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.

IF there is a record for the most divorces involving a political party in Malaysia, the title would go to PAS, the Islamist party.

It has been involved in at least seven major coalition arrangements.

All of these alliances or political fronts have ended disastrously. There is always one recurring theme that stands out throughout its history: PAS has found it extraordinarily difficult to remain in long-term electoral coalitions.

In simple terms, PAS can never stay in a political relationship and there are many reasons for that, even if it refuses to admit them.

The Pan-Malaysian Islamic Party (PAS) is one of Malaysia’s oldest and most resilient political parties.

Founded in 1951, it has survived electoral defeats, ideological disputes, leadership crises, and dramatic changes in Malaysian politics.

Despite painting itself as a religious party with supposedly strong moral principles, the party has always been ready to cut deals for power and positions.

Yet it has always been able to justify all its actions to its faithful followers, always on religious grounds.

Over the decades, PAS has cooperated with the Alliance Party before independence, it joined Barisan Nasional in the 1970s, the Angkatan Perpaduan Ummah coalition, Barisan Alternatif, Pakatan Rakyat, Gagasan Sejahtera, and the current Perikatan Nasional coalition.

While in Barisan Alternatif, the party leaders provided “sufficient and convincing” grounds on why it was acceptable for PAS to work with DAP.

Of course, now the party sings a completely different tune and has blamed the DAP for every flaw under the Malaysian sun.

The question is not why individual coalitions failed, but why PAS repeatedly encounters difficulties in sustaining coalition politics itself.

Unlike many political parties that primarily organise around economic interests, regional concerns, or broad electoral coalitions, PAS is fundamentally an ideological party.

Its core mission has long been the promotion of Islamic governance and the expansion of Islam’s role in public life.

The party has not hidden the fact that its aim is to set up an Islamic state and do away with any form of secular and Westminster-style legislature.

It will impose gender segregation and close down entertainment outlets, including cinemas.

This ideological commitment provides PAS with a loyal and disciplined support base. It doesn’t care how non-Muslims feel.

However, such a hardline stance also limits the party’s flexibility when negotiating with coalition partners.

As in all marriages, coalitions require compromise. Partners must often soften policies, postpone contentious goals, or accept positions that do not fully satisfy their supporters.

For PAS, however, issues involving Islamic law, religious authority, and the role of Islam in government are often viewed as matters of principle rather than negotiable policy preferences.

As a result, coalition partners frequently fear that PAS’s long-term objectives may conflict with the broader, more pluralistic agendas necessary to win support in Malaysia’s multi-ethnic society.

Malaysia’s political system creates a unique challenge for PAS. The party’s strongest support traditionally comes from conservative Malay-Muslim voters, particularly in the east coast states. It doesn’t help that PAS has not governed its four states well – Perlis, Kedah, Kelantan and Terengganu remain the poorest states.

If it cannot run these states competently, why would Malaysians, especially urban Malays and non-Muslims, want to gamble their future away with PAS?

National electoral success requires cooperation with parties representing non-Muslim communities, urban voters, and more secular constituencies.

This produces a recurring contradiction. PAS needs coalition partners to gain national influence, but its partners often want PAS to moderate its Islamic agenda in order to appeal to non-Muslim voters.

PAS leaders often reassert their religious agenda, which has coalition partners such as Gerakan and MIPP fearing electoral backlash among non-Muslim voters. The balance is difficult to sustain over time.

Its participation in Barisan Nasional during the 1970s ended amid disputes over state-federal relations and power-sharing arrangements.

The partnership demonstrated that even cooperation with fellow Malay-based parties could break down when questions of political authority emerged.

The latest breakdown has been with Bersatu headed by Tan Sri Muhyiddin Yassin, and the situation has ended in yet another divorce.

During the Reformasi era, PAS joined Barisan Alternatif alongside parties that shared one platform: opposition to the ruling government.

However, concerns among non-Muslim voters regarding PAS’s commitment to an Islamic state became a major source of friction.

That experience was repeated in Pakatan Rakyat. PAS, DAP and PKR successfully challenged the dominance of Barisan Nasional and made significant electoral gains.

Yet disagreements over hudud legislation, Islamic governance, and constitutional questions eventually contributed to the coalition’s collapse.

In each case, short-term strategic goals united the coalition, while long-term ideological differences gradually pulled it apart.

PAS is without doubt a formidable political force. It is now the single largest party in the Dewan Rakyat. It has come to a point where PAS now thinks that Putrajaya is within its reach.

The party is not merely an electoral machine. It possesses a strong religious infrastructure, including clerical leadership, educational networks, and grassroots activists who view politics as part of a broader Islamic mission.

Consequently, PAS leaders must answer not only to voters but also to party members who expect ideological consistency.

Coalition compromises that may appear pragmatic to outside observers can be interpreted internally as abandoning fundamental principles. This creates pressure on party leaders to defend doctrinal positions even when political circumstances encourage moderation.

The leadership therefore operates within narrower negotiating boundaries than many coalition partners.

Conversely, PAS leaders and supporters often suspect that secular or multicultural partners seek to marginalise Islamic policies once electoral objectives have been achieved.

These mutual suspicions create fragile coalitions built more on shared opposition to a common rival than on a genuinely shared political vision.

When the common enemy weakens or political conditions change, the underlying differences become visible.

The Perikatan Nasional coalition differed from PAS’ previous alliances because its major partners draw support largely from the Malay-Muslim electorate.

This reduced some of the ideological tensions that plagued earlier coalitions involving secular and multi-ethnic parties.

Nevertheless, the challenges remained. Competition for leadership within the Malay political space, differing strategic priorities, and future electoral calculations still generated strains.

PAS cannot say it has severed its relationship with Bersatu and still work with Bersatu. The likelihood is that PAS will just work with former Bersatu deputy president Datuk Seri Hamzah Zainuddin’s new party, a breakaway group from Bersatu.

PAS’s difficulty in remaining within electoral coalitions is not primarily the result of poor leadership or tactical mistakes.

Rather, it reflects a deeper structural challenge facing ideological parties operating in diverse democratic societies.

To achieve national influence, PAS needs coalition partners. Yet the very principles that give PAS its identity and electoral loyalty create tensions with those same partners.

This tension has shaped the party’s history across multiple alliances and explains why coalition breakdowns have become a recurring feature of Malaysian politics.

As long as PAS remains committed to both ideological consistency and national political relevance, it will continue to face the difficult balancing act that has tested every coalition it has joined.

It will be disastrous for Malaysia if a religious and Malay-based party forms the federal government without genuine non-Muslim participation from the peninsula, Sabah and Sarawak.

Set to be crowded: A flag war in Johor Baru during the 2022 general election. Today, Johor once again finds itself at the centre of a potentially transformative political moment with its upcoming state polls. — Filepic/The Star

ALL signs points to a crowded election fight in Johor, one of Malaysia’s most economically important states, although the consensus is that the Barisan Nasional holds pole position.

For many observers, the upcoming state election appears poised to become a defining test of whether Malaysia’s political future will continue to be dominated by large coalitions or whether the country is entering a new era of fragmented, personality-driven politics.

For decades, Johor occupied a special place in the nation’s political landscape.

As the birthplace of Umno and long regarded as Barisan’s safest fortress, the state often reflected broader political trends before they became apparent elsewhere.

When Johor began showing signs of political change in 2018, many observers interpreted it as evidence that the country’s political foundations were shifting. And change happened.

Today, the state once again finds itself at the centre of a potentially transformative political moment.

Barisan has announced that it will go solo, which means it will be taking on Pakatan Harapan, its partner in the federal level unity government headed by Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim.

How the two major coalitions will slug it out without wounding each other badly before the next general election is left to be seen.

Then there is opposition bloc Perikatan Nasional comprising PAS, Bersatu, Gerakan, and MIPP. The relationship between PAS and Bersatu seems to have broken down, with leaders issuing contradicting statements.

At the time of writing, all eyes are on former Bersatu man Datuk Seri Hamzah Zainuddin and his new political platform – speculation is rife whether it would actually replace Bersatu in Perikatan.

Should that happen, we could see another intra-coalition fight with Bersatu taking on Perikatan.

There is also the newly-formed Parti Bersama Malaysia (Bersama) headed by Datuk Seri Rafizi Ramli, a former PKR deputy president, and his loyalist Nik Nazmi Nik Ahmad, who are both Klang Valley-based politicians.

It has been reported that the party wants to contest all seats in Johor but unless it can attract known state figures to sign up, it will be difficult to regard Bersama as a formidable force outside Kuala Lumpur.

Which brings us to the next point: where does Muda, which, like Bersama, also eyes young voters, stand in this election?

After the exit of its former president Syed Saddiq Syed Abdul Rahman, it appears to be drifting aimlessly. The party is now headed by Amira Aisya Abd Aziz, the state assemblyman for Puteri Wangsa.

Although regarded as an urban and liberal party, talk that it is prepared to work out a pact with PAS, Pejuang and Ikatan Prihatin Rakyat has raised questions about what Muda actually stands for.

In the 2022 Johor election, Barisan won 40 of the 56 seats up for grabs, Pakatan won 12, Perikatan won three, while Muda managed one.

Much has changed since.

Unlike previous elections, where parties were largely organised under identifiable coalitions, the emerging picture suggests that Johor voters may be presented with multiple competing alternatives.

Barisan, Pakatan, and newcomer Bersama are all expected to enter the fray under their own banners.

The uncertainty surrounding PAS and Bersatu – and their Perikatan coalition – has created additional intrigue, with growing speculation that new alignments may emerge before polling day.

If PAS were to align with Hamzah’s new platform, Johor’s electoral battlefield could become dramatically more crowded.

A PAS-Hamzah alignment would potentially consolidate portions of the conservative Malay vote while offering a fresh narrative centred on opposition unity and political renewal.

Should these developments materialise, Johor could witness some of the most complex electoral contests in its modern history.

Under a fragmented electoral environment, winning no longer requires commanding majority support.

Instead, victory increasingly depends on securing a plurality of votes in crowded contests. Constituencies that once required a candidate to secure 50% or more of the vote could potentially be won with support in the mid 30% range if rival votes are divided among several competing parties.

This reality may ultimately favour Barisan, which has organisational depth, particularly in Johor’s rural and semi-rural constituencies.

Barisan enters the contest with a relatively clear structure, established grassroots networks, and disciplined election machinery.

In a fragmented field, organisational strength often becomes more valuable than broad popularity.

Still, it would be a mistake to assume that Barisan’s victory is guaranteed.

The political environment confronting voters today differs markedly from previous decades.

Younger voters have entered the electorate in large numbers following the implementation of Undi18, while urbanisation and changing socioeconomic expectations continue to reshape political loyalties.

Voters are increasingly less attached to traditional party affiliations and more willing to evaluate candidates and parties on contemporary concerns such as economic opportunities, cost of living pressures, governance standards, and institutional reform.

This creates opportunities for Pakatan, which remains strongest in urban centres and among voters who prioritise governance reforms and institutional accountability.

Johor’s expanding urban corridors, stretching from Johor Baru to Iskandar Puteri and beyond, provide fertile ground for Pakatan’s message.

The coalition, however, faces a dilemma familiar to opposition parties operating in fragmented political systems: how to prevent anti-establishment votes from being split among multiple competitors.

Converting public interest into electoral success requires extensive grassroots organisation, candidate quality, and financial resources – areas in which established parties generally maintain substantial advantages.

Johor may therefore offer an early glimpse into what future national elections could look like.

Rather than a straightforward battle between two dominant blocs, Malaysia may be heading towards a political landscape where four or five major forces are in competition.

Most importantly, it may also reveal whether Malaysia is entering a new political chapter where coalition politics gives way to a more fragmented and uncertain electoral order.

If that is indeed what happens, Johor will once again have provided an early indication of where Malaysian politics is heading.

Urban non-Malay voters are more prone to voter fatigue and political disengagement. — K.T.GOH/The Star

DAP leaders are troubled – it is certainly not wrong to suggest that.

The party, which built its political influence on a dependable bloc of Chinese and Indian voters and support from Malaysians, is facing an unfamiliar and dangerous political squeeze.

These voters have always been its fixed political deposits who supported the party’s push for institutional reform and multiracial politics.

Now, though, the party is trapped in an odd spot. On one hand, it continues to be demonised by Malay hardliners who use the DAP as a convenient bogeyman to rally conservative Malay-Muslim sentiment.

The DAP is blamed for almost everything, with the attacks most incessant in the Malay social media.

On the other hand, frustration is quietly growing among segments of its traditional support base, particularly non-Malay voters.

These mostly urban electorate are increasingly disillusioned with politics, impatient over reforms and weary of endless political instability.

The danger for the DAP – and perhaps more importantly for the unity government itself – is not necessarily that these voters will switch en masse to the opposition.

After all, the DAP won in most urban areas with a huge majority in previous elections and even a reduction may not make an impact.

The bigger threat is that they may simply stay home during the next general election.

That possibility of a boycott carries enormous implications for Malaysia’s political future.

Many disillusioned Chinese and Indians may not realise such inactions could boomerang on the two minority communities.

Unlike the highly mobilised and disciplined voter machinery of parties within Perikatan Nasional, especially PAS, urban non-Malay voters are more prone to voter fatigue and political disengagement.

Many of them came out strongly during the last few elections because they believed change was urgent and possible. But over time, political exhaustion has set in.

Some feel reforms have been too slow. Others believe coalition politics has diluted promises.

There are also complaints that leaders spend too much time managing political survival instead of governance and economic recovery.

The rising cost of living has compounded these frustrations. Bread-and-butter concerns now dominate conversations far more than idealistic reform narratives.

Our fuel is heavily subsidised to the tune of RM7bil a month and is the second cheapest in Asean, but that has not stopped voters from whining.

Yet if non-Malay voters decide to “teach DAP politicians a lesson” by abstaining, they may unintentionally produce the exact opposite outcome – the one that they fear.

Malaysia’s electoral system is not based on overall popular votes. Elections are won constituency by constituency.

A lower turnout among urban and non-Malay voters can dramatically alter results even if voting patterns among Malay-majority constituencies remain unchanged. This is where PAS stands to benefit.

PAS has one of the country’s most loyal and motivated grassroots machinery networks. Its supporters reliably turn up to vote regardless of weather, political fatigue or dissatisfaction.

They do not care if the Islamist party has performed badly in managing Kedah, Perlis, Kelantan and Terengganu, which continue to lag behind other states.

Religious networks, party discipline and ideological clarity provide the party with a highly resilient voter base.

In contrast, urban swing voters often behave differently. If they become disappointed, they disengage. That asymmetry matters enormously in elections.

Even a small drop in turnout among Chinese and Indian voters in mixed constituencies could allow PAS or Perikatan Nasional candidates to capture additional parliamentary seats.

The implications would extend far beyond ordinary electoral arithmetic.

Some have suggested that they opt for Rafizi Ramli’s Parti Bersama Malaysia but it is unlikely that it would have sufficient time and resources to galvanise into a national political vehicle.

It is yet to be seen if Bersama can do better than Muda, given its more experienced line-up, or if it, too, will suffer the same fate.

Bersama would probably want to focus on Klang Valley parliamentary seats to have a reasonable impact if urban voters want to ditch Pakatan Harapan. Spreading its budget thin by going national would be a hindrance.

A stronger PAS presence in Parliament would inevitably shape national discourse more aggressively around religious conservatism, identity politics and cultural anxieties.

Moderate voices within the political system could become weaker, while coalition governments would become even more vulnerable to ethno-religious pressure.

Ironically, many non-Malay voters who dislike racial and religious politics may unknowingly strengthen those very forces by refusing to participate in elections.

Political disengagement does not create neutrality. It creates vacancies – and in politics, someone else will always fill the vacuum.

The lesson from many democracies worldwide is clear: highly motivated ideological voters almost always outperform apathetic moderate voters.

For the DAP, the party must now do more than simply attack opponents or rely on fear of the alternative. Fear alone is no longer enough to sustain voter enthusiasm.

It must reconnect with frustrated supporters through governance, policy delivery and honesty about the limitations of coalition rule.

Voters may accept compromise, but they do not respond well to silence or political arrogance.

The DAP also needs to recognise that younger voters are less emotionally attached to political parties. Unlike older generations shaped by Reformasi-era politics, many younger Malaysians are pragmatic, impatient and less loyal. If they feel disconnected, they may simply opt out altogether.

At the same time, the party remains trapped in another political contradiction.

The more it tries to reassure Malay voters that it is moderate and accommodating, the more some traditional supporters accuse it of being too timid.

But if it becomes more vocal, it risks reinforcing the long-standing portrayal by rivals that the DAP is “anti-Malay” or anti-Islam.

This balancing act may become even harder as the next general election approaches.

For Malay hardliners, the DAP remains the perfect political punching bag – useful for mobilising fears and consolidating support.

For frustrated non-Malay voters, meanwhile, the DAP risks becoming the symbol of unfulfilled expectations. To them, the DAP has lost its gravitas.

Caught between demonisation and disillusionment, the party faces a genuine political double whammy.

But perhaps the larger warning is not just for the DAP.

It is for non-Malay and moderate Malaysian voters themselves.

In a deeply polarised political climate, staying home on polling day is not a protest without consequences. It can fundamentally reshape the country’s political direction.

And if turnout collapses among moderate and centrist voters, the biggest beneficiaries will be the most organised and ideologically driven forces waiting quietly on the other side.

The Chinese and Indians in the peninsula can play the role of kingmaker or resign to staying at home but unwittingly score a major own goal, believing they are punishing politicians who did not deliver on promises.

Royal order: The Sultan of Selangor, Sultan Sharafuddin Idris Shah, says all assemblymen in the state should go to Dataran Selangor twice a month to read the Rukun Negara inscribed on a plaque there. — Photos: Selangor Royal Office’s Facebook

THE Rukun Negara was never meant to be just a ceremonial pledge to be recited absent-mindedly during school assemblies or national events.

Instead, our founding fathers had bigger plans when they painstakingly drafted the preamble and five principles.

It was born out of one of the darkest moments in our history – the racial riots of May 13, 1969, when the nation realised that political rhetoric, communal suspicion, and irresponsible leadership could tear apart the fragile fabric of a young country.

More than five decades later, why do we have the impression that the Rukun Negara is no longer given serious recognition?

We like to tell ourselves that the Rukun Negara remains relevant but ironically, those who should be upholding its spirit the most – our politicians – are often the very people undermining it.

Last week, the Sultan of Selangor, Sultan Sharafuddin Idris Shah, said all assemblymen in the state should go to Dataran Selangor twice a month to read the Rukun Negara inscribed on a plaque at the square.

He singled out Seri Kembangan assemblyman Wong Siew Ki of DAP and the party’s former state executive member Ronnie Liu.

“I encourage them to go to Dataran Selangor every week to understand and appreciate the Rukun Negara,’’ His Royal Highness said in a statement.

The Sultan did not provide specific reasons for directing his remarks at the two individuals.

However, the statement is widely understood to be linked to the ongoing controversy over pig farming in Selangor, as both men had previously been associated with the issue in public discourse and criticism.

The remarks by Wong and Liu had earlier drawn criticism from several quarters, particularly within the Malay and Muslim communities; the two had made comments relating to pig farming projects in Selangor, which were perceived by some as disrespectful to the Selangor ruler.

Sultan Sharafuddin had previously maintained his position that he does not consent to any pig farming activities being carried out in any district in the state.

The five principles of the Rukun Negara are simple, clear and timeless: Belief in God, loyalty to King and country, supremacy of the Constitution, rule of law, and courtesy and morality.

These are not mere abstract ideals but the minimum foundation required for a diverse nation like Malaysia to survive and prosper.

Tuanku’s message is for all politicians in Selangor and not merely the two from the DAP.

The Palace’s unhappiness is that political discourse has become increasingly coarse, divisive and reckless.

Contentious and sensitive issues would be better discussed amicably behind closed doors. Playing to the gallery isn’t going to help.

The question is not a matter of the limits of a constitutional monarchy but the tone used and whether sufficient wisdom and sensitivity were exercised, as commentator Anas Zubedy wrote.

The matter involves the palace, the rakyat and the wider social fabric of Malaysia.

“In life, it is not only what you say that matters, but also how, when and where you say it. One may legally argue a point and yet still fail in wisdom, manners and cultural sensitivity,’’ he said, adding that, “Respectful engagement matters. Tone matters. Context matters. Institutions matter’’.

Contentious issues should rightly be resolved effectively through proper consensus and without the need for sound bites and hits on social media platforms.

We now see politicians – and probably paid cybertroopers and influencers – exploiting race and religion for short-term gains, questioning constitutional arrangements whenever convenient, insulting institutions, and reducing serious national issues to endless political theatre.

Social media has worsened this culture, rewarding outrage over reason and provocation over prudence.

Many politicians speak passionately about patriotism but they sound hollow in reality as they behave in ways that weaken national unity.

Some demand respect for their own beliefs while showing little respect for the sensitivities of others.

Others preach morality while engaging in toxic politics that normalise hatred, mockery, and character assassination.

This is precisely why the Rukun Negara must not be treated as a relic of the past.

The principle of courtesy and morality, for example, may sound old-fashioned in today’s combative political climate, but it is perhaps the principle Malaysia most urgently needs to turn to.

Democracy does not mean permanent hostility. Political competition should never come at the expense of basic decency and mutual respect.

Likewise, the supremacy of the Constitution and the rule of law cannot be selectively defended only when politically convenient.

Politicians cannot claim to support democratic institutions while simultaneously attacking them whenever decisions do not favour their narratives.

The Rukun Negara was intended to create a common national identity above ethnic and political divisions. This is clearly reflected in the preamble of the Rukun Negara which says Malaysia nurtures the ambitions of:

• Achieving a more perfect unity amongst the whole of her society;
• Preserving a democratic way of life;
• Creating a just society where the prosperity of the country can be enjoyed together in a fair and equitable manner;
• Guaranteeing a liberal approach towards our traditional heritage that is rich and diverse;
• Building a progressive society that will make use of science and modern technology.

The Rukun Negara recognised that Malaysia’s diversity is both our strength and our vulnerability. Without shared principles, a plural society can quickly descend into mistrust and fragmentation.

The Rukun Negara was drafted by key historical figures. And it needs to be pointed out that diversity and shared principles were the reason why, in the first tenet, the belief in God, the word “Tuhan” was chosen.

When elected representatives openly trade insults, play up racial insecurities, or flirt with extremist rhetoric, they normalise intolerance for the next generation.

Politics then becomes less about governance and nation-building and more about perpetual anger and division.

Malaysia’s stability over the decades did not happen by accident.

It was built on compromise, moderation, and an understanding that no single community can dominate this country alone. The Rukun Negara reflects that social contract.

Critics may dismiss it as idealistic or symbolic, but nations survive on shared values and collective discipline.

Remove those guardrails and society becomes vulnerable to polarisation and extremism.

The danger is not that Malaysians no longer know the Rukun Negara. Most can still recite it. The danger is that many no longer internalise it.

Perhaps it is time to stop treating the Rukun Negara merely as a school recital and start treating it as a national code of conduct – especially for politicians seeking public office.

Leadership is not only about winning elections. It is also about setting standards for society.

If politicians themselves cannot embody the principles of respect, restraint, and constitutional loyalty, then the Rukun Negara risks becoming little more than words on paper.

Perhaps it is time for all Parliament and state assembly meetings to begin with these lawmakers singing NegaraKu and reciting the Rukun Negara.

Big win: The recent Rain Rave Water Music Festival 2026 attracted many international visitors and reportedly raked in RM200mil in tourism income. — GLENN GUAN/The Star

THE Rain Rave 2026 Water Music Festival event in Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur, has been a huge success, no doubt about it.

The Tourism, Culture and Arts Ministry has been cautious in releasing official figures as it is still tabulating the numbers. But that has not stopped the Malaysian Inland Tourism Association from claiming that the three-day event raked in RM200mil in tourism income, drawing over 180,000 visitors.

Its president, Mint Leong, reportedly said the festival boosted economic activity during the Labour Day holiday period around May 1, recording 1.4 billion click-throughs on global social media platforms and giving Malaysia huge international exposure.

This is an interesting angle as the event should not be measured merely by crowd size or estimated revenue.

Money derived from the festival is certainly essential. After all, Rain Rave was created as a tourism product precisely for that.

Anyone who actually took the trouble to visit the scene would have noticed the large number of families, senior citizens, and, more importantly, tourists.

Of course, there were also immigrant workers who took advantage of the holidays to unwind with free entertainment.

But did anyone see any hedonistic activities as imagined by some individuals and groups?

No.

Gender segregation may be practised in Kelantan, Terengganu, Kedah and Perlis but surely not in KL. It must have disappointed the naysayers that the event attracted many Malaysians of all faiths.

Rain Rave 2026 has effectively ticked several structural boxes to prove that it is an exemplary modern tourism product.

First, it demonstrated the power of low-cost, high impact programming – that explains why Bukit Bintang was the best choice of location.

It could accommodate a huge audience with hotels, restaurants, businesses and MRT connections nearby. A place like Sepang, Selangor, and its space would not be able to offer such attractions close by.

Unlike mega events that require heavy infrastructure and public spending, Rain Rave leveraged existing urban spaces in KL, turning streets into stages and participants into content creators.

This kept costs relatively contained while maximising visibility.

Second, it validated the growing importance of the experience economy. Rain Rave was not a passive spectacle but an immersive, participatory event – people did not just watch, they became part of the show.

This is critical in an era in which travellers, especially younger Asians, prioritise shareable experiences over traditional sightseeing. Instagram postings of themselves are a top priority!

Third, the event showed how social media amplification rivals physical attendance. For those who didn’t make it to KL, millions, mainly young people, watched it online across the globe.

Just think of the free advertising that social media has given to Malaysia as a result of Rain Rave 2026.

While the headline figures of tens of millions of views needs to be treated cautiously, the qualitative impact is undeniable: the festival generated sustained online chatter, user-generated content, and cross-border visibility.

In effect, every attendee became a micro-broadcaster, extending KL’s reach far beyond the actual footprint of the event.

A lot of fuss has been made about Rain Rave 2026 being an imitation of Thailand’s Songkran water festival. It certainly was not.

Rain Rave carved out a more urban, music-driven identity – a hybrid of street party and water festival.

This differentiation matters because it avoids the trap of imitation and instead builds a distinct, exportable brand.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Rain Rave proved that controversy – if managed – can be an accelerant rather than a liability.

The debates the event sparked about culture and propriety may have unsettled some quarters, but they also expanded the conversation and drew attention well beyond the usual tourism audience.

In the digital age, visibility often follows friction.

Taken together, these factors suggest that Rain Rave is not just a one-off success but a scalable model.

It offers Malaysia a template for future events: relatively low in cost, high in engagement, digitally amplified, and anchored in urban energy.

We are beyond the question of whether it worked, the challenge now is whether it can be institutionalised, refined, and repeated without losing its spontaneity – the very quality that made it succeed in the first place.

Rain Rave 2026 would not have taken off without a strong-willed politician like Tourism, Arts and Culture Minister Datuk Seri Tiong King Sing who dared to openly snub the critics.

Amusingly, he was attacked on social media for being a DAP politician when he is actually the president of Sarawak’s Progressive Democratic Party – in fact, he beat DAP candidates to win his Bintulu seat in the past six elections.

He is blunt and brash. He doesn’t care about having to pander to the media. In fact, many of us find it hard to get a response from him, but in the end, it is the delivery that matters.

The media has reported that Malaysia’s status in tourism has been “a strong overperformance relative to the region’’ with 10 million arrivals in 2022, 20.1 million in 2023, and 25 million in 2024, according to The Edge. The Star reported 38 million total visitors.

Malaysia was among the earliest in Asean to cross pre-Covid-19 benchmarks, well ahead of Thailand and the Philippines.

We have also seen record-breaking revenue numbers with RM71.3bil in receipts in 2023 and RM102bil to RM106bil in 2024.

The Star reported a 43% jump in receipts in just one year, and for the first time we crossed the RM100bil mark.

The bottom line is that Malaysia’s revenue growth is outpacing arrivals growth, which suggest higher per capita spending and better yield per tourist.

The Department of Statistics Malaysia reported that the total tourism contribution was RM291.9bil in 2024 – which is 15.1% of the shared GDP – as well as 3.5 million jobs or 21.6% employment of the workforce.

The reality is Malaysia is an attractive tourist spot but beaches, jungles and street food are not enough.

The Rain Rave event must now be institutionalised and become a fixed spot in the calendar, so tourists know exactly when to come.

Let’s retain a strong tourism product and a performing minister if it helps the economy. It’s the bottom line that matters.