Introduction

Alongside the manoeuvre to scrap direct regional elections, which would concentrate political power in the hands of a few, another emerging trend raises further anxiety over the state of democracy in Indonesia.

Among the inclusion of the amendment to the General Elections Law in Program Legislasi Nasional 2026 (the 2026 National Legislation Programme – Prolegnas) is a proposal for a “permanent coalition” among parties.

This concept was proposed by Golongan Karya (Golkar) during its National Leadership Meeting held late last year and quickly received the backing from Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN) and Partai Solidaritas Indonesia (PSI). Both based their support on the need for national stability, especially in the political domain.

The initial speculation was that this is Golkar’s answer to Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (PKB) Chairman Muhaimin Iskandar’s call for taubat nasuha (sincere repentance) among some cabinet ministers. His remark suggested an internal conflict within the ruling Koalisi Indonesia Maju Plus (KIM Plus).

With no visible resistance against the proposal, one question surfaces: what are the political costs of establishing such a permanent arrangement?

Consensus over Competition?

Since Reformasi, Indonesia has maintained a complex multiparty presidential system. The constitution ensures the executive body has a strong authority to carry out its functions. Nevertheless, this system, by design, creates a condition whereby the legislative body could remain fragmented owing to the number of political parties in the seats.

One party or another usually ends up retaining the highest number of seats, but no one has ever formed a single majority within Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat (DPR).

This, of course, creates a problem for any president of the day, as their agenda and programme might be stalled by the legislative gridlock should they fail to command good support in DPR.

Presidents are thus incentivised to construct a big coalition to ensure they can execute their function. However, this practice creates a political landscape defined by consensus rather than competition.

Coalitions are often formed before elections, but these are not rigid, as losing coalitions may see component parties joining the winning coalition. Case in point: President Prabowo Subianto’s Gerakan Indonesia Raya (Gerindra) was part of the ruling coalitions post-2014 and 2019 presidential elections.

Meanwhile, parties are also not “beholden” to the group, allowing them to oppose from within or even defect once ideological or strategic divisions arise. PAN was once labelled an “internal opposition” following its disapproval of then president Joko “Jokowi” Widodo’s issuance of a regulation on mass organisations.

Such a situation diminishes the difference between one party and another, while also creating an aspirational gap between voters’ desires and political manoeuvring in DPR. Perhaps this also constitutes the reason why there is a low public trust in Indonesia’s political parties.

The “permanent coalition” proposal aims to disable the conditions that allow parties to “jump around”, ensuring parties are bound by a firm, pre-electoral contract. It seeks to institutionalise a fixed structure encompassing both the executive and legislative branches.

But why propose this new arrangement now?

A Defensive Reflex

This move is a response to the recent Constitutional Court’s abolition of the presidential threshold that dictates only parties with 20% of total seats in DPR or 25% of valid national votes could field candidates for presidential elections.

The high threshold had been something of a comfort zone for parties, incentivising them to coalesce with each other but barring each from nominating its own presidential candidate. As a result, the number of contesting presidential candidates has been kept at a minimum (at two to three pairs) since 2009, the year when this threshold was first instituted.

The last time Indonesians had a wide selection of candidates was in the 2004 election, with five contesting pairs. Bu

Now, imagine what will happen after the threshold is abolished altogether. The entire status quo of inter-party cooperation and competition is shaken up, allowing any party to aim for the presidential office.

Against this backdrop, the permanent coalition proposal can now be read as the parties’ endeavour to maintain a semblance of this previous status quo. Such an arrangement neutralises the potential of member parties fielding their own candidates while consolidating political support around a specific figure. It also ensures that parties will stick to a power-sharing structure instead of competing for power accumulation.

Consequently, if all the parties agree to this permanent coalition arrangement, the abolition of the presidential threshold loses its meaning; candidacy chance remains restricted and controlled by elites.

Lessons from the ‘70s

Arguably, the creation of a permanent coalition carries some DNA similarities with the party fusion policy during the New Order. Often euphemised as a “simplification” of the party system, this policy forced 10 political parties to merge into three separate strands – Partai Persatuan Pembangunan (PPP) for the Islamic bloc, Partai Demokrasi Indonesia (PDI) for the nationalist bloc and Golkar, Soeharto’s own vehicle – to establish political stability.

A stability, indeed, followed, especially considering how turbulent the Liberal Democracy era (1950-1959) was. This period saw a highly turbulent cabinet setup (seven cabinet dissolutions in less than 10 years). Within 25 years, the post-fusion New Order only saw six cabinet turnovers as each completed its full term (five years, as opposed to the one or two years of cabinet lifetime during the Liberal Democracy era).

But what were the costs? The system effectively stunted 25 years of organic party growth, preventing them from accruing necessary political capital—in both social and financial domains. In essence, they were detached from the grassroots.

Despite the forced fusion, the parties failed to homogenise the various aspirations of their constituencies, as evidenced in the surge of the number of parties contesting in the 1999 election, many of which were breakaways of the three fusion parties. However, quantity does not ensure equality; these new parties did not have a strong grassroots grasp still, and, as a result, all of them, with the exception of PKB, lagged behind the three fusion parties in terms of total national votes.

Power Concentration

Both the p

Among others, this means that public financing of parties remains at a minimum, forcing parties to seek to alternative funding sources, such as wealthy patrons with vested interests. Large and increasing number of parliamentarians and cabinet members are also shown to have direct ties to private companies.

Oligarchy carries an inherent risk. Not only does it impede parties from prioritising public interest, but it also transforms them into extractive institutions. In the economic domain, it also stifles the opportunity to innovate, as competition is discouraged, ultimately leaving the entire country worse off.

Structural Remedies

This permanent coalition proposal indicates a plausible amnesia on the political elites’ side about the cost of the party-fusion policy, which carries the same DNA as this arrangement. Alternatively, they may simply fail to comprehend the various aspects of political stability.

Political stability does not mean regime security. Even the kind of stability achieved during the New Order era eventually snapped, owing to various domestic forces as well as the impacts of the financial crisis.

More recently, Malaysia’s decades of political stability under the Barisan Nasional (BN) coalition also crumbled in the 14th General Election (GE14) in 2018, serving as a cautionary tale against regimes that mistake stability for security.

In Indonesi

To shift from extractive to inclusive institutions, the state must dismantle the concentration of power by enforcing political pluralism. Sustainable democracy requires a broad distribution of political power instead of a permanent coalition that narrows elite accountability.

This effort should begin with amending the Political Party Law to mandate internal democratisation. Currently, party leadership is determined by closed oligarchic mechanisms that alienate public participation. Implementing mandatory open conventions for presidential candidate selection would force parties to answer to constituents rather than patrons.

Furthermore, the amended law on legislative bodies (MD3) should be revised to institutionalise proportional power-sharing. This revision is necessary to prevent a legislative monopoly by the ruling coalition. Currently, majoritarian mechanisms allow a large coalition to sweep all leadership positions in DPR.

Here, an example from the United Kingdom proves instructive, where opposition parties are also guaranteed chairmanship in key oversight committees, such as the Public Accounts Committee. This ensures checks and balances against a large coalition. To conclude, only by broadening political participation and securing the opposition’s role can Indonesia develop inclusive institutions that support the unfinished task of democratisation.

The Three-Month Government and the Technocrat Façade

Thailand, the sick man of Asia, roared back to life at the recent general election that delivered an overwhelming mandate to a pro-establishment party.

This is the same party that just a little over two years ago was no more than a medium-sized regional outfit not known for much other than a pro-cannabis platform.

The Bhumjaithai Party’s (BJT) victory, with 193 seats in the 500-member Parliament – up by 122 from the 2023 general election – allows incumbent Prime Minister Anutin Charnvirakul to continue in his role.

Late last year, Anutin was asked to assume the premiership for three months by the reformist People’s Party (PP), which had the most seats in Parliament at the time, in exchange for BJT support for constitutional reform. He accepted the offer but reneged on the deal, refusing to reduce the legal power of the 200-strong Senate, which is, according to observers, stacked with BJT allies.

W

But he made something of those three months in power by bringing in technocrats to fill key cabinet posts – foreign affairs, commerce and finance – and allowing others to fight over the remaining seats.

The move played well with voters as BJT members are not known for possessing any kind of expertise. Images of these technocrats were plastered on posters all around the country, with Anutin at the centre.

The result of the February 2026 general election was welcomed, as expected, by the country’s private sector, citing continuity and stability.

The Legacy of the King Cobra

BJT was founded by veteran politician Newin Chidchob in January 2009 after leading a high-profile defection from the Thaksin Shinawatra-aligned People’s Power Party (PPP) to support the rival Democrat Party in forming a new government and making Abhisit Vejjajiva the prime minister.

Newin is the namesake for the political term “cobra”, used in Thailand to describe those who betray their allies. The defection in January 2009 essentially made him a king cobra. A cable from the US Embassy in Bangkok described him as an “infamous dirty trickster” known for his “abrasive personality”. BJT’s power base is centred in the Khmer-speaking Buri Ram province, the Chidchob family’s long-standing political stronghold.

Today, BJT, the party that Newin created and continues to influence, has become the ultimate case study in Thai money politics.

Coming in second at the polls was the progressive-leaning PP with 118 seats (10 million votes at the national level), a drop from 151 (14 million votes) from the 2023 general election, making them the lar

Before the recent election, PP stated that they would not join a coalition with BJT as the lead. PP insiders said the decision was made on principle, citing the fact that BJT had gone back on its promise to push through constitutional reform.

Still, PP supporters felt let down by the decision to allow BJT to take the top post, but PP leaders would not go so far as to admit mistakes were made.

Poor and regrettable decision aside, PP has been constantly tested from the moment it surfaced as Future Forward eight years ago. The party has been dissolved

At the moment, 44 of their leading members face bans from politics by the Supreme Court for supporting a proposal to soften the punishments under the lese-majesté law.

PP’s predecessor, the Move Forward Party, came in first in the 2023 election but was denied the fruits of victory by the junta-appointed Senate. However, this was no sweat off Pheu Thai’s (PT) back, and PT wasted little time in putting together a ruling coalition.

During its two years in power, PT went through two prime ministers—both were removed by the Constitutional Court on ethical grounds.

The Fragility of the Reformist Front

Much of the support for PP was concentrated in urban areas, while BJT invested in local power brokers locally known as “Big Houses”. BJT also moved to put family members of these Big Houses on its party ticket to ensure t

Another big factor that helped BJT was the downfall of PT and the jailing of its nominal leader, Thaksin, who made a Faustian deal with the conservative elites to secure his return from 15 years of exile in exchange – at least he thought so – for his safe return to Thailand.

The move alienated his supporters, particularly those at the grassroots level. PT was hoping their populous policy would win them back, but the digital wallet scheme faced significant resistance and implementation challenges. Thailand’s economy grew only 2.5% for the full year of 2024.

This time around, to form a government, BJT has decided to form a coalition with PT. This is awkward indeed, as it seems like yesterday when BJT abandoned PT following the leaking of a private conversation between Paetongtarn Shinawatra and Cambodian strongman Hun Sen.

BJT’s departure in July 2025 left the PT-led government hanging by a thread with a slim majority. The Constitutional Court later ruled that Paetongtarn had committed gross ethical violations and removed her from office.

Where Are the Democrats?

Following in PP’s footsteps towards the opposition bench was the Democrat Party of former prime minister Abhisit Vejjajiva, who announced before this election that his party would not join any government that has the Khla Tham Party (KT) in the coalition.

The Democrats cited concerns about corruption and unethical business practices among KT members. Incidentally, KT performed rather well with 58 seats, while the Democrats won only 22.

The deeper meaning of the Democrat Party’s position on KT, said political observers, is to signal that the party is prepared to sit on the opposition bench with the PP.

KT’s nominal leader, Capt Thamanat Prompao, was convicted of conspiring to import heroin to Australia, with the ruling handed down on 31 March 1994, sentencing him to six years’ imprisonment. A plea bargain with Australian authorities got him released after four years.

During Anutin’s three-month administration, Thamanat expressed interest in the defence ministry portfolio but was not appointed. He may pursue this position again; however, Anutin could also seek the role, as he aims to enhance his collaboration with the military.

Both PP and the Democrats are expected to use their time in opposition to reassess and refine their positions, as there is widespread scepticism regarding the longevity of the BJT-led coalition, which many believe will not endure beyond two years.

The specific manner in which this coalition might dissolve remains uncertain. While retaliation from PT is conceivable, BJT currently maintains strong momentum, whereas Thaksin’s party has reached its lowest point in years, compounded by the incarceration of its leader.

At present, political survival appears to be the foremost concern, superseding any ambitions for retribution.

Poll after poll leading up to the 2026 general election had PT, BJT and PP neck-and-neck in a three-way race. But in the final analysis, toxic nationalism won the day.

The Border Wall

During his short stint in office, Anutin also gave the army a blank cheque on Thailand’s handling of the Cambodia border conflict. Building a wall along the Thai-Cambodian border was the centrepiece of his election campaign. At the time when the two sides reached a ceasefire agreement in late December 2025, Thai troops were sitting on top of strategic hills and border localities previously used as Cambodian military positions.

Talk of military reform, which in the Thai context means removing the armed forces from national politics, forced PP to put the issue on the back burner as the public cried out for a stronger and bigger army that can “cripple” Cambodia’s military capabilities to ensure they would not pose a threat for many years to come.

The Thai public was angry about Cambodia laying fresh mines along the disputed areas on the border. But no one asked the Thai military commanders why they kept sending troops on foot patrol to these areas when all sorts of technologies are available to monitor the areas.

It did not seem to matter to the policymakers and defence planners that much of the area along the border is disputed and has yet to be demarcated. With physical barriers and troop reinforcement, short-term political gain, not sustainable solutions, is good enough for Anutin.

It remains to be seen how his administration will deal with the border issue. Were the rhetorics about the border something politicians say during campaigns, or will Anutin continue to give the military full power to do whatever they want on the border once his government is formed?

Anutin also vowed to clamp down on online scammers. He will not be able to do it without the support of Cambodian law enforcement, which is not going to work with their Thai counterparts if Thai politicians continue to conflate the border conflict with Cambodian leaders being in bed with cybercriminals.

Some Considerations

The fact that Anutin does not seem to be as ambitious as Thaksin, whose every move was seen as challenging the status quo, works in his favour. Anutin seems very satisfied with the vote count. But of course, time will tell if this election result has planted crazy ambitions in Anutin’s head the same way it did with Thaksin two decades ago.

If recent Thai political history teaches us anything, it is that when here-today, gone-tomorrow politicians get aspirations and try to be more than what they can be, only disasters will follow. The toxic nationalism that Anutin has been riding will die down once tension along the Cambodian border subsides. The people’s attention will turn to Thailand’s “sick man of Asia” status as critical topics like salary and job security, as well as pocketbook issues, hit Anutin like a freight train.

Introduction

The 7 October attacks did more than trigger another devastating chapter in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict; they sent shockwaves far beyond Gaza, setting off a chain reaction that is quietly reshaping the Middle East’s political order.

Like the opening strike in a game of billiards, the initial impact was concentrated, but the collisions that followed altered trajectories across the entire table.

What we are witnessing today is a series of second-order effects of 7 October that are redrawing regional alignments in ways few anticipated.

In the immediate aftermath of Hamas’ attack, many analysts assumed that Israel’s overwhelming military response had forged a new regional consensus. Non-state armed groups – Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis and others – were increasingly framed as destabilising forces that needed to be decisively neutralised. This reading seemed to explain the notably restrained reactions of neighbouring states as Israel expanded its campaign beyond Gaza.

What went largely unnotice

Syria: The First Crack

For more than a decade, Hezbollah had been one of the Assad regime’s most reliable pillars. When the Syrian government was on the brink of collapse in 2015, it was the combination of Iranian-backed militias – chief among them Hezbollah – and Russian airpower that turned the tide.

By 2017, Assad had recaptured much of the territory he had lost, relying heavily on Hezbollah’s experienced fighters to hold the ground.

That arrangement came at a cost. Assad effectively anchored his survival to the sustained deployment of external militant forces. As Israeli pressure on Hezbollah intensified after 7 October, the group was forced to pull fighters and resources back toward Lebanon to cover up its own defences.

The consequences were immediate. Deprived of one of its most effective military supports, the Assad regime found its grip weakening. Political and military space reopened inside Syria, setting in motion dynamics that culminated in Assad’s fall in December 2024 , just over a year after 7 October.

Iran: The Limits of Regional Reach

Syria’s sudden vulnerability exposed a deeper fault line: the limits of Iran’s regional power.

For years, Tehran’s influence rested on a carefully constructed so-called “axis of resistance” stretching from Iran through Iraq and Syria to Lebanon. Syria was the centre of gravity of the axis, enabling the flow of weapons, fighters and logistics to Hezbollah. Without it, Iran’s regional reach was sharply curtailed—7 October brought this reality into focus.

As the Assad regime collapsed, Iran appeared exposed. Israeli operations grew stronger, penetrating Iran’s internal security architecture and targeting senior figures as well as sensitive infrastructure. The long-held assumption that Iran could absorb pressure abroad while safeguarding its own territory proved increasingly untenable.

Tehran was pushed onto the defensive, its ambitions compressed back toward its borders. Symbolically, as well as materially, Iran no longer looked like an ascendant power shaping the region but a constrained actor struggling to hold its ground.

Turkey: From Isolation to Assertive Actor

This weakening of Iran reshaped the strategic environment for another major regional player: Turkey.

For more than a decade, Ankara had felt encircled by overlapping threats. Iranian-backed militias helped entrench the Assad regime, fuelling a war that sent millions of refugees into Turkey.

At the same time, Damascus ceded control of northeastern Syria to Kurdish forces backed by the United States—forces Ankara viewed as a direct security threat. By 2017, Turkey’s regional ambitions had narrowed to managing crises along its borders.

The post-7 October landscape altered that equation. As Iran’s position eroded and Syria’s internal balance shifted,

This marked a quiet but consequential reinvention of Turkey’s regional role: after decades largely focusing inward, Turkey re-emerged as an assertive regional actor. This outcome makes little sense without understanding the cascading effects set in motion by 7 October.

The Gulf: Rivalries Reawakened

The shockwaves were felt just as clearly in the Gulf. Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates have long pursued competing agendas in Yemen, Libya, Sudan, and Somalia. For years, they managed these differences through careful coordination and restraint.

Recently, that balance has become difficult to maintain. Tensions between Riyadh and Abu Dhabi have resurfaced, no longer easily contained behind closed doors.

This renewed rivalry is not unfolding in isolation. As Iran’s influence waned and Israel’s regional standing surged after 7 October, the United Arab Emirates moved with new confidence across multiple theatres. Its activism in Yemen, Libya and Sudan grew more pronounced, projecting ambition, and strategic assertiveness. In Riyadh, these moves increasingly looked less like partnership and more like encroachment.

Crucially, Emirati confidence cannot be separated from its close strategic relationship with Israel. Abu Dhabi’s posture has been emboldened by Israel’s expanded freedom of action, embedding Emirati ambitions within a broader regional realignment.

Yet, in tracing the chain of second-order effects of 7 October, one additional dimension warrants reflection: how Israel itself perceives and seeks to shape these evolving dynamics.

Israel and the Return of Counterweights

In the months following 7 October, many observers concluded that Israel had emerged as the principal beneficiary of a shifting regional order. Israeli jets operated with remarkable freedom across the Middle East, striking targets in Gaza, Lebanon, Syria, Iran, Yemen and even Qatar.

Israel was no longer treated as an isolated actor but as a central security stakeholder, consulted on crises ranging from southern Syria to the Horn of Africa. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu appeared convinced that the extensive use of force had translated into strategic victory.

Yet this perception of hegemony proved fragile. What Israel did not fully anticipate was the re-emergence of self-restrained yet capable regional actors, most notably Turkey and Saudi Arabia. Their renewed assertiveness, particularly in Syria and Yemen, introduced political and strategic constraints that complicated Israel’s vision of a fragmented and manageable regional environment.

Nowhere is this shift more evident than in Syria. In the immediate afterma

Faced with changing power balances, long-term security considerations and the prospect of a more coordinated regional order, Israel has shown greater readiness to engage pragmatically with Damascus rather than continue investing in non-state proxies.

Thus, t

Trump Effect

There is an elephant in the room behind all of these shifts: the United States under Trump. More specifically, the “Trump effect” looms heavily over the region’s evolving dynamics. Trump’s volatile foreign-policy instincts do not merely respond to change; they actively shape it, often in unexpectedly stabilising ways.

To be sure, Trump has been an unwavering supporter of Israel and of Benjamin Netanyahu’s broader agenda, openly backing pressure on Iran and embracing Israel’s hardline security posture. Yet this support has not really translated into strategic alignment. Trump has proved a frustrating partner, one whose impulses have frequently diverged from Netanyahu’s vision after 7 October.

Nowhere was this clearer than in Syria and Turkey. Israel did not anticipate a US president so willing to recalibrate America’s role in Syria or to accommodate Ankara in ways that unsettled Israeli assumptions.

In the end, Trump’s Middle East policy has strengthened Israel tactically while complicating its strategic horizon, a contradiction that continues to reverberate across the region.

All in all, 7 October is likely to be remembered less as a decisive rupture than as a catalytic moment that laid bare the fragility of the Middle East’s existing regional arrangements.

As shown above, its most lasting consequences lie in the second-order effects it unleashed, effects that redistributed power, revived dormant rivalries, and opened space for actors long constrained by stalemate and overextension.

Taken together, these shifts suggest that the post-7 October Middle East is moving toward a more crowded, negotiated and conditional order through alignment, constraint, and strategic adaptation.

Crucially, these emerging alignments do not appear to be temporary displays of frustration or short-term reactions to recent regional developments. Rather, they reflect a deeper process of regional recalibration, as newly assertive actors seek to shape a revised order and redefine their long-term stakes in the future Middle East.

Through Southeast Asian Eyes

From the standpoint of Southeast Asian Muslim-majority states, recent developments in Syria may be viewed pragmatically. A more stable and consolidated central authority could reduce prolonged instability, curb and limit new waves of refugees, an issue that has humanitarian and political implications for the wider Muslim world.

However, intensifying rivalry among Gulf states would raise concerns. Many Southeast Asian countries maintain close economic and political ties with multiple Middle Eastern partners. Escalating competition risks forcing difficult diplomatic balancing acts and complicating their neutral foreign policy posture.

Overall, the renewed strategic engagement of Turkey and Saudi Arabia, particularly if it contributes to balancing Israel and de-escalating regional tensions, ma

Such recalibration could

Introduction

Signature policies by Indonesian presidents – whether they are major infrastructure projects or socioeconomic programmes – always carry deeper political nuances than those that meet our eyes.

Dr Yuan Wang’s book The Railpolitik: Leadership and Agency in Sino-African Infrastructure Development examines why large Chinese-financed railway projects in African countries produce divergent political and economic outcomes, despite appearing similar in financing models, technology, and external partners.

She advances a leader-centred theory of political agency to explain these different outcomes, challenging dominant views that emphasise China’s strategic interests or African institutional weakness. Her concept of “political championship” maintains that the success or failure of infrastructure projects depends largely on whether national leaders actively champion them.

Political champions invest personal authority, manage bureaucratic coordination, negotiate with Chinese actors and sustain support across electoral cycles. Where such leadership is absent or inconsistent, projects face cost overruns, delays, weak integration into national development strategies or long-term underperformance.

Beyond railways, Wang situates infrastructure as a political process rather than a purely technical or financial one, shaped by domestic power struggles, leadership priorities and state-society relations.

The question is this: what happens when we apply this theoretical framework to Indonesia’s own Jakarta-Bandung high-speed rail (HSR) Whoosh, a major infrastructure project initiated by former president Joko “Jokowi” Widodo?

Valuable Lessons

In Wang’s framework, a political champion is a national leader who personally commits political capital, intervenes to overcome bureaucratic resistance, aligns domestic institutions and sustains support for an infrastructure project despite controversy or risk.

Jokowi’s approach to Whoosh fit this pattern in several major ways.

First, Jokowi made infrastructure the signature agenda of his presidency and personally endorsed Whoosh as a symbol of Indonesia’s moder

Second, Jokowi intervened directly to manage coordination problems among SOEs, local governments and Chinese partners. When financing difficulties emerged, particularly after the project departed from its original “no state budget” promise, he authorised policy adjustments and state guarantees to keep the project alive, a classic act of political championship to prevent project collapse.

Third, like Kenya in The Railpolitik, Jokowi’s championship was shaped by political incentives. The Whoosh project functioned as a legacy project (much like the relocation of the national capital to Ibu Kota Nusantara [Nusantara Capital City – IKN], the country’s megaproject of unprecedented level), intended to demonstrate delivery capacity and technological advancement before the end of his second term. This helps explain why support persisted despite public criticism over debt, land acquisition and cost overruns.

Ongoing discussion about extending the Whoosh line to Surabaya has gained traction under the current administration, with the government conducting feasibility studies and promoting the project. The state railway operator has also taken a cue from a presidential directive that modern railway infrastructure should not be stopped and that expansion should proceed, underscoring top executive involvement in steering the project’s trajectory rather than leaving it purely to technical planning bodies.

This reflects continued high-level commitment to a major strategic project beyond its original scope, a hallmark of political championship where leaders persistently push forward ambitious infrastructure agendas.

However, the Whoosh case also exposes the limits of political championship. Despite its successful launch, the project’s weak feasibility studies, pessimistic ridership projections and opaque decision-making reduced long-term economic clarity.

These also echo Wang’s warning that political championship prioritises project delivery over sustainability. Political champions often have to navigate non-technical areas to sustain legitimacy and momentum, especially when expansion threatens communities or sensitive ecosystems.

Thus, there is a growing need for robust environmental and social safeguards should the extension line to Surabaya proceed, as the project’s success increasingly depends on how well the sitting president addresses broader public and ecological impacts.

For now, President Prabowo Subianto appears to be practicing the political championship concept in the realm of infrastructure. Early in his administration, he inaugurated dozens of electricity projects, signalling a leadership push on critical infrastructure to underpin national growth. He also inaugurat

Recently, Prabowo has also reaffirmed a strong commitment to the IKN project, allocating US$32 billion to ensure the continuity of the project’s key phases, such as legislative and judicial buildings. His first official visit to the IKN site signalled this project’s symbolic and strategic importance, and such sustained executive endorsement in the face of budget constraints shows active leader intervention beyond bureaucratic momentum.

But how about his “true” flagship programmes, such as Makan Bergizi Gratis (Free Nutritious Meal – MBG) and Koperasi Desa Merah Putih (Red and White Village Cooperative – KDMP)?

Another Type of Championship

Arguably, the MBG programme is alsoshaped by the concept of political championship, though it represents

First, MBG is unmistakably Prabowo’s signature policy. He elevated it from a campaign promise into a core governing priority immediately upon taking office, framing it as central to national resilience, human capital development and long-term competitiveness. This mirrors political championship’s defining feature: a leader who personally defines the project as politically and symbolically essential, rather than delegating it to technocrats.

Second, the programme has faced sustained criticism over fiscal cost, implementation capacity, and opportunity cost, yet Prabowo has consistently defended it and pushed for rapid rollout. Such persistence aligns strongly with political championship, where leaders override scepticism and accept political risk to keep a priority project alive.

Third, the programme requires coordination across ministries (education, health, social affairs and finance), subnational governments, and suppliers. Prabowo’s decision to create special task forces and fast-track budget reallocations shows active executive intervention to align the state apparatus, another hallmark of political championship.

Lastly, as with Jokowi’s Whoosh, the MBG programme is closely tied to political incentives. It delivers visible, immediate benefits to households and children, reinforcing political legitimacy while also serving as a long-term legacy project aimed at shaping Indonesia’s future workforce.

Where MBG diverges from Wang’s original framework is that it is not a single, discrete infrastructure project but a recurrent, nationwide social programme. This raises a critical issue Wang also hints at: that the concept of political championship is effective at launching and scaling initiatives, but sustainability ultimately depends on robust institutions, strong fiscal discipline, and effective policy monitoring.

Conversely, KDMP is a stronger example of Prabowo’s policy that reflects the concept of political championship in the socioeconomicdomain. There are arguably several reasons for that.

First, Prabowo has attached his personal authority and agenda directly to this programme. He initiated the policy through a presidential instruction to rapidly establish cooperatives in 80,000 villages across Indonesia. This shows executive prioritisation well beyond normal bureaucratic processes.

The cooperatives are part of Prabowo’s broader Asta Cita national agenda, especially the rural development and poverty alleviation pillar, demonstrating that KDMP is not an outlier programme but a core strategic initiative of his administration.

Second, the programme involves multiple ministries, state agencies, subnational governments and even regional-owned enterprises (e.g. logistics and distribution support), with the president actively coordinating implementation. This kind of inter-institutional mobilisation is a key aspect of political championship, where a leader aligns the state apparatus to achieve an ambitious national priority.

Third, the programme is pitched as a transformative economic empowerment tool – from controlling supply chains to stabilising prices and absorbing agricultural products – and is tied to the narrative of inclusive prosperity and rural upliftment. That gives it not just a technical economic role but political and ideological significance for Prabowo’s leadership narrative, similar to how Chinese-funded railways in The Railpolitik serve broader symbolic and political functions.

In the end, the mass launch events, large numerical targets (tens of thousands of cooperatives), and prominent presidential involvement create visibility and public awareness akin to flagship infrastructure projects championed by leaders in Africa with high political agency.

In line with Wang’s logic, political championship can apply to any large, politically salient state initiative where sustained high-level leadership shapes outcomes. MBG and KDMP fit this criterion, even if they are not infrastructure projects.

Budget 2026: Shielding the Policies

Unlike previous year’s state budget, which Prabowo inherit

The budget signals selective expansionary intervention that protects flagship programmes (e.g. MBG, KDMP, Sekolah Rakyat as well as food and energy estates) despite tight fiscal constraints. Should cuts occur, these initiatives are politically shielded because they are central to the president’s narrative and objectives. That is exactly what political championship entails: leadership proactively defending core projects against competing budgetary pressures.

These flagship policies have visible social impacts (children’s nutrition, cooperative empowerment, schooling in underdeveloped areas as well as food and energy resilience). They also carry symbolic value, cast as state commitments to public welfare and national strength. Furthermore, they mirror how African leaders in The Railpolitik frame infrastructure projects not as narrow technical endeavours but as national development symbols that warrant continuous top-level advocacy and coordination.

The continued prioritisation of flagship programmes reveals a political calculus as well: protecting signature policies to maintain legitimacy and fulfil core campaign promises, while asking other sectors to adapt. This reflects political championship’s blend of strategic commitment and risk management.

These patterns show that, much like the expansive railway infrastructure under Jokowi, Prabowo’s leadership exhibits agency that shapes both policy direction and political narratives, anchoring national development in a set of centrally championed programmes.

Taken together, Indonesia’s recent policy trajectory suggests that political championship has become a defining feature of executive governance across administrations.

Under Jokowi, it enabled the realisation of ambitious infrastructure projects such as Whoosh, albeit with notable trade-offs in sustainability and transparency.

Under Prabowo, the same logic is being extended beyond infrastructure into broader socio-economic ecosystems – ranging from MBG to KDMP – and reinforced through deliberate budgetary protection.

As Wang cautions, political championship is powerful in mobilising state capacity and delivering visible outcomes. However, its long-term success will ultimately hinge on effective institutionalisation, sound fiscal discipline and comprehensive policy learning that extends beyond individual leadership.

Introduction

The 17th Sabah state election was held on 29 November 2025. A total of 596 candidates from 23 political parties and 74 independent candidates were vying for 73 seats.

The fiercely contested election concluded with the Gabungan Rakyat Sabah (GRS) coalition emerging with the largest number of seats (29 seats), allowing its chairman, Hajiji Noor, to be sworn in as chief minister for a second term. GRS formed the state administration with its coalition partners, the United Progressive Kinabalu Organisation (UPKO), Pakatan Harapan (PH) and several independent assemblymen.

The most unexpected election result is the Democratic Action Party’s (DAP) crushing defeat, which was totally wiped out in all eight seats it contested, including the Chinese majority seats.

The Chinese votes were always regarded as the “fixed deposit” for DAP, which was contesting under its PH coalition, the political vehicle of Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim.

This article will explain and analyse why the Sabah Chinese decided to switch allegiance and voted for Warisan instead.

Pre-Election Drama

The state election was due by November 2025, and the state assembly was only dissolved towards the end of its term. This delay was largely shaped by an alleged mining corruption case, the recurring flood and the social injustice controversy involving the death of a secondary school student, all of which threatened to disrupt the chief minister’s position. These constraints left him with only a narrow window to call an election that would be to his advantage.

Meanwhile, the collaborative arrangement between GRS-PH and PH-BN created its own complications, particularly over seat allocations, which remained a major headache for Hajiji as chief minister and GRS chairman. Ultimately, the Sabah State Legislative Assembly was dissolved on 6 October 2025.

Results in the Chinese Majority Seats

Out of the 73 seats contested, there are five Chinese majority seats, namely Luyang (65%), Likas (65.9%), Api-Api (45%), Elopura (41.3%) and Sri Tanjung (55.8%). All these seats were won by Warisan candidates in the 2025 state election, which were previously won by DAP and PKR in the 2020 polls.

This marks the first time since 2004 that DAP has had no representation in the Sabah State Legislative Assembly.

Figure 1 demonstrates clearly that there has been a sharp decline of support in all seats contested by DAP and PKR candidates (under the PH umbrella) in Chinese majority areas.

Factors Affecting the Chinese Voters

There are five main factors affecting the Chinese voters’ inclination in this election.

First, the rise of state nationalism. The strong “Sabah for Sabahans” sentiment has made many urban Chinese far more critical of candidates’ accessibility, responsiveness and perceived commitment to local issues. In reality, this has been expressed as a preference for local parties and leaders as well as a growing wariness towards what is seen as “anti-Peninsular Malaysia political party sentiment” and ability.

Against this backdrop, the campaign style of federal DAP leaders in Sabah appears to have backfired. When the Minister of Housing and Local Government, Nga Kor Ming, indicated his intention to “adopt” Tawau, it was widely read as patronising. His remark reinforced the perception that Peninsular-based parties regard themselves as more “superior” or authoritative over Sabah’s local leadership, fuelling resentment among Sabahans, including those of ethnic Chinese.

Second, the Malaysian Agreement 1963 (MA63) issue. Sabah’s 40% entitlement to federal revenue has become a key grievance among the locals.  However, DAP remained silent on the subject and even appeared to support an appeal against the court decision, which further agitated many local voters.

Sabahans have long sought the restoration of this entitlement under the constitution and increasingly believe that only local parties can be trusted to defend and fight for these rights. For many, the 40% entitlement is not an abstract legal entitlement but a concrete foundation to strengthen state finances and accelerate long-overdue improvements to the state’s infrastructure.

Third, the overall disappointing performance of DAP. As part of the PH-led federal government, DAP had previously campaigned strongly on issues such as recognition of the United Examination Certificate (UEC) and anti-corruption reforms. However, it is now widely perceived as a “silent party” that no longer champions the Chinese community’s concerns as it once did.

Instead, many Chinese voters feel that DAP has compromised on major issues that it previously stood for, sparking a sense of disillusionment and weakening its credibility among its traditional supporters.

Fourth, internal conflicts within DAP. Factionalism within the party contributed to the erosion of support. DAP’s decision to drop an incumbent state assemblyman and a former organising secretary from the candidate line-up led these two and other followers to leave the party and join the opposition, inevitably splitting the DAP vote.

At the same time, DAP’s organisational structure in Sabah appeared weak. DAP Sabah state chairman, who was the incumbent assemblyman for Luyang, shifted to contest in Likas in an attempt to “save” the seat, while his own protégé was parachuted into Luyang. This strategy backfired, leading to the loss of both seats to Warisan.

These developments reflected PH and DAP’s misreading of the political temperature in Sabah, as they assumed that Chinese voters would continue to support DAP regardless of the candidate

Fifth, governance and corruption concerns. Allegations and conspiracies surrounding the Sabah mining bribery case – a scandal linked to Anwar’s senior political secretary and former aide that broke in the final week of the campaign – only reinforced negative perceptions of the PH coalition overall. This deepened voters’ mistrust and strengthened the determination of some Chinese to vote against the coalition.

Last but not least, the presence of an alternative political party. Warisan’s performance indicated that Chinese voters were no longer confined to choosing between PH, BN or GRS.

Warisan is increasingly regarded as a more credible and effective advocate for Sabah’s autonomy and rights, as well as for issues like anti-corruption, the 40% federal revenue entitlement and the full implementation of MA63. This has given Chinese voters a local option to vote for, one that is aligned more closely with their preferences.

Conclusion

While the Sabah state election might not directly determine the outcome of Malaysia’s upcoming general election, which must be held by February 2028, it serves as an early referendum on Anwar’s leadership and the performance of the unity government.

What is particularly striking is the shift among Chinese voters, long regarded as the backbone of DAP and PH. The results signal that the Chinese electorate can no longer be treated as a “fixed deposit”. If these warning signs are ignored, PH and DAP may face serious headwinds in the upcoming state elections in Sarawak and Johor. The outcome in Sabah also presents a stress test for the stability of the federal unity government and raises the question of whether its current model will remai

Introduction

After years of military rule in Thailand, democracy seems to be back in full swing. With an eye to win the next general election in March 2026 or possibly sooner, new players, power brokers and alliances have emerged, while the public has grown generally more progressive, calling for deep structural reforms.

Three main political parties and their alliances – namely the “blue” (Bhumjaithai Party – BJT), “orange” (People’s Party – PP) and “red” (Pheu Thai Party – PT) factions – are the main contenders in Thailand’s upcoming general elections, likely held in March 2026 or sooner.

The year 2025 saw several unexpected developments, such as the fall of populist PT as a major political force and the rise of conservative BJT, while progressive PP is still the most popular party among the public.

However, despite the return of democratic dynamism, it remains to be seen which of the three biggest parties can join hands to form a coalition government and come to

This is the very constitution that has time and time again been exploited to remove politicians and facilitate elite capture of key democratic institutions.

Uneasy Alliances

In August 2025, the Constitutional Court removed then prime minister Paetongtarn Shinawatra of PT from office after a controversy involving a leaked phone call with Cambodian strongman Hun Sen.

The power vacuum was filled by BJT leader Anutin Charnvirakul who succeeded her with the lower house’s majority support, enabled by a surprising new coalition between BJT and PP, albeit with certain conditions.

The surprising alliance came on the heels of the growing rift between PT and BJT over the legalisation of cannabi

All eyes are now on Anutin to keep his word to meet PP’s conditions that led them to support BJT in forming a majority government, outlined in a Memorandum of Agreement (MoA) to cement their new alliance.

The agreement includes resolutions to dissolve the Parliament by 31 January, organise general elections, conduct a referendum to set up a constitution-drafting assembly for a new charter and remain a minority government. All these must be completed within a four-month timeframe, with PP remaining as opposition all the while.

However, recent moves by the blue party suggest that they are prepping to consolidate power and win the election at the expense of genuinely reforming Thailand’s democratic system.

Constitutional Tussles

Charter change is undeniably one of the main contentious points today that is needed to level out the democratic playing field.

Under the current constitution, one of the main difficulties for elected politicians to assume power lies with the upper house. Consisting of 200 interim unelected senators, the Senate can block prime minister candidates as well as pick and choose elites for unelected agencies – including the Election Commission (EC) and the Constitutional Court that have frequently intervened in political disputes – mandated the dissolution of political parties and paved the way for military coups.

PP’s predecessor, Move Forward, won the last election but was blocked from assuming power under current constitutional provisions. Thus, constitutional amendment has become PP’s flagship issue. Other parties appear not as committed; they are less interested in democratic change and more geared towards preserving the status quo, winning the election, and gaining power.

In September 2025, the Constitutional Court ruled that three referendums are required for charter change, but the public is not allowed to elect a Constituent Drafting Assembly. PP is racing to finalise their draft bill that focuses on expanding public participation as much as possible by the end of this year, which would enable them to gain popularity as the party that prioritises democratic reforms.

The Meteoric Rise of the Blue

Anutin and BJT’s true agenda seems not on furthering charter change but on laying the groundwork to lead BJT to electoral victory. Consider this: in open violation of the MoA, BJT continues to poach parliamentarians and support from smaller parties.

Anutin’s background also casts doubt over his commitment to democratic change. The rise of Anutin, a former president of Sino-Thai – one of Thailand’s largest construction conglomerates – is in large part thanks to his shrewd cultivation of close ties with military, bureaucratic and business elites over decades. His connections and associates now populate the Senate and hold key ministerial positions; he also acts as their proxy in Thai politics while advancing his party’s interests. He has kept the powerful Minister of Interior portfolio for himself to oversee provincial administration and voting in key constituencies, such as Northeastern Thailand.

Having served in the military-aligned administration of Gen Prayut Chan-o-cha as well as that of PT-led ruling coalitions of his immediate predecessors, Anutin has taken a direct leaf out of PT’s past playbook in befriending parties of all ideological persuasions. He does this by doling out favours to local politicians in key constituencies, which enabled him to seamlessly seize the opportunity for power.

On the economic side, the Anutin administration is implementing “Quick Big Wins”—populist policies such as tax relief and stimulus programmes for consumer goods. It has also conducted a flurry of free trade negotiation talks with several large economies that have temporarily curried favour with the business community and public. However, thus far, it has failed to address structural economic reforms that could meaningfully jumpstart Thailand’s sluggish economy, which has one of ASEAN’s lowest GDP growth rates at 1.8%.

The Thai-Cambodia border conflict has shed light on the alleged links of elites on both sides to illicit border activities, including cyber-scam and money laundering operations. Curiously, however, despite mounting domestic and international pressure, the Anutin administration appears to be dragging its feet in proactively safeguarding the integrity of Thailand’s financial system and investigating numerous Thais and foreigners residing in Thailand allegedly linked to this widening ring of criminality.

His deputy finance minister already resigned over allegations of his connection to money laundering practices. If not tackled seriously, more scam-related scandals could prompt an overthrowing of the government and inflict serious damage to Thailand’s political and economic credibility.

Anutin is also seen as pandering to nationalist sentiments to keep ultra-nationalist politicians on his side by playing the role of the strongman who will not “yield a single centimetre” to Cambodia. He has also deferred to the army for border management decisions in northeastern provinces along the Thai-Cambodian border, which are all BJT strongholds.

However, there exists some distrust of Anutin’s cosy dealings with the military – the latter is seen as interfering in civilian politics once more – as well as his clumsy diplomacy with President Donald Trump, who raised the stakes for both sides to comply with the US-supported Kuala Lumpur Peace Accord in return for favourable negotiations o

PP’s Fight for Office

Public support for progressivism appears to be unwavering despite the MoA with BJT and numerous attempts to cripple the progressive movement, including the dissolution of Move Forward and the banning of key party leaders – such as Pita Limjaroenrat – from politics for 10 years.

PP continues to maintain popularity by fielding a plethora of young, magnetic and informed members of parliament and portraying themselves as a clean, reform-minded party under the slogan “Thailand ungrey, equal and future-ready”. The “grey” term refers to capital funding from illicit activities that is embroiling other parties in scandal.

PP have abandoned Move Forward’s key policy platforms, such as pledges to reform the military, break up business monopolies and reform Article 112 of the Thai Penal Code (lese-majeste law). The party is now prioritising political practicality over values by putting these sensitive issues on the backburner while they forge an alliance with BJT and continue talks with PT on keeping the government accountable.

Is PT Declining?

Despite winning the second most votes in the last election, PT’s popularity has steeply declined since then due to a series of mishaps from overplaying their hand and overestimating the sincerity of conservative factions.

Supporters view that PT abandoned their democratic credentials by joining the conservative coalition government after the 2023 election—something they explicitly promised not to do during their election campaign. An alleged informal deal made between the Shinawatra clan and the elite establishment to pave the way for PT to govern once more also appears to have allowed the return of former leader Thaksin to his homeland after a 15-year self-imposed exile. This further alienated the public that increasingly rejects secret deals among el

However, this deal appears to have broken down, as Thaksin, one of Thailand’s richest and most powerful men, is now serving a one-year imprisonment sentence. Meanwhile, the short-lived Srettha and Paetongtarn administrations failed to deliver outstanding policy achievements and significant democratic reforms during their terms.

To cap off a disastrous year in power, Paetongtarn resigned in disgrace after nationalist-leaning elites and the public were extremely displeased with her leaked phone call with the former Cambodian leader. The severe backlash from across the political spectrum and the public demonstrates a red line that cannot be crossed regarding strong nationalist sentiment but also the renewed respect and trust towards the military in safeguarding national security.

Nonetheless, even as the family brand lost its widespread appeal and the party is now headed by a non-Shinawatra, PT has demon

Rocky Road Ahead

The dynamic competition between the three big parties and the spirited public debate indicate the positive return of a freewheeling democratic and policy discourse that has largely been missing during the rule of previous military-aligned governments.

Each party is utilising the constitutional drafting process as a tool to pressure their rivals and gain political legitimacy to win over the public. As the election and referendums are slated to be organised simultaneously on 29 March, Anutin and EC must declare the constitutional referendums by December 2025.

Both PP and PT are urgently ramping up the pressure on Anutin to finalise the constitutional amendment draft bill by this year; otherwise, they will trigger a no-confidence motion against the government when the new parliamentary session opens on 12 December.  Anutin may boldly take advantage of BJT’s growing popularity by dissolving Parliament within this year in order to move forward the election date and avoid scrutiny over corruption and influencing. This would nullify the current constitutional amendment process, which would need to be restarted and represent a significant setback for recalibrating Thailand’s political landscape.

None of the three parties seem capable of a landslide victory in the next election and will need to team up with one or the other for enough seats to form a coalition government. PT and PP are both kingmakers, but PP could be left out in the cold and out of office again if PT or BJT decide to put aside their differences and team up once again. Given the flexible nature of PT and BJT in forming and breaking alliances, as well as the continuous attempts to block the success of the progressive faction, this scenario cannot be discounted.

The political battles are happening amidst a backdrop of an increasingly frustrated public who are discontent with the lack of effectiveness and political will to tackle immediate challenges, such as economic doldrums, ballooning corruption cases and the prolonged border conflict, as well as recent mismanagement of severe flooding in Southern Thailand.

With few outlets left to express public frustration, large-scale protests, such as the youth-led 2020-2021 demonstrations that saw unprecedented

Introduction

Indonesia stands at a crossroad, yet again, on President Prabowo Subianto’s first anniversary in office. Despite his high-profile social welfare programmes and ambitious economic policy, concerns over the human rights trajectory have become more pronounced. 

Like what his predecessor former president Joko “Jokowi” Widodo did, Prabowo does not prioritise human rights in his top agenda list. His approach thus far suggests a preference for a strong government, political stability, strong economic growth, military deployment and international participation.

The commemoration of his first year in office only further consolidates the patterns that many predicted he would follow, patterns that were also set up during Jokowi’s decade of rule. These have resulted in the gradually narrowing civic space and weakening accountability across multiple governmental levels, thus casting human rights protection far down the priority list.

After Reformasi

To understand this issue, it is imperative to look back to revisit Reformasi.

This critical democratic transition brought new freedoms, including general elections, decentralisation and, notably, the enactment of Law No 39/1999 on Human Rights, marking a fundamental transformation and the end of the authoritarian New Order era.

Since then, however, the progress of solving past human rights abuses has stalled. Violations including the 1965 massacre, the Talangsari incident, the Trisakti shootings and the 1998 kidnapping remain unresolved.

Amnesty International reported that Indonesia’s persistent failure to pursue legal accountability undermines public trust and genuine reconciliation. Meanwhile, Human Rights Watch observed that democratic consolidation has been uneven, with civilian oversight of security institutions remaining weak.

In the last decade, the structural constraints became more visible. While Jokowi initially pledged to resolve past abuses, his administration increasingly relied on security forces to maintain political stability, particularly during periods of social unrest. This effectively limited his space to revisit these cases, which involve personnel of these forces.

Meanwhile, civil liberties continue to shrink under new information, protest and cybercrime regulations, while political settlements reached outside courts replace meaningful accountability processes and reparations to victims.

Jokowi’s decade-long rule established a political environment in which rights protection became conditional, which later set the scene for how Prabowo approaches this subject.

From Continuity to Consolidation

Prabowo’s first year demonstrates a continuity of rather than a break from the trend established by Jokowi. Despite persistent controversy surrounding his military records, he successfully brought together major political parties under a large coalition tent, business interests and segments of the security apparatus seeking stability as well as political access. This expansive network of elite backing, while effective in securing power, has constrained the prospects for meaningful reforms in the human rights dimension.

While campaigning, the Prabowo-Gibran platform offered only broad promises of dialogue on past abuses. These promises were not explicitly mentioned in their vision-mission document for fear of being exploited as a political commodity.

Komisi untuk Orang Hilang dan Korban Tindak Kekerasan (the Commission for Disappeared and Victims of Violence – Kontras) warned that such an approach risks replacing legal accountability with symbolic gestures, potentially marginalising victims’ rights and thus denying them their narratives.

The actions taken during the administration’s first year have largely confirmed these apprehensions. Despite the establishment of the Ministry of Human Rights, which is a spin-off of the Ministry of Law and Human Rights, the institution has not solved enduring concerns regarding truth-seeking and accountability of the victims.

Progress was further undermined by the state’s heavy-handed response to student protests throughout the year, as well as continued reliance on militarised approaches to facilitate industrial development, often at the expense of local community rights and p

Protest Continues

In the absence of substantive advancement in human rights, a number of government policies have generated significant public concerns.

In 2025 alone, Indonesia has witnessed public mobilisation across various issues.  Demonstrations were conducted across the archipelago under the taglines of “Indonesia Gelap” (Dark Indonesia) and “Reset Indonesia”, carrying the people’s demand for budgeting transparency and disdain over parliamentary privileges. Moreover, protests in Papua, Central Java and Sulawesi underscored a rejection of extractive projects and a call for the protection of community rights over their land.

The government responded to all these protests with a firm hand. Nearly a thousand protest-related detentions were made, targeting mostly students and activists, during Prabowo’s first year, the highest number since the 1998 Reformasi.

One widely publicised incident involves the death of Affan Kurniawan, a Gojek driver, during the August riots. However, no officer has been charged with criminal offence, despite the call by Amnesty International for a transparent investigation and revised crowd-control procedures.

Although authorities maintain that tightened security measures are necessary for public order, civil society groups warn that such actions risk discouraging legitimate dissent and shrinking Indonesia’s democratic space. While civic engagement remains robust, the scope for lawful protest continues to shrink.

At the Expense of the Environment

Potential human rights violations continue to grow in the dimension of environment. With Prabowo placing economic acceleration as a strategic national programme, building on Jokowi’s development policies, many also begin to wonder what this means to Indonesia’s environment.

Prabowo has expanded projects in food security, strategic industries and downstream mineral processing, sectors that heavily concentrate on resource extraction and require forest clearing. In Papua, for instance, mining and plantation industries have uprooted communities, polluted rivers and silenced local resistance, including in Raja Ampat.

In dealing with those protests, the government has deployed the military to protect these strategic national projects. It is normal today to see food estates, mining sites and palm oil plantations guarded by military individuals, prompting the perception that the military is leaving the barracks under Prabowo’s administration.

Environmental activists have amplified these concerns. Wahana Lingkungan Hidup Indonesia (the Indonesian Forum for Environment – WALHI), the leading Indonesian environmental NGO, issued a critical assessment warning that the government’s plan to clear 20 million hectares of land for various development projects risks intensif

This trend suggests that the environment and society remain vulnerable in a system where economic priorities take precedence, despite existing laws that protect these.

Structural Constraints of Human Rights Reform

The tendency for the human rights agenda to take a back seat in Indonesian politics is not solely attributable to Prabowo’s leadership. Instead, it stems from deeper structural incentives embedded in the political system. Broad coalitions of political, economic and security actors place a premium on stability, coalition management and growth, making rights reforms, especially those involving accountability, politically sensitive.

A security-driven governance framework interprets dissent through a public-order lens, encouraging authorities to prioritise control over accommodation. Meanwhile, Indonesia’s investment-led development model frames environmental and social protections as potential obstacles to economic growth. Institutions meant to safeguard rights continue to face resource limitations, overlapping mandates and fluctuating political support.

Human rights NGOs converge in their assessment that Indonesia’s human rights challenges are systemic, arising from institutional design, political incentives and entrenched governance practices rather than any single administration.

Conclusion

All in all, as Indonesia moves further into Prabowo’s second year, a pressing question emerges: will human rights be treated as an essential pillar of democratic legitimacy or relegated to a secondary option?

Civil society indeed remains vibrant, the media landscape retains a modicum of pluralism, and citizens continue to articulate demands for accountability and transparency. However, these democratic spaces are increasingly strained, while the trajectory of political change remains uncertain. The Indonesian proverb “menabur garam di luka” (rubbing salt in the wound) captures this growing public frustration properly. At one point, people hope for reconciliation, institutional reform and a more accountable government. However, the society continues to face and confront recurring patterns of unresolved injustices and tightening civic constraints.

Introduction

Malaysia’s institutional reforms remain a distant dream, despite having gained widespread recognition post-GE14.

The establishment of the Institutional Reforms Committee (IRC) by the then prime minister Mahathir Mohamad signalled to Malaysians that the government acknowledged the urgency of the task at hand.

Buku Harapan, Pakatan Harapan’s manifesto document in the lead-up to GE14, contains a long list of institutional reforms that many in civil society have called for, such as the tabling of a Political Financing Act (PFA), the separation of the Attorney General (AG) from the Public Prosecutor (PP), the transformation of the Malaysian Anti-Corruption Commission (MACC), as well as the reform of parliamentary and electoral systems.

The short-lived PH1.0 government did not manage to see many of these reforms through, although the public’s awareness of the need for them has increased over the years since.

Today, Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim’s administration has further mainstreamed the call for institutional reforms, albeit with scepticism about his commitment. While the administration has made some progress with regard to separating AG from PP, others have moved at a much slower pace.

Ensuring decisions are made based on transparent rules, as opposed to discretion or preferences based on partisan politics, is at the core of many institutional reforms Malaysia needs.

Against this backdrop, there is a necessity to push for the institutionalisation of a PFA and the distribution of Constituency Development Funds (CDFs) to ensure Malaysia’s democracy is practised on a level playing field for all parties.

Political Financing

The 1MDB corruption scandal brought to light many gaps in Malaysia’s governance structures and revealed the fact that it is one of the few countries in the world that lacks regulations on the funding of political parties.

This means that political parties are free to accept money and in-kind donations from any source and spend it in any way they want, with no obligation to declare it to any regulatory authority or the public.

Ironically, it was former prime minister Najib Razak who initiated the earliest step to draft regulations on political financing by setting up the National Consultative Committee on Political Financing (NCCPF) in 2015.

NCCPF published its report in August 2016 and outlined 32 recommendations. Recommendation 20 was the most problematic, where the Committee recommended no cap on the amount of money that can be donated to a party or a politician.

Subsequently, through the All-Party Parliamentary Group (APPG) on Political Financing, a draft Political Financing Bill was produced and then presented to the Legal Affairs Department, the finance minister and even the prime minister. A key element of the Bill is the introduction of public funding for political parties.

Public funding, which is already established in many countries across the world, refers to a system where the government allocates a certain amount of money to distribute to political parties. This is mainly intended to reduce parties’ reliance on wealthy donors or corporations, whose donations usually come with expectations for rewards that might result in corruption.

Unlike NCCPF’s recommendations in 2016, the aforementioned Bill contains explicit limitations to the amount of money that individuals, companies and groups of companies are allowed to donate. Most importantly, the principle underpinning political financing reform is the need for all political parties to declare the source of their donations to the public, with strict rules in place regarding permissible and non-permissible donors.

While public funding is the carrot, transparency and accountability are sticks that will help reduce political corruption.

Constituency Development Funds

Complementing political financing reform is the need to institutionalise the distribution of CDFs. CDF is the name given to a type of allocation given to members of parliament (MPs) and state assemblypersons (ahli dewan undangan negeri – Adun) to support grassroot-level projects in their constituencies.

These funds are controlled by the federal government through the Implementation and

The current CDF mechanism is problematic because it is not based on any objective criteria or formula and depends solely on the discretion of the prime minister. Indeed, it is this discretion that is being hotly debated right now, as opposition MPs have not received their CDFs, unlike government MPs who receive RM4.1m annually.

Unequal CDF allocations bear implications beyond constituents who do not receive the much-needed cash. In 2024, seven Bersatu MPs were sacked from their party for pledging support for the prime minister in return for CDF allocations. Anwar has openly mentioned the need for opposition MPs to negotiate with the deputy prime minister for their allocations.

Defiant voices have been raised as a result. The Muar MP Syed Saddiq Syed Abdul Rahman has always undertaken creative endeavours to raise the money he needs for his constituency, such as his infamous 200 km run from Muar to the Parliament last July.

Despite ongoing challenges, there are avenues that can be pursued to reform CDF distribution, which can be divided into short-, medium- and long-term goals.

In the short term, the executive discretion over CDF distribution should be removed. At both the state and federal levels, this can be achieved by clearly listing the CDF allocation in the annual budget.

Another short-term measure is to make CDF distribution equitable, based on a set formula that considers both constituent and demographic size. The formula should be made public and revised from time to time. 

In the medium term, the institutionalisation of CDFs should be done through legislation, by enacting a CDF act.

The long-term goal is to revive local council elections, where CDFs will be managed by an elected local council and regulated through legislation. There is a long way to go for this to happen in Malaysia. However, at the state level, Perak is leading the way with the signing of a Confidence and Supply Agreement (CSA) that includes a commitment to equal CDF allocations. This CSA model is similar to what was signed during Ismail Sabri’s administration in 2021.

However, the CSA model is also discretionary and unsustainable. A CDF act removes the discretionary element of CDF disbursements and ensures allocations are made based on rules, rather than partisan politics.

A Long and Winding Road

There is a need to acknowledge that many institutional reforms are complex, both in terms of the sheer number of laws that either need to be amended or drafted from scratch, the constitutional amendments required, and the enormous amount of political courage needed to move the agenda forward.

Because these reforms are important and will fundamentally change the way politics operates, greater scrutiny is needed to ensure their feasibility and suitability.

As it is, MPs have very little time to scrutinise bills before they are tabled, and Malaysia has seen many examples of bills that were rushed through Parliament with little to no deliberation.

Therefore, it is important for the government to provide enough time for MPs to meaningfully engage in the reform process and, at the same time, communicate their efforts to the public as transparently as possible.

While it is easy to blame the slow pace of reforms on self-interested politicians and slow bureaucrats, perhaps there are more uncomfortable questions that need to be answered: do Malaysians really care about the state of our institutions? How many Malaysians understand the meaning and significance of institutions? Are they aware of the importance of keeping these institutions independent?

Corruption is despised by many, especially in the aftermath of 1MDB, but preventing another 1MDB from happening again is the true challenge. 1MDB was a crime that landed a jail sentence for a former prime minister, but serious institutional reforms require more concerted, strategic and systematic efforts that do not translate easily into catchy political campaigns.

There is also the undeniable reality that institutional reforms do not win votes, or at least, not the votes that matter.

Merdeka Center’s mid-term survey of the Madani administration, carried out in May this year, shows that respondents are most concerned about economic issues and cites the same as the country’s biggest problem. A similar survey from 2023 showed the same results, where inflation

These same surveys show that corruption, political instability and racial issues do trouble voters, but they are much less a concern compared to economic predicaments. The Madani government likely senses this sentiment, prompting Anwar’s surprise announcement of benefits for the rakyat—a move some interpret as an attempt to placate dissatisfied Malaysians who took to the streets for the Turun Anwar (Oust Anwar) rally just days later in July.

Is There Hope?

The lack of politica

However, it is important to remember that as Malaysian politics transitions into a mature multiparty democracy, it is in the politicians’ interest to ensure reforms are institutionalised, as there is no guarantee they will hold on to power after the next elections. Removing unfettered discretion from crucial decision-making processes, allocating rules and institutionalising systems do not only safeguard the peoples’ interests but also assure a more level playing field for all political parties. Strengthening Malaysia’s democracy depends on politicians recognising that the same rules apply to all, regardless of who is in power.

Introduction

In 2018, Malaysians did something unprecedented. Voters removed the Barisan Nasional (BN) coalition after more than six decades in power.

That change did more than replace some faces in Putrajaya; it reset expectations about how q

It turned out, however, that governing proved harder than campaigning.

Every major decision required negotiation across parties that did not always trust one another. Issues on religion, law and daily life could flare up overnight. By early 2020, the first “reformist” administration had fallen, and the pandemic brought a different test of state capacity.

Since then, national politics has tilted toward survival. The operating code has been to keep the centre steady, avoid unnecessary shocks, deliver what can be delivered now and preserve enough room to govern tomorrow.

The 2022 general election produced a hung parliament and, after days of uncertainty, a unity government with the Pakatan Harapan (PH) coalition at its core and BN as a partner, together with several smaller parties. The arrangement restored stability and allowed policy to move again, but it narrowed the space for sweeping reforms.

The government must count votes before it counts promises. This becomes a more negotiated politics in which durability matters as much as direction.

The High Tide and the Fade

Public engagement peaked in 2018. Citizens followed debates closely, volunteered on campaigns and turned out in large numbers. Since then, however, attention has eased. Undi18 and automatic voter registration expanded the roll by millions, yet turnout settled below the 2018 high. Participation is now episodic.

Many Malaysians watch politics when living costs rise or when identity and religion become salient, then tune out when politics feels remote from daily life. This shift changes how reformist parties are judged. Voters look for verifiable outcomes rather than promises. They ask concrete questions: are clinics less crowded, are flood works finished before the monsoon and are prices stable enough to plan the month?

Parti Keadilan Rakyat (PKR) sits at the centre of this dynamic. Conceived as an opposition founded on a moral critique of patronage, legal overreach and uneven development, the party’s strength was mobilisation and the promise of reform.

However, competence is shown through service delivery and institutional repair, which is slower, less visible and harder to communicate. The result is a mismatch of tempo. Core supporters who score politics by moral clarity may read caution as retreat. Swing voters who score politics by practical results discount ambitious language unless it becomes something they can use, such as faster approvals, smoother cash aid or a bus that arrives when the timetable says it will.

This is not only a communications problem. It reflects a structural shift in participation. Youth organisers report strong interest in specific issues such as climate, housing and mental health, but less appetite for party structures that feel slow or inward-looking.

Reformist parties, including PKR, can push national policy on subsidy reform, parliamentary services and industrial strategy, yet they still need a local rhythm of delivery that residents can verify.

Where that rhythm exists, engagement returns; where it does not, attention drifts to the next controversy.

Events in 2023 and 2024 reinforced caution. The Federal Court struck down parts of the Kelantan Syariah Criminal Code, clarifying federal authority over criminal law. Parliament passed a smoking and vaping law but removed the planned generational ban. Socks bearing religious words sold at KK Super Mart triggered boycotts and arson.

Each of these episodes demanded quick decisions and clear explanations. The political climate has shifted from hope to temperature control, where keeping calm and keeping delivery on track are achievements in their own right.

Reform Meets Reality

Deep reform has proved difficult since 2018, even for parties elected on change.

Three forces explain why: dispersed authority, coalition bargaining and administrative capacity, all of which are then filtered through economic delivery and identity politics.

First, authority in Malaysia is shared across several centres. For instance, Yang di-Pertuan Agong (“King”) and the Conference of Rulers play defined roles during political uncertainty, and Islamic affairs are administered by state-level religious councils and departments.

In such system, reform is not secured by a speech or a cabinet memo. It requires a clear statutory base and agencies with the capacity to implement.

When a sensitive issue erupts, it narrows the bargaining space. A political-financing statute has stalled because it touches fundraising practices and incentives across parties. By contrast, reviving Parliament’s services law to rebuild the legislature’s capacity has moved, while amendments touching speech remain slow because they sit at the intersection of security, identity and rights.

Second, the coalition map since 2022 makes negotiation the rule. PH governs with BN and partners from Sabah and Sarawak. A measure that energises one bloc can unsettle anothe

Reformist parties, including PKR, have traded speed for durability and symbolism for enforceability. Leadership time is spent on arithmetics in Parliament, managing ties with BN allies, reassuring Malay-majority constituencies while holding a multiracial compact together, and aligning federal policy with state priorities.

Third, the civil service sets the tempo from decision to delivery. Procurement rules, audits and disbursement cycles determine how quickly policy reaches people. Agencies must issue guidelines, build systems and correct errors. This is where public patience is won or lost. When timelines and delays are explained, frustration is contained; when they are not, goodwill evaporates and reformist language sounds hollow.

This is not uniquely Malaysian, but a cautious administrative culture and the memory of rapid political turnover since 2020 make it more pronounced.

Economic policy ties these forces to everyday life. In June 2024, the government moved diesel in Peninsular Malaysia from a blanket subsidy to a targeted system at RM3.35 per litre; Sabah and Sarawak kept the previous structure, recognising the unique conditions in the two regions.

To cushion the shift, the BUDI MADANI cash aid went to eligible households and smallholders, and fleet cards were rolled out for transport and other diesel-heavy sectors. The fiscal aim was to reduce leakages and direct help to genuine users. The political test has been lived experience.

For instance, a Penang hawker delays a fifty-cent increase because regulars count every ringgit. Short-term pocket support has tried to smooth the path. The government announced a one-off RM100 e-wallet credit and top-ups for selected groups. These are not macro debates; they are about timing and trust.

Reform is tolerated when rules are simple and stable, payments arrive when promised, and cost-shaping services, road maintenance and public transport frequency improve in step with price changes.

Investment policy follows the same logic. Announcements in cloud services, advanced electronics and the Johor–Singapore Special Economic Zone promise higher-value jobs. Confidence materialises only when enabling pieces move together: permits processed on schedule, predictable grid connections, skills programmes that lead to placements, and faster checkpoints for people and goods.

If these lag, even strong projects become symbols of delay. If they align, citizens can see a path from today’s cost pressures to tomorrow’s opportunities, and political heat cools.

Finally, identity politics is the system’s choke point. The “3Rs” of race, religion and royalty provide a ready script that can turn a shop’s mishandling of Jalur Gemilang, or packaging with religious text, into a national quarrel within hours. The corrective is predictable law applied evenly: clear statutory thresholds between protected speech and incitement, proportionate penalties set in advance and published reasons for police, prosecutorial and regulatory decisions. Lowering this “3R premium” is the precondition for structural reform.

From Survival to Stewardship

Malaysia will not move forward by trying to replay 2018. The way out of today’s holding pattern is to turn reform talk into changes that people can see and use. That means a governing style that is practical, sets clear dates and explains decisions in plain language.

For reform-oriented parties such as PKR, credibility now rests less on slogans and more on steady delivery.

The first task is to make everyday dealings with government simpler and faster. Targeted help must work as promised. BUDI MADANI payments should have clear eligibility rules, short forms and a published timeframe from application to payment. Fleet card claims for transport operators should be processed within a stated number of working days, with weekly updates on any backlog.

Rules should not change halfway through. If a change is unavoidable, then new steps and a reasonable notice period should be announced early. Service upgrades need dates rather than catchy phrases. A logistics firm needs to know which month a freight corridor will be repaired and the week a permit window opens and closes. A commuter needs a timetable that bus operators actually meet.

The second task is to make Parliament and ministries easier to follow. Committee reports should be written so non-specialists can read them, giving out details as to who provides evidence, what changes in the bill and when the government must reply.

Ministries should face firm deadlines to answer those reports and to table implementation updates. Budgets should show, line by line, how savings from subsidy reforms flow into local works that people can see, from school repairs and flood mitigation to more frequent buses on named routes. A political financing law that requires disclosure and sets spending ceilings, even if modest at first, would move politics from accusation toward clear rules.

These steps are not flashy, but they survive cabinet reshuffles and give the public a fair way to judge performance.

The third task is to build growth that withstands political change. The Johor–Singapore corridor is the clearest place to prove this. The government must publish targets for median customs clearance times, processing windows for work passes and basic data-handling standards, then audit them. Moreover, it must link training in data centres, electronics and logistics to actual job placements, and report results by state. When a graduate in Kedah can see a documented pathway into a job in Iskandar, national strategy becomes local proof, and scepticism eases.

Fourth, reform keeps colliding with the 3Rs. These frames allow almost any policy to be recast as a threat to identity. Overlapping laws on sedition, communications and public order blur the line between criticism and incitement, so platforms, brands and agencies default to risk avoidance.

For reformist parties, including PKR, the 3Rs can work like a veto. Measures that can be reframed through racial or religious lenses a

Within these constraints, PKR’s task is to convert a reformist identity into administrative credibility. The party’s advantage is no longer protest language but follow-through. Policies should be staged so implementation capacity and public communication move together.

Trade-offs need to be explained upfront in plain terms: who benefits now, who pays and when relief arrives. Instead of publishing long scorecards, regular, short updates that connect national decisions to local effects must be provided. Details should include what changes take place, why they occur, how problems will be fixed and when the next check-in will be.

The headline in 2018 was “hope”. The headline now is “reliability and survival”. Trust returns when people can point to cleaner procurement, Parliament scrutinises properly and gets answers on time, assistance that lands when due, identity-related incidents handled without confusion, and industrial projects that lead to real training-to-job pathways. These calls may not fill a rally, but they are how a coalition era could turn survival into stewardship and how hope could become reasonable again.

Introduction

Prime Minister Anwar is now halfway past his premiership and has served longer as prime minister than his three immediate predecessors. In June 2025, the Merdeka Center released data regarding his approval rating, which stood at 55%; this is a mere 1% increase from his rating in November 2024 (Table 1).

This article aims to discuss a contradiction: while Anwar is facing numerous struggles at home (reflecting his mediocre approval rating), he remains popular abroad, presenting himself as a vocal Malaysian leader and the current holder of ASEAN chair.

Anwar’s Diplomatic Spotlight

When Thailand and Cambodia clashed and exchanged artillery fire, Malaysia grabbed the opportunity to step in as a mediator. Anwar positioned himself as a regional peacemaker, projecting an image of statesman and international leader.

The Thai-Cambodia dispute provided a chance for Anwar to showcase himself as a skilful diplomat who also managed to balance the vested interests in the conflict—the United States’ and China’s. In fact, Anwar mentioned that he had received a compliment from President Donald Trump who described it as a “fantastic job”.

Ironically, the government’s “success”

On top of that, Anwar’s engagement with world leaders has enhanced Malaysia’s international profile. Hosting China’s President Xi Jinping in April 2025 gave him a diplomatic spotlight. As ASEAN chair, Anwar is the first Malaysian leader to be invited to the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) Summit, and he would deliver his inaugural remark at the SCO Plus Summit in Tianjin University, China.

Moreover, Trump may attend the ASEAN Summit in October this year. This seems to suggest that despite the tariff-related tension, Anwar has managed to maintain the bilateral relations with the United States on an even keel.

Moreover, Anwar has p

His rhetoric has been framed as a political necessity and reinforced his image as a defender of the oppressed.

However, this stance is now being tested by the controversial nomination of a pro-Israel US envoy to Malaysia. The move has triggered backlash, with critics accusing the government of hypocrisy and enquiring whether the incoming envoy’s stand will match the US’ foreign policy decisions.

Anwar’s Domestic Struggles

Nevertheless, beneath the polished optics of his diplomatic engagements, things at home were still far less reassuring.

On 26 July 2026, a protest spearheaded by the Malay-dominated Perikatan Nasional (PN) called for Anwar to step down. This signifies that troubling issues at home may pose a threat to Anwar’s position as prime minister.

First, the economic discontent among the people. The expansion of the Sales and Service Tax (SST) from 1 July has directly impacted the prices of essential household items and services, squeezing the rakyat further.

Furthermore, the rationalisation of RON95 petrol subsidies and rising electricity bills, which are set to be implemented by the end of this year, has sparked public furore.

Growing concerns over the rising cost of living and inflation, compounded by wage stagnation, are especially troubling for M40 and B40 groups. If the economic concerns are not properly addressed, this would leave the M40 and B40 behind and might incentivise them to vote against Anwar’s Pakatan Harapan (PH).

Second, the slow rollout of reforms. The institutional reforms, particularly in the areas of the judiciary, anti-corruption and the separation of powers, are progressing slower than promised.

The recent judicial void in Malaysia, as its chief justice retired without a successor, has raised many questions and concerns about judicial independence and the prime minister’s power and role in the appointment of judges.

On top of that, Anwar has publicly stated that political appointments made by the government to individuals should be allowed. This has been fully condemned by the civil society organisations, as such appointment as a reward for loyalty is the foundation of cronyism.

These episodes had contributed to the mistrust and a decline in credibility among civil society voters who were once strong supporters of Anwar’s Reformasi agenda.

Third, Anwar is also facing headwinds from within his own party as well as the Unity Government. Former deputy president Rafizi Ramli’s failure to retain his post in the recently concluded Parti Keadilan Rakyat (PKR) election led to his resignation as economy minister.

Following this, he has started his own podcast—Yang Berhenti Menteri (YBM, The Minister Who Quits), with a debut episode of 122k views. Rafizi’s decline of the offer to be the second PKR deputy president and to remain as an ordinary party member may deepen divisions within PKR.

Furthermore, the case of Rafizi’s 12-year-old son being attacked in a mall shocked the country because politically linked physical attacks, especially targeting children, are exceptionally rare. The timing of this attack is suspect, with Rafizi himself stating that it is a warning against him to refrain from being outspoken on certain issues.

Fourth, the relationship between PH and Barisan Nasional (BN). Although PH and BN have cooperated in previous state and by-elections, the extent to which this collaboration can be sustainable and replicated is unknown despite the proven vote transferability between these two coalitions.

The testing grounds will be the upcoming Sabah, Malacca and Johor state elections as the two negotiate on the allocation of contesting seats.

In addition, the recent move of Minister of Trade and Industry Tengku Zafrul Aziz from the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO) to PKR has intensified internal dissatisfaction within UMNO, with growing sentiment that his portfolio must remain under UMNO’s purview.

Last but not least, the underperforming cabinet. Anwar’s cabinet appears to rely excessively on the prime minister to respond to every single national issue. From the recent death case of a school bullying victim to the controversy surrounding the display of an upside-down Malaysian flag, ministers have been conspicuously absent from facing the public or taking the lead in public communication.

Instead, all these issues are consistently deferred to Anwar, creating the perception that governance is being conducted as a one-man performance rather than through collective cabinet responsibility.

Conclusion: Balancing Act

Anwar’s mid-term performance reveals a premiership caught between two arenas.

Abroad, he has successfully carved out a role for Malaysia as a respected regional leader, peacemaker, trade negotiator and moral voice for the Global South. Nevertheless, domestically, his administration is weighed down by economic discontent, policy incoherence, slow reforms, internal party divisions and an underperforming cabinet.

The lesson is that international status cannot replace domestic legitimacy. Global recognition may temporarily shield Anwar from critics, but without addressing the local bread-and-butter issues and restoring faith in his reformist credentials, his administration risks losing his own long-time supporters.

If the prime minister could translate international goodwill into domestic gains, such as channelling new trade deals into jobs or maximising his global reputation to drive investment and institutional reform, he will be able to reconcile these two arenas. If not, his premiership would be remembered as one where Malaysia’s image shines abroad, but the government’s credibility falters as home. In conclusion, Anwar needs to devote more attention to addressing pressing domestic challenges than focusing predominantly on courting potential foreign investment deals if he intends to remain as prime minister.