Agriculture makes up less than 2% of Selangor’s total GDP. In many areas like Hulu Selangor, it is common to see cattle from nearby farms encroaching on residential areas and public roads. — The Star

IT’S always difficult when long-term policies and planning are caught in race and religion controversies. These include manufactured threats used merely to win votes ahead of the general election.

Take the issue of pig farming in Selangor. The state government has come under fire for its plan to relocate and centralise pig farming.

It makes sense, but in a state where the population is predominantly Malay, it has led to much unhappiness.

For Muslims, whatever weaknesses they may have in their daily living, non-halal substances, especially pork, is the ultimate red line.

Let’s be honest. No one, including pork consumers, wants to have a large-scale pig farm in their backyard.

The palace isn’t happy either, and has made clear its stand. The outcome could have been better if the palace had been better informed of developments.

In contrast, pork-loving non- Muslims, especially the Chinese, perceive the controversy as another case of marginalisation.

There are no winners except for those fanning race and religion issues on social media.

What is less discussed rationally and seriously by lawmakers is that every inch of land in Selangor matters.

The reality is that Selangor must optimise land – and that is why livestock belong in other states where land is abundant.

It is not just pig farming, where livestock businessmen have been perceived to be reluctant to invest in modern technology, but the other traditional farms too.

In Selangor, land is no longer a passive backdrop to development. It is a strategic asset – finite, contested, and increasingly expensive.

Each hectare carries multiple responsibilities: housing a growing population, supporting economic activity, managing floods, protecting ecosystems, and enabling mobility.

With demand for land far outstripping supply, the question is no longer whether land use in Selangor should be optimised, but how urgently.

Let’s ask this bold question: Does traditional livestock farming still make sense in Selangor?

Agriculture, including livestock farming, only made up less than 2% of Selangor’s total GDP while services and manufacturing contributed over 25% to the national GDP – although livestock is admittedly crucial for food security and local supply.

Selangor, however, is unlike other states. It is Malaysia’s most urbanised and industrialised state. Its land value reflects proximity to ports, airports, highways, labour markets, and consumers.

Selangor excels as a manufacturing and innovation hub. — 123rf

Using such land for extensive livestock farming, an activity that requires large tracts for relatively low output, comes with a steep opportunity cost, and certainly cannot be a priority for the state.

The same land could support compact housing, flood mitigation infrastructure, logistics hubs, high-tech industry, or modern food production systems that generate exponentially more value per square metre.

States like Sabah and Sarawak possess what Selangor does not: vast land reserves, lower population density, and landscapes that naturally support pasture-based agriculture.

In these regions, livestock farming aligns with the physical and economic realities on the ground.

Larger contiguous land areas allow for proper grazing, biosecurity buffers, and waste management without encroaching on residential zones or critical infrastructure.

Environmental pressures are easier to manage when land is not squeezed between highways and housing estates.

Economically, livestock farming benefits from scale. Sabah and Sarawak can support larger herds, integrated supply chains, and downstream processing without facing the prohibitive land costs that distort feasibility in Selangor.

Lower land prices mean investments can be directed towards productivity, animal health, and sustainability rather than sunk into real estate.

This is how livestock farming becomes competitive.

There is also the national food security logic that is often overlooked. Food security does not mean every state produces everything.

Sabah and Sarawak are well positioned to be Malaysia’s backbone for land-intensive agriculture, including livestock farming.

Malaysia has a huge food import bill which continues to rise – exceeding RM70bil annually with 2023 figures reported at about RM71.6bil to nearly RM79bil.

Instead of importing pork – as some have suggested, citing Singapore as an example – it makes more sense for non-Muslims to buy from Sabah and Sarawak to keep our spending within Malaysia.

Sarawak is reportedly expanding its pig farming industry, aiming for US$220mil (RM931.81mil)in exports by 2030, by utilising secluded land for large scale, automated and biosecure facilities.

Supported by the state government, this modern, sustainable approach includes on-site abattoirs, waste treatment, ventilation and cooling systems, and export capabilities, including to Singapore.

The Borneo Post reported that by 2030, the state will have a pig production industry worth RM1.5bil. To date, the state exports over RM129.8mil of pork to Singapore.

Selangor, meanwhile, excels as a logistics, processing, distri-bution, and innovation hub – efficiently linking producers to consumers.

Modern food systems depend less on proximity to farms and more on cold chains, transport infrastructure, and processing capacity – all of which Selangor already has.

Environmental considerations further strengthen this case. In Selangor, livestock farming often competes with water catchment areas, river buffers, and flood plains.

In land-rich states, these pressures are easier to mitigate through proper spacing, ecosystem planning, and integration with the natural landscape.

Crucially, a shift away from livestock farming in Selangor must be accompanied by thoughtful transition policies.

As it is now, the Selangor government is actively carrying out the clearing of pig farms, with just over 30 farms still operating in Kuala Langat compared with the 115 previously reported.

Land use must continue to evolve with the same pragmatism.

Clinging to land-intensive activities in a land-scarce state is not preservation – it is stagnation.

In the long run, it is better for Selangor to source its livestock supplies from other states, especially Sarawak.

When every bit of land counts in Selangor, wisdom lies in putting each inch to its highest and best use.

Big bill: Malaysia relies heavily on imports like rice, meat, dairy and medicine. — RAJA FAISAL HISHAN/The Star

IT has been a good run for the ringgit. It continues to streng-then against the greenback, making it the best currency performer in the region.

But the stronger ringgit is more than just a currency story, it is also a political one.

Finally, we can hold our heads up high because of the firmer ringgit. Many of us may have forgotten it, but there was a time that the ringgit was in danger of dipping to RM5 against the US dollar.

For years, we worried each time the ringgit lost value.

We wondered whether it was governance or growth, and if the Malaysian leadership was heading in the right direction.

We had to pay more for our imports, especially food, which remains one of the highest bills.

Malaysia relies heavily on foreign staples like rice, meat, dairy, machinery and medicine. The import bill rose from RM35bil in 2011 to over RM55.5bil in 2020, and further surged towards RM80bil by 2024/2025.

Much of international trade is paid in US dollars and that means consumers have to pay more if the ringgit is weak.

Last week, the ringgit rose to a seven-year high to close at 3.9185 on Wednesday as improved risk sentiment and a softer dollar continued to back the ringgit. This was the strongest closing level since it hit 3.9150 in 2018.

For now, many continue to wonder how long the ringgit will continue to climb or if this is mostly the result of external factors, specifically the weaker greenback and interest rate decisions in the US.

That is only partly true. A stronger ringgit is, in fact, a vote of confidence.

To put it simply, it is the result of political stability.

We had a change of three prime ministers in one parliamentary term, from 2020 to 2022. The BBC, in its news report headlined “How Malaysia’s government collapsed in two years”, said it was a result of “unprecedented political turmoil and uncertainties”.

Malaysians paid a heavy price for those years of excessive politicking and turmoil. The ringgit, for one, took a persistent beating. But the stability over the past few years has seen it recover.

A stronger ringgit is a vote of confidence for the government. Malaysians have paid a heavy price for those years of excessive politicking and turmoil.

At the most basic level, a strengthening ringgit reflects improved demand for Malaysian assets.

Investors are more willing to hold ringgit-denominated bonds, equities, and real investments.

We hope the stronger ringgit will impact Malaysians as a whole, including lowering the cost of food and other household items, easing the cost of living pressures.

For the government, it means less fiscal stress when servicing foreign-denominated obligations.

Still, looking at the kind of unproductive political messages appearing on social media these days, one wonders if Malaysians have learnt the lessons from those tough years.

Fast forward to 2026, democracy in Malaysia has become louder but political stability remains.

We will wake up tomorrow knowing full well that Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim will still be the PM.

Most of us who take to the keyboard to vent or to whine take political stability for granted. It is something we hardly talk about.

Sadly, political stability is underestimated in Malaysia. This stability deserves better recognition and acknow-ledgement.

As one report aptly put it: “Political stability is not glamorous. It does not trend on social media. It does not offer quick populist wins. But markets notice it immediately. When policies are predictable, institutions function, and leadership appears durable, investors can model risk.”

Investors do not want to deal with a country that keeps changing leadership and policies. They want decisions that stick and contracts that are honoured. That alone lowers the cost of capital and supports the currency.

It all matters to Malaysia because we are an open economy that is trade dependent. Yes, a weak ringgit may help our exporters but prolonged weakness erodes purchasing power, accelerates brain drain, and raises the cost of development.

A country aspiring to move up the value chain cannot rely on cheap currency as a competitive strategy. It needs productivity, innovation, and trust.

Stability does not mean the absence of opposition, debate, or accountability. It means leadership transitions are orderly. It means policy differences are managed, not weaponised.

If Malaysia wants a currency that reflects its true potential, it must treat political stability not as side effect of power, but as a public good worth protecting.

Constitutional right: A strong Malay language curriculum ensures that no child grows up isolated from the broader society they will eventually have to navigate, says the writer. — Filepic/The Star

I FIND it very hard to accept when Malaysians struggle to speak the national language or have little understanding and appreciation of our history and cultures.

I spent all my early life in an English medium school but that did not stop me from signing up for the Sejarah Islam and Kesusasteraan papers for the Higher School Certificate (HSC) examination, the equivalent of today’s Sijil Pelajaran Tinggi Malaysia (STPM).

The Malay Literature paper actually included a section on Indonesian literature and reading up Sejarah Melayu (Malay Annals) was not easy but it was manageable.

When I entered Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 1981, I opted to sign up for the Malay Letters Department, or Jabatan Persuratan Melayu, in my first year.

The Islamic paper, Tamadun Islam (Islamic Civilisation), was compulsory and has remained so, but under a different name – Penghayatan Etika dan Peradaban (Appreciation of Ethics and Civilisation).

Applicants to UKM knew exactly what they were signing up for when they opted to study at the National University of Malaysia.

Studying at a university with a predominantly Malay student population exposed me to a better understanding of Islam and Malay culture – and more importantly, friendships with Malays.

I understood better why financial support had to be given to underprivileged Malays. Many even had to use their scholarship money to support their parents and siblings in villages.

I was a tutor for some who had to attend compulsory English classes because they had never spoken the language with anyone in school, at home or in their surroundings.

Some shared that they were mocked by their friends when they tried to speak English. For fear of ridicule, they just clamped up.

They, in turn, found out that not all Chinese were well-off and many expressed their sadness when their varsity mates did not secure scholarships even though they needed it, too.

They were also taken aback when learning that not all Chinese could speak Mandarin. A foreign language is compulsory for all UKM students and we had objected when we were not allowed to sign up for Mandarin.

The university did not want Mandarin-speaking students signing up for the language course as it would have given them an unfair advantage.

However, there should not be any doubt about the status of Bahasa Malaysia as the common tongue. It is our national language.

Malaysia’s diversity is rightly celebrated. We are a nation of many cultures, religions, and languages, shaped by centuries of interaction and exchange.

But diversity alone does not make a nation cohesive. What binds a people together is a shared civic framework – common rules, shared symbols, and a unifying narrative.

It is within this framework that the Yang di-Pertuan Agong’s message on the importance of accepting Bahasa Melayu as the national language, and the Prime Minister’s directive that all schools and institutions of learning must teach the Malay language and Malaysian history, should be understood and supported.

At its core, it’s not about exclusion or coercion. It is about nationhood. Why should there be reservations?

Bahasa Melayu is constitutionally enshrined as the national language – not to elevate one community above others, but to provide a neutral, shared medium through which all Malaysians can participate equally in public life.

Without a common language, society fragments into parallel worlds – each functioning internally, but disconnected from the whole.

The King’s message is therefore a reminder of a basic civic reality: choosing to live in Malaysia means accepting the foundations upon which the country stands.

Every country has such foundations. In France, it is French; in Japan, Japanese; in Indonesia, Bahasa Indonesia.

Acceptance of Bahasa Melayu is not a denial of one’s heritage or mother tongue. Tamil, Mandarin, Iban, Kadazan, English, and many other languages continue to thrive.

What is required is not abandonment of these languages, but the willingness to meet one another on common ground.

In Europe, especially in Switzerland, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Sweden, Denmark and Finland, citizens place importance on their national languages but are able to speak English and other languages.

A shared language reduces social distance. It allows a hawker, a teacher, a civil servant, and a student, regardless of background, to speak to one another as equals.

Education is where these values must be firmly rooted, which is why the Prime Minister’s order regarding the teaching of the Malay language and Malaysian history across all schools and institutions of learning is both logical and necessary.

Schools are not merely places to acquire technical skills; they are where citizens are formed. There is no excuse for any Malay-sian not to study Bahasa Melayu and the country’s history, which should include the Constitution.

Language proficiency opens doors – to higher education, employment, public service, and civic participation.

If one cannot speak Malay proficiently, then how can you deal with our institutions, especially the civil service, effectively?

When students are denied adequate exposure to the national language, they are not being protected; they are being disadvantaged.

A strong Malay language curriculum ensures that no child grows up isolated from the broader society they will eventually have to navigate.

Likewise, if Malaysians are not able to speak or write English well, then they would be at a disadvantage because English is an international language. It has to be used in the private sector because it deals with the rest of the world.

When Malaysians travel abroad, like it or not, they have to converse with foreigners in English.

We all know that the ability to speak Mandarin and to understand the Chinese mind is important because China has become a super power. The inability to speak Mandarin is a language handicap to me.

There is no reason to still question the existence of Chinese vernacular schools. They are an asset.

The fact that more and more Malay parents send their children to these schools is evidence that they understand the importance of knowing Mandarin.

Equally vital is the teaching of Malaysian history. A nation without historical consciousness is one that’s vulnerable to division, myth-making, and resentment.

Malaysian history, taught honestly and inclusively, reminds us that our independence was not inevitable, that it required compromise, and that our social contract was carefully constructed to balance diversity with unity.

Our students need to be reminded that we achieved independence because the Malays, Chinese and Indians worked together – and that without Sabah and Sarawak, there would be no Malaysia.

Let’s all be clear on this. These historical facts have to be ingrained into young minds that have been poisoned by racists on social media.

History will teach young Malaysians why certain institutions exist, why certain sensitivities matter, and why mutual respect is not optional but essential.

Critics often argue that such policies risk being perceived as narrow or intolerant. These are concerns that should be addressed with clarity, not dismissed.

Teaching the national language and history does not mean suppressing other identities. It means ensuring that all identities exist within a shared national framework.

In fact, a confident national identity is what allows cultural diversity to flourish without fear. When people feel anchored, they are less defensive and more open.

But policy must be accompanied by good implementation. Teaching Malay and history should be done well – by trained teachers, with engaging curricula, and with sensitivity to Malaysia’s plural reality.

History should not be reduced to rote learning or propaganda; it should encourage critical thinking, empathy, and a sense of responsibility.

Ultimately, the message from the Yang di-Pertuan Agong and the directive from the Prime Minister are about responsibility as much as rights.

Citizenship carries obligations: to understand the country’s history, to respect its Constitution, and to communicate in the language that binds its people together.

The King is right. Those who reject these obligations should seriously reflect on whether they wish to be part of the collective project that is this nation.

It is a shame when there are Malaysians, who were born here and live here, cannot converse in Bahasa Malaysia well while migrant Bangladeshi workers are able to speak better than them.

Harsh sacrifice: Vigils are being held around the world for those killed during the nationwide protests in Iran, like this one outside the White House in Washington DC. — Photos: Reuters

WHAT is taking place in Iran is a lesson for the world, especially in countries where there are voters who wish to surrender political power to politicians who use religion to justify their hold on power.

This would include Malaysia.

Here, there are many voters who feel the mainstream political parties have let them down.

To some, when mainstream political parties appear corrupt, elitist, or indifferent, the appeal of a moralistic “clean” alternative grows strong.

In moments of deep frustration, disgruntled voters often reach for the most forceful alternative available.

The perception is that these people in religious robes, who seem to be experts in theology and are able to quote from holy scriptures, must surely be more trustworthy and cleaner than the deal-making politicians.

But the reality is that some of these purported holy men are no different from politicians. They are mere mortals.

History has shown that Malaysian political alliances have been justified from a religious perspective to suit such people.

In 1979, Iran rocked the world with its Islamic Revolution when the Pahlavi Dynasty was toppled. The violent uprising led to the replacement of the Imperial State of Iran by the Islamic Republic of Iran.

The monarchical government of Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi was replaced with the leadership of Ayatollah Khomeini.

The revolution against the Shah of Iran was fuelled by widespread perception of the regime as corrupt, excessively lavish, repressive, too Westernised, secular, and overly reliant on Western powers.

Unfortunately, the revolution was also the end of democracy. Iranians handed power on a silver platter to the clerics. Their lives have not improved and perhaps have worsened, with citizens losing their civil liberties.

History also shows that protest votes can sometimes open doors that are very difficult to close.

Malaysia today is not Iran in 1979 but the logic of political frustration that may drive voters towards Islamist parties in future elections carries lessons that Iranians learned at immense cost.

In Iran, the revolution that toppled the Shah was not initially a religious uprising. It was a broad coalition: students, workers, liberals, nationalists, communists and religious conservatives united by anger at corruption, inequality, and repression.

Many Iranians did not want a theocracy. They wanted dignity, accountability, and justice but in the absence of a clear successor, the clerics were seen as moral figures who could restrain excesses.

What followed was not what many had voted or marched for.

Once the clerics consolidated power, Iran rapidly transformed from an authoritarian monarchy into an authoritarian theocracy.

Institutions were reshaped to ensure clerical dominance. Laws became religiously enforced. Dissent was redefined as heresy.

Elections continued, but only within narrow ideological limits. They were not legitimate polls.

Many Iranians who supported the revolution later reportedly found themselves silenced, exiled, or imprisoned by the very system they had enabled.

History seems to be repeating itself in Iran today.

The country’s economy is in serious trouble with the value of its currency taking a beating, resulting in the rocketing cost of living.

A broad-based protest coalition, like in 1979, has taken to the streets but unfortunately the death toll has also spiked.

Today, decades after the first revolution, Iranian society is filled with regret. Protest slogans openly reject clerical rule.

Young Iranians, born long after the revolution, ask why their futures were sacrificed to a political regime they never chose. How long will these old men cling to power?

Many older Iranians openly admit that frustration with the Shah blinded them to the long-term consequences of empowering religious authorities with unchecked political power.

Malaysia must pay attention to this pattern – not because religion is the problem, but because political absolutism is.

Despite the pathetic performance of the Islamist party in states that it rules, it has continued to gain votes.

It lacks detailed governance plans, but presents itself as a morally pure alternative to purported corrupt mainstream parties.

In short, its leaders thrive on disappointment. Their messaging is simple: society’s problems exist because leaders are insufficiently religious; give us power, and virtue will follow.

But morality alone does not guarantee good governance. When religion becomes a political weapon, disagreement is no longer just political – it becomes sinful.

This is taking place in Iran, where the killing of protesters is justified because the positions of the clerics are threatened.

Policy debates turn into moral judgments. Compromise, the lifeblood of democracy, is reframed as betrayal. Over time, laws shift from serving citizens to enforcing ideological conformity.

The Iranian experience shows that once clerics embed themselves in the state, removing them becomes nearly impossible without massive social upheaval. Protest votes are temporary emotions; political systems are long-term realities.

Voters frustrated with mainstream parties are right to demand reform, accountability, and justice.

But replacing flawed democratic actors with ideologically rigid ones does not solve corruption – it often institutionalises it behind moral language, as one report aptly puts it.

It said there is another lesson from Iran that deserves attention: revolutions and ideological shifts rarely affect elites.

“It is ordinary people – women, minorities, artists, students, small business owners – who bear the cost when freedoms shrink and laws harden.

“Once personal liberties are curtailed in the name of religious or moral order, restoring them becomes a generational struggle.”

Religion can inspire compassion, honesty, and social responsibility but when political power claims divine authority, citizens lose the ability to challenge it without being labelled immoral or disloyal.

The Iranian tragedy was not that people wanted change – it was that their desperation made them overlook the danger of absolutism.

Their regret today is not abstract; it is lived daily.

The Iranian clerics are not going to give up their power without a fight, and if that means many more Iranians will lose their lives, the clerics have no qualms about that.

So much for so-called God-fearing, ethical holy men.