MAY 28 — When tensions rise in the Strait of Hormuz, global attention inevitably shifts to other maritime chokepoints. The Strait of Malacca, as one of the world’s busiest sea lanes, is often drawn into such comparisons. Yet while understandable, these comparisons risk overlooking a key reality: Malacca is structurally different and more stable than many assume.

The strait is indispensable to global trade, carrying a significant share of the world’s energy and goods, with tens of thousands of vessels transiting annually. Its resilience, however, lies not in volume but in governance. Unlike Hormuz, often shaped by geopolitical confrontation, Malacca operates within a rules-based system anchored in the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). The principle of transit passage guarantees access to all vessels without discrimination, limiting the potential for arbitrary disruption.

Equally important is how the strait is managed. Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore and Thailand have developed a mature model of cooperative maritime security under the Maritime Strait Patrol (MSP) mechanism. The MSP coordinated patrols, intelligence-sharing, and joint surveillance have reduced traditional threats, particularly piracy, to historically low levels. This reflects sustained political commitment and institutional coordination. In contrast to more volatile chokepoints, where fragmented governance constrains enforcement, Malacca benefits from aligned regional stewardship.

Recent discourse on the possibility of tolling the Strait of Malacca highlights how quickly perception can diverge from policy reality. Although such ideas were neither formalised nor consistent with international legal obligations, their circulation underscores the rise of “narrative risk” in maritime security. In a globalised economy, speculation alone can affect insurance premiums, shipping behaviour, and investor confidence. Distinguishing between hypothetical discourse and actual policy is therefore essential. In Malacca’s case, both legal constraints and economic self-interest strongly discourage restrictive practices.

Today the Strait of Malacca remains one of the most important maritime corridors on Earth. Nearly 100,000 ships pass through it every year. — Picture via Google Maps

From a strategic standpoint, the likelihood of a Hormuz-style disruption in Malacca remains low. Geography provides resilience, with alternative routes, albeit less efficient but still available. More importantly, governance is inherently multilateral. Any attempt to restrict transit would require alignment among multiple sovereign states whose economies depend on uninterrupted trade flows. Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore and Thailand are deeply integrated into global supply chains. Hence, any disruption would impose immediate domestic costs. This alignment between national interest and global stability acts as a structural safeguard.

That said, emerging risks should not be dismissed. Increased reliance on Malacca, particularly during disruptions elsewhere, may intensify traffic density and operational complexity. Non-traditional threats such as cyber vulnerabilities in port infrastructure and grey-zone activities are also becoming more prominent. These risks reflect broader global trends affecting critical maritime infrastructure, but they are being addressed within an existing and adaptive security framework.

This distinction does matters. Calls for greater external involvement to “secure” the Strait of Malacca often overlook the effectiveness of current arrangements. Littoral states have demonstrated both capability and resolve in managing the waterway. External partnerships, where present, are designed to complement, not replace, regional leadership. This approach preserves sovereignty while maintaining operational effectiveness and international confidence.

Malaysia’s approach reflects continuity with calibrated enhancement. Investments in maritime domain awareness, including surveillance systems and information-sharing, are strengthening early warning capabilities. Port infrastructure is being upgraded with greater emphasis on resilience and redundancy, particularly in the cyber domain. At the same time, Malacca Strait Patrol (MSP) cooperation continues to evolve to match emerging challenges.

These measures are not reactive but part of a longer trajectory of capacity-building.The Strait of Malacca has transitioned from a piracy-prone corridor into a model of cooperative maritime governance through sustained regional ownership.

While the Strait of Hormuz offers a cautionary example of how geopolitical tensions can disrupt maritime flows, it does not provide a template for South-east Asia. The Strait of Malacca operates under distinct legal, political, and operational conditions that consistently support openness and stability.

For global stakeholders, the message is clear. Confidence in the Strait of Malacca should be grounded in observable realities: a robust legal framework, aligned economic incentives, and a proven record of effective littoral state management.

In an era where perception can shape outcomes, reinforcing this understanding is essential. The Strait of Malacca remains open, secure, and dependable, not by coincidence, but by design.

* Rear Admiral Datuk Yusne Mokhtar is chief executive of the Malaysian Institute of Defence and Security (MiDAS).

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

MAY 28 — “I’m okay. I only had a little.”

It is a phrase heard far too often after dinners, celebrations, office gatherings, and late-night outings. Sometimes it is said jokingly, sometimes confidently, and sometimes with genuine belief. The person saying it may even walk steadily, speak clearly, and feel fully capable of driving home.

But alcohol does not merely affect movement or speech. One of its most dangerous effects is that it quietly impairs the brain’s ability to judge its own impairment.

That is what makes driving under the influence so dangerous. The problem is not simply that alcohol slows reflexes or affects coordination. The greater danger is that many people genuinely believe they are still functioning normally when they are not.

The moment ethanol, commonly known as alcohol, enters the body, it is rapidly absorbed into the bloodstream and transported to the brain. From there, it begins interfering with the central nervous system in ways that directly affect judgment, reaction time, and decision-making.

The author argues that drunk driving remains dangerously common because alcohol impairs not only physical coordination and reaction time, but also the brain’s ability to accurately judge its own level of impairment, leading many drivers to mistakenly believe they are still fit to drive. — Pexels pic

Scientifically, alcohol affects several important neurotransmitter systems in the brain. One of them involves gamma-aminobutyric acid, or GABA, which functions as the brain’s primary calming chemical. Alcohol enhances the effect of GABA, slowing communication between the brain and the body. As a result, reaction time becomes delayed, coordination weakens, and motor responses become less precise.

At the same time, alcohol suppresses glutamate, another neurotransmitter responsible for alertness, cognitive processing, learning, and memory. This combination creates a dangerous mismatch between confidence and actual ability. A person under the influence may genuinely feel alert enough to drive, even when reaction time, peripheral vision, and judgment have already begun to deteriorate.

This is why individuals who are intoxicated often underestimate their own level of impairment. The brain gradually loses its ability to accurately assess its own limitations.

Even a delay of one or two seconds in pressing the brake pedal can have devastating consequences on the road. At highway speeds, those few seconds may be the difference between stopping safely and causing a fatal collision.

Unfortunately, many misconceptions about “sobering up” continue to persist. Some believe that taking a cold shower, drinking black coffee, or resting briefly can quickly reverse the effects of alcohol. Scientifically, this is simply untrue.

The liver breaks down alcohol primarily through an enzyme known as Alcohol Dehydrogenase (ADH). However, this metabolic process occurs at a relatively fixed rate. Neither coffee nor cold water can significantly accelerate it. As long as alcohol remains in the bloodstream, impairment remains present, regardless of how “normal” a person may feel.

Because the effects of alcohol are both predictable and scientifically well established, traffic laws in many countries have become increasingly strict. In Malaysia, amendments to the Road Transport Act 1987 enforced in 2020 significantly lowered the permissible Blood Alcohol Concentration (BAC) limit from 80mg to 50mg of alcohol per 100ml of blood.

For many individuals, consuming just two glasses of beer may already be enough to exceed this legal threshold, depending on factors such as body weight, metabolism, and food intake.

More importantly, the law no longer treats drunk driving as a minor lapse in judgment. Under Section 45A of the Act, individuals found driving above the prescribed alcohol limit may face imprisonment, substantial fines, and suspension of their driving licence even for a first offence.

Where death or serious injury occurs, the penalties become far more severe. In such cases, the court relies not on personal explanations or intentions, but on objective evidence obtained through breath analysers and laboratory blood tests. These scientific findings often become critical evidence in determining criminal responsibility.

Ultimately, however, the issue extends beyond legal punishment alone.

Most people who drive under the influence do not begin the night intending to cause harm. Many are ordinary individuals who convince themselves that they are “still okay” to drive a short distance home. That quiet self-assurance is often what makes the situation so dangerous.

Today, there are very few situations where a person truly has no alternative way to get home. E-hailing services are readily available, often costing far less than the financial, legal, and emotional consequences of a single poor decision.

The tragedy of drunk driving is not simply that alcohol affects the body. It is that alcohol affects the very judgment needed to recognise when we should stop ourselves from driving in the first place.

Sometimes, the most responsible decision is also the simplest one: put the car keys away and go home another way.

* Mohd Yusmaidie Aziz is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Toxicology, Pusat Kanser Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, Universiti Sains Malaysia. He holds a multidisciplinary background spanning scientific research, pharmacology, toxicology, and legal studies.

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

MAY 28 — The circular economy has emerged as one promise to decouple economic growth from resource consumption. But how do we know when a company has actually achieved circularity? Who draws the line between genuine change and sophisticated greenwashing? According to Jianming Yang’s analysis, the answer, for many, lies in standards and certification. In his chapter, “Circular Economy Standard and Certification,” Yang dissects the emerging landscape of frameworks—from the various ISO efforts — designed to do for the circular economy what LEED did for buildings. On the surface, this seems like a necessary and inevitable step toward maturity. But beneath the technical language of auditors and conformance lies a more troubling question: In our rush to certify circularity, are we commodifying a revolution?

Standards can create a common language and a level playing field. They offer a shield against accusations of inaction. But this is where the danger lies. The very act of certification risks reducing a complex, systemic philosophy to a bureaucratic exercise. As noted, these standards often struggle to balance two competing imperatives: the need for rigid, auditable metrics and the need for systemic, context-specific innovation. A company can earn certification by optimising its internal recycling processes. On paper, this is a triumph. Yet, if that same company’s business model relies on planned obsolescence, or if its “recycled” products end up in a waste stream in a developing country with no municipal recycling infrastructure, have we truly advanced a circular economy? Or created a more efficient linear economy?

That points to a critical tension at the heart of this standardisation movement: the battle between incrementalism and transformation. Most existing standards are voluntary management frameworks. They ask organisations to consider circularity principles, to map their material flows, and to engage stakeholders. They do not, and arguably cannot, mandate a fundamental shift in business models. This creates a perverse incentive structure. For a multinational corporation, pursuing certification is a form of risk mitigation. It allows the company to continue its core business—selling more stuff, faster — while layering a veneer of sustainability over its operations. The certification becomes a destination rather than a milestone. Once the plaque is on the wall, the urgent work of rethinking product design, supply chain ownership, and customer relationships can be indefinitely postponed.

The author argues that while circular economy standards and certifications can help combat greenwashing and scale sustainability efforts, they also risk reducing genuine systemic transformation into a superficial box-ticking exercise that preserves the underlying logic of wasteful consumption. — Pexels pic

A circular economy cannot exist within a single factory or even a single corporation. It requires a network — a symbiosis of suppliers, recyclers, repairers, and consumers. Yet, certification is typically awarded to individual entities. We risk creating a landscape of “circular islands” — pockets of excellence surrounded by oceans of linear waste. A certified smartphone manufacturer is only as circular as the cobalt miner in the DRC and the informal e-waste recycler in Lagos who handles the device at the end of its life. A standard that focuses solely on the internal operations of the brand owner ignores the systemic externalities that define the modern economy.

This is not to argue that standards and certifications are futile. Yang is correct to identify them as crucial tools for scaling the circular economy from niche to norm. Without them, we are left with marketing jargon and unverifiable claims. The solution, however, lies in how we wield these tools. We must stop treating certification as a badge of honour and start treating it as a baseline for a much more demanding conversation. The standards that will matter are not those that simply audit processes, but those that mandate outcomes — like true material circularity rates that account for downcycling, or product-as-a-service models that fundamentally alter the producer’s relationship with waste.

The current generation of standards is a starting point, not a finish line. The real work is political and economic. It involves using the data and transparency that standards provide to underpin stronger regulations: extended producer responsibility laws that hold companies financially accountable for their products’ end-of-life, and procurement policies that refuse to accept “certified circular” as a substitute for genuine dematerialisation.

If we are not careful, the circular economy will go the way of carbon offsets — a well-intentioned idea that was co-opted by the very system it sought to replace, allowing business-as-usual to persist under a greener banner. The standards are being written now. If we allow them to be designed for the convenience of certifiers and the public relations departments of large corporations, we will achieve nothing more than a certified collapse. The only standard that ultimately matters is not the one printed on a plaque, but the one measured in a radical reduction of virgin resource extraction and the restoration of ecological systems. Until our certifications reflect that reality, they are merely a more sophisticated form of waste.

* Professor Datuk Ahmad Ibrahim is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my

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

MAY 28 — For many employers, Socso contributions are already a familiar part of monthly payroll administration. However, beginning June 1, 2026, employers will need to take note of an important new development: the expansion of Socso protection under Skim LINDUNG 24 Jam, also known as the Skim Kemalangan Bukan Bencana Kerja (SKBBK).

In simple terms, this new scheme extends Socso protection to cover employees for non-work-related accidents. This means that employees may be covered not only for accidents arising in the course of employment, but also for accidents occurring outside working hours, including road accidents and other accidents which are not directly connected to work.

This marks a significant shift in Malaysia’s social security framework. With LINDUNG 24 Jam, protection is no longer confined to workplace injuries, employment-related accidents and invalidity benefits. Instead, employees are given a broader safety net on a 24-hour basis during their period of employment.

From an employer’s perspective, the key point is that while the new contribution is fully borne by the employee, the responsibility to implement it sits with the employer. Employers will be required to deduct the relevant contribution from employees’ wages and remit it to Perkeso together with the usual monthly Socso contributions.

The author argues that the introduction of Socso’s LINDUNG 24 Jam scheme significantly expands employee social security protection beyond workplace accidents, while placing new payroll, compliance and communication responsibilities on employers ahead of its June 2026 implementation. — Picture by Firdaus Latif

The scheme applies to all employees covered under the Employees’ Social Security Act 1969 or LINDUNG Pekerja, including employees working under a contract of service or apprenticeship. The applicable wage ceiling is RM6,000 per month. Notably, there is no age limit for protection under the scheme. As long as the employee remains in employment, the protection continues, including for employees who are still working after the age of 60.

For existing employees, employers are not required to carry out a fresh registration exercise, as Perkeso will rely on its existing employee records. However, for new employees joining after implementation, employers must ensure that they are registered through ASSIST 2.0 in the usual manner.

The monthly payment deadline remains the same as existing Socso contributions, namely on or before the 15th day of the following month. Employers must also ensure that the contribution details are properly reflected in the employee’s salary slip. This is important not only from a compliance perspective, but also to avoid confusion when employees notice the additional deduction in their payslips.

Although the contribution is employee-borne, employers should not underestimate the compliance obligations involved. Failure to make the correct deduction or remit the contribution may expose employers to arrears, late payment interest and possible enforcement action. Perkeso may also claim outstanding contributions even after an employee has left employment, if the required deductions were not made during the relevant period of employment.

In practice, employers should start preparing early. HR and payroll teams should review their payroll systems, update the relevant contribution tables, ensure that payslip templates reflect the new deduction, and brief the relevant personnel handling monthly contribution submissions. 

Employers should make it clear that the deduction is a statutory contribution under the expanded Socso protection framework, and that the purpose of the scheme is to provide additional protection for employees in the event of non-work-related accidents.

Overall, the introduction of LINDUNG 24 Jam represents a meaningful expansion of employee social security protection in Malaysia. For employees, it provides a wider safety net beyond the workplace. For employers, it is another reminder that statutory compliance is not just about making payments, but about ensuring that payroll, documentation and employee communication are aligned with the latest legal requirements.

The new scheme is not just a Perkeso update. It is a payroll, compliance and communication exercise that employers should get right from the start.

* Leonard Yeoh is a Senior Partner and Sharon Teo an associate of the law firm, Tay & Partners.

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

MAY 27 — Malayan Tapir, or Tapirus indicus, is native to Southeast Asia, specifically Peninsular Malaysia, southern Thailand, Myanmar, and Sumatra (Indonesia). It is the only tapir species found in this region, while three other tapir species occur in South and Central America.

The Malayan tapir, locally known as tenuk or cipan, is easily recognised by its distinctive body colouration, featuring a large white patch across the middle of its body, with a black head and hindquarters. This “black-and-white giant” of Southeast Asia inhabits tropical lowland forests and swamps and is sometimes found in rubber and oil palm plantations.

The Malayan tapir is a crucial “umbrella species” in the ecosystem. An umbrella species is one whose conservation indirectly protects many other species sharing the same habitat; therefore, conserving habitats that support the Malayan tapir also helps preserve overall biodiversity within those ecosystems.

The first reason as to why the Malayan tapir is an “umbrella species” is due to its morphology. It has a rounded barrel-shaped body, short, sturdy legs, wide, cushioned feet, and a flexible snout known as a primitive proboscis. Its black-and-white colouring also helps with camouflage in the forest. The tapir is a “living fossil” because its ancient body structure has remained largely unchanged over millions of years, in contrast to many other animals that have evolved specialised features for hunting or escaping predators. It has existed for millions of years and managed to survive major environmental changes throughout Earth’s history.

Tapirs play an important role in forest regeneration and ecosystem balance because they consume many plant species. — Unsplash pic

During the Pliocene epoch, around 5.3 to 2.6 million years ago, early tapir relatives evolved and spread across Eurasia, Africa, and North America. Fossils such as skulls and teeth have been discovered in Asia, Europe, North America, and South America, proving that tapirs were once widely distributed around the world.

During the Ice Age peak, tapirs adapted and survived in forest refuges despite extreme cold conditions that caused many species to become extinct. Tapirs are among the oldest surviving animal lineages in the world with only four species left today.

Secondly, due to its frugivorous diet, it plays an important role as a seed disperser and “gardener” of the forest. This species is a herbivore that feeds on leaves, shoots, twigs, shrubs, and fruits. Tapirs help spread seeds through their faeces, allowing new plants to grow in different locations.

The Malayan tapir is an important forest animal that helps maintain healthy ecosystems through its feeding behaviour. It feeds in a zig-zag pattern, eating small amounts from many different plants instead of staying in one area. This selective browsing helps prevent overfeeding on plants and supports forest diversity.

Tapirs play an important role in forest regeneration and ecosystem balance because they consume many plant species. Malayan tapirs can eat more than 200 plant species from 49 plant families, thus making them significant contributors to ecosystem balance. Its habit of eating different types of plants helps tapirs avoid consuming too many toxins from a single plant species.

Besides, the important ecological role of this large mammal is acting as an “architect” of the habitat. By moving through dense vegetation with its large body, which can weigh up to 320 kilograms, it creates trails that are later used by smaller forest animals. In addition, moving between different areas helps maintain forest diversity by preventing excessive damage to one part of the forest.

Despite its ecological importance, the Malayan tapir is listed as “Endangered” on the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Red List with fewer than 2,500 mature individuals remaining globally. The species is also slow breeding, with a gestation period of approximately 13 to 13.5 months, and females typically produce only one calf every two years. The mother then nurses and protects its calf for about a year before it grows, learns survival skills, and becomes independent. The next pregnancy for the mother is expected to happen again after three to four years.

Its population continues to decline due to various threats, including habitat loss, human–wildlife conflict, poaching, deforestation, and road accidents. In Malaysia, this species is fully protected under the Wildlife Conservation Act 2010. Without a special permit, it is illegal to hunt, possess, or trade any part or derivative of fully protected wildlife species.

The Malaysian Government, through the Department of Wildlife and National Parks Peninsular Malaysia (Perhilitan), has implemented several conservation initiatives, including in-situ and ex-situ management, conservation research, education and public awareness programmes, and law enforcement efforts. For ex-situ conservation, a Malayan tapir breeding programme has been established at the Wildlife Conservation Centre Sungai Dusun. A small number of Malayan tapirs have also been transferred to zoos under memoranda of understanding to support the conservation and welfare of the species.

Several research projects have been done to understand this species better, including physiology, genetics, anatomy, medical care, and behaviour. One of the conservation research projects done on this species is molecular ecology. This can be accomplished by using water samples collected from the wild to identify species that visited the stream, the scat of an animal in the wild to identify the host DNA, and the diet and gut microbiome of the species. Other samples include hair snags, saliva from salt licks, and a small amount of their tissues.

Most importantly, the Malaysian Government has introduced a 10-year strategic framework known as the Malayan Tapir Conservation Action Plan (MaTCAP) 2021-2030, aimed at addressing the major threats facing the Malayan tapir population. This initiative was developed by Perhilitan Peninsular Malaysia to strengthen conservation efforts, enhance law enforcement, and reduce human-tapir conflict.

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

*Kim Catalina Richard is a postgraduate student and Assoc. Prof. Dr Hasmahzaiti Omar is a lecturer at the Institute of Biological Sciences, Universiti Malaya.

MAY 27 — Deputy Prime Minister Datuk Seri Dr Ahmad Zahid Hamidi’s proposal for companies holding Jakim halal certification to appoint full-time halal executives has drawn predictable resistance, particularly from micro, small and medium enterprises (MSMEs) already grappling with rising wages, higher utility costs, and squeezed margins. Those concerns deserve a fair hearing, and any new requirement must be introduced with proportionality and genuine support. But the debate cannot stop at cost alone.

At its core, halal status is about trust, consumer protection, market access, and Malaysia’s long-term economic positioning, not administrative paperwork.

Halal is a system of trust

Halal is too often treated as though it begins and ends with a logo on packaging or a certificate behind a counter. In reality, it is a system of trust spanning the entire value chain, from sourcing, handling, and storage to processing, marketing, and consumer communication.

When that trust is broken through a breakdown in halal supply chain integrity, from mislabelled ingredients to weak documentation, the damage extends far beyond any single company. It erodes public confidence in halal certification itself and, over time, undermines Malaysia’s standing in a global halal economy too consequential to treat casually.

The world’s Muslim population stands at approximately 2 billion, with spending across food, pharmaceuticals, cosmetics, fashion, and travel running into the trillions.

Malaysia has spent decades positioning its halal standard as a global benchmark. But a gold standard cannot survive on reputation alone. It must be actively protected through robust governance and professional discipline.

The lesson from Islamic finance

Much of the resistance to this proposal assumes that end-to-end halal assurance is something new or excessive. It is neither.

Malaysia has applied a comparable principle for decades in Islamic finance, where Shariah governance is embedded through independent reviews, audit mechanisms, and rigorous oversight from Shariah committees, all the way to the regulatory level, including the Shariah Advisory Councils of Bank Negara Malaysia and the Securities Commission.

There have been instances where Islamic financial institutions were required to “purify” income following operational lapses in applying Shariah rulings. Rather than signalling failure, this demonstrates that a functioning assurance framework can detect problems, correct them, and prevent them from compounding. The same logic should apply to the halal industry.

Jakim’s Malaysian Halal Management System already places continuing compliance obligations on certificate holders. A dedicated halal executive is therefore not a concept suddenly imposed on business. It is a logical extension of a governance philosophy Malaysia has long accepted in other sectors.

Revoking a certificate after a violation may be necessary, but by then consumer confidence has already been damaged. A credible system must prevent breaches and enable timely corrective action, rather than merely responding after trust has been lost.

Jakim’s Malaysian Halal Management System already places continuing compliance obligations on certificate holders. A dedicated halal executive is therefore not a concept suddenly imposed on business. — Picture by Choo Choy May

Cost must be weighed against opportunity

Critics are right that additional regulatory requirements carry costs, and those costs will not fall evenly. MSMEs will feel the pressure more acutely than large manufacturers or global exporters, which is precisely why implementation must be phased, proportionate, and supported by meaningful capacity building, including training, clear guidelines, and transitional arrangements.

But focusing exclusively on cost is a strategic blind spot. Malaysia is not competing in a static environment where halal certification is a domestic religious requirement. We are competing in a high-stakes global economy where halal is tied to international trade, premium branding, and food security.

The urgency becomes clear when we examine what our neighbours are doing. Thailand, despite a Muslim population of just 4.3%, has successfully branded itself the “Halal Kitchen of the World”. In 2024, its halal food exports exceeded RM23.59 billion, backed by over 160,000 certified products.

China is moving with even greater industrial force; its domestic halal market is projected to reach RM337.91 billion by 2025, and it has already emerged as the leading exporter of halal goods to OIC member states, with trade exceeding RM157.26 billion.

These figures represent a direct challenge to Malaysia’s historical dominance. We currently hold a prestigious position, having ranked first in the Global Islamic Economy Indicator for 11 consecutive years, with halal exports reaching RM68.52 billion in 2025.

That success rests on strong foundations: Jakim’s international credibility, a deeply engaged domestic consumer base, and decades of governance experience. But as competitors leverage massive scale and state-driven investment, reputation alone is no longer sufficient.

If Malaysia’s strengths are properly organised through a professionalised halal control and oversight system, halal assurance ceases to be a cost centre and becomes a genuine competitive advantage.

By institutionalising this expertise, Malaysia can move beyond producing certified goods to export halal intelligence, covering audit methodology, assurance standards, and risk management. This path mirrors our success in Islamic finance, where Malaysian professionals now shape Islamic financial sectors across the Gulf, Europe, Africa, and Central Asia. Our halal executives can do the same for the world.

Halal governance should be inclusive

This proposal should not be framed as a burden placed on non-Muslim businesses. In fact, 67% of halal-certified products in the Malaysian market are produced by non-Muslim entrepreneurs, reflecting that Malaysia’s halal economy has always been commercially inclusive.

The religion of the business owner is thus irrelevant.

The real question is whether a business has the structure and discipline to protect halal integrity from sourcing to marketing. Islamic finance offers a useful precedent here: many control functions, including audit, risk, and compliance, do not require practitioners to issue religious rulings. They require process discipline and the judgment to escalate uncertainty to qualified authorities.

Similarly, while religious oversight must remain with Islamic authorities, process reviews and supplier documentation can be performed by trained professionals of any background, provided their roles are clearly defined.

A practical path forward

The call for halal audit functions to extend to advertising and digital platforms is timely. Terms such as “Muslim-friendly” and “no pork no lard” are increasingly used as proxies for halal status, creating ambiguity that, in a trust-based system, is a genuine liability.

A full-time halal executive requirement should be introduced in phases, beginning with large manufacturers, export-oriented industries, and high-risk sectors. Smaller operators should receive adequate transition periods, affordable training, access to shared-service compliance arrangements, and where appropriate, government support and incentives.

Malaysia should also consider establishing a dedicated Halal Industry Commission with a clear mandate for enforcement coordination and professional standards, not to replace Jakim’s certification role, but to provide the institutional architecture a maturing, globally competitive halal industry requires.

The proposal needs refinement, but rejecting it solely on cost grounds is a short-sighted response to a long-term opportunity. Malaysia can remain a country that issues halal certificates, or it can become the nation that defines the global standard for halal assurance and exports that expertise to the world.

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

* Dr Mohd Zaidi Md Zabri is a Research Fellow at the Centre for Islamic Economics, Kulliyyah of Islamic Economics and Management Sciences, International Islamic University Malaysia, and Dr Muhammad Syahmi Mohd Karim is an Islamic finance practitioner with over 25 years of experience Islamic finance industry.

MAY 27 — In the architecture of a healthy democracy, certain pillars are non-negotiable: a free press, an independent judiciary, and the loyal opposition. But there is a fourth pillar, often overlooked, that determines whether a nation is merely running or whether it is actually progressing: the independent think tank.

For too long, governments across the globe have treated policy research as a mere extension of public relations. The prevailing model in many capitals is the attached think tank—a docile institution that reports to a ministry, echoes the party line, and employs scholars who know which side their bread is buttered on. These are not think tanks; they are stenography pools with business cards. If we believe that the purpose of policy is to solve complex problems—climate resilience, educational equity, or national security—then we must confront a difficult truth: a think tank that answers to the authority it is meant to scrutinise is not just ineffective; it is a waste of public resources. Many so-called think tanks operate as such.

True intellectual heft requires friction. The value of a think tank lies not in its ability to validate a minister’s press release, but in its capacity to tell a minister that their flagship policy is built on faulty data. This is the essence of the “check and balance” function. In a democracy, power must be constantly challenged by expertise. When a government funds a think tank but demands veto power over its findings, it is not investing in knowledge; it is purchasing a shield against accountability.

Consider the irony. We accept that central banks are most effective when they are independent of political cycles. We know that judiciaries lose legitimacy when they bow to the executive. Yet when it comes to the very intellectual infrastructure that generates solutions for the future, we often default to a model of subservience. The result is intellectual groupthink, where analysis is tailored to fit pre-determined political goals rather than to discover empirical truth.

There is a prevailing anxiety in the halls of power that an independent think tank is a liability—a rogue actor that might leak a damaging report or embarrass the administration. But this framing is myopic. A government that truly seeks longevity and stability should view independent think tanks as the ultimate risk-mitigation strategy.

It is far better for a policy’s flaws to be exposed in a white paper six months before implementation than for those flaws to manifest as a national crisis six months after. Independent institutions serve as a pressure valve. They allow for the “pre-mortem” examination of ideas. When governments silence or co-opt these institutions, they don’t eliminate dissent; they merely drive it underground, where it festers until it erupts as scandal or failure.

A government that truly seeks longevity and stability should view independent think tanks as the ultimate risk-mitigation strategy. — Pexel pic

Moreover, the argument that independence is a luxury developing nations cannot afford is a fallacy. It is precisely those nations navigating complex transitions that need rigorous, unfiltered analysis the most. A think tank that is “free to express their opinions without fear or favour” acts as a magnet for top-tier talent. The best minds do not want to be civil servants regurgitating ministerial talking points; they want to be problem-solvers. By creating a thriving ecosystem of independent research, a government signals to the world—and to its own citizens—that it is confident enough to let ideas compete.

This is not to suggest that governments should have no role in funding such institutions. On the contrary, it is in their interest to do so generously. But the funding must come with an ironclad firewall. It should be structured as endowments or long-term grants that cannot be revoked based on the political popularity of the findings.

To do otherwise is a false economy. A government that invests only in compliant think tanks is building a house on a foundation of flattery. It may feel stable in calm weather, but the first real storm will reveal the cracks.

The question, then, is not whether a country can afford to have independent think tanks that occasionally criticise the state. The question is whether a country can afford to navigate the 21st century without them. Let us stop pretending that a ministry-affiliated research wing is a think tank. Let us call it what it is: an echo chamber. And let us recognise that in a democracy, an echo chamber is never a substitute for the messy, uncomfortable, and utterly indispensable process of independent thought.

In Malaysia, there are many opportunities to invest in truly independent think tanks. There are problem areas within the economy, education, and sustainability which need more unbiased intellectual scrutiny for the betterment of the nation.

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

*The author is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.

MAY 27 — The free admission offered by 19 Malaysian museums to their visitors in conjunction with International Museum Day on May 18 is commendable.

This initiative by the Department of Museums Malaysia aimed to encourage more Malaysians and others to visit our museums and appreciate the nation’s history and heritage.

In line with this main objective, the National Museum had taken measures to revitalise itself by having, for instance, interactive galleries to especially attract the younger generation. 

As a result, it has reportedly managed to clock in 3,000 visitors daily

National Unity Minister Aaron Ago Dagang also hoped that the public would value the role of museums “as institutions of knowledge, catalysts for unity and platforms for nation-building”.

The 19 museums come within the purview of the National Unity Ministry.

To reiterate, artefacts displayed in museums are expected to serve as cultural bridges for members of a wider community, as well as to foster collective identity among Malaysians and a conducive environment for the marginalised.

In some ways, museums are like history books, made “alive” and visually attractive for the interested visitors. They are supposed to be educational as well as entertaining.

To be sure, museums are not a recent feature in Malaysia’s cultural landscape.

The first museum in the country was the Perak Museum that opened its doors in 1883, followed by the Sarawak State Museum in 1886, and later the Selangor Museum in 1906. Many more were set up after Merdeka in 1957.

By 2013, there were 189 museums, the types of which range from history museum, art museum, science and technology museum, war museum, ethnic museum, royal museum, specialised museum to natural history museum.

Apart from the educational aspect, the establishment of museums has also brought about economic spinoffs. Souvenir shops, kopitiams, hawkers, restaurants, among other things, emerge in their midst.

As intimated above, there are indeed good reasons for us to celebrate the growth of museums across the country.

There are, however, issues regarding museums that should not escape our attention.

Museums are generally not neutral repositories of artefacts, as some would like us to believe.

If anything, they’re political institutions to the point that some people regard them as a site of contestation.

For starters, a question begs to be asked: whose historical and cultural narrative informs the curation of a museum’s artefacts and the way they’re displayed? Does a particular dominant group have an upper hand to write or influence the narrative?

Can such curation represent fairly the demographics that the museum claims to project?

If, for instance, a particular museum professes to be one that represents all Malaysians, then one would expect information and artefacts of the diverse groups in our society to be displayed accordingly in the museum.

But then, having a collection of all the artefacts related to the country’s diversity may not necessarily be considered sufficiently inclusive.

The way a particular artefact is displayed and where in the museum it is located can indicate its place in the pecking order of things in the institution.

Take the National Museum. Figurines were displayed in the main hall on the ground floor, supposedly celebrating the diverse ethnic and cultural communities and unity in the country.

However, there is not much information about the minorities compared to the Malay heritage on display elsewhere in the museum. 

Besides, the “Malaysia Today” gallery of the National Museum needs an urgent updating. Time seemed to have stopped after Merdeka and the formation of Malaysia. 

Surely, there’s a place in the museum for important historical incidents or milestones such as the May 13 riots, Rukun Negara and heavy industrialisation policy.  

The prominence given to Malay cultural heritage over that of other ethnic and cultural groups in many museums can be traced back to the implementation of the contentious National Culture Policy (NCP) in 1970, which stressed Malay/indigenous culture.

In the 1970s, there were predictably uneasiness and grievances among non-Malays because of the NCP.  But, at the same time, there was also discontent even among Malays over what constituted “Malay culture”, which in turn had implications on museum curation.

In his study of museums, the late historian Abu Talib Ahmad of Universiti Sains Malaysia noted that the impact of the NCP on museums was further magnified by the Islamisation wave in the 1970s.

As a result, there were attempts made by certain quarters to take cultural elements that were deemed contradictory to Islam and also progress in museums, away from public gaze. In short, a conscious erasure of things “un-Islamic”.

This had an adverse effect of narrowing cultural representations in museums, which prompted certain affected quarters to set up their own museums, such as museums dedicated to Chinese heritage and traditions.

Competition, according to Abu Talib, arose not only between museums but also within museums.

For instance, the Penang State Museum was said to have accorded equal space for Malay and Chinese artefacts, but the display of Peranakan artefacts took precedence over those of non-Peranakan Chinese. The latter were obviously unhappy with the museum’s inclination.

Like history textbooks, there’s a possibility that omission of facts or a contentious interpretation of a historical incident can surface in a museum’s presentation. It would be beneficial to the visitors if the museum concerned could address such issues. 

Perhaps alternative interpretations, for example, could be offered by the museum concerned, particularly for the benefit of inquisitive and critical visitors. 

Visitor attendance may be affected if certain segments of society cannot identify themselves with what are displayed by a particular museum.

Funding is another factor that helps to shape a museum’s policy and orientation.  

Federal and state governments fund and run their respective museums, while private organisations run theirs. They largely have considerable control over the narratives that inform their presentations.

Minorities, particularly those who do not have the resources, are, however, deprived of the opportunity to tell their own stories in museums.

Visitors should not be mere spectators. Critical engagement is needed when they visit a museum, especially if it is a site of contestation.

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

MAY 26 — Petaling Jaya requires a public general hospital. This has been widely acknowledged for a long time and is unlikely to be disputed. 

For decades, one of Selangor’s most densely populated and economically significant urban areas has relied on nearby public hospitals in Kuala Lumpur and Shah Alam, as well as on overburdened, small health clinics and the University Malaya Medical Centre (UMMC). UMMC is not legally classified as a government hospital and does not function like one.

However, building a new 800- to 1,000-bed general hospital in Petaling Jaya is not straightforward. 

It may have been so 30 years ago, but no longer. This is not a game of SimCity where a single click-and-drag immediately gets you land, a building, and a fully staffed hospital.

A modern general hospital of around 1,000 beds is not just a building. It is a small township. It needs land, access roads, utilities, parking, laboratories, operating theatres, intensive care units, imaging facilities, kitchens, mortuary services, clinical waste management, infection control systems, digital infrastructure, and a complex logistics and medical supply chain. 

Even setting up a district hospital in PJ similar to the one in Kajang, with around 500 beds, would be a major endeavour.

A general hospital needs thousands of nurses, doctors, pharmacists, allied health professionals, medical assistants, laboratory technicians, administrators, cleaners, engineers, drivers, and maintenance staff. 

Hospital Kuala Lumpur (HKL) has a workforce of around 12,000 healthcare and administrative personnel.  

Where would we find these healthcare workers in a system that is currently suffering from a haemorrhage of personnel, which is unable to retain, recruit sufficiently to replace, or even train to staff new facilities? Even fewer medical graduates are applying for training slots each year.

A general view of Tunku Azizah Hospital in Kuala Lumpur on June 26, 2025. A general hospital needs thousands of nurses, doctors, pharmacists, allied health professionals, medical assistants, laboratory technicians, administrators, cleaners, engineers, drivers, and maintenance staff. — Picture by Firdaus Latif

New places would be forced to cannibalise doctors, nurses, medical assistants, and administrators from existing surrounding hospitals and clinics, diminishing the latter’s capacity to provide healthcare services. 

The 304-bed RM 375.5 million Pasir Gudang Hospital, despite being declared operational in August last year, is struggling to operate with more than 60 per cent of approved positions remaining unfilled.

The capital expenditure to set up a new general hospital today would likely run into a few billion ringgit including the cost of construction, equipment, IT systems, commissioning, and future variation orders. 

The 288-bed Cyberjaya Hospital cost RM508.8 million (approximately RM1.76 million per bed). The proposed PJ hospital would likely cost around RM 2 million per bed at current levels.

Even if the money is approved tomorrow, PJ-ites and the surrounding communities should not expect such a hospital to be operational in three or four years. 

For a project of this scale in a mature urban area, at least 10 years is a more realistic expectation, which translates to at least two editions of the Malaysia Plan. 

The recently cancelled 76-bed Maran Hospital, at RM350 million, was approved under the 11th Malaysia Plan (2016-2020).

Hospital design, especially in tropical climates with hot, humid weather year-round, is also incredibly complex and should never be taken for granted. 

The wrong placement of key rooms and facilities, building orientation, and critical systems such as heating, ventilation, and air conditioning (HVAC) could be disastrous. 

Key issues include severe indoor moisture control problems leading to mould, mildew, and infection risks, and extreme cooling demands that cause sick building syndrome.

Even newly built facilities such as the Sultan Idris Shah Hospital’s Heart Centre and Hospital Al-Sultan Abdullah, have experienced repeated closures and costly repairs to operating theatres due to environmental control issues involving humidity and air conditioning. 

A simple design mistake could cause years of ongoing repairs and infection-control battles, draining millions of ringgit and continuing the closures of key services.

This is the tragedy.

Petaling Jaya should have had a public hospital decades ago. Previous federal governments failed to see the urgency and could not find the funds in their budgets. 

State governments passed the buck to the federal government. They allowed a major city to grow around private hospitals, commercial developments, highways, and high-density housing, but not around a proper public general hospital. 

What we are seeing today is not a sudden crisis. It is the result of years of deferred responsibility.

The current state and federal governments are now being asked to solve an old problem at today’s prices, under today’s constraints, and during one of the most uncertain global periods in recent memory.

As a result of the crisis in the Strait of Hormuz and the government’s dogged determination to maintain cheap RON95 prices at the pump, Malaysia’s fossil fuel subsidy bill is currently around RM7 billion per month.

That figure should shock every policymaker. RM7 billion in one month is enough to finance major health infrastructure, upgrade hospitals, expand cancer treatment, strengthen primary care, increase salaries, and build resilience into medical supply chains. 

It certainly would be enough to construct the general hospital that Petaling Jaya needs. Instead, Malaysia continues to burn enormous public resources keeping fossil fuel consumption artificially cheap.

The issue is not whether people need help with the cost of living. They do. The issue is whether broad fossil fuel subsidies are the most intelligent use of scarce public money when hospitals are overcrowded, health workers are exhausted, medicines are subject to supply shocks, and communities like Petaling Jaya still lack basic access to public hospitals.

We cannot keep saying there is no money to pay our healthcare workers better, to build clinics and hospitals, while spending billions each month subsidising petrol and diesel. That is not fiscal prudence. It is a policy failure.

However, the answer should not be to rush blindly into a mega-hospital project that will take a decade to complete. Petaling Jaya needs public hospital services now, not in 2036.

A more practical solution is available.

The federal government should seriously consider leasing one of the existing medium-sized private hospitals in Petaling Jaya and taking over its entire operations as a public hospital, either temporarily for 10 to 15 years or permanently through a negotiated acquisition or long-term concession.

This would not be a small outpatient outsourcing arrangement. It should be a full operational takeover. 

The Ministry of Health would lease the facility, contract existing staff, retain essential clinical teams, and convert services to public hospital rates. 

Emergency care, internal medicine, general surgery, obstetrics and gynaecology, paediatrics, orthopaedics, radiology, pharmacy, and specialist outpatient clinics could be phased in much faster than a healthcare facility built from scratch.

Petaling Jaya already has several private hospital facilities. The government should examine which facilities could be leased, converted, or integrated into the public system at the lowest cost and fastest speed.

This approach would not eliminate the need for a future purpose-built public general hospital. However, it would prevent another decade of waiting. 

It would immediately increase public hospital capacity in PJ, and reduce pressure on UMMC and neighbouring hospitals. 

It would give the government breathing room to plan a proper long-term facility without having to make desperate decisions.

There will be objections. Some will say private hospitals are too expensive to take over lock, stock and barrel. 

Others will say private facilities are not designed like public hospitals. Staffing will remain a problem. 

All true, but this proposal can be adapted faster than bare land can be turned into a functioning tertiary healthcare facility.  

Staffing a leased operational hospital may be easier and more cost-effective than building, equipping and staffing a brand-new hospital.

Petaling Jaya deserves a public hospital. But it also deserves honesty, realistic expectations and not populist rhetoric. 

A new 800- to 1,000-bed hospital will be expensive, complicated, manpower-intensive, and slow. The opportunity to build it cheaper and earlier was lost by previous governments.

The task now is not to repeat old mistakes in a more expensive form. The task is to deliver public tertiary healthcare services quickly, responsibly, and at scale. 

Leasing and converting an existing private hospital may not sound grand. However, it may be the fastest and most cost-effective way to give Petaling Jaya what it has been denied for far too long.

* Azrul Mohd Khalib is the Chief Executive of Galen Centre for Health and Social Policy.

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

MAY 26— For decades, palm oil has been the quiet workhorse of the global economy. It’s the invisible ingredient in everything from your morning shampoo and the chocolate spread on your toast to the biodiesel in a truck traversing Europe. Its ascension to become the world’s largest traded edible oil was a story of relentless expansion, driven by its unrivaled productivity. No other crop comes close to yielding as much oil per hectare. This efficiency made it price competitive and ubiquitous.

After years of seemingly limitless growth, the engine is sputtering. Malaysia, the number two producer, has seen its output plateau, a victim of geographical reality and stagnant agricultural yields. And now Indonesia, the colossus that accounts for roughly 60 per cent of global supply, is also showing signs of "production fatigue." While the supply side is hitting a wall, global demand for oils and fats continues its relentless 3 per cent annual climb. This is not just a problem for the vegetable oil traders; it’s a potential crisis for the planet. How will the world cope when its most productive oil crop can no longer expand to meet our insatiable appetite?

The first possibility is a permanent upward shift in the price of everything. Palm oil isn’t just another commodity; it’s a price-setter for the entire oils and fats complex. When palm is expensive, soybean oil, sunflower oil, and rapeseed oil become expensive, too. A supply crunch in palm oil will ripple through the global food system, inflating costs for food manufacturers and, ultimately, for consumers. For the billions of people in developing nations who rely on cooking oil as a dietary staple, this isn't an inconvenience; it's a threat to their daily nutrition.

Palm fruits are seen at a collection centre in Tapah, Perak in February 2023. — Picture by Ahmad Zamzahuri

The market’s natural response to higher prices is to encourage more supply. But where will it come from? The immediate pressure will fall on other oilseed crops. We can expect to see a frantic scramble to plant more soybeans in the Brazilian Cerrado and more rapeseed in the Canadian prairies. However, this is a deeply flawed solution. To replace the lost output of a single palm oil plantation, you need vastly more land planted with these alternative crops.

This isn't intensification; it's extensification at its most destructive. It would mean ploughing up carbon-rich grasslands, accelerating deforestation in the Amazon and other sensitive biomes, and devouring vast tracts of land that could otherwise be used for food security or left for nature. We risk solving a supply problem by creating an ecological catastrophe of a different, perhaps even greater, magnitude.

Another avenue is to squeeze more from the land we already have. The "stagnant yield levels" in Malaysia and Indonesia are a damning indictment. For too long, the industry has relied on area expansion as its primary growth strategy. The low-hanging fruit is gone. Now, the focus must shift to agricultural science. This means a massive investment in developing higher-yielding, disease-resistant palm varieties, optimising fertiliser use, and improving planting techniques. It also means confronting the age-old problem of plantation management, particularly helping the myriad of smallholder farmers who manage a significant portion of the world's palm oil acreage to close the yield gap between their output and what is biologically possible.

We must also address the demand side of the equation. The 3 per cent annual growth is a measure of our consumption habits. We need a global conversation about our reliance on vegetable oils. This isn't about asking consumers in developing nations to eat less, but about tackling the massive, often hidden, use of these oils in the developed world—in processed foods, in cosmetics, and, most controversially, in biofuels.

The diversion of palm oil into fuel tanks is the ultimate perversion of a food system. As supply tightens, the logic of burning food in our cars becomes increasingly untenable. Policymakers must urgently re-evaluate their biofuel mandates. When the world’s most efficient oil crop can no longer keep up, using it to power vehicles while people face higher food prices is a policy choice that is difficult to defend.

The end of the era of expanding palm oil production is the present reality. How we respond will define our food systems for generations. We can stumble into a future of volatile prices, and food insecurity. Or we can take a more intelligent path: one that combines a herculean effort to boost yields sustainably on existing farmland with a serious and honest attempt to moderate demand, starting with the foolishness of putting food in our fuel tanks.

The world’s appetite for oils and fats is not going away, but the way we satisfy it must fundamentally change. The era of easy expansion is over. The era of hard choices has begun.  

* Professor Datuk Dr Ahmad Ibrahim is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my. 

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

MAY 26 — When news emerged of a norovirus outbreak aboard the Caribbean Princess cruise ship recently, many Malaysians may not have paid much attention to it. Stomach bugs during travel are often assumed to be routine food poisoning or a minor inconvenience that passes after a day or two.

But the outbreak, which affected more than 100 passengers and crew members, serves as a useful reminder that not all gastrointestinal infections behave the same way, and not all can be prevented using the habits many of us became accustomed to during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Norovirus, sometimes referred to as the “vomiting bug”, is highly contagious and spreads very quickly in crowded environments such as cruise ships, hotels, schools, hospitals, and nursing homes. What makes it particularly challenging is that only a very small number of viral particles are needed to cause infection. A person may feel completely well in the morning, then suddenly develop intense vomiting and watery diarrhoea within a few hours.

For most healthy adults, the illness usually resolves within one to three days. However, the speed at which symptoms appear, combined with the risk of dehydration, can make the experience quite severe, especially for children, older adults, and individuals working or travelling in hot environments.

Although norovirus outbreaks are uncommon in Malaysia, increased international travel means imported cases are always possible. Cruise holidays are becoming more popular among Malaysians, particularly short regional routes involving Singapore, Phuket, Penang, or Langkawi. Large gatherings associated with Umrah, Hajj, and overseas winter travel also increase exposure to infections that may not be commonly encountered at home.

One reason norovirus often catches people off guard is because it behaves differently from the bacterial food poisoning that Malaysians are more familiar with. Bacterial infections caused by organisms such as Salmonella may involve fever, abdominal cramps, or blood and mucus in the stool, and symptoms can last several days. Norovirus, on the other hand, tends to arrive abruptly. Vomiting is often prominent, fever is usually mild or absent, and recovery is generally faster.

The other important difference is prevention.

During the Covid-19 pandemic, many people understandably developed the habit of relying heavily on alcohol-based hand sanitisers. While sanitisers remain useful for many infections, norovirus is more resistant because of its protective outer structure. Alcohol alone is often not enough to remove it effectively from the hands.

Good handwashing habits can stop the rapid spread of norovirus, especially during travel and in crowded places. — AFP pic

For norovirus, proper handwashing with soap and running water remains the most reliable defence. The process matters just as much as the soap itself because the virus needs to be physically washed away from the skin. This is particularly important before eating, after using the toilet, and when caring for someone who is unwell.

Cruise ships, unfortunately, provide ideal conditions for the virus to spread. Thousands of passengers share dining spaces, toilets, elevators, railings, and recreational facilities within relatively confined settings. The virus can spread through contaminated food, surfaces, direct contact with infected individuals, and even droplets released when someone vomits nearby.

This does not mean Malaysians should avoid cruises altogether. The risk can be reduced significantly through simple precautions. Travellers should prioritise handwashing, be cautious with raw or undercooked shellfish, avoid sharing utensils unnecessarily, and seek medical attention early if symptoms begin. Someone who develops vomiting or diarrhoea should avoid crowded dining areas and minimise close contact with others until fully recovered.

At home, the infection can continue spreading if proper cleaning measures are not taken. Norovirus is capable of surviving on surfaces such as taps, toilet handles, remote controls, and doorknobs for prolonged periods. Household members caring for an infected person should pay close attention to hygiene practices, especially in shared bathrooms and kitchens.

Hydration is also critical. Oral rehydration salts, readily available at Malaysian pharmacies, are generally more effective than sweet drinks or plain water alone in replacing lost fluids and electrolytes. Medical attention should be sought if a person is unable to keep fluids down, becomes unusually weak or confused, or develops signs of severe dehydration.

Importantly, antibiotics do not work against norovirus because it is caused by a virus, not bacteria.

At present, Malaysia has not reported any major norovirus outbreak. Still, awareness remains important, particularly as international travel continues to increase. Public health preparedness is not only about responding to large outbreaks, but also about understanding the small preventive measures that reduce transmission before situations escalate.

Sometimes, the most effective advice is also the simplest. In the case of norovirus, one lesson remains particularly relevant: soap and water still matter.

* Dr Muhammad Amir Yunus is a molecular virologist at the Pusat Kanser Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi (PKTAAB), Universiti Sains Malaysia (USM), and may be reached at amiryunus@usm.my

MAY 25 — As Muslims around the world prepare to celebrate Eid al-Adha, it may be worth asking a difficult but necessary question: are we still performing the sacrifice in the spirit Islam intended it to be performed?

Every year, social media becomes filled with distressing scenes during the Eid period. Animals are dragged harshly through crowded streets, slaughter is carried out without sufficient preparation or skill, carcasses are left exposed in unsanitary surroundings, and frightened livestock occasionally escape into public roads and traffic. In some countries, hospitals report a sharp rise in injuries linked to untrained individuals attempting to carry out the sacrifice themselves.

These incidents are not reflections of Islam itself, nor should they be treated as representative of the religion’s teachings. Yet their repeated occurrence does invite a deeper reflection on whether the ethical dimension of this important act of worship is sometimes being overshadowed by haste, habit, or misplaced priorities.

According to the author, the true meaning of sacrifice, after all, is not measured by how many animals are slaughtered or how visibly the ritual is performed. — Pexels.com pic

This is important because Eid al-Adha was never intended to be merely a ritual of slaughter. At its core, it is an act of devotion rooted in obedience, humility, gratitude, and compassion. The Qur’an makes this principle clear in Surah al-Hajj when it reminds believers that neither the meat nor the blood of the sacrificed animal reaches Allah, but rather the piety and consciousness behind the act itself.

In other words, the value of the sacrifice does not lie simply in completing the ritual. It lies in the spirit in which it is carried out, and in the ethical conduct that surrounds it from beginning to end.

This ethical dimension is closely connected to the Islamic concept of Ihsan, a term often translated as excellence, moral beauty, or doing something in the best possible manner. Although commonly associated with spirituality and worship, Ihsan also shapes how Muslims are expected to carry themselves in everyday responsibilities, including their treatment of animals.

The Prophet Muhammad emphasised this clearly in a well-known hadith in which he said: “Indeed, Allah has prescribed excellence in everything. So when you slaughter, slaughter well. Let one of you sharpen his blade and spare the animal from suffering.”

What is striking about this teaching is that the Prophet did not separate religious observance from compassion. Even in an act that necessarily involves taking the life of an animal for lawful purposes, Muslims are still reminded to act with gentleness, competence, and restraint. Worship in Islam is not detached from ethics. Rather, ethics are part of the worship itself.

For this reason, Islamic teachings place considerable emphasis on the welfare of the animal before the sacrifice even takes place. The animal should be healthy and free from obvious defects or illness. It should be handled calmly and led gently, not dragged violently or subjected to unnecessary fear and distress. Classical Islamic narrations describe companions of the Prophet reprimanding individuals who treated animals harshly, reminding them that mercy and dignity should remain present even in moments of slaughter.

The Prophet also discouraged practices that would intensify fear in the animal. In one narration, he rebuked a man who was sharpening his knife in front of the animal about to be slaughtered, asking whether he intended to “kill it twice.” The message behind this narration is profound in its simplicity. The animal’s suffering should never be treated casually, and efficiency alone does not fulfil the ethical demands of the ritual.

Beyond the treatment of animals themselves, the concept of Ihsan also extends to questions of hygiene, public safety, and communal responsibility. The area where slaughter is conducted should be properly managed and cleaned before, during, and after the ritual. Blood, waste, and remains left unattended are not merely unpleasant sights. In crowded urban settings, they can create genuine public health concerns and contribute to negative perceptions of a religious practice that is fundamentally rooted in discipline and compassion.

This is especially relevant today, as many Muslims now live in densely populated cities where acts of worship inevitably intersect with public spaces and shared environments. In such contexts, professionalism and proper organisation are not secondary matters. They are part of preserving the dignity of the ritual itself.

The same principle applies to the distribution of meat after the sacrifice. Islamic tradition consistently emphasises generosity and social responsibility during Eid al-Adha. Muslims are encouraged not only to consume from the sacrifice themselves, but also to share it with relatives, neighbours, and especially those in need. Many classical scholars and companions of the Prophet recommended dividing the meat in a balanced manner that reflects both personal gratitude and communal solidarity.

Seen in this light, Eid al-Adha is not centred on the act of slaughter alone. It is equally about strengthening empathy, reducing hardship, and remembering that acts of worship should bring benefit beyond oneself.

Unfortunately, some of these deeper meanings can become overshadowed when the ritual is approached primarily as a logistical task or public display. The conversation sometimes becomes dominated by questions of quantity, speed, or spectacle, while the ethical and spiritual dimensions receive far less attention.

Yet the enduring strength of Islamic rituals has never rested solely on outward performance. Their purpose has always been to cultivate inner discipline and moral character that eventually shape society itself. Eid al-Adha, when understood properly, reminds Muslims that devotion to God cannot be separated from mercy towards His creation.

As another Eid al-Adha approaches, many Muslims will prepare for the occasion with sincere intentions and genuine gratitude. That sincerity should be accompanied by reflection on how the ritual is carried out, how animals are treated, how public spaces are respected, and how the benefits of the sacrifice are shared with others.

The true meaning of sacrifice, after all, is not measured by how many animals are slaughtered or how visibly the ritual is performed. It is measured by whether the act brings a person closer to the values that the ritual itself was meant to nurture: humility, compassion, responsibility, and excellence in conduct.

These are the ethics that should accompany every sacrifice. And perhaps these are also the ethics that deserve to be remembered again.

* Dr Youcef Bensala is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Fiqh-Usul & Applied Sciences, Academy of Islamic Studies, Universiti Malaya, and may be reached at youcef@um.edu.my

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

MAY 25 — The February 28, 2026 joint assault by the US and Isreal on Iran, followed by Iran’s counter response to this strike had resulted in an energy crisis that has reverberated across the globe. 

Oil price had hiked from US$72 per barrel and escalated to USD$118 per barrel in April 2026, an increase of more than 60 per cent arising from the closure of the Strait of Hormuz which had disrupted about a fifth of global oil flows. 

The price of Brent crude, the international benchmark had escalated to almost US$118 per barrel in April 2026. 

The world’s addiction to fossil fuels that must move continuously through pipelines, shipping routes and other critical infrastructure has exposed its profound vulnerability to geo-political shocks. 

Presently the world is yet again witnessing and experiencing an energy crisis arising from oil shock, though not the first for the world but with results, impact and response that mirror that of the first oil shock of the 1970s when oil price had quadrupled from USD$3 to nearly USD$12. 

World’s first oil shock of 1970s sent shockwaves across the world’s energy markets 

The world’s first oil shock in the early 1970s was caused by the Yom Kippur war when Egyptian and Syrian forces launched an offensive against Israel, with six Arab members of the OPEC oil cartel declared an embargo on exports to countries supporting Israel, notably the US. 

Historical Crude Oil Price (in nominal dollars per barrel). Source: EIA

Oil shocks accelerate atomic plans 

The oil crises of the 1970s which had severely impacted particularly countries heavily reliant of fossil fuels had exposed the vulnerability of these nations and governments worldwide sought to accelerate energy security as a key strategy.

Recognising nuclear power as a clean reliable baseload electricity source with its s fuel less exposed to geo-political disruptions made it a compelling option for Government to launch and expand investments in nuclear power 

France were trailblazers in nuclear power investments after the first oil shock in 1970s 

France under the leadership of its visionary Prime Minister Pierre Messmer had made a swift and decisive plan to shift from the country’s heavy reliance on fossil fuel to investing in nuclear power. 

Sirenergies had highlighted that France’s oil bill had quadrupled in the space of two years from 1972 to 1974 in the aftermath of the oil crisis 

In response to the 1973 oil crisis, on March 6, 1974 Messmer announced what became known as the ‘Messmer Plan’, a hugely ambitious nuclear power programme, the construction of 13 nuclear reactors of 1000MW each, totalling 13000 MW of additional capacity for Électricité de France SA (EDF) aimed at generating most of France’s electricity from nuclear power as a key strategy for France to achieve its energy independence and enhance its energy security. 

EDF dovetailed that the strategy was to build quickly, on a large scale, while maintaining the highest technical standard with construction sites opened across the country and that within just a few years, a new pillar of the French electricity system was in place. 

CarbonCredits.com had reported that construction of the first three nuclear plants under the Messmer Plan started in December 1974 and were completed six years later. 

With nuclear power at the heart of energy strategy, the aim was to make France completely independent of the oil-rich nations. It was initially envisaged that 80 plants were to be built by 1985 with a further 110 plants in operation by 2000, based on electricity demand estimates doubling every 10 years. However, their demand forecasts fortunately did not come to fruition, and so actually there are currently only 58 commercially operated nuclear reactors situated within 20 nuclear power plants in France all operated by EDF accounting for 78 per cent of the total electricity generated in France during 2011. 

One of the major benefits of making the nuclear plants in relatively quick succession was that they were built to similar specification, which resulted in economies of scale during the manufacturing process, 

The Messmer Plan had reshaped France’s energy landscape and nuclear energy became a cornerstone of the country’s energy independence. A popular French riposte to the question of why they have so much nuclear energy is “no oil, no gas, no coal, no choice”. 

The Philippines Bataan Nuclear Power Plant.

The US response to the first oil shock 

The American Nuclear Society (ANS) has highlighted that as of December 31, 1973, there were 199 nuclear power plants operable, under construction, or contracted for in the United States 

President Richard Nixon, one of the administrators of President Eisenhower’s Atoms for Peace initiative, called into the public’s eye another path forward — the expanded use of nuclear energy to help America achieve energy independence, in response to the 1973 Oil crisis 

President Nixon called for the construction of new nuclear plants in the United States by the year 1980, complete with federal funding of new initiatives, public-private partnerships with major energy industries, and regulatory reforms and exemptions to expedite the process of construction. 

President Nixon asked the AEC to speed up licensing in November 1973, in order to prospectively shorten the overall construction time from the roughly ten years it was then taking to something like six years. The efforts of AEC and the industry to standardise were already underway, and were accelerated to meet this new request — a request made not just in response to nuclear issues but in broader sense to the OPEC fuel crisis and the perceived coming shortage of oil. 

Philippines, the first Asean country to invest in nuclear power after the world’s first oil shock 

In Asean, Philippines President Ferdinand Marcos Sr had taken a decisive step for Philippines to go nuclear in response to the 1973 first world oil shock and had authorised the construction of the Bataan Nuclear Power Plant (BNPP), originally to be a twin unit of 600 MW Westinghouse nuclear reactor. 

However, World Nuclear Association (WNA) highlighted that by the time the contract was signed in February 1976, it was for a single 621 MWe Westinghouse unit at Napot Point in Bataan. 

WNA reported that construction work began in July 1976 and was completed in 1984 at a cost of $1.9 billion. However, due to financial issues and safety concerns related to earthquakes, the plant was never loaded with fuel or operated. Following the April 1986 Chernobyl accident, then newly elected President Corazon Aquino decided to mothball the plant. Note other sources had estimated the cost of Bataan NPP to be US$2.3 billion 

But there are current plans to restart the BNPP after review of its suitability for such a purpose. 

South Korea’s shift to nuclear power after the first oil shock 

When the 1973 oil price hike occurred, South Korea had no operational commercial nuclear power plants. 

In the aftermath of the oil crisis in the 1970s propelled South Korea to shift its energy policy from securing oil supply to diversifying energy sources and reducing reliance on oil import. 

President Park Jung Hee had promoted nuclear power as part of the nation’s energy policy linked to diversification and minimisation of dependence on fossil fuels. South Korea’s nuclear power industry was developed through nuclear technology procurement and South Korean nuclear power industry took an upward trajectory during the 70s, 80s, and 90s, with South Korea’s first commercial nuclear reactor, Kori-1, entered commercial operation in 1978, and nuclear power quickly grew to providing more than 50 per cent of the country’s electricity by 1987. 

South Korea’s nuclear power plans escalated after the 1973 oil shock. Source: EIA

Malaysia’s response to the 1973 oil shock 

Malaysia had indicated interest to invest in nuclear power during the 1973 oil shock. 

However, following the discovery of petroleum in Terengganu in 1973, this was not pursued further and the government under then prime minister Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad had decided to use fossil fuel as main source of fuel for Malaysia and this discovery led the government to establish Petroliam Nasional Bhd (Petronas) on August 17, 1974. 

Present oil shock and the fundamental importance of energy sovereignty 

Fast forward to the present geo political tension of February 28, which resulted in the choking off 20 per cent of the world’s oil supply overnight, and the oil price spike to US$118 end March 2026, the world is again turning to nuclear power as part of strategy to enhance energy security and this time around, energy sovereignty has taken centre stage in political, economics, business and social agenda. 

Case in point, in Europe at the recent March 2026 Nuclear Energy Summit French President Emmanuel Macron had remarked: “We can see it in our current geopolitical context: when we are too dependent on hydrocarbons, they can become a tool of pressure, or even of destabilisation.” He further underscored that “Nuclear power is key to reconciling both independence — and thus energy sovereignty — with decarbonisation, and thus carbon neutrality.”

In the Asean context, Behind Asia had spotlighted on 25 April 2026 that in March 2026, Philippines President Marcos Jr. had officially declared a national energy emergency. It further questioned “Why is the Philippines the first country in the world to declare an emergency over this? Because of an absolute failure in energy sovereignty. We import a staggering 98% of our crude oil from the Middle East.” 

Behind Asia further explained that when the supply line was severed, local diesel prices violently breached PHP130 per litre, and gasoline surpassed PHP100 and dovetailed that this isn’t just an inconvenience at the pump. This is the mathematical annihilation of the working-class logistics network. 

From the political perspective, ABS-CBN reported on April 16, 2026 that as prices soar amid the ongoing oil crisis, Pangasinan 2nd district representative Mark Cojuangco, also the chairman of the House special committee on nuclear energy pushed anew for the use of nuclear energy in the country. Cojuangco told a nuclear energy forum in Quezon City that nuclear energy is cheaper and cleaner. 

From the business perspective, Behind Asia highlighted that in 2026, the conversation surrounding the mothballed Bataan Nuclear Power Plant (BNPP) has officially moved from political rhetoric to active, technical feasibility testing and that in March 2026, a memorandum of understanding was signed involving Korea Hydro & Nuclear Power (KHNP) and the Manila Electric Company (Meralco) for KHNP to conduct a two-phase technical and economic feasibility study to assess the plant’s structural integrity and the exact cost of refurbishment. This push for nuclear power is fundamentally an attempt to secure long-term energy sovereignty. 

Additionally, Embassy of France to the Philippines and Micronesia had reported on April 9 that on April 3, Meralco signed a memorandum of cooperation with EDF, a global leader in energy, to explore the potential of implementing a nuclear energy program in the Philippines. 

Hot on the heels of the current oil crisis, on March 1, 2026, Singapore’s Energy Market Authority (EMA) and South Korea’s Korea Hydro & Nuclear Power (KHNP) signed a memorandum of understanding (MOU) on joint studies regarding the potential deployment of SMRs. 

The MoU was signed by KHNP Acting President and CEO Daewook Chun and EMA Chief Executive Puah Kok Keong during the Korea-Singapore Summit on March 1. 

Eco-business reported that under the agreement, KHNP and EMA will jointly assess the feasibility of deploying SMRs in Singapore, exchange technical information and regulatory best practices, and cooperate on training nuclear professionals. KHNP will also participate in EMA-led studies evaluating suitable SMR designs. 

Malaysia’s response to the current oil shock 

In a report dated March 27, 2026, the Malay Mail reported that the Malaysian government is exploring the potential of nuclear power as a strategic response to the global energy crisis sparked by the US-Israel war against Iran and the subsequent closure of the Straits of Hormuz 

Recommendations for the government of Malaysia and Asean member countries:

1. In light of the current geo political crisis escalating into energy and possible economic crisis, the Government and businesses must progress from exploring the potential of nuclear to establishing partnerships at Government and business levels (including but not limited to utility-TNB and/or oil-Petronas) with selected international nuclear suppliers to secure expertise and experience to build the nation’s critical mass of nuclear experts and professionals and to study in detail the various nuclear reactor designs that would be suitable for Malaysia; proven Large reactors as well as yet to be proven SMRs 
2. Malaysia can consider establishing a Select or Special Committee on Nuclear Power in Parliament to engage more politicians to discuss and decide on this clean energy important to complement RE key to reaching net-zero in time 
3. In view of the growing recognition of nuclear power key to establish energy sovereignty, Malaysian leaders must invite international and national experts to share the benefits of nuclear power to enable a faster decision to be made, in view that Malaysia had started exploring nuclear power in the 1970s, almost half a century ago. The world will remain vulnerable if its addiction to fossil fuel persist and is it critical Malaysia reduce the nation’s vulnerability and in exchange enhance energy sovereignty for Malaysia 

4. Philippines is the first country to declare a State of National Energy Emergency in March 2026 and it is envisaged that many countries may follow suit.

    Deputy Prime Minister Datuk Sri Hj Fadillah  had recently announced that the Government is working to ensure the country's energy security supply can be extended till December 2026.

   Thus what is the future ahead for Malaysia and Malaysians come January 2027?

   Thus Malaysia must not remain exploring nuclear energy as pary of energy mix much longer as the country and rakyat must be shielded from impending energy crisis that will escalate into an economic crisis and ultimately with thd potential to result in a social crisis and social unrest.

   Hence it is crucial that the Government not only provide a quick short term plan to respond to the current oil shock but to also devise a long term strategy for the nation to shield from future oil shocks by investing in nuclear power testimony of this successful gameplan of selected nations during the world's first oil shock in the 1970s

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

MAY 25 — The world economy is in the grip of a severe supply shock. The conflict in the Middle East has revealed a terrifying truth: the global economic order is structurally incapable of absorbing shocks to the stuff we need — energy, materials, and components. The conventional wisdom is to “de-risk” by reshoring manufacturing or friend-shoring supply chains. But this is a fool’s errand. It is expensive, inflationary, and merely swaps one set of geopolitical vulnerabilities for another. If we are serious about insulating the global economy from the volatility of supply shocks, we must embrace the circular economy — not as a green niche, but as the central pillar of economic security.

To understand why the circular economy is a strategic imperative, we must first understand why supply shocks are so much harder to manage than demand shocks. A demand shock — such as the one experienced during the Covid lockdowns — is essentially a sudden stop in spending. Central banks and treasuries have a playbook for this. By lowering interest rates, extending credit, and providing direct transfers, they can prop up aggregate demand until confidence returns. The goods are still out there; the factories still exist; the supply chains are intact. The challenge is reconnecting buyers with sellers.

A supply shock is the opposite. It is a sudden stop in the availability of goods. When energy supplies are disrupted by conflict in the Middle East, or when a strait like the Strait of Hormuz is threatened, you cannot print more oil. When critical minerals for semiconductors or batteries are concentrated in geopolitically hostile nations, a central bank cannot conjure substitutes out of thin air. The result is stagflation — the nightmare scenario of the 1970s, now reborn. Supply shocks create scarcity, which drives up prices (inflation) while simultaneously choking off the productive capacity to grow (stagnation). Demand-side tools are impotent here. In fact, trying to manage a supply shock with demand-side policies only creates more inflation.

Shipping containers symbolise a global supply chain system increasingly vulnerable to geopolitical shocks and resource disruption. — AFP pic

The current political response to this reality is “de-risking.” The idea is to move production out of volatile regions and bring it closer to home. The Inflation Reduction Act and the CHIPS Act in the United States, and the Critical Raw Materials Act in the European Union, are all attempts to build strategic autonomy. But this is a linear solution to a linear problem. It assumes that security lies in owning the factory. Yet owning a factory in Ohio instead of China does not protect you if the energy to run that factory is cut off, or if the raw materials — lithium, copper, cobalt — are still subject to cartels or conflict zones.

Moreover, reshoring is incredibly capital-intensive and slow. It will take a decade to build the mining and refining capacity the West needs to truly decouple. In the meantime, we remain exposed to every geopolitical tremor. We are essentially trying to solve a crisis of resource scarcity by competing more aggressively for scarce resources. This is where the circular economy enters as the ultimate hedge against supply shocks. The circular economy — based on the principles of eliminating waste, circulating materials, and regenerating nature — is not merely an environmental aspiration; it is a supply chain defense strategy.

Every product that is repaired, remanufactured, or recycled is a product that does not need to rely on a newly mined primary resource from a conflict zone. When you build an economy that keeps materials in use at their highest value for as long as possible, you effectively create a “strategic reserve” that resides not in government stockpiles, but in the productive capacity of the economy itself.

Consider the European Union’s reliance on Russian energy. If Europe had invested a fraction of its defense budget into deep retrofitting of buildings (energy efficiency is a form of circularity) and industrial symbiosis — where one factory’s waste heat becomes another’s power source — the Kremlin would have lost its leverage years ago. A circular economy reduces the velocity of resource consumption. When energy or material supply is disrupted, a circular system has a buffer; a linear system goes into cardiac arrest.

Supply shocks cause inflation because demand for finite resources spikes against a constrained supply. By creating secondary markets for high-quality refurbished goods, remanufactured components, and recycled materials, the circular economy introduces elasticity into the supply side. When a new semiconductor is delayed due to a geopolitical crisis, a remanufactured one can fill the gap in less critical sectors. When copper prices skyrocket due to supply fears, urban mining — recovering copper from e-waste and old infrastructure — can act as a price stabiliser. This isn’t speculation; it’s basic economics. Increasing the diversity of supply sources, including secondary sources, makes the system anti-fragile.

The nations that will dominate the 21st century will not be those with the largest mines, but those with the most sophisticated material management systems. A country that can recover 95 per cent of the lithium from its electric vehicle batteries, or that mandates modular design so that medical devices can be upgraded rather than replaced, is a country that cannot be held hostage by a foreign power deciding to cut off exports.

We are currently treating the circular economy as a “nice to have” — a policy relegated to environmental ministries focused on recycling rates. Given the volatility we now face — with the Middle East on fire, trade wars escalating, and resource nationalism on the rise — this is dangerously naive. We need a new economic doctrine. Finance ministries must recognise that investments in circular infrastructure (sorting facilities, remanufacturing hubs, modular design standards) are not climate expenditures; they are national security expenditures. The circular economy is not just an environmental strategy. It is the most important economic security strategy of our time. It is time we started treating it as such.

* The author is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.  

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

MAY 25 — The High Court on Friday dismissed the prosecution’s bid for a prohibition order (PO) on approximately RM544 million allegedly owned by Toh Puan Na’imah Abdul Khalid, her son, and seven others in bank accounts in Singapore.

High Court Judge Mohd Arief Emran Arifin made the ruling after finding that the prosecution had failed to satisfy the threshold of Section 53 of the Anti-Money Laundering, Anti-Terrorism Financing and Proceeds of Unlawful Activity Act 2001(AMLATFPUA).

“Hence, the application is dismissed,” the judge ruled.

The High Court on Friday dismissed the prosecution’s bid for a prohibition order (PO) on approximately RM544 million allegedly owned by Toh Puan Na’imah Abdul Khalid, her son, and seven others in bank accounts in Singapore. — Picture by Sayuti Zainudin

The dismissal of the prosecution’s bid for the PO may be contrasted with the grant of a PO in the case of Public Prosecutor v Tarek Obaid & Ors decided in March 2025 against two bank accounts in the United Kingdom (UK) allegedly related to the 1MDB-PetroSaudi Joint Venture.

In that case, the Public Prosecutor (PP) applied for a PO against the respondents pursuant to Section 53 AMLATFPUA to prohibit the respondents from dealing with certain sums of money held in two bank accounts outside Malaysia.

The first account was maintained at Natwest Bank in London, United Kingdom. The second account was maintained at Barclays Bank in the UK. 

The PP took the position that the monies in both accounts were the subject matter or evidence relating to the commission of the offence of money laundering under Section 4(1) AMLATFPUA.

Based on investigations, the PP was satisfied that the respondents should be restrained from dealing with the monies under a prohibition order issued pursuant to Section 53(1) AMLATFPUA.

The respondents objected to the application on the grounds, among others, that:

(a)    the funds held in the escrow account did not constitute proceeds related to an offence under Section 4(1) AMLATFPUA;

(b)    there was no direct or indirect link to 1MDB as there was no transaction involving 1MDB and that the business operations were independent of any alleged wrongdoing associated with 1MDB;

(c)    the funds were not tainted by illegality and did not fall within the scope of the AMLATFPUA.

High Court Judge Ahmad Shahrir (now Court of Appeal Judge) ruled if the funds were demonstrably linked to an offence under Section 4(1) AMLATFPUA, the PO sought by the PP was justified.

According to the learned judge, Section 4(1) criminalised a broad range of activities involving the proceeds of unlawful activity. 

These included engaging in transactions that involved such proceeds and acquiring, receiving, possessing or using them. 

If funds were fraudulently misappropriated from 1MDB, then any revenues generated from the funds were linked to an offence under the provision.

The fact that the business operations were lawful economic activities did not override the critical finding that the operations were established, at least in part, using funds that could be traced to the fraudulent misappropriation of 1MDB assets.

Consequently, the learned judge ruled that the statutory requirements for a PO under Section 53 AMLATFPUA had been met.

On the nature of an application under Section 53, the learned judge said:

“It is necessary to emphasise that an application under [Section 53 AMLATFPUA] is a preliminary measure intended to maintain the status quo while further legal proceedings are pursued. This provision serves as an interim safeguard to prevent the dissipation of assets that may ultimately be subject to forfeiture.

“A prohibition order issued under this section does not constitute a final adjudication of the rights of the parties. Instead, it functions as a protective mechanism to ensure that potentially illicit assets remain within the court’s jurisdiction until the appropriate legal determinations are made.

On the legal threshold under Section 53, the learned judge said:

“Given the interim nature of a prohibition order under [Section 53], the legal threshold for granting such an order is lower than that required for a final forfeiture order. The court is not required to establish, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the subject property is linked to an offence.

“Instead, the court need only be satisfied, on the balance of probabilities, that the property falls within one of the statutory categories set out in [Section 53(1)] AMLATFPUA. If the applicant is able to demonstrate, through evidence, that the subject property is more likely than not to be linked to an offence, it is mandatory for the court to issue the prohibition order as prescribed by [Section 53(2)].”

It must be minded that the primary objective of a PO is to prevent the dissipation of assets that may be subject to future forfeiture. It is a preventive measure, not a punitive sanction.

The PO ensures that property suspected of being linked to unlawful activity remains available for potential recovery under subsequent legal proceedings.

The legislative intent behind Section 53 AMLATFPUA is to prevent circumvention of forfeiture provisions by restricting dealings with assets suspected to be the proceeds of crime.

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

MAY 25 — In his recent commentary in the Malay Mail on 18 May 2026, “What games afoot regarding Negeri Sembilan?”, former Malaysian Bar President Christopher Leong advances a highly formalist interpretation of the ongoing constitutional tensions in Negeri Sembilan. Leong argues that the removal of Datuk Mubarak Dohak as the Undang of Sungai Ujong was legally valid because it received the endorsement of the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang (the Dewan), and that the courts therefore ought not to intervene. He similarly characterises the subsequent call by the Undang Yang Empat for the abdication of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar as procedurally defective for failing to comply with Article 10(2) of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan.

While Leong’s analysis reflects a conventional black-letter constitutional approach, it arguably overlooks a central feature of Negeri Sembilan’s constitutional order: the continuing constitutional significance of Adat as a foundational source of authority. The present constitutional tensions cannot be understood solely through the lens of imported Westminster-style formalism. Negeri Sembilan represents a distinctive hybrid constitutional system in which written constitutional provisions coexist with older customary structures that predate the modern state itself.

This article does not seek to prejudge the merits of the ongoing legal proceedings presently before the High Court, which are tentatively expected to be heard in July 2026. Rather, it seeks to examine the broader constitutional principles and historical traditions relevant to understanding the present dispute within the unique constitutional framework of Negeri Sembilan.

File picture of the entrance to Istana Besar Seri Menanti in Kuala Pilah, August 14, 2023. — Bernama pic

The limits of “finality” under Article 16(3)

Leong relies heavily on Article 16(3) of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan, which provides that the advice of the Dewan on matters of custom shall be final and not questioned in court. He further relies on earlier judicial authorities to suggest that the High Court lacks jurisdiction over the current proceedings brought by the removed Undang and his supporters.

However, such an interpretation risks conflating two distinct constitutional questions: the non-justiciability of the substantive merits of a customary decision, and the reviewability of the procedures by which that decision was reached.

Publicly available reports indicate that the current proceedings include an application seeking disclosure of records related to the Dewan meeting held on 17 April 2026, during which the removal of the Undang of Sungai Ujong was approved. The broader constitutional issue raised is therefore not necessarily whether the Dewan’s customary judgment was substantively correct, but whether decisions involving significant customary offices remain subject to minimum standards of legality and procedural fairness.

Under administrative law, ouster or “finality” clauses have generally not been interpreted to completely exclude judicial scrutiny when questions of jurisdiction or procedural fairness arise. Accordingly, the pending proceedings may ultimately require the courts to clarify the constitutional limits of Article 16(3) within Negeri Sembilan’s unique customary framework.

Importantly, judicial scrutiny of procedure need not be equated with judicial interference in the substance of Adat itself. Rather, the constitutional challenge lies in balancing respect for customary autonomy with the broader constitutional commitment to legality and procedural fairness.

Adat constitutionalism and the elected monarchy

Leong’s second major criticism concerns the subsequent action of the Undang Yang Empat in calling for the abdication of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar, Tuanku Muhriz ibni Almarhum Tuanku Munawir. He characterises the move as procedurally questionable due to the absence of a Proclamation co-signed by the Menteri Besar pursuant to Article 10(2) of the State Constitution.

Yet this interpretation arguably underestimates the historical structure of Negeri Sembilan’s constitutional order. Ancient constitutional customs are expressly preserved and recognised under Article 32 of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan, signalling that the written text was intended to coexist with, rather than supplant, the foundational Adat. The state’s constitutional framework emerged not merely from modern constitutional drafting, but from a series of historical political compacts involving the Undang Yang Empat and the Yang di-Pertuan Besar.

Among these were the 1895 arrangement involving Yamtuan Antah ibnu Raja Radin and the Undang Yang Empat, the 1898 treaty associated with Tuanku Muhammad Shah ibni Tunku Antah and the consolidation of the Federated Negeri Sembilan, and the 1934 covenant involving Tuanku Abdul Rahman ibni Tuanku Muhammad and the Ruling Chiefs. These historical arrangements ultimately informed the constitutional principles reflected in the modern Constitution of Negeri Sembilan, including the provisions governing succession to the office of Yang di-Pertuan Besar under Article 7 (3) of the State Constitution.

Unlike hereditary monarchies, where authority flows downward from an established royal line, Negeri Sembilan historically developed as an elective polity rooted in territorial and customary authority. As the Adat maxim states:

“Alam beraja, luak berundang, suku berlembaga, anak buah berbuapak.”

(“The realm has a king, the territories have their Undangs, the clans have their Lembagas, the sub-clans have their Buapaks”)

Within the constitutional evolution of Negeri Sembilan, the authority of the Undang Yang Empat predates the institutionalisation of the modern Yang di-Pertuan Besar. Historically, it was the territorial chiefs who collectively invited Raja Melewar from Pagaruyung in 1773 to serve as the first Yang di-Pertuan Besar.

From this perspective, the role of the Undang Yang Empat cannot be understood merely as ceremonial participants within a palace hierarchy. Rather, they function as constitutional custodians within an elective customary monarchy whose legitimacy derives from the collective customary consensus of Dato’- Dato’ Lembaga, Buapak, Ibu Soko and Anak-anak Buah in each luak, showing the uniqueness of the Adat system applicable in Negeri Sembilan.  

The constitutional role of the menteri besar

This broader constitutional context also complicates the interpretation of Article 10 (2) of the Negeri Sembilan State Constitution. A strictly literal reading may suggest that the Menteri Besar possesses the capacity to effectively prevent any customary determination of the Undang Yang Empat concerning the throne simply by withholding his signature.

However, such an interpretation risks introducing a political veto into what has historically been understood as a customary constitutional process.

The Menteri Besar is fundamentally a political office-holder operating within the elected executive branch. It is therefore arguable that Article 10(2) should not be interpreted as conferring upon the Menteri Besar a substantive veto over the customary authority of the Undang Yang Empat, but rather as a constitutional mechanism for formal promulgation.

The recent political developments involving temporary shifts in legislative support for the Menteri Besar further illustrate the sensitivity of allowing contemporary political contestation to intersect too directly with customary constitutional institutions.

Similarly, the adjournment of the State Assembly on 23 April 2026 and the subsequent non-attendance of the Undangs Yang Empat and Tunku Besar Tampin may be understood not merely as political disagreement, but as indications of deeper constitutional tensions regarding the relationship between customary sovereignty and modern executive governance.

Conclusion

The constitutional order of Negeri Sembilan rests upon a unique trinity of authority: the Yang di-Pertuan Besar, the Undang Yang Empat with Tunku Besar Tampin, and the elected Government. Its constitutional structure is neither wholly traditional nor wholly modern but represents an evolving synthesis of the written constitution and living Adat.

The current constitutional tensions, therefore, cannot be adequately analysed solely through the framework of contemporary legal formalism. While written constitutional procedures remain essential, constitutionalism in Negeri Sembilan also requires sensitivity to the historical role of the customary institutions within the state’s enduring system of checks and balances.

As related matters remain pending before the courts, caution must naturally be exercised in discussing the substantive merits of the dispute. Nevertheless, the broader constitutional questions raised by the present controversy — particularly concerning the interaction between constitutional modernity and customary governance — remain matters of legitimate academic and public interest.

* Dr Ikmal Hisham Md Tah teaches constitutional and administrative law at the Faculty of Law, Universiti Teknologi MARA Shah Alam.

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

MAY 25 — News of the recent Andes virus (ANDV) outbreak aboard the cruise ship MV Hondius has understandably triggered concern among many people. 

Reports of multiple deaths, combined with social media discussions about passengers returning to their home countries after leaving the vessel, have revived memories that many hoped had been left behind after the Covid-19 pandemic.

The reaction is understandable. Covid-19 changed the way societies respond to news about infectious diseases. 

For many people, any report involving an unfamiliar virus, overseas outbreaks, or international travel now immediately raises the same unsettling question: could this become another global pandemic?

But from a virology and public health perspective, not every virus behaves the same way, and not every outbreak carries the same pandemic potential.

According to the author, as global disease surveillance becomes more advanced, reports of emerging viruses will likely become more common, not necessarily because the world is becoming more dangerous, but because we are now far better at detecting and monitoring outbreaks than before. — Niphon Khiawprommas/Getty Images/ETX Studio pic

That distinction matters.

The Andes virus belongs to the hantavirus family, a group of viruses typically associated with rodents as their natural hosts. 

Unlike SARS-CoV-2, which spreads very efficiently through respiratory droplets and aerosols in everyday public settings, the Andes virus has a much more limited transmission pattern. 

It depends heavily on a specific rodent species found mainly in parts of South America to persist in nature. 

In virology, this ecological dependence is important because it places natural limits on how far and how easily the virus can spread geographically.

This is one of the key scientific differences that is often overlooked when people compare every new outbreak to Covid-19.

The Andes virus is unusual among hantaviruses because human-to-human transmission has been documented before. However, available evidence suggests that such transmission is relatively rare and usually involves prolonged close contact, often within households or among family members. 

It does not spread with the same efficiency seen during the early stages of the Covid-19 pandemic, when brief encounters in enclosed spaces or public transport could lead to widespread transmission.

In simple terms, the Andes virus does not possess the same biological “engine” for rapid community spread.

Another important difference lies in its genetic behaviour. One of the major challenges during the Covid-19 pandemic was the rapid evolution of the coronavirus through mutations, producing successive variants within relatively short periods. 

Hantaviruses, including the Andes virus, are generally more genetically stable. From a public health standpoint, this is reassuring because it allows scientists and health authorities to predict viral behaviour more reliably and maintain the effectiveness of existing diagnostic tools for longer periods.

This does not mean the virus should be dismissed lightly.

Individuals infected with the Andes virus can develop Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome (HPS), a serious illness affecting the lungs and cardiovascular system. 

Early symptoms often resemble common viral infections, including fever, muscle aches, headaches, and fatigue, before progressing in some cases to breathing difficulties and severe respiratory complications.

But there is an important difference between a virus that can cause severe illness in individuals and one capable of overwhelming healthcare systems through explosive transmission.

Covid-19 became a global crisis not only because it could cause death, but because it spread extraordinarily quickly across populations. 

Hospitals around the world faced sudden surges of patients within short periods, placing healthcare systems under immense strain. 

At present, there is no strong evidence suggesting the Andes virus has the same capacity for widespread uncontrolled transmission.

Ecology also matters more than many people realise.

The rodent species most closely associated with the Andes virus does not exist in Malaysia. 

This significantly reduces the likelihood of natural transmission occurring locally. 

In infectious disease science, understanding the relationship between a virus and its natural host is often just as important as monitoring the number of reported cases.

For this reason, the current risk assessments by organisations such as the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which continue to classify the global threat level as low, remain consistent with the available scientific evidence.

Perhaps the more important lesson from situations like this is not about fear, but perspective.

The Covid-19 pandemic taught societies to take infectious diseases seriously, and that awareness remains valuable. 

But it also left many people emotionally conditioned to interpret every new outbreak through the lens of 2020. 

In reality, viruses differ greatly in how they spread, mutate, and sustain themselves within populations.

Public awareness is important. Panic is not.

As global disease surveillance becomes more advanced, reports of emerging viruses will likely become more common, not necessarily because the world is becoming more dangerous, but because we are now far better at detecting and monitoring outbreaks than before.

Understanding those differences calmly and scientifically may be one of the most important lessons we carry forward from the pandemic years.

* Dr Muhammad Amir Yunus is a molecular virologist at the Pusat Kanser Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi (PKTAAB), Universiti Sains Malaysia (USM), and may be reached at amiryunus@usm.my

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

MAY 24 — Today marks nine years since the last officially acknowledged execution in Malaysia.

On 24 May 2017, two men were hanged at Sungai Buloh Prison.

One of them, 48-year-old Yong Kar Mun, had been convicted of discharging a firearm during a robbery, while the other was convicted of murder.

His name was not released.

To me, a question that must be asked is why we still maintain the death penalty on the books when it is no longer being practised.

A moratorium was put in place in 2018 and the Abolition of Mandatory Death Penalty Act 2023 took effect in 2023, with several laws amended to remove the mandatory death penalty.

But even though we are no longer carrying out executions, people can still technically be handed the death penalty.

The author argues that Malaysia should question why it still keeps the death penalty in law when executions are no longer being carried out. — Unsplash pic

That’s why we were treated to the spectacle of Machang MP Wan Ahmad Fayhsal Wan Ahmad Kamal, who urged the government to consider the death penalty for drink drivers who cause fatal accidents.

He was, of course, engaged in political opportunism, knowing that such an issue might be racially polarising, which appears to be a common trend among PN’s elected representatives.

His argument that it would be a deterrent holds no water.

Scientific consensus and global studies indicate that the death penalty has no significant deterrent effect on crime compared to life imprisonment.

Take, for example, the failed war on drugs — a majority of the 900-plus people still on death row are there for drug-related crimes.

These are almost always drug mules and addicts, not the middlemen, and certainly not the kingpins.

We also have questions raised over compromised evidence-gathering, such as planted evidence and confessions extorted through violence.

Last year, civil society organisations engaged with Deputy Law Minister M. Kulasegaran to discuss the future of the death penalty in this country.

Is it too much to hope that one day soon, it shall be fully abolished?

* Elesh Vengadesan-Lee is a death penalty abolitionist.

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

MAY 23 — The linear economy has powered an unprecedented expansion in GDP. But as resource scarcity and climate collapse begin to bite, the very metric we use to measure prosperity is now being weaponised against the solution. If a circular economy aims to use fewer virgin resources, produce less waste, and make products last longer, won’t it inevitably shrink the throughput that GDP measures? If we stop mining, stop discarding, and stop replacing perfectly functional goods, where will the growth come from?

A well-designed circular economy does not reduce GDP growth; it fundamentally changes the composition of GDP, decoupling value creation from volume expansion. To assume that circularity kills growth is to confuse activity with progress. In our current linear model, GDP is artificially inflated by what economists call “defensive expenditures” and planned obsolescence. When a smartphone is designed to fail after 24 months, the subsequent replacement contributes to GDP. When a hurricane destroys a coastal city, the reconstruction costs add to GDP. When we ship waste across oceans to be “recycled” in inefficient facilities, that logistics chain counts as growth.

Circularity doesn’t eliminate economic activity; it eliminates wasteful economic activity. It shifts the locus of value from volume of raw materials to quality of services, durability of assets, and sophistication of reverse logistics. Consider the shift from selling a car to selling “mobility as a service.” Under the linear model, an automaker wants to sell as many units as possible, regardless of whether they are needed. Under a circular model, if a manufacturer retains ownership of the vehicle and leases it by the mile, their incentive flips. They now want the car to last longer and be maintained cheaper. This doesn’t eliminate GDP; it shifts it. The GDP that used to come from selling a new car every three years now comes from engineering services, high-durability material manufacturing, predictive maintenance software, and remanufacturing hubs.

The author argues that a circular economy will not undermine GDP growth but instead reshape it by shifting value creation away from wasteful consumption and raw material extraction towards innovation, durability, repair, remanufacturing and resource efficiency. — Pexels pic

Is that a reduction in growth? The fear of degrowth is rooted in a static view of the economy. It assumes that if you stop digging up lithium for disposable goods, the economy stops. But history shows that resource constraints are powerful catalysts for innovation — and innovation is the only sustainable driver of GDP growth. The circular economy opens up entirely new industrial sectors. Reverse logistics — the science of taking back, disassembling, and remanufacturing products — is a massive job creator. In the European Union, sectors related to repair, reuse, and recycling already employ millions, and these jobs are notably harder to outsource than assembly line work. You cannot offshore the repair of a washing machine or the refurbishment of a medical device.

Furthermore, circularity solves the volatility problem that plagues linear growth. GDP is currently held hostage by commodity price shocks. When a geopolitical crisis spikes the cost of nickel or copper, manufacturing stalls, and growth stutters. A circular economy, by creating vast urban mines of secondary materials, insulates economies from that volatility. Predictable material costs lead to predictable capital investment, which is the bedrock of stable GDP growth. Much of the anxiety about circularity reducing GDP stems from a fundamental accounting flaw: GDP was never designed to measure sustainability.

GDP is a flow metric. It measures transactions. In a linear economy, when a resource is extracted, turned into a product, used briefly, and then landfilled, it generates a transaction at every step — extraction, manufacturing, retail, disposal. In a circular economy, the extraction step diminishes, but the maintenance, remanufacturing, and high-value recycling steps expand.

If a circular economy leads to a 20 per cent reduction in raw material extraction but a 50 per cent increase in high-tech remanufacturing employment and a 30 per cent increase in energy efficiency savings, has GDP fallen? It depends on how we count. Currently, if a company saves money by using recycled materials instead of virgin ones, the drop-in mining revenue shows up as a negative, while the savings — which could be reinvested into R&D or wages — are invisible in the top-line GDP number.

We are trying to use a 20th-century metric to validate a 21st-century transition. The question isn’t whether circularity reduces GDP; it’s whether we are willing to recognise that GDP is a poor proxy for prosperity. Will the circular economy reduce GDP growth? In the short term, during the transition, there will be disruptions. Industries built on the linear model — virgin resource extraction, disposable packaging, high-volume landfill — will face contraction. Governments that rely on royalties from mining will feel the pinch. We would be naive to pretend otherwise. The circular economy does not aim to make us poorer by consuming less; it aims to make us richer by wasting less. It replaces the fragile growth of volume with the resilient growth of value.

* Professor Datuk Ahmad Ibrahim is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.  

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

MAY 23 — Something is happening with young men. Since 2020, there has been an increase in mass casualty attacks perpetrated by youth, with the majority of attackers being male. 

Female perpetrators constitute only a minority of cases. These attacks frequently exhibit profound hatred, directed either toward themselves or others, as evidenced by writings discovered at crime scenes or on personal devices. 

Many attackers demonstrated signs of self-harm or suicidal ideation well before committing these acts. 

In numerous cases, ideological motivations appear to emerge after the development of personal grievances, rather than preceding them.

As we try to understand the recent shooting at the Islamic Centre of San Diego, which resulted in three fatalities, the appropriate diagnosis is essential, particularly as the term “nihilism” has entered regional security discourse in its aftermath. 

The tendency to assign labels is understandable, as it helps in interpreting such tragedies. 

There is no doubt this was a hate crime. However, mislabelling can have significant consequences. 

The increasing application of the term nihilistic violent extremism warrants careful appraisal to avoid reducing it to imprecise buzzwords like “self-radicalisation”, “salad bar extremism”, and “lone wolf”.

Law enforcement and emergency services respond to a shooting at the Islamic Centre of San Diego (ICSD) in San Diego May 18, 2026. — Getty Images/AFP pic

Understanding how researchers have defined these categories helps explain why. 

The term True Crime Communities, or TCC, gained prominence following the SMAN72 school attack in Jakarta, after Densus 88 determined that the 17-year-old perpetrator was influenced by exposure to the macabre subculture of TCC, which can best be understood as a fandom organised around mass killers. 

TCC is often associated with participatory memetic violent extremism (PMVE) and misanthropic and nihilistic violent extremism (M/NVE). 

However, these terms are not synonymous and should not be used interchangeably. 

While there are overlaps between themes and characteristics, conflating these categories risks undermining analytical clarity.

Put simply, PMVE is characterised by the participatory and performative nature of the attack, including intent, mimicry, and aesthetics. 

In contrast, M/NVE is defined by ideology, which may be misanthropic, nihilistic, or a combination of both, with the aim of expediting societal breakdown through destabilisation. 

These categories may overlap, but they are not the same. 

Both, however, can be situated within a broader analytical framework designed to explain the transmission of violent sentiments from digital environments to kinetic actions.

The San Diego mosque shooting does not conform to the NVE framework. 

Operating as a dyad, the attackers were motivated by Islamophobia and an accelerationist white supremacist ideology, intertwined with incel identity and explicitly modelled on the blueprint established by Brenton Tarrant in the 2019 Christchurch attack. 

This lineage places the incident outside the scope of TCC and within a far-right philosophical logic, encompassing concepts of belonging, racial hierarchy, demographic anxiety, and perceived civilisational threat. 

The primary objective that animated the San Diego attack was to facilitate and accelerate societal collapse in order to establish a new order predicated on white dominance. 

If violence is communication, this was the intended message, and the attack was orchestrated for a specific audience. 

Interpreting this act as nihilism flattens the distinction and misattributes the underlying motive.

Nihilistic perpetrators are primarily driven by a desire for notoriety, often preferring infamy in death over obscurity in life. 

Accelerationists, in contrast, are grounded in Neo-Nazi beliefs and seek to collapse what they perceive as a fundamentally corrupt society to enable the construction of a post-apocalyptic white utopia. 

Regardless of how these incidents are categorised, the taxonomic debate should not distract us from the critical puzzle.

Young men worldwide are experiencing a crisis, and the shared characteristics are getting harder to ignore. 

A past attempt by a youth in Singapore to replicate the Christchurch attack shows that performative violence can proliferate, and geographic distance does not guarantee insulation. 

Before we turn to solutions like banning platforms, blaming video games, blocking content, or expanding surveillance, we should first ask a harder question: what attracts these young men to these online communities, and what do they find there that fuels their grievance?

* Munira Mustaffa is the founder and Executive Director of Chasseur Group, a boutique security research and analytical consulting firm based in Kuala Lumpur, where she serves as principal consultant specialising in emerging security threats, and conducts threat assessment and attack attribution. She is a Senior Fellow at Verve Research and a 2023 Visiting Fellow at the International Centre for Counter-Terrorism (ICCT) Hague.

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

MAY 22 — In his Facebook post, Tony Pua wrote:

“We have a constitutional monarch. The powers of the monarch varies [sic] a little from state to state. However, by and large, the powers of the monarch is [sic] strictly limited to defined aspects such as Malay customs, Islam and constitutional roles such as the appointment of Menteri Besars, and approval for the dissolution of the state assemblies.”

“We do not live is a system whereby the monarch can issue binding decrees which legislates all aspects of our lives. We have the Parliament and State Assemblies, comprised of representatives elected by the people to make such laws and rulings.”

Some would say Pua isn’t wrong, as a constitutional monarch is the head of state, but who does not rule the country. Governing is undertaken instead by an elected parliament and government.

A constitutional monarchy is a system in which the head of state is a monarch, but that person does not rule the country.

It is true that a constitutional monarch does not reign or rule. But as I reminded readers five years ago, he may remind.

The author argues that while Malaysia’s constitutional monarchs do not govern directly, their role extends beyond powers explicitly defined in the Constitution, encompassing the broader rights to be consulted, to encourage and to warn within the constitutional framework. — Picture by Firdaus Latif

Shortly later, I reminded readers what Walter Bagehot (1826-1877) ― a banker, journalist, editor, biographer, literary critic, economist and political analyst but also well-remembered as the author of The English Constitution ― wrote of the three rights of a constitutional monarch: the right to be consulted, the right to encourage, the right to warn.

The three rights were duly endorsed by none other than the giant of the Malaysian judiciary, Lord President Raja Azlan Shah who ascended the throne of the State of Perak in 1984 as the silver state’s 34th Sultan and subsequently elected as the 9th Yang di-Pertuan Agong in 1989.

In 1982, as the head of the judiciary, His Royal Highness memorably wrote:

“A King is a King, whether he is an absolute or constitutional monarch. The only difference between the two is that whereas one has unlimited powers, the other’s powers are defined by the Constitution. But it is a mistake to think that the role of a King, like a President, is confined to what is laid down by the Constitution. His role far exceeds those constitutional provisions.”

So, a king is a king, Pua.

It is a mistake to think that a constitutional monarch is, in Pua’s words, “strictly limited to defined aspects” as laid down by the Constitution.

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

MAY 22 — Dr Ong Tze Chin, Senior Lecturer at the Faculty of Law, Universiti Malaya has identified public law injunction as a critical tool for regulatory bodies to protect the collective interests of online users. 

Such an injunction should serve “as an immediate ‘emergency brake’, allowing regulators to bypass procedural delays and legally compel platforms to freeze scam accounts or remove deceptive advertisements in real-time”.

It would allow public law enforcement to prevent the “systemic unfair commercial practices that threaten users’ safety and economic stability”.

Citing the so-called landmark case of Zschimmer & Schwarz GMBH & Co. KG Chemische Fabriken v Persons Unknown and Mohammad Azuwan bin Othman (t/a Premier Outlook Services) where the High Court has established a precedent for granting injunctions against “Persons Unknown”, Dr Ong suggested that public law injunctions can be utilised to combat anonymous cybercrime and scam advertising.

“By deploying injunction alongside statutory investigations, it can prevent widespread financial loss while the more time-consuming work of evidence gathering and compliance auditing continues in the background,” wrote Dr Ong.

In Zschimmer & Schwarz, the plaintiff, a German company, was a victim of a cross-border cyber fraud known as “push payment fraud” where through exchanges of emails, the fraudster, who was the first defendant (described as “Persons Unknown”), deceived the plaintiff into making payment of €123,014.65 (RM590,470.32) into a CIMB bank account in Malaysia.

File picture of the Palace of Justice in Putrajaya. A commentary by Hafiz Hassan examines the legal limitations of ‘ex parte’ injunctions in tackling online scams and cyber fraud in Malaysia. — Picture by Raymond Manuel

The plaintiff thought it was making a genuine payment to its South Korean counterparty for a commission payment. Instead, the fraudster siphoned the plaintiff’s monies away. The CIMB bank account was in the name of the second defendant, a sole proprietor.

The judgment of the High Court was in respect of two broad reliefs sought by the plaintiff on an urgent ex parte basis via a hearing through the e-review platform, the first of which was a proprietary injunction and Mareva injunction relief against the defendants.

Judicial Commissioner Ong Chee Kwan (now Judge of Court of Appeal) ruled that the court could grant parallel reliefs of a proprietary injunction and a Mareva injunction, which is a freezing injunction, as often done in fraud cases. 

The learned judge further ruled that the balance of convenience was in favour of the grant of the proprietary injunction. 

The plaintiff’s monies had been paid out under a false premise. These monies should be injuncted pending the determination of the plaintiff’s action against the defendants.

As for the requirements for the grant of a Mareva injunction, the learned ruled that the plaintiff had not only met the requirements under Order 29 rule 1(2A) of the Rules of Court 2012 (ROC), but had also incorporated the necessary guidelines and safeguards in the order for a Mareva injunction.

Given that the defendants were likely to have assets in the jurisdiction and that there was already actual dissipation of assets, and not just the risk of assets being removed from the jurisdiction — requirements for the grant of a Mareva injunction – the learned judge granted the reliefs sought by the plaintiff.

Be that as it may, the injunctions granted by the learned judge were clearly ex parte pursuant to an ex parteapplication — that is, an application made by a party to the cause or matter without the attendance of the other party. 

The reference by the learned judge to Order 29 rule 1(2A) ROC makes it even more explicit that the injunctions were ex parte as rule 1(2A) is relevant to ex parte applications only. It has no application or relevance in inter partes applications.

The quagmire is this: the general lifespan of an ex parte injunction is 21 days and this period is mandatory. 

Consequently, an ex parte injunction will automatically lapse at the end of that period. 

In the absence of any application to revoke or set aside the injunction, it will automatically lapse at the end of 21 days from the date on which it was granted, unless extended by an inter partes application.

Were injunctions granted by the learned judge extended by an inter partes application?

Clearly, there are limitations to the so-called public law injunctions such as those granted by the High Court in Zschimmer & Schwarz.

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

MAY 21 — Malaysia is aging much faster than many realise. According to the Department of Statistics Malaysia, the country officially became an “aging nation” in 2021 when the demographic of those aged 65 and older reached 7 per cent. Based on current projections, we are expected to transition into an “aged nation” by 2048, with this group making up 14 per cent of the population. Despite this undeniable demographic shift, Malaysian law currently does not impose a blanket upper age limit on private driving licenses. The process remains governed by the standard operating procedures of the Road Transport Act 1987. Specifically, Section 30(3) of this Act mandates that all drivers, regardless of age, must ensure they are in good health to operate a vehicle safely. However, for everyday private vehicle owners, this relies entirely on self‑declaration rather than formal medical proof, a policy that is facing intense public scrutiny.

This scrutiny has been amplified by several highly publicised and tragic accidents in early May 2026. On May 5, 2026, an elderly man in his 70s lost control of his Proton X70 in Section 17, Petaling Jaya. The vehicle sped into the opposite lane and brutally rammed a motorcyclist where a food delivery rider in his 20s, who tragically died at the scene. The elderly driver was subsequently released on police bail due to his own underlying health reasons. Just days later, social media platforms like Reddit Malaysia were flooded with footage of another alarming incident where an elderly driver lost control and crashed directly into a bustling kopitiam stall, severely injuring a worker with hot liquid. These incidents have sparked widespread public outrage and reignited demands for stricter regulations.

Various authorities, including the Bukit Aman Traffic Investigation and Enforcement Department, have continuously urged the government to implement specialised screening rules for seniors before they can renew their licenses. — Picture by Shafwan Zaidon

Instead of a strict, arbitrary age cut‑off, the most prominent solution being debated is the introduction of mandatory health assessments for drivers aged 65 and above. Various authorities, including the Bukit Aman Traffic Investigation and Enforcement Department, have continuously urged the government to implement specialised screening rules for seniors before they can renew their licenses. Enforcing mandatory medical screenings ensures that natural, age‑related physical declines such as deteriorating eyesight, slower reflexes, hearing loss, or cognitive conditions which do not put the driver or the wider public at risk. Establishing a firm, legally required health check removes ambiguity and saves families from the painful, subjective burden of telling an aging parent they are no longer fit to get behind the wheel. It shifts the responsibility from a personal family conflict to a standardised, unbiased medical evaluation.

Conversely, forcing elderly drivers to undergo mandatory health screenings or strict age caps risks institutionalising ageism and ignoring the vast spectrum of healthy aging. A major misconception is that chronological age universally dictates competence on the road; many advocacy groups point out that reckless behaviour and speeding among younger demographics still account for a massive portion of road fatalities. Automatically placing administrative hurdles in front of a sharp, physically active 75‑year‑old ignores their individual capability. The most severe drawback, however, is the very real economic and social strain this could cause. Stripping away an elderly person’s driving license or making it exceptionally difficult to renew through costly or stressful medical hurdles severely restricts their independence. For many older Malaysians, especially those in areas lacking robust public transit, the ability to drive equates to the ability to earn a living, buy groceries, or access vital healthcare. Cutting off these avenues prematurely could deepen financial hardship and social isolation for an increasingly vulnerable demographic.

Ultimately, navigating the driving capabilities of senior citizens is a complex balancing act for Malaysia, especially in the wake of recent tragedies. While strict age limits or sweeping mandatory assessments can act as a necessary safeguard for public safety, they also risk unfairly marginalising a massive portion of our population who are still capable and rely on their mobility to survive. Rather than implementing absolute bans based purely on a number, the most realistic and compassionate path forward likely involves highly targeted, government‑subsidised, and easily accessible health evaluations that aim to support and assist seniors rather than blindly penalise them. This approach prioritises the safety of Malaysian roads without sacrificing the dignity, mobility, and hard‑earned independence of our elders.

* Ts Dr Muhammad Ammirrul Atiqi Mohd Zainuri, Faculty of Engineering and Built Environment, Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia

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

MAY 21 — The real issue in e-commerce taxation is visibility. A single online purchase is a complex web: an overseas seller, a remote platform, a foreign payment gateway, and a cross-border courier. By the time Malaysian Customs finally sees the physical parcel, the sale, payment, and delivery are already complete. This makes tracking the transaction nearly impossible.

This is why the UNCTAD Intergovernmental Group of Experts on E-commerce and the Digital Economy meeting in Geneva this week (May 11-13, 2026) is so critical. Focused on helping developing countries protect their tax revenues, the session highlights a hard truth: e-commerce taxation is not just about demanding more money. It is about whether developing countries possess the data, tools, and institutions needed to police the digital economy fairly.

Malaysia is already fighting back. On January 1, 2024, the government introduced a 10 per cent sales tax on imported Low-Value Goods (LVG) under RM500. The framework avoids wasting resources on occasional sellers by establishing an annual sales threshold of RM500,000 for mandatory platform registration. This design effectively segments the market: the RM500 price cap isolates high-volume parcel trade, while the RM500,000 threshold ensures compliance focus remains on scalable platforms. However, while capturing low-value imports on paper is a critical milestone, the ultimate measure of success lies in implementation.

Traditional trade channels are highly visible, as goods often move through retailers, importers, distributors or wholesalers. In contrast, e-commerce transactions are deeply fragmented. An overseas seller might list a product on a remote platform, process payments through a foreign gateway, and ship items via international couriers. Consequently, border customs only see the physical parcel upon arrival. No single entity possesses visibility over the entire transaction. This data fragmentation paralyses tax collection and creates severe revenue leakage.

Fair taxation requires seamlessly connecting disparate pieces of data. Tax authorities require sales data, customs require product details, platforms hold buyer-seller data, and couriers track delivery locations. To bridge these gaps, Malaysia must build robust digital institutional capacity. This requires upgrading customs systems, streamlining tax registration, deploying digital filing, and removing communication silos between agencies.

This matters for domestic businesses.

If imported goods escape effective tax collection while domestic businesses remain fully visible to the tax system, it creates an uneven playing field. — freestockpro/Pexels pic

Tax treatment of domestic and foreign sellers should be neutral. A local retailer that pays tax, keeps records and complies with domestic rules should not be placed at a disadvantage against an overseas seller whose transactions are harder to detect or tax, particularly for informal e-commerce across social media platforms, foreign communication apps, foreign e-commerce platforms or video sharing platforms. The intention is not to protect domestic businesses from foreign competition, but to ensure that competition takes place on comparable tax terms.

If imported goods escape effective tax collection while domestic businesses remain fully visible to the tax system, it creates an uneven playing field.

Digital marketplaces wield immense operational control over product listings, payments, and logistics. It is highly practical for tax laws to mandate their assistance in collection and data reporting. However, regulatory design requires careful calibration. Overly lenient rules perpetuate tax evasion, while excessively harsh rules inflate compliance costs. This burden ultimately hurts consumers and prevents small businesses from participating in digital trade if compliance becomes too complicated.

This is why Malaysia needs balance.

Malaysia does not currently operate a VAT/GST system, but the same policy question arises under the sales tax on low-value goods: how can the country collect consumption tax fairly when the sale is made online, the seller may be overseas, and the parcel enters through customs channels?

VAT/GST may be one of the strongest tools for taxing consumption, but in e-commerce, its success depends on the strength of the institutions behind it.

Malaysia should also make compliance simple. Foreign sellers and online marketplaces should know when they must register, how to charge tax, how to file returns and how to avoid double taxation. A confusing system will not improve compliance. It will only create uncertainty. The wider lesson from the UNCTAD discussion is that developing countries need more than tax laws. They need digital-ready institutions. E-commerce taxation depends on data, coordination and administrative capacity. A country cannot collect efficiently from digital trade if its institutions still operate in separate silos.

As such, Malaysia’s e-commerce tax debate should be beyond whether e-commerce and digital trade should be taxed. Instead, whether the institutions are ready for e-commerce and digital trade. Well-written rules may remain vulnerable in practice without coordination between the tax authority, customs, platforms and other intermediaries within the e-commerce ecosystem to ensure that the tax is collected fairly, protecting neutrality, and ensuring that digital trade grows on a level playing field.

* Hal Lai Keong is a PhD candidate and Dr. Ong Tze Chin is a Senior Lecturer at the Faculty of Law, Universiti Malaya, and can be reached at tzechinong@um.edu.my

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

MAY 21 — The war between the United States and Iran is terrifying. As the world oil prices seesaw with every missile strike and counter-strike, a deeply uncomfortable question emerges from the smoke: Could this be a blessing in disguise for the global fight against climate change?

At first glance, the question is almost profane. War is a catalyst for ecological devastation, not salvation. The carbon footprint of a single armoured division is staggering. The burning of oil fields, the destruction of infrastructure, and the redirection of resources toward munitions and away from green innovation is a catastrophic setback for environmental progress. To call any war a “blessing” is to ignore the immediate, scorched-earth reality of its impact.

Yet, the geopolitical calculus of the US-Iran conflict forces a harsh, clarifying light on the very foundation of our global economy: our addiction to fossil fuels. In this sense, the conflict is a brutal, real-time audit of our vulnerabilities. As tankers are seized in the Strait of Hormuz and critical infrastructure is threatened, the world is reminded that a significant portion of its lifeblood flows through one of the most volatile chokepoints on the planet. This isn’t an abstract debate about carbon emissions anymore; it’s a tangible threat to national security and economic stability.

The geopolitical calculus of the US-Iran conflict forces a harsh, clarifying light on the very foundation of our global economy: our addiction to fossil fuels. — Hosny Salah/Pexels pic

This realisation is the curse’s potential silver lining. For decades, environmentalists have argued for energy independence on moral and scientific grounds. Now, the national security hawks and the fiscal conservatives are joining the chorus, not because they care about polar bears or melting glaciers, but because they fear supply chain disruption. War makes the theoretical risk of “peak oil” or “geopolitical instability” feel visceral. It strips away the illusion of a stable market and reveals the fossil fuel economy for what it is: a geopolitical hostage situation.

In this context, the argument that conflict incentivises investment in locally sourced renewable energy gains significant traction. Solar, wind, biomass, and geothermal energy are not just “clean”; they are inherently secure. The sun doesn’t send gunboats, the wind doesn’t hold pipelines hostage, and uranium for nuclear power — while itself subject to supply chains — is often sourced from more geopolitically stable allies. The logic is undeniable: the fastest way to render the Strait of Hormuz irrelevant to your survival is to stop needing the oil that passes through it.

We are already seeing this narrative take hold. The European Union, caught between American pressure and reliance on Middle Eastern energy, has doubled down on its Green Deal. Nations like Germany and Japan, with few domestic fossil resources, view the acceleration of renewables not just as an environmental policy, but as a fundamental strategy for national sovereignty. The war rhetoric, therefore, acts as a massive, unplanned marketing campaign for energy independence. It frames the solar panel on your roof not as a hippie indulgence, but as an act of patriotic defiance against global instability.

But we must tread carefully here. To accept conflict as an “incentive” is a dangerous path. The history of energy is written in blood and oil, and it is a fool’s errand to rely on tragedy to drive progress. The immediate effect of war is rarely a surge in green investment; it is a frantic scramble to secure existing fossil fuel supplies. Governments, panicked by price spikes, may temporarily double down on domestic drilling and coal mining, further entrenching the very systems we need to dismantle. The curse is that war clouds our long-term vision with short-term survival instincts.

So, is the US-Iran conflict a blessing or a curse? It is both. It is a curse for the climate in its immediate aftermath and a potential curse if it leads to a desperate, planet-scorching dash for any available energy. But it is a potential blessing if it finally breaks the cognitive dissonance of the fossil fuel era. It forces the world to acknowledge that our reliance on a finite resource controlled by unstable regions is a suicidal economic policy.

The tragedy is that we are learning this lesson through the lens of conflict rather than reason. The ideal path to a green future was always one of peaceful, rational transition. But if we are condemned to learn through crisis, let us ensure we learn the right lesson. The fire of war in the Middle East must illuminate the path toward the quiet, resilient hum of a wind turbine at home. It must show us that true energy security isn’t found at the barrel of a gun, but in the inexhaustible power of the earth beneath our feet and the sky above our heads. The question is whether our panic will be smarter than our foresight.

* The author is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.

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

MAY 20 — The world’s most intractable problems—a warming planet, the next pandemic, the fragility of our food and energy systems—are rooted in scientific challenges. The logic therefore follows that the solutions must be cultivated in science. And if we tend that science together, across borders, we might just grow a more peaceful world. This is the ethos of science diplomacy. It is a beautiful theory. But as an operational reality, it is a sleeping giant. In an era defined by geopolitical fragmentation, resurgent nationalism, and a burgeoning distrust of expertise, science diplomacy risks becoming a quaint relic rather than the powerful tool for peace and progress it aspires to be. To make it work—to truly leverage science as a bridge rather than a battlefield—we must radically overhaul its practice. We must move from polite, peripheral collaboration to deeply integrated, high-stakes cooperation.

For decades, scientific collaboration has been the “third strand” of foreign policy, trailing behind security and economics. It was the track of cultural exchanges and polar research stations—important, but rarely urgent. That mindset is a luxury we can no longer afford. When a virus leaps from a bat to a human in one corner of the globe and grounds flights worldwide within weeks, the line between “scientific cooperation” and “national security” evaporates.

To make science diplomacy more effective, we must embed it directly into the core of national security councils and foreign ministries. It cannot be an afterthought, handled by a small office of science advisers. It needs a seat at the table where crisis responses are drafted and sanctions are debated. When we discuss energy independence, we must simultaneously discuss the physics of grid-scale batteries and the geopolitics of lithium. When we negotiate trade deals, we must pre-negotiate the protocols for sharing genomic data of future pathogens. Science is not a component of these issues; it is the issue.

The real work of science diplomacy happens in the plumbing: the shared databases, the interoperable research standards, the jointly funded laboratories, and the visa lanes that allow young researchers from rival nations to study together. — Unsplash pic

Science diplomacy often manifests as high-level declarations—the Paris Agreement, for instance. These are vital, but they are the roof of a house that lacks walls and a foundation. The real work of science diplomacy happens in the plumbing: the shared databases, the interoperable research standards, the jointly funded laboratories, and the visa lanes that allow young researchers from rival nations to study together.

If we want science to be a tool for peace, we must invest in the infrastructure that forces interaction. Consider CERN, the European particle physics laboratory. Born in the ashes of World War II, its founding principle was to bring scientists from former enemy nations together to work on a project so large no single country could afford it. That is the model. We need a CERN for climate modelling in the Sahel. We need a CERN for synthetic biology in Southeast Asia. We need physical, funded, permanent spaces where scientists from the US, China, Russia, and the Global South are not just talking, but building together. When your collaborator in a rival nation becomes a friend, it becomes much harder to dehumanise their entire population.

Historically, science diplomacy has been a game for the wealthy. The Global North sets the agenda, funds the research, and invites the Global South to participate. This dynamic breeds resentment and scepticism. If we want true global cooperation on climate or health, we must treat lower-income nations as equal partners, not just data points. This means investing in their scientific infrastructure, respecting their indigenous knowledge, and ensuring they share in the economic benefits of the solutions we develop together. A vaccine developed in the West but inaccessible to Africa is not a diplomatic triumph; it is a recruitment tool for anti-science, anti-Western sentiment. Science diplomacy must be a mechanism for equity. When a developing nation sees that its partnership leads to tangible benefits—a more resilient crop, access to clean energy, a trained cohort of PhDs—then science becomes a powerful argument for internationalism itself.

Science diplomacy must actively champion the scientific method as a universal value—not a Western one, but a human one. It must defend the researchers whose work is inconvenient to political powers. An attack on a climate scientist in Brazil or a virologist in China is an attack on the entire global scientific enterprise. Diplomats must treat these incidents with the same gravity as a violation of a trade agreement.

The tools are in our hands. The problems are undeniable. Science can provide the blueprints for a liveable future, but it cannot build that future alone. It requires a diplomatic corps with the courage to elevate science from a talking point to a central strategy. It is time for Asean to create one!

*The author is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.

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

MAY 19 — Of late, there has been intense debate over BUDI95, particularly on whether subsidised fuel should be extended to the T20 group, whether the income threshold should be narrowed, and how the mechanism should ultimately be implemented in light of the country’s growing subsidy bill.

But beyond subsidies and income brackets lies a bigger question: is Malaysia’s dependence on private cars and cheap petrol still sustainable in the long run?

The truth is that the Government is now spending some RM6 billion to RM7 billion per month on subsidies following the blockade in the Strait of Hormuz. This is up from about RM700 million in January before the conflict in West Asia started.

This is not sustainable in the long run. Money spent subsidising petrol consumption is money that cannot be fully used to improve buses, trains, walkways, schools, clinics or direct support for those who need it most.

Part of the reason Malaysia remains trapped in the subsidy cycle is that the country has grown heavily dependent on private cars and artificially low fuel prices. Malaysia reportedly has the second highest car ownership rate in Asia.

In major cities such as London, New York, Tokyo and Singapore, taking the train or bus is normal. Office workers, students, professionals, tourists and senior executives use public transport without any social stigma. It is simply the most practical way to move around.

Malaysians must develop the same attitude. Public transport should not be seen as a second-class option.

The good news is that Malaysia is not starting from zero. In the Klang Valley, especially Bukit Bintang where I am active in community work, public transport connectivity has improved considerably over the years. Thanks in large part to the efforts of the Ministry of Transport, the MRT, LRT, monorail, KTM, bus and feeder networks, along with free city bus services, have become far more extensive and accessible in recent years.

The launch of the Segambut Utara KTM station by the Transport Minister on May 15, along with the extension of DBKL’s GoKL13 bus service to include the station, is another clear testament to the government’s continuous commitment to strengthening the public transport network.

Commuters are seen at an MRT station in Kajang, Selangor as calls grow for Malaysia to reduce dependence on fuel subsidies by improving public transport connectivity and promoting smarter mobility solutions. — Picture by Raymond Manuel

Initiatives like the My50 pass have also helped keep commuting affordable. The Putrajaya Line has expanded rail coverage. The LRT3 Shah Alam Line is expected to further improve connectivity. ETS services have also expanded southwards, improving intercity rail travel. These are not small achievements.

That said, there’s still room for improvements. Occasional train delays and breakdowns, crowded coaches, as well as weak first-mile and last-mile connectivity may discourage people from changing their commuting habits. If the government wants Malaysians to reduce petrol consumption, public transport must be reliable, convenient and attractive enough for people to willingly choose it over driving.

This is where more practical solutions are needed. First and foremost, first-and-last-mile connectivity must be prioritised. Services such as on-demand vans have shown that neighbourhoods can be linked to rail stations in a more flexible and efficient manner. In some countries, shared scooters are widely available for short-distance travel, helping commuters get to train stations and reach their final destinations more conveniently.

Another dimension involves reducing unnecessary travel and easing traffic congestion through flexible working hours and work-from-home arrangements. Technology already makes this possible for many jobs. The government can consider incentives for companies that implement staggered hours, hybrid work or staff public transport benefits.

The private sector should also be part of the solution. In Kuala Lumpur, initiatives similar to Bangun KL could be expanded beyond food and beverage discounts to encourage off-peak travel and commuting. The government can also incentivise or encourage toll operators, taxis and ride-sharing platforms to offer lower rates during non-peak hours, helping to spread out travel demand more evenly throughout the day. These will ultimately lead to lower usage of petrol.

Lastly, if private car ownership cannot be avoided, then the government should continue incentivising the shift towards electric vehicles (EVs). The government has already taken several encouraging steps, including extending tax exemptions for EVs, accelerating the rollout of charging infrastructure nationwide, and attracting major global EV investments into Malaysia. 

These efforts must continue to accelerate the country’s transition away from fossil fuel-powered vehicles.

Ultimately, BUDI95 should not be treated only as a subsidy mechanism. It should be treated as a turning point. The global energy situation is telling us that the old model of cheap petrol, more cars and endless congestion cannot continue forever.

If we get this right, Malaysia can use this moment to build a better transport future with more reliable public transport, less congestion and lower subsidy burden on taxpayers.

* Ben Fong Kok Seng is the chairman of the Bukit Bintang Parliamentary Zone Residents’ Representative Council.

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

MAY 19 — A mosque is more than a place of worship. In the heart of every community, it is a space where people gather, connect, learn and support one another. In today’s world, it can also become something even more powerful – a place that helps save lives.

Imagine the scene after tarawih prayers. Congregants are greeting one another, families are resting at the mosque compound, and the atmosphere is calm. Suddenly, someone collapses and becomes unresponsive. In that moment, time is no longer counted in minutes. It is counted in seconds.

The person standing closest may not be a doctor, nurse or paramedic. More often, it is an ordinary member of the public – a fellow worshipper, a student, a teacher, a father or a neighbour. Yet that person may hold the key to survival.

Out-of-hospital cardiac arrest does not wait for the perfect setting. It happens at home, in schools, at shopping malls, at workplaces and, yes, even in mosques. When it happens, the first few minutes are critical. Waiting passively for an ambulance may cost a life. Early cardiopulmonary resuscitation, or CPR, can keep blood flowing to the brain and vital organs while professional help is on the way.

This is why community readiness matters. CPR is not an advanced medical procedure reserved only for healthcare workers. Basic CPR can be learned by almost anyone. It is simple, practical and empowering. More importantly, it gives ordinary people the confidence to act when every second counts.

Recent stories of young children using CPR to help their friends remind us of a powerful truth: lifesaving skills are not limited by age or profession. If a child can learn and respond with courage, then surely adults, institutions and communities can do the same.

This is where mosques have an important role to play. Across Malaysia, mosques are already centres of spiritual development, education and social support. With the right training and partnerships, they can also become centres of emergency preparedness.

Programmes such as Selangor Beriktikaf ’26 at Masjid Raja Bendahara Tengku Badar Shah, Denai Alam, show how this can be done meaningfully. Through collaboration involving community organisations, healthcare professionals and the MyResQ initiative from Universiti Malaya, supported by Yayasan Inovasi Malaysia, worshippers were not only encouraged to strengthen their spiritual connection during Ramadan, but also equipped with basic lifesaving knowledge.

Participants were introduced to how to recognise an unresponsive person, how to perform effective chest compressions, and how to use an automated external defibrillator, or AED. 

Emergency treatment using an AED is seen in this image, as calls grow for mosques and community spaces to be equipped with lifesaving emergency response tools and CPR-trained volunteers. — Unsplash pic

These are not abstract skills. They are practical actions that can make the difference between life and death.

Some may ask: what if an emergency happens during prayer? The principle is clear. Saving a life takes priority. In Islam, the preservation of life is a fundamental value. In a medical emergency, prayer can be paused or resumed later so that urgent help can be given. 

Compassion, courage and action are all part of serving a higher purpose.

However, knowledge alone is not enough. The greater challenge is hesitation. In emergencies, many people freeze. Some assume someone else will act. Others fear making a mistake. This bystander effect is common, but it can be changed through training, repetition and confidence-building.

Universities have a special responsibility in this space. A higher education institution should not only produce graduates and research papers. It should translate knowledge into public benefit. It should bring science, innovation and compassion into the community.

MyResQ reflects this mission. The initiative aims to connect emergency victims with trained responders nearby through digital technology. By using real-time alerts, AED location mapping, emergency call integration and CPR learning modules, MyResQ helps strengthen the chain of survival before professional responders arrive.

This is especially important because ambulance response may take several minutes, while cardiac arrest demands almost immediate action. In many cases, the community itself is the true first responder.

Now imagine if every mosque in Malaysia had trained CPR volunteers, accessible AEDs and congregants who knew exactly what to do when someone collapsed. The mosque would remain a place of worship, but it would also become a place of protection – a sanctuary not only for the soul, but also for life.

The question is no longer whether CPR should be learned. The real question is this: if someone collapses in front of us today, are we ready to act?

Higher education, faith institutions and communities must now work together. With knowledge, technology and compassion, we can build a Malaysia where help begins not only when the ambulance arrives, but from the very first person who chooses to step forward.

* Dr Mohd Afiq Mohd Nor and Dr Mohd Hafyzuddin Md Yusuf are Consultant Emergency Physicians at Universiti Malaya Medical Centre.

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

MAY 19 — Sri Lanka has a strange relationship with accountability.

We adore the theatre of justice.

The press conference. The dramatic raid. The minister standing behind a microphone, sleeves metaphorically rolled up, promising to finally hunt down the untouchables. Every election, another government arrives carrying a moral broom the size of Adam’s Peak, vowing to sweep corruption out of the republic.

And every few years, we discover the same depressing truth.

The truly powerful rarely get caught.

Because real corruption is not amateur hour.

If you think sophisticated operators move money in their own names, leave tidy paper trails, or hand over briefcases under flickering street lamps, you have been watching too many bad television dramas. The serious ones hide behind offshore entities, proxies, ghost companies, old school ties, foreign intermediaries, cousins of cousins, trusted businessmen who smile politely at charity dinners while moving mountains behind the curtain.

According to the author, civilised nations are not measured only by whether they win wars. — Pexels.com poic

Corruption investigations become tunnels.

Then tunnels inside tunnels.

Years pass.

Governments fall.

Files disappear. Witnesses suddenly cannot remember anything. Public anger grows tired. The headlines move on.

Eventually, Sri Lanka does what Sri Lanka does best.

We sigh.

Shake our heads.

And mutter those three national words:

“Aney… this country.”

But what if the greatest question of accountability staring at this island was never hidden?

What if it has been sitting there in plain sight for years?

A child. 

A war already won.

And a question too uncomfortable for politicians to touch.

Let me say something many are too frightened to say aloud.

Ending the war was necessary.

No sane person who lived through suicide bombings, assassinations, bus explosions, fear, checkpoints, extortion and endless funerals can deny what peace gave this country. Roads reopened. Businesses returned. Families breathed again. Children grew up not knowing the sound of bombs as ordinary background noise.

For that, Sri Lanka deserves recognition.

But victory does not grant moral immunity.

Winning a war is not a licence to stop asking questions.

Governments are not crime families.

A nation cannot operate like some gangster-era syndicate where difficult decisions disappear into whispered conversations, everybody shrugs, and history is instructed to stay quiet.

Because civilised nations are not measured only by whether they win wars.

They are measured by what they are brave enough to confront afterward.

And sixteen years later, one image still refuses to disappear.

A small boy.

Alive.

Sitting quietly.

Still young enough to look frightened in the way children do when adults are speaking in rooms they do not understand.

For many Tamils, the image became something larger than politics.

Larger than ideology.

Larger than war.

It became a wound.

Not because everyone agrees on every allegation surrounding those final days — they do not.

But because the questions never truly went away.

What happened?

Who knew?

Was everything done lawfully?

Why has there never been a process trusted enough to answer these questions with credibility?

These are not dangerous questions.

Avoiding them is what becomes dangerous.

Because silence does not heal history.

Silence ferments.

It settles into memory.

It travels quietly from generation to generation — over dinner tables in Jaffna, Mullaitivu, Colombo, Toronto, London and Melbourne — until grief becomes inheritance.

And inheritance becomes anger.

Sri Lanka has spent years trying to outrun its ghosts.

But ghosts are stubborn creatures.

They wait.

Sometimes history comes knocking softly.

Sometimes it arrives with international scrutiny, uncomfortable headlines, leaked reports and foreign pressure.

And by then, countries no longer own their own stories.

Others write it for them.

That is the real tragedy.

Because Sri Lanka still has a choice.

We can continue pretending that accountability weakens nations.

Or we can finally understand the opposite.

Strong countries investigate themselves.

Strong countries ask painful questions.

Strong countries are confident enough to say:

Yes, we ended a brutal conflict. Yes, we protected the nation. But if unlawful acts occurred, we are strong enough to face them honestly.

That is not betrayal.

That is maturity.

Because patriotism is not blind loyalty to power.

Patriotism is wanting your country to become better than its worst moments.

The war ended.

Thank God it did.

But peace without truth is unfinished business.

And perhaps history is asking Sri Lanka something uncomfortable now:

Are we finally strong enough to stop being afraid?

Strong enough to stop whispering?

Strong enough to look backward so the next generation can finally move forward?

Because nations are not judged only by how they win wars.

They are judged by what they do after the cheering stops.

After the speeches.

After the victory parades.

When the smoke clears.

When the flags come down.

And history, in a much quieter voice, asks one final question:

What did you do when you finally knew enough to ask harder questions?

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

MAY 19 — Governments have built vast bureaucracies and spent trillions of dollars ensuring that a disruption to energy supplies doesn’t plunge their populations into darkness, or that a drought doesn’t lead to famine. We have accepted the premise that food, water, and energy sovereignty are the bedrock of a stable nation.

Yet, as we witness the volatility of the Gulf region – we are forced to confront a stark reality: a nation can have full bellies and illuminated streets, yet still be just one broken supply chain away from catastrophe. The recent international conference on pharmacy at UCSI University pulled the fire alarm on a crisis that has, for too long, been ignored: medicine security.

For a vast number of countries, the concept of pharmaceutical self-sufficiency is a myth. They import not just 100 per cent of their finished medicines, but the active pharmaceutical ingredients (APIs) and raw materials needed to manufacture them. In the event of a pandemic, a geopolitical blockade, or a simple trade dispute, the medicine cabinet of an entire nation goes empty.

We have spent decades optimizing the pharmaceutical supply chain for efficiency and low cost, primarily concentrating manufacturing in a handful of hubs. But we forgot to optimize for resilience. 

If the current conflicts in the Gulf have taught us anything about energy, it is that dependency is a vulnerability that can be exploited. What happens when the disruption is about insulin vials, cancer therapeutics, or the antibiotics that turn a routine surgery from a life-saving procedure into a death sentence?

We saw the fragility of this system during the Covid-19 pandemic, when nations turned on each other, hoarding masks and ventilators. Yet, even as the memory of that panic fades, the underlying structural weakness remains. We are sleepwalking into a future where our health is determined not by the quality of our doctors, but by the stability of a port halfway across the world.

However, there is a parallel path forward – one that has been trodden successfully by nations like China and India: the integration and development of traditional medicine.

For too long, the Western model of healthcare has dismissed traditional medicine as folklore or pseudoscience, unworthy of the rigor of modern investment. But China and India have taken a different, more pragmatic approach. They recognize that true security is not about choosing between modern and traditional; it is about leveraging all available assets.

China has systematically invested in the research and development of Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), integrating it into their national health system and industrial policy. India has similarly promoted Ayurveda, not merely as a cultural artifact, but as a thriving industry and a strategic asset.

Concerns grow over countries’ dependence on imported pharmaceutical supplies and raw materials amid the ongoing Hormuz impasse. — Pexels pic

These nations are not abandoning modern pharmaceuticals; rather, they are building a dual-layered system of security. By developing their traditional medicine sectors, these countries create indigenous supply chains. They cultivate medicinal plants on domestic soil, developing manufacturing capabilities for herbal formulations, and – crucially – building the scientific evidence base to validate efficacy.

This about autonomy, not nostalgia. In the context of national security, traditional medicine becomes something far more utilitarian. If a blockade cuts off the supply of a specific synthetic API, a nation with a robust traditional medicine sector has alternatives. It has an industry capable of production, a workforce trained in preparation, and a populace with a baseline of trust in domestically produced remedies.

Every country that imports 100 per cent of its medicine is effectively outsourcing its public health sovereignty. We look at the Gulf and see the risk of economic collapse due to energy dependence; why do we not see the same risk for medical collapse due to pharmaceutical dependence? It is time for governments to broaden their definition of critical infrastructure.

We need a Manhattan Project for medicine security. This must include: Strategic stockpiles: Not just of finished goods, but of APIs and raw materials. Incentives to bring generic drug production back within borders, or at least to allied nations. Treating traditional medicine as a strategic industry. This means funding research, standardizing production, and integrating safe, effective traditional remedies into national health formularies.

Sovereignty in the 21st century is no longer just about the ability to defend borders or control oil fields. It is about the ability to ensure that when a crisis hits, a citizen can get the medicine they need to survive – whether that pill comes from a multinational corporation or a local pharmacopoeia developed over centuries. The nations that recognize this will not only protect their populations from the whims of global supply chains; they will define what true resilience looks like in a volatile world. For those that don’t, the prescription for survival will remain perpetually out of stock.

*T he author is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.

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

MAY 19 — As the spectre of a US-Iran conflict transitions from geopolitical thriller to potential reality, the Gulf states find themselves staring into the economic abyss. The toll will be merciless. Trade routes will be choked, tourism will evaporate, and the financial sector, the very nervous system of the region’s diversification dreams, will face a seizure. Yet, to focus solely on the damage is to miss the point. Recovery will be found in a radical, uncomfortable pivot toward resilience.

The Gulf’s economy is a story of vectors. Trade is the lifeblood, and war is a thrombosis. The Strait of Hormuz, through which a fifth of the world’s oil passes, becomes not just a chokepoint but a target. Insurance premiums for any vessel daring to enter the Gulf would skyrocket, rerouting global supply chains away from Jebel Ali and other regional ports toward the Red Sea or the Mediterranean. The region’s identity as the world’s logistical hinge would be severed.

Gulf tourism, particularly in the UAE and Saudi Arabia, has been built on a narrative of safety and hyper-normalcy in a rough neighbourhood. War shatters that illusion instantly. The conferences cancel, the influencers stay home, and the “bleisure” traveller opts for elsewhere. The hospitality sector, overbuilt in anticipation of a golden age, would be left with empty rooms and mounting debt. The financial sector—the crown jewel of the post-oil future—thrives on stability and the free flow of capital. Conflict triggers capital flight. Investors, regional and international, move money to perceived safe havens. Stock markets tumble. Funding for the very megaprojects designed to wean the states off oil dries up.

So, how does a region recover from such shock? The standard playbook—stimulus packages and central bank liquidity—will only stop the bleeding. True recovery requires the Gulf states to acknowledge that their greatest strength is also their greatest vulnerability: integration. The instinct during war is to retreat. The Gulf must resist this. Instead of trying to replace trade that has fled, they must double down on the trade that can’t flee. This means fast-tracking digital infrastructure. If physical goods can’t move through the Gulf, the Gulf must become the undisputed king of digital services moving out of the Gulf. Invest heavily in fintech, data centres, and AI-driven logistics that manage global supply chains remotely. Make the region the brain of global trade.

This screen grab taken from a screen recording of the MarineTraffic website on April 21, 2026, shows data visualisation of maritime traffic in the Gulf, Strait of Hormuz and Gulf of Oman from April 18 to April 20, amid a fragile US-Iran truce. — marinetraffic.com pic via AFP

Domestic tourism is often dismissed as a poor substitute for international high-rollers. In a recovery phase, it is a lifeline. The Gulf states have large, youthful, and increasingly wealthy populations. A war-time recovery strategy must redirect the massive spending power of Saudis, Emiratis, and Kuwaitis inward. Create incentives for local spending, develop under-explored domestic destinations, and market the Gulf not as a global crossroads, but as a vast, secure backyard for its own citizens. This keeps currency and revenue within the system while international visitors are scared away.

The financial sector’s recovery hinges on trust. To stem capital flight, governments must offer unprecedented guarantees—not just on deposits, but on the viability of strategic projects. More importantly, they must accelerate the adoption of sovereign digital currencies. A Gulf-wide digital currency for trade settlement would be a monumental project, but a war provides the necessary urgency to build it. Finally, the most uncomfortable lesson is that the Gulf states must achieve true deterrence. For decades, they have outsourced their ultimate security to the United States. A war with Iran—whether triggered by Washington or Tehran—reveals the danger of this dependency. Recovery, long-term, requires a credible, indigenous defence industrial base. Spending billions on American hardware is not enough; the Gulf needs to manufacture its own drones, build its own cyber defences, and integrate its own air defences. Security spending must shift from consumption to production. An economy that can defend itself is an economy that can attract capital.

A US-Iran war will be a catastrophe for the Gulf states. There is no sugarcoating the immediate pain. But catastrophe is also a catalyst. The old model of the Gulf—a serene, open-air hub for the world’s goods, cash, and tourists—is predicated on a peace that may no longer exist. The recovery will not be a return to the status quo ante. It will be the birth of something tougher, more introverted, and technologically sovereign. It will be a Gulf that trades in bits when it cannot trade in barrels, that vacations at home when the world stays away, and that holds its own purse strings when the patron is at war. It will be a more difficult Gulf to live in, but a far harder one to break. It is a complete transformation.

*The author is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.

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

MAY 19 — Not long ago, I was reading a draft journal article submitted by one of my postgraduate students. 

The structure was sound. The language was clear and precise. The arguments were presented in a logical sequence, supported by appropriate references. 

Everything seemed in order. It was only when I reached the discussion section that I paused.

The writing remained polished, and the analysis appeared coherent. Yet there was something about it that felt incomplete. 

The conclusions followed from the findings, but they did not seem to fully engage with the deeper implications of the work. The argument moved forward, but it did not quite arrive. 

I read the section again, trying to understand what was missing.

It was not a question of correctness. The analysis was not wrong. It was simply incomplete in a way that was difficult to articulate. 

The words were there, the structure was there but the sense of insight that comes from careful reflection seemed absent. 

In recent years, tools powered by artificial intelligence have become increasingly capable of producing text that is coherent, well-structured and persuasive. 

Intelligence, as it is often expressed in such systems, is closely tied to the ability to process information, identify patterns and generate responses that align with those patterns. — Reuters pic

They can summarise complex ideas, generate explanations and assist in drafting academic work. In many ways, they have changed how we engage with knowledge.

There is much to appreciate in these developments. They can support learning, improve efficiency and make knowledge more accessible. 

For students and researchers alike, they offer new ways of exploring ideas and organising thoughts.

Yet experiences like this raise a quieter question about how we recognise understanding when we encounter it.

Intelligence, as it is often expressed in such systems, is closely tied to the ability to process information, identify patterns and generate responses that align with those patterns. 

It can be fast, efficient and, at times, remarkably convincing. Wisdom, however, seems to take shape in a different way.

It does not emerge from the arrangement of knowledge alone, but from a sustained engagement with ideas over time. 

It is formed through reflection, through the willingness to remain with questions that are not immediately resolved, and through the gradual development of judgement that comes with experience. 

It involves not only asking what can be concluded, but also considering what those conclusions mean and how they should be understood.

In academic work, this distinction can be subtle, but it is significant. A piece of writing may accurately describe results and connect them to existing literature, yet still leave unanswered the deeper questions that give the work its meaning. 

What does this finding change? How does it challenge existing assumptions? Where might it lead next? 

These are questions that cannot always be addressed through structure or language alone, but require a level of attentiveness that develops over time.

Such understanding is not always immediate. It often takes shape through revision, reconsideration and, at times, through recognising that an answer has not yet fully emerged. 

This process may appear slow, but it is where genuine learning resides.

In this context, the presence of increasingly capable and powerful systems invites not only technical adaptation but also a renewed awareness of how we think. 

The clarity and fluency of generated responses can give the impression that understanding has already been achieved, when in fact something more is still unfolding.

The more subtle challenge, perhaps, is not that such systems can produce convincing responses, but that we may begin to accept them without asking whether they are complete.

This does not diminish their value. Rather, it highlights the importance of remaining engaged in the process of thinking, of reading with care, and of recognising when an argument has been fully considered and when it is still in formation.

As I returned to the student’s draft, I realised that the task was not simply to refine the writing, but to encourage a deeper engagement with the work itself. 

What was needed was not more knowledge but more reflection, not a clearer sentence, but a clearer understanding.

That distinction is not always visible on the surface but it is where much of intellectual growth takes place.

We are entering a time when the ability to produce intelligent responses is no longer the primary challenge. 

That capability is becoming increasingly available. What remains, and what perhaps becomes more important, is the cultivation of a different kind of understanding.

And it is in that gradual process of reflection, shaped by time, experience and a willingness to think beyond what is immediately given, that we begin to recognise the shape of wisdom.

*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.

MAY 19 -- In “DKU is the appropriate body to decide on the appointment of an Undang”  and “Lawyers may misuse legal history, but not Salleh Abas” I referred to the Federal Court case of Dato Menteri Othman bin Baginda & Anor v Dato Ombi Syed Alwi bin Syed Idrus [1981] 1 MLJ 29. In that case, five eminent judges of the apex court delivered five separate judgments.

Those were the days, as they say.

But hold on. There were not five but six eminent judges who delivered separate judgments, if one were to include the Federal Court Judge who sat as the High Court Judge.

The case originated in the High Court. Federal Court Judge Abdul Hamid (as he then was) who sat as a High Court Judge dismissed the contention that the High Court had no jurisdiction over a matter related to purely question of adat and customs of the Malays in the Luak of Jelebu.

The decision was appealed against. In the days before the Court of Appeal was established in 1994, the appeal came before the Federal Court.

The Federal Court sat with a coram of five, namely (in order of seniority) Lord President Suffian, Acting Lord President and Chief Justice of Malaya Raja Azlan Shah, Federal Court Judge Salleh Abas, Federal Court Judge Ibrahim Manan and High Court Judge Hashim Yeop A Sani.

His Highness Raja Azlan Shah went on to succeed Suffian as Lord President. Salleh Abas succeeded His Highness. 

Abdul Hamid in turn succeeded Salleh Abas as Lord President. Meanwhile, Hashim Yeop A Sani later became Chief Justice of Malaya.

They were the who’s who of the Malaysian Judiciary.

Now, how did they decide on the case?

As mentioned earlier, Abdul Hamid held that the court had jurisdiction.

It is a challenge to the current judiciary to bring back those days. — Pexels pic

Raja Azlan Shah held, among others, that the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang (DKU) was a far more suitable forum for discharging the function in relation to the appointment of an Undang and it was open to the courts to refuse remedy on the ground that it was forum non conveniens – that is, a court may decline to exercise jurisdiction on the ground that another body would be more appropriate.

Salleh Abas held, among others, that the court had no jurisdiction. So did Ibrahim Manan, while Hashim Yeop A Sani held that the DKU must be regarded as the custodian of the adat in Negeri Sembilan and that the advice of the DKU in the matter of adat must be regarded as binding and conclusive.

The most senior judge and head of the judiciary, Suffian, however, dissented, holding that there was nothing in the Constitution, State or Federal, ousting the court’s jurisdiction over a disputed election of an Undang and that the court had jurisdiction on the matter.

The case is a throwback to the days when courageous and fair-minded judges sat in the chambers of justice, instilling confidence in the judicial system. 

Those were the days when judges strived relentlessly to dispense justice in accordance with the rule of law, and nothing else.

It is a challenge to the current judiciary to bring back those days.

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

MAY 19 — As world leaders and scientists gather in Hiroshima this week for the Antarctic Treaty Consultative Meeting (ATCM), it is a timely moment to reflect on why Antarctica, the world’s most remote continent, matters deeply to a tropical nation like Malaysia.

Although separated from Antarctica by thousands of kilometres, Malaysia has long played a distinctive role in shaping international Antarctic discourse. In the 1980s, former Prime Minister Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad brought Malaysia’s voice to the United Nations, calling for more equitable governance of Antarctica and greater participation of developing nations in decisions affecting this shared global space. That advocacy helped set the tone for Malaysia’s continued engagement as a Non-Consultative Party to the Antarctic Treaty System.

Today, while Malaysia does not hold voting rights at the ATCM, the country remains an active contributor through scientific collaboration, academic research, and environmental diplomacy.

For many Malaysians, Antarctica may seem a world away. But the science tells a different story. Melting ice sheets and shifting polar climate systems are directly linked to rising sea levels, coastal erosion, changing monsoon patterns, and increasingly erratic weather, all of which are already being felt in Malaysian coastal communities. Reports by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) consistently highlight that the effects of polar change extend far into the tropics.

Researchers are also examining what scientists call “tropical-polar teleconnections” — the ways in which environmental changes in Antarctica can influence weather, ocean circulation, and climate systems across equatorial regions. For a maritime nation like Malaysia, these findings carry serious implications.

Recent data from the International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators (IAATO) shows that Malaysian travellers now rank among the top 20 visitor source countries to Antarctica. This is actually a trend that speaks to growing curiosity about one of the world’s last great wildernesses. However, this comes with a responsibility that should not be taken lightly.

Antarctica is not merely a bucket-list destination. It is one of the most fragile ecosystems on Earth, where even the smallest human footprint can have lasting consequences. Every Malaysian who makes the journey south has the potential to return as more than a tourist, e.g., as an educator, advocate, and storyteller who helps their community understand the profound connection between this distant continent and our own tropical shores.

Researchers are also examining what scientists call “tropical-polar teleconnections” — the ways in which environmental changes in Antarctica can influence weather, ocean circulation, and climate systems across equatorial regions. — Unsplash pic

Antarctica may feel remote, but its story is inseparable from our own. Every Malaysian whether a student curious about climate science, a teacher looking to broaden horizons, or simply someone who cares about the future of our coastlines and communities has a stake in what happens at the ends of the Earth.

Learning more about polar science, talking about it, and supporting policies that protect our shared environment are small but meaningful steps anyone can take. The more Malaysians understand the connection between the frozen south and our tropical home, the stronger our collective voice becomes in shaping a sustainable future for all.

Antarctica is not a distant curiosity. It is a barometer of planetary health and what happens there will shape the world we and our children inherit.

* Prof. TPr Dr Goh Hong Ching is a member of the Department of Urban and Regional Planning, Faculty of Built Environment, Universiti Malaya, and currently serves as Deputy Director of the Malaysia National Antarctic Research Centre and can be reached at gohhc@um.edu.my, while Muhammad Fardy Md Ibrahim is the Head of Corporate Affairs and Communication at the Sultan Mizan Antarctic Research Foundation and can be reached at fardy@ypasm.my.

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

MAY 19 — The modern image of war is increasingly dominated by drones.

Small drones. Large drones. Surveillance drones. Naval drones. Underwater drones. Loitering munitions. 

Swarm drones. Kamikaze drones. High-altitude pseudo satellites. Autonomous reconnaissance systems. AI-enabled targeting platforms.

Yet the world often misunderstands the true nature of drone warfare.

The drone itself is merely the visible component of a much larger and increasingly invisible system powered by artificial intelligence, sensor fusion, cloud computing, machine learning and algorithmic decision-making.

In reality, the drone is only the tip of the iceberg.

Below it lies a vast architecture of AI-enabled warfare that is transforming the nature of military power faster than most governments, international organizations and societies can fully comprehend.

Military planners increasingly avoid the term “drone” altogether. Instead, they use the phrase “uncrewed systems” because modern warfare is no longer confined to flying machines alone. 

It includes autonomous underwater vessels, robotic tanks, sensor platforms, cyber systems and AI-enabled reconnaissance architectures operating across land, sea, air, cyber and space simultaneously.

Many drones still involve human operators remotely piloting systems from command centers sometimes thousands of kilometers away. 

These operators guide surveillance missions, collect intelligence or authorize strikes while never physically entering the battlefield.

But warfare is evolving beyond even remote piloting.

The rise of “one-way attack drones” marks a profound shift in military strategy. These systems function almost like intelligent missiles. 

Once launched, they navigate independently toward their targets using GPS, satellite guidance, terrain mapping, onboard cameras, infrared sensors or AI-assisted navigation systems.

Many drones still involve human operators remotely piloting systems from command centers sometimes thousands of kilometers away. — Reuters pic

Some loiter above battlefields waiting for opportunities before striking.

Others operate in coordinated swarms capable of overwhelming sophisticated air defense systems.

The implications are revolutionary.

Artificial intelligence is increasingly replacing not merely physical manpower, but cognitive military functions themselves.

This is where autonomy enters modern warfare.

The critical issue is not only the drone one can physically see. The far more consequential development lies underneath: the enormous data analysis ecosystem feeding these systems continuously.

Modern AI warfare depends upon vast streams of information gathered from satellites, drones, radar systems, naval sensors, cyber interception, electronic warfare systems, telecommunications metadata, facial recognition software, thermal imaging, biometric databases and real-time battlefield surveillance.

Artificial intelligence systems then process these massive quantities of information at speeds impossible for human beings alone.

Targets are identified.

Movement patterns are predicted.

Threat probabilities are calculated. Strike options are generated. Commanders are presented with recommendations faster than traditional military structures can even deliberate.

This is the emergence of algorithmic warfare.

In many respects, the battlefield is increasingly becoming a giant data-processing environment.

The side capable of gathering, processing and acting upon information the fastest gains strategic advantage.

This explains why major powers such as the United States, China and Russia are racing aggressively into military AI development. 

Artificial intelligence is no longer viewed as merely a supporting technology. It is increasingly regarded as the core operating system of future warfare.

The United States speaks of Joint All-Domain Command and Control, or JADC2, integrating military information from every domain into one operational network. 

China refers to “intelligentized warfare,” where AI, quantum technologies and autonomous systems converge into an integrated military ecosystem. 

Russia, Türkiye, Iran, India, Israel, the United Kingdom and NATO members are all accelerating investments in similar capabilities.

The future battlefield may not necessarily be won by the largest army.

It may instead be won by whoever possesses superior AI integration, sensor fusion and decision-making speed.

This represents one of the most profound military transformations since the invention of gunpowder or nuclear weapons.

Yet unlike nuclear weapons, AI warfare is far easier to proliferate.

Many drone technologies are relatively cheap compared to fighter jets, aircraft carriers or ballistic missile systems.

Commercial technologies can often be adapted into military use. 

Small states and even non-state actors can increasingly gain access to sophisticated autonomous capabilities.

This democratization of warfare creates enormous instability.

A relatively inexpensive swarm of AI-assisted drones may potentially threaten billion-dollar military assets such as naval destroyers, strategic infrastructure or air bases.

Traditional concepts of deterrence are therefore becoming increasingly uncertain.

At the same time, ethical concerns are mounting rapidly.

When algorithms increasingly influence battlefield decisions, accountability becomes blurred.

Who is responsible if an autonomous system makes a lethal error?

The military commander?

The software engineer?

The political leader?

The AI developer?

Or the machine itself?

International law has not kept pace with technological reality.

The Geneva Conventions were built upon the assumption that human beings ultimately make life-and-death decisions in war. But AI systems increasingly compress decision cycles into seconds. Human oversight risks becoming symbolic rather than substantive.

This is particularly dangerous because artificial intelligence systems can inherit biases, flawed assumptions or inaccurate data inputs. 

In chaotic conflict environments, distinguishing civilians from combatants remains extraordinarily difficult even for humans. Machines may struggle even more.

The danger is not necessarily that AI becomes evil.

The danger is that AI becomes excessively efficient in environments where moral ambiguity already dominates.

Equally troubling is the psychological distancing effect of remote and autonomous warfare. Leaders may find it politically easier to authorize military operations when fewer soldiers are placed directly at risk. 

Societies themselves may become desensitized to violence conducted through screens, algorithms and remote systems.

War risks becoming perpetual precisely because it appears technologically manageable.

This is why debates surrounding “human-in-the-loop” systems are becoming central to global security discussions. Many experts argue that humans must always retain meaningful control over lethal decisions.

But the pressure for speed in future warfare may undermine such safeguards.

If one country automates decision-making faster than its rival, others may feel compelled to follow in order to avoid strategic disadvantage.

This creates a dangerous cycle of competitive automation.

Artificial intelligence undoubtedly holds enormous promise for humanity in medicine, climate science, logistics and education. Yet its militarization reveals a darker reality of technological progress.

The world is now entering an era where wars may increasingly be fought not only with bullets and missiles, but with algorithms, predictive analytics and autonomous decision systems operating at machine speed.

The drone we see in the sky is therefore only the visible symbol of something far larger.

Beneath it lies the invisible architecture of AI warfare — an expanding digital ecosystem that may redefine power, deterrence and conflict for the rest of the 21st century.

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

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

MAY 18 — The recent incidences involving Negeri Sembilan that have been in the news media and making rounds on social media have been riveting and described variously as a crisis, constitutional crisis, constitutional incident, and also as a political turmoil and an administrative crisis.

These are references to the removal of the Undang of Luak Sungei Ujong, the attempted removal of the Yang Di-Pertuan Besar of Negeri Sembilan, and the announcement of lack of confidence in the Menteri Besar and the State government of Negeri Sembilan.

While parties have played fast and loose with a Royal Institution headed by one of our most respected Rulers, it would appear that there may be more nuanced events in the background.

Over the several weeks passed, other matters have come to light in the news and social media.  It appears that the tumult involving the Luak of Sungei Ujong may have began around November 2024 with allegations of misconduct and the asserted removal/dismissal of two office bearers/titleholders of the Luak of Sungei Ujong, namely YM Datuk Andulika Mandalika Zainol Ariffin bin Ibrahim and YM Datuk Johan Tua Tahu Wan Khairil Adli bin Mohd Yusof, by the Undang of Luak Sungei Ujong at that time, Datuk Mubarak bin Dohak.

There was apparently also the suspension on or about February 1, 2025 of the Datuk Dagang Lenggeng Faridzwan bin Abdul Ghafar.

Thereafter, Datuk Mubarak bin Dohak, who was accused of having contravened 33 customary and traditional laws and hukum syarak, was removed by the office bearers/titleholders of his own Luak of Sungei Ujong, in April/May 2025.

The Yang di-Pertuan Besar of Negeri Sembilan, Tuanku Muhriz Tuanku Munawir, inspects the parade of the 14th Battalion, Royal Malay Regiment (Mechanised), at the opening of the Second Sitting (Opening Ceremony) of the First Session of the 15th Negeri Sembilan State Legislative Assembly in Seremban on October 9, 2026. — Bernama pic

It has also been asserted that YM Datuk Orang Kaya Laksamana Sungei Ujong Shaharumzaman bin Abdul Malik was removed/dismissed on March 20, 2026.

On April 17, 2026, the matter of the removal/dismissal of Datuk Mubarak bin Dohak was brought before the special meeting of the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang of Negeri Sembilan (“the Dewan”), also known as “The Council of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar and the Ruling Chiefs”, pursuant to Article XVI of The Laws of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan 1959 (“Constitution of Negeri Sembilan”).  The Ibu Soko Klana Hulu and Waris Klana Hulu of Luak of Sungai Ujong were present by invitation of the Dewan.

The Menteri Besar of Negeri Sembilan announced in a press statement on April 17, 2026 that the Dewan had advised on the acceptance of the removal/dismissal of Datuk Mubarak bin Dohak as the 10th Undang of Sungai Unjong that was carried out in accordance with the customs and traditions of the Luak of Sungai Ujong, and thereby accepting its validity.

Article XVI(3) of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan stipulates that the advice of the Dewan shall be final and not amenable to be challenged or called into question in any court.

These unleased a maelstrom of sorts.

Firstly, on April 19, 2026, Datuk Mubarak and three of the Undangs, namely the Undangs of the Luaks of Jelebu, Johol and Rembau, announced that they had decided to call for the abdication of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar pursuant to Article X of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan.

The announcement was made and co-signed by Datuk Mubarak, stated to be acting as the Undang of Sungai Ujong.

Secondly, on April 23, 2026, the State Assembly sitting was officially opened by the Yang di-Pertuan Besar and was thereafter adjourned without any official reason being made known. It was also reported that Datuk Mubarak bin Dohak and the three Undangs did not attend the State Assembly opening, which was a departure from previous practice;

Thirdly, on 27 April 2026, it was reported that 14 Barisan Nasional (“BN”) assemblymen (from Umno) of the State Assembly of Negeri Sembilan had unanimously declared their withdrawal of support for the Menteri Besar and the State government for failing to handle the crisis properly.  It was however subsequently reported in early May 2026 that these assemblymen would continue to support the Negeri Sembilan State government.

Removal of Datuk Mubarak bin Dohak as Undang of Luak Sungai Ujong

It may be of interest to recall that the courts have previously decided that matters of election or removal of an Undang is a matter for the Dewan pursuant to Articles XIV and XVI of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan, and that Article 71(1) and (2) of the Federal Constitution guarantees that such matters are the exclusive jurisdiction of the Dewan, and hence, the courts would decline jurisdiction or has no jurisdiction in such matters.

Datuk Mubarak bin Dohak was twice a beneficiary of such decision in 2005 and 2012 when his installation/position as the 10th Undang of the Luak Sungai Ujong was disputed and contested in the case of Syed Abu Bakar Syed Hassan & Ors v Zainal Ariffin Bin Ibrahim & Ors [2005] 7 CLJ 457, and in the later case of YTM Datuk Othman Ismail v Dato’ Mubarak Dohak & Ors [2012] 1 LNS 1378 ([2012] CLJU 1378).

Calling for the abdication of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar

It would also be of interest to bear in mind that Article X(1) of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan provides that the Yang di-Pertuan Besar may only be called upon by the Undangs to abdicate on specific grounds (there are 4 grounds set out in Article X(1)) and only after a “full and complete enquiry”.

Any decision calling for the abdication (temporary or otherwise) of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar would need to be issued as a Proclamation under the hands of the Undangs and the Menteri Besar of Negeri Sembilan pursuant to Article X(2) of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan.

Given the gravity and seriousness of the matter, a “full and complete inquiry” under the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan necessarily connotes and would entail a formal and fair process (not an impromptu, hasty or ‘star chamber’ like proceedings), where clear and express grounds or charges are stated and made known to the Yang di-Pertuan Besar, cogent evidence are proffered and disclosed, and a fair opportunity to be heard and to answer the grounds or charges and to rebut any evidence are provided.

It should be noted that the requirements pursuant to Article X of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan, in particular the requirements for a “full and complete inquiry” and that “a Proclamation…shall be issued under the hand of the Undangs and the Menteri Besar” are express constitutional stipulations that are required to be complied with.

It was however not announced or reported on which of the stipulated grounds in Article X the call for abdication was premised and decided, whether the alleged grounds or charges were informed to His Highness the Yang di-Pertuan Besar, and whether an opportunity to be heard and to answer the allegations were provided.  Further, there is no indication/evidence of a signed Proclamation.

In other words, there is no information that the requirements of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan and the rules of natural justice were complied with.  In the absence of these compliances, any alleged or purported call for the abdication of His Highness the Yang di-Pertuan Besar would be invalid to say the least.

Any call for the Yang di-Pertuan Besar to step down, whether temporarily or otherwise, cannot and must not be done willy nilly.

Minutes of meeting of the Dewan

Thereafter, the state of play appears to have moved from the Luak, the Dewan and the State Assembly to a new arena, namely, the High Court of Malaya at Seremban.

It is reported that Datuk Mubarak bin Dohak, together with five others (“the Plaintiffs”), had on May 5, 2026 filed an originating summons at the High Court of Malaya at Seremban against Raja Norazli bin Raja Nordin (the Secretary to the Dewan at the material time), the Dewan, and the Negeri Sembilan State Government (“the Defendants”).

The Plaintiffs are seeking:

(i) a declaration that the Plaintiffs as members of the Dewan are entitled to a copy of the minutes of meeting of the special sitting of the Dewan held on April 17, 2026 (“Special Sitting Meeting Minutes”);

(ii) an order that the Defendants, themselves or their agents, present and hand over to the Plaintiff’s the Special Sitting Meeting Minutes within 7 days from the date of the order; and

(iii) an order for a stay of execution of any enforcement by the Defendants premised on the “decision” of the special sitting of the Dewan dated April 17, 2026 until the Special Sitting Meeting Minutes have been presented and handed over to the Plaintiffs.

A point of interest.  It has been previously held by our courts, in different context, namely in relation to companies, that the right of a director to access confidential documents of a company ceases upon a person ceasing as a director.

It has further been reported that the Defendants had on May 13, 2026 raised a preliminary point of law, that is, whether the High Court has jurisdiction to hear the case in light of Article XVI (3) of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan which states that the advice of the Dewan concerning, inter-alia, the removal from office of any of the Ruling Chiefs (which includes an Undang) shall be final and not to be challenged or called into question in any court on any ground.

The High Court had on May 13, 2026 directed the Defendants to file their application for summary determination on the preliminary point of law within seven days, and had in the meantime disallowed the Plaintiffs’ application for an ad interim stay of the “decision” of the Dewan dated April 17, 2026 pending the hearing of the suit on grounds that there was not enough material before the court to justify such an order.

It would appear that the suit would condense to two main issues: first, on jurisdiction, and second, on whether there is a right to have on demand at any time the minutes of meeting of the Dewan.

In respect of the latter, it may be of interest that:

(i)    Article XVIII of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan provides that the Dewan shall meet at least three times a year;

(ii)    Article XXI of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan provides that the Dewan may determine its own procedure; and

(iii)    Article XXII(2) of the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan provides that “At every meeting of the Dewan the minutes of the last preceding meeting of the Dewan shall be confirmed with or without amendment as the case may require, before proceeding to despatch of any other business”.

As things or events currently stand, the instituting of the suit and the placing of the issues before the High Court for its decision may bring some measure of structure, rationality and eventual finality to matters afoot.

* The writer is a former president of the Malaysian Bar.

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

MAY 18 — Until the Constitution of the State of Negeri Sembilan was promulgated in 1959, the state had no written constitution.

The constitutional law of the state could only be found in the various treaties entered into by the Yang di-Pertuan Besar, the Ruling Chiefs and the British Government.

Besides these treaties, customary laws were allowed to continue side by side to govern the political, social and economic life in the respective territories so long as they did not become a hindrance to British policy.

Negeri Sembilan was only constituted as a State by the treaty of July 13, 1889, whereby the parties concerned agreed to form “a Confederation of States to be known as the Negeri Sembilan.”

Six years later in 1895, the Confederated State of Negeri Sembilan joined the Federation of Protected Malay States of Perak, Selangor, Negeri Sembilan and Pahang — better known as the Federated Malay States (FMS).

When the Malayan Union was formed in 1946 and later transformed into the Federation of Malaya in 1948, Negeri Sembilan remained without a separate written constitution.

It was only in 1957 when the Federation of Malaya proclaimed independence, with the Yang di-Pertuan Besar and the Ruling Chiefs desiring that “fresh constitutional arrangements be made for the peace, order Good government and well-being” of the state, that Negeri Sembilan finally got to promulgate its own State Constitution.

Federal Court Judge Salleh Abas in the case of Dato Menteri Othman Bin Baginda & Anor v Dato Ombi Syed Alwi bin Syed Idrus [1981] 1 MLJ 29 described the State Constitution as follows:

“The State Constitution of Negeri Sembilan recognises the continued application of the ancient constitution and ancient custom of the State so long as they are not inconsistent with the State Constitution (Article XXXII). Part of the ancient constitution and ancient custom is the concept of rulership. There exist five Ruling Chiefs (Article XIV) in addition to the royal personage styled as Yang di-Pertuan Besar of the State, and not as Sultan like the royal personage in other states (Article VII).

“The Ruling Chiefs are the Undangs of Sungai Ujong, Jelebu, Johol and Rembau and Tengku Besar of Tampin (Article XIV). The rulership in Negeri Sembilan State Constitution unlike that in other states is a composite concept, consisting of His Highness the Yang di-Pertuan Besar and the five Ruling Chiefs (Article XXVIII).

“For the exercise of functions under the State Constitution, His Highness the Yang di-Pertuan Besar and at least three of the four Undangs must act (Article XXVIII(2)), but for the exercise of functions under the Federal Constitution only the Yang di-Pertuan Besar is required to perform them, although in performing those functions, His Highness is regarded as acting not only on his own behalf but also on behalf of the Ruling Chiefs as well (Article 160(2)).

“The reason why the Undangs are not required to perform the functions under the Federal Constitution must have understandably been due to the question of convenience. Because the definition of ruler is a composite one, the Constitution of the State itself was declared and ordained by His Highness together with the Ruling Chiefs (see preamble to the Constitution of Negeri Sembilan).

“His Highness the Yang di-Pertuan Besar is elected by the four Undangs (Article VII), whilst the Undangs themselves have to be elected in accordance with the custom of their respective territories (luaks) (Article XIV(1)). His Highness and the Ruling Chiefs and a few other persons are members of a Council known as the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang (DKU), (Article XVI and Article XVII). The main function of the DKU “to advise on questions relating to Malay Custom in any part of the State or on other matters which may be referred to it by His Highness or any of the Ruling Chiefs.

According to the learned judge, the main function of the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang is to ‘rationalise and make this ancient constitution and custom work and to avoid disputes which could arise from many divergent interpretations of the ancient constitution and ancient custom’. — Pexels pic

“The Dewan is the culmination of the lengthy political and constitutional developments of the State. It is the embodiment of traditional elements and values which are kept alive by the Constitution. It is a machinery to rationalise these elements so as to make them work under a modern democratic constitution.”

According to the learned judge, the main function of the DKU is to “rationalise and make this ancient constitution and custom work and to avoid disputes which could arise from many divergent interpretations of the ancient constitution and ancient custom”.

The expression “to advise on” is not merely confined to the ascertainment and statement of customary law in an abstract and generalised way like a statute or an enactment. Neither is the expression restricted to mean only “to give an opinion”.

The expression must be the ascertainment and the application of law on a given subject to a particular set of facts.

The advice so expressed by the DKU, irrespective of the language used and recorded, whether it is “giving its blessing or approval” or some other words, clearly indicates the thinking and view of the DKU and such opinion, since it comes from the highest and august body, should be worthy of respect and obedience.

It should not be ignored.

Since customary law is, after all, based on the recognition and acceptance that a rule is binding, there is no need for a provision in the State Constitution to state that the advice is binding.

So, there is no higher and better authority that deserves and commands respect in the interpretation and explanation of customary law on a matter than the DKU Dewan itself as it consists of the Ruler of the State and other prominent persons.

An example of an advice being binding is the advice pronounced by the Federal Court under Article 130 of the Federal Constitution when it exercises its advisory jurisdiction on a question referred to the court by the Yang di-Pertuan Agong for its opinion as to the effect of any provision of the Constitution.

Such advisory opinion was expressed by the Federal Court in Government of Malaysia v Government of the State of Kelantan [1968] 1 MLJ 129, as to the meaning of the word “borrow” under Article 112(2) of the Federal Constitution.

There can be no doubt that the Federal Court’s opinion is binding, although there is no provision in the Federal Constitution which says that it is so.

The ancient constitution and ancient custom are not only preserved by the State Constitution but are given federal guarantee in Article 71 of the Federal Constitution.

Clause (1) guarantees “the right of a Ruler of a State to succeed and to hold, enjoy and exercise the constitutional rights and privileges of Ruler of that State in accordance with the Constitution of that State; but any dispute as to the title to the succession as Ruler of any State shall be determined solely by such authorities and in such manner as may be provided by the Constitution of that State.”

Article 71(1) embodies what has been called the principle of strict neutrality as regards a dispute as to the title or right of a particular individual to succeed as Ruler.

The principle is also applicable to a dispute relating to the appointment of an Undang because Clause (2) says that “Clause (1) shall, with the necessary modifications, apply in relation to a Ruling Chief of Negeri Sembilan as it applies to the Ruler of a State.”

Legal history is often overlooked. It is often neglected by lawyers.

According to Professor Russell Sandberg of Cardiff University, when lawyers do refer to history, they misuse it. (See A Historical Introduction to English Law: Genesis of the Common Law, Cambridge University Press, 2023)

Lawyers may do so, but not Salleh Abas. He used legal history to come to a decision that the DKU is the authority to decide on a dispute over the appointment of an Undang.

The decision has stood for more than 40 years now. It is a decision that will continue to stand until reviewed by the highest court of the land.

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

MAY 18 — Japan’s latest push to diversify its rare earth and critical mineral supply chains away from China is not merely an economic adjustment. 

It is a geopolitical recognition that both Southeast Asia and Latin America now constitute two of the most important strategic depth zones in the emerging contest over critical minerals, advanced manufacturing and technological sovereignty.

For decades, China dominated the processing and refining of rare earth elements, controlling between 70 to 90 per cent of global refining capacity across multiple strategic minerals. 

This dominance was not accidental. It emerged from decades of state support, industrial planning, environmental tolerance and strategic foresight.

For decades, China dominated the processing and refining of rare earth elements, controlling between 70 to 90 per cent of global refining capacity across multiple strategic minerals. — AFP pic

Yet the rise of economic security as a core doctrine among advanced industrial powers — especially Japan, the United States and the European Union — has fundamentally altered the geopolitical map of resource competition.

Japan now increasingly sees Asean and Latin America not as peripheral commodity suppliers but as indispensable strategic partners in securing resilient supply chains for the future global economy.

This explains why Japanese companies are aggressively deepening investments across Southeast Asia.

Sumitomo Metal Mining is increasing scandium production by 20 percent in fiscal 2026 using ore sourced from the Philippines. The scandium is then refined in Hyogo Prefecture for fuel-cell applications. 

At the same time, Sojitz Corporation is developing rare earth and mineral ventures in Vietnam and Malaysia.

This shift reflects a deeper strategic reality.

Rare earths are no longer simply industrial commodities. 

They are the foundational materials underpinning artificial intelligence infrastructure, electric vehicles, quantum technologies, advanced semiconductors, missile systems, aerospace engineering and green energy transitions.

The sudden explosion in AI-driven data centers has further intensified global demand. 

Scandium, once considered a niche mineral, is now increasingly important for fuel cells that lower operating temperatures while enhancing durability. Demand reportedly doubled in 2025 alone due to the exponential expansion of AI infrastructure worldwide.

Japan understands this trend acutely.

Under the Economic Security Promotion Act introduced in 2022, Tokyo designated critical minerals as “specified critical products.” This transformed rare earth policy from a purely commercial concern into a national-security imperative.

Japan’s strategy is comprehensive.

It includes stockpiling, upstream extraction, midstream processing, recycling and financial guarantees through Japan Organization for Metals and Energy Security (JOGMEC). 

Tokyo has also backed projects extending from Australia’s Lynas rare earth processing facilities to Europe’s Caremag project in France.

But Asean and Latin America increasingly occupy the center of this diversification strategy because they possess something advanced economies lack: geological abundance.

Vietnam holds some of the world’s largest rare earth reserves outside China. The Philippines possesses major nickel and cobalt deposits. 

Malaysia continues to develop downstream processing capabilities. Indonesia already dominates global nickel production essential for EV batteries.

Meanwhile, Latin America forms the second pillar of this strategic reconfiguration.

The so-called “Lithium Triangle” — encompassing Argentina, Bolivia and Chile — contains more than half of global lithium reserves. 

Brazil possesses substantial reserves of graphite, nickel and rare earths. Peru remains critical for copper production vital to electrification.

Together, Asean and Latin America are becoming the twin anchors of the post-China diversification strategy.

This does not mean China is collapsing strategically.

Far from it.

China still retains overwhelming advantages in refining capacity, industrial ecosystems, logistics integration and processing expertise.

Building alternative supply chains outside China will take many years and enormous financial investments.

Indeed, one of the greatest ironies in the current geopolitical transition is that many countries can mine rare earths but still depend on China to process them.

This is precisely why Japan’s approach is notable.

Tokyo is not merely seeking raw materials. It is trying to build entire ecosystems of extraction, refining, recycling and advanced manufacturing outside excessive dependence on any single power.

This strategy is also less confrontational than some Western approaches.

Japan recognizes that complete decoupling from China is unrealistic.

Instead, it seeks diversification, redundancy and strategic resilience.

Asean benefits enormously from this approach because Japan traditionally prefers partnership-building over overt geopolitical coercion.

For Southeast Asia, this creates major opportunities. Countries like Malaysia, Vietnam, Indonesia and the Philippines can move beyond the old model of merely exporting raw materials. 

The real challenge is whether Asean can capture more value-added activities such as refining, component manufacturing, battery ecosystems and AI-related industrial infrastructure.

Latin America faces a similar strategic choice.

Will it remain trapped in commodity extraction cycles, or can it leverage Japanese, European and Asian investments to move into higher-end industrial processing and technological ecosystems ?

This question will define the next phase of global industrial competition.

The geopolitical significance is profound.

Control over rare earths increasingly resembles the strategic importance oil once held in the twentieth century. 

But unlike oil, rare earths are deeply intertwined with digital supremacy, AI competition and military-technological dominance.

Japan’s recognition of Asean and Latin America as strategic mineral partners therefore reflects more than economic pragmatism. 

It reflects an emerging multipolar industrial order where technological resilience requires diversified geoeconomic partnerships across the Global South.

For Asean especially, the opportunity is historic.

The region is no longer merely a manufacturing hub caught between major powers. It is becoming one of the indispensable foundations upon which the future global technological order may be built.

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

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

MAY 18 — Some of the unhealthiest people look perfectly slim. They receive compliments about their figure, register a “normal” reading on the bathroom scale, and see nothing alarming in the mirror. 

Yet beneath that exterior, something quietly damaging is taking place, their bodies are accumulating excess fat while losing the very muscle that keeps them alive and well.

This is sarcopenic obesity, widely known as being “skinny fat”. It is neither rare nor trivial, and it is far more common than most Malaysians realise.

The term sounds contradictory. How can a person be simultaneously thin and obese? The answer lies not in appearance but in composition. 

Body weight is simply the sum of everything inside us, bone, water, fat, and muscle. 

Crash diets accelerate the damage. Losing ten kilograms in a month sounds like an achievement, but rapid, unstructured weight loss frequently strips away muscle alongside fat. — Pexels pic

Two people can share an identical weight and yet carry vastly different proportions of each. 

One may have strong, metabolically active muscle supporting a healthy frame. 

The other may have alarmingly low muscle mass concealed beneath a layer of excess fat. On the scale, they look the same. In terms of health risk, they are worlds apart.

Think of it like a building with severe termite damage. From the street, it looks impeccable. But the structure has been hollowing out from within.

Muscle is not merely an aesthetic concern for athletes. It is the body’s primary engine, regulating blood sugar, sustaining metabolism, protecting joints, maintaining balance, and directly influencing longevity. 

When muscle mass declines as fat accumulates, the body’s efficiency deteriorates steadily. 

The long-term consequences are serious: increased risk of type 2 diabetes, cardiovascular disease, fatty liver, osteoporosis, and physical frailty. 

For many, the danger arrives quietly, without warning, because the weighing scale never sounded the alarm.

This is the central flaw in how we currently approach health. We have become fixated on body weight as a proxy for wellbeing, while largely ignoring body composition, the factor that actually matters.

Modern life is, unfortunately, engineering this condition at scale. Many Malaysians spend 10 to 14 hours each day seated; in cars, at desks, in meetings, in front of screens. 

Prolonged inactivity causes muscle to atrophy gradually. Meanwhile, caloric intake often remains unchanged or increases. 

The body slowly shifts its composition in precisely the wrong direction, and most people never notice.

Crash diets accelerate the damage. Losing ten kilograms in a month sounds like an achievement, but rapid, unstructured weight loss frequently strips away muscle alongside fat. 

The number on the scale drops. The person looks slimmer. But they have, in effect, removed structural pillars from their own body. 

They become lighter and weaker simultaneously; more fatigued, more prone to aches, less physically capable, and more metabolically vulnerable as the years pass.

What was once considered a condition of later life is now appearing in younger adults. University students with sedentary routines, poor sleep, high stress, low protein intake, and no resistance training are increasingly presenting with early markers of muscle deficiency. 

The human body was not designed to remain seated for most of its waking hours, and it is beginning to show.

Reversing this trend requires a fundamental shift in how we think about health goals.

The first priority should be building and preserving muscle, not simply losing weight. 

Resistance exercise is essential: weight training, bodyweight movements, resistance bands, stair climbing, or even a daily routine of squats can stimulate muscle maintenance and growth. 

It does not require a gym membership or hours of commitment. It requires consistency.

The second is nutrition. Muscle cannot be sustained on willpower alone. 

Many Malaysians consume diets heavy in refined carbohydrates but insufficient in quality protein. Without adequate protein, the body cannot maintain the muscle it has, let alone build more.

The third is reducing sustained inactivity. Standing periodically, walking during phone calls, taking stairs, and breaking up long stretches of sitting are small habits that accumulate into meaningful protection over time.

And finally, we must stop treating thinness as a health credential. A person can be slim and metabolically unwell. 

Another may carry a few extra kilograms while being physically strong, metabolically healthy, and far more resilient. Appearance alone tells us very little.

Perhaps it is time we retired the question “How much do you weigh?” and replaced it with something more honest: “How strong is your body?”.

Because in the end, it is strength, not slenderness, that determines how well we age, and how long we thrive.

*Dr Nurdiana Zainol Abidin is from the Pusat Kanser Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, Universiti Sains Malaysia and can be reached at nurdianaabidin@usm.my 

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

MAY 18 — Each year on May 18, the world observes International Museum Day: a moment to pause and recognise museums not simply as repositories of artefacts, but as living institutions where memory, identity, and culture are continuously shaped and shared. 

They are spaces where the past does not sit quietly behind glass but speaks; sometimes softly, sometimes powerfully, into the present.

This year, in the heart of Kuala Lumpur, one such place prepares to speak again.

The Royal Museum, located along Jalan Istana, is set to reopen its doors in the coming months, offering visitors a renewed opportunity to encounter a site where the nation’s history unfolds not in abstraction, but through space, form, and lived experience. 

For many, it is a familiar landmark. Yet beyond its gates lies something far more profound: a palace that has witnessed the evolving story of Malaysia itself.

Once known as Istana Negara, this building is far more than an architectural artefact preserved in time. It is a witness; silent yet enduring; to moments that have shaped the nation. 

Long before it assumed its role as the official royal residence, the building had already undergone a series of transformations, reflecting the layered history of Kuala Lumpur as it grew from a colonial settlement into a modern capital city.

The Royal Museum, located along Jalan Istana, is set to reopen its doors in the coming months, offering visitors a renewed opportunity to encounter a site where the nation’s history unfolds not in abstraction, but through space, form, and lived experience. — Picture courtesy of authors

From 1957 until 2011, the palace stood at the centre of Malaysia’s governance and ceremonial life. 

Thirteen Yang di-Pertuan Agong and their consorts were associated with this residence, each representing continuity within the nation’s unique rotational monarchy system. 

Though one ruler did not formally reside within its walls due to his untimely passing before installation, the palace nonetheless remained a powerful symbol of unity, sovereignty, and national identity.

Within its halls, the nation’s most significant ceremonies unfolded. Investitures were conducted with dignity and precision. Foreign dignitaries were received with grace and protocol. 

National honours were conferred in recognition of service and contribution. 

Yet beyond these moments of grandeur, the palace also bore witness to quieter, more intimate rhythms of leadership; moments of reflection, responsibility, and duty that rarely enter public discourse, yet define the essence of governance.

The palace’s presence extended beyond its physical boundaries. In the 1980s, it became part of Malaysia’s everyday visual culture when it was featured on the reverse side of the five-ringgit banknote in the second series of Malaysian currency. 

In doing so, the image of the palace travelled into the hands of ordinary citizens, embedding itself into the daily lives and subconscious memory of the nation.

Recognising its historical and cultural significance, the building was gazetted as a National Heritage site in 2007 under the National Heritage Act 2005 (Act 645). 

The Royal Museum as depicted on the back of the Malaysian RM5 note. — Picture courtesy of authors

This designation was not merely symbolic. It affirmed the building’s role as a custodian of national memory; a place whose value lies not only in its architectural form, but in the stories it continues to hold.

A significant transition took place in 2011 with the completion of the new Istana Negara complex at Jalan Tuanku Abdul Halim. 

As the royal household relocated, the former palace entered a new phase of its life. Rather than being left to fade into obsolescence, it was carefully reimagined; its purpose redefined for public engagement.

On February 1, 2013, the building was opened to the public as the Royal Museum. 

For the first time, spaces that were once private became accessible. Rooms that had been reserved for royalty were opened to the public, allowing visitors to move through the palace not as distant observers, but as participants in a shared historical narrative.

However, like all heritage structures, the passage of time necessitates care. 

On March 7, 2022 until June 2026, the museum was temporarily closed to facilitate conservation and preservation works. 

This effort, undertaken through a collaboration between Jabatan Muzium Malaysia, Kementerian Perpaduan Negara, and Jabatan Kerja Raya Wilayah Persekutuan Kuala Lumpur, with consultants led by GRA Architects Sdn Bhd and the main contractor Kamal Engineering Sdn. Bhd. reflects a commitment to safeguarding the building’s integrity for future generations.

Today, as it prepares to reopen, the Royal Museum stands not simply as a preserved monument, but as a living storyteller.

In an age defined by rapid development and constant change, such places offer something increasingly rare: a sense of stillness. 

They remind us that history is not something distant or detached. It is embedded within the spaces we inherit, carried forward in ways both visible and unseen.

The reopening of the Royal Museum is therefore more than an event. It is an invitation. 

An invitation to walk through history; not as a series of dates and facts, but as an experience. An invitation to reflect on the journey of a nation, and on the values that have shaped its identity. 

And perhaps most importantly, an invitation to recognise that heritage is not static. It lives, evolves, and continues to inform who we are.

As the Malay proverb reminds us, “Tak lapuk dek hujan, tak lekang dek panas”; that which is rooted in heritage endures, weathering time and change without losing its essence. 

In this palace, such endurance is not merely preserved within walls of stone and plaster. It is felt in the air, in the silence between rooms, in the stories that linger long after one has left.

Here, memory does not fade. It lives.

*Zuraini Md Ali is an associate professor at the Building Surveying Department, Faculty of Built Environment, Universiti Malaya, and Nurul Alia Ahamad is a senior lecturer at the School of Architecture, Building and Design, Taylor’s University.

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

MAY 17 — Scam networks do not disappear when one country cracks down on them. They migrate. 

This is the hard lesson now confronting South-east Asia and Sri Lanka alike.

Recent reports indicate that Sri Lanka is increasingly becoming an attractive operational base for cyber scam syndicates displaced from Cambodia, Myanmar and other South-east Asian hotspots. 

According to reports carried by regional media on May 17, 2026, Sri Lankan police have arrested more than 1,000 foreigners since the start of the year, mainly from China, Vietnam and India, for alleged involvement in cybercrime activities. 

This is a dramatic rise from the 430 arrests recorded throughout the whole of 2024.

This development should alarm not only Colombo but Asean as a whole.

The problem is no longer confined within South-east Asia. It has spilled across the Bay of Bengal into South Asia. 

The criminal ecosystem that first flourished in parts of Myanmar, Cambodia and Laos is now proving highly adaptive. 

When one jurisdiction tightens enforcement, the syndicates simply relocate to another country offering relaxed visa policies, fast internet connectivity, weaker regulatory oversight, cheaper real estate and limited inter-agency coordination.

This is criminal globalisation in its purest form.

A detained Chinese national suspected of running cyberscam centres is escorted to a prison after his arrest in Colombo May 9, 2026. — AFP pic

The scam compounds operating across Asia are not ordinary criminal enterprises. 

They are sophisticated transnational syndicates involving cyber fraud, money laundering, human trafficking, coercive labour practices, encrypted communications, digital extortion and underground banking systems. 

Many victims are first deceived with fake job offers before being trafficked into compounds where they are forced to scam others under threats, intimidation and violence.

These criminal networks exploit not only technological loopholes but also governance gaps between countries.

Sri Lanka’s interception of several Chinese nationals allegedly attempting to smuggle hundreds of used mobile phones and laptops is particularly revealing. Such equipment is not used for isolated fraud. 

It points to industrial-scale criminal operations requiring logistics chains, financing networks, telecommunications support and organised coordination across borders.

What Asean now faces is no longer a regional nuisance. It is an emerging Asian security threat. 

The victims span every layer of society. 

Retirees lose their life savings through fake investment platforms. Young people are trapped in online gambling debt. 

Students fall prey to cryptocurrency fraud. Migrant workers are trafficked through false employment schemes.

Small and micro business owners are deceived through fake payment systems and online impersonation scams.

The emotional destruction is often as devastating as the financial losses.

Families are shattered.

Trust in digital commerce collapses. Citizens begin to fear online banking systems, e-wallets and digital financial platforms.

The social costs can spread far beyond economics into political distrust and societal anxiety.

This is why Asean must stop treating scam syndicates merely as isolated police matters. 

The issue requires a strategic security response at the highest level. Asean centrality cannot merely mean hosting summits, issuing declarations and discussing abstract regionalism. 

It must also mean protecting ordinary citizens from the darkest forms of organised digital crime.

A permanent Asean-led anti-scam coordination mechanism is urgently needed. 

Such a body should include not only Asean member states but also China, India, Sri Lanka and relevant dialogue partners. Intelligence sharing must become institutionalised rather than ad hoc.

Immigration records, suspicious property rentals, telecom metadata, digital payment trails, shell company registrations and cryptocurrency transactions must all be shared more rapidly between enforcement agencies. 

Cybercrime units across Asia should operate with greater interoperability and common legal frameworks.

Financial institutions must also shoulder greater responsibility. 

Banks, payment gateways, cryptocurrency exchanges and digital wallet operators cannot continue claiming neutrality while massive fraud networks move billions of dollars through shadow systems.

Likewise, landlords, visa agents, telecommunications providers and shell companies facilitating these operations should face aggressive scrutiny and legal consequences if found complicit.

Technology itself is now part of the battlefield.

Artificial intelligence, encrypted messaging applications, voice cloning, fake identities and automated phishing systems are enabling criminals to scale their operations at unprecedented speed. 

The same digital infrastructure that powers Asia’s economic modernisation is also becoming the backbone of mass deception.

This is why governments must balance digital openness with stronger cyber governance.

At the same time, Asean must avoid a dangerous temptation: simply pushing the problem elsewhere. 

If scam syndicates are expelled from one country only to reappear in Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Nepal or elsewhere, then the broader Asian region has solved nothing. Sri Lanka must not become the new Cambodia.

Nor should Asean allow itself to be perceived as exporting criminal networks into neighbouring regions once domestic crackdowns intensify. 

Such displacement merely internationalises instability. China too has a major role to play. 

Many victims remain Chinese citizens, while numerous suspects involved in these operations originate from various Chinese-speaking criminal networks. Beijing has already cooperated extensively with Asean states in previous anti-scam operations. 

That cooperation must now deepen further with South Asian partners. India too cannot remain detached. 

Given its enormous digital economy and expanding technology sector, India has every interest in preventing South Asia from becoming another operational sanctuary for transnational cyber fraud syndicates.

Ultimately, this is not about blaming one nationality or one country. 

It is about confronting organised criminal ecosystems that exploit weak governance, fragmented law enforcement and technological asymmetry.

The core principle must therefore remain simple and uncompromising: scammers operating inside Asean, outside Asean, or moving between Asean and South Asia must be permanently dismantled as organised criminal networks.

Asia cannot allow high-speed internet, mobile technology, encrypted platforms and seamless digital payments to become instruments of industrial-scale fraud and human suffering.

Wipe the scammers out.

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

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

MAY 17 — China’s view of the United States today is far more complex than many in Washington assume.

On one level, Beijing continues to admire the astonishing ability of the United States to reinvent itself technologically. No other country in modern history has demonstrated such a relentless capacity to attract capital, talent, innovation and global imagination into one concentrated ecosystem. From Nvidia to OpenAI, America still possesses a magnetic technological dynamism that few powers can replicate. Chinese strategists understand this very well.

They know that the current AI revolution is not merely about software or semiconductors. It is about the reorganization of power itself: military power, financial power, informational power, and civilizational influence. Artificial intelligence is increasingly becoming the operating system of modern geopolitics.

This is why China does not underestimate the United States. Indeed, many Chinese analysts openly acknowledge that the American ability to scale innovation at breathtaking speed remains unparalleled. The sheer rise of Nvidia to a valuation exceeding US$5.4 trillion, the concentration of AI investment in seven technology giants commanding nearly one-third of the entire S&P 500, and the willingness of Wall Street to pour unprecedented capital into speculative technological futures all demonstrate an ecosystem that still leads the world in financial and technological integration.

A screen reads “AI” in reference to artificial intelligence in Palo Alto, California, United States on December 11, 2025. — Reuters pic

Yet admiration does not translate into blind acceptance.

Beijing also believes that the United States is increasingly trapped by its own excesses. To Chinese policymakers, the current AI frenzy resembles the internal logic of previous American speculative cycles: the dotcom boom, the subprime mortgage expansion, periods of excessive financialization where capital detaches itself from underlying economic fundamentals. Chinese government economists have made the observation explicitly, characterizing US equity concentration as a systemic fragility rather than a sign of strength.

The concern in Beijing is not whether AI will transform the world. China fully believes it will. The concern is whether the current scale of valuation and capital concentration can be sustained without eventually triggering a severe correction. A system in which the Magnificent Seven account for nearly one-third of the S&P 500 is not a sign of healthy capitalism. It is a sign of dangerous concentration and systemic vulnerability. If those valuations correct sharply, the consequences for semiconductor supply chains, allied economies, and AI development timelines globally would be severe.

China therefore appears increasingly content to watch the American AI boom continue without directly obstructing it. There is a strategic patience in this posture. Chinese leaders likely calculate that excessive exuberance in American markets may eventually generate internal contradictions severe enough to weaken the United States from within. The larger the speculative bubble, the greater the eventual adjustment when profits fail to match expectations or when capital begins searching for safer assets.

In this sense, Beijing may believe time is on its side.

Unlike the United States, China’s governing structure remains far more state-directed and less exposed to sudden speculative swings in equity markets. Beijing certainly faces major economic challenges, including property sector instability, local government debt and subdued domestic consumption. Yet Chinese leaders may still view these as manageable long-term structural problems rather than the kind of sudden shock risks associated with speculative financial bubbles. A government that controls the terms of its own credit expansion faces a different kind of crisis than one whose asset valuations are set by markets it can no longer steer.

More importantly, China increasingly views the United States as strategically overextended. From Beijing’s standpoint, Washington is no longer merely competing economically with China. It is simultaneously trying to dominate multiple theatres of geopolitical confrontation, from Eastern Europe, the Indo-Pacific, to now West Asia.

The conflict involving Iran, Israel and the United States reinforces this perception acutely. Chinese observers increasingly interpret Washington’s unconditional arms supply to Israel, its repeated veto diplomacy at the United Nations Security Council, and its willingness to absorb the diplomatic costs of escalation with Iran as evidence that American strategic judgement is becoming clouded by ideological rigidity and geopolitical hubris. That the United States has sidelined Nato altogether in the Strait of Hormuz, managing the confrontation unilaterally, only deepens Beijing’s reading that alliance cohesion is fracturing under American overcommitment.

In Beijing’s eyes, the United States is no longer acting as a stabilising hegemon attempting to preserve order. It increasingly appears as a superpower convinced of its own indispensability, even as the global system becomes more fragmented and resistant to unilateral dominance.

China therefore sees contradiction everywhere in current American behaviour. Washington urges fiscal restraint yet fuels massive AI speculation. It warns about systemic risk while concentrating enormous market power into a handful of technology firms. It speaks about stability while escalating confrontation simultaneously across multiple geopolitical fronts. And critically, these two dynamics are mutually reinforcing in Beijing’s calculus: geopolitical overcommitment raises the fiscal stakes of any financial correction, while speculative excess narrows the room for strategic manoeuvrer. Each vulnerability amplifies the other.

To Chinese strategists, this resembles imperial overconfidence. Historically, major powers have often mistaken temporary technological superiority for permanent geopolitical supremacy. Britain once believed naval dominance guaranteed eternal primacy, and its financial system the indispensable infrastructure of global order, right up until it did not. The Soviet Union believed military parity ensured ideological victory. The United States itself previously believed the post-Cold War unipolar moment would endure indefinitely. China studies these historical cycles carefully.

This does not mean Beijing wishes for an American collapse. Far from it. Such an outcome would devastate the global economy, including China itself. Chinese prosperity remains deeply intertwined with access to American markets, technology flows and global financial stability.

Rather, China appears increasingly comfortable allowing the United States to test the outer limits of speculative capitalism and geopolitical overreach simultaneously, while performing engagement where it serves Beijing’s interests. The fanfare surrounding the meeting between President Donald Trump and President Xi Jinping is a case in point: even as the two sides signal a managed relationship, Beijing’s longer-term calculation remains unchanged. If the AI boom succeeds sustainably, China will continue adapting and competing. But if the bubble eventually bursts under the weight of inflated expectations, excessive leverage, geopolitical instability and inflationary pressures, Beijing likely believes the United States will emerge weakened by its own hubris rather than by any direct external containment strategy.

In other words, China may no longer see the need to defeat America directly.

It may simply believe America is exhausting itself.

* Phar Kim Beng is a professor of Asean Studies and director of the Institute of Internationalization and Asean Studies, International Islamic University of Malaysia. Yu-wai Vic Li is a lecturer in East Asian studies at University of Sheffield

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

MAY 17 — Scroll through social media today and one might think modern wellness comes in capsule form.

Collagen powders, magnesium gummies, probiotics, hormone-balancing drinks and “cortisol support” supplements now occupy the shelves, handbags, and bedside tables of many women.

The global dietary supplement market, estimated to be worth more than RM800 billion, continues to expand rapidly, with women representing one of its largest consumer groups.

Beauty supplements alone are projected to grow substantially over the next decade, fuelled by social media trends surrounding “glow”, anti-ageing and wellness aesthetics.

Wellness influencers carefully arrange pastel-coloured vitamins beside skincare products, iced matcha and scented candles, presenting health not merely as a medical goal but as an aesthetic lifestyle.

At first glance, there is nothing inherently wrong with this. Many supplements do have legitimate medical value.

Iron deficiency remains one of the most common nutritional deficiencies among women worldwide, particularly among women of reproductive age.

Vitamin D insufficiency is increasingly recognised across both developed and developing countries, including Malaysia.

Folate supplementation before and during early pregnancy significantly reduces neural tube defects, while calcium and vitamin D remain important for bone health, especially among postmenopausal women.

Certain supplements also carry stronger evidence than others. Omega-3 fatty acids have been associated with cardiovascular benefits in selected populations.

Probiotics may help specific gastrointestinal conditions. Magnesium supplementation may benefit individuals with true deficiency or certain medical conditions.

Various supplements are seen in a pharmacy at Bandar Baru Selayang on May 18, 2024. — Picture by Hari Anggara

However, evidence for many commercial “wellness” supplements marketed for hormone balance, detoxification, anti-ageing or stress reduction remains limited, inconsistent or heavily influenced by marketing claims.

Despite this, supplement consumption continues to rise. Malaysian studies have shown that women are significantly more likely than men to consume dietary supplements, particularly products related to skin health, weight management, energy enhancement and anti-ageing.

Social media platforms have further amplified this behaviour, transforming supplements from healthcare products into lifestyle accessories.

Yet something about the modern wellness culture deserves deeper reflection. Women today are no longer expected merely to function. They are expected to function beautifully.

To be healthy is no longer enough. Women are now encouraged to become constantly optimised versions of themselves such as energetic, emotionally regulated, hormonally balanced, mentally resilient, physically attractive and perpetually youthful.

Fatigue is quickly interpreted as deficiency. Stress becomes “cortisol imbalance”. Normal ageing becomes an urgent anti-ageing battle.

At the same time, women are also experiencing rising psychological strain. Global reports continue to show increasing levels of stress, burnout and emotional exhaustion among women balancing professional responsibilities, care-giving roles and societal expectations.

In many countries, women consistently report higher stress levels and poorer work-life balance compared to men.

Somewhere along the way, wellness quietly transformed into pressure.

The modern woman carries many invisible responsibilities. She is often expected to excel professionally while remaining emotionally available to her family, socially present, physically attractive and psychologically composed.

Even rest itself has become performative. One must not simply recover, but recover elegantly through wellness routines, sleep supplements, Pilates memberships, and carefully curated self-care rituals.

In this environment, supplements become more than nutrition. They become symbols of control, hope and self-improvement.

Sometimes, the ritual itself matters as much as the capsule. A woman stirring collagen into her morning drink may not merely be seeking better skin.

She may be searching for a small sense of restoration in an exhausting world. This is perhaps why the wellness industry resonates so deeply with women.

It does not simply sell vitamins. It sells aspiration in which the promise of becoming calmer, prettier, healthier, softer, stronger and somehow more “put together”.

But medicine must also ask subjective questions. Are women truly becoming healthier, or are they becoming increasingly anxious about achieving an impossible standard of wellness?

Are supplements supporting women’s health, or are they quietly commercialising women’s exhaustion and insecurities?

Not every tired woman is magnesium deficient. Not every bloated woman has a hormone disorder.

Sometimes the problem is not biological inadequacy, but chronic overextension. Sometimes women are simply tired in ways vitamins cannot fully fix.

This does not mean supplements are useless. Many are still evidence-based and beneficial when appropriately used.

However, health professionals and society alike must be careful not to medicalise every ordinary human experience, particularly those shaped by modern lifestyle pressures.

The real issue is not whether women should take supplements. Perhaps the deeper question is why modern womanhood increasingly feels impossible without them.

* Dr Mastura Mohd Sopian is from the Department of Clinical Medicine, Pusat Kanser Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, Universiti Sains Malaysia.

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

MAY 17 — We watch distant wars on our phones while sipping kopi-o, convinced that the chaos belongs to someone else.

We wait for the storm to pass. This time, the storm will not pass. It will come for our wallets, our factories, and our ringgit.

And when the oil price spikes past US$150 (RM592) a barrel as the US-Iran war continues, Malaysia will discover that “tumultuous” is a polite word for economic surgery without anaesthesia.

When the war erupted, oil spiked to more than US$100. And here is the cruel irony that we miss: Malaysia is not Saudi Arabia. We are a marginal exporter.

Yes, Petronas will book higher revenues. But the other half of our economy — manufacturing, electronics, palm oil refining, tourism —runs on cheap fuel.

The US$10 billion we save in lower fuel subsidies will be dwarfed by the US$50 billion in economic losses from every other sector grinding to a halt.

Worse, the ringgit will not be spared. Global investors, terrified of the war, will flee every emerging market currency.

People walk past a billboard with a graphic design about the Strait of Hormuz on a building in Tehran on April 27, 2026. — Reuters pic

They will buy US Treasuries and gold. The ringgit could tumble against the greenback.

Suddenly, every imported machine part, every medicine vial, every laptop becomes a luxury item.

Imported inflation will hit us like a freight train — and our central bank, Bank Negara, will be trapped.

Raise rates to defend the ringgit, and crush local businesses. Do nothing, and watch your savings evaporate.

Here is our national shame. For decades, we have used fuel subsidies like a narcotic. RON95 at the pump? Artificially cheap. Diesel? Heavily cushioned.

The logic was always political — protect the masses, buy votes, quiet the streets. But at US$150 oil, that bill becomes impossible.

The government’s subsidy tab would explode from RM50 billion to nearly RM150 billion overnight. That is almost half our annual operating budget. Schools, hospitals, roads — all sacrificed to keep petrol cheap.

So we will be forced to do what no administration dares: floating fuel prices. Overnight, RON95 jumps from RM2.05 to RM4.50.

A lorry driver moving vegetables from Cameron Highlands to Selangor sees his diesel cost triple. The political fallout? Street protests. Factory layoffs.

A quiet, seething anger that no amount of government aid can soothe. We built our social contract on cheap fuel. War will burn that contract to ash.

The optimists will point to palm oil. “Commodity prices rise during war,” they will say. “Malaysia will profit.” Do not believe them.

Yes, crude palm oil futures will spike — first to RM5,000 a tonne, then higher. But war in the Gulf means two things: shipping insurance through the Strait of Hormuz becomes impossibly expensive, and global demand collapses because Europe, China, and America are all in recession.

Who buys your palm oil when factories are idle and consumers are hoarding?

Our refineries in Johor and Port Klang rely on imported solvents and packaging materials — all petroleum-based. Those costs explode.

Our export volumes fall even as headline prices rise. The net effect? A paper boom followed by a real bust.

Plantation workers will keep their jobs, but the logistics crews, the truck drivers, the port operators — they will be laid off by the thousands.

The quiet killer, though, is China. Before the war, China was already stumbling — property developers defaulting, youth unemployment above 20 per cent, deflation taking root.

An Iran war ends any hope of a Chinese recovery. Beijing will divert all resources to securing oil supplies, not buying Malaysian electronics or assembling iPhones in Penang.

Our semiconductor industry, the pride of the northern corridor, depends on Chinese and American demand. Both will be in freefall.

The RM400 billion E&E export sector could shrink by a third. Factories in Batu Kawan will go dark. Engineers will drive Grab.

Malaysia has survived crises before — 1997, 2008, Covid. But survival requires honesty, not slogans.

We must do three things: First, accelerate the subsidy rationalisation. Take the political pain early, so we are not forced into a panicked, brutal cut during wartime.

Second, negotiate ringgit swap lines with China and Singapore — a currency lifeline when dollar funding dries up.

Third, admit that our manufacturing-heavy model has a fatal energy vulnerability. The future is not competing with Vietnam on cheap assembly. The future is food security, renewable energy components, and regional services.

The US-Iran war is not our war. But it will be our recession. The only question is whether we face it with our eyes open — or whether we wake up one morning to find that US$150 oil has already decided our fate, and we were too busy arguing about which coalition rules Putrajaya to notice.

The kopi-o has gone cold. The storm is here.

* Professor Datuk Dr Ahmad Ibrahim is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.

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

MAY 16 — For decades, Malaysia’s leaders defended the national education system as the backbone of nation-building. Every debate surrounding the Unified Examination Certificate (UEC) was answered with the same justification: national cohesion requires a common educational foundation. Today, that principle appears increasingly negotiable.

The Madani government’s latest move to open pathways for UEC holders into selected public university programmes may seem limited on paper. Yet politically, symbolically, and strategically, it represents something far bigger, that is another slow retreat from the very idea of a unified national education system. Let us stop pretending this debate is purely about academic excellence.

No serious person denies that many UEC students are academically capable. That was never the core issue. The real issue is whether Malaysia still believes in the role of a national education philosophy at all, or whether educational policy is now merely dictated by coalition survival and political bargaining. Because that is what this increasingly looks like.

For years, Malaysians were told that public universities primarily recognised qualifications aligned with the national curriculum because education was not simply about producing workers. It was also about producing citizens with shared civic grounding, common historical understanding, and a sense of national identity rooted in the country’s constitutional framework. Now suddenly, those principles appear flexible provided the political pressure is strong enough.

The author argues that the government’s decision to expand pathways for UEC holders into public universities reflects a deeper erosion of Malaysia’s commitment to a unified national education system, exposing broader anxieties over social cohesion, educational fragmentation and the country’s long-term national identity. — Unsplash pic

The government insists UEC students must still pass Bahasa Melayu and History at SPM level. But that argument misses the larger contradiction entirely. If the national education system remains the supposed backbone of integration, why does the state continuously expand parallel systems instead of strengthening confidence in the national stream itself? At some point, Malaysians deserve honesty.

The country already suffers from deep educational fragmentation: national schools, vernacular schools, international schools, religious schools, private systems, homeschooling ecosystems, and now expanding institutional recognition for independent pathways. Politicians continue preaching unity while presiding over one of the most socially segregated education landscapes in the region.

This is not multicultural integration. This is parallel nation-building.

Worse, every criticism of UEC recognition is quickly dismissed as racism or anti-Chinese sentiment. That intellectual shortcut is both lazy and dangerous. Questioning national education policy does not automatically equal hostility towards any community. In fact, many critics are asking a legitimate state-level question: what exactly remains “national” about the national education system if alternative systems increasingly receive equal institutional recognition without equivalent structural integration? No government has properly answered that question because the answer is politically uncomfortable.

The reality is that successive governments lacked the courage to reform the national education system meaningfully. Instead of fixing declining standards, racial distrust, politicised classrooms, weak English proficiency, and growing middle-class abandonment of national schools, leaders chose the easier route: accommodate parallel systems while continuing to sell slogans about unity. This is why the UEC debate keeps returning.

Not because Malaysians reject diversity, but because many increasingly suspect the country no longer has a coherent educational direction. The government wants the symbolism of national unity without making the difficult reforms necessary to earn public confidence in national institutions. And that is the real danger here.

A nation can survive linguistic diversity. It can survive multiple cultural identities. But no country can indefinitely sustain an education system where citizens grow up in separate intellectual, linguistic, and social ecosystems while politicians continue pretending everyone shares the same national experience. Eventually, the slogans stop working.

The UEC debate therefore is no longer about one examination certificate. It is about whether Malaysia still believes a common national identity matters or whether that idea itself is slowly being abandoned for short-term political convenience. Malaysia must eventually decide what kind of education system it truly wants. One that merely accommodates every parallel pathway for short-term political stability, or one that genuinely builds a shared national experience strong enough to sustain social cohesion in the long run. Until that question is answered honestly, the UEC debate will continue resurfacing because beneath the arguments over certificates lies a deeper anxiety about whether Malaysians are still growing up as part of the same nation at all.

* Ahmad Ashaari Alias is a lecturer at the Centre for Languages and Pre-University Academic Development (CELPAD) at the 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.

MAY 16 — The Andaman Sea is quietly becoming one of the most strategically sensitive maritime spaces in the Indo-Pacific. For decades, it existed largely outside the intense geopolitical spotlight that illuminated the South China Sea, Taiwan Strait or even the Korean Peninsula.

Today, however, the Andaman region is increasingly caught between the expanding maritime ambitions of India and China, the fragility of global supply chains, and the growing militarisation of strategic chokepoints across Asia.

Asean cannot afford to ignore these developments. India’s ambitious transformation of Great Nicobar Island has become the clearest symbol of this shift. 

The roughly US$10 billion project, involving a massive transshipment port, dual-use airport, township, energy infrastructure and tourism facilities, is officially framed as a developmental initiative aimed at boosting connectivity and economic growth. Yet few serious observers doubt the strategic dimensions behind the project.

The Andaman and Nicobar chain occupies one of the most important maritime positions in the world. Located near the northern entrance of the Strait of Malacca, these islands sit astride the critical sea lanes connecting the Indian Ocean with East Asia. 

A substantial portion of global trade, energy flows and container shipping passes through these waters every single day.

For India, strengthening its presence there is increasingly viewed as a strategic necessity rather than a luxury. China’s naval modernisation has accelerated dramatically over the last decade. 

The author argues that the Andaman Sea is emerging as a critical flashpoint in Indo-Pacific geopolitics, where intensifying India-China competition, fragile global supply chains and environmental risks demand that Asean prioritise strategic restraint, regional diplomacy and ecological protection. — Picture by Firdaus Latif

The commissioning of the Fujian, China’s third aircraft carrier, reflects Beijing’s determination to evolve into a true blue-water naval power capable of sustained deployments far beyond the Western Pacific. Chinese naval operations in the Indian Ocean are no longer occasional symbolic missions. 

They are becoming more regular, more sophisticated and more deeply integrated into Beijing’s wider maritime strategy.

From New Delhi’s perspective, failing to strengthen the Andaman and Nicobar Islands would amount to strategic negligence.

India recognises that the Andaman Sea is no longer geographically peripheral. It is now central to the future balance of power in the Indo-Pacific. 

The ability to monitor shipping traffic, track submarine movements and potentially influence maritime access near the Strait of Malacca carries enormous strategic value.

This reality has become even more pronounced following the prolonged instability in West Asia and the Strait of Hormuz. 

The disruptions caused by tensions involving Iran, the United States and Israel have reminded Asia how vulnerable global energy routes remain. East Asia depends overwhelmingly on imported energy, much of which travels through the Indian Ocean before entering South-east Asian waters.

If the Strait of Hormuz becomes unstable, the strategic significance of the Andaman Sea naturally rises. 

Maritime planners across Asia increasingly understand that vulnerabilities in one chokepoint elevate the importance of others.

Yet strategic necessity does not erase legitimate concerns.

The Great Nicobar project sits in one of the world’s most environmentally fragile regions. The island contains dense tropical forests, coral reef systems and highly sensitive ecosystems that support endangered species, including the leatherback turtle. 

Indigenous communities such as the Shompen also face potential displacement and cultural disruption from rapid large-scale development.

More troubling still is the geological reality. 

The Andaman and Nicobar chain lies along highly active seismic fault lines. The 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami demonstrated the catastrophic risks associated with this region. To construct massive ports, airports, military facilities and energy infrastructure in such an environment inevitably raises difficult questions about long-term sustainability and disaster vulnerability.

There is therefore a profound danger that geopolitical competition may override environmental prudence.

Asean should be particularly concerned because the Andaman Sea directly interfaces with South-east Asia’s broader maritime environment. Any intensification of India-China rivalry in these waters would inevitably affect Asean’s strategic equilibrium.

The region has already witnessed how unresolved maritime competition transformed the South China Sea into a persistent zone of tension, militarisation and diplomatic fragmentation. Asean cannot allow another sensitive maritime space to evolve along similar lines.

At the same time, Asean must approach the issue carefully and avoid simplistic binaries.

India is an indispensable strategic partner for South-east Asia. Relations between Asean and India have deepened significantly across trade, defence, technology and connectivity. 

Many Asean states welcome India’s greater engagement as part of a broader diversification strategy within the Indo-Pacific.

China, however, remains Asean’s largest trading partner and one of the region’s most important economic actors. 

Beijing’s economic integration with South-east Asia is now deeply entrenched across manufacturing, infrastructure, finance and digital technology.

Asean therefore cannot frame the Andaman issue as a choice between India and China. Asean should always work with all since it is guided by open regionalism; the sort that is not anathema to the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation (Apec) of which Asean is a key player. 

Such a framing would only deepen regional polarisation.

Instead, Asean’s role should be to encourage strategic restraint, environmental transparency and confidence-building measures that reduce the risks of militarisation and miscalculation. 

The Andaman Sea should not become another theatre of unmanaged great-power rivalry. This is especially important because the wider Indo-Pacific is already under enormous stress. 

The war in West Asia, tensions over Taiwan, despite President Donald Trump’s assertion that he will not back the independence of the Taiwan, disruptions in global trade, intensifying technological competition and rising military expenditures are collectively creating a far more unstable international environment.

In such circumstances, even relatively remote maritime regions can rapidly acquire outsized strategic importance.

The Andaman Sea is no longer geographically distant from Asean’s concerns. It is becoming directly connected to South-east Asia’s future security, trade resilience and environmental stability.

Ultimately, the challenge facing Asia is not whether major powers will compete. Competition is now a permanent feature of the international system. 

The real question is whether such competition can be managed responsibly without destroying fragile ecosystems, destabilising maritime routes or provoking new security dilemmas.

The Andaman Sea remains one of the most pristine maritime environments in Asia. That is precisely why regional powers must proceed with caution.

History repeatedly shows that strategic overreach often begins in places once considered peripheral.

The Andaman Sea may soon prove that no maritime space in the Indo-Pacific can remain insulated from the pressures of great-power politics.

The challenge for Asean is to ensure that strategic necessity does not overwhelm environmental wisdom and regional diplomacy before it is too late.

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

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

MAY 16 — Each year, Teacher’s Day isn’t just another date on the calendar; it gently reminds us to look back. It takes us back to classrooms full of excitement, to the voices that helped shape our thoughts, and to the people who believed in a future for us that we hadn’t yet dreamed of. To the teacher whom we honour for their knowledge, their discipline, and their unwavering belief, but in doing so, we are also led back to something greater: the place where it all unfolded, and the people who journeyed through it with us.

This reflection deepened during our recent reunion. What began as a gathering of our former teachers and friends became something more meaningful, where our school is not just a physical institution, but a living memory filled with lessons learned beyond academics, in corridors, dormitories, playing fields, and libraries, to name a few. It was in these spaces that friendships were tested and strengthened, identities began to take form, and life lessons quietly embedded themselves in everyday moments.

The 40th High School Reunion of the Class of 1981-1985, Sekolah Menengah Sains Tun Syed Sheh Shahabudin (SMSTSSS), Bukit Mertajam, Pulau Pinang, formerly Sekolah Menengah Sains Pulau Pinang (SMSPP) and later Sekolah Tun Syed Sheh Shahabudin (STSSS), was a heartwarming reunion of old friends, memories, and untiring bonds unchanged by the years. It was held in Bukit Mertajam, the town where our school is located, and where 70 alumni were able to come together; came from all over the country, including Borneo, was a powerful moment to highlight our shared history and the lifetime that we have built. Several of whom had not seen each other in many years, even some not since we left the school. We are not only former classmates, but old friends who grew up alongside one another and never parted ways.

The author reflects on how a recent school reunion and Teacher’s Day celebrations highlighted the enduring influence of teachers, friendships and shared school experiences in shaping character, resilience and lifelong bonds beyond the classroom. — Pexels pic

Some came as parents, grandparents or other professionals, but as soon as we met, years had already been swallowed in silence. We laughed at the same jokes, recognised the same smiles, and spoke like people who once shared dormitories, dreams, and young doubts. It reminded us that friendship developed in those early years has a kind of indestructibility, a gift that grows in strength. It was more than just a chance to look back at our years together.

As the Malay proverb reminds us, “Tempat jatuh lagi dikenang, inikan pula tempat bermain”. If even the place where we once stumbled is remembered, how much more enduring is the place where we learned and grew. School was that space: one that shaped us, sometimes gently, sometimes firmly, into who we would become. While teachers gave us knowledge and direction, our peers gave us something equally invaluable; companionship, perspective, and resilience.

They sat beside us during examinations, stayed up through late-night revisions, and offered quiet reassurance in moments of doubt. They were also part of the laughter that followed prep classes, the whispered conversations across dormitory rooms, and the unspoken understanding that none of us was alone in the journey.

We were moved to tears by the visit of five of our former teachers: Tn Hj Abdul Halim Othman, Cikgu Ramli Din, Cikgu Sulaiman Ismail, Cikgu Mohd Nor Abd Rahim, Ustaz Abdul Halim Bin Abdul Hamid, former Headmaster. Watching them again and hearing their speeches gave us a powerful reminder about the time we have spent in my classroom, the strong discipline and firm guidance they have given us since we were children to become responsible for forming our character and success.

Their words spoken to this older person as they gave wisdom that inspired us to keep being true to our beliefs and to honour lifelong friendships while keeping supporting families and the community in which we grew up. Others took the time to give special and personal thanks for what was long-overdue in shaping our studies and character and resilience. Perhaps the most moving and evocative moment of the evening was when we stood to sing our school anthem, “Maju dan Jaya,” together. In those moments, standing side by side with voices united, we were absorbing more than words; we were embracing a shared identity and a collective aspiration that extended beyond individual success,.

Life in school was also shaped by its daily rhythms and activities. Morning assemblies under the rising sun instilled discipline and focus. Co-curricular activities nurtured teamwork and leadership. Sports days sparked spirited competition while strengthening unity. Cultural events allowed creativity to flourish, revealing talents that classrooms alone could not uncover. Even the simplest routines: lining up for meals, preparing for inspections, gathering for evening reflections; quietly instilled values of responsibility, respect, and resilience. Our peers, in many ways, became our first mirrors. Through them, we discovered our strengths and confronted our weaknesses. Together, we navigated challenges, celebrated small victories, and learned lessons no textbook could ever teach. These shared experiences formed bonds that time could not easily erase.

Teacher’s Day, therefore, is not only a celebration of educators. It is also a moment to reflect on the broader ecosystem of learning. Teachers planted the seeds; but it was the environment of the school, enriched by friendships and shared experiences, that allowed those seeds to grow. We owe our teachers a deep and lasting gratitude for their wisdom and dedication. But we also owe a quiet appreciation to the places that held us, and to the friends who walked beside us.

Together, they formed an unspoken curriculum; one that taught us how to live, not just how to learn. Because in the end, what we carry with us is not only knowledge, but barakah: the unseen blessings of those who taught us, guided us, and prayed for our success in ways we may never fully know.

* Associate Professor Sr Zuraini Md Ali is from the Department of Building Surveying, Faculty of Built Environment, Universiti Malaya, and can be reached at zuraini_mdali@um.edu.my while Associate Professor Mawarni Mohamed is from the Department of Physical & Health Education, Faculty of Education, Universiti Teknologi Mara (UiTM) Shah Alam, and can be reached at mawarnim@uitm.edu.my

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

MAY 16 — The ocean has always been largely taken for granted. But as we face a planetary ceiling on land — every arable acre spoken for, every forest shrinking, every city sprawling — we are finally turning our gaze seaward. The ocean is, indeed, the next frontier. Yet we arrive at this frontier as trespassers rather than stewards. The ocean is not healthy; it is overheated, acidifying, and choking with plastic. The question before us is not whether we should tap its potential, but how we can do so without committing ecological suicide. 

For centuries, we have treated the ocean as a hunting ground. We have chased fish stocks to the edge of collapse. If we are to feed a growing population from the sea, we must transition to becoming farmers. The future of oceanic food lies in regenerative aquaculture. We must invest heavily in farming shellfish, kelp, and bivalves — species that do not require feed inputs but actually clean the water and build ecosystems. Imagine vast, rotating offshore farms where seaweed and mussels act as the kidneys of the ocean, absorbing excess nutrients. This means moving salmon pens and other finfish operations onshore into closed-loop systems, severing the link between dense fish populations and the fragile wild environment. The technology exists; what is needed is the political will to embrace the transition.

The ocean offers immense power. The wind blows harder and more consistently at sea, the tides are mechanically predictable, and the sun beats down on vast, empty expanses. But our first attempts to harness this — the sprawling offshore wind farms and nascent tidal arrays — must be built with a humility we have lacked on land. The solution is to design with nature, not against it. We should prioritise floating platforms that minimise seabed disruption and, crucially, integrate them with the food systems mentioned above. Why have a wind farm that just generates power when it can also serve as the infrastructure for kelp aquaculture? Why build a tidal barrier that just spins turbines when it can also be designed as an artificial reef?

The author argues that the ocean’s future depends on replacing exploitation with sustainable stewardship, from regenerative aquaculture to stronger marine conservation and a rejection of deep-sea mining. — Pexels pic

This requires a regulatory revolution. Currently, we license energy, fishing, and shipping in separate silos. We need a unified maritime spatial planning system that maps the ocean not as a void, but as a three-dimensional volume of life. We must decide where we leave wilderness, where we allow multi-use development, and where we restore. This is where the temptation is greatest, and the danger most acute. The seabed is littered with nodules of cobalt, nickel, and rare earth metals — the lifeblood of the green transition. Mining companies are ready to lower the machinery. We must resist. Deep-sea mining threatens to unravel ecosystems we do not yet understand, releasing sediment plumes that could smother life for centuries. We do not need to tear apart the abyssal plains to fuel our future. We need a circular economy first.

Before we look down, we must look around. The world discards millions of tons of electronic waste annually — a veritable urban mine of the very minerals we seek. The first step to tapping the ocean’s resource potential is to implement a global, binding agreement to recycle everything on land before we touch the seabed. The ocean floor must remain a sanctuary, not a sacrifice zone. A moratorium on deep-sea mining, with a permanent ban unless and until science proves it can be done without harm, is the only responsible course.

None of these opportunities are possible in a dead ocean. A dead ocean stores no carbon, grows no fish, and generates no oxygen. Our first “step” is not to build or extract, but to heal. We must treat plastic pollution with the urgency of a climate crisis, halting the flow of waste at its source. We must massively expand Marine Protected Areas, aiming not for 10 per cent or 20 per cent, but for 30 per cent of the ocean as fully protected wilderness by 2030. These are not just parks; they are the engine rooms that restock the seas and build resilience against warming.

The ocean is not a grocery store, a gas station, or a mine. It is a living system. If we approach it with the same extractive mindset that has scorched the land, we will inherit a dead sea and a stalled economy. But if we approach it as gardeners, as partners, and as students — if we realise that the health of the ocean is the health of the economy — then the blue frontier offers not just resources, but a model for a new kind of relationship with our planet. The choice is simple: We can be the generation that killed the ocean, or the one that learned to live with it.

* Professor Datuk Ahmad Ibrahim is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.  

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

MAY 15 — The Norman Broadbent Global Public Transport Outlook 2026 noted that “decision making in public transport often slows as ownership fragments across sponsors, operators, authorities and delivery bodies”. When a bus lane project requires sign-off from transport agencies, local councils, environmental authorities, and finance ministries, the result is not rigorous oversight—it is paralysis. This fragmentation creates what researchers call the “implementation gap.” In New Zealand, a study published in Case Studies on Transport Policy found that even when strategic goals are aligned at the policy level, “funding misalignment and governance complexities hinder active travel collaboration”. The disconnect between grand visions and delivery pathways means sustainability strategies remain stuck on paper.

It is even more complicated in the United States, where the research reveals that 66 percent of major transit projects cross multiple municipal boundaries. This creates a political free-for-all. Mayors and city councillors with no official role in project governance nonetheless wield enormous informal power, leveraging relationships to demand changes that add millions to budgets and years to timelines. One Minneapolis mayor successfully argued for a rerouting that added US$200 million to the Metro Green Line’s cost.

If governance is the first bottleneck, technology is the second. The problem is not that we lack sophisticated tools. It is that the public sector, which runs most of the world’s mass transit, is stuck in the technological dark ages. As Amos Haggiag of Optibus argues forcefully in METRO Magazine, “many transit authorities instead rely on decades-old software and manual practices”. While venture capitalists pour billions into autonomous vehicles and ride-hailing apps—services that primarily serve the wealthy and worsen congestion—the systems that move the masses are managed with spreadsheets and guesswork.

This technological deficit has real consequences. Poor scheduling, unreliable real-time information, and suboptimal route planning drive passengers into the waiting arms of Uber and Grab. A University of California-Davis study found that up to 61 percent of ride-hailing trips replaced public transport, walking, or cycling. The technology gap is not just an inconvenience; it is actively cannibalising the ridership base that sustains public transport.

Perhaps the most fascinating insight from recent research challenges our fundamental assumptions about how transport should be organised. — Picture by Hari Anggara

Yet there is hope. The European Union’s UPPER project is demonstrating what happens when cities embrace digitalisation. By deploying intelligent transport systems, GPS tracking, and data-driven planning, cities like Budapest have redesigned their networks to respond to actual demand patterns. The lesson is simple but profound: you cannot manage what you cannot measure.

Perhaps the most fascinating insight from recent research challenges our fundamental assumptions about how transport should be organised. A groundbreaking study published in Nature Communications analysed more than 7,000 bus routes across 36 cities and reached a startling conclusion: the informal minibus networks of the Global South are often more efficient than the centrally planned systems of the Global North.

This is not to romanticise the sector. The Nature Communications study acknowledges that informal services often suffer from poor vehicle safety, unreliable scheduling, and minimal driver training. But the structural efficiency of their route networks suggests that simply bulldozing these systems in favour of rigid, centrally planned alternatives is a mistake. The goal should be integration and formalisation that preserves adaptability while improving safety and reliability.

Underpinning all these challenges is a crisis of leadership and institutional memory. The Norman Broadbent report makes a pointed observation: transport organisations are finally recognising that “succession planning must be treated as a programme risk, not an HR afterthought”. When a visionary director leaves and takes decades of relationships and tacit knowledge with them, projects stall. When political cycles turn over every four or five years, long-term programmes are chopped and changed beyond recognition.

Copenhagen, widely regarded as a sustainability pioneer, illustrates the tension. Research on the city’s Sustainable Urban Mobility Plan found that even in this most favourable of environments, “conflicting political priorities and car dominance hamper ambitious planning”. If Copenhagen struggles to maintain momentum, what hope for cities without its institutional capacity and civic consensus?

The bottlenecks in public transport are not technical problems awaiting a technological magic bullet. They are human problems: fragmentation, inertia, short-termism, and the eternal difficulty of getting different people with different incentives to row in the same direction. The solutions, therefore, must be equally human. They require governance reforms that clarify accountability without stifling local input. They demand investment in the boring but essential work of data systems and digital management. They call for humility in the face of informal systems that have evolved to meet needs that central planners cannot see. And above all, they require a commitment to leadership continuity and institutional memory that transcends electoral cycles.

*The author is affiliated with the Tan Sri Omar Centre for STI Policy Studies at UCSI University and is an Adjunct Professor at the Ungku Aziz Centre for Development Studies, Universiti Malaya. He can be reached at ahmadibrahim@ucsiuniversity.edu.my.

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

MAY 15 — Every May, Mental Health Awareness Month reminds us that mental health is not only about the individual. It is also about the people, places, and systems around us.

This year’s theme, “More Good Days, Together,” introduced by Mental Health America, is especially meaningful for Malaysia’s adolescents and young adults, who are growing up in a world that is fast, competitive, and deeply connected online.

For many young Malaysians, daily life can be demanding.

A school student may be worried about SPM, tuition, peer pressure, or family expectations. A university student may be struggling with assignments, future job prospects, or living away from home. A young worker may be trying to manage career uncertainty, financial pressure, and the challenge of proving themselves in the workplace.

On the outside, many may appear fine; inside, some are quietly overwhelmed.

A good day may simply mean getting through school, university, or work without feeling alone.

For a teenager, it may mean being able to talk to a parent without being judged. For a student, it may mean going through the school day without feeling anxious or left out. For a young adult, it may mean having a friend, lecturer, colleague, or supervisor who notices when something is wrong.

Sometimes, it is enough to feel that someone cares.

This is important because mental health is shaped not only by what happens inside a person, but also by the environment around them.

From a social psychology perspective, our emotions, confidence, behaviour, and sense of identity are strongly influenced by our relationships and surroundings.

A young person who feels accepted at home, respected in school, included by friends, and safe online is more likely to cope with pressure. A young adult who feels supported at university or work is more likely to recover from difficult periods.

Parents can create more good days by listening calmly before advising. Teachers can create good days by noticing students who have become quiet, withdrawn, or unusually irritable. Friends can create good days by checking in instead of assuming everything is fine. — Picture via Pexels

In Malaysia, many young people still hesitate to talk about mental health.

Some fear being seen as weak, dramatic, ungrateful, or lacking faith. Others keep quiet because they do not want to worry their parents or disappoint their teachers.

This silence can make emotional struggles feel heavier.

Changing this culture does not always require big speeches; it often begins with small, everyday responses.

When a young person says they are tired, stressed, or overwhelmed, adults should avoid quickly saying, “Just be positive,” or “Other people have it worse”.

A more helpful response is: “I’m listening. Tell me what has been difficult”.

That simple sentence can make support feel safer.

The theme also reminds us that responsibility must be shared.

Parents can create more good days by listening calmly before advising. Teachers can create good days by noticing students who have become quiet, withdrawn, or unusually irritable. Friends can create good days by checking in instead of assuming everything is fine.

Universities and employers can create good days by building environments that value well-being, not only results and performance.

Schools and universities have a particularly important role.

Mental health education should not only appear during campaigns or special events. It should be part of student life through accessible counselling, peer support, anti-bullying action, balanced academic expectations, and training for teachers and lecturers to recognise early signs of distress.

Young people should grow up knowing that asking for help is normal, not shameful.

In today’s Malaysia, this discussion must also include the role of AI apps and digital mental health tools.

For many young people, the first place they express stress may not be a counselling room, but a phone screen.

A student who is anxious before SPM, a university student feeling overwhelmed by assignments, or a young worker struggling with burnout may first turn to an AI chatbot, mood tracker, wellness app, or online counselling platform.

This is not necessarily a bad thing.

Used wisely, AI tools can help young people put their feelings into words, track their moods, practise breathing exercises, or learn simple ways to manage stress.

For those who feel shy or afraid of stigma, these tools may become a first step towards seeking proper help.

But AI should not become the only support system.

An app cannot fully understand a young person’s family expectations, cultural background, religious values, school pressure, financial worries, or personal history.

It also cannot replace the comfort of a parent who listens, a teacher who notices, a friend who checks in, or a counsellor who is trained to help.

Malaysia should therefore treat AI as a bridge to support, not a replacement for human connection.

Schools, universities, families, and policymakers need to guide young people to use these tools safely, while ensuring that real counselling services, trusted adults, and professional help remain available.

In the spirit of “More Good Days, Together,” technology may open the door, but people must still walk through it together.

Families also need support in this conversation.

Many Malaysian parents care deeply for their children but may not always know how to talk about emotions. Some grew up in households where feelings were rarely discussed openly.

Mental health awareness should therefore include parents, not blame them.

Parents need simple guidance on how to listen, when to seek help, how to manage digital boundaries, and how to support children without adding more pressure.

Mental Health Awareness Month should not end when May ends.

For adolescents and young adults, the goal is not only awareness, but a Malaysia where help is easier to ask for, support is easier to find, and technology is used responsibly.

“More Good Days, Together” is a call to build a culture of care.

In Malaysia, more good days will come not from one campaign alone, but from the daily care we show at home, in classrooms, on campus, at work, and online.

*The author is an Associate Professor at the Department of Anthropology & Sociology, Faculty of Arts & Social Science, Universiti Malaya.

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