MY FIRST foray into activism was buoyed by the excitement of the lowering of the voting age back in 2019.
Even then, I had heard my share of how youths carried an irreplaceable, insatiable and often unrealistic desire for change.
Unlike them, we youths are seen to carry fewer vested interests. For that reason, they are often more willing to question social problems and systemic injustice with boldness and idealism.
This boldness neither means the youth are always right nor does it imply that older people lack conscience. But because young people are more willing to take risks for their ideals, to speak out against injustice, they remind society that maintaining “stability” must not come at the cost of neglecting justice.
Recently, a student activist group in Kota Kinabalu organised a protest branded Gempur Rasuah Sabah 2.0. Towards the end of the rally, it was reported that the students burned a caricature of Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim, expressing their frustration with his apparent indifference to the issue of corruption in the Sabah government.
It is worth noting that after the burning, the protesters also cleaned up the site.
It was hardly surprising that a wave of criticism followed once the news broke.
Universiti Malaysia Sabah (UMS) issued a statement condemning the act as crude and immature. The PKR Youth Wing rushed to the prime minister’s defence, calling the protestors disrespectful and excessive. Other parties and groups also criticised the act as reckless, violent and extreme.
One cannot help but ask: why is there such a strong reaction to the students’ action, yet near-complete silence on the corruption issues and demands raised by the protestors? Who, really, deserves greater criticism: those who protest, or those being protested?
What the students did is undoubtedly a provocative act, symbolising deep disillusionment and anger towards the current administration.
Some may argue that this anger is misplaced, noting that Anwar has consistently emphasised the importance of allowing due legal process to take its course in the Sabah graft cases. It is also disingenuous to cite that the PM has turned his back on his activism roots, as he had called for UMS to not expel the students involved.
But should the protesters’ motivations and demands be dismissed simply because their method of protest was deemed “too intense”?
Truthfully speaking, this administration faces numerous legitimate public questions that remain unanswered, along with decisions that appear to contradict the reformist platform it once championed.
It would be almost understandable for young people to feel that he has not fulfilled his reform promises. Their hope has gradually turned to disappointment and now to anger. Their act is an outcry against a broken system.
In fact, the protest’s core demands, recently echoed by civil society groups like the Center to Combat Corruption and Cronyism, are anything but extreme.
The students called for legal action against the Sabah State Water Department over campus shortages, greater institutional independence for the Malaysian Anti-Corruption Commission, stronger anti-corruption laws and the rejection of Tun Musa Aman’s appointment as the 11th Yang Dipertua Negeri of Sabah.
Instead of engaging these demands, the response from authorities has centred on the protest’s form, not its content. A police investigation is now underway, citing nine offences under laws such as the Peaceful Assembly Act and the Sedition Act.
Meanwhile, student activists are being lectured about using “proper channels”, a familiar refrain used frequently to quell dissatisfaction.
This incident raises two ideas worth exploring: first, what truly constitutes a “proper” protest in Malaysia; and second, how society’s response to protest reflects the state of democratic space in the country.
The implicit belief long-held by our society is that protests must be polite and procedural to be legitimate. Yet, this view ignores the very function of protest in a democratic society which is to challenge power and force engagement with uncomfortable truths.
Malaysia’s own history tells this story. From the university student demonstrations in the early 1970s against rural poverty to Reformasi rallies and the Bersih electoral reform marches, protests have rarely been tidy or fully sanctioned.
This is not to suggest that all forms of protest should be celebrated without scrutiny, but it does compel us to reconsider how we judge them. The current response shows that we risk mistaking offence for injustice and symbols for substance. In a functioning democracy, the legitimacy of protest must be assessed not solely by its form, but by the validity of the message it carries.
The second point concerns how we, as a society, respond when dissent takes on an uncomfortable tone. The language used such as calling students “rude,” “immature,” or “disrespectful” mirrors a paternalism that has long characterised state-society relations in Malaysia.
But this approach fails to reckon with the shifting expectations of a younger, more politically conscious generation.
Rather than viewing protest as a disruption to be contained, we ought to recognise it as a reflection of civic energy and a sign that people still care enough to speak up even when disillusioned.
While we can consider if protesters stayed within the bounds of respectability, we must not lose sight of holding those in power accountable for the promises and principles that earned them public trust.
That said, I firmly believe that protests are not the antidote to all our country’s problems. Change also requires constant education of the broader public and proactive engagement with institutions.
Moving further, I hope to see the students who protested engage in other methods and demonstrate commitment to the anti-corruption cause, be it through roundtable dialogues, social media advocacy, or other creative means.
Ultimately, the question we should be asking is not, “Was burning the Prime Minister’s caricature too disrespectful?” but rather, “What has led to such deep public frustration, especially among the young?”
A deep breach of public trust occurs when those in power remain deaf to the people’s grievances and that deserves far more scrutiny.
Student Jonathan Lee traces his writing roots to The Star’s BRATs programme. He is now a Malaysian youth advocate. The views expressed here are solely the writer’s own.
