in that case was ordered to begin after completion of his SRC sentence, although the conviction and sentence remain under appeal.

That appeal must be allowed to proceed according to law. If the appellate courts overturn the conviction, that judgment must be respected. 

If they uphold it, that judgment must likewise carry its full legal consequences, subject to whatever lawful constitutional processes may subsequently apply.

This is where Malaysia’s institutional credibility will ultimately be tested.

The strongest response to public anger is therefore neither triumphalism nor despair. Malaysians who oppose corruption have legitimate reasons to scrutinise how exceptional forms of clemency interact with public expectations of equal accountability. 

But it would be equally inaccurate to conclude that the entire Malaysian legal system has somehow ceased functioning. 

It has not. Courts convicted Najib in the SRC case. The Federal Court dismissed his final appeal. Another High Court subsequently convicted him in the separate 1MDB proceedings. 

That latter judgment is now moving through the appellate process. The institutions are still operating.

Malaysia’s task is to demonstrate that they continue to operate independently and consistently regardless of the identity, political influence or historical importance of the individual appearing before them.

This is ultimately larger than Najib Razak. Asean is entering an era in which soft power will become increasingly important. 

Malaysia wants to speak on regional peace, economic integration, artificial intelligence, institutional reform and the future direction of South-east Asia. Such diplomatic ambition requires credibility.

A country cannot easily advocate rules abroad while appearing uncertain about their application at home.

Malaysia has built substantial diplomatic capital across Asean and beyond. It should be careful not to squander it.

Najib has received conditional clemency in the SRC case. He also retains the right to appeal his separate 1MDB conviction.

Both facts can coexist. So can compassion and accountability.

The challenge for Malaysia is to demonstrate that constitutional clemency does not become synonymous with institutional weakness, and that political prominence does not erase judicial accountability.

Malaysia’s soft power ultimately depends not on whether everyone agrees with every decision made by its institutions.

It depends on whether those institutions remain credible enough that Malaysia’s neighbours — and Malaysians themselves — continue to believe in them.

* Phar Kim Beng is a professor of Asean Studies at International Islamic University Malaysia (IIUM) and a director at the Institute of International and Asean Studies (IINTAS).

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

SEPTEMBER 19 — House arrest is not a get-out-of-jail free card.

That is why, as I wrote in Conditions for Najib’s house arrest to reflect govt’s resolve to fight corruption and abuse of power, Najib remains a prisoner, but serving his prison sentence under house arrest.

House arrest is not provided by law in Malaysia. But it can be enforced under the existing provisions of the Prison Act 1995 (Act 537).

First, since under Section 2 of the Act defines “prison” as “any house, building, enclosure or place, or any part thereof, declared to be a prison under Section 3”, the place or any part of it where the former prime minister is to serve his house arrest can be declared a prison.

Section 3 of the Act empowers the Home Minister to declare, by notification in the Gazette, “any house, building, enclosure or place, or any part thereof, to be a prison” for the purposes of the Act.

Second, under Section 12 of the Act, the Commissioner General of Prison may make and issue order, to be called Commissioner General’s Standing Orders, not inconsistent with the Act or of any regulations made under the Act.

Former prime minister Datuk Seri Najib Razak is pictured at the Kuala Lumpur High Court Complex on August 27, 2026. — Picture by Firdaus Latif

Third, under Section 26(1) of the Act, a prisoner is deemed to be in the lawful custody of the Officer in Charge of the prison and therefore subject to prison discipline and to all written laws relating to prisons or prisoners and to the Commissioner General’s Standing Orders during the period of his imprisonment, whether or not he is within the precincts of a prison.

Accordingly, during the period of his house arrest, Najib should be deemed to be in prison and “shall be subject to all the same incidents as if he were actually in prison”.

Fourth, under Section 43 of the Act, the Commissioner General “may, at any time if he thinks fit, release on licence and on such conditions as may be specified in the licence, a prisoner serving any term of imprisonment.

The Commissioner General may also, “at any time… modify or cancel the conditions in the licence”.

Fourth, under Section 67 of the Act, the Home Minister may publish in the Gazette such regulations as may be necessary or expedient for the good management and government of prisons, and for carrying out or achieving the objects and purposes of the Act.

Accordingly, regulations made by the Minister may provide for Najib’s house arrest.

Regulations are subsidiary legislation, but law, nonetheless. They have the force of law, not unlike the Movement of Control Orders (MCOs) which were made under the Prevention and Control of Infectious Diseases Act 1988 (Act 342) to prevent the spread of the Covid-19.

Call Najib’s house arrest a CMO, if you like.

So, while there have been concerns and regrets expressed over Najib’s conditional pardon that allows the former prime minister to serve the remainder of his prison sentence under house arrest, the same can be enforced under provisions of the Act.

That makes Najib’s house arrest a rule of law sentence.

Not a get-out-of-jail free card.

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

SEPTEMBER 19 — The duty to prevent dangerous pollution does not begin when a neighbouring government sends a letter. Malaysia should prepare an international claim over transboundary haze wherever the evidence establishes Indonesia’s failure to meet its obligations. Anger should become a legal strategy with identified breaches, defensible evidence and realistic remedies.

The Asean Specialised Meteorological Centre activated its highest regional haze alert on August 26, 2026. Its monitoring has also recorded smoke drifting from Kalimantan towards Sarawak. That supports investigation. It does not, by itself, establish Indonesia’s legal responsibility for every Malaysian loss.

The legal foundation already exists. Malaysia and Indonesia are parties to the Asean Agreement on Transboundary Haze Pollution. Its provisions address monitoring, prevention, preparedness and emergency response. Article 4(2) requires prompt responses to requests for relevant information or consultations where transboundary haze originates within a party’s territory. Article 12(4) requires a prompt decision and notification on an offer of assistance.

These obligations do not await a formal protest. But neither does the treaty make Indonesia automatically liable whenever smoke crosses a border.

The central question is whether Indonesian authorities exercised the diligence required by international law. In Pulp Mills, the International Court of Justice explained that due diligence involves appropriate regulation, vigilant enforcement and administrative supervision of public and private operators.

Malaysia should therefore investigate specific failures. Were known fire risks addressed before the dry season? Were recurring violations investigated? Were enforcement orders implemented? Were warnings followed by reasonable preventive measures?

People travel on a river boat as thick haze from forest and land fires blankets Benua Melayu Darat village in Pontianak, West Kalimantan, on September 16, 2026. Toxic haze has shrouded parts of Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore for weeks as Jakarta struggles to contain fires that have scorched large tracts of Borneo and Sumatra, with the smoke drifting across the region. — AFP pic

Indonesia must have an opportunity to supply evidence of its response. Extreme weather and difficult terrain matter to the assessment. So does evidence that reasonable precautions were available but neglected.

Private plantation fires need not be treated as government acts. A state can instead be responsible for its own failure to discharge regulatory duties. The Court’s 2025 climate advisory opinion reinforces that distinction, although it does not decide this haze dispute.

Malaysia should take four practical steps.

First, Wisma Putra and the Attorney General’s Chambers should issue a substantiated notice of claim. It should identify the obligations allegedly breached, request records and consultations, and reserve Malaysia’s right to reparation. Emergency cooperation should continue.

Second, independent experts should connect fires, pollutant transport and Malaysian exposure. Satellite observations must be tested against ground measurements and atmospheric modelling. Domestic pollution sources and scientific uncertainty must be included. A hotspot is an investigative lead, not proof of who started a fire.

Third, quantify losses caused by the alleged breach. Additional treatment, monitoring and emergency expenditure should be supported by records. The Court’s 2018 Costa Rica–Nicaragua compensation judgment recognised environmental damage as compensable, while requiring a sufficiently direct and certain causal connection. Malaysia must explain what injury adequate diligence would have prevented or reduced.

Fourth, secure a lawful route to a binding decision. The haze treaty provides consultation or negotiation, not compulsory adjudication. An ICJ case requires a valid basis of jurisdiction. Malaysia should propose a special agreement, arbitration or a bilateral claims commission with independent experts and binding awards.

Unclos deserves separate examination if evidence establishes relevant marine pollution. Smoke passing above the sea is insufficient. Jurisdiction, procedural requirements and exceptions must be addressed before litigation is threatened.

An initial ninety-day programme should produce an evidence dossier, a provisional loss account and a reasoned proposal for settlement or adjudication. These are proposed administrative targets, not treaty deadlines.

Any implicated Malaysian companies should face the same scrutiny. Nationality cannot become an excuse for selective accountability.

Malaysia already has legal tools. It needs the discipline to use them. The absence of a protest cannot erase an existing duty; the absence of a serious legal strategy would be harder to explain.

* Dr Shahrul Mizan Ismail is an associate professor at the Faculty of Law, Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia.

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

SEPTEMBER 19 — Today, online scams are no longer an issue that only affects people who are considered “naive” when it comes to technology. In an increasingly digital world, anyone can become a target, including educated individuals, professionals, active social media users and people who regularly conduct online transactions. Every day, more stories of cybercrime victims are being shared on social media. Some lose their savings to investment scams, others fall victim to fake job offers, while some unknowingly provide their banking information after receiving calls from individuals impersonating bank officers or government authorities. 

This raises an important question: why do people continue to fall victim to scams despite the growing number of awareness campaigns? One reason is that online scams today do not simply exploit weaknesses in technology; they also exploit human vulnerabilities. Scammers do not necessarily need to hack into sophisticated computer systems or use highly complex technology. Instead, they may simply need to make someone feel afraid, excited, greedy, sympathetic or pressured into making a decision without thinking carefully.

We often hear comments such as, “How could they fall for a scam? They’re educated,” or “They work and use computers every day. How could they possibly get scammed?” This perception needs to change. Becoming a victim of a scam does not necessarily mean that a person is unintelligent or does not know how to use technology. Scams are designed to manipulate the way people make decisions. 

For example, someone may be highly proficient in using online banking applications but still fall victim to a phone call claiming that there is a suspicious transaction involving their account. A professional who regularly uses email and social media may also be influenced by a message impersonating their supervisor and demanding an urgent payment. When people are placed under pressure or panic, they tend to focus on solving the immediate problem rather than questioning whether the information they have received is actually legitimate.

This is why digital literacy should not be measured solely by a person’s ability to use technology. More importantly, it involves the ability to evaluate information, identify signs of manipulation, verify information and make safe decisions. The challenge becomes even greater as technology continues to evolve. In the past, scam messages could often be identified through obvious spelling mistakes, unusual language or suspicious links. Today, this is no longer necessarily the case. Scam messages can appear professional, use the identity and branding of legitimate organisations, and even be tailored to the recipient’s circumstances.

The author argues that preventing scams requires more than personal vigilance: digital literacy, family support and open sharing of scam tactics can help protect entire communities. — Pexels pic

The development of artificial intelligence (AI) also has the potential to make scams even more convincing. AI can be used to generate more polished messages, create fake images and, in some cases, produce voices or other content that resemble real individuals. This means that we can no longer rely on simple indicators such as, “If the language looks strange, it must be a scam.” Instead, users need to develop a more important habit: pause before you act. If you receive a message urging you to make a payment, provide personal information or click on a link, do not act immediately. Verify the information through official channels and contact the relevant organisation using a telephone number obtained from its official website or other trusted sources, rather than using the contact details provided in the suspicious message.

This is where the role of the family becomes particularly important. In many families, individuals who are more digitally confident often become the first point of reference when parents, siblings or relatives receive suspicious messages. “Is this really a message from the bank?” “Can I trust this number?” or “They said my account will be blocked if I don’t make the payment now.” These questions may seem simple to some of us. However, for individuals who are less familiar with digital scams and their tactics, such situations can create confusion and panic. 

This is where our knowledge can become a form of protection for others. We should not make fun of or blame someone for asking questions. Instead, we should encourage a culture within our families where people feel comfortable asking for a second opinion before making a transaction or sharing personal information. It is far better to ask ten questions before making a transaction than to make one decision that results in the loss of thousands of dollars.

Another behaviour we need to change is the way we share information about scams. We often share stories about scams only after someone has become a victim. These stories then become topics of discussion on social media such as how the victim was deceived, how much money was lost and how the scammer carried out the scheme. Such sharing is important, but education should take place before an incident happens, not only afterwards. If we learn about a new scam tactic, we should share that knowledge with our parents, family members, friends and communities. Rather than simply saying, “Don’t fall for scams,” explain how the scam works. 

For example, if scammers are impersonating bank officers, discuss what information they typically request, how they create a sense of urgency or fear, and what steps can be taken to verify the caller’s identity. In this way, we are not merely giving warnings; we are helping others develop the ability to make safer decisions.

We should also not be afraid to admit when we have been scammed. Shame can cause some victims to delay telling their families or seeking help. They may fear being scolded, judged as careless or blamed for sharing their money or personal information. In reality, delaying action only gives scammers more time to exploit the situation. Being a victim is not something to be ashamed of; what matters is acting quickly, seeking help and learning from the experience. A victim’s experience can also help others recognise the same tactics before they become the next victim.

Ultimately, breaking the chain of cybercrime is not simply about making sure “I don’t get scammed.” It is also about making sure that “the people around me don’t become victims.” In a digital world where scams are becoming increasingly sophisticated, our knowledge and willingness to help others can become an important layer of protection. Sometimes, a simple reminder, a second opinion or a few minutes spent checking information can make the difference between someone staying safe and losing their hard-earned savings. So, stay informed, pause before you act, verify before you trust, and never hesitate to share what you know.

* Dr Nur Syazwani Ahmad is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Social Sciences, Centre for Foundation Studies in Science, Universiti Malaya, and can be reached at syazwani.ahmad@um.edu.my 

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

SEPTEMBER 19 — A parent walks into a private clinic with a coughing child due to bad haze. The consultation is brief. Several medicines are prepared. Only at the payment counter does the parent learn that the bill exceeds RM100.

The amount may be entirely reasonable. A doctor’s expertise has value, clinics have operating costs and medicines are not free. The troubling part is not necessarily the final figure. It is that the figure appears only after the consultation has ended, the medicines have been packed and the patient is standing at the counter with little practical room to reconsider.

This is a familiar situation in Malaysian healthcare. Patients may not be told clearly which medicines will be supplied, what each one is for, how much each item costs or whether a cheaper generic is appropriate. Some return home to discover that they already have similar fever, cough or allergy medicines that have not expired. The household medicine cabinet grows, money is wasted and unused products eventually become a disposal problem.

If fish, vegetables and chillies at a market carry visible prices, why can a patient still struggle to see the price of medicine at the point of care? The comparison is deliberately uncomfortable. Consumers are usually most vulnerable when they are unwell, anxious or caring for a sick child. That is precisely when transparency should become stronger, not weaker.

Of course, medicine is not a bunch of chillies. A doctor cannot recommend treatment according to price alone. Diagnosis, dosage, age, weight, allergies, interactions and clinical risk must come first. A long price list on a wall cannot replace professional judgment. Yet medical complexity is not a convincing reason to keep costs obscure. It is a reason to explain them better.

The author argues that patients should know the cost of medicines before they are dispensed, making price transparency and informed choice part of fair healthcare. — Unsplash pic

Malaysia has already recognised this problem. The Price Control and Anti-Profiteering (Price Marking for Drug) Order 2025 came into force on May 1, 2025. It sought to require medicine-price information at community pharmacies and specified private healthcare facilities, allowing consumers to make more informed choices.

The legal position, however, is not straightforward. On May 21, 2026, the High Court granted a stay on enforcement while a judicial review brought by medical and dental groups proceeds. It would therefore be unfair to accuse every clinic without a visible price list of breaking a rule whose enforcement has been suspended. But a legal pause need not become an ethical pause. Regardless of the court outcome, the underlying question remains: should patients know the cost before they are expected to pay?

Clinics have legitimate concerns. A practice may carry hundreds of medicines in different brands, strengths, formulations and pack sizes. Supplier prices change. A technically correct list can still be incomprehensible to the ordinary patient. The final bill may include consultation, procedures, tests and consumables, not medicines alone. Compliance also creates administrative work, particularly for small general practices already managing staff shortages and rising costs.

These objections challenge the design of price transparency, not its purpose. A policy that produces a dense spreadsheet pinned behind a counter will satisfy paperwork more than patients. What people need is not every price in the building. They need the prices of the items being offered to them, presented before those items are dispensed.

Evidence suggests that formal rights do not automatically become usable rights. A 2021 study of 680 consumers in Malaysian private healthcare settings found that only 15.9 per cent said they always obtained an itemised bill, even though awareness of the entitlement was high. A right that depends on a sick or anxious person knowing the correct question to ask is a weak form of protection.

A better system would make clear information the default. Before medicines are packed, a clinic could provide a short paper or digital summary listing the medicine name, purpose, quantity, unit price and total price, together with a generic alternative when clinically appropriate. The patient would then be able to ask a question, accept the supply or explain that the same medicine is already available at home.

One simple question from the doctor or dispensing staff could prevent considerable waste: ‘Do you still have any of these medicines at home, and are they still within their expiry dates?’ This is not merely a cost-saving gesture. It encourages medicine reconciliation, reduces duplication and gives the clinician a clearer picture of what the patient may already be taking.

Patients should also be able to ask whether all the medicines are necessary and whether they may take a prescription to a pharmacy of their choice. This does not transfer clinical decision-making from doctor to patient. The doctor remains responsible for recommending safe and appropriate treatment. The patient gains the ability to understand and consent to the purchase that follows.

Price transparency must also extend beyond medicine. Clinics should display the consultation fee or explain the applicable range, identify charges for common procedures and provide an itemised receipt automatically rather than only when requested. Where an exact total cannot be known in advance, a reasonable estimate and an explanation of possible additional charges would still be better than silence.

The Health Ministry and the Domestic Trade and Cost of Living Ministry should work with medical associations, pharmacists and consumer groups on a single national format that is simple enough to use at the counter. Small clinics should receive free digital templates or software support. Receipts should state where a patient can seek clarification or lodge a complaint. Transparency should be designed as part of care, not imposed as an awkward poster on the wall.

Consumers have responsibilities too. Patients should bring a list or photograph of medicines already at home, check expiry dates, disclose allergies and ask four basic questions: What is this medicine for? Is every item necessary? Is there a suitable generic? What will the estimated total be? Polite questions are not an accusation against a doctor. They are participation in one’s own healthcare.

The goal is not to turn the consultation room into a supermarket aisle or to encourage patients to choose the cheapest treatment regardless of need. It is to prevent illness from becoming a moment when ordinary consumer rights quietly disappear.

Visible prices will not cure a cough. They can, however, treat another weakness in the healthcare experience: the feeling of being powerless at the counter. Patients should not have to choose between trusting their doctor and protecting their household budget. A fair system must allow them to do both.

* Dr Azanin Ahmad is a Senior Lecturer with the Marketing Department, College of Business, Universiti Utara Malaysia.

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

SEPTEMBER 18 — Former prime minister Datuk Seri Najib Razak has been granted a conditional royal pardon allowing him to serve the remainder of his prison sentence under house arrest.

A statement by the Legal Affairs Division of the Prime Minister's Department reads as follows:

“His Majesty Sultan Ibrahim, the King of Malaysia has consented to grant a conditional pardon to Datuk Seri Najib Razak, allowing him to serve the remainder of his sentence under house arrest until 23 August 2028, subject to his payment of a fine of RM50 million.” 

According to the statement also, Najib must strictly comply with all statutory terms attached to the royal pardon. 

Should he breach any of the stipulated terms, the conditional pardon will be automatically revoked, and he will be immediately returned to prison to serve the remainder of his sentence.

What are the statutory terms attached to the royal pardon?

First and foremost, it must be stressed that Najib must still be deemed a prisoner –

(a)     serving his sentence of imprisonment; and

(b)     in the lawful custody of the prison authorities.

Supporters of Datuk Seri Najib Razak pose outside the Kuala Lumpur home of the former prime minister on September 18, 2026. The 73-year-old has been granted a conditional royal pardon allowing him to serve the remainder of his prison sentence under house arrest, subject to payment of the RM50 million fine and compliance with conditions that have not been publicly disclosed. — Picture by Firdaus Latif

As a prisoner also, Najib is entitled to earn remission in respect of the period of imprisonment which is served under house arrest.

Since Najib remains a prisoner, conditions must be attached to serving his prison sentence under house arrest. The conditions may be as follows:

(a)     attend any such counselling, therapy, test, assessment, and other activity for the purpose of facilitating his rehabilitation and reintegration into society as the prison authorities may require, at any time and place that the prison authorities may specify;

(b)     report to provide a specimen of his urine or hair for testing at any time and place that the prison authorities may specify;

(c)     remain indoors at his place of residence, or at any other place that the prison authorities may specify, at any time that the prison authorities may specify;

(d)     allow the prison authorities and any authorised person to his place of residence, or any other place he is required to remain at, to determine his compliance with any condition of the house arrest or for any purpose relating to his rehabilitation;

(e)     not consume any controlled drug, psychoactive substance, specified psychoactive substance or alcoholic beverage, or use or inhale any intoxicating substance;

(f)      not have in his possession any controlled drug or psychoactive substance;

(g)      to enable the electronic monitoring of his whereabouts —

(i)       wear any electronic monitoring device issued by the prison authorities on any part of his person that the prison authorities may specify;

(ii)      allow the prison authorities and any authorised person to enter his place of residence, or any other place he is required to remain at, to install, maintain, repair or retrieve any electronic monitoring device;

(iii)    comply with all requirements to ensure the proper functioning of any electronic monitoring device issued to him or installed at his place of residence or any other place he is required to remain at;

(iv)     comply with all reporting requirements imposed on him;

(v)      not tamper with any electronic monitoring device issued to him or installed at his place of residence, or any other place he is required to remain at, or otherwise prevent or obstruct the electronic monitoring of his whereabouts; and

(h)     comply with such other conditions as the Commissioner may specify in the order.

The above are some of the conditions under Singapore’s home detention order (see Section 54(1) of the Prisons Act 1993).

The conditions should reflect what Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim has asserted that the conditional pardon “does not weaken the government’s resolve to fight corruption and power abuse”. 

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

SEPTEMBER 18 — Women make effective political leaders by most of the standard measures political scientists use, including constituency service, cross-party cooperation and, in study after study, lower tolerance for corruption once in office. What they don’t get, almost anywhere, is a fair share of the seats.

Women held just 27.5 per cent of parliamentary seats worldwide as of the start of this year, according to the Inter-Parliamentary Union, a pace so slow that gender parity in the world’s legislatures is still roughly 75 years away. Malaysia sits below even that modest global average, not above it.

Women hold 13.5 per cent of seats in the Dewan Rakyat, short of the 30 per cent floor the country itself signed up to under the 1995 Beijing Declaration, and the country has never had a female prime minister or female menteri besar. Every major party has more distance to cover here than its convention speeches tend to admit, Umno included.

That’s not just an equity argument. Political culture itself gets better when more women hold seats. A study of more than 125 nations found that legislatures with more women see less corruption, even after accounting for a country’s wealth, culture and institutions.

It’s not that certain countries happen to elect women and also happen to be cleaner; the representation itself seems to matter. A separate analysis pooling hundreds of studies found something similar in governing style: more women in office tends to mean more collaboration and less of the score-settling that creeps in when women are scarce in the room.

None of this means any one woman is automatically better than any one man. It’s about what changes when a room stops being so lopsided, and what that looks like in practice.

A delegate holds up a placard reading ‘Puteri Malaysia Terbaik!’ during the Puteri Umno General Assembly at the World Trade Centre in Kuala Lumpur on September 10, 2026. — Picture by Raymond Manuel

I saw a version of it firsthand, sitting in Dewan Tun Hussein Onn as an observer at this month’s Puteri Umno general assembly, watching a wing built entirely around women’s political advancement try to say how it actually plans to lead.

The wing’s chief, Datuk Nurul Amal Mohd Fauzi, laid out a framework she called “Politik Kepercayaan”, or the politics of trust. Her point, once you strip away the applause lines, wasn’t complicated: trust isn’t something you ask for; it’s something you earn by showing up and doing what you said you’d do.

It doesn’t get built during campaign season. It gets built in the small stuff, long after anyone’s watching, like a party member following up on a complaint months after an election is over.

My first instinct, sitting through it, was to file the whole thing under assembly-season sloganeering. Every wing rolls out a tagline each year, and most of them are forgotten by the time the next morning’s papers come out.

This one might hold up differently, but only if Puteri Umno actually treats it as a standard rather than a headline. What makes it worth watching is what it’s responding to.

Umno’s credibility problem was never really about ideology. It was the space between what the party said it would do and what it actually did, a gap wide enough that senior Umno figures have themselves pointed to money politics and internal warlordism as the cause.

Measured against that specific failure, the “politics of trust” idea reads as a sharper answer than a typical convention speech usually offers.

Puteri Umno chief Datuk Nurul Amal Mohd Fauzi delivers her policy speech during the Puteri Umno General Assembly at the World Trade Centre Kuala Lumpur on September 10, 2026. — Picture by Raymond Manuel

Start with the refusal to over-promise. Nurul Amal was explicit that leaders should say plainly what the party can deliver now, what will take longer and what might not happen at all.

Giving up a rhetorical advantage like that is rare in politics. It also happens to be the one thing that still works with voters, younger ones especially, who’ve stopped expecting manifestos to survive contact with government.

Then there’s the claim that trust gets built between elections, not during them. Hasnor Hafiza Hussin’s version of it was almost anti-campaign: show up and follow through whether or not there’s a vote to win.

If Puteri Umno’s branches actually behave this way, checking in on complaints when nothing is on the ballot, that would be a real break from a culture that mostly shows up when it needs something.

The harder idea is about mistakes. The framework asks leaders to own their errors out loud, on the bet that admitting “we got that wrong” builds more credibility than managing the problem quietly away.

That’s easy to say in a hall full of supporters; it’s harder to keep up the first time it costs someone their seat.

Umno’s youth and grassroots wings haven’t traditionally been where its more deliberate voices sit; that’s usually been left to senior figures. But Puteri Umno, positioning itself as honest about its limits, treating criticism as information rather than attack and judging itself by what it delivers rather than how loudly it announces things, would be behaving differently from the factional norm.

That’s close to what “voice of reason” actually means here. It is not a policy position, just a refusal to fake it.

It also matches a pattern researchers find elsewhere. Honesty about limits, follow-through outside campaign season and owning mistakes instead of deflecting them are the same behaviours that show up in the research wherever more women hold office.

The overlap isn’t a coincidence but the framework working as designed.

A more practical argument sits underneath the rhetorical one, and it circles back to where this piece started. Grooming leaders before a seat opens up, which is what Puteri Umno called for, is slower than the usual scramble that follows a vacancy.

Given how thin the pipeline for women in Malaysian politics already is, a wing planning its bench years out isn’t just managing succession. It’s closing the exact gap the national numbers point to, one candidate at a time, instead of waiting for the party to notice it at nomination time.

None of this proves itself in a speech. It gets tested the first time an admitted mistake actually costs the party something, the first time the wing has to criticise its own side’s money politics instead of describing the problem in the abstract, and the first time a critic says something genuinely unwelcome instead of easy to applaud.

Malaysian politics has heard versions of this pledge before. Most didn’t survive past the news cycle that covered the announcement.

There’s a limit built into the structure, too. Puteri Umno is one wing inside a much larger party. However sincere its intent, it can’t fix a culture problem that runs well beyond its own membership, and it wouldn’t be the first framework to win good coverage at the assembly and quietly disappear before the next one.

Whether that happens is an open question. My read is that nobody in that hall, including the people giving the speeches, fully knows yet either.

What’s true is that the idea itself is better than simply asking people to believe, and Malaysian politics could use more of it. Puteri Umno now has to decide whether it’s willing to be held to its own standard once the cameras are gone.

* Rabi’ah Aminudin is an associate professor at the Department of Political Science and Madani Studies, International Islamic University Malaysia.

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

SEPT 18 — In May 2026, attacks against Mandiri, a non-governmental organisation or NGO, surfaced online alleging that the organisation had received foreign funding to conduct political and disinformation activities with the alleged objective of destabilising the administration and ultimately bringing down Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim. 

Last week, further measures were taken against Mandiri and Hayat, another NGO; freezing the personal and organisational bank accounts of Mandiri directors Amir Hadi and Dobby Chew, as well as travel restrictions placed on both. 

If an NGO receives foreign funding, does that make it a foreign agent? If it advocates democracy, does that mean it wants to overthrow the government? And if it criticises those in power, is it automatically working against Malaysia?

These questions are worth asking because, in Malaysia, the accusation that civil society organisations are receiving foreign funds to "topple the government" has become a familiar political refrain.

But an accusation is not evidence. And receiving an international grant is not, by itself, evidence of a conspiracy against the state. It is time we had a more mature conversation about foreign funding, civil society and democracy.

Foreign funding is not synonymous with foreign control

Malaysian NGOs receive funding for many legitimate purposes: women's rights, children's rights, civil and political rights, environmental protection, freedom of expression, community development, democratic participation, research, legal education and civic empowerment.

Some funding comes from Malaysian donors (including the government). Some come from foundations outside Malaysia,  through international democracy and human rights programmes and funds connected to the United Nations and other multilateral institutions.

Just as this government receives foreign aid, a grant to an NGO  does not suddenly turn the organisation into an agent of a foreign government. 

A grant supporting civic education does not mean the recipient has been instructed to overthrow a government. The proper question is much simpler. What was the money given for, and what was it actually used for?

The author argues that foreign funding should invite scrutiny over how money is used, not automatic assumptions that an NGO is serving foreign interests. — Unsplash pic

Look at what Malaysian NGOs actually do

The easiest way to test the allegation that foreign-funded NGOs exist to "topple governments" is to examine their actual work. 

Our work may sometimes challenge government policy. It may sometimes challenge religious authorities. It may sometimes challenge laws or interpretations of laws. 

But challenging a policy is not the same thing as seeking to overthrow the state. These activities can be uncomfortable for those in power but democracy is supposed to accommodate uncomfortable questions.

In a parliamentary democracy, the government must be open to scrutiny. Indeed, Parliament's own description of its functions includes examining government policies and serving as a forum for matters of public interest. 

If Parliament is expected to scrutinise the Executive, why should citizens and civil society be prohibited from doing so? 

Malaysia already has laws governing organisations

Organisations in Malaysia do not operate in a legal vacuum. NGOs registered under the Societies Act 1966 are subject to the regulatory framework administered by the Registrar of Societies. 

The Registrar's own guidance states that an association may have an affiliation with an organisation or country outside Malaysia, provided this is consistent with its constitution, and requires such affiliations to be declared in the association's annual statement.

Other NGOs operate under different legal structures. For example, some are companies, including companies limited by guarantee, and are subject to the Companies Act 2016 and reporting requirements administered by the Companies Commission of Malaysia. 

These NGOs  are required by law to submit their annual audited reports. There are also tax obligations. The Inland Revenue Board has specifically addressed the tax treatment of donations and contributions received by institutions, organisations and funds, including non-profit bodies. 

Organisations that do not qualify for specific tax exemption remain subject to applicable tax and filing requirements.

So if there is evidence that a particular organisation has committed an offence, misused funds or violated regulatory requirements, that evidence should be investigated through the appropriate legal channels. 

There is nothing unreasonable about asking NGOs to be transparent about their funding. 

In fact, civil society organisations welcome scrutiny. Where funding comes from, what the grant is intended to support, what activities are undertaken, and how expenditure is accounted for are legitimate questions.

Funders themselves normally impose strict reporting requirements. Depending on the grant, organisations may have to submit budgets, financial reports, narrative reports, supporting documentation and evidence of programme activities. 

Some grants may be subject to independent audits or other forms of financial review.

NGOs are not foreign puppets

The suggestion that an NGO automatically becomes a foreign instrument simply because it receives an international grant also underestimates Malaysian civil society. 

Malaysian NGOs are made up of Malaysians. We work with Malaysian communities. We understand Malaysian social and political realities and our campaigns are shaped by issues we encounter on the ground. 

NGOs ultimately answer to their own governance structures, their members, their constituencies and their beneficiaries. 

The relationship between a donor and an NGO should therefore be understood as a relationship governed by agreed funding objectives — not as ownership of the NGO's political conscience.

A confident government should not fear an NGO and activists. A confident democracy should not fear criticism. And a confident country should be able to distinguish between foreign interference and foreign funding. 

* Ivy Josiah is a women's rights advocate.

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

SEPTEMBER 18 — During a visit to China in July, I ordered something while staying in a hotel. I expected to collect it from the lobby. Instead, a small robot entered the lift, travelled to my floor and stopped directly outside my room. It even called me through the guest phone in my room! It was efficient, polite in its own mechanical way and wonderfully convenient.

Yet, after the door closed, another thought remained: if almost everything can come to us, what reasons will we have to go out?

A friend in China told me that many people around her increasingly order their everyday purchases online. When they go to a shopping centre, it may be to eat or spend time with friends rather than to buy necessities. Her comment was a personal observation, not a national statistic, but it raised an important urban question.

China’s National Bureau of Statistics reported that online sales of physical goods accounted for 26.1 per cent of the country’s total retail sales in 2025. That is a very large share, but it does not mean that most shopping has disappeared from physical places. What it does suggest is that the relationship between digital convenience and urban life is becoming impossible for planners to ignore.

When we order online, movement does not simply disappear. Instead, it changes hands. Rather than every customer travelling to a shop, couriers, vans, motorcycles and, increasingly, robots move goods towards customers. Some personal shopping trips may be reduced, but cities must manage more parcel deliveries, loading activity, collection points and competition for limited kerb and pavement space.

The authors argue that as online shopping reduces some personal trips, cities must adapt to growing delivery traffic and rethink how urban spaces are used. — Pexels.com pic

The change also reaches land use. Traditional shops may become showrooms, experience centres or collection points. Shopping centres may rely more heavily on food, entertainment and events. At the same time, warehouses, dark stores, parcel lockers and small distribution hubs may need to move closer to residential neighbourhoods to meet expectations for rapid delivery.

Buildings are changing too. Hotel lifts communicate with delivery robots. Apartment lobbies need secure parcel storage. Streets must accommodate delivery riders without pushing pedestrians aside. Technology that appears effortless on a phone screen is supported by a large and very physical urban system.

This does not mean that technology is making everyone antisocial, nor should delivery services be treated as the enemy. They help older people, people with mobility difficulties, busy families and anyone needing urgent supplies. Convenience can remove unnecessary journeys and give people back valuable time.

The more important question is what we do with that time. If our neighbourhoods offer welcoming parks, libraries, sports areas, cafes and community spaces, convenience may allow people to spend less time running errands and more time with others. Online communities can offer real friendship and support, but they cannot provide every benefit of sharing a physical neighbourhood. If the only offline alternatives are home, work and expensive commercial venues, convenience may make withdrawal from public life much easier.

This is where land-use planners, transport planners and urban designers must work together. We need space for efficient logistics, but also lively local streets. We need safe areas for deliveries, but also uninterrupted pavements. We need technology-friendly buildings, but also neighbourhoods that reward walking, meeting and exploring.

A truly smart city should not be measured only by how quickly a product reaches our door. It should also be measured by whether technology improves human life beyond that door. The best city of the future will not force us to leave home for every small necessity. It will give us much better reasons to leave.

*The authors are senior lecturers at the Faculty of Built Environment, Universiti Malaya, and may be reached at nurauliarosni@um.edu.my.

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

SEPTEMBER 18 — Every August and September, Malaysians return to all things quintessentially Malaysian, and that includes the language of our nation, Bahasa Melayu.

We speak of freedom, unity and belonging, raise the Jalur Gemilang, and remember the events that made independence and the formation of Malaysia possible.

These commemorations also invite the deeper question of what it means for a country to know itself. Independence is not complete simply because a nation governs its own territory. It must also possess the confidence and capacity to understand its history, explain its institutions, and decide how its inheritance will be carried forward.

For all intents and purposes, our national language is central to that task.

Bahasa Melayu is often discussed through rules: where it must be used, how it should be taught, and whether Malaysians speak it well enough.

This can make the language sound like an obligation imposed by the powers that be.

However, a national language is more meaningful when citizens recognise themselves within it.

Bahasa Melayu gives Malaysians a common, broadly diglossic medium in which formal and informal discourse may take place across different social contexts and levels of society.

Laws are debated, national concerns are expressed, stories are told, and even gossip is exchanged in the standard and vernacular forms of Bahasa Melayu.

Regarding the standard form, the importance of Bahasa Melayu lies not only in status, but in access as well, as citizens who understand the language of government, education, and debate are better equipped to participate. Therefore, strengthening Bahasa Melayu should widen that participation.

The Bahasa Melayu used today belongs to a history far longer than the modern state. Earlier inscriptions, manuscripts, poetry, and religious writing show a language repeatedly adapted to new political ecosystems, intellectual traditions, and social needs.

That history becomes visible in writing preserved in various media, be they stone, as in the Kedukan Bukit inscription; tree bark, as in the Tanjung Tanah manuscript; or copper, as in the Laguna Copperplate Inscription.

For example, the Old Malay inscription discovered in a cave in Lembah Kinta, Perak, late last year that reads “sahutku-di-bhāṭāra-īśvara-ya(ṁ)-dṅan prārthana”, which loosely translates to “I respond to Lord Shiva with prayer”, bears witness to our long history of literacy.

These sources remind us that Bahasa Melayu has long been used to govern, worship, negotiate, and imagine.

Yet historical depth should not be turned into a claim that Bahasa Melayu must remain unchanged. Its endurance comes precisely from adaptation as a living language does not protect its identity by refusing new ideas but it demonstrates its strength by finding ways to express them.

Political independence allows us to govern ourselves, whilst intellectual independence requires us to understand and describe ourselves on our own terms.

Malaysia should therefore possess the confidence and scholarly capacity to investigate the history of its national language.

This does not mean rejecting international scholarship or the languages through which knowledge has traditionally circulated.

The author argues that strengthening Bahasa Melayu requires Malaysians to understand its history, embrace its evolution and build the scholarly capacity to study it on their own terms. — Pexels.com pic

Rather, it means ensuring that Malaysians can determine which questions should be asked, which sources should be preserved, and how our linguistic history should be interpreted.

Malaysia should not merely rely on knowledge produced and framed elsewhere; Malaysians must also be empowered to generate knowledge about themselves and contribute their perspectives to the world through Bahasa Melayu and the other languages at their disposal.

The continued development of Bahasa Melayu is part of the unfinished work of independence.

A national language cannot fulfil its purpose if it is confined to ceremony, administration, or the classroom.

It must remain capable of expressing the realities of contemporary life, from science and technology to law, culture, et cetera.

This requires the language to expand its vocabulary, registers, and intellectual reach without being cut off from its historical foundations. Neither does strengthening Bahasa Melayu require linguistic isolation or rigid purism.

Its long history demonstrates that it has always grown through contact, adaptation, and the creative agency of its speakers.

The task before us is to ensure that it remains both rooted enough to carry our collective memory and adaptable enough to articulate our shared future.

Hari Malaysia gives this discussion another dimension. Malaysia was formed as a multilingual federation, and its diversity is not a temporary problem awaiting correction.

It is part of the country’s character and charm. The national role of Bahasa Melayu need not diminish other languages. Iban, Kadazandusun, Bidayuh, the languages of the Orang Asli, and the many other languages used across Malaysia carry family histories, environmental knowledge and distinctive worldviews.

With that in mind, a confident national language can provide common ground while allowing these inheritances to flourish, given that unity does not require every Malaysian to sound the same.

It requires us to remain intelligible to one another while respecting the histories each community brings into the national conversation.

Hari Merdeka gave us the freedom to determine our future. Knowing our languages, in their history and diversity, gives us a clearer understanding of the nation whose future we are determining.

Furthermore, Hari Malaysia asks us to consider how different peoples chose to build a country together.

Both occasions should also prompt us to ask what kind of intellectual and linguistic inheritance we will leave behind for the next generation of Malaysians and those to come.

* Dr Amir Rashad Mustaffa is a senior lecturer at the Department of Malaysian Languages and Applied Linguistics, Faculty of Languages and Linguistics, Universiti Malaya, and can be reached at armus@um.edu.my.

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

Sept 18 — Could Negri Sembilan Menteri Besar Datuk Ismail Lasim have read “Tuanku Muhriz will continue to be Yang di-Pertuan Besar”?

In that piece, I wrote that a proclamation per se will not suffice.

The proclamation has to be published in a gazette.

Yesterday, Ismail reportedly instructed the state secretary to proceed with gazetting the removal of Tuanku Muhriz Tuanku Munawir as Yang di-Pertuan Besar.

Ismail was reported to have told reporters after an event in Seremban that he endorsed the statement issued by the state executive council (State Exco) on Wednesday (September 16) affirming Tuanku Muhriz’s removal.

Ismail added that the state secretary had been asked to proceed with gazetting the proclamation which he allegedly signed dated August 3 — just a day after he took an oath of loyalty to Tuanku Muhriz, but more than six weeks ago.

The statement issued by the State Exco said the proclamation dated April 19, 2026, concerning the selection of Tuanku Nadzaruddin Tuanku Ja’afar under Article 11 of the Laws of the Constitution of Negri Sembilan 1959 (UUTKNS), had been signed and sealed by the legitimate Undangs.

The State Exco’s statement accordingly affirmed that Tuanku Muhriz’s removal in April — four months before Ismail signed the proclamation — was legitimate and that Tuanku Nadzaruddin Tuanku Ja’afar was the new ruler of Negeri Sembilan.

But a proclamation that the Yang di-Pertuan Besar “shall cease to exercise the functions and powers of Ruler of the State” must be issued under the hands of the Undangs and the Menteri Besar “as soon as possible”.

The term “as soon as possible” means “at the earliest/first opportunity” (Macmillan Dictionary), “as quickly as you can” (Cambridge Dictionary) or “at one’s earliest convenience”; “at the earliest possible time”.

The term also means “within a reasonable time”, “without any delay” and not as late as possible.

A thing that must be done “as soon as possible” must be done “with all convenient speed” and “as often as the prescribed occasion arises”. (See Section 54 of the Interpretation Act 1948 and 1967, and the Court of Appeal case of Kanagasingam a/l Anantham v Timbalan Menteri Dalam Negeri, Malaysia & Ors [2019])

When the law requires that something shall be done as soon as possible it should be understood as allowing a reasonable time for doing it.

Some say “forthwith”.

Even so, forthwith is not “there and then” or “immediate”, but within a reasonable time.

With so many definitions, perhaps we can agree that as soon as possible means within a reasonable time.

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

SEPTEMBER 17 — A football falls into a drain.

For a child, it may seem like a small problem. Just get the ball back and continue playing.

But in Taman Desa Kayangan, Sungai Karangan, Kulim, what began with a football ended with the deaths of four boys, aged between eight and 12, on September 14. The drain was reported to be about 10 feet deep and six feet wide.

I keep thinking about the football.

There is nothing unusual about a child wanting to get his ball back. Children play. Balls roll into places they should not. Children also make decisions without fully understanding what might happen next.

We know this. Yet we still tell them to be careful. We tell them not to go near drains, not to play near water, and not to do things that might put them in danger. Of course we should.

But is telling someone to be careful always enough?

Perhaps that is the question we need to ask.

Most of us hardly notice the drains around our neighbourhoods. They are simply part of the landscape, built to carry rainwater away from our homes and roads. A child may see something else. A ball has fallen inside. The ball needs to be retrieved. The danger may not seem obvious.

This is where I think we need to look at safety a little differently.

Children playing with balls is a familiar sight, but they may not always understand the risks of retrieving a ball that rolls into a dangerous area, highlighting the need for safety measures beyond simply telling them to be careful. — Pexels.com pic

We often ask why someone went near a hazard. Perhaps we should also ask whether the environment was safe enough for the people who were likely to encounter it.

That is not about blaming the children. And it is certainly not about blaming anyone before the facts of the incident are established. It is about prevention.

A deep drain may be necessary. It has a purpose, and it needs to remain accessible for maintenance. But if it is located in a residential area, shouldn’t we also think about who is likely to be around it?

How deep is it? Can someone easily get into it? What happens if they fall? Can they get out? How close is it to homes or places where children play? And if the risk is significant, what can we do to make sure an accident does not become something much worse?

Perhaps it is a barrier. Perhaps a cover or grate. Perhaps another way of controlling access. The answer will depend on the circumstances.

But one thing seems clear. Safety cannot depend entirely on people always making the right decision. A warning tells us what not to do. A physical safeguard can protect us when we make a mistake. There is a difference.

As a mother, I know how often we say those two words: “Be careful.” We say them almost automatically. Be careful crossing the road. Be careful near the water. Be careful climbing that wall. We say them because we want our children to recognise danger.

But perhaps there is another responsibility. The people who design and manage the places where children live and play also need to think about what children are actually likely to do, not only what we hope they will do.

Children will play. They will chase a football. They will be curious. And sometimes, they will make a decision that an adult would never make. That is part of being a child.

Perhaps our environments need to account for that.

This does not mean every drain should be covered or every hazard removed. Infrastructure has to function, and safety measures have to be practical. But the protection should match the risk.

And the lesson from this tragedy should not stop at one drain.

Are there other deep drainage structures in residential areas that need a second look? Are there places where someone could fall in and find it difficult to escape? Have we become so used to these structures that we no longer really see them?

These are uncomfortable questions. But sometimes prevention begins with asking uncomfortable questions.

We tend to notice safety most when something has already gone wrong. Rescue teams arrive. Investigations begin. Warnings are issued. The more important work may be the work nobody sees. Someone notices a hazard. Someone asks whether it is safe. Someone does something about it. And nothing happens.

No rescue. No investigation. No family waiting for news that will change their lives forever.

“Be careful” will always be something we tell our children. And it should be. But perhaps we also need to ask ourselves whether we have done enough to make the places where they live and play safe when, for one brief moment, they forget to be careful.

Because children should not have to understand every hazard around them before they are allowed to play. And good safety should not require people to behave perfectly.

Sometimes, it begins with simply looking at an ordinary place and asking:

What could happen here, and what can we do before it does?

* Amalina Mohd Roze is a senior lecturer in School of Business Management, Universiti Utara Malaysia, specialising in Occupational Safety and Health, occupational health services, psychosocial health and workplace risk assessment and management.

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

SEPTEMBER 17 — Malaysia closed 2025 with renewable energy accounting for 31 per cent of its installed electricity generation capacity, meeting the target set under the Malaysia Renewable Energy Roadmap on schedule.

The government has since set a target of 32 per cent for the end of this year, then 35 per cent by 2030, 40 per cent by 2035 and 70 per cent by 2050 under the National Energy Transition Roadmap, with coal to be retired from the system by 2044.

Since that roadmap was launched in July 2023, roughly 5.5 gigawatts of new renewable capacity has been approved and at least RM25 billion in investment attracted.

Judged by targets and money committed, Malaysia is doing well.

Judged by how the system actually delivers, three things need saying.

First, the ambition is not the problem.

Malaysia is not short of energy policy.

The Feed-in Tariff, Net Energy Metering, Large Scale Solar, the Corporate Green Power Programme, the Green Electricity Tariff, the National Energy Policy, the transition roadmap and the New Industrial Master Plan all point in the same direction.

Anyone arguing that the country lacks commitment to renewable energy is arguing against the record.

But installed capacity is the easiest quantity in an energy transition to count, and meeting a capacity target is largely a procurement achievement.

It says nothing about how long a project waited for approval, how much electricity it went on to generate, or whether the next one will move any faster.

Second, delivery is scattered across too many hands.

Consider who governs renewable energy in this country.

The Ministry of Energy Transition and Water Transformation leads policy and national coordination.

The Sustainable Energy Development Authority runs promotion instruments such as the Feed-in Tariff and Net Energy Metering.

The Energy Commission regulates and licenses electricity supply and administers Large Scale Solar.

Tenaga Nasional Berhad plans and operates the grid every project must eventually join.

The Ministry of Economy owns much of the transition and investment agenda, the Department of Environment handles environmental approvals, and state governments control the land.

Each mandate is defensible on its own terms.

Together they behave bagai enau dalam belukar, melepaskan pucuk masing-masing, like the enau palm in the thicket, each shoot pushing up on its own.

Every institution can be doing its own work properly while the system as a whole fails to move together, because no one is answerable for the sequence rather than the step.

The federal structure sharpens this.

National targets are set at the federal level, but the land a solar farm sits on, the planning permission it needs and the development priorities it must fit are matters of state authority.

The author argues that Malaysia’s renewable energy ambitions are strong, but progress is being slowed by fragmented approvals, overlapping responsibilities and weak coordination between federal and state authorities. — Pexels pic

Sarawak operates under its own electricity supply ordinance, so the federal schemes that drive solar uptake in the peninsula do not apply there, and the state has built its own pathway around hydropower, hydrogen and low-carbon industry.

Penang has moved in another direction, investing in sustainability monitoring and planning frameworks.

This variation is constitutional and not a defect to be abolished.

It does mean the national percentage is an aggregate of several quite different systems, with no standing forum in which federal and state planners work through sequencing before a project reaches the counter.

Two consequences follow.

Investors read the landscape accurately, and studies of renewable energy financing across Asia consistently rank approval complexity, shifting implementation mechanisms and grid access uncertainty above the availability of capital as barriers.

A developer can price a tariff and a technology risk.

What cannot be priced is not knowing how many counters a project must pass and how long each will hold it.

The second consequence is quieter.

Reporting is spread across institutions using different systems, cycles and definitions, so we can state our capacity share with confidence but struggle to answer the questions governance needs answered: how much of that capacity generated electricity last year, how long approvals took, and which state is holding things up.

Third, the fix is coordination rather than restructuring.

It does not call for another roadmap or a reorganisation of agencies.

Three measures would do it.

One, a standing national coordination platform for renewable energy, chaired at ministerial level and empowered to sequence decisions across agencies rather than merely convene them.

Two, a formal federal-state coordination unit, so that land, planning and approval questions are settled alongside national targets rather than after them.

Three, one shared data and monitoring platform built on common definitions and published openly, covering approvals, project timelines and actual generation, not capacity alone.

None of these requires any institution to surrender its mandate, and that is precisely their appeal.

Coordination reform is the cheapest energy policy available.

It adds no capacity, buys no equipment and subsidises no tariff.

It only reduces the friction between the parts we already have.

The public is not a bystander in any of this.

Households and businesses with suitable roofs can take up Net Energy Metering and self-consumption solar, which moves part of the transition into thousands of small decisions no agency has to sequence.

Commercial and industrial users can subscribe to the Green Electricity Tariff and ask their suppliers where their electricity actually comes from, because demand signals travel through utilities faster than through policy documents.

Residents can follow what their state assemblies and local councils decide on land use, planning approvals and rooftop installation rules, since those are the counters at which projects stall.

And all of us can ask, publicly and repeatedly, for the numbers to be published.

Institutions coordinate faster when someone outside is keeping score.

The arithmetic ahead is unforgiving.

Moving from 31 per cent to 70 per cent while retiring coal by 2044 means each increment gets harder, as the good sites are taken, the grid grows more constrained and every additional actor adds to the coordination burden.

Malaysia has shown it can set energy policy and meet its targets.

The harder and far less celebrated task is building the institutional machinery that turns a target into a working system.

* Megat Amirul Saifulnizam Megat Kamarul Bahrin is Senior Manager at the Malaysia Productivity Corporation and a Master of Public Policy candidate at the International Institute of Public Policy and Management, Universiti Malaya. Azizi Abu Bakar is a Research Officer at the Sustainable Development Centre, Universiti Malaya, and Data Steward for Universiti Malaya Open Science.

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

SEPTEMBER 17 — Malaysia’s household finances tell an interesting story.

At the end of 2025, household debt stood at 84.8 per cent of GDP.

Yet borrowers were largely keeping up with their commitments.

Bank Negara Malaysia (BNM) reports that the median debt-service ratio for outstanding household loans remained at 33 per cent, while overall household credit quality stayed sound.

That is reassuring.

But paying every instalment on time does not necessarily mean a household has room for the unexpected.

A family can have no arrears, meet every loan payment and still be vulnerable to a temporary loss of income, an unexpected repair or a sudden increase in essential expenses.

That distinction matters now.

On Sept 3, BNM kept the Overnight Policy Rate (OPR) at 2.75 per cent, where it has remained at every Monetary Policy Committee meeting so far this year.

Malaysia’s economy expanded by 5.7 per cent in the first half of 2026, while headline and core inflation averaged 1.8 per cent and 2.0 per cent respectively over the first seven months.

The next MPC decision is scheduled for Nov 5.

These are encouraging indicators.

But stability at the national level does not automatically translate into resilience at the household level.

For households, the more useful question is not whether the next OPR will be 2.75 per cent or something else.

It is how much financial breathing room remains if circumstances change.

DOSM data offer useful context.

Four categories — housing and utilities, restaurants and accommodation, food and beverages, and transport — accounted for 67.2 per cent of household consumption expenditure in 2024.

The figure does not mean Malaysian households are broadly in distress.

What it does illustrate is how several major spending needs compete for space within the same household budget.

Then come the financial commitments.

A mortgage may be manageable.

So may a car instalment.

A credit card payment, insurance premium or several smaller instalments may each appear affordable.

The vulnerability often lies not in any one payment, but in their accumulation.

Household fragility can develop quietly, one manageable payment at a time.

That is why we propose a simple Household OPR Stress Test.

List all fixed and recurring commitments — housing financing, vehicle loans, personal financing, credit cards, buy now, pay later (BNPL) instalments, insurance, education expenses and other regular payments.

Then test the household against a less comfortable month.

Could higher financing or living costs be absorbed without taking on more credit?

Could an unexpected RM1,000 or RM2,000 expense be met from available resources?

If income fell temporarily, how long could essential commitments still be maintained?

The author argues that Malaysian households should look beyond whether they can meet their current financial commitments and consider whether they have enough left over to cope with unexpected expenses or a drop in income. — Pexels pic

The purpose is not to create anxiety.

It is to reveal something an ordinary monthly budget can hide: how little room may remain after everything considered “affordable” has been added together.

This is also why affordability and resilience should not be treated as the same thing.

Affordability asks whether we can make a payment under today’s circumstances.

Financial resilience asks whether we can continue functioning when those circumstances change.

That distinction matters even more as financial decisions become easier and faster to make.

Credit itself is not the problem.

It supports home ownership, mobility, education and investment.

Nor should every BNPL transaction be regarded as harmful.

BNM notes that outstanding BNPL exposures remain small at 0.3 per cent of household debt, although their rapid expansion warrants close monitoring.

The concern is what happens when convenience makes the combined weight of our commitments harder to see.

A RM100 monthly payment feels small.

So does another RM150 instalment.

But payday does not experience those commitments separately.

This is why financial education must increasingly become just-in-time.

Consumers need more than reminders to budget and save.

At the moment a new commitment is taken on, they should be encouraged to consider how it changes their total financial obligations and their capacity to absorb a setback.

The question should therefore move beyond: “Can I afford this?” to: “What will I still be able to afford after this?”

BNM will continue to set monetary policy according to inflation, growth and economic conditions.

Households cannot control that path.

They can, however, control how much room they leave themselves.

Financial resilience is not simply the ability to keep paying when everything goes according to plan.

It is the ability to retain choices when something does not.

And perhaps the number households should watch most closely is not the next OPR.

It is how much of next month’s income has already been promised before next month even begins.

* Dr Amirah Shazana Magli is a Senior Lecturer at the Faculty of Business and Economics, Universiti Malaya, and Executive Committee Member of the Malaysian Consumer and Family Economics Association (MACFEA). Professor Dr. Mohamad Fazli Sabri is Professor at Universiti Putra Malaysia and President of MACFEA.

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

SEPTEMBER 17 — In the European Union (EU), three of 27 member States are federations — Germany, Belgium and Austria.

Germany has been a study on federation since at least 1949.

So, if you think that Germany is a union of partners of what was West Germany and what was East Germany, then you are not entirely correct.

West Germany was Federal Republic of Germany (FRG), a democratic, capitalist nation aligned with the West since 1949.

East Germany was the German Democratic Republic (GDR),  a socialist dictatorship aligned with the Soviet Union during the Cold War (1945 – 1991). The peaceful revolution in 1989 played a key role in bringing down the GDR and enabling west and east Germany to reunify.

Since the reunification vide the Unification Treaty of 1990 of August 31, 1990, Germany has consisted of 16 constituent states — the Länder, which is the German plural noun for countries, lands, or states (singular: Land) — with five new states joining the FRG.

The five new states were formerly five territories that formed the GDR.

So, Germany is a federation.

The federation has a written constitution known as the Basic Law.

The Basic Law was adopted in 1949, initially as a provisional framework for the basic organisation of the state. The name “Basic Law” was intended to express its provisional character and that it was not to hinder reunification.  But from the very beginning, the Basic Law has always contained all the features of a constitution and has functioned effectively as one for more than 75 years, according to Germany’s constitutional framework.

In the Unification Treaty, the governments of the FRG and the GDR agreed to restore German unity in accordance with Article 23 of Basic Law.

The parliaments of both German states approved the decision with two-thirds majorities as required under Article 144.

The preamble to the Basic Law, which was amended after the Unification Treaty, reflects the agreement to restore German unity. It states that the “Germans [in the 16 Länder] have achieved the unity and freedom of Germany in free self-determination. This Basic Law thus applies to the entire German people.”

In other words, the Basic Law was adopted and acceded to by the five new states joining the FRG.

The Basic Law declares, among others, the followings:

1. The supremacy of the Basic Law, which is declared vide Article 20(3), stating that “[t]he legislature shall be bound by the constitutional order, the executive and the judiciary by law and justice”. Article 20 is considered as one of two “eternity clauses” in the Basic Law as Article 79(3) protects the two clauses from being amended. The other is Article 1 which declares that human dignity “shall be inviolable” and that the German people “acknowledge inviolable and inalienable human rights as the basis of every community, of peace and of justice in the world”.

2. The supremacy of federal law, which is declared vide Article 31, stating that “[f]ederal law shall take precedence over Land law”.

3. The division of powers between the Federation and the Länder, which is declared vide Article 70, stating that the Länder shall have the right to legislate insofar as the Basic Law does not confer legislative power on the Federation, and that the division of authority between the Federation and the Länder shall be governed by the provisions of the Basic Law concerning exclusive and concurrent legislative powers.

4. On matters within the exclusive legislative power of the Federation, Article 71 declares that the Länder shall have power to legislate only when and to the extent that they are expressly authorised to do so by a federal law. Matters under exclusive legislative power of the Federation are set out in Article 73.

   On matters within the concurrent legislative power, Article 72 provides that the Länder shall have power to legislate so long as and to the extent that the Federation has not exercised its legislative power by enacting a law. Matters under concurrent legislative powers are set out in Article 74.

5. Transitional and concluding provisions are set out in Part XI, which declares the continued applicability of (a) pre existing law (Article 123); (b) law within the scope of exclusive legislative power (Article 124); and (c) law within the scope of concurrent legislative power (Article 125).

In the above, we can find parallels in Malaysia, starting with its formation.

Malaysia, like Germany, is a federation established by the Malaysia Agreement 1963 (MA63).

MA63, like the Unification Treaty, is an international treaty.

Each treaty can be read here: https://treaties.un.org/doc/publication/unts/volume%20750/volume-750-i-10760-english.pdf and here: https://www.dipublico.org/100648/frg-gdr-treaty-on-the-establishment-of-german-unity-unification-treaty/

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

SEPTEMBER 17 — The events unfolding in Negeri Sembilan should concern every Malaysian who believes in constitutional government, the rule of law and the preservation of our institutions.

I say this not from the standpoint of personalities, political parties or competing factions. Nor do I wish to prejudge matters that may ultimately require judicial determination. My concern is more fundamental.

What happens when political action, customary authority and constitutional power collide? Where are the boundaries of authority? And, most importantly, when there is disagreement about those boundaries, who determines what the Constitution permits?

These questions go far beyond Negeri Sembilan.

At the heart of the present controversy is a purported proclamation concerning the position of Tuanku Muhriz Tuanku Munawir as Yang di-Pertuan Besar of Negeri Sembilan. Menteri Besar Datuk Ismail Lasim has publicly stated that he signed an instrument against his will and under duress. He lodged a police report and the state government’s stated position is that the document did not comply with the processes and procedures required by Article 10 of the Laws of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan 1959.

These matters are now the subject of investigation and dispute and should therefore be treated with appropriate legal caution.

The Dewan Keadilan dan Undang, following a special sitting on September 13, has taken the position that the attempt to remove Tuanku Muhriz contravened both adat and the State Constitution.

Among other things, it maintains that the investigation contemplated by Article 10(1) had not been undertaken and that Tuanku Muhriz remains the lawful Yang di-Pertuan Besar. Those assertions, too, form part of the developing constitutional dispute.

The controversy should therefore not be reduced to the question of who supports whom.

The fundamental question is one of constitutional authority.

Power must have a constitutional source

The starting point of any constitutional analysis must be simple: who has the power to do what has purportedly been done?

In a constitutional system, possession of office does not confer unlimited authority. Every constitutional institution derives its authority from law, convention, adat where constitutionally recognised, or the Constitution itself.

A Menteri Besar has powers and responsibilities. The Undang have their constitutionally recognised functions. The Yang di-Pertuan Besar occupies a distinctive constitutional position. The Dewan Keadilan dan Undang similarly possesses functions within the unique constitutional structure of Negeri Sembilan.

But none exists in a constitutional vacuum.

The present Menteri Besar himself has now articulated an important principle: a proclamation does not by itself create constitutional authority. His position is that his involvement in a process mentioned in Article 10 cannot be interpreted as giving the Menteri Besar unilateral authority to determine whether the Yang di-Pertuan Besar remains in office. 

That proposition deserves attention quite apart from the personalities involved.

A document cannot manufacture a constitutional power that does not otherwise exist.

Nor can constitutional requirements be treated as mere technicalities to be satisfied after a political objective has already been determined.

Procedure is part of constitutional legitimacy.

Where the Constitution prescribes conditions before a power can be exercised, compliance with those conditions is not optional. If investigation, consultation, proclamation, quorum or some other constitutional prerequisite is required, the relevant question is whether that requirement has actually been fulfilled.

That is why the present controversy must ultimately be examined against the actual words, structure and purpose of the Negeri Sembilan Constitution — not against political preference.

Negeri Sembilan is constitutionally distinctive

There is another reason for caution.

Negeri Sembilan cannot simply be treated as though its constitutional structure were identical to that of every other Malaysian state.

Its institutions developed through a distinctive relationship between monarchy, the Undang, the luak and Adat Perpatih. Those historical institutions have subsequently acquired constitutional expression.

The Constitution must therefore be understood together with that constitutional history.

But recognition of adat does not mean that constitutionalism disappears.

On the contrary, where customary institutions have been incorporated into a written constitutional framework, it becomes particularly important to distinguish between customary legitimacy and constitutional authority.

Both deserve respect.

Neither should casually be invoked to extinguish the other.

This is why disputes involving the Yang di-Pertuan Besar and the Undang require extraordinary care. They concern institutions far older than contemporary party politics. They should not become instruments of temporary political advantage.

The National Archives records the Laws of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan as a constitutional instrument dating from 1959. The question today is how the powers contained within that constitutional settlement are lawfully exercised.

Legality is not the only question

There is also a moral dimension.

Constitutional government cannot survive through legal provisions alone.

It requires what might be described as constitutional morality: restraint in the exercise of power; fidelity to institutions; respect for lawful processes; good faith; and an acceptance that possessing influence is not the same as possessing constitutional authority.

There will always be opportunities for political actors to exploit ambiguity.

The true test of constitutional government comes when an actor chooses not to do something merely because it appears politically possible, but asks instead whether it is constitutionally proper.

That distinction is crucial.

An action may appear politically expedient. It may even command substantial support. But neither expediency nor numbers can substitute for constitutional authority where the Constitution has allocated a particular power to a particular institution and prescribed the manner in which that power is to be exercised.

The rule of law becomes meaningful precisely when it restrains those who possess power.

Institutions must not be politicised

We should therefore resist turning the Negeri Sembilan controversy into another episode of partisan confrontation.

The monarchy should not become an instrument of party politics.

Adat should not become an instrument of party politics.

Equally, elected political institutions should not be deprived of their legitimate constitutional functions through the invocation of tradition.

Each institution must remain within its lawful sphere.

Malaysia’s constitutional system depends upon a delicate equilibrium between institutions. That equilibrium survives not because disputes never occur, but because when they do occur, there are constitutional mechanisms for resolving them.

The answer to constitutional disagreement cannot be the creation of a fait accompli.

Nor should the answer be determined by who commands the greater political influence.

It must be determined by law.

Let the Constitution decide

There is therefore wisdom in the proposition that, where a genuine legal dispute exists, the courts may ultimately have to determine the constitutional questions.

This should not be regarded as an attack upon adat or the monarchy.

Judicial determination of a constitutional dispute is itself part of constitutional government.

The courts are not being asked to decide which personality they prefer. Their task, where properly seized of a matter within their jurisdiction, is to determine what the law means and whether the exercise of public or constitutional authority conforms to it.

That distinction is fundamental.

The developing proceedings before the Seremban High Court make restraint even more necessary. On September 17, it was reported that lawyers acting for the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang had written to the Menteri Besar and other state officials making serious allegations concerning recent events. Those remain allegations within an active dispute and should not be treated as judicial findings.

The court of public opinion should not replace the court of law.

A larger Malaysian question

What troubles me most is therefore not merely the immediate controversy.

It is the precedent that may be created.

Malaysia is a federation of constitutional monarchies. Our constitutional arrangements differ among the states, but they share an essential principle: public and constitutional power is not unlimited power.

If constitutional processes can be bypassed whenever they become inconvenient, we weaken the very institutions we claim to defend.

If political necessity is allowed to determine constitutional meaning, constitutional government gradually becomes government according to expediency.

And once that principle is accepted for a cause we favour today, we will have difficulty objecting when somebody invokes the same principle tomorrow for a cause we oppose.

That is why constitutional boundaries matter.

They protect institutions.

They protect governments.

They protect rulers.

And ultimately they protect citizens from arbitrary power.

The Constitution must prevail

Negeri Sembilan therefore presents Malaysia with something larger than a dispute between personalities or competing claims to authority.

It presents us with a test of constitutionalism.

The question is not who is politically stronger, who speaks more loudly or who can establish a fait accompli.

The proper questions are: Who possesses the constitutional authority? From where is that authority derived? What conditions govern its exercise? Were those conditions satisfied? And who has lawful authority to resolve the dispute?

These questions should be answered calmly, transparently and according to law.

Adat must be respected.

The institution of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar must be respected.

The constitutional position of the Undang must be respected.

The Menteri Besar and elected government must be permitted to discharge their lawful constitutional responsibilities.

And the judiciary must be allowed to perform its constitutional function where questions properly requiring judicial determination arise.

Respect for one institution does not require the destruction or humiliation of another.

Constitutional government requires precisely the opposite: that each institution recognises the legitimate boundaries of the others.

Ultimately, this should not be about who wins.

It should be about whether the constitutional order survives with its integrity intact.

For once constitutional boundaries are crossed in the name of convenience, those boundaries become easier to cross again.

Malaysia has spent generations building institutions intended to ensure that authority is exercised according to law rather than according to the wishes of individuals.

We should not surrender that principle when it becomes difficult.

Power must have a lawful source. Power must be exercised through lawful procedures. And where power is disputed, the dispute must be resolved according to law.

That is the essence of constitutional government.

And in Negeri Sembilan, as everywhere else in Malaysia, the Constitution must prevail.

*Tan Sri Syed Hamid Albar is a former minister of law and former minister of foreign affairs.

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

SEPTEMBER 17 — The opening of the Pinglu Canal on September 16, 2026 should be understood as more than the completion of another impressive Chinese infrastructure project.

It is potentially a pivotal moment in Asean — China relations because it begins to alter the economic geography connecting southwestern China with Southeast Asia.

Geography does not change. But the strategic meaning of geography can.

For decades, China's extraordinary economic ascent has been associated overwhelmingly with its eastern seaboard.

Guangdong, Fujian, Zhejiang, Jiangsu and the great ports facing the Pacific became gateways through which China entered the global economy. Pinglu introduces a different vector.

The 134.2-kilometre canal in Guangxi connects the Xijiang river system with the Beibu Gulf, providing southwestern China with a considerably shorter route to the sea.

The canal can accommodate vessels of up to 5,000 tonnes and is expected to shorten the inland shipping distance between southwestern China and Southeast Asian markets by more than 560 kilometres.

Estimates cited by Guangxi authorities suggest logistics costs could decline by 18 to 30 per cent.

These numbers matter. But geography matters even more.

The Beibu Gulf sits immediately adjacent to Vietnam and opens towards the maritime spaces of Southeast Asia.

Once goods from Guangxi and China's broader southwestern hinterland enter these waters, they are already facing Asean.

Thus Pinglu is not simply another Chinese canal.

It is China's new southern economic artery.

The importance becomes clearer when Pinglu is viewed together with the New International Land-Sea Trade Corridor.

Railways reaching Chongqing, Sichuan, Guizhou and Yunnan can increasingly feed cargo towards Guangxi, from where the canal and Beibu Gulf ports provide access to Southeast Asia and the wider maritime economy.

This could gradually transform the orientation of parts of western and southwestern China.

Regions historically constrained by their distance from China's eastern ports can increasingly look south.

And when China looks south from Guangxi, it sees Asean.

Indeed, the first day of Pinglu's operation carried considerable symbolism. New freight services included an international route connecting Nanning with Can Tho in Vietnam.

Cargo moving through the canal included building materials, minerals, steel, fertiliser and other commodities. The economic implications could therefore extend well beyond transportation.

Cheaper logistics can influence where factories are located, where companies source raw materials, where warehouses and industrial parks are constructed and how supply chains are organised. Over time, transport infrastructure can become industrial infrastructure.

This is why Asean should pay close attention.

China — Asean relations are often discussed primarily through the South China Sea, strategic competition between China and the United States, or negotiations over regional security architecture.

These issues remain important. Yet Asean — China relations are simultaneously being transformed from below by trade, investment, logistics, tourism, technology and infrastructure. The Pinglu Canal strengthens this second layer.

Trade between China and Asean reached approximately 4.34 trillion yuan in the first half of 2026, according to Chinese customs data, an increase of 18.2 per cent year-on-year.

Meanwhile, container throughput at Beibu Gulf Port increased from 2.28 million TEUs in 2017 to 10.06 million in 2025.

Physical connectivity is therefore being constructed on top of an already enormous commercial relationship.

Malaysia should take particular notice.

Qinzhou is not an unfamiliar name in Malaysia — China relations.

The China-Malaysia Qinzhou Industrial Park already represents an important experiment in cross-border industrial cooperation.

Improved connectivity through Pinglu could strengthen Qinzhou's position as a gateway linking Malaysian businesses not merely with coastal China but increasingly with China's western economic hinterland.

This potentially changes how Malaysia should think about its economic relationship with China.

The question should no longer be simply how Malaysian products can reach Shanghai, Shenzhen or Guangzhou. Malaysia must increasingly examine how its companies can reach Chongqing, Chengdu, Guizhou, Yunnan and the enormous economic spaces beyond China's traditional coastal centres. Pinglu potentially provides part of that answer.

Other Asean members should think similarly.

Vietnam is geographically closest to the emerging corridor and already has extensive production networks connected to southern China.

Thailand can examine how its own transport networks can interface with the emerging land-sea architecture.

Singapore will naturally study the implications for shipping, logistics and financial services. Indonesia, Malaysia and Brunei should consider what greater traffic through the Beibu Gulf could mean for their ports and maritime economies.

Asean, however, should not approach Pinglu passively. Connectivity must work in both directions.

If Pinglu merely makes it easier for Chinese products to enter Southeast Asian markets, its economic benefits will be uneven.

The greater opportunity lies in making the canal a genuinely two-way artery through which Asean agricultural products, commodities, manufactured goods and increasingly sophisticated intermediate products can penetrate deeper into China's western markets.

This is where Asean agency becomes important.

This aerial photo taken shows construction on the Pinglu Canal in Qinzhou, in China’s southern Guangxi region. China opened a major canal on September 16, 2026 that will provide landlocked areas with direct access to the sea, state media said, reducing transport times and costs as the country aims to bolster trade ties with regional neighbours. — AFP pic

The region should examine customs harmonisation, port connectivity, multimodal transport, digital trade documentation and industrial cooperation surrounding the emerging corridor.

Asean companies must understand the new geography before their competitors do.

There is also a strategic dimension. Infrastructure creates relationships that diplomacy alone cannot manufacture.

Railways, ports, industrial parks and canals create commercial constituencies with material interests in stability.

The more deeply China and Asean become connected through physical infrastructure, the greater their mutual interest in maintaining predictable relations.

This does not erase strategic disagreements.

Nor should economic interdependence be mistaken for geopolitical alignment.

Asean's traditional strength lies precisely in avoiding such binary choices.

Its member states can deepen economic engagement with China while maintaining strategic relationships with Japan, South Korea, India, the European Union, the United States and other partners.

Asean does not have to choose one corridor over another. It can connect them.

That is the essence of being polytropous: widening and deepening strategic options rather than allowing the region to become trapped within the architecture of any single major power.

Pinglu should therefore be approached neither with anxiety nor excessive celebration. It should be approached strategically.

China has constructed the canal because it understands a fundamental principle of statecraft: infrastructure can reorganise economic geography.

Asean must understand the same principle.

The pivotal significance of the Pinglu Canal is therefore not merely that China has built a 134.2-kilometre waterway.

It is that China's vast western and southwestern hinterland now has a more direct maritime orientation towards Southeast Asia.

A new economic geography is taking shape.

The Pinglu Canal does not merely bring China closer to Asean. It potentially brings a huge part of China that was historically inland closer to Asean than ever before.

The challenge for Asean is to ensure that this new geography works both ways.

If it does, September 16, 2026 may eventually be remembered not simply as the day China opened another canal, but as the moment when Asean — China connectivity entered a fundamentally new phase. 

* Phar Kim Beng is a professor of Asean Studies, and director at the Institute of International and Asean Studies, International Islamic University Malaysia.

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

SEPTEMBER 16 — Earlier this month, Serian in Sarawak recorded an Air Pollutant Index (API) reading of 518 and an emergency was declared. Once again, Malaysians were reminded that a fire burning somewhere else can very quickly become our problem. We have been here before. Every serious haze episode produces the same questions: why is this happening again, and why, after so many years, has it still not been solved? We already have an Asean agreement, ministers meet, satellite monitoring has improved, Indonesia deploys resources to fight the fires, and Malaysia and Singapore offer assistance when conditions become serious. Yet once the fires are brought under control, the problem does not really disappear. It waits.

That is why I think we may be asking the wrong question. Instead of asking only who started the fire or who failed to enforce the law, perhaps we should ask something more uncomfortable: if almost everyone loses from the haze, why does no one want to move first? Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim has said that Asean’s existing mechanism for dealing with transboundary haze needs to be strengthened and that Malaysia would not shield Malaysian companies if Indonesian authorities found them involved in forest fires. That is important, but it also points to a deeper problem. The haze is not simply a problem of enforcement. It is a problem of incentives.

Start with business. Companies calculate costs. Mechanical land clearing, fire prevention, water management and tighter supervision all cost money. Imagine a company facing two choices. One is more expensive today but reduces environmental risk. The other is cheaper today, while the environmental cost may appear later, may be difficult to prove and may partly be borne by people hundreds of kilometres away. Which option does the current system make more attractive? This does not mean every company near a hotspot started a fire. A hotspot inside a concession does not automatically tell us who lit it. But corporate responsibility is wider than the question of who struck the match. How was the land managed? Were contractors controlled? Was enough invested in prevention? If prevention is expensive for the company while the consequences of failure are largely transferred to society, then the incentive is already wrong.

A firefighter from the Regional Disaster Management Agency douses a forest fire at Sungai Rambutan village in Ogan Ilir, South Sumatra September 11, 2026. — AFP pic

Smallholders face a different calculation. A large company may be thinking about margins, while a small farmer may be thinking about whether the family can continue farming. Illegal burning should still be dealt with, but if government simply tells a farmer, “You cannot burn”, the next question must be: what should the farmer use instead? Where does the machinery come from? Who pays for it? Can the farmer actually afford the alternative? This is why I do not think the answer is to reward people for not breaking the law. The real issue is to reduce the cost of legal transition through shared machinery, cooperative equipment, affordable financing and technical support. Different actors face different constraints. A large company that has the capacity to prevent harm should face a higher cost for failing to do so, while a smallholder who lacks that capacity should face a lower cost of moving towards a legal alternative.

Government adds another layer. Indonesia’s local authorities do not want fires, but they also want investment, jobs, agriculture and local revenue. A strict policy from Jakarta may look clear nationally, while local governments are the ones expected to enforce it and deal with the economic and political consequences. Jakarta itself must suppress fires and protect its governing credibility while also managing domestic industries, local interests and something Malaysia and Singapore cannot simply wish away: sovereignty. We can complain, request cooperation and offer aircraft, personnel, technology and expertise, but Malaysia cannot simply cross the border and enforce Indonesian law. This is why the haze is not only an environmental problem. It is also a governance, economic and sovereignty problem.

Malaysia and Singapore are in perhaps the most frustrating position. The fire may not be on our land, but the smoke comes here. We do not control the source of the pollution, yet we may still pay through health costs, school disruptions, tourism losses, lower productivity and public resources spent managing the consequences. Then, when the fires become severe enough, we may spend even more resources helping to contain them. Naturally, some people ask: why should the victim have to help? The answer is not sentimental. It is strategic. If helping Indonesia contain the fires costs Malaysia less than allowing the haze to worsen, then assistance is not charity. It is loss reduction. We help because refusing to help may cost us even more.

Asean sits above all these actors. It would be wrong to say Asean has no mechanism, because it does. The Asean Agreement on Transboundary Haze Pollution provides a framework for monitoring, information-sharing, cooperation and assistance. The problem is that coordination is not the same thing as accountability. Asean can bring governments around the same table, but the harder questions are who pays, who is responsible and what happens when the same failures keep repeating. Asean is built around sovereignty, consensus and non-interference, and those principles help very different governments continue working together. But they also reveal a limit when pollution crosses borders. Smoke crosses borders very easily; enforcement power does not.

Put all these players together and a very stable bad outcome appears. Everyone dislikes the haze, but the player who moves first may also be the player who pays first. A company spends more on prevention. A farmer pays more for legal land clearing. A local government enforces harder and worries about investment. Jakarta accepts more outside pressure and worries about sovereignty. Malaysia and Singapore continue paying for damage they did not create. Asean pushes harder and risks member-state resistance. In game theory, this resembles a bad equilibrium: each actor makes a decision that appears rational from its own position, yet together those decisions produce an outcome almost everyone dislikes.

But if the analysis stops there, game theory becomes an excuse for doing nothing. The answer cannot be that everyone has their own interests, so we wait for the next fire. This is where mechanism design becomes more useful. The idea is simple: if the same rules keep producing the same bad outcome, stop asking the players to suddenly become better people. Change the rules of the game. Good policy accepts that companies, farmers and governments will continue calculating their own interests, and then changes the calculation.

Singapore’s Transboundary Haze Pollution Act is worth examining for this reason. It has not solved the haze, but the principle behind it matters: pollution may cross a border, but responsibility does not automatically have to stop there. Malaysia therefore needs to ask what it can control on its own side of the border. If Malaysian companies operate on environmentally high-risk land overseas, should they face stronger disclosure and due-diligence requirements at home? If Malaysian banks finance such activities, should fire and land-management risks be considered more explicitly in lending decisions? If a supply chain repeatedly shows serious environmental risks, should that affect procurement, financing or certification? I am not suggesting that Malaysia accuse companies without evidence. I am asking something more basic: if capital crosses borders, why should responsibility suddenly become completely domestic?

Malaysia should also think more seriously about Sabah and Sarawak. Sarawak faces West Kalimantan, while Sabah borders North Kalimantan. Politically, there is a border, but ecologically Borneo remains one connected space. So why should cooperation become urgent only after the smoke has already crossed the border? Malaysia and Indonesia could build a more operational Borneo-focused protocol under existing national and Asean arrangements. If hotspot numbers, peat dryness, fire-weather conditions and wind direction cross agreed thresholds, higher risk could trigger faster information-sharing, joint assessment and the pre-positioning of firefighting resources. The point is not to allow Sabah or Sarawak to enforce law inside Indonesia. The point is to move cooperation earlier.

The deeper problem is that every player has something it cannot easily afford to lose. Companies do not want to lose margins, smallholders cannot lose livelihoods, local governments do not want to lose development, central governments do not want to lose control or sovereignty, Malaysia and Singapore cannot absorb unlimited health and economic losses, and Asean does not want regional cooperation to collapse into confrontation. But if everyone has something they cannot afford to lose, policy should not keep asking one player to volunteer to lose first. It should change the calculation.

Make prevention cheaper than repeated damage. Make poor environmental management more expensive than compliance. Make legal transition realistic for smallholders. Make cross-border capital carry cross-border responsibility. And make regional cooperation begin before the smoke reaches our cities.

Game theory helps explain why the haze keeps returning. However, if the same system continues to produce the same undesirable outcome, relying on all parties to behave differently next time is not an effective policy.

The solution is to change the rules and incentives that shape the game.

* Dr Low Kah Choon is affiliated with the School of Government (SoG) and Institute of Local Government Studies (iLGS), Universiti Utara Malaysia (UUM), Malaysia.

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

SEPTEMBER 16 — Every September 16, Malaysians come together to celebrate Malaysia Day, the day that marks the formation of Malaysia in 1963. It is a day that reminds us of the journey shared by Malaya, Sabah and Sarawak, and of the diversity that continues to shape the country we call home.

We often express that pride through our food, culture, language, traditions and the achievements of fellow Malaysians. But perhaps patriotism can also be reflected in something much more ordinary: the choices we make when we spend our money.

Does being Malaysian influence what we buy?

Walk into a supermarket or browse an online marketplace and the choices can be endless. Malaysian products sit alongside brands from Korea, Japan, China, the United States and many other countries. Yet among these choices are also businesses built by Malaysians, employing Malaysians and creating products inspired by the place we call home.

For some consumers, that connection matters. Choosing a Malaysian product can feel like more than a transaction. It can be a small way of supporting local entrepreneurs, celebrating Malaysian creativity and keeping part of our economic activity within the country.

The author argues that patriotism can shape consumer choices, but Malaysian brands must still earn loyalty through quality, value, authenticity and a strong customer experience. — Picture by Yusof Isa

However, pride does not always decide what goes into the shopping basket. Consumers still look at price, quality, convenience and reviews. A Malaysian brand may have a meaningful story, but consumers will expect the product to deliver. They want to know that their money is well spent and that the experience will meet their expectations.

This is where patriotism meets consumer behaviour. National pride can create an emotional connection, but the purchasing decision is often shaped by several factors at once.

A new generation of Malaysian consumers

The way Malaysians discover and evaluate products has also changed. Social media and e-commerce have made the marketplace more open than ever. A consumer can discover a local brand on TikTok, read reviews, compare prices and place an order without leaving home.

Young Malaysians in particular are growing up with a global marketplace at their fingertips. They can appreciate local culture while following international trends, buying products from overseas and discovering new brands through global social media platforms.

This should not be seen as a loss of national identity. It is simply a reflection of how consumer behaviour has evolved. Being Malaysian and being a global consumer can exist at the same time. For local businesses, however, it means that being Malaysian is no longer enough to stand out.

Giving consumers a reason to choose local

The phrase “support local” carries meaning, but it cannot be the entire marketing strategy. Consumers may be proud to support Malaysian businesses, but they also want products that fit their needs and lifestyles.

This is where Malaysian brands have an opportunity to turn local identity into something meaningful. Our culture, food, creativity and everyday experiences can provide stories that international brands cannot easily replicate. When these elements are combined with good products and a positive customer experience, they can create a stronger connection with consumers.

The key is authenticity. Consumers can tell the difference between a brand that genuinely understands Malaysian consumers and one that simply adds a patriotic message during a national celebration.

A Malaysian brand should not need to rely on the Jalur Gemilang or a Malaysia Day promotion to remind consumers where it comes from. Its Malaysian identity can be reflected naturally in the way it develops products, communicates with customers and builds its brand.

Patriotism at the point of purchase

Perhaps supporting Malaysian businesses does not mean choosing local every single time. There will always be situations where price, availability, quality or personal preference leads consumers in another direction.

What matters is that Malaysian businesses are given a fair chance to compete and that consumers recognise the value created by businesses within their own country.

Patriotism is often expressed through grand moments, but it can also exist in small everyday actions. Choosing a Malaysian product, recommending a local business or giving a home-grown brand an opportunity can be one of those actions.

This Malaysia Day, as we celebrate the country we share, perhaps we can also look at the choices we make as consumers.

Supporting Malaysian businesses does not mean choosing local products at every opportunity. It means recognising the value of what Malaysian entrepreneurs create and giving them the opportunity to earn our trust through the products and experiences they offer.

In the end, patriotism may influence where we look, but it is the value we receive that determines what we choose. For Malaysian brands, that is both a challenge and an opportunity to turn the pride of being local into a meaningful connection with consumers.

* Dr Nurul Fardini Zakaria is a Senior Lecturer in Marketing at the School of Business Management, Universiti Utara Malaysia (UUM), with expertise in consumer behaviour, digital marketing, sustainable consumption and consumer welfare.

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

SEPTEMBER 16 — When the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Volker Türk, issued his 14 September statement on artificial intelligence, he did not mince words. AI harms, he wrote, “are not hypothetical. They are already occurring, front and centre.” Discrimination, algorithmic exclusion, mass surveillance, and AI-driven disinformation are already straining democratic institutions. And with increasingly autonomous “agentic” AI systems now capable of pursuing objectives their own developers did not anticipate, Türk warns we are approaching “a step change towards greater existential risks to every aspect of our lives.”

This is not the language of a technophobe. It is the sober assessment of the world’s top human rights official, backed by findings from the Independent International Scientific Panel on Artificial Intelligence. His message is simple: the pace of AI governance must match the pace of AI development, and right now, it does not.

For Malaysia, this warning lands at a pivotal moment. The country is racing to become an “AI Nation” by 2030, backed by the forthcoming National AI Action Plan 2026 to 2030, a RM2 billion sovereign AI cloud, and billions more in data centre investment flowing into Johor and beyond. Malaysia’s National AI Office, its AI Governance and Ethics (AIGE) guidelines, and its alignment with Asean’s Digital Economy Framework Agreement all signal genuine ambition to be a regional rule shaper rather than a passive rule taker. That ambition is commendable. But Türk’s letter is a reminder that adoption speed and governance depth are two different races, and a country can win the first while losing the second.

The author argues that Malaysia’s AI ambitions must be matched by enforceable, independent governance that protects human rights and ensures accountability keeps pace with technological development. — AFP pic

Consider his central prescriptions: independent, technically competent verification of AI systems before deployment; mandatory reporting of serious incidents to an empowered investigative body; enforceable safety plans backed by liability regimes; and a firm principle that responsibility for AI’s actions must always rest with identifiable humans, never the machine itself. Malaysia’s own plan gestures toward some of these, including a risk based regulatory framework, an annual National AI Report, and third-party evaluations by 2028. But gestures are not guarantees. Without teeth, meaning real audit access, real penalties, and real independence from the ministries also tasked with promoting AI adoption, such frameworks risk becoming public relations exercises rather than protective ones.

There is also a harder truth in Türk’s letter that Malaysia and every mid-sized economy must absorb: the frontier itself is being built almost entirely in the United States and China. Malaysia is not training the most powerful models; it is hosting infrastructure, adopting tools, and absorbing consequences decided elsewhere. That makes multilateral engagement, not just domestic policy, essential. The Global Dialogue on AI Governance, which convened in Geneva this year and returns in May 2027, is exactly the kind of forum where Malaysia, as a vocal Asean and Global South voice, can push for the international human rights grounding that Türk insists on, rather than leaving frontier AI rules to be set unilaterally by the two superpowers hosting these systems.

Türk closes his letter with a line that should hang over every AI strategy session, in Putrajaya as much as in Geneva: “No person should be required to surrender their human rights in exchange for claims of technological progress.” Malaysia can pursue its AI ambitions and heed this warning at the same time, but only if governance is treated as a precondition for growth, not an afterthought bolted on once the infrastructure is already built.

* Ahmad Nizam Che Kasim, AGILE Research Group, Faculty of Business & Communication, Universiti Malaysia Perlis.

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

SEPTEMBER 16 — Children are more visible in digital spaces today than ever before. Family photos and videos that once stayed within private albums are now shared publicly, and some children have become “kid influencers” with large followings and brand deals. This practice is known as ‘sharenting,’ a blend of ‘share’ and ‘parenting.’ It raises real questions about a child’s privacy, safety and long-term development.

A nationwide study conducted by a group of researchers at Universiti Malaya found the practice is genuinely widespread, with 62.2 per cent of the 325 parents surveyed saying they actively share content about their children, most commonly everyday moments and daily activities, followed by academic achievements and milestones. Among the 395 adults surveyed, who are not yet parents themselves, 37.7 per cent reported doing the same, most often sharing their siblings’ or family members’ daily activities or life achievements. 

This is a sign that sharenting isn’t limited to parents alone, but is already a broader social habit. This study also found that ethical sharenting habits, such as asking a child’s permission first, were a stronger predictor of children’s wellbeing than parents’ general safety awareness. Here, we look more closely at what developmental psychology tells us about what sharenting does to a child, and what parents, caregivers, and adults can actually do about it.

What sharenting does to a child’s development

From a developmental psychology perspective, there are three classic theories that can help to explain why constant exposure in digital spaces can affect a child’s development and wellbeing.

According to Erik Erikson’s psychosocial theory, children build their sense of initiative and self-confidence from as early as preschool age, through free play and everyday routine. This foundation later supports the more mature identity they form in adolescence. If this early developmental process is frequently interrupted by the camera, the effects are not confined to childhood, they carry through into later stages of development.

The authors argue that sharenting should be guided by children’s privacy, dignity and consent, with adults balancing digital expression against the risks of overexposure. — Pexels pic

Albert Bandura’s social learning theory suggests that children learn not just through instruction but by observing and imitating the adults and peers around them. If “performing for the camera” becomes a normal part of daily life, children, whose reasoning ability is still developing, may come to see sharing every inch of their lives online as ordinary rather than something worth questioning. This can shape how comfortable they are with digital exposure well into adolescence and early adulthood.

Under John Bowlby’s attachment theory, secure parent-child bonds are built through consistent, loving interactions kept away from an audience. When intimate moments are regularly shared for public viewing, that intimacy risks turning into performance, no longer a space that belongs solely to parent and child.

None of this means involving children in digital content is inherently wrong. But these theories are a reminder that behind every upload lies a developmental process still in motion, and that the balance between sharing and protecting needs constant attention.

The data bears this out. In the same survey, both parents and adults rated themselves highly on digital security awareness, knowing about privacy settings, risks and safe practices. Yet this awareness barely correlated with safer sharing behaviour in practice. Knowing the risks, in other words, is not the same as acting on them. That gap between knowledge and behaviour is exactly what the guidelines below are meant to close.

Responsible sharenting practices

For parents, guardians and other adults, a few simple guidelines can help keep sharing safe and ethical.

Ask first. Even if children are too young to provide full consent, adults can still check whether the child appears comfortable, and respect their “no.” Even in small ways, this acknowledges a child’s feelings and autonomy rather than treating them as someone with no say in the matter.

Protect their information. Details such as school uniforms, street signs, or recognisable locations can reveal where a child lives, studies, or spends time, so avoiding such disclosures reduces the risk of unintended exposure. Content filmed during private moments, such as bath time, pool time, or toilet training, is especially easy to misuse and should be avoided altogether. Setting social media accounts to private and periodically checking who can actually see what’s posted also helps, since protecting information alone isn’t enough if strangers can still access it.

Keep hard moments private. Tantrums, punishments, or personal struggles may be part of family life, but placing them in public view can affect how a child feels about themselves later on. Keeping these moments private respects their dignity.

Make space offline. Children should have plenty of unrecorded playtime where they can explore, imagine, and interact freely without the presence of an audience. Offline experiences give them room to develop independently of digital performance.

Talk about it. Adults can explain, in age-appropriate ways, what is happening when a video or photo is recorded, why it is being shared, and who might see it. This helps children gradually understand the difference between real life and online content, and clear guidance can support their ability to separate everyday experiences from digital performance, particularly while their reasoning skills are still developing.

Think ahead. Before posting content, parents and adults can ask themselves, “How will the child feel about this when they are older?” If the answer is uncertain, choosing to keep the content private may be the safer path.

Towards mindful sharing

Children are naturally creative and love to express themselves, and digital platforms give them a real outlet for that. However, adults carry the responsibility of making sure a child’s participation does not tip into overexposure or exploitation.

For Malaysian families, the question is not really whether children should appear in digital content, but how it is done. With care, ethics and responsibility. By keeping privacy, dignity and children’s rights front and centre, we can help ensure the digital world remains a safe space for them to grow up in, not a place where childhood itself gets lost.

* The authors are Senior Lecturers at the Department of Educational Psychology and Counselling, Faculty of Education, Universiti Malaya.

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

SEPTEMBER 16 — Some reunions are carefully planned. Others begin with a simple suggestion: “Shall we go for cendol?”

My wife and I were in Ipoh to attend the Malaysian Medical Association Annual Meeting and Dinner. It also became an opportunity to reconnect with an old friend whom I had not seen for more than a decade. Dr Teoh, a retired Director of State Health Department and public health specialist, together with his partner, suggested that we take a short drive to Taiping. One of the destinations was Ansari Famous Cendol, a family-run establishment that has been serving its well-known dessert for three generations.

The journey itself was unhurried. After so many years apart, there was naturally much to catch up on. We spoke about family, work, retirement, mutual friends and the many unexpected turns life had taken since we had last met. By the time we reached Taiping, it was already clear that the afternoon was about much more than finding a famous bowl of cendol.

The stall itself was wonderfully modest.

Ansari Famous Cendol in Ipoh. The author argues that Malaysian food is about more than what we eat, creating everyday spaces where friendships endure, conversations resume and social bonds quietly strengthen. — Picture by Ng Kwan Hoong

There were no elaborate decorations or carefully designed interiors. Just a simple shopfront, a few tables and a steady stream of customers arriving throughout the afternoon. During the short time we were there, cars continued pulling up. Some people sat down to enjoy a bowl before continuing their journey. Others ordered takeaway. Young families, elderly couples, students and office workers all came and went with an ease that suggested they had done this many times before.

Watching the scene unfold, I found myself paying as much attention to the people as to the dessert.

A bowl of cendol is, after all, a simple creation. Green rice-flour jelly, shaved ice, coconut milk, gula Melaka and perhaps a generous helping of red beans. The ingredients are neither expensive nor complicated. Yet when combined, they produce something that generations of Malaysians continue to enjoy.

As we ate, conversation flowed as naturally as it had during the drive. We laughed over memories that had somehow remained vivid despite the passing of so many years. We recalled colleagues, shared stories about our children and grandchildren, and discovered that although our lives had taken different paths, the friendship itself had remained remarkably easy to resume.

It occurred to me that the cendol was not really the reason we had come. It had simply given us a place to meet.

Looking around the stall, I began to wonder whether this quiet quality is one of the strengths of Malaysian food culture. Across the country, countless kopitiams, mamak restaurants, hawker centres and family-run eateries perform a similar role every day. People arrive for breakfast before work, gather over lunch with colleagues, meet relatives travelling from out of town or simply stop for a favourite dish after many years away. No one needs an official invitation. No one arrives with a carefully planned agenda. The food provides a reason to sit down, and conversation quietly takes care of the rest.

Perhaps this is one of the few places where Malaysians continue to meet most naturally.

Around the same table sit people of different ethnic groups, ages, professions and backgrounds, not because anyone has asked them to celebrate diversity, but because they happen to enjoy the same bowl of noodles, the same cup of coffee or, in our case, the same cendol. Conversation begins with the food, but it rarely stays there. Before long, it moves effortlessly to family, work, cost of living, football, travel, children or memories from many years ago.

We often speak about national unity in terms of policies, programmes and institutions. These are undoubtedly important. Yet there is another, quieter side to Malaysia that seldom attracts attention. It exists in ordinary places where people gather simply because they enjoy being there. There are no speeches, no slogans and no organised activities. There is only the easy rhythm of people sharing a table, exchanging stories and enjoying one another’s company.

Perhaps that is why family-run establishments such as Ansari Famous Cendol deserve to be cherished. For three generations, they have been serving far more than a traditional dessert. Without intending to, they have also been creating a place where conversations continue, friendships are renewed and new memories quietly take shape.

As we continued with our travel, I realised I would remember much more than the taste of the cendol. What stayed with me was the conversation, the laughter and the pleasure of reconnecting with an old friend after so many years apart.

Looking back, I think the journey to Taiping was never really about finding a famous bowl of cendol. It was about rediscovering something that has long been part of Malaysian life. Our food does more than satisfy our appetite. It gives us somewhere to gather, somewhere to pause and, perhaps most importantly, somewhere to continue conversations that might otherwise have been left waiting.

In the end, that was what made the afternoon memorable. The cendol was excellent, but what lingered long after the last spoonful was finished was the simple reminder that some of Malaysia’s strongest bonds are built not through grand occasions, but around ordinary tables where people still find time to sit together. Perhaps that is why it was always more than a bowl of cendol.

* The author is an Emeritus Professor of Biomedical Imaging at the Faculty of Medicine, Universiti Malaya. A 2020 Merdeka Award recipient, he is a medical physicist by training but also enjoys writing, drawing, listening to classical music, and bridging the gap between older and younger generations. He may be reached at ngkh@ummc.edu.my 

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

SEPTEMBER 16 — Today is Malaysia Day.

As Vasanthi Ramachandran reminds us, on this day in 1963 Malaysia came into being.

That date marked the creation of Malaysia through an agreement —  the Malaysia Agreement 1963 (MA63), consisting of 11 clauses with annexes, including the Constitutions of the States of Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore, the Malaysia Immigration Bill and the Agreement between the Governments of the Federation of Malaya and Singapore on common market and financial arrangements.

Article I of MA63 states that “[t]he Colonies of North Borneo and Sarawak and the State of Singapore shall be federated with the existing States of the Federation of Malaya as the States of Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore in accordance with the constitutional instruments annexed to this Agreement and the Federation shall thereafter be called ‘Malaysia’”.

Malaysia is the agreed name. Federation is the agreed political union of the states, namely the States of the Federation of Malaya, the State of Sabah, the State of Sarawak and the State of Singapore.

Article II imposes on the Government of the Federation of Malaya to “take such steps as may be appropriate and available to them to secure the enactment by the Parliament of the Federation of Malaya of an Act in the form set out in Annex A to this Agreement and that it is brought into operation on 31st August 1963 (and the date on which the said Act is brought into operation is hereinafter referred to as ‘Malaysia Day’).

The author argues that Malaysia was founded as an agreed federation through MA63, and that Malaysians should embrace that shared national identity every day, not only on Malaysia Day. — Picture by Raymond Manuel

Annex A is the Malaysia Bill which was duly presented to the Parliament of the Federation of Malaya, read and debated at length for five days (including on a Saturday) before it was passed at its third reading on August 20, 1963 — at 11.25pm.

The Act (No. 26 of 1963) received the Royal Assent on August 26, a mere five days to Malaysia Day on August 31.

Two days later on August 28, a subsequent agreement between the parties to MA63 which was signed in Singapore, amended MA63 by substituting the date “16th September” for the date “31st August”.

If not for the subsequent agreement, Malaysia Day and Merdeka Day would have been celebrated on the same day — that is, August 31.

Now, Article III imposes on the Government of the United Kingdom to submit to Her Britannic Majesty before Malaysia Day Orders in Council for the purpose of giving the force of law to the Constitutions of Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore as States of Malaysia as set out in Annexes B, C and D.

Annexes B, C, D were duly given legal effect a day after the subsequent agreement when the Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore (State Constitutions) Order in Council 1963 was made on August 29.

The Government of the United Kingdom was also imposed a duty under Article IV to pass an Act of Parliament “providing for the relinquishment, as from Malaysia Day, of Her Britannic Majesty’s sovereignty and jurisdiction in respect of North Borneo, Sarawak and Singapore so that the said sovereignty and jurisdiction shall on such relinquishment vest in accordance with this Agreement and the constitutional instruments annexed to this Agreement”.

The British Malaysia Act 1963 (Chapter 35) had been duly passed on July 31, 1963, by which Her Majesty’s sovereignty and jurisdiction in respect of the new States of Sabah, Sarawak and Singapore “shall be relinquished so as to vest in the manner agreed” in MA63.

The gist of the above is this.

Malaysia Day was intended to be on August 31. The date was brought further to September 16 because the laws needed to be passed and made before Malaysia Day.

The timeline to Malaysia Day from the date MA63 was signed (July 3, 1963) was perhaps too ambitious.

But not Malaysia.

Malaysia was already agreed by parties to MA3.

Malaysia was agreed as a federation of states. It has been so since.

But as we celebrate Malaysia Day on September 16, remember that it was intended to be August 31.

Let it be though.

We are Malaysians on August 31 and on September 16.

We are Malaysians on every other day.

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

SEPTEMBER 15 — Every Malaysia Day, we are reminded of 16 September 1963 — the day Malaysia came into being.

But while that day marked the creation of Malaysia through an agreement, a constitution and a date in history, the nation has taken shape ever since — through the lives of its people.

For more than six decades, Malaysians have developed a national identity that is sometimes difficult to define, but easy to recognise.

It is not perfect. Nor is it without disagreement.

But it is ours.

This Malaysia Day, that shared sense of belonging is worth affirming — especially when some of the constitutional foundations on which our country rests are being openly challenged.

Women don sarongs and traditional attire as they take part in the Keretapi Sarong 2025 programme at the Sri Damansara Sentral MRT station in Kuala Lumpur September 13, 2025. — Bernama pic

On September 9, PAS president Tan Sri Abdul Hadi Awang called for the abolition of what he described as “colonial laws” obstructing the implementation of Islam, naming the Syariah Courts (Criminal Jurisdiction) Act 1965, or Act 355, the Civil Law Act 1956 and the division of powers under the Ninth Schedule of the Federal Constitution.

These are serious propositions. Because ultimately, what holds Malaysia together is not simply a shared history, but a shared constitutional framework — one that belongs to every Malaysian.

Hadi also referred to the division of powers under the Ninth Schedule of the Federal Constitution. Criminal law generally falls under the Federal List, while states can legislate on religious offences. He argued that this limits the punishments Syariah courts can impose and has led to state Islamic laws being challenged in court.

In response, G25 Malaysia, a group of Malay civil servants, diplomats and professionals, has called on the Prime Minister, the Attorney General and all political parties seeking to govern, including PAS, to affirm unequivocally that the Federal Constitution is supreme and must remain so.

The very idea of changing the constitutional foundations on which Malaysia was formed should ring alarm bells.

For the record, Act 355 is not a colonial law. It was enacted by Malaysia’s own Parliament in 1965, eight years after Merdeka. Its present sentencing limits were established by Parliament in 1984.

The Ninth Schedule is not a colonial remnant either. It is part of the Federal Constitution itself. It sets out the division of legislative powers between the Federation and the states.

The Civil Law Act 1956 provides for the application of English common law and equity where Malaysian written law does not provide an answer, subject to local circumstances. Parliament remains free to change that law.

These are not remnants of colonial rule. They are part of the legal and constitutional framework through which Malaysia has governed itself.

There is also a fundamental problem with the proposal concerning Act 355.

The Constitution provides that Syariah courts have no jurisdiction over offences except to the extent conferred by federal law.

Act 355 is that federal law.

Repealing it would not, in itself, expand the criminal jurisdiction of the Syariah courts. It would remove the federal statutory basis governing that jurisdiction.

What is being proposed, therefore, goes beyond repealing a law described as colonial. It would alter the constitutional balance between federal and state powers.

That is a much larger question for Malaysia — because it affects the constitutional balance on which the country rests.

Malaysia’s constitutional framework was designed to accommodate a country of different territories, communities and histories.

The formation of Malaysia was grounded in the constitutional arrangements and commitments of the Malaysia Agreement 1963.The division of powers between the Federation and the states was fundamental to that structure.

That framework matters because Malaysia is not a homogeneous society. More than 300 ethnic and sub-ethnic groups live in Malaysia.

Sabah alone has more than 170 sub-ethnic groups, while Sarawak has more than 90 sub-groups. The Orang Asli of Peninsular Malaysia comprise three main groups and 18 sub-groups.

Our differences are real. But so is the Malaysia we share.

We do not experience Malaysia every day as a collection of separate political or legal communities.

We experience it as Malaysians.

This is why constitutional change matters.

The Federal Constitution is not simply a collection of laws. It establishes the institutions and division of powers through which Malaysia is governed.

Changing these arrangements has consequences beyond the individual provisions being challenged.

Repealing the Civil Law Act would affect the statutory basis for applying common law and equity in areas where Parliament has not legislated comprehensively.

Changing the Ninth Schedule would reopen the division of powers between the Federation and the states, including arrangements central to the formation of Malaysia in 1963.

These provisions are part of the constitutional architecture of Malaysia.

There is another reason to be careful about reducing Malaysia to political categories.

Malaysia’s people have spent decades creating connections that cross the boundaries through which politics often asks us to see one another.

In everyday life, those boundaries are often porous. We share workplaces and classrooms, do business with one another, celebrate one another’s festivals and live side by side — often without giving much thought to the political divisions that politics places between us.

This is the Malaysia we know.

It is a Malaysia that is far more complicated — and far more connected — than the political narratives that surround it.

Our differences are constantly visible. Our commonality is often taken for granted.

The question before us is therefore larger than whether particular laws should be retained or repealed. It is about what kind of country we want to leave to the next generation.

The Federal Constitution is the common framework that allows people with different identities, histories and beliefs to belong to the same country.

A constitutional settlement that belongs to all Malaysians should not be dismissed as ‘colonial’ simply because it places limits on what any one political movement may seek to change.

The third principle of the Rukun Negara is Keluhuran Perlembagaan — the supremacy of the Constitution.

It is not a ceremonial phrase. It is central to what makes Malaysia possible.

The supremacy of the Constitution means that Malaysia belongs to all its citizens — and that no one stands above the law that binds us together.

Ultimately, the Malaysia we built is larger than the political arguments of any one moment.

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

SEPTEMBER 15 — Those who witnessed Umno President Datuk Seri Zahid Hamidi’s fiery closing speech at the closing of the recent Umno General Assembly will have been split into two camps. On one side would be those who believed the posturing and chest beating, subsequently concluding that the relationship between Zahid and Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim has collapsed beyond repair. “The general election will be any time now”, they would say. They can no longer work together, how can the current government possibly stand?

On the other side would be those who believe that all that huffing and puffing was nothing more than the usual ‘sandiwara’. Something to rile up the base leading into the upcoming Melaka state elections. After all, this side would reason, this is not the first time Zahid has pulled a similar stunt, recalling the time he loudly declared “No Anwar, No DAP” to frenzied cheers from the Umno throngs in attendance at the time, only to do a complete 180° and embrace Anwar, DAP and PH, to form the Madani government after the 15th GE, ostensibly at the behest of the then Yang Di-pertuan Agong.

So which is it? Is the Madani government on the brink of collapse due to irreconcilable differences as Zahid will have us believe? Or is this another sequence of political theatre being staged by the ‘guru’ and ‘anak murid’ duo? 

Umno president Datuk Seri Ahmad Zahid Hamidi speaks at the 2026 Umno General Assembly at the World Trade Centre Kuala Lumpur on September 12, 2026. — Picture by Firdaus Latif

For some time now rumours have been swirling of a “falling out between number one and number two” (monickers for the prime minister and his deputy). In Malaysian politics, this would be nothing new. Indeed most major political earthquakes in modern Malaysian political history have been borne of hostilities between a sitting prime minister and his restless deputy. Anwar Ibrahim’s Reformasi itself emerged from one such conflict. But in those instances, the conflict arose from power struggles within the same political party. Deposing the prime minister meant the deputy could ascend to power to complete the mandate won by the ruling party, or at least until the next general election is called. In the current scenario, there is no automatic ascendancy. If Anwar resigns, Zahid doesn’t rise to take his place. The Madani coalition falls apart instead. There will be dissolution of parliament and a general election, and were that to happen right now, it would be at a time when the Umno-led Barisan Nasional is nowhere near as strong or as popular as it once was so as to be assured of a decisive win and a return to power.

The absence of an unambiguous path to power for Umno/BN is precisely what makes the supposed falling out between these two men at the top so difficult to reconcile with the political theatre we have witnessed. If the relationship between number one and number two had truly deteriorated to the point of an existential rupture, there would be little reason for either man to indulge in such elaborate public displays of hostility. Real political enmity, particularly between two men as experienced and as calculating as Anwar and Zahid, tends to be considerably quieter.

If Anwar genuinely believed Zahid had become an untenable partner, his solution would seem fairly straightforward. He is the prime minister. He could simply remove Zahid from the Cabinet and allow Umno to decide whether it wished to remain in government without its president. Conversely, if Zahid genuinely believed that Anwar had become an unacceptable partner, he has an equally straightforward weapon at his disposal. Umno could withdraw from the Madani coalition, taking with it the parliamentary numbers upon which the government depends. Neither man is short of the means to bring the other to heel.

Instead, we have had speeches, counter-speeches, social media jibes, “cabar mencabar” and increasingly theatrical displays of indignation. The rhetoric has become so fiery that one is almost tempted to conclude that it is too fiery. There is something faintly implausible about two political veterans who supposedly find themselves on the brink of an irreconcilable break, behaving as though they are trying very hard to convince everyone that they are about to break up.

Indeed, the social media sparring may tell us more than the substance of the accusations themselves. A genuine rupture between a prime minister and his deputy does not require quite so much public explanation. Once the decision has been made, the consequences follow. The prime minister acts. The party withdraws. Ministers resign. Statements are issued. Numbers are counted. The arithmetic of Parliament takes over.

Instead, what we are witnessing looks suspiciously like politics being conducted for two audiences simultaneously.

For Zahid, the immediate audience is Umno’s own grassroots. After years of electoral decline and an existential struggle over its relevance, the party and Barisan Nasional has found footing again on the back of Malay angst and nostalgia for strong Malay leadership as evidenced by Umno/BN’s recent surge in the state elections of Johor and Negeri Sembilan. But Umno/BN still needs something to keep the momentum going: an enemy and a reason for the base to rally behind its leadership. Nothing does that quite as effectively as a little righteous indignation directed at Anwar and, by extension, at DAP and PH. Zahid’s speech therefore serves a useful purpose. It charges up the Umno base ahead of the Melaka state elections and reassures a restless membership that Umno has not simply become an appendage of the Madani administration.

But Anwar has an audience of his own to manage. DAP, and the wider PH constituency, have their own expectations of what partnership with Umno should mean. Nowhere is this more delicate than in the allocation of seats for the Melaka contest. Umno, understandably, will be reluctant to surrender constituencies it considers its own. DAP, equally understandably, will expect its contribution to the Madani government to translate into electoral space.

Here, Zahid’s theatrics may actually provide Anwar with useful political cover. If Umno is seen publicly asserting its independence, refusing to yield ground and indulging in a little chest beating of its own, Anwar can point to the obvious difficulties of managing the partnership. He can demonstrate to his own supporters that he is not simply handing everything to Umno. The quarrel becomes evidence of the complexity of coalition politics rather than evidence that the coalition itself is about to collapse.

This is why the apparent contradiction may actually be the point. Both men need to be seen fighting, without necessarily needing to fight. Zahid needs Umno members to believe that he is still fighting for Umno. Anwar needs his partners to believe that he is still capable of standing up to Umno. Both therefore have an incentive to maintain the appearance of friction while ensuring that the underlying political arrangement remains intact.

And this is where the sheer scale of Zahid’s closing salvo becomes revealing. It was not merely criticism. It was a performance of estrangement. One could almost hear the political machinery behind it: Look how angry we are. Look how far apart we have become. Yet if the objective were genuinely to prepare Umno for withdrawal from the Madani government, one would expect something rather more consequential than thunderous rhetoric. There would be meetings, ultimatums, resignations, parliamentary manoeuvring and, above all, a clear indication that the numbers were being assembled.

There is none of that. Instead, there is drama. And drama, in Malaysian politics, has always been a language in its own right.

The temptation, therefore, is to read Zahid’s speech as the beginning of the end of the Madani government. Perhaps it is. But there is another, and arguably more convincing, interpretation: that what we have just witnessed is not the prelude to a political divorce at all, but the elaborate choreography required to keep a rather improbable marriage going.

The guru and anak murid duo have both been around Malaysian politics long enough to know that politics is rarely conducted merely for the benefit of the person sitting across the negotiating table. It is conducted for the people watching from the gallery, the party members watching from the branches, the coalition partners watching from the Cabinet and, increasingly, the voters watching from their phones.

So perhaps we should resist the temptation to mistake noise for rupture. The Madani government may yet fall, and the relationship between Anwar and Zahid may yet genuinely fracture. But if that day comes, it is unlikely to be announced by another round of increasingly flamboyant insults on a stage or on social media.

The real break will be considerably less theatrical.

Until then, the more plausible explanation is that this latest drama is not the climax before the fall of Madani, but another carefully calibrated charade — one designed to disguise, rather than reveal, the more consequential political manoeuvrings of the two biggest mavericks in Malaysian politics.

* Datuk Wan Ahmad Shihab is a political analyst and consultant. He is also a doctoral candidate in political science.

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

SEPTEMBER 15 — This week, thousands of new students are stepping into Malaysian universities carrying the familiar essentials of campus life: luggage, laptops, chargers, notebooks and perhaps enough instant noodles to survive the first few weeks.

But this generation brings something else that previous university intakes did not have so readily at their fingertips. Before they attend their first lecture, open their first textbook or meet their first lecturer, many already have access to artificial intelligence capable of answering questions, explaining concepts, summarising readings and producing polished paragraphs within seconds.

For a generation that has grown up with smartphones, search engines and instant access to information, using technology is hardly new. What is different is the nature of the technology now sitting in their pockets. A search engine helps students find information; generative AI can appear to do the intellectual work with them — and sometimes for them. Give it the right prompt, and it can suggest an argument, structure an essay, explain a theory, prepare presentation points or rewrite an awkward paragraph.

This makes AI an extraordinary learning companion, but it also points to one of the first important lessons for students entering university today: knowing how to prompt is not the same as knowing how to think.

Prompting itself is not the enemy. In fact, communicating effectively with AI will increasingly become a useful skill in education and the workplace. A thoughtful prompt requires clarity about what a person wants, relevant context and an ability to refine a question. But new students should understand an important distinction from the beginning of their university journey.

A good thinker can become an excellent prompter, but an excellent prompter is not automatically a good thinker. A well-crafted prompt may produce an impressive answer without guaranteeing that the person reading it understands why that answer is correct, what it leaves out or whether it should be trusted at all.

A good thinker can become an excellent prompter, but an excellent prompter is not automatically a good thinker. — AFP pic

This matters because university was never supposed to be simply a place where students collect answers. Higher education is where students learn to encounter uncertainty, wrestle with difficult ideas, compare competing explanations and gradually develop the confidence to form their own judgement.

Sometimes learning happens precisely because the answer does not come immediately. Reading something twice because it did not make sense the first time, struggling with an argument, asking a lecturer a question, disagreeing with a classmate or discovering that an assumption was wrong all have value. If students immediately hand over every moment of intellectual difficulty to AI, they may become highly efficient at completing tasks while quietly losing some of the struggle through which learning actually takes place.

The temptation will be understandable. University life can be overwhelming, particularly during the transition from school or pre-university education to a more independent learning environment. Unfamiliar academic expectations, deadlines, readings, group assignments and new social responsibilities can make it hard to keep up. When an AI tool can summarise a twenty-page reading in seconds, asking it to do so may seem harmless.

Sometimes it may even be useful. The danger begins when the summary permanently replaces the reading, the generated explanation replaces the attempt to understand, or the suggested argument becomes a substitute for forming one. Convenience should support learning, not remove the learner from it.

Perhaps a simple habit can help with this new intake: think first, prompt second. Before asking AI to explain a problem, spend a few minutes identifying what you already understand and where the confusion actually lies. Before requesting ideas for an assignment, develop two or three possibilities of your own.

When AI produces an answer, do not stop at “this sounds good”. Ask whether it is accurate, what evidence supports it, what perspective may be missing and whether you could explain the same idea without looking at the screen. Then verify what matters. In this way, prompting becomes part of thinking rather than a replacement for it.

This habit matters beyond university. The workplaces these students will eventually enter are also adopting AI. Employers will undoubtedly value graduates who know how to use emerging technologies, but access to the same tools will increasingly be available to everyone.

The real distinction may therefore lie elsewhere: who can recognise a weak answer, ask a better question, make a sound judgement, connect ideas that a machine has treated separately and take responsibility for the final decision? Those capabilities begin long before graduation. They are built through the small intellectual habits students practise from their first semester.

So, to Malaysia’s newest university students: learn to navigate AI thoughtfully. Understand what it can do, recognise what it cannot, and never allow its convenience to replace your own thinking.

Do not become so impressed by what technology can produce that you underestimate what your own mind must still contribute. The goal of the next few years is not merely to become faster at obtaining answers. It is to become better at knowing which questions deserve to be asked, which answers deserve to be challenged and which decisions require your own judgement.

Your university journey will teach you many things. Let the first lesson be simple: think before you prompt.

Dr. Nor Farah Hanis Zainun is a Senior Lecturer at the School of Business Management, Universiti Utara Malaysia (UUM).

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

SEPTEMBER 15 — The haze is back and with it comes a familiar Malaysian routine: grey skies, masks, school closures and anxious checks of the Air Pollution Index.

This time, however, the scale has been difficult to ignore. An emergency was declared in Serian, Sarawak, on Sept 4 after the API reached 519. Although the emergency was lifted three days later as conditions improved, air quality remained poor. The haze affecting Sarawak has been linked to smoke from forest and land fires across the border in Indonesia’s Kalimantan region.

The crisis is also escalating within Indonesia. As of Sept 9, more than 113,000 people had suffered respiratory illnesses associated with the fires, according to Indonesian Health Ministry data reported by Reuters. More than 12.5 million people across seven provinces had been exposed to smoke and haze.

Yet beyond the immediate questions of air quality and public health lies a larger one that deserves our attention: Who should be accountable when environmental harm crosses corporate and national boundaries?

This is where the haze becomes more than an environmental crisis. It is also a test of environmental, social and governance (ESG) commitments.

The corporate dimension

Extreme heat and drought associated with the current El Niño have greatly intensified Indonesia’s fire season. But weather is not the entire story. Indonesian authorities have also turned their attention to companies operating in affected areas. Reuters reported on Aug 31 that the government was inspecting 19 companies after fires were detected within their concession areas, covering approximately 11,047 hectares. Satellite imagery had identified 42 companies considered at high risk of fire. Importantly, investigations were being undertaken to establish the circumstances surrounding individual fires.

Subsequent action makes the governance dimension even more significant. On Sept 4, Indonesia’s Ministry of Forestry announced administrative sanctions against five forestry concession holders in West Kalimantan following suspected forest and land fires within their respective concession areas.

These developments should not be interpreted as evidence that corporations are responsible for every fire. But they raise a much broader corporate governance question.

What responsibility does a company have for preventing environmental damage within the land, operations and supply chains under its influence?

That question matters increasingly in an era when companies proudly proclaim their ESG credentials.

The haze demonstrates why ESG should not be reduced simply to carbon emissions or climate targets. — Picture by Yusof Isa

ESG is more than the “E”

The haze demonstrates why ESG should not be reduced simply to carbon emissions or climate targets.

The environmental consequences are obvious: forest and peatland fires, greenhouse gas emissions, biodiversity loss and severe air pollution. Indonesia’s wildfire emissions surged dramatically in early September, according to data from the European Union’s Copernicus Atmosphere Monitoring Service.

But there is an equally important social dimension. People who may have nothing to do with the activities causing the pollution ultimately bear its costs. Children miss school. Outdoor workers breathe unhealthy air. Businesses are disrupted. Families change their routines, while vulnerable groups face increased health risks.

Then comes the often-overlooked “G” — governance

Who within a company oversees environmental risks? What information reaches the board? Are zero-burning and environmental commitments translated into effective controls on the ground? Are contractors and suppliers adequately monitored? Are warning signals acted upon? And when controls fail, who is held accountable?

The haze is therefore not merely an environmental problem. It is also a governance, risk-management and accountability problem.

From sustainability reporting to sustainability responsibility

This is particularly relevant lesson for corporate operating not only Indonesia but also in Malaysia. The Securities Commission of Malaysia has also specifically guided boards to consider governance, sustainability data boundaries, financial impacts and the integration of sustainability risks into enterprise risk management. In addition, Malaysia’s National Sustainability Reporting Framework uses IFRS S1 and IFRS S2 as its baseline sustainability disclosure standards. Its stated objective includes providing consistent, comparable and reliable sustainability information, while implementation is being phased across companies.

These are important developments. But the haze reminds us that ESG must ultimately be judged by corporate behaviour, not by the quality of a sustainability report.

A company can publish impressive commitments to zero burning, zero deforestation, responsible sourcing and climate action. But those commitments mean little unless they are supported by effective governance, controls and monitoring.

Boards should therefore be asking difficult questions

Where are our greatest environmental exposures? What is happening within our concessions and those of key suppliers? Can we identify emerging hotspots? Are contractors complying with environmental requirements? How quickly are incidents escalated to management and the board?

Technology makes these questions increasingly difficult to avoid. Satellite monitoring and geospatial data can identify hotspots and changing environmental conditions with unprecedented speed.

In such an environment, “we did not know” is becoming a less convincing governance defence.

Accountability cannot stop at the company gate

There is another important lesson. Modern companies rarely operate as isolated organisations. Their activities stretch across subsidiaries, contractors, suppliers, concession holders and complex commodity supply chains. Corporate responsibility therefore cannot automatically end at the legal boundary of the parent company.

This is particularly important for plantation, forestry, commodity and land-intensive businesses. Companies claiming responsible sourcing should know where important commodities originate and whether material environmental risks exist within their supply chains.

The same question should extend to those providing the money

Banks, asset managers and institutional investors increasingly make ESG commitments of their own. Where they finance businesses exposed to high-risk land use, environmental due diligence should consider fire-prevention systems, historical hotspots, concession management and environmental compliance.

In other words, accountability increasingly follows a chain: Land → concession → company → board → supply chain → financier → regulator.

Following that chain may tell us far more about genuine ESG performance than counting the number of sustainability reports published each year.

Regulators must move beyond disclosure

There is also a lesson for regulators. Better sustainability disclosure is necessary, but disclosure alone does not create accountability.

Claims about zero burning, responsible sourcing, deforestation-free operations or environmental stewardship need credible evidence behind them. Malaysia’s proposed sustainability assurance framework recognises precisely this broader concern: external assurance is intended to strengthen the reliability of sustainability disclosures and address greenwashing risks.

Regional cooperation also needs to evolve

Asean has become increasingly capable of monitoring hotspots and transboundary smoke. The next step should be to strengthen the connection between environmental information and accountability.

Imagine being able to trace systematically: Hotspot → concession → corporate ownership → supply chain → financier → accountable party.

Such transparency could transform satellite monitoring from primarily an environmental warning system into a powerful governance mechanism.

Malaysia should also continue examining whether existing mechanisms are sufficient to address serious transboundary environmental harm.

Singapore provides an important regional example. Its Transboundary Haze Pollution Act 2014 expressly extends to conduct outside Singapore that causes or contributes to haze pollution within the country, and provides mechanisms for both criminal and civil liability.

That does not mean Malaysia should simply replicate Singapore’s legislation. Transboundary environmental regulation involves difficult questions of jurisdiction, evidence, enforcement and regional diplomacy. But recurring haze makes the discussion increasingly difficult to postpone.

When the skies clear

Eventually, the haze will subside. Rain will fall, winds will change and blue skies will return.

The danger is that our concern will disappear with it. The recurring haze reminds us of what ESG should ultimately mean. It is not merely another reporting requirement or another glossy section of an annual report.

It is about whether organisations understand their environmental and social impacts, establish effective controls, manage risks throughout their operations and supply chains, and accept accountability when things go wrong.

The question for companies, boards, investors and regulators is therefore not simply whether they have an ESG policy.

It is whether those policies work when they matter. Good governance is not measured by what organisations promise when the skies are clear. It is measured by how responsibly they act and how willingly they accept accountability when the air turns grey.

*The author is an Associate Professor at the Department of Accounting, Faculty of Business and Economics, Universiti Malaya, and can be reached at adwa@um.edu.my

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