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.

IT was certainly a good start for the new year when Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim announced a fresh set of reform moves last week, signalling the need to fast track the changes.

During his three years in power, Anwar has faced persistent criticism that his reform agenda, once synonymous with urgency and moral purpose, has been slow.

He has found – to his chagrin – that when you are heading a government with 18 partners and your party does not have the largest number of seats, there will be many stumbling blocks.

Coalition arithmetic, bureaucratic inertia and the need for political stability to ensure the Unity Government does not collapse are serious concerns that he has to grapple with in the real political world.

His opponents have attacked Anwar for allegedly being trapped by the very system he once vowed to dismantle, prioritising coalition management over transformation.

Unfortunately, the idealistic PKR faithful and voters are not likely to care or be interested in the details of such compromises. All they know is that their hopes and expectations have not been met as fast as they would like.

But the significance of his Jan 5 announcement lies less in the fine print of policy and more in the message embedded in the moment.

It is best understood as a deliberate political reset: a reassertion that reform remains central to his leadership, and that 2026 will be defined by acceleration rather than hesitation.

For much of his tenure, Anwar has governed under the shadow of his own legacy.

Reformasi is not merely a campaign slogan; it is a political identity forged through decades of struggle, imprisonment, and public expectation.

While it grants Anwar unparalleled credibility on reform, it also magnifies disappointment when progress appears incremental or delayed.

Supporters who rallied behind him did not expect easy change – but they did expect visible momentum.

After three years, the Unity Government has remained intact. There is no danger of a collapse.

The Opposition has not attempted to move any motion to remove Anwar beyond the “Turun Anwar’’ protests to keep themselves relevant simply because they know that they don’t have the numbers.

Perikatan Nasional’s direction remains uncertain after Bersatu president Tan Sri Muhyiddin Yassin and his supporters quit their coalition posts and passed the problem to PAS.

Within Bersatu, MPs aligned with deputy president Datuk Seri Hamzah Zainuddin have been targeted and face disciplinary action, including sackings.

But for Malaysia’s unity government, structural reform in areas such as governance, subsidies, or institutional independence inevitably creates winners and losers.

On that front, Anwar has struggled to convince a sceptical public that reform is moving fast enough.

However, by acting on Jan 5, before the narrative of race and religion resumes, before Parliament settles into routine, before crisis dictates agenda, and before critics can frame the year as another exercise in delay – Anwar has seized the narrative initiative.

He is no longer responding defensively to accusations of slowness; he is defining the year on his own terms.

The message is unmistakable: reform is not something to be revisited later in the term, but the organising principle of governance in 2026.

An early-year announcement signals confidence and intent. In short, the narrative is that the PM is willing to spend political capital rather than hoard it. When reforms are announced late, they are seen as tactical – designed to placate voters ahead of elections.

When they are announced early, they appear strategic, even ideological. That distinction matters for credibility.

From a purely political standpoint, this early start is a good tactical move. Reform takes time, not just to legislate, but also to implement, communicate, and normalise.

Coalition partners who might quietly resist change find it harder to do so when reform is publicly framed as a priority from the outset of the year.

In that sense, Jan 5 was not just a signal to voters, but a disciplining mechanism for the coalition itself.

But Anwar has to make sure that this acceleration has to materialise in clear timelines, measurable benchmarks, and visible enforcement. It should not be mere promises.

An early start also raises expectations; failing to meet them would reinforce the very narrative he is trying to escape.

Anwar’s greatest political test in 2026 will not be whether he can announce reform, but whether he can sustain it when resistance emerges — from within institutions, from vested interests, and even from allies.

Anwar making an announcement of reforms and other initiatives on Jan 5. — Bernama

He does not need to call for an early election this year although the temptation is there with the opposition in disarray.

The current ground remains uncertain as there are many grievances, especially the increasing cost of living.

But the PM’s announcement that all Malaysian adults aged 18 years old and above will receive the second round one-off Sumbangan Asas Rahmah (Sara) RM100 credit on Feb 9, 2026, is welcomed news.

Sara is a cash aid from the government which is utilised to purchase essential goods at participating supermarkets and retail outlets.

Anwar has two more years to go and that is still plenty of time. There is no reason why he should not go for the full term. It would be better that he does so, while focusing on fulfilling these reforms.

So is the extension to 2027 for the implementation of e-invoices for businesses with an annual turnover of below RM5 million a year. It will bring relief to many as this is a hugely unpopular move for many small businesses.

In fact, the entire process should be ended for these small businesses.

If he succeeds, Jan 5 may be remembered not as another announcement, but as the moment reform finally reclaimed the driver’s seat of Malaysian politics.

Will Perikatan crumble in the face of a state political feud reaching the national level? — Bernama

IT was a political bomb that dropped perfectly, just before the year ended – and its loud impact is still being felt even as we enter into the second week of the new year.

Tan Sri Muhyiddin Yassin’s decision to step down as Perikatan Nasional chief has been followed by a cascade of resignations among state-level leaders.

The Bersatu president’s decision to walk away from the post is as good as a farewell to the Opposition front and certainly its most serious internal rupture.

There will be attempts to put on a brave front, with a top-level meeting involving its component leaders being planned.

But the real test will be for Islamist party PAS now that Bersatu has left a huge crater. The other Perikatan partners, Gerakan and the Malaysian Indian People’s Party, have virtually no influence.

The fact is that Muhyiddin has been the coalition’s glue: a former prime minister with national name recognition, acceptable to Malay conservatives yet not threatening to fence-sitters uneasy about PAS’s ideological edge.

His departure strips Perikatan of that moderating influence and exposes the coalition’s underlying imbalance of power.

National figure: Muhyiddin (right), here seen with Azmin, has been Perikatan’s glue – acceptable to Malay conservatives yet not threatening to fence-sitters uneasy with PAS’ ideological edge. — Bernama

There is really nothing to gain for PAS, which no doubt feels betrayed by the coup in Perlis, the country’s smallest state, where its mentri besar was replaced by a Bersatu assemblyman.

PAS has made its anger known, and while it has expressed support for the new MB, none of the PAS representatives will be in the new state government line-up.

The political feud can now be expected to reach the national level as Perikatan crumbles.

PAS will surely be tempted now to take on the lead role, believing that a possible Malay tsunami is on the horizon and it has nothing to lose. After all, over the past several election cycles, PAS has emerged as Perikatan’s electoral workhorse.

It delivered votes, mobilised grassroots machinery and has dominated parliamentary representation within the coalition.

Bersatu, by contrast, has struggled to build durable party structures beyond its leadership elite. The mass resignations of state chiefs – many of whom were already under pressure or facing credibility issues – underscore this weakness. While Bersatu thins out, PAS remains embedded.

The reality, though, is that PAS is only strong in the predominantly Malay states of Kedah, Kelantan, Perlis, and Terengganu, all of which have demonstrated only mediocre economic performances.

PAS simply lacks appeal in urban and mixed constituencies, which have always depended on reassurance that PAS’s Islamist agenda would be tempered by coalition politics.

Without a figure like Muhyiddin at the helm, that narrative becomes harder to sell.

The support for PAS in the Malay heartland is undeniable but national power requires a broader appeal.

A PAS-led Perikatan will completely turn off non-Malay voters and moderate Malays.

There is no way that the clerics, who call the shots in the party, will allow professionals like Terengganu MB Datuk Seri Dr Ahmad Samsuri Mokhtar to helm the coalition.

He may be a PAS vice president but the clerics decide, and even if leaders like him are put there, they would merely serve as political cosmetics with no real clout.

Decision-making authority is dispersed among religious councils and senior ulama, which lends moral legitimacy but limits decisiveness.

Technocract Ahmad Samsuri is popular but the powerful clerics call the shots in the party. — AZLINA ABDULLAH/The Star

What helped Perikatan grow was not just PAS’ organisational muscle, but the promise of a multi- party front that could govern inclusively.

It served as a realistic option to the Umno-led Barisan Nasional or PKR-helmed Pakatan Harapan.

There is also the question of succession and leadership style. Muhyiddin was a unifying, if pragmatic, figure.

With the senior Bersatu leaders having quit en masse, it will be odd for deputy president Datuk Seri Hamzah Zainuddin, the Opposition leader, to take over the driver’s seat.

His differences with his party boss, Muhyiddin, and secretary-general Datuk Seri Azmin Moha-mad Ali, are an open secret.

He has maintained his silence following Muhyiddin’s departure but he should not nurture any hope of taking over.

Negri Sembilan Bersatu chief Hanifah Abu Baker has expressed support for PAS president Tan Sri Abdul Hadi Awang to replace Muhyiddin, but one wonders if this was even a sincere proposal.

The 78-year-old theologian is in a wheelchair, has earned the unenviable title of being the Member of Parliament with the worst attendance record in the august House, and had nothing much to show for his time as Terengganu mentri besar (1999-2004).

The other options are PAS deputy president Tuan Ibrahim Tuan Man, the MP for Kubang Kerian, and secretary-general Takiyuddin Hassan.

These top figures command loyalty within the party and respect among grassroots supporters, but none have broad appeal across Perikatan’s non-PAS components or among swing voters.

Steering a national coalition in turbulent political waters requires not only ideological clarity but tactical flexibility, something PAS will need to demonstrate more convincingly in the post-Muhyiddin era.

If Muhyiddin’s resignation creates a leadership vacuum, it does not automatically follow that PAS can – or should – fill it.

A PAS leader elevated to Perikatan chief would remain constrained by internal consultative structures, reducing the agility expected of a coalition leader.

The Islamist party will continue to face the problem of optics and a PAS-led Perikatan would almost certainly intensify fears about its ideological rigidity.

For urban Malays and non-Malays, a PAS Perikatan chief could harden resistance and shrink the coalition’s already limited reach in competitive constituencies.

PAS has not made any serious attempt to change the minds of non-Muslim voters who see the party as a hardline one wanting to impose an Islamic State. Worse, it has taken on a racist tone as well now.

Umno Youth leader Akmal Saleh’s call for a revival of the Muafakat Nasional Muslim-dominated front sounds more idealistic than realistic as PAS is not going to give up its dominance for Umno.

Muafakat Nasional was a shortlived political alliance formed by PAS and Umno in 2019 with the intention of consolidating the Malay-Muslim vote.

Umno tried to work with PAS and failed. The same type of bad marriage between Bersatu and PAS has now flopped.

The question is why PAS continues to be a poor choice for any political marriage? Blaming DAP and proclaiming Malay unity is the easy out. The reality is Bersatu-PAS backstabbed each other in Perlis.