The visible trash that can be found littering the riverbank of Sungai Tebrau here in Johor Baru. The state government has launched its Clean Johor campaign to make the state’s environment clean from any waste. — THOMAS YONG/The Star
LAST week, an invitation arrived quietly.
Not to a dinner, a launch or a grand ceremony dressed in ribbons and polite applause, but to a talk on The Rubbish Crisis in Sabah by Datuk Dr Chua Kim Hing, former director general of Kota Kinabalu City Hall at the Kota Kinabalu Wetlands in Sabah.
The venue itself already whispered its message.
Wetlands – where rivers meet sea, where what we discard upstream eventually arrives downstream, and where rubbish often arrives before wisdom.
I paused. At this stage of life, I choose invitations more carefully. Not every seminar deserves time.
Not every cause deserves commentary. But some topics ... choose me. Rubbish, strangely, is one of them.
Not because it is glamorous or fashionable. But because it is never really about rubbish. It is about mindset that shapes attitude, attitude that guides behaviour, and behaviour that ultimately defines culture and governance.
Most crises are not born of ignorance. They are born of tolerance – tolerance of bad habits, weak enforcement and the quiet “never mind-lah” attitude.
In my long working life, I learnt one quiet habit that never failed me. Whenever I visited an oil palm estate or mill – before yields, reports or meetings – I inspected the toilets. Not the office. Not the trees or machines. The toilets.
Because long before key performance indexes reveal performance, toilets reveal mindset.
A clean toilet speaks of discipline, pride and respect. A neglected one speaks of tolerance, excuses and quiet decay.
Cleanliness, I learnt early, is never about hygiene alone. It is about culture.
How people treat shared spaces is how they treat shared responsibilities. And how they treat rubbish ... is often how they treat their operations and their future.
And so, somewhere between river and sea, between nature and negligence, I sensed this was not a talk I would listen to politely, but a question I was meant to reflect on deeply.
What follows, then, is that reflection - told, quite deliberately, wearing the hat of rubbish.
If I were rubbish, honestly, I would be very confused. Not about my job. That part is simple. I belong in a bin. But about humans.
Humans, I must say politely, have a very complicated relationship with me.
They love me when I am useful – coffee cup, bubble-tea lid, burger wrapper, cigarette butt. But the moment I finish my duty ... they pretend I don’t exist.
They buy. They unwrap. They snack. They smoke. And then – casually, smoothly, professionally – they release me into drains, bushes, beaches and car windows.
No eye contact. No apology. No farewell speech. Gravity does the rest. And suddenly, I am ... someone else’s problem.
The next day, something magical happens. Yes. Some people throw rubbish. Other people are assigned to pick it up. Humans become heroes.
They wake early. Wear gloves. Wear matching T-shirts. Carry tongs like superhero weapons. Hold banners saying “Save the Earth” and take selfies with trash.
Welcome to civilisation. The thrower walks away free. The cleaner bends down repeatedly. We clap for the cleaner but never correct the thrower.
We call the cleaner inspiring. We call the litterer ... nothing.
Strange system, no? The careless enjoy convenience. The disciplined inherit consequence. And this part really amazes me: humans praise sweeping more than restraint. Heroism, apparently, begins after the mess.
They have even invented a lifestyle concept: “Throw first. Clean later.”
They litter everyday, everywhere. Then organise gotong-royong. Sin in a day. Redemption in another day.
They sweep beaches, unclog drains, save turtles. And on the next day ... they throw again.
Trash disappears for one day. Habits stay forever. They call this sustainability. I call this ... job security.
One day, I overheard humans discussing mindsets. They train children to pick me up.
Praise volunteers who pick me up. Give certificates to people who pick me up. But very few humans are trained not to throw me in the first place.
They train cleaners beautifully. They train litterers ... accidentally. They ban plastic bags, straws and cups. But they hesitate to ban bad behaviour.
And the most honest mindset of all: they allow – through silence, through “never mind-lah”, through tired enforcement.
Slowly, society learns one dangerous lesson: “Littering is normal.”
In Malaysia, humans even gave names to this drama. They call litterers kutu sampah – cute name for litter bugs.
They practise gotong-royong – beautiful tradition. And sometimes they perform wayang kulit – more theatrical than solution.
Volunteers gather. VIPs arrive. Free T-shirts. Free makan. Click, click. Photo taken, TikToks, hashtags. Everyone happy. Except me. Because tomorrow ... I will be back. Rubbish loses nothing. But Malaysia ... loses slowly.
Do not misunderstand me – these efforts are necessary. Symbols matter. Leadership must be seen.
But let us be honest. If every month we organise rubbish collections while every day rubbish continues to be thrown, then we are not solving a problem.
We are merely perfecting a ritual and rehearsing a vicious cycle.
People say cleaners are heroes but the real hero is the one who does not litter.
That deserves to go viral. Real heroism is wonderfully boring. It is the quiet moment when you hold on, walk ten more steps, and find a bin (assuming one exists). No selfie. No applause. Just self-control. And perhaps that is precisely why it is so rare.
Also, please stop blaming me.
I do not walk. I do not jump. I do not teleport. If I am in a river, a hand sent me there. If I am on a beach, a pocket released me.
If I am in a drain, a decision delivered me. I am not the problem. I am the evidence.
Humans also love words. Sometimes the wrong ones. They shout “Don’t Litter”. Angry. Defensive. Threatening. But what if they spoke differently? From “Don’t Litter” to “Litter-Free Zone”. From “No Throwing” to “This Place Is Loved”. From “Stop Polluting” to “Protect Our Rivers”. Because people resist orders ... but protect identities. Language trains behaviour quietly. Culture often begins ... not with laws ... but with better words.
Let me tell you a secret. The real war is not against me. It is against the next piece of rubbish - the one still in someone’s hand.
If humans want to win, they must stop chasing yesterday’s trash and start protecting future rubbish. Teach early. Teach gently. Teach relentlessly. And restore something very old and very Asian: “malu”.
Not humiliation. The healthy kind. The quiet voice that says: “This reflects on me. On my family. On my community.” When laws are absent and officers tired, malu becomes the strongest enforcement of all. Where friends tegur friends. Children scold parents. Silence is no longer polite. Because culture, in the end, is enforcement without uniforms.
I also hear humans arguing about fines. Some say, “Fine them hard.” Some say, “Be kind.” I agree with both. Because not every litterer is careless. Some are poor. Some are elderly. Some are confused.
A RM500 fine may teach discipline to the rich ... but break the spirit of the struggling.
Justice should correct behaviour ... not destroy dignity.
Warn first. Educate early. Fine repeat offenders. Because a clean city built on fear is less noble than a clean city built on conscience.
By the way, humans, one more truth.
Clean cities are not free. Bins cost money. Trucks cost money. Landfills cost money. Recycling costs money. Enforcement costs money. Culture alone cannot buy trucks. Mindset cannot maintain landfills.
If you want clean streets, you must pay for clean systems. Because neglect is always more expensive than care.
Councils cannot perform miracles with shrinking budgets and growing cities.
If governments truly value cleanliness, they must not only campaign for it ... but also budget for it.
Fund better bins. Upgrade old fleets. Build proper recycling centres. Train officers.
But it must be clean funding. Transparent procurement. Open tenders. Clear audits. Public accountability. Because one corrupt contract can turn ten new trucks into five, one recycling plant into a white elephant, and one landfill into a lifetime problem.
When rubbish management becomes a business for kickbacks, rubbish will always win.
Clean cities cannot be built with dirty processes. And a government that values cleanliness must fight corruption as seriously as it fights litter. Neglect, in the end, always costs more than care.
A city that refuses to invest in waste management will eventually invest far more in floods, diseases, damaged tourism and broken reputation.
Cleanliness, after all, is not only a moral choice. It is also a financial decision.
And now, before I float into another drain, one final thought. Malaysia is beautiful. Mountains do not complain. Seas do not protest. But tourists choose quietly - and they choose with their feet.
As we prepare for Visit Malaysia 2026 and beyond, remember this uncomfortable truth: no slogan can compete with a dirty beach, a clogged drain or a river carrying plastic into paradise.
Investors also notice too. They may come for incentives and promises, but they stay - or leave - because of signals.
Clean streets signal discipline. Clear rivers signal governance. Orderly cities signal reliability. A polluted drain whispers neglect. A filthy beach suggests indifference. Capital, after all, invests not only in markets but in mindsets.
And then there are our children. They do not read policy papers. They learn from what they see.
If rubbish lies in drains, mess becomes normal. If plastic floats in rivers, nature becomes disposable.
Children are not taught by campaigns. They are trained by examples. What they learn today, they practise tomorrow - quietly, instinctively, permanently.
So the next time you finish your drink by the beach ... pause. Hold the cup one second longer. Look at me. And ask yourself: “Am I rubbish or am I about to become someone else’s problem?”
Because if one day humans learn to honour restraint more than sweeping, discipline more than slogans, and conscience over convenience, I, rubbish, may finally retire.
And that would be the cleanest victory of all.
Joseph Tek Choon Yee has over 30 years of experience in the plantation industry, with a strong background in oil palm research and development, C-suite leadership and industry advocacy. The views expressed here are the writer’s own.
