Opinion

SOMETHING is brewing in the House of Madani and what little has wafted out smells rotten. 

To critics, it is stating the obvious. In fact, some argue that it is an understatement because the stench is overwhelming. 

 A sniff of the odour came almost immediately after the DAP was wiped out in the recent Sabah polls and that sparked a mutiny of sorts, directed at Prime Minister (PM) Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim, who is chairman of Pakatan Harapan (PH), of which the DAP is a member. 

Just over a week after the devastating defeat, the DAP brought an ultimatum to Anwar’s table, stating that if the PM failed to deliver meaningful reforms within the next six months, the DAP would reassess its role in the government, party secretary general Anthony Loke was quoted as saying. 

But the ultimatum had no threat of consequence as Loke, reportedly, was quick to add that the DAP would not let the government fall until the next general election (GE). 

He was further quoted as saying that if the DAP withdrew all of its 40 seats, the government would collapse. 

If Loke made the statement to reassure the PM that the DAP would stand by him, it is widely read as a veiled threat, of which the DAP is reminding that it has the largest number of seats compared with the other partners and that if it chooses to withdraw, the government would collapse. 

But there are other things at play which added to the stench. 

Firstly, the fact that the DAP gave Anwar six months for meaningful reforms. That is already a red flag. 

In a backhanded way, the DAP has now affirmed widespread criticisms that in the three years as PM, Anwar had failed to deliver anything meaningful, reforms et al. 

Obviously, this amplified opinions that the DAP felt the blame for part, if not all, of its wretched performance in the Sabah polls was because of Anwar. 

Though in not as many words, at least not publicly, the fact that the DAP demanded Anwar to make meaningful reforms in the next six months just after the Sabah debacle, is as good as them blaming it on Anwar. 

Secondly, what raises much speculation was what reforms did the DAP expect of Anwar, except for the recognition of the United Examination Certificate (UEC). 

The DAP may not realise it, but raising the UEC recognition only revived views of its chauvinism and racial interests. 

Lest the DAP had buried its head in the sand, public disaffection towards Anwar and the government, which included the DAP, was over issues of corruption and selective persecution or the use of the anti-corruption agency against political opponents. 

Apart from that, instead of reforming draconian laws such as the Sedition Act as promised, the government had been using it against their political opponents. 

Unfulfilled promise of the election manifesto is a sore point. Not less sore are issues of nepotism, of which Anwar’s daughter Nurul Izzah is of essence, while some parts of the DAP too had been accused of similar indulgence. 

While the DAP may not be outrightly implicated in the ascension of those they accused of corruption prior to the formation of the government, it is guilty by association. 

The list goes on and on, and if there are any reforms expected of the DAP and the government, it would be of the deeds they have committed since they took the helm. 

As such, it is not surprising that when the DAP raised the spectre of the UEC while demanding Anwar deliver meaningful reforms, accusations that it had rolled back to its “comfort” zone of chauvinism caught public imagination. 

To make matters interesting is the reaction from Anwar, who not only said out loud that he opposed DAP’s demand to recognise the UEC, but his justification further boxed the DAP as a chauvinist entity. 

In Anwar’s own words, he said the demand (for the UEC’s recognition) is only to serve the interest of one race (the Chinese) and one language (the Chinese language). 

He added that he opposed the demand and urged those making it to first defend the dignity of the national language. 

Anwar also flexed his muscles and said that he did not care who he was (that made the demand), which party and what influence he wielded. 

His reply would sit well with Umno, whose leaders had earlier urged the PM not to accede to the DAP’s demand. 

Anwar’s bravado in dealing with its most staunch ally can be interpreted as the DAP overestimating its control and influence on the PM and the longevity of the government. 

On the flip side, it can be interpreted that Anwar was sure that even without the DAP’s support, he had ample numbers to hold the government and that he was aware the DAP would not want to be in the opposition’s wilderness after tasting the cosiness of power. 

For Umno, it will get the bragging rights that its position in the government is not to be trivialised and that it could still oppose the DAP’s chauvinism and defend the primacy of the Malays. 

But for those who had been observing the yarns the government had told since its formation, the tale now being told is not as simple as the DAP being put in its place, Anwar growing a spine or Umno rediscovering its raison d’etre. 

Truth be told, they came together for the sake of power and not for a cause, hence the ability to stomach each other’s polarity. It may well be a charade, well-choreographed, the smelling-like-roses kind. 

Yet, something must have hit the fan.

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Our economic future is being held hostage by 2 giants who treat trade like a loyalty test 

WE HAVE just become a geographically inconvenient speed bump — a sticky, tropical parking space for two global superpowers who’ve forgotten how to share. 

We didn’t ask to be the strategic fulcrum of the new Cold War. We just wanted to sell some rubber and microchips. But here we are, caught in a vice between the US and China, performing a frantic balancing act. The immediate problem? We signed a trade agreement with Washington — the US-Malaysia Agreement on Reciprocal Trade (ART). This wasn’t a choice; it was the diplomatic equivalent of having a big bully stand over you until you sign the paperwork. 

Beijing, unsurprisingly, saw it as a declaration of eternal hostility and is now asking Malaysia to draft a new document, the infamous Memorandum of Understanding (MOU), just to prove we still love them. 

Oh to be yesterday when we only worried about traffic jams and the price of RON95. Now, our economic future is being held hostage by two giants who treat trade like a loyalty test. 

The scene is Kuala Lumpur, but the drama is unfolding in Washington and Beijing, with us as the uncomfortable arena. 

“Reciprocal Trade” sounds lovely, but read the fine print — or, as the Americans call it, the “sensitive national security” clause — and you realise it’s not a trade deal. 

It’s a commitment to help Washington inconvenience our neighbour to the north. 

There’s nothing reciprocal about it.

They tell us to cold-shoulder China in the spirit of “mutual” interests, but we can’t tell them to stop arming Israel. How’s that for reci- procity, not to mention losing sovereignty. 

ART is a contract to choose America’s side in a fight we don’t profit from. 

China’s reaction to the ART was predictable and immediate. Last week, they expressed “grave concerns,” which is Mandarin for “We are already calculating the economic pain we will inflict, so please stop.” 

We’re caught in a geopolitical trap (and a constitutional one by the way — Can the prime minister (PM) even sign ART without Parliament or the King’s consent?) but Beijing, ever helpful, offered a “solution.” 

Since we’ve formalised a bilateral trade deal with America, China proposed a new MOU to cover “strategic sectors.” A polite but firm way of saying: Sign something to prove the US deal was just a fun little misunderstanding. 

Our trade minister, whom we need to see more concerned about this steaming mess than he is appearing to be, is casting this retaliatory move as China making “a statement that they want to work closer with us.” This is pure bureaucratic comedy. We already have the RCEP, the ASEAN-China free trade agreement (FTA), and half a dozen other scrolls nobody reads. Yet here we are, forced to draw up another piece of paper. “Strategic sectors” is government code for: “Whatever you want, just stop looking at us like that.” The truth, which everyone knows but no one says aloud, is this: the US insists trade must be political. China insists trade must be, well, Chinese.

We just want to sell our chips and our dirt. Yes, the dirt. Let’s talk about rare earth 

elements (REEs) — the shiny pebbles needed for everything from Teslas to smartphones. China wants them and America wants us to promise we won’t curb supply to US companies. It’s a tug-of-war over our soil, turning our land into global strategic leverage. 

We want to build our own REE processing industry. Khazanah Nasional Bhd is talking to Chinese firms about setting up a refinery here. But China won’t share the refining tech. They insist the facility operate as a “black box.” 

This isn’t a business deal. It’s a technological gag order. We provide the resources, the labour and the pollution — and in return, we get to stand outside the velvet rope while they do stuff to make the dirt valuable. 

Meanwhile, the madness is spreading. Look at Indonesia, now being told by America to sink its own economy. “Don’t use Chinese carriers,” Washington demands. The cost? A 30% hike in shipping. That’s not trade policy — that’s fiscal self-mutilation. A luxury tax on common sense. An economic fine for having the wrong geopolitical friends. 

It underscores the breakdown of the entire system. Washington uses tariffs and sanctions to force bad business decisions. Beijing uses its economic weight to punish us for making them. We are the buffer zone — and it’s expensive, exhausting and thankless work. 

We just want market access. To sell things at a reasonable price. To buy things at a reasonable price. Maybe even have our politicians focus on fixing potholes instead of juggling loyalty oaths. 

Instead, every time a new document is signed, we run home, call our other “friend”, and assure them that we didn’t mean it. 

Good luck to Tengku Zafrul Tengku Abdul Aziz. But also, good luck to us. After giving away our leverage in ART, we now have to believe he can thread the needle and produce something that pleases both sides — in writing, legally binding and somehow not a diplomatic suicide note. 

After signing ART for the US and now scrambling to draft a retaliatory MOU for China, Malaysia has achieved a rare feat: A diplomatic catastrophe in stereo. We may end up more indebted, more restricted and more politically exposed than when we started. 

It’s the most expensive non-choice in history. 

ZB Othman is an editor of The Malaysian Reserve.

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• This article first appeared in The Malaysian Reserve weekly print edition

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ADVERSITY is part of life, organisations and leadership. At many points in our careers, we will face unexpected tests. Markets turn, teams struggle and strategies shift. 

Earlier this year, I faced adversity myself: A triple bypass surgery that stopped me in my tracks. It made me pause and rethink how I operate and how I lead. Those few months revealed the limits of what is truly within my control, the need for patience and the importance of grounding leadership in something deeper than activity, achievements and money. 

As I reflected on my own experience, I revisited the life of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), whom Muslims regard as a model of strength, wisdom and composure. His leadership through hardship offers guidance for leaders navigating complexity today. Whether in organisations, public institutions or communities, we are expected to remain steady while the world around us shifts. Prophet Muhammad’s example illuminates how to do this with dignity and clarity. 

I reread Chapter 12 of the book Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him): The Hallmark of Leadership by Dr Azman Hussin, Dr Rozhan Othman and Dr Tareq Al-Suwaidan, which provides vivid illustrations of how he approached some of the most challenging moments of his life. Four leadership principles stood out, alongside insights I gained during my recovery. 

Begin with Clear Recognition of Reality

A defining quality of the prophet’s leadership was his ability to recognise circumstances fully and calmly. During the years of social and economic boycott in Makkah, he assessed the situation with composure and continued his mission with steady resolve. His supplication at Taif also reflects remarkable awareness. The words recorded describe a leader who understood his limits and placed his trust in a higher purpose with sincerity. 

During my recovery, acknowledging the reality of my condition gave me the inner space to think clearly and move intentionally. Leaders today often rush into motion too quickly. A moment of clear recognition strengthens judgement, sharpens priorities and steadies the heart before decisions and actions begin. 

Remain Steady in Purpose 

The prophet stayed anchored to his mission through profoundly difficult chapters of his life. After the passing of Khadijah (may Allah be pleased with her) and Abu Talib, pressures increased, yet he continued teaching and preparing his companions for the future. At the Battle of Badr, he demonstrated purposeful leadership through careful planning, intelligence gathering, consultation and disciplined preparation. 

In leadership, purpose serves the same role. It gives coherence to decisions and stability to teams. My own recovery brought my purpose into sharper focus. I realised I wanted to return to work with deeper intention and a stronger commitment to service. 

When leaders remain steady in purpose, organisations benefit from clarity and alignment. 

View Hardship Through a Lens of Meaning

The book highlights the prophet’s inner grounding and emotional resilience. His supplications conveyed sincerity and humility, which helped him carry hardship with balance. Meaning shaped his perspective and uplifted those around him. 

In modern leadership, meaning plays a similar function. Many teams navigate long hours, rapid change and demanding expectations. Fatigue often arises from losing touch with what the work represents. During my months away from work, reconnecting to meaning helped me regain direction and rebuild confidence. Leaders who create this sense of meaning for themselves and their teams foster resilience and clarity. 

Turn Difficulty Into a Pathway for Renewal

Chapter 12 also highlights how Prophet Muhammad transformed pressurised situations into opportunities for growth and strategic advancement. 

His preparation for battles — from gathering intelligence to analysing terrain and anticipating scenarios — shows a leader who learned continuously and strengthened the community with each experience. 

The Treaty of Hudaybiyyah marked another turning point, opening new pathways for stability and progress based on patience, consultation and clear assessment. 

My own adversity led to what I call the HEART Framework — a way of reflecting on health, emotional readiness, meaning, rhythm and time. Renewal emerged gradually, as recovery forced me to rethink how I wanted to live and work. Leaders who treat difficulty as a moment for renewal generate clearer priorities, renewed energy and greater humility. 

Leading with Presence 

Adversity clarifies the inner landscape of a leader. It reveals what steadies us, what guides us and what strengthens us. The Prophet (peace be upon him) showed that leadership in hardship rests on presence: The ability to see clearly, remain anchored to purpose, draw meaning from difficulty and move forward with renewed direction. 

My own experience taught me that hard- ship can reshape leadership in meaningful ways. When leaders respond with reflection and sincerity, challenges become opportunities to grow in wisdom and impact. As uncertainty becomes a defining feature of our world, these timeless principles offer a steady path for leaders seeking to navigate difficulty with strength, humility and clarity. 

• Hasannudin Saidin, CEO Coach, Rubah Associates and can be reached at [email protected] 

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• This article first appeared in The Malaysian Reserve weekly print edition

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EVs other than QE-V let customers own their batteries, keep driving despite default and maintain full control of their vehicles 

IT MAY be a bit embarrassing to admit now that one’s family is hopelessly infatuated with Perusahaan Otomobil Kedua Sdn Bhd (Perodua aka P2) cars. In a span of slightly over two decades, we — the parents and five legally road-licensed children — have had nine Peroduas serving us. 

Starting with the tiny three-cylinder 0.659 litre mousedeer Kancil 660EX, all the way to the one-litre-turbo Ativa, we can adamantly say that we fell in love with Perodua’s engineering reliability, practicality and economical sense. 

Three are still in loyal service till today, but the rest have been traded up, mostly due to dimensional necessities. As spacious as they are to seat three or four of a certain size, the Axias, MyVis and Ativas were never meant to be the final-end solution for an ever-expand- ing family. 

The only “what if” regret the family have would probably be the collective decision to pass over an Alza for the more sophisticated Ativa. 

Each car has its own memorable moments. 

Talk about the Kelisa the tone would be slanting towards pure driving dynamics. Zip zapping daily in the one litre five-speed manual stick pocket rocket through the notorious old Semenyih-Bangi trunk road would still evoke memories of driving enjoyment 22 years on. 

Recalling the first MyVi would recreate the chuckle of having to drive one’s former boss through the bumpy highway of Cyberjaya, while he was struggling to compose an email-essay over Blackberry. 

One would also vividly remember the pleasant surprise of steering the Ativa up the mountainous road of Cameron Highland for a weekend getaway. It was much better — agile, nimble and sizeably more suitable for the weekend jam and narrow highlands roads — compared to our family car. 

And the service level at Perodua service centres, as well as their sales personnel, were nothing short of superb. 

The first salesperson we acquainted with in Kajang remained a friend. He would now call the kids on service intervals and ornamental accessories. 

The latest one in Shah Alam stays on a regular phone call basis. The fact that he is also an insurance agent helps, but the friendly and accommodative culture that almost all Perodua personnel carry gave him a distinct advantage. 

All these elements around P2 created a sense of loyalty, giving the impression that Perodua, as a corporate citizen, genuinely cares and would always put its customers first, and by virtue of its founding statement, rakyat, over everything else. Always offering the best for us commonfolk. Always rooting for the underdogs. 

And the rakyat rightfully and handsomely repaid P2 many times over. 

Perodua has been leading the passenger vehicle segment of the Malaysian market consecutively since the introduction of the ubiquitous MyVi in 2006. Continuously on top of the throne in the past 20 years. 

But then, came the much-awaited “first ever 100% Malaysian electric vehicle (EV)” — the Perodua QV-E. 

Unveiled by the prime minister (PM) himself, the QV-E, on paper and in real-life, seems to be yet another blockbuster for Perodua: Faster, more stylish, bigger than “direct” competitors and flushed with sophisticated techs. 

Its origin story, however, is a bit uncharacteristic for the firm best known for “Building Cars, Customer First”. It obviously was not built “by demand”, but “demanded by” instead. 

The government publicly announced the first national EV aspiration in August 2023 and tasked Perodua to deliver in 2025. By hook or by crook. Thus, the hasty unveiling barely a week ago, merely a sniff away from 2026. 

The reason previous P2s were reliable, practical and economically sound was primarily because they shared platforms with principals Daihatsu Motor Co Ltd and Toyota Motor Corp for model developments. They were cheaper and the models were sturdier with aggregated and robust testing over time. 

QV-E, however, does not have the same privilege. P2 had to start from scratch with no help from Japan. The RM800 million research and 266,000 man-hours development bills had to be borne by Perodua itself. 

The result is obvious. QV-E, priced at RM80,000, is the most expensive Perodua ever, erasing its economical edge. Its overtly stylish design — sloping roofline sacrificing passenger space, aggressive stance and moderated ground clearance despite SUV-like appearance — took away the practicality elements from the latest P2. 

What made it worse is that its RM80,000 body price excludes the battery, which had to be rented as the most expensive part of the vehicle. QV-E owners would have to fork an additional RM297 monthly for the battery. 

Perodua claims it made more sense for the firm to lease away the battery and undertake its depreciation and damage risk. Customer screams robbery. Monthly battery cost of RM297 over eight years comes to RM28,512. The sum of all cost, RM108,500. And in the end of the lease, they won’t even own the battery they’ve painstakingly paid for. Additionally, the car will stop functioning if you default on your payment. 

On the other hand, other rival EVs’ prices have already factored in the battery, and sovereign ownership without battery lock-out anxiety. 

Comments flooding online forums stated the obvious: It was as if Perodua had actually developed the QV-E exclusively for those in the top 20% income group (T20) and outliers in the middle 40% income group (M40) brackets. As if Perodua has decided to ditch economic practicality in pursuit of lifestyle. 

Some netizens laid the points that made QV-E ownership looks suffocating versus other EVs, where most gave customers the freedom to own their battery as part of the car, to continuously drive despite battery degradation or payment default, without threat of remote disabling, and most importantly, with full ownership and control. 

One particular discerning citizen bluntly put it as “…not a true EV purchase. It is a car body attached to a mandatory subscription system”. 

That certainly made one wonder — whether 20 years on the top of the perch has finally made P2 curious of the view from below. And maybe now, it is truly the time for the family to grow out of our obsession. 

• Asuki Abas is the editor of The Malaysian Reserve. 

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• This article first appeared in The Malaysian Reserve weekly print edition

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WHAT are the lessons for DAP after the comprehensive defeat in Sabah? The party is still nursing its bruises from the state elections, a night where all eight seats it contested slipped through its fingers. A wipeout, plain and simple. 

So, let’s rewind the tape. DAP has seen bad nights before. Very bad nights. 

“Despite the catastrophic defeat suffered by the DAP in the Nov 29 election…” 

So began Tan Sri Lim Kit Siang’s post-mortem in December 1999. The statement was issued 26 years ago to the date. 

He went on: “…the DAP decision to work with PAS in the Barisan Alternatif was the correct, proper, honourable and noble one, taking high calculated political risks where the DAP might lose big in the hope of seizing the golden political opportunity of breaking the Barisan Nasional (BN) political hegemony and two-third majority.” 

Those were the words of a man who had just been thrashed at the polls. DAP managed only 10 seats, a marginal improvement over general election 1995 (GE1995) but nowhere near the 24 seats in 1986. It was the election where Kit Siang and fellow DAP lion Karpal Singh both fell, victims of a political experiment that paired DAP with PAS, KeADILan and Parti Rakyat Malaysia (PRM) in the Barisan Alternatif. 

Kit Siang had described the coalition’s gamble as one that could lead to “unprecedented victor y or unprecedented defeat”. The party got the latter. Hardcore supporters were uneasy with PAS in the same tent; voters agreed. Of course, how voters came to that decision is another story altogether. 

Important to remember that back then, the Opposition was not dreaming of forming the federal government. The most ambitious target was to deny BN its sacred two-thirds majority. DAP’s mission, as Kit Siang framed it, was to challenge the racial and religious divide-and-rule architecture and push Malaysia toward a new politics rooted in the 

Barisan Alternatif manifesto, “Towards a Just Malaysia”. 

But that was the DAP of the old: Pre-power, pre-Penang, pre-Putrajaya. 

Fast forward. In 2008, Penang fell to Pakatan Rakyat (PR). His son Lim Guan Eng became chief minister. For the first time, DAP leaders tasted the privilege and burden of governance. In 2018, the unthinkable happened. Pakatan Harapan (PH) won the 14th general election (GE14). DAP joined the federal Cabinet. Guan Eng became finance minister. The party crossed into a new era. 

Now, after Sabah’s drubbing, the same question resurfaces: What next? 

Hours after the results, Anthony Loke issued the obligatory balm: “We will take heed of this result and conduct a thorough review of our shortcomings, as well as work towards regaining the support of the rakyat in the upcoming elections.” 

All fair. All expected. But the deeper questions linger. Should DAP stay the course in the Madani Government? Should it consider striking out alone in the next GE? Does it even have the appetite to think radically anymore? 

History offers a clue. After the 1999 beating, DAP rebuilt. Then came the trajectory: Twelve seats in 2004, 28 in 2008, 38 in 2013, 42 in 2018 and 40 in 2022. 

But no party wins tomorrow’s elections with yesterday’s instincts. DAP’s old fuel, which once included anti-corruption zeal, institutional reform, judicial independence and media freedom, has thinned under the weight of incumbency. Reform under the Madani Government has been slow and often half-hearted. Allegations of corruption, some uncomfortably close to the centres of power, have further eroded the moral high ground the coalition hoped to maintain.

DAP cannot pretend to be a mere passenger. Being part of the government means sharing the cost. 

In 1999, Kit Siang made a bold play. He shifted to Bukit Bendera, Penang, taking a personal risk to break new ground for the party. He wrote then: “As DAP secretary general, I was prepared to personally take such high calculated political risks myself in the hope that it could help in providing the national momentum to achieve a political breakthrough…” 

He lost. The lesson, however, was not in the defeat but in the willingness to risk. 

Today, the question is sharper. Does DAP still have leaders prepared to become “peneroka”, pioneers in uncertain territory? Or will it cling to the safety of familiar seats and the familiar game plan? 

Back then, the DAP leaders did not stand to lose much. There were no federal and state ministerships, no chauffeured cars and no battalions of publicly funded staff. Today, the DAP leaders have tasted power, and the sweet nectar that flows from the office. Power brings comfort. Comfort brings hesitation. 

When they first joined the federal government under Prime Minister (PM) Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad, some DAP leaders were said to be too vocal. In this second stint, they’ve gone almost mute, hardly making their voices heard. 

Is that going to continue? Are the DAP leaders willing to risk it all again? 

• Habhajan Singh is the corporate editor of The Malaysian Reserve. 

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• This article first appeared in The Malaysian Reserve weekly print edition

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