Fear is not a form of governance

Kua Kia Soong

“We are not a police state.”

That pointed reminder came from Hassan Abdul Karim in Parliament recently, after police refused to explain the arrest of a critic of the prime minister.

His statement was not merely a defence of constitutional principles. It was an alarm bell.

When the police arrest citizens while refusing transparency or accountability, people in Malaysia naturally begin to ask whether the country is drifting once again towards rule by fear rather than rule by law.

The tragedy is that this question is not new.

Nearly four decades ago, in 1987, Malaysia’s founding Prime Minister Tunku Abdul Rahman openly declared that the country had become a “police state” – after Operation Lalang saw more than a hundred people arrested under the draconian Internal Security Act. They included opposition politicians, educationists, church workers, social activists and intellectuals.

Most had committed no crime. They were detained without trial because the government of Dr Mahathir Mohamad feared dissent.

The Tunku’s words remain among the gravest indictments ever made by a former national leader against his own government. He understood something fundamental: a police state is not defined merely by tanks on the streets or soldiers at every corner.

A police state emerges when the security apparatus becomes unaccountable, when fear replaces justice, and when people no longer feel protected by the law but threatened by it.

Disappearances and deaths

Malaysia today may not be the Malaysia of 1987. But disturbing signs remain.

The enforced disappearances of Amri Che Mat in 2016 and Raymond Koh in 2017 still haunt the conscience of the nation.

Koh was abducted in broad daylight in a highly coordinated operation resembling a professional security operation.

Amri disappeared months earlier under similarly suspicious circumstances.

Years later, there has been no justice, no prosecution, no full accountability. Malaysia’s human rrights commission, Suhakam, concluded that both were victims of enforced disappearance and pointed to the involvement of state agents.

Yet people in Malaysia are still waiting for decisive action. What kind of democracy allows its people to vanish without closure?

Then there is the death of Teoh Beng Hock, who was found dead after overnight interrogation at a Selangor Malaysian Anti-Corruption Commission office in 2009.

The years have passed. Royal commissions, inquiries and endless promises have come and gone. Yet no one has been held truly accountable for a young man who entered a government building alive and left it dead.

The failure to resolve this case has become one of the deepest wounds in public confidence in institutions of law enforcement. Earlier this year, the family felt compelled to take his case to the United Nations Human Rights Council.

And what are the people to think when even a mother cannot obtain justice from the state? For years, M Indira Gandhi fought desperately to recover her daughter, who had been unilaterally converted and taken away.

But despite court victories all the way to the Federal Court, the authorities failed for years to enforce the law or locate the child.

What does it say about state power when ordinary people can be relentlessly pursued over speech or assembly, but court orders involving the rights of a mother and child are left hanging in the air?

A pattern, not a coincidence

These are not isolated incidents. Deaths in custody continue to occur with alarming regularity.

Activists, cartoonists, journalists and opposition voices continue to face investigation under laws that should have no place in a mature democracy.

The Sedition Act, Sosma and other repressive legislation remain available like loaded weapons against dissent.

Peaceful assemblies are often treated as security threats rather than democratic rights.

People are investigated for satire, speeches, social media posts and even academic discussion.

The issue is larger than any single government or political party. Every administration promises reform while in opposition.

But once in power, too many discover the conveniences of coercive laws and obedient security institutions. The colonial machinery of repression survives because each ruling elite finds it useful.

The danger is that the people slowly become accustomed to abnormality – to arbitrary arrests, selective prosecution, intimidation and secrecy.

A nation does not suddenly wake up one morning as a police state. It slides there gradually, through silence, fear and public resignation.

Proof, not promises

Malaysia stands at a crossroads. If the government truly believes this is not a police state, then it must demonstrate that through action, not slogans.

The police cannot behave as though they answer only to themselves. Parliament must exercise real oversight over security agencies.

Enforced disappearances must be fully investigated.

Deaths in custody must result in accountability.

Draconian laws that criminalise dissent must be repealed.

The independence of the judiciary and the media must be fiercely protected.

Most importantly, the people must never surrender their democratic rights out of fear.

The true measure of a democracy is not how it treats the powerful, but how it treats critics, dissidents and ordinary people with no influence at all.

A confident government does not fear questions. A legitimate state does not silence critics through intimidation. A democratic police force earns public trust through transparency and professionalism, not secrecy and force.

The Tunku warned us in 1987 because he understood that freedom, once lost, is painfully difficult to regain.

Malaysia today must decide what kind of nation it wishes to become: a nation governed by law, or a nation governed by fear.

Dr Kua Kia Soong, a former MP, is the director of human rights group Suaram.

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