JANUARY 29 — When Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim told enforcement officers to “step up or step out,” he was not issuing a threat born of impatience.
He was stating a long-overdue truth: Malaysia’s law-enforcement agencies have had three decades to adapt to Reformasi, and another three decades will not be granted. In that context, one week is not unreasonable. It is merciful.
For years, Malaysians have lived with a paradox. We have laws that are robust on paper and institutions that are respected in name, yet outcomes that repeatedly disappoint.
Smuggling rings thrive despite checkpoints. Grand corruption cases linger despite public outrage. Petty enforcement can be swift; systemic wrongdoing often is not.
The problem has never been the absence of rules. It has been the absence of resolve, the erosion of professional courage, and a culture of selective enforcement.
Reformasi did not begin yesterday. It began in the late 1990s, animated by the promise that power would be checked, institutions would be accountable, and the rule of law would prevail over patronage.
Since then, Malaysia has held elections, changed governments, amended procedures, and created oversight bodies.
Yet within enforcement agencies, habits hardened in an earlier era have proven stubborn.
Too many officers learned to survive by avoiding risk, deferring decisions, or waiting for political cover. Too few learned that their first loyalty is to the law itself.
Anwar’s message cuts through this fog. “Step up or step out” is not a purge; it is a professional standard.
If an officer believes the mandate is too demanding, the scrutiny too intense, or the consequences too heavy, there is an honourable alternative: step aside.
What is no longer acceptable is to occupy a post while hollowing it out from within.
Critics will argue that a week is too short — that reform is complex, that institutions move slowly, that due process must be respected.
All true. But the prime minister is not asking agencies to complete reform in seven days. He is asking them to declare their intent.
Are they willing to enforce the law without fear or favour? Are they prepared to coordinate across agencies rather than protect turf?
Are they ready to accept performance benchmarks and public accountability? A week is ample time to answer these questions honestly.
The deeper significance of this ultimatum lies in the political economy of enforcement. Corruption is not merely a moral failing; it is a distortion of markets and governance. It inflates costs, deters investment, and punishes the honest.
In a region competing fiercely for capital and credibility, weak enforcement is a self-inflicted wound. Investors do not demand perfection, but they do demand predictability.
They want to know that rules will be applied consistently, contracts honoured, and disputes resolved without hidden tolls.
This is why enforcement reform cannot be cosmetic. Rotating personnel, issuing circulars, or launching slogans will not suffice.
What is required is a shift in incentives and expectations. Officers must know that inaction carries consequences, just as misconduct does.
Promotion must reward results, not seniority alone. Inter-agency cooperation must be mandatory, not optional.
Data sharing, joint task forces, and clear lines of command are not luxuries; they are necessities in an era of transnational crime and sophisticated financial flows.
There is also a constitutional dimension. Parliamentary governance rests on checks and balances, but those checks collapse if enforcement is timid.
Legislatures can pass laws; courts can interpret them; executives can set priorities. None of this matters if the law is not enforced.
When enforcement agencies hesitate, the burden shifts unfairly to politicians and judges, who are then accused — often rightly — of politicisation or overreach.
Strong, impartial enforcement is what keeps each branch in its proper lane.
Some worry that a hard line from the executive risks intimidation.
That fear misunderstands the message. Anwar is not demanding loyalty to a person; he is demanding fidelity to office.
The distinction matters. A politicised agency enforces selectively to please power. A professional agency enforces consistently to uphold the law.
The former corrodes democracy; the latter sustains it. The prime minister’s challenge is aimed at the first, in defence of the second.
Malaysia’s enforcement community is not devoid of talent or integrity. Many officers do exemplary work under difficult conditions.
What they need is clarity from the top — and protection when they do the right thing. A decisive stance from the prime minister provides both.
It tells honest officers that their efforts will be backed, and it tells fence-sitters that ambiguity is no longer a shelter.
Reformasi, if it is to mean anything today, must be measured not by speeches but by outcomes.
Fewer leaks at borders. Faster, cleaner prosecutions. Confiscation of illicit gains. Transparent reporting of performance.
These are the yardsticks that matter to citizens who pay taxes and obey the law.
A week, then, is not a countdown to fear. It is a countdown to choice.
Step up — embrace professionalism, coordination, and accountability — or step out and let others do the job. Malaysia has waited long enough.
The law does not need more time. It needs enforcement that finally toes the line.
* Phar Kim Beng, PhD is the Professor of Asean Studies at International Islamic University of Malaysia and Director of Institute of International and Asean Studies (IINTAS).
** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
