The first couple of weeks in August 2023 saw some interesting conversations in my WhatsApp neighbourhood group, ahead of the elections in six Peninsular Malaysian states on Aug 12.
The incumbent representative of my state, despite having won five years ago with nearly 90% of the vote, was being questioned by residents. They believed we needed to show him that we could change our vote.
The catalyst was a proposal to build a 15km highway right next to our neighbourhood. This unpopular project – the latest incarnation of similar proposals that had been equally unpopular over the years – caused part of our community to advocate a protest vote. Not that they wanted the incumbent out, mind you; they just wanted to register their dissatisfaction.
This sort of dissonance between what we say and what we mean, and what people think we mean, was also something I saw in a movie still running in cinemas at the time: Barbie.
On the surface, this toy-based tale speaks of female empowerment and the modern woman navigating life with independence and ambition – there’s a doctor Barbie, a president Barbie, even an astronaut Barbie (“Yay, space!”).
But this is an idealised depiction of empowerment. It’s clear that Mattel, maker of the iconic doll, intends to package Barbie to mirror the Zeitgeist, transforming a simple piece of plastic into a coveted doll to be sold for profit. If the cultural conversation is about getting more women into the workplace, then the Barbie doll needs to exemplify it, if only to appeal to parents who pay for their children’s toys.
The motivation behind such messages, in Barbie and in politics, aren’t always so upfront. In both cases, the singular definition of what a thing looks like – the representation of a female doctor a girl could grow up to want to be, or the existence of a highway that a neighbourhood doesn’t want to see – is a poor proxy for the real thing.
Nonetheless, this proposed highway became the centre of attention in my state during the two-week campaign period for elections in Kedah, Kelantan, Negri Sembilan, Penang, Selangor, and Terengganu.
There were messages urging us not to vote for the incumbent state rep and instead cast our ballot in favour of a young candidate from the new third party. Some protesters even managed to stand behind this new choice on nomination day with anti-highway posters held aloft for a photo op.
The signal was very loud and clear – and heard. A week before election day on Aug 12, the state's interim chief minister attempted to put a line under the argument by announcing the highway project’s cancellation. But rather than appease the dissenters, it only created a new talking point: A project cancelled now can always be revived later.
This sparked fierce debate within my WhatsApp group. The new young candidate was criticised by some for being out of touch and of not having done enough groundwork, and thus deemed unsuitable as a representative. Being a state rep, they argued, involves more than merely opposing a highway, especially one that has now been cancelled.
Then a new video started making the rounds. It showed an MP from the incumbent party warning residents about the repercussions of voting "incorrectly".
“[The ruling federal coalition] only has three states left,” was the stark reminder, chastising those who wished to protest the highway project at the risk of losing the state government: “You’re not punishing me; you’re punishing your kids.”
Come election day, the incumbent won with 85% of the vote. The candidate from the third party lost her deposit. And unsurprisingly, talk of highways and punishment evaporated.
Regardless of the outcome, you will not be surprised that I have a problem with negative campaigning. Any manifesto that begins and ends with “Vote for us because we’re not them” is really at best “nothing’s changed since last time”, and at worst, “anything else we say might upset you”.
Fear-mongering and manipulation of public sentiment should not be the norm for politics. And campaign promises, more often than not, are a lot of hot air that dissipates once exposed to harsh post-election daylight.
Why should we accept the doublespeak and distraction from politicians making promises to secure votes? Surely platforms and manifestos should be the promise of a better future? Instead of saying, “fear them”, why not say, “look forward with us”?
Even better is to take the opportunity to be frank with the constituency about why the state government (both incumbent and its predecessors) continually brings up the contentious highway project despite vocal public disapproval.
Perhaps the authorities find it challenging to explain to the people that it’s impossible to maintain a “happily ever after” status quo on the ground while nurturing a state economy that needs to always grow. So if this complex idea is too inconvenient for citizens to accept, the politicians just return to the simple message of, “We are not them”.
The Barbie movie concludes with the titular character stepping out into a more complex and realistic world, acknowledging that the idealised narrative she began with held no substance when placed under close scrutiny. Our politics are constantly under scrutiny too, but those in power prefer that we focus on their simplified message while leaving the bigger picture indistinct on the blurry edges.
Perhaps it is time we learn a thing or two from Barbie – and that would require the will and courage of those in authority, and the patience and respectful ear of us, the rakyat.
In his fortnightly column, Contradictheory, mathematician-turned-scriptwriter Dzof Azmi explores the theory that logic is the antithesis of emotion but people need both to make sense of life’s vagaries and contradictions. Write to Dzof at lifestyle@thestar.com.my. The views expressed here are entirely the writer's own.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Get 20% OFF The Star Digital Access
Cancel anytime. Ad-free. Unlimited access with perks.
