By Dr Rahim Said
By all rational standards, debris from outer space should fall randomly. Oceans, deserts, uninhabited places where no one is watching.
That, at least, is what science tells us. Which is why when a barnacle-encrusted object measuring 4.26 by 3.64 metres decided to wash up on the shores of Pekan in the final week of 2025, rationality took a short holiday.
Pekan, after all, is not just any town. It is royal, historical, floral in etymology, and politically… gravitational. It is the birthplace of Tun Abdul Razak, and the political home base of his son, Datuk Seri Najib Razak. It was also precisely last week that there was a court case involving Najib.
And then, almost on cue, something fell from the sky. Or washed up at Pekan’s shores.
Now, authorities were quick to assure us that the object is non-radioactive. Officers from the Atomic Energy Department examined it and declared it safe. Police cordoned it off, moved it to Nenasi Police Station, and placed it under guard, as if the debris might attempt an escape or, worse, give a press conference.
But Malaysians, being a curious and imaginative people, are not easily reassured. We have lived long enough to know that coincidences often require parliamentary inquiries.
Let us be clear: no one is suggesting causation. Absolutely not. This is merely a light-hearted exploration of the impossible, the ridiculous, and the strangely poetic.
Think Art Buchwald, not astrophysics.
Consider the timing. A conviction lands. A sentence crashes. And shortly thereafter, something else crashes — allegedly from outer space — onto Pekan’s shore. If this were fiction, editors would reject it for being too on-the-nose.
One cannot help but wonder whether the universe itself was attempting commentary.
Perhaps it was cosmic debris suffering from moral fatigue, drifting aimlessly until it found the one constituency in Malaysia most accustomed to heavy things falling unexpectedly. Perhaps it mistook Pekan for Cape Canaveral.
Or perhaps, after years of circling the Earth, it finally succumbed to Malaysia’s most powerful force of attraction: political gravity.
The object, we are told, shows signs of surface damage and peeling. So do many political narratives, once examined closely.
It is also said to weigh several hundred kilogrammes. Again, nothing unusual for Pekan, which has carried political weight far heavier than that for decades.
Some locals reportedly stood around staring at it. One imagines the unspoken questions: Is it foreign? Is it expensive? Is someone responsible? And most importantly, who will pay for storage?
The police, understandably cautious, placed lines around it. Malaysians love police lines. They signify importance. We respect nothing more than an object guarded by uniforms and tape. Once something is cordoned off, it immediately acquires status, mystery, and potential for conspiracy theories.
Already, the object has inspired more speculation than many official reports. Was it a satellite? A rocket fragment? A symbol? A divine metaphor with poor aim?
The Ministry of Science, Technology and Innovation has been notified, which suggests that even science is now involved in Pekan’s narrative arc.
This is progress. For years, Pekan has been associated with politics, power, and patronage. Now it can add astrophysics to its résumé.
Sceptics insist it is just debris, no different from the thousands of objects orbiting Earth. They are probably right. But sceptics have never been good columnists.
What makes this irresistible is not the debris itself, but the sheer symmetry of it all. When earthly accountability finally descends—after years of delay—something from the heavens arrives too, as if to say: Even we are watching.
Of course, by next week, the object will be catalogued, removed, and forgotten. Life will go on. Pekan will remain Pekan. Sentences will be appealed. Headlines will move on.
But for a brief moment, a small town by the sea reminded us that in Malaysia, even outer space seems unable to resist joining the conversation.
If nothing else, it proves one thing: when history happens in Pekan, the universe occasionally feels compelled to drop by — unannounced, unexplained, and under police guard.
The views expressed here are entirely those of the author
WE