WHENEVER I’m back in Kota Kinabalu, I try to visit my favourite barbershop in Luyang. It’s a dying trade, and this shop is one of the few left in Sabah (and Malaysia) that still offers a traditional straight-razor shave and ear-cleaning.
I couldn’t understand most of it, but a couple of words in Malay and English, “budi” and “diesel”, gave me an idea of the topic. The man’s tone was angry, and I didn’t need to know Chinese to understand that he was complaining about the newly introduced diesel subsidy rationalisation.
On July 1, the Federal Government implemented a targeted diesel subsidy programme that seems to have left many Sabahans feeling like they’ve been sold a raw deal.
Under the previous system, diesel vehicle owners in Sabah and Sarawak enjoyed unlimited access to subsidised diesel at RM2.15 per litre. The new Budi Diesel rate is cheaper at RM2.10 a litre, but access is no longer unlimited. The shift to a quota-based, MyKad-verified system means those who don’t qualify or exceed their monthly quota must now pay the unsubsidised market price – due to the Middle East conflict – of RM4.37 a litre.
A lot of the anger has to do with confusion as a new system rolls out, no doubt, but there are real issues on the ground that policy doesn’t address. For instance, Putrajaya was happy to announce that diesel quota eligibility can now be transferred to family members – but this actually does little to address the reality of a vehicle driven by multiple members of a household.
The transfer of eligibility has to be registered at the Budi Madani portal by the 27th of the month to have the change usable by the first day of the following month. This applies to one person. So son can use the subsidy when he drives the vehicle to work daily. What happens when daughter has to drive it 332km from Kota Kinabalu to Sandakan on an errand? She can’t access the subsidy because eligibility has been transferred to the son.
The situation is even more precarious for someone like the farmer in Ranau, roughly 106km from Kota Kinabalu, who relies on three diesel vehicles to keep his vegetable farm running. Since eligibility for the subsidised rate can only be transferred to immediate family members, his workers can’t use the cheaper rate when transporting produce to market. The farmer is, in effect, taxing his own operational costs.
With members of my Sabah-based chat groups up in arms over the subsidy’s new form, I decided to delve deeper, which meant having dim sum in Kota Kinabalu with Stephen, a 60-something friend who owns three diesel 4WDs.
“You know,” Stephen began, becoming animated as he looked around the dim sum shop, “for 30, 40 years, diesel was never a question. Back in the 90s, I could fill my tank for RM30. By the 2000s, it was RM36. For a quarter of a century, it barely budged.
“Then, a few years back, it jumped to RM48. I thought that was high. But now? It’s double, double, and double again.”
He shook his head. “Subsidised, a full tank is RM178. But with this new subsidy system? If I lose my eligibility or hit the cap, I’m looking at RM350.
“When I filled up last week, I didn’t just feel the pinch – I felt terrified for everyone else. How are they going to survive?”
To Stephen, his diesel 4WDs are a necessity.
“To us, diesel isn’t a luxury, it’s the poor man’s fuel. Look at our roads – the ‘moon craters’ on the way from Kota Kinabalu to Lahad Datu, and the constant threat of flooding. It’s a six- to seven-hour drive. If you don’t have a 4WD to handle the Telupid section, what can you drive? You’d be stranded.”
Doing the mental arithmetic, his frustration grew as he pointed out the numbers: “It’s 380km one way to Lahad Datu. Now, it’ll cost me RM300 just for the fuel to get there, non-subsidised. Honestly? At that rate, I’d be better off flying. An AirBorneo ticket is RM350 return. It’s cheaper to fly than to drive your own car.”
The businessman continued, his voice sharpening: “My son is 25, so he can qualify for his own subsidy. But look at our families. In Sabah, one person usually holds the title to the car, even if the whole family uses it.
“There’s no public transport to speak of – maybe one pink bus running around if you’re lucky. I have no choice; I’m forced to use cars. I’ve got three diesel vehicles, but the government only gives me a subsidy for one person. How is that supposed to work?”
The mood in his chat groups, he noted, has gone past the point of frustration. It has turned into something volatile, he said, using a famous Sabah expletive, meaning “the mood is angry”.
“Sabahans know there is a war in Iran, they know the global oil situation, but in Sabah, we are an oil-producing state. That’s the grievance that keeps getting repeated. They don’t care about the excuses.
“On a scale of one to 10, people always complain – that’s a three or four. But right now? The mood is nine.
“Putrajaya is ignoring the fact that Sabah is massive – our state is larger than the combined landmass of Johor, Pahang, and Negri Sembilan. And our roads are falling apart. You tell me, is 200 litres a month supposed to cover that?”
He looked down at his tea, his appetite seemingly gone.
“People here feel like they’ve been sold a raw deal, and they aren’t looking for explanations any more. They’re just looking for a way to get to work without going broke.”
Sabah politicians, especially those aligned with the Federal Government, are receiving an earful regarding the one-size-fits-all implementation of the targeted diesel subsidy, which fails to account for Sabah’s unique geography and socioeconomic realities.
