Flag fatigue: As party banners replace World Cup flags, the columnist reckons voters are getting tired of politicians constantly ‘performing’ on the campaign trail rather than doing their job of governing. — CHAN TAK KONG/The Star

FATIGUE and irregular sleeping hours are taking a toll on me. It’s a real relief that the World Cup is finally coming to end, with the final in the wee hours of tomorrow morning.

As they say, every good thing must come to an end. But that does not seem to the case when it comes to elections in Malaysia. Maybe elections are not a good thing here.

Election campaigns never seem to cease and many Malaysians are just tired.

Yes, we are often reminded that we have to exercise our democratic duty but, unfortunately, common sense is missing among some politicians. Too much of anything is bad.

There was once a quaint belief that elections were something Malaysia had every few years. It was a charming belief. Today, though, elections are held every few months.

The modern elected representative has also evolved. Once expected to legislate, scrutinise policies, and solve constituents’ problems, he has now become an incessant campaigner, a busy salesman.

If you take the trouble to watch the Dewan Rakyat proceedings on television, you will often see many empty seats.

But those missing MPs would never be absent from the campaign trail. I suspect our politicians get a special kind of high when on walkabouts or at ceramah.

They have become political athletes with a unique skill set: smiling for the 87th selfie of the day while simultaneously promising lower prices, higher incomes, better roads, faster Internet and, if time permits, world peace.

It’s the only time that all languages are suddenly used. Even the right-wing Malay politicians insist that campaign material must be in all languages.

They even pretend to know greetings in Chinese and Indian languages. They also bring along some obscure relatives who have Chinese blood or are from a vernacular school.

During this silly season, as we journalists call elections, governing, unfortunately, just gets in the way.

Parliament may debate laws, but campaign trails debate everything else. Every microphone becomes a portal through which common sense briefly leaves the building.

Speeches grow increasingly colourful, metaphors increasingly adventurous, and arithmetic increasingly optional. It’s occasionally quite stupid, let’s be blunt.

The campaign trail has become a magical realm where every sentence begins with confidence and ends somewhere completely unrelated. Political rallies produce so many memorable quotes, but fact-checkers need overtime pay and linguists deserve hazard allowances to ensure that anything that sees print does not end up in court.

Perhaps it is inevitable. Human beings are not designed to spend months talking continuously into microphones under hot lights while trying to sound spontaneous.

There is plenty of well-researched evidence to show that the attention span of audiences is less than 15 minutes. That’s it. The brain then waves a tiny white flag.

This explains why campaign speeches often resemble a group project where nobody reads the assignment.

Some candidates promise impossible timelines. Others invent problems only they can solve. A few accidentally argue against the very policies they supported just last Tuesday.

By the final week, everyone appears to be campaigning against everyone else, including themselves. One week, they are attacking each other incessantly on state policies and the next week, they are defending each other on federal policies.

One cannot entirely blame them and neither can we blame the voters, who have become increasingly confused.

It must be tough for politicians, too, spending every waking hour greeting strangers, shaking thousands of hands, eating six dinners a night, attending forums, recording videos, posting on social media, and remembering which constituency they’re in before beginning their speech.

Under those conditions, anyone might eventually thank the wrong town, endorse the wrong slogan, or accidentally declare a traffic roundabout a national monument.

Meanwhile, voters develop an equally fascinating condition known as Campaign Fatigue Syndrome.

Symptoms include involuntarily tuning out whenever someone says “My fellow Malaysians…”, instinctively avoiding streets decorated with too many flags, and believing that every free tote bag contains another political leaflet.

By the third week, voters can identify party jingles faster than the national anthem. By the fourth week, even the flags look exhausted.

The greatest irony is that the people who most need time to work are busy doing other things, no thanks to politicians.

Road repairs wait while politicians explain why roads should be repaired. Committee meetings are postponed because everyone is attending another ceramah explaining the importance of effective governance.

Policy papers gather dust while campaign manifestos are published on glossy paper, with dramatic music and drone photography.

One wonders whether Malaysia should consider a radical innovation: allowing elected representatives to spend more time being representatives than candidates.

Imagine, MPs would actually be discussing legislation instead of rehearsing slogans. Assemblymen would be attending committee meetings without checking whether there is a by-election somewhere within driving distance.

And imagine press conferences where every answer is shorter than the question.

Campaigns, of course, are essential to democracy. Voters deserve choices, spirited debates, and the chance to scrutinise. Elections should be lively because democracy itself is alive.

But there is a difference between healthy competition and permanent, non-stop performance. At some point, the microphones need to be switched off so the spreadsheets can be opened.

Welcome to Malaysia. Where, I am beginning to believe, elections are part of the Visit Malaysia 2026/2027 campaign and Chinese mainland tourists are targeted for this circus.

Choosing wisely: Malaysian voters need to ask the right questions of their candidates. — Bernama

WHEN the people of Johor went to the voting booths yesterday to cast their ballots, we can be certain the majority ignored the call by Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad.

The former prime minister had asked voters to pick only Malay candidates in the polls.

This was after PAS president Tan Sri Abdul Hadi Awang had made a similar call, saying the state government must continue to be led by Malay leaders to preserve Malay-Muslim leadership in Johor.

These two ageing politicians are oddballs. Both share the same simplistic approach of offering Malaysians a political shortcut.

Forget competence. Forget integrity. Forget that we are all Malaysians. According to Dr Mahathir, Malay voters should simply vote for Malay candidates.

PAS has since changed its stance to be friendlier towards the MCA and MIC, reportedly because they are with Barisan Nasional and are not like the purportedly extremist DAP, which is part of Pakatan Harapan.

The irony is that many Malaysians, including Malays, also perceive PAS as an extremist party.

Instead of asking voters to scrutinise the record of candidates, to check policy documents, financial records, their educational qualifications, and to ask awkward questions about governance, the two are only keen on the ethnicity of the candidates.

Can you imagine if voters begin asking, “Awak Melayu kah (are you Malay)?”, “Awak Muslim ke (are you Muslim?)?”; or if Chinese-based and Indian-based parties ask their supporters to do the same thing with their ethnicities?

Perhaps those two politicians should ask Malaysians to extend the principle beyond politics.

The next time you need heart surgery, don’t ask whether the surgeon is qualified. Ask if he shares your ethnicity.

If your house catches fire, insist the firefighters first confirm their racial identity before reaching for the hose.

When we order food, we should ask the delivery service, “Budak yang hantar makanan, dia Melayu Muslim ke (Is the person delivering the food Malay-Muslim)?”

When boarding an aircraft, will we ask “Kapten Melayu-Muslim ke? Flight attendant sama juga kan (Is the captain Malay-Mus-lim? Same goes for the flight attendants, right)?” Should the other races do the same too and demand crew of their “own kind”?

Never mind the pilot’s flying hours and the crew’s quality of service. What truly matters is whether everyone in the cockpit and cabin belongs to the “correct” community.

Absurd? Of course.

Yet this is precisely the logic, or rather illogic, behind asking citizens to choose leaders primarily because of race.

It is a curious argument coming from Dr M, someone who spent decades insisting Malaysia needed capable administration, economic growth, and national development. One would have thought that after leading the country for over 20 years across two premierships, the benchmark for political leadership would be experience, competence, and results rather than ancestry.

Apparently not.

Perhaps Malaysia has misunderstood democracy all along. To some people, elections are not about selecting the best representatives but about your race and religion.

If we take their logic – which we can presume would extend beyond the Johor state polls and eventually reach the general elections, then Malaysia is in deep trouble.

Hadi does not care that his party can’t even run Perlis, Kedah, Terengganu, and Kelantan efficiently but is determined to get to Putrajaya. His faithful followers don’t care either.

But with Dr Mahathir and Hadi’s twisted logic, the race and religion narrative would certainly simplify political debates.

“What’s your plan to improve Johor’s economy?”

“I’m Malay.”

“Excellent. Next question: How will you address the rising cost of living?”

“Still Malay.”

The unfortunate implication is that race somehow guarantees good governance. History has been less than enthusiastic about this theory.

Corruption has never needed an IC to verify race and religion before money changes hands. Inflation does not discriminate when it comes to race and religion.

Potholes possess no racial preference. Bureaucratic inefficiency speaks every language fluently.

Citizens waiting in hospital queues are rarely comforted by knowing that the minister responsible happens to share their ethnicity. It’s the quality of the healthcare workers that matters.

There is another odd assumption in voting along racial lines, if we are to accept the call of the two leaders.

It quietly suggests Malay voters are incapable of judging candidates on merit.

That the Malays cannot compare policies, evaluate integrity, or recognise competence unless someone first points out the candidate’s race.

This is hardly the compliment its advocates appear to think it is.

Malay voters, like every other Malaysian, are certainly perfectly capable of asking sensible questions.

Has this person served the public honestly? Can this candidate manage public finances responsibly? Does this representative show integrity when nobody is watching?

Remarkably, none of these questions require a DNA test.

Malaysia’s Federal Constitution certainly recognises the country’s unique history and provides special provisions for Malays and the natives of Sabah and Sarawak.

It also establishes a shared citizenship that expects elected representatives to serve everyone in their constituency.

Johor, perhaps more than most states, understands this reality. Its prosperity has never depended on everyone looking alike.

Instead, it has depended on attracting investment, welcoming talent, encouraging enterprise, and convincing people that tomorrow will be better than today.

Investors, inconveniently, tend to ask about infrastructure, political stability, and the rule of law rather than the ethnicity of the local elected representative.

Race remains an important part of Malaysia’s identity. No reasonable person disputes that. The greatest irony is that race-based politics always promises security while quietly delivering permanent division.

If every community is encouraged to vote only for “its own”, eventually everyone becomes suspicious of everyone else, and every election becomes an ethnic census with campaign posters.

Democracy deserves better.

Malaysia deserves leaders who unite rather than divide, persuade rather than provoke, and solve problems rather than sort citizens into categories.

If the best candidate happens to be Malay, vote for that candidate. If the best candidate happens to be Chinese, Indian, Iban, Kadazan or Orang Asli, vote for that candidate.

That is not colour-blind idealism. It is simply how meritocracy is supposed to work.

After all, if race alone were enough to guarantee good leadership, Malaysia would have solved all its problems decades ago.

We have Malay leaders who have been convicted of corruption, including those who have plundered the nation’s wealth on an unimaginable scale.

Have we forgotten that the country faces a financial obligation of RM51.4bil because of the 1Malaysia Develop-ment Berhad scandal in which at least US$4.5bil (RM18.31bil) is alleged to have been misappropriated?

But there is also a longer list of Malay leaders who have served the country very well, in both the public and private sectors.

Their competence and qualifications are well-known, and they have reached the pinnacles of their careers on their own.

Likewise, there are Malaysians of other races who have put their lives on the line for our beloved country.

When Dr Mahathir and Hadi enter hospital for treatments, I am sure they will insist on the best doctors and nurses – and not ask if they are Malays and Muslims.

They will also not ask that the bags of blood they receive during surgeries come exclusively from Malays and Muslims.

There are only good and bad people – and they come from all races and religions.

The only race that matters is for Malaysia to race to the top, to remain competitive and be stable.

Bumper problem: Many are finding it difficult to resist the scrumptious fruit during this Durian Tsunami, including the writer. — LIM BENG TATT/The Star

THE past one month has been a very traumatic and sinful one for me. I feel awfully ashamed about all the lies that I have told. I don’t think I can continue with this immorality.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have lied to myself, my wife, my family, and worst of all, my doctors, in trying to conceal my wrongdoings in my medical issues.

Everyone has at least one secret and has probably lied a few times, or sometimes more than our politicians.

Then, there are diabetic patients during durian season. They lie to everyone.

This bumper season, dubbed the Durian Tsunami, may have been the best news for most Malaysians who don’t run durian plantations. But that’s not the case for us diabetics.

It’s already tough having to control the intake of nasi lemak, mee goreng, roti canai, teh tarik, and chicken rice, among other Malaysian delights. Durian season is pure hell.

To be fair, most diabetics are remarkably disciplined people. They count carbohydrates with military precision, decline sugary drinks with admirable resolve, and can identify the glycaemic index of food faster than most of us can identify our Cabinet line-up.

But unfortunately, self-discipline has never been my strong point. I am nothing but a weak soul who gives in to temptations, especially food, easily.

With durians, I cannot even stop to think. I lie to myself continuously. This season’s durian season is a clear example of Lucifer at work in wanting to destroy all of us decent Malaysians.

Or maybe it’s the Zionists – or even Singaporeans who can’t grow durians and have manipulated the market. Or, as politicians like to claim, maybe someone is just jealous of Malaysia and its people.

Any which way, this year’s durian glut has indeed turned Malaysia into one giant temptation.

Every roadside has become a pop-up durian carnival. Every petrol station seems to have acquired a stall.

Every neighbourhood chat group suddenly has a self-appointed “durian dealer” announcing, “Fresh Musang King just arrived!”

One late evening, a church-going friend sent me a text message. He asked if a diabetic could eat durians.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“In that case, I guess I should not be eating,” he replied sheepishly.

“But as a fellow diabetic, I have to tell you that I am buying durians,” I told him.

“Oh! In that case, I will go and buy now, I trust you. I will eat moderately,’’ he said, seemingly delighted with my answer.

He was even more convinced when I told him I have been eating moderately. Of course I lied, but I knew he wanted to hear that.

And then, he asked me: “Please don’t tell my wife.”

This lousy scourging husband is now cheating on his wife. His wife must be an idiot not to know what he has been doing in the late night, what with his foul-smelling burps.

Like any good God-fearing Christian, I won’t snitch on him. Especially when I need him to do the same for me.

The problem is not eating durian. It’s that we never stop at one. Nobody stops at one. The “satu ulas” or one seed is merely the opening ceremony.

By the third seed, you’re discussing flavour notes like a wine connoisseur who knows the location of the best vineyards.

“This one has hints of caramel. A slight bitterness, that’s why it’s called XO.”

“This one is a bit dry, it must be Black Thorn. From Penang only, you know, they have hilly areas conducive for such trees.”

“Musang King is my preference. New world trees but still good lah. Excellent finish today.”

By the sixth seed, you’re contemplating whether it would be socially acceptable to lick the husk or put salt water on it. And the lying begins.

“We can eat durians as much as we can but must take care of our health. Come, come, must put warm water into husks and add some salt, to cool ourselves down, OK?”

One more thing Ah Boy, don’t go and drink liquor after this, must always take care of our health.

But it’s hard to cheat the doctor, no matter how much we postpone our medical check-ups, especially with the blood test.

The blood test does not care for dramatic acting. The HbA1c result arrives with the brutal honesty of a Malaysian auntie. There is no need for a forensic check.

The doctor, meanwhile, isn’t convinced that I have been eating durians moderately.

“Doctor, I know durians have high sugar but it is also a fruit with vitamins and healthy fats, like salmon mah,” I protested. Bad mistake.

The doctor gave me a stern stare that would put Judge Collin Lawrence Sequeira – who presided over the 1MDB case – to shame. The doctor didn’t have to pronounce the guilty sentence.

I could almost hear him say, almost like Sequeira in his judgment, the “sheer scale of the durian plunder that took place made Attila the Hun look like a choirboy in comparison”.

Nobody has ever eaten 2kg of salmon while standing beside the road saying, “Just one more piece”.

I hope the durian tsunami will be over soon. Fat hope. Some people say it will continue until August. The torment and torture will go on.

No amount of mint chewing can erase the unmistakable perfume of durian. It lingers in the car, on your fingers, in the refrigerator – and on your conscience.

I will continue to utter the dirty four words – not four letters – “just one more seed”.

And that, dear readers, is the biggest lie of durian season – besides, of course, the politicians’ “I promise to serve’.’

Many restaurants in Malaysia are now using QR codes for food orders. — 123rf

MALAYSIAN waiters are in danger of becoming an endangered species. The only ones still to be seen in most places are those from Myanmar.

Many of them are often required to put on their masks in coffee shops, especially in Selangor, and I always have problems understanding them because they are hardly audible.

From behind the masks, and with their heavily accented Malay or English, it’s even more difficult to engage in a conversation,.

But that’s not my main grouse. This 65-year-old Uncle misses Malaysian waiters, even the notoriously rude ones at Chinese restaurants.

Not because I enjoy bossing people around. Not because I am technologically challenged.

I can still navigate online requirements and adapt to social media platforms well and even occasionally remember some of my passwords.

What I cannot understand is why I now have to do the waiter’s job while still paying a service charge.

The modern dining experience often begins with a cheerful greeting followed by a solemn gesture towards a QR code.

“Please scan the order.”

At that moment, I cease being a customer and become an unpaid member of the restaurant’s operations team.

First, I scan the code. Then I browse the menu. Then I place the order. Then I double-check that I haven’t accidentally ordered six bowls of tom yam instead of one.

Yet when the bill arrives, there it is: the service charge. Service for what exactly? Providing the QR code?

In many restaurants, you even have to collect the chopsticks, bowls and your chilli yourself, not to forget filling up the tea pots with hot water.

I am not opposed to technology. Digital menus can be useful. They display photos, update prices and reduce printing costs. Food prices also keep going up and it’s harder to make changes on printed menus, so sure, digital is helpful.

I also understand that it is difficult to hire waiters, especially Malaysians. We’d rather spend the entire day watching short Chinese video dramas, becoming pseudo political analysts on Threads or posting videos whining about the body odour of other nationalities when on holiday abroad.

But somewhere along the way, restaurants seem to have confused convenience for themselves with convenience for customers.

The situation becomes even more puzzling when the ordering system demands personal information before I can order a simple meal.

Would you like my full name? Perhaps. My phone number? Why? I am already using my phone to place the order. My e-mail address? Definitely not.

I recently encountered a restaurant that seemed less interested in my food preferences than in building a customer database worthy of a multinational corporation.

All I wanted was a plate of fried rice. The system behaved as if I were applying for a housing loan.

Before long, we may be asked to provide our blood type, favou­­rite colour and even the name of our pet before being permitted to order a cup of coffee.

(I don’t know why it is always the name of our pets. What about those poor souls with no pets?)

Restaurants argue that such information helps them improve customer service and offer promotions. Yet many customers simply want a meal, not a lifelong relationship.

The irony is that genuine service is becoming harder to find, even with technology that is supposed to improve the customer experience.

A good waiter does more than carry plates. A good waiter answers questions, recommends dishes, knows your favourite food if you are a regular customer, notices when something is wrong and occasionally rescues customers from ordering something they will regret.

A QR code cannot tell you that the curry is unusually spicy today. It cannot notice that your drink has not arrived. It certainly cannot smile when serving dessert.

Technology should enhance hospitality, not replace it.

So yes, I still prefer having my order taken by a human being.

Call me old-school if you must. But if I am paying a service charge, I would really like some actual service.

Remember the saying, the customer is always right? Now, the QR code is always right.

If you miss something on the QR code order and you walk over to the young cashier to make an inquiry, you get an angry and annoyed look instead of any help. It’s as if you have committed the world’s biggest digital mistake.

All I want is a plate of nasi lemak, not to sit through a digital competency test or to surrender enough personal information to qualify for a relationship or a loan.

I hope we won’t eventually have to keep pressing buttons on our phones to place our food orders via a call centre located in India, the Philippines or China!

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Big challenge: Rohingya refugee children attending a class at a school in Kutupalong refugee camp in Ukhia, Bangladesh. Malaysia does not have any mechanisms for education, healthcare, employment, and social integration for refugees. — AFP

JUST a decade ago, Rohingya refugees were portrayed by our politicians as a Muslim minority persecuted by Myanmar’s oppressive military regime. The politicians pushed the case into a powerful symbol of Muslim solidarity.

The political branding peaked between late 2016 and 2018, and was primarily aimed at gathering support ahead of the country’s general elections.

Former Umno president Datuk Seri Najib Razak even led a high- profile rally in Kuala Lumpur – with his party’s political rivals beside him, to boot.

The cause became a convenient platform for politicians seeking to demonstrate their Islamic credentials and appeal to domestic Muslim sentiments.

In short, these refugees were openly welcomed into Malaysia.

But following domestic backlash in 2020, Najib clarified that his pro-Rohingya solidarity was meant to stop the violence in Myanmar, not an open invitation to refugees to relocate to Malaysia.

Fast forward to 2026, the resentment against the Rohingya community has peaked, with much of the anger coming from the Malay community.

Malay social media, especially on Threads, is full of postings calling for these stateless people to be sent home.

Non-Muslims are asked why they have stayed out of the debate. Well, many did enter the debate a decade ago – they said these refugees should not come over – only to face undue criticism then.

Netizens who pose these questions over social media now probably weren’t even born then and have no background context to the issue.

To put it simply, at the height of the Rohingya crisis, questioning this approach was politically risky, especially for non-Muslims.

Humanitarian concerns understandably dominated public discourse. Images of desperate refugees fleeing violence generated sympathy among many Malaysians.

The narrative was straightforward: fellow Muslims were being persecuted and Malaysia had a moral obligation to help.

But what was largely absent, however, was any serious discussion of the long-term implications.

There are now an estimated 180,000 registered Rohingya refugees in Malaysia, with a huge settlement in Langkawi, Kedah, and Selayang, Selangor. There could be more, many unregistered.

As Malaysians grapple with the increasing cost of living, they are now less ready to carry the burdens of others, especially as pressure increases on public services.

Common complaints include: visible poverty and begging, including at Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur; overcrowded settlements; isolated incidents of crime; perceptions of poor integration; and competition for low-skilled jobs and public resources.

What many do not realise is that Malaysia does not have a formal refugee law, so many refugees remain in legal limbo.

The politicians who championed their cases then definitely did not think too much about how we would eventually handle them.

Few politicians asked difficult questions then, including how many refugees Malaysia could realistically absorb?

What would happen if the crisis lasted not years but generations? What mechanisms would exist for education, healthcare, employment, and social integration?

Would the refugees remain indefinitely in legal limbo? Who would bear the financial and social costs of managing a growing stateless population?

So we essentially are now stuck with the Rohingya refugees’ lack of legal status, which leaves many trapped in poverty and at the risk of exploitation.

We can’t deport them either as Myanmar doesn’t recognise them. Neither does neighbouring Bangladesh, which has about 1.2 million Rohingya refugees residing in camps near the Bangladesh-Myanmar border.

Let’s be honest: there are no third countries welcoming Rohingya refugees with open arms.

What was supposed to be temporary shelter in Malaysia has, unfortunately, become a permanent home for these Rohingya.

Malaysia is now saddled with a situation in which a sizable stateless population resides within its borders without a clear pathway to permanent settlement, citizenship, repatriation, or third-country resettlement.

For the Rohingya themselves, life remains precarious. Many work in informal sectors, have limited access to formal education, and live under constant uncertainty about their future.

For Malaysian authorities, the challenge grows more complex every year. Enforcement agencies, healthcare systems, schools, and local communities must contend with permanent realities that temporary policies were never designed to address.

For ordinary Malaysians, frustrations have become more visible. Many citizens increasingly question why a problem that was presented as temporary appears to have no end in sight.

The politicians who championed the Rohingya had their immediate political rewards. The policy costs were not thought of but the bill is now coming due.

The country cannot indefinitely maintain a large stateless population without generating social tensions.

At the same time, it cannot simply wish away the reality that many Rohingya have spent significant portions of their lives in Malaysia and have few realistic alternatives.

Perhaps we should allow controlled legal employment in certain sectors – because the reality is, prohibiting legal work pushes refugees into the underground economy.

A work-permit system restricted to specific sectors suffering labour shortages could reduce illegal employment, increase tax and levy collection, reduce dependence on charity, and lower incentives for begging and the setting up of informal businesses.

This would likely be more acceptable to Malaysians if it were limited, monitored, and tied to registration.

We cannot stop their children from attending their own schools. A generation growing up without education is a long-term risk for everyone.

Our politicians and policymakers cannot hope for the Rohingya problem to go away. It won’t.

But as we head towards elections, no politicians would now want to be dragged into an issue where they risk losing votes.