By Dr Rahim Said
Malaysia is apparently fragile. So fragile you’d think it needs bubble wrap before someone posts on Facebook. That, at least, is the message behind Prof James Chin’s gloomy Merdeka eve assessment.
According to him, Malaya turns 69 not with flags and fireworks, but fractured more than at any point since 1957. Quite a claim.
One wonders if Prof Chin has spent enough time in Kuala Lumpur. Because if he had, he might notice something inconvenient: Malaysians are not nearly as fragile as their politicians.
Walk around the city, and you’ll see Malays, Chinese, Indians, Ibans, Kadazans and others sharing kopitiam tables, swapping food, griping about traffic, cursing electricity bills, celebrating festivals, marrying across lines — and, most importantly, laughing together.
What they increasingly laugh at are the politicians.
Here’s the real misunderstanding: we confuse political theatre with social reality. A politician says something outrageous. Another one tops it. A religious leader warns. A party leader declares the nation under threat. Social media explodes. Commentators turn apocalyptic. And Malaysians, over nasi lemak, ask: “Betul ke ni?” Then they get on with their lives.
Maybe Malaysia isn’t collapsing — maybe it’s just getting better at spotting sandiwara.
Yet analysts keep seeing apocalypse in every ballot. Yes, race and religion are exploited. Outrage is rewarded. Selective enforcement erodes trust. Some politicians would torch the curtains for votes. These deserve scrutiny.
But that doesn’t mean Malaysia itself is fragile. Perhaps the more fragile institution is our political class’s ability to survive without manufacturing enemies.
Over the years, our population has been seasoned in political absurdity. Ironically, while Malaysia is declared “fragile,” Sabah and Sarawak remain calmer. Perhaps ordinary Malaysians are perfectly capable of coexistence. The real problem is politicians discovering that identity is easier than policy. A road complaint needs a transport plan. A racial grievance needs only a microphone.
The tragedy is not that Malaysians cannot live together. It’s that politicians know fear is cheap. No manifesto required. No economic plan. No explanation for rising costs or unaffordable housing. Just whisper that someone threatens your race or religion — and everyone is distracted.
So yes, Prof Chin is right about one thing: forces are consolidating, minorities are anxious, voices are irresponsible. But declaring Malaysia on the verge of fracture may itself fuel the anxiety. Sometimes the observer becomes part of the drama.
The better Merdeka question is not “How fragile is Malaysia?” but “Why are we so determined to believe it is?”
Because outside the political bubble, Malaysians are doing something radical: living. Buying breakfast. Sending kids to school. Running businesses. Attending weddings and funerals. Visiting each other during Hari Raya, Chinese New Year, Deepavali and Christmas. Falling in love. Arguing about football. Complaining about traffic. And when politicians stage their latest racial drama, Malaysians sit back with muruku and watch.
They’ve seen this movie before. Different actors, same script. Different costumes, same sandiwara.
Malaysia doesn’t need bubble wrap. It needs fewer politicians who think the public is too naïve to distinguish theatre from reality. And perhaps Prof Chin should spend less time in seminar rooms and more in kopitiams, mamaks and markets. He might discover the country is far less fragile than those trying to govern it.
After 69 years, Malaysians have learned the most important lesson: Politicians may fight. The rest of us still have lunch or dinner plans.
The views expressed here are entirely those of the author
WE