Photo Credit: Pearl Lee
By Dr Rahim Said
The attack on Haresh Deol, the Deputy President of the National Press Club (NPC), should disturb every Malaysian who still believes this country is a democracy and not merely performing democracy as a theatre.
His assault by unidentified individuals in broad daylight is more than just a criminal incident; it is a symptom of a society sliding into a new and dangerous normal where criticism is met not with debate, rebuttal or dialogue, but with fists.
Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad, with the clarity that often comes from political retirement, described the incident as “a sign of deteriorating societal norms and national governance,” warning that we are witnessing a new reality in which individuals who voice critical views risk violent retaliation.
That should send a chill down our collective spine, for when a former prime minister has to remind a nation that violence against critics is not supposed to be normal, something has already gone very wrong.
The circumstances surrounding the assault only deepen the unease. Haresh was reportedly walking to his car after lunch when two men approached him. One attacked him while the other calmly recorded the beating on his phone, as though this was some kind of performance art or a message meant for someone else — perhaps a warning, perhaps a lesson, perhaps both.
The details matter less than the symbolism: a journalist who has been vocal about issues in sports governance ends up in a hospital bed. What conclusion are we expected to draw?
Some will insist we should not jump to conclusions, that the motive might be “personal,” and that we ought to let the police investigate.
Fine. Let them. But Malaysians are not naïve. When critics and commentators across various fields—from writers to activists to journalists—start becoming targets of harassment and violence, patterns emerge.
Of course, these patterns tell a bigger story about a country that claims to celebrate democracy but punishes those who practise it.
The truth is simple: a democracy that cannot tolerate criticism is not a democracy in any meaningful sense. It becomes a stage play, a decorative façade, an empty shell of slogans and ceremonial statements about “freedom” and “rights” while the real machinery of power grows increasingly intolerant, insecure and fragile.
What kind of nation allows critics to be beaten on the street while leaders offer bland remarks about “law and order” and move on as if nothing happened? What kind of society looks away when journalists are threatened for doing their jobs?
Malaysia, it seems, is inching toward that dangerous territory where fear replaces discourse and silence replaces participation.
Today it is Haresh Deol; yesterday it was Faisal Halim; tomorrow it could be someone else who merely dared to say what others were too afraid to voice.
When violence becomes the price of criticism, self-censorship becomes a national survival strategy. And when that happens, corruption thrives, institutions rot, and truth becomes whatever the powerful say it is.
This country once prided itself on a lively, sometimes rowdy, always colourful public sphere. We argued. We debated. We disagreed. But we understood that democracy requires an unspoken pact: that no matter how spirited the criticism, we resolve disagreements through words, not intimidation. That pact is now being tested, if not outright broken.
Where is the outrage? Where is the collective sense that this is unacceptable? Where are the leaders who claim to champion press freedom, transparency and reform? The silence is as instructive as the violence itself.
When leaders are slow to defend critics, it is because they, too, benefit from the fear that violence generates. Nothing keeps critics quieter than the possibility of being followed to their cars by strangers with a camera and a clenched fist.
If Malaysia wishes to remain a democracy rather than merely call itself one, it must confront this growing hostility towards dissent. There must be a credible investigation, accountability and a clear message from the top that violence against critics is not merely unfortunate but fundamentally incompatible with a free society. Without that, the message sent is the opposite: speak up, and you may pay for it in blood.
For now, the bruises on Haresh Deol’s body are a metaphor for the bruises on Malaysian democracy. We are becoming a nation where saying the wrong thing can get you into trouble, where raising uncomfortable questions carries personal risk, and where the powerful need not defend themselves with facts when someone else can do it with fists.
A democracy that assaults its critics is no democracy at all. And unless we push back, unless we insist that civil disagreement be protected, we may wake up one day to discover that the Malaysia we thought we lived in has quietly turned into something far more frightening — an intolerant, brittle state where silence is safety and truth is optional.
The views expressed here are entirely those of the author
WE