Author Archives: wcw

Small tuition centres, big controversy

THERE is a saying that we should always read the small print but most of us unfortunately don’t, although there may be hidden complexities that could haunt us later on if we are not cautious.

In this case, the controversy over the 30% bumiputra equity in tuition centres originates from the 2006 guidelines in the Private Educational Institutions Policy Statement Book published by the Education Ministry.

The then minister was Datuk Seri Hishamuddin Onn, who served under the administration of the late Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi.

The guideline was introduced as an administrative mechanism to align private education with Malaysia’s broader socio-economic goals.

That historical fact is important because the controversy has somehow become another issue for the current Government to defend.

It was only a small paragraph in the guidelines. To be precise: Section 6.3.2 of the document stated that any private educational institution (including tuition centres, language centres, and enrichment hubs) operating as a Sdn Bhd (Private Limited Company) was required to have a minimum of 30% bumiputra equity ownership.

It remained dormant for the last 10 years until the issue suddenly blew up last month when tuition centre operators were said to be told that upcoming 2027 licence renewals would need to fulfil the 2006 rules.

Operators who had run successful businesses for decades potentially faced the sudden requirement to give up or restructure 30% of their shares to bumiputra partners just to keep their licences, leading to immediate political backlash and its eventual abolition.

The Madani government, especially Education Minister Datuk Seri Fadhlina Sidek, found itself in a storm which it has no part in as the policy wasn’t drawn up by her or the present government.

She has since cancelled the ruling but some internet users, who do not know the background, has slammed the government for making a U-turn while Umno Youth chief Dr Akmal Saleh has criticised the abolition.

Ahead of the general election, we can expect plenty of political rhetoric but there are times when governments should be judged not by how many new rules they introduce, but by how willing they are to remove rules that no longer make much sense.

The decision to scrap the 30% bumiputra equity requirement for private education institutions, including tuition centres, is a sensible move.

Tuition centres are not giant corporations or major investment vehicles. Most are small businesses, often started by teachers, former teachers or entrepreneurs who have invested their own savings and spent years building up their reputation in the neighbourhood.

The present Government did not create the 2006 policy. What it has done is recognise that the requirement needs to be reconsidered in today’s circumstances and, following discussions with the Investment, Trade and Industry Ministry (Miti), remove the minimum 30% equity requirement for private limited companies operating private educational institutions.

Now, Miti has said it was unaware of the abolition and that the matter was under the purview of the Economic Planning Unit (EPU), which is under the Economy Ministry.

Tuition centres today are part of the education ecosystem for thousands of Malaysian families. Parents turn to them for additional lessons in mathematics, science, languages and other subjects.

They are often modest, neighbourhood-based operations rather than large commercial enterprises which provide an important support system for families.

Imagine a teacher who has spent 15 or 20 years building a tuition centre, paying rent, salaries and other operating costs, only to be told that a portion of the business must now be given up to meet an equity condition.

What problem are we really solving? If the objective is to increase bumiputra participation in education, there are surely more constructive ways of doing it.

The Government can provide financing, training, grants, premises, mentoring and access to markets for bumiputra educators who want to establish tuition centres.

That would create new bumiputra entrepreneurs rather than requiring existing small businesses to rearrange their ownership.

There is also a fundamental distinction between encouraging participation and imposing ownership.

The first helps people build businesses. The second can become merely a licensing condition.

A good teacher is valued for his or her ability to teach, not the percentage of shares held in the company.

That does not mean bumiputra economic participation is unimportant. Far from it. It remains a legitimate policy objective.

But the question is whether every economic activity requires the same instrument.

There is a difference between restructuring the ownership of a large corporation, opening up major commercial opportunities and dealing with a small tuition centre operating from a shoplot with a handful of teachers.

Applying the same ownership principle indiscriminately can produce unintended consequences.

Removing the 2006 requirement therefore provides something equally important in business: certainty.

It also sends a message that the Government is prepared to review old policies when they no longer fit the realities on the ground.

That should not be seen as abandoning bumiputra policy. It should instead be seen as asking whether the policy instrument is appropriate for the particular sector.

There is nothing wrong with encouraging more Bumiputera participation in private education.

But the better question is how to create more opportunities for bumiputra educators to become successful owners in their own right such as providing them capital, training them to run tuition centres, make premises available, provide mentoring, help them compete and other support.

That is likely to produce more sustainable businesses than simply requiring someone else’s business to surrender 30% equity.

Let’s get our priorities right – we need tuition teachers to provide better supporting teaching, safer premises and affordable education for our children and not worry about equity.

Politicians and officials who make a fuss out of this seriously need immediate tuition to get them to think rationally and develop some common sense.

When a Ruler dismisses his entire Exco

IT was already almost midnight when the Negri Sembilan palace sent a text message to Mentri Besar Datuk Seri Haji Ismail Lasim that his entire executive council line-up had been sacked with immediate effect.

The simple WhatsApp message was followed by a hard copy of the revocation of their appointments handed to the state leader.

It must have surely come as a shock to Ismail. He is now tasked by the Ruler to propose a new list of candidates for the state exco to ensure continuous governance.

It would not be easy as the Ruler still has the power to reject names which he feels are not acceptable.

Most media outlets had closed their services when the late-night news came, except for Bernama, The Star and Sin Chew.

The sacking of the entire state exco by a Ruler is unprecedented, but there are moments in constitutional history when a single act carries a meaning far greater than the announcement itself.

The decision by the Yang di-Pertuan Besar of Negeri Sembilan, Tuanku Muhriz Tuanku Munawir, to revoke the appointments of the state executive councillors is one such moment.

The 10 Exco members were appointed only last month. Now, barely weeks later, their appointments have been revoked with immediate effect.

The Istana said the Exco members had breached their oath of office through their actions and statements on Sept 15.

The oath, among other things, required them to pledge allegiance to the Ruler and the Royal Institution, protect the State Constitution and acknowledge the authority vested in the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang (DKU)

This is therefore not merely about changing a team of state ministers. Ismail and the exco must have missed the legal implications when they endorsed a proclamation to recognise the removal of the Ruler on Sept 17.

They maintained that they were acting on a proclamation by the state’s traditional chieftains rather than driving it unilaterally. They also openly recognised Tunku Nadzaruddin Tuanku Ja’afar as the new Ruler.

But the Attorney-General’s Chambers then issued a statement clarifying that the MB and the exco do not possess the legal or constitutional authority to vacate the throne or remove a Ruler.

The Dewan Keadilan dan Undang (DKU) – the state council governing customary justice – has also firmly rejected the Undangs’ proclamation, declaring that Tuanku Muhriz remains the legitimate Ruler and that there is no vacancy.

The dispute goes to the heart of how constitutional monarchy is supposed to function.

Under Article XXXVIII(5) of the Laws of the Constitution of Negri Sembilan 1959, an Exco member other than the Menteri Besar holds office at the pleasure of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar. The Ruler has therefore exercised a constitutional power by revoking the appointments.

The post of the MB can only be revoked by the state assembly or else he, too, probably faces the wrath of the palace.

The timing of the state exco sacking makes the decision especially significant. The state is already caught in an extraordinary dispute over the position of the Ruler himself.

It also sends a very clear message about the relationship between the Ruler and those appointed to the Executive Council.

An Exco member is not simply a political representative who answers only to his party or coalition. Once appointed, he assumes a constitutional office and takes an oath, which matters.

In a constitutional monarchy, political power is exercised within a framework of law, institutions and conventions. Ministers may have political mandates, but they also have constitutional responsibilities.

This is why the wording of the Istana statement is important. The Ruler did not merely say that he had lost confidence in his Exco.

The appointments were revoked on the stated ground that the councillors had violated their oath of office. That distinction deserves attention.

At the same time, the dismissal does not mean that the government has ceased to exist in Negeri Sembilan.

The Menteri Besar remains in office and has been required to submit names for new Exco appointments for the Ruler’s consideration and consent.

The Istana has also stressed that the administration must continue without disruption and that the interests of the people must remain protected, Bernama reported.

This is an important point because ordinary Malaysians should not become collateral victims of a constitutional dispute.

Schools must open. Hospitals must operate. Local authorities must function. Public servants must continue their work. Development projects and essential services cannot be suspended because politicians and constitutional authorities are in dispute.

The machinery of government must continue even when those at the top are fighting over constitutional interpretation.

Negri Sembilan’s system of constitutional monarchy is not identical to the conventional hereditary monarchy found in other states.

Its institution of the four Undang and the role of the Dewan Keadilan dan Undang give the state a distinctive constitutional and customary structure.

The power concerning the position of the Yang di-Pertuan Besar is governed by specific constitutional provisions and customary practices.

That makes it even more important for every institution to remain within its proper constitutional lane.

The current dispute has produced competing claims about who has authority to make decisions concerning the Ruler.

The lesson for Malaysians and politicians is this – a Ruler has constitutional powers. The elected government has executive powers. The state assembly has legislative powers. The courts have judicial powers.

None of these institutions should seek to exercise the powers belonging to another.

That principle is particularly important in a constitutional monarchy because the strength of the institution does not come from political intervention. It comes from adherence to the Constitution.

The dismissal of the Exco is a reminder that appointment to high office comes with an oath, that constitutional powers carry responsibilities, and that political office does not place anyone above the constitutional framework.

Have businesses forgotten they have customers?

Source: AI-generated image.

IF you are a regular traveller at Japanese airports, you would notice that Japanese airline staff and ground crew bow to their waiting customers before opening check-in counters.

They step out from behind the counters and line up together and bow deeply in unison. Flight attendants and the pilots, who walk by their airline counters, also do the same to the queuing passengers.

It’s a profound expression of omotenashi, Japan’s deep-rooted culture of hospitality, respect and gratitude.

Such a brief ritual also shows discipline, professionalism and care for customers right from the start of the service interaction.

Airlines like All Nippon Airways (ANA) and Japan Airlines (JAL) uphold these customs consistently across the country’s airports.

In recent years, I have personally experienced Chinese airlines attendants who helped to put on the slippers for its Business Class passengers which most of us quickly and politely decline their assistance.

As a traveller who has visited over 60 countries on many airlines, I can safely say that Asian countries easily beat Western nations when it comes to services.

Many businesses have forgotten a simple truth: without customers, there is no business.

Instead of viewing people as customers whose loyalty must be earned and maintained, many sectors have adopted labels that subtly change the relationship.

Most airlines see people as passengers. Hospitals see them as patients. Museums see them as visitors. Universities see them as students.

Government-linked service providers see them as account holders or users. The terminology may appear harmless, but it often reflects a deeper mindset.

Consider the airline industry. Airlines compete fiercely on routes and pricing, yet many have become experts at treating customers as logistical units to be processed rather than individuals to be served.

Some flight attendants seemed to give the impression that passengers are a nuisance. I have in mind a certain European airline whose flight attendants are downright rude.

Automated systems, endless call centre queues, opaque fees and inflexible policies leave travellers feeling that their inconvenience is merely part of the business model.

The healthcare sector presents a similar challenge. While patient care is rightly the primary concern, some hospitals seem to forget that patients are also paying customers.

Long waiting times, poor communication, confusing billing systems and a lack of empathy can make people feel powerless at a time when they are already vulnerable.

Museums and cultural institutions are not immune either. Many invest heavily in exhibits and facilities but pay insufficient attention to the visitor experience.

Staff who appear indifferent, confusing signage and limited engagement opportunities can leave visitors feeling more like a statistic than a valued supporter.

Recently, I walked over to a guide at the famous Louvre museum in Paris to ask if my ticket came with a translator headset. But the guide, in a stern and rude voice, told me to read my ticket before asking him any questions.

He had obviously failed to understand the fundamental principle – I was a paying customer. If he didn’t like his work, he should quit and not give the organisation a bad name.

The problem is not the labels themselves. Passengers, patients and visitors are accurate descriptions. The issue arises when organisations allow these labels to replace the customer mindset.

A customer-centred organisation constantly asks: How easy are we to deal with? Are we respecting people’s time? Are we listening to feedback? Would someone choose us again if they had alternatives?

This is the moment when we must look to leadership, regardless of the organisation, the business or the service. From the top, what is the tone being set? Is it one that truly values professionalism and mutual respect?

Recent research from the Chartered Management Institute (CMI) found that organisations that invest in training their managers reap the benefits when it comes to employee satisfaction.

Conversely, one in three people said they have walked away from a job because of a bad manager or toxic workplace. If you’re running a business but are not training your managers, you are inviting a revolving door of staff along with expensive recruitment costs to find replacements.

More importantly, satisfied employees, the ones who feel supported by a manager who knows what they’re doing, translate time and time again into better customer service.

The most successful companies understand that customer experience is not a department; it is a culture. They recognise that every interaction shapes reputation and loyalty.

Ironically, many organisations spend millions on branding campaigns promising excellence while overlooking the daily experiences that truly define their brand.

A smiling advertisement cannot compensate for poor service. A glossy website cannot replace genuine care.

In an increasingly competitive world, customers have more choices than ever. Social media also ensures that poor experiences travel faster and further than any marketing campaign.

Businesses and institutions that forget they have customers may continue operating for a while, especially if competition is limited. But eventually, dissatisfaction accumulates. Trust erodes. Loyalty disappears.

The lesson is straightforward. Whether someone is called a passenger, patient, visitor, student or subscriber, they remain a customer.

A Malaysian window into the Islamic world at the British Museum

The Albukhary Foundation Gallery of the Islamic World occupies two refurbished galleries at the heart of the British Museum in London. Photo: British Museum

Each day, thousands of visitors step into the iconic British Museum in Bloomsbury, London.

The museum attracted around 6.5 million visitors in the 2025-26 financial year, according to its latest annual report – an average of roughly 18,000 visitors a day.

Yet this is one of the places where Malaysia’s presence overseas is not immediately obvious.

The vast institution is filled with treasures from civilisations across the world – ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, Asia, Africa and the Americas. But somewhere within this magnificent museum is a gallery with a distinctly Malaysian connection.

The Albukhary Foundation Gallery of the Islamic World is a reminder that Malaysia’s contribution to the global understanding of Islam need not always come through politicians, diplomats or religious leaders.

Sometimes, it can come through art.

The gallery, which opened in 2018, was made possible with support from the Malaysian-based Albukhary Foundation. That may not sound like a big deal to many Malaysians, but it is significant given the British Museum’s standing as one of the world’s most prominent cultural institutions.

To have a Malaysian foundation associated with a permanent gallery dedicated to the Islamic world gives the country a cultural footprint in a museum visited by millions.

The gallery showcases the British Museum’s extensive Islamic collection, spanning from the 7th century to the present day. Photo: British Museum

The gallery itself is fascinating because it does not present Islam as a single, uniform civilisation. Instead, it tells a broader story.

The Islamic world stretches across geographies and centuries – from Africa and the Middle East to Central Asia, India and South-East Asia. It is a story of merchants and travellers, scholars and artists, rulers and ordinary people.

History can be a drag, and many of us still suffer from the traumatic experiences of history teachers who forced us to memorise dates and events at school.

But history is ultimately about telling stories – making sense of what happened, why it mattered and how it shaped our lives.

The story of Islam, too, is not just about religion. It is also about ideas moving across borders.

The objects displayed include manuscripts, ceramics, textiles, scientific instruments, coins and architectural fragments. For someone walking through the gallery, the experience is not about being lectured on Islam. It is about discovering the civilisation through its objects.

And perhaps that is one of the most effective ways of introducing people to a faith and its culture.

A non-Muslim visitor can admire the beauty of Islamic calligraphy without knowing Arabic.

The exhibits also bring together the stories of interconnected worlds across time and geography. Photo: British Museum

A child can marvel at the intricacy of a ceramic tile. A visitor from Asia can recognise connections between cultures that travelled along ancient trade routes.

The gallery becomes more than an exhibition space. It becomes a bridge.

It also makes me think about how Malaysia talks about Islam. We often spend enormous amounts of time arguing about what Islam should mean in our politics, laws and daily lives.

Perhaps we should also talk more about Islam’s contributions to civilisation – its art, architecture, scholarship, mathematics, astronomy, medicine, literature and trade.

A confident Muslim society should have no fear of allowing others to see and appreciate its history, or of welcoming non-Muslims into mosques to learn and feel welcome.

The Albukhary Foundation Gallery provides precisely that opportunity, especially for an international audience in London.

Every day, thousands of people from Britain and around the world enter this museum.

Some will make their way to the Islamic World gallery and may spend only a few minutes there. But in that time, they encounter a part of Islamic civilisation through objects that have survived generations.

They also encounter something with a Malaysian connection.

Covering regions from West Africa to South-East Asia, the gallery features archaeological finds, royal commissions, everyday objects and contemporary art. Photo: Florence Teh

For Malaysia, this should be an important lesson.

We are a Muslim-majority country, but we are also a multicultural and multi-religious nation. Our experience is therefore different from that of many other Muslim countries.

We have our own story to tell – about how Islam exists alongside Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism and other faiths, how Malay, Chinese, Indian, Indigenous and other cultures have shaped the country, and how our Islamic identity has developed within a plural society.

The world does not need another lecture about why one community is right and another is wrong. It needs more opportunities for people to understand one another.

Perhaps this is why the Albukhary Foundation Gallery matters beyond the beautiful objects displayed inside it.

The foundation now supports the display of Islamic art belonging to the British Museum that once lay in the underbelly of the institution, where few visitors ventured.

When this state of affairs came to the attention of the Islamic Arts Museum Malaysia, a partnership was forged between the British Museum and the Albukhary Foundation, Islamic Arts Museum Malaysia’s (IAMM) parent. It was decided to relocate these priceless objects to a more prominent part of the museum.

Through IAMM’s efforts and sponsorship from the foundation, the British Museum allocated Rooms 42 and 43, a prime location at the heart of its main building, for the collection. After four years of preparations, the gallery opened in October 2018.

The British Museum allocated Rooms 42 and 43, a prime location at the heart of its main building, for the Albukhary Foundation Gallery collection. Photo: British Museum

British Museum director Hartwig Fischer described it as “a magnificent renovation of historic galleries within the White Wing of the British Museum. The gallery is pioneering in many ways”, he noted in The Making Of The Albukhary Foundation Gallery Of The Islamic World, published by the British Museum.

After the opening, Jane Jakeman, a podcaster from The Art Newspaper who writes regularly on Islamic art, wrote: “The Albukhary Foundation Gallery of the Islamic World that opened on 18 October 2018 is one of the biggest transformations so far at the museum’s galleries of Islamic art.

“Previously, the British Museum’s Islamic collections were squashed into crowded cabinets right at the back of the building.

“You only found them by happy chance unless you were really searching for them. In the previous displays, everything was really a bit dull and dim and slightly dusty looking.’

“Another factor that sets the gallery apart is that it is not an exclusive celebration of masterpieces and canonical works. Instead, it provides a refreshing experience by democratising displays with contemporary art placed beside masterpieces.”

At the launch of the joint exhibition Inspired By The East: How The Islamic World Influenced Western Art in 2019, foundation trustee Sharifah Zarah Albukhary said: “What we have now is a true collaboration between two institutions halfway across the globe. By bringing these two museums and their collections together, we hope to present an updated study of the nexus between East and West.

“It is not an entirely new understanding. It is more an analysis of different understandings – and misunderstandings – over the centuries.”

The gallery is a Malaysian contribution to a global conversation about Islam.

It shows that our relationship with the Islamic world does not have to be defined only by political alliances, religious debates or diplomatic statements. We can contribute through scholarship, culture and the preservation of heritage.

And it is something Malaysia could be doing much more of.

We should be telling the world who we are not merely through our politics, but through our culture, our diversity and our understanding of Islam.

The Albukhary Foundation Gallery shows what is possible.

It is, in a very real sense, a small Malaysian window into the Islamic world – right in the heart of London.

And through that window, millions of visitors have the opportunity to see Islam not simply as a religion debated in headlines, but as a civilisation that has contributed enormously to the human story.

When men of God lose sight of God

Police officers escorting the Buddhist monk outside the Central Investigation Bureau in Bangkok after he was arrested on charges including embezzlement and money laundering. — THAI NEWS PIX/AFP

IT has been the biggest news in the region – a scandal involving a senior Thai Buddhist monk: a sex video, millions of baht in alleged misappropriated temple funds, piles of cash, gold bars, jewellery, and land documents.

The former abbot of Wat Phutthaisawan in Ayutthaya, a prominent royal monastery, was arrested after police investigated allegations that more than 92 million baht (over RM11mil) in temple funds had been diverted.

Searches subsequently uncovered assets running into hundreds of millions of baht.

Police are still investigating which assets belonged to the temple and whether other people were involved, The Star reported.

Then came the other shock. Investigators reportedly found CCTV footage showing the 66-year-old monk in a sexual relationship with a 47-year-old single mum.

A Buddhist monk is expected to observe celibacy and renounce material possessions, so the images were bound to cause outrage.

But perhaps the most important lesson from this extraordinary case has little to do with the video.

It is about the faithful, regardless of their religions, who place extraordinary amounts of trust in supposedly religious figures.

They believe that someone who wears the robes, irrespective of what colour, and preaches morality and speaks about the afterlife must somehow be above the ordinary weaknesses of human beings.

That is where we can become dangerously naive.

Monks, priests, theologians, nuns and religious teachers are human beings.

Yes, most religious figures are people who are compassionate, forthright, righteous, and sincere, and they have dedicated their lives to God.

But there are also many who are tempted by money, power, sex, status, and influence, and use God’s name in vain.

Religious robes do not make someone incapable of wrong-doing.

This is not an argument against religion. Quite the opposite. Faith deserves protection from those who exploit it.

The danger comes when we stop distinguishing between a religious teaching and the person delivering it.

A religious leader may speak with great authority, but that does not mean he possesses divine authority or even common sense. It doesn’t mean his interpretations cannot be challenged or are even correct.

Someone claiming to speak on behalf of God should, perhaps more than anyone else, be subjected to added scrutiny rather than be exempted from it.

We should be particularly cautious when religious figures begin presenting their personal opinions as unquestionable divine instructions, or worse, political opinions, in the name of God.

Once someone convinces followers that questioning him is equivalent to questioning God, accountability disappears.

When accountability disappears, power can become intoxicating.

The Thai scandal is especially disturbing because the alleged behaviour appears to represent almost the complete opposite of the values expected from a monk: celibacy on one hand, material renunciation on the other.

Yet we should also resist the temptation to turn this into a convenient morality tale about Thailand or Buddhism.

Every religion has had its scandals. Every society has had religious leaders who have fallen from grace.

Some have been exposed for sexual misconduct, some for financial abuse, some for political manipulation, and others for using their religious standing to silence criticism.

It is not restricted to certain countries or institutions. We should never assume that a person is morally perfect simply because he occupies a religious position.

Temples, mosques, churches, and other religious institutions handle enormous amounts of money, much of it donated by ordinary people who believe they are contributing to a sacred cause.

That money deserves proper accounting. Religious institutions should not be treated as places beyond scrutiny simply because they support a religion. Nor should religious leaders be given a free pass because they are revered.

We are all capable of weaknesses. That is precisely why we should be careful about those who claim to be above human weakness.

Of course, we should not judge an entire faith by the actions of some individuals. But neither should faith be used as a shield to protect individuals from legitimate questions.

Respect religious belief. Respect religious institutions. Respect those who dedicate their lives to serving others, but never confuse respect with blind obedience.

In medieval Europe, there was a practice known as the sale of indulgences, which was supposed to reduce the temporal punishment associated with sins that had already been forgiven, according to the faith.

It was not officially a ticket guaranteeing entry into heaven. However, by the late Middle Ages, some preachers marketed indulgences in ways that made them sound very much like a financial transaction involving salvation.

One German religious figure in the early 16th century reportedly said that for every coin that went into the collection box, a soul would be released from purgatory (a temporary state or place after death before the souls are cleansed of their sins before they can enter heaven).

No one can be guaranteed a place in heaven. It is God, by whatever name we call him, that will decide our fate.

For sure, it won’t be because of how we vote or who we support politically.

The important distinction is that the problem isn’t religion itself – it is human beings exploiting religious authority.

PAS, what’s the plan for Malaysia?

Diverse voices: Malaysia is a complex, outward-looking trading nation of more than 30 million people. Can PAS win the non-Malay votes? — AZHAR MAHFOF/The Star

PAS is now riding high and, in fact, regards itself as a possible contender for the prime minister’s post after the next general election.

The Islamist party is already openly talking about key Cabinet positions that it wants.

It is convinced that the partnership with Umno using the Malay unity narrative is sufficient to win the predominantly Malay electorate – and Malaysia.

The ambition of the party isn’t something to be dismissed. PAS is already the party with the biggest number of parliamentary seats in Dewan Rakyat, with 43 out of the 222 seats.

That is 20% of the entire Dewan Rakyat, which makes PAS the biggest opposition party, and its numbers can possibly increase.

At state level, it has control of four states: Perlis, Kedah, Terengganu, and Kelantan. But almost all its seats are predominantly Malay majority parliamentary and state seats.

The reality is, PAS has mastered the art of winning elections by speaking to the Malay-Muslim heart.

Now comes the much harder part. It has to convince the rest of Malaysia that it can govern a country that is not exclusively Malay, Muslim, or rural.

It must convince Malaysians it can govern, not just preach. That is a very different proposition.

The Islamist party can celebrate its electoral gains, and it should. Its rise is a reflection of the growing political strength of Malay voters and the failure of its rivals to adequately address their concerns.

But winning votes is not the same as winning confidence and this is where PAS still has a mountain to climb.

Most of its leaders, especially the powerful theologians who control the party, come from the Malay rural heartland.

Their world view is entirely different from those in the urban areas and it won’t be wrong to suggest that they never grew up or interacted in a diverse lifestyle unlike many Umno leaders, who are at ease with other communities.

PAS has never been able to find the answers to winning over the non-Muslims.

The statements made by the party have not reassured non-Muslims, similar to the insensitive response made by some DAP leaders which touches raw nerves among Muslims.

For many non-Malays and non-Muslims, the increasingly prominent religious PAS agenda does not provide reassurance. It creates questions – and, in some cases, genuine anxiety.

PAS should not be surprised by this. When politicians repeatedly talk about strengthening religious laws, morality, and Islamic governance, non-Muslim Malaysians naturally ask: Where do we fit in this vision of Malay-sia?

The perception of non-Muslims is that the party is impatient to push its religious agenda.

Most non-Malays are not impressed by the party’s performances in running its four states nor do they recall the lawmakers’ contributions in financial and economic matters in Parliament.

Non-Malays have legitimate questions in a country as diverse as Malaysia. It will not be wise or effective if PAS simply dismisses these as the fears of people who do not understand Islam.

If PAS wants to lead Malaysia, it must understand the concerns of Malaysians who do not share its political interpretation of Islam.

More importantly, PAS needs to realise that religion is not an economic policy. Kelantan, which it has ruled by decades, cannot even provide decent clean water, create better-paying jobs nor attract high-value foreign investment.

Malaysians want to know how PAS can lead the country if it is in charge.

Can it reform the education system, solve the brain drain, make our ports more competitive, build a technology industry, and make Malaysia a regional centre for artificial intelligence, digital services, advanced manufacturing or research?

These are the bread-and-butter issues that determine whether a country moves forward.

PAS has been governing states for years. It now controls four. The party therefore has every opportunity to show Malaysians what PAS-style governance can deliver. This is where the party needs to be much more convincing.

The latest economic figures from these states, however, are hardly a ringing endorsement of any dramatic transformation.

According to the latest Depart-ment of Statistics Malaysia (DOSM) figures, released in 2026, Malaysia’s economy expanded by 5.2% in 2025. Kedah grew by 4.1%, Perlis by 2.0%, Kelantan by 4.1%, and Terengganu by 1.6%.

Terengganu is particularly striking as its growth fell sharply from 4.5% in 2024 to just 1.6% in 2025. Manufacturing contracted 1.2% and construction fell 5.8%.

Perlis also slowed considerably from 3.2% to 2.0%, with its construction sector contracting by 8.2%.

Kedah saw a slight improvement with a 4.1% growth although slightly below its 4.2% in 2024, while Kelantan grew from 3.3% to 4.1% in 2025. However, the four states together did not come close to matching Malaysia’s 5.2% growth in 2026, with Terengganu and Perlis particularly weak.

In 2025, Malaysia’s GDP per capita was RM59,167 while the four states were well behind: Terengganu RM32,657, 45% below national level; Kedah RM28,537, 52% below; Perlis RM25,089, 58% below; and Kelantan RM18,085, 69% below.

In other words, Kelantan’s GDP per capita was barely 31% of Malaysia’s. Even Terengganu was substantially below the national figure, according to DOSM.

To be fair, GDP per capita is not household income and cannot by itself be used to judge a state government’s performance, but it is nevertheless useful for showing the structural economic gap.

By comparison, Perak grew 5.7%, Selangor 6.3%, Penang 7.3% and Johor 8%.

For the 2024 household income survey, the ranking is revealing: Kelantan is at the bottom of all states while Kedah is second last.

The real question that needs to be asked is not whether PAS alone is responsible for poverty or underdevelopment as federal policies, geography, historical investment patterns, infrastructure and others matters.

But after decades of controlling Kelantan, and years of controlling Kedah, Perlis and Terengganu, what is PAS’ economic model for transforming these states into high-income, investment-driven economies?

Malaysians should be asking PAS: If it cannot manage its four states, what are its plans for the country?

The problem for PAS is that its political narrative has often been much stronger about what society should not do than about what the economy should do.

It is easier to talk about morality than productivity, easier to campaign against concerts than to create a semiconductor cluster, easier to debate dress codes than to build an ecosystem for high-paying technology jobs, easier to talk about vice than to explain how to attract international investors. It’s also much easier to just promise a ticket to heaven for voting PAS.

But running a country requires much more than telling people how they should behave. It requires making the country work.

Malaysia is a complex, outward-looking trading nation of more than 30 million people. It has Muslims, Buddhists, Christians, Hindus, Sikhs and people of other beliefs with Malays, Chinese, Indians, Kadazandusun, Iban and dozens of other communities.

More importantly, it is an economy deeply connected to China, the United States, Europe, Singapore, Japan, South Korea and the rest of Asean.

So the party needs to offer something much bigger than an Islamic political programme.

Perhaps most importantly, it needs to reassure non-Muslims that they have nothing to fear from a PAS-led Malaysia.

If it wants Putrajaya, it cannot campaign as though Malaysia is a collection of Kelantans, Terengganus, Kedahs and Perlises.

The voices and aspirations of people in Kuala Lumpur, Penang, Johor, Selangor, Sabah and Sarawak need to be heard.

Until PAS can answer those questions convincingly, it should not assume that electoral momentum automatically translates into a mandate to govern Malaysia.

‘Welcome home’ – more than just a greeting

Nothing beats home: Travelling all around the world and experiences abroad have only made the writer love Malaysia more than ever. — 123rf

EVERY time I return to Malaysia from a trip abroad, there is a moment that gets to me: when the Malaysia Airlines crew member announces that we will be landing soon.

I have lost count of the number of times I have heard this but it still remains special to me.

“To all Malaysians, welcome home.” That is so beautiful because nothing beats returning to Malaysia. Our only home, where we were born, grew up, stay, and will finally pass on.

After decades of travelling and watching Malaysia change, those words carry a different weight.

“Welcome home” is not merely an announcement. It is an emotion. It is a reminder that no matter how far I travel, there is a place that still feels like mine: Malaysia.

At the age of 65, those words mean more to me than they ever did before. Perhaps it is because age changes the way we see home.

Not many people have travelled to over 60 countries. I have done it for work or for holidays.

I have arrived at some of the world’s greatest airports and experienced the efficiency and sophistication of other nations – and also seen many developed nations declining sharply in recent years.

There is no need to mention names but many readers will know what countries I am referring to.

But there is something different about returning to Malaysia. We have done so much better than many countries, something many of us may not be aware of.

Still, we are notorious for running down our own country.

These travels and experiences have made me love Malaysia more than ever. The grass is always greener on the other side but for all its many blemishes, nothing beats home.

I know of so many Malaysians who, disappointed with the political climate, decided to pack off to Australia, only to return home and spend most of their time here. They only go back to Australia occasionally to fulfil their residency visa requirements.

Wisely, they never gave up their Malaysian citizenship.

Then there are those who have emigrated but are still seemingly obsessed with political developments in Malaysia, and post daily comments.

The reality is, once you have given up on Malaysia, you have also lost your right to comment on Malaysia. After all, you have now adopted a new home by taking up a new citizenship.

When I was younger, coming home was simply returning after a trip.

It meant getting off the plane, collecting my luggage, and heading through the familiar airport doors with humid air blasting against my face.

Now I have learnt to stop complaining about Malaysia Airport Holdings Berhad for the regular breakdowns of our aerotrains at KL International Airport and why luggage with priority tags never arrive ahead of other bags.

This country, for all its imperfections – with its many politicians who make no sense, and steal from public coffers despite claiming to defend their race and religion – remains beautiful to us.

When we created a record for having three former prime ministers in court on the same day, I only see that justice is taking its course in Malaysia and that our judiciary is trustworthy.

As Malaysia Day approaches on Sept 16, I find myself thinking about those words on the plane more deeply: “Welcome home.”

What does it actually mean to come home? The sight and smell of the Malaysian food which you would rush to eat once you reach home? The sound of Bahasa Malaysia mixed with Mandarin, Tamil, English, Iban, Kadazan, and so many other languages?

Or is home something much more personal?

For me, it is all of these things.

Perhaps it is because I have spent 65 years accumulating memories here.

This is where my childhood memories were formed. This is where I grew up.

This is where I watched Malaysia transform from a relatively young nation into the modern country it is today.

I remember a Malaysia with fewer highways, the trunk roads, the overnight Keretapi Tanah Melayu trip home to Penang, the black and white TV with only two channels, a handful of tall buildings and much less traffic.

There was no Internet, no social media and no smartphone in our pockets. We met friends in person rather than through a screen. We actually had to wait until the next day to read about yesterday’s news!

And somehow, despite having much less technology, life seemed to give us more time to know one another.

Malaysia was already diverse then. We did not need a slogan to tell us that.

We saw it in our schools, neighbourhoods, markets and coffee shops.

We ate each other’s food, we slept over at friends’ homes, we celebrated one another’s festivals.

We learned words from different languages. We grew up understanding that the person sitting beside us might not look like us, pray like us, or speak the same language at home – but he or she was still Malaysian.

Perhaps that is why the words “welcome home” resonate so strongly with me today because home is not just a place.

It is a collection of people, memories, smells, sounds, food, conversations, and experiences and Malaysia has given me a lifetime of them.

Perhaps these ordinary moments are what make a nation. We often talk about Malaysia in terms of politics, economics, development, and statistics.

Those things matter but there is another Malaysia that cannot be measured so easily. It is the Malaysia that lives in our hearts. It is the Malaysia we miss when we are overseas.

And sometimes, it takes a flight home to make us realise how much we miss it.

That is why the Malaysia Airlines announcement has become so meaningful to me.

The national carrier has long positioned its service around “Malaysian Hospitality”, and has even used multilingual onboard announcements to showcase the country’s cultural diversity.

But for me, the most powerful words are still the simplest: Welcome home.

Finally, Malaysia would not be our home without Sabah and Sarawak. They did not join Malaysia but helped to form Malaysia; never ever forget that.

What should ‘Merdeka’ mean to us?

Friends proudly waving the Jalur Gemilang as they make their way around their village near Bako, Kuching. — ZULAZHAR SHEBLEE/The Star

NATIONAL unity may not be high on the agenda of some politicians these days who continuously play the race and religious card – but Tunku Abdul Rahman was clear about it.

The country’s first prime minister and Bapa Malaysia championed national unity as the core strength of a multiracial nation.

He understood and practised what he preached about the need for all Malaysians to stay together. Unity, he felt, was our fundamental strength as a people and as a nation.

“Every one of us must respect each other’s rights and feelings, be tolerant of each other’s religion, customs and habits, for in diversity we can find real unity,’’ he said in one of his many unforgettable quotes.

As a young reporter starting my career in The Star’s Penang office in 1984, I was indeed privileged to be able to see him up close.

He was our company’s chairman and he also wrote a popular column, Looking Back, and sometimes I was asked to go to his house to collect his work. They were typed in huge letters, owing to his diminishing eyesight.

He often used a magnifying glass to read his writing before passing the articles to me.

Sometimes I would have to wait a little longer as he would be busy with his poker games.

I will never forget his family members. They included adopted children who were Chinese. His staff was multiracial. So was his retinue of friends.

He was never afraid to say that Malaysia was established as a secular state with Islam as the religion of the federation rather than as an Islamic theocracy.

It’s there in the Hansard report of May 1, 1958.

In an interview published on Feb 9, 1983, he said it again. This time, he warned against turning the multiracial nation into a strict theocracy.

Today, not many politicians would dare make the same declaration as Tunku. After all, PAS is one of the biggest parties in Parliament.

But as we fly the Jalur Gemilang proudly, hear patriotic songs being played and watch Malaysians from all walks of life gathering to celebrate our independence, we should pause and ask ourselves an uncomfortable question: What does Merdeka actually mean to us today?

Is it simply about waving the flag, singing Negaraku and remembering Aug 31, 1957?

Or is it about protecting the Malaysia that our founding generation struggled to build?

The question is particularly important with race and religion being increasingly pushed to the centre of political discourse.

Worse, are we even discouraging Malaysians from flying the Jalur Gemilang with certain politicians indulging in fault-finding against those who make mistakes when flying the national flag? These Malaysians even risk their business premises being shut down as punishment.

Or they may end up being ostracised on social media, with political reprimands and name calling. Worse, they could even be arrested and handcuffed as happened to an editor last year.

The Tunku would never have tolerated such nonsense or allowed it become an annual ritual. He would not have allowed Malaysians to feel marginalised or let bullies go scot free.

Founding principle: Tunku Abdul Rahman declaring ‘Merdeka!’ to the whole world in 1957. The country’s first prime minister had championed national unity as the core strength of a multiracial nation. — National Archives of Malaysia

There is nothing wrong with being proud of one’s race, culture or religion. These are all important parts of our identity.

Islam has a special position in our constitutional framework, while the Constitution also protects the legitimate interests of other communities and provides for freedom of religion and equality before the law.

The problem begins when these identities are turned into political weapons by politicians who tell Malays that their future is threatened by other Malaysians, or tell non-Malays that their place in the country is constantly under threat.

These people are not strengthening Malaysia. They are weakening it, dividing Malaysians and putting a strain on race relations in Malaysia.

Fear is an easy political currency to wield. It can be collected quickly and spent even faster during elections.

Race and religion become convenient tools to mobilise supporters, silence critics and create enemies where none should exist.

This is not the Malaysia we should be celebrating on National Day. Certainly, this is not what the Tunku would want.

Our founding generation understood that independence could not be built around one community alone.

Tunku Abdul Rahman and the leaders of the Alliance understood the practical necessity of working across communities. They did not have the luxury of pretending that Malaya belonged exclusively to one race or another.

They had to build a country in which Malays, Chinese, Indians and the many indigenous communities could see a future for themselves. That compromise was not a weakness, it was the foundation of our strength.

That is why it is so disappointing to see the word “Merdeka” sometimes reduced to slogans while the spirit behind independence is forgotten.

What did our founding fathers want?

Surely not a country where Malaysians constantly look over their shoulders wondering whether another race or religion is about to take something away from them.

Surely not a country where politicians compete to see who can make the most inflammatory statement about race and religion. And certainly not a country where patriotism is measured by how loudly we condemn fellow Malaysians.

Merdeka should mean freedom from fear, freedom to worship, freedom to speak responsibly, freedom to celebrate our own culture while respecting everyone else’s.

It’s freedom for a Malay Malaysian to be proudly Malay without believing that being Malaysian is somehow less important.

It’s freedom for a Chinese, Indian, Kadazan, Iban, Dayak or Orang Asli Malaysian to be equally proud of his or her heritage while being completely Malaysian.

And it’s the freedom for every Malaysian to disagree with a politician without being labelled disloyal to the country, race or faith.

Then, there is the Rukun Negara which was proclaimed on Aug 31, 1970. It is a reminder of what happens when national unity is allowed to fracture.

Its principles include loyalty to King and country, supremacy of the Constitution, the rule of law and courtesy and morality, while its stated aspirations include achieving closer unity among the people and preserving a democratic way of life.

Our founding generation did not have social media. They did not have algorithms pushing outrage into our phones every few minutes.

They did not have anonymous accounts turning every disagreement into a racial or religious confrontation. But they understood something we seem to be forgetting: a divided society is much easier to manipulate than a united one.

Political toxicity does not appear overnight. It grows every time we tolerate another racist remark because it comes from someone on our side.

It grows every time we excuse religious provocation because it benefits our political camp.

It grows when politicians turn ordinary differences into existential threats.

And it grows when decent Malaysians remain silent because they are tired of the arguments.

This is why National Day should be more than a celebration. It should be a moment of national reflection.

If our founding fathers could speak to us today, perhaps their message would be simple: You inherited a country together. Do not allow political toxicity to make you forget that.

The Jalur Gemilang belongs to all of us regardless of our race or religion, as His Royal Highness Sultan Sharafuddin Idris Shah rightly said.

Tabung Haji: A story of mismanagement

For generations of Malaysian Muslims, Tabung Haji has been more than a financial institution. It is a trusted place to save for one of the most important journeys in their life – the pilgrimage to Mecca. — AZLINA ABDULLAH/The Star

NOT all Malaysians will understand the scale of the Tabung Haji scandal as it does not hit their pockets directly.

However, this disturbing scandal is a story of mismanagement and apparent abuses, a failure of fiduciary duties, poor investments, weak governance and more.

It would not be wrong to suggest that even many members of Parliament who read the report would not understand it fully.

The reality, unfortunately, is that the cost of the alleged financial mismanagement of Tabung Haji has to be borne by all Malaysians as a whole – not just Muslims.

The government reportedly executed a financial rescue package exceeding RM10bil for Tabung Haji to restore its financial standing following several controversial issues.

The findings from the recent Royal Commission of Inquiry (RCI) highlighted several malfeasances – intentional and unlawful acts of wrongdoing – from 2014 to 2017, prompting the ongoing anti-corruption investigations and plans to amend the Tabung Haji Act.

To put it simply, a government bail-out had to be carried out to address impaired assets – the drop in the value of a business asset below its recorded book value – and structural deficits.

A structural deficit is a budget shortfall when ongoing spending is higher than regular income.

If the rescue had not been done, Tabung Haji would likely have been forced to adopt a mass sell-off of fund assets, which would have had severe implications.

The key RCI findings exposed alleged severe governance failures, dubious hotel leases abroad, and misleading investment strategies under the previous management.

For generations of Malaysian Muslims, Tabung Haji has been more than a financial institution. It was a trusted place to save for one of the most important journeys in their life: the pilgrimage to Mecca.

This makes the controversies surrounding Tabung Haji more painful and a huge letdown.

The most disturbing part is that the money involved was the savings of ordinary Malaysian Muslims who put aside their hard-earned money, ringgit by ringgit, believing that their savings would be managed responsibly.

Tabung Haji was created on Sept 30, 1973, as the Malayan Muslim Pilgrims Savings Corpo-ration. Founded by the late economist Royal Prof Ungku Abdul Aziz, it was created with the noble purpose of helping Malaysian Muslims to save money for the haj.

It gave Muslims a safe and syariah-compliant way to save for the haj. It also helped make the pilgrimage possible for gene-rations who might otherwise have struggled to afford it.

But an institution built on trust can be badly damaged when those entrusted with managing it forget who the money belongs to.

The lessons from the Tabung Haji saga are therefore much bigger than just accounts and balance sheets.

They are about governance, accountability, and above all, they are about what happens when political influence, poor management, and questionable decisions are allowed to weaken an institution meant to serve the people.

The horror is not simply that money can be lost. Money can be recovered, institutions can be restructured, policies can be changed – but trust is much harder to rebuild.

Ordinary depositors who now read about questionable investments, inflated valuations, transactions involving connected parties, or decisions that appear to benefit others, must ask one simple question: Who was looking after our money?

That question deserves a straight answer. Not political statements meant to divert from the main issue. Not another spin on race and religion to get out of a tight spot.

Tabung Haji cannot be treated as a political cash cow or a convenient source of influence.

Its board and management must be chosen for competence, integrity, and independence. There must be proper checks and balances, professional investment decisions, and transparent reporting.

When will we ever learn that politicians – many of whom do not even have corporate and financial competence – have no business running a savings corporation involving billions of ringgit?

A look at the board of directors of the past management will reveal that some of its members were picked based merely on their political party standing.

There is also a wider lesson here for Malaysia.

We have too often allowed institutions to become vulnerable because we assume that those in charge will always do the right thing.

That is not good enough and certainly not true. Good governance requires building systems that prevent abuse, detect wrongdoing early, and ensure that no one is too powerful to be questioned.

Tabung Haji’s experience should therefore be remembered not merely as another financial scandal or political controversy. It should be remembered as a warning.

When an institution holds the life savings of ordinary people, there can be no room for complacency, cronyism, or political interference.

The depositors of Tabung Haji deserve nothing less than the highest standards of stewardship.

The money of Malaysian Muslim depositors was entrusted to Tabung Haji. So was their trust, and that trust should never again be treated so callously.

Let’s not forget that the money of other Malaysians, regardless of race and faith, had to be used to bail out Tabung Haji.

We have politicians who claim that the word “sakau”, which means to steal, to rob, to pilfer or to embezzle, was never used in the RCI report. Of course not.

Sakau is Malay slang or street language for stealing or embezzling, but in another connotation, is also used for drug craving and addiction.

Certainly, we do not expect the esteemed members of the RCI to use that word in their report.

Ahead of National Day, the actions of the culprits can best be described as a most traitorous act to the country and Malaysians.

When legal betting loses, illegal betting wins

MALAYSIA has a curious contradiction when it comes to gambling. On the one hand, the government licenses and regulates legal number forecast operators (NFOs) such as Sports Toto Bhd and Magnum Bhd.

These companies operate within a legal framework, pay huge taxes and duties, employ thousands of people, support community works including sports development and are subject to regulatory controls.

NFOs like Sports Toto, Magnum and Da Ma Cai are heavily taxed as they pay multiple layers of taxes and duties on every single ticket sold.

On the other hand, illegal betting – particularly online betting – has grown into a huge shadow economy, operating largely outside the tax system and beyond the safeguards imposed on licensed operators.

It has been reported that the government loses about RM5bil annually in tax revenue to illegal gambling syndicates and bookies.

Because illegal operators do not pay a single sen in gaming taxes or corporate duties, these syndicates drain massive resources from the national economy.

Another report has it that illegal 4D betting and gambling syndicates generate at least RM18bil in revenue annually.

That’s twice the revenue of Malaysia’s tax-paying NFOs while The Star reported in 2023 that illegal bookies run more than 50 websites and smartphone apps, allowing them to bypass physical law enforcement and operate 24/7.

The irony is that Sports Toto is not allowed to take bets online with punters having to physically buy these tickets at the outlets.

Then, these illegals give higher payouts because they don’t pay taxes, and provide credit extensions to punters which encourages continuous gambling.

On Aug 12, the Federal Court unanimously dismissed the Kedah state government’s final appeal to reinstate a ban on lottery and gaming outlets.

In short, the apex court ruled that the state government has no right to ban these gaming outlets, as the licences were issued by the Finance Ministry and not the state.

The Kedah state government, however, issues business permits for the outlet premises, but any attempts or delays to allow these outlets to commence business can be regarded as contempt of court.

The question we should be asking is simple: Are some policies intended to eliminate legal gambling actually helping illegal gambling to flourish?

This is particularly relevant in states controlled by PAS, where state governments have sought to stop the operation of licensed gaming outlets.

Kedah is the clearest example. The state government stopped renewing business premises licences for licensed NFOs, effectively forcing their outlets to close.

In 2023, all such premises in the state ceased operating. Perlis also saw the closure of legal outlets.

Sports Toto itself warned that the closure of legal outlets in Kedah and Perlis could result in the proliferation of illegal operators in underserved areas.

Magnum has made a similar argument, warning that illegal operators undermine legitimate companies while depriving the government of significant tax revenue.

This is not an argument in favour of gambling. It is an argument about whether prohibition actually achieves its intended purpose. It is plain common sense.

People who want to gamble do not necessarily stop gambling simply because a legal outlet disappears.

They may simply move elsewhere – increasingly to their mobile phones.

The illegal operator, unlike the licensed operator, does not have to pay gaming duties, comply with the same regulatory requirements, maintain physical premises or operate under the scrutiny imposed on legitimate companies.

It can offer betting around the clock, advertise through social media and messaging platforms, provide credit and move from one website or platform to another when enforcement agencies catch up.

The Prime Minister has acknowledged the scale of the challenge. In Parliament this year, Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim said illegal gambling was difficult to curb partly because online operators are often based overseas and can quickly start and shut down operations.

He also said enforcement actions had resulted in seizures worth billions of ringgit, according to a Bernama report.

The scale of enforcement illustrates the problem. In July, police said 554 people were arrested in 422 raids during a nationwide crackdown on illegal betting linked to the 2026 World Cup, with betting credits totalling RM3.24mil detected, Bernama reported.

And these are only the operations the authorities managed to detect.

There is another important issue: the difference between a legal and illegal operator is not merely a matter of a licence. It is a matter of who benefits from the money.

When someone buys a ticket from a licensed operator, the activity is visible and taxable.

When the same person places a bet with an illegal operator, the money disappears into the underground economy.

Magnum says its business contributes to the economy through taxes, gaming industry duties, employment and its nationwide network.

Its latest annual report says the group generated RM2.30bil in revenue in financial year 2025 and supported no fewer than 2,600 jobs across its agency network and offices.

There is a distinction between saying gambling should be tightly controlled and pretending that shutting down legal outlets will make gambling disappear.

It won’t. In fact, it may produce the opposite outcome.

The legal industry is already carrying a considerable tax burden. Research cited by The Star noted that the increase in service tax placed additional pressure on NFOs, which were already subject to gaming taxes and duties.

This is why the Kedah case is more than a dispute about gambling outlets. It is also about the division of powers between the federal and state governments.

The Court of Appeal ruled in May that the Kedah government’s blanket refusal to renew premises licences had the practical effect of prohibiting federally licensed betting operations.

The majority held that betting and lotteries fall within federal jurisdiction, while the state’s premises-licensing powers cannot be used to frustrate that federal framework.

But beyond the constitutional argument lies a practical question for policymakers: What happens to the punter after the legal outlet closes? Does he suddenly stop betting, or does he simply find an illegal outlet?

If the latter happens, then the policy has not eliminated gambling. It has merely shifted gambling from a regulated environment into an unregulated one. That is the uncomfortable reality policymakers need to confront.

The answer cannot simply be to allow gambling everywhere.

There must be strict controls on where licensed outlets operate, who can participate, advertising, age restrictions and responsible gaming.

But shutting legal operators out of entire states while illegal online operators remain only a few taps away on a smartphone is hardly a sustainable strategy.

If someone is determined to gamble, the government cannot realistically pretend that the desire does not exist.

Its responsibility is to minimise harm, enforce the law and prevent criminal networks from profiting from the activity.

That means going after illegal operators, blocking their payment channels, disrupting their websites, prosecuting their organisers and educating the public.

It also means looking honestly at whether excessive restrictions on legal operators are unintentionally handing customers to criminals.

PAS-led states may have a legitimate moral and religious objection to gambling. That is their political position, and they are entitled to defend it, but policymaking must also deal with consequences.

If legal outlets disappear while illegal betting expands, the winners are not the state governments, the taxpayers or society.

The winners are the illegal bookmakers.

Malaysia, therefore, needs a more realistic approach: regulate what is legal, aggressively prosecute what is illegal, and do not confuse the closure of a legal shop with the disappearance of gambling.

This is because when the legal betting operator is forced out, the illegal operator does not necessarily disappear. He simply happily takes his business online.

An effective and realistic approach is to consider allowing legal lottery operators to migrate to online channels to better control customers through vigorous electronic Know Your Customer or eKYC verifying the identity of its customers.