Malaysian in London Can Vote. A Sabahan in KL Can’t. Why?

By Angie S Chin, Lead, The Vote Wisely Project, Kuala Lumpur

KOTA KINABALU: For years, Sabahans and Sarawakians living outside their home states have been asking for one simple thing: the ability to vote without having to board a flight.

Today, that call is no longer a quiet appeal. It is growing louder—and harder to ignore.

Recently, 23 NGOs in Sarawak, together with Bandar Kuching MP Kelvin Yii, raised this issue again. Just days earlier, Datuk Seri Panglima Dr Jeffrey Kitingan did the same. These are not new voices. This is not a new problem.

This is a long-standing failure in our system—one that continues to quietly disenfranchise hundreds of thousands of Malaysians.

And still, nothing has changed.

Back in 2002, a federal gazette introduced postal voting. But it was limited to just three groups: the armed forces, media personnel, and Malaysians overseas. Perhaps that framework worked then. It does not work now.

Today, more than 400,000 Sabahans and Sarawakians live, work, and study in Peninsular Malaysia. They contribute to the economy. They build their futures here. They are part of this nation’s progress.

But when election time comes, they are faced with a brutal choice: pay hundreds—sometimes thousands—of ringgit to fly home and vote, or stay back and lose their voice.

That is not democracy. That is exclusion by design.

Some say, “Just change your IC address.”

But let’s be honest—that is not a solution. It is a dismissal.

Changing your IC address is not a small step. It is a declaration of where you belong. Many East Malaysians in Peninsular Malaysia are here temporarily. Their families are back home. Their roots are back home. Their identity is tied to where they come from.

Are they expected to rewrite that identity every time they move for work or study?

Voting should not come at the cost of identity. It should not require you to choose between where you are and where you belong.

For Sabah and Sarawak voters, this is not just inconvenient—it is fundamentally unfair.

There are no trains to take. No highways to drive. Only flights—expensive, limited, and often out of reach when it matters most. Add work commitments, family responsibilities, and rising costs, and the reality becomes clear: many simply cannot make it back.

This is not apathy. This is a system that makes participation difficult.

And when hundreds of thousands are missing from the ballot, the outcome no longer reflects the full voice of the people.

The right to vote is not a privilege for those who can afford airfare. It is a fundamental right. And when access to that right is shaped by geography and income, then something is deeply broken.

This issue has been raised time and time again—through media, advocacy, and petitions. Civil society groups have engaged. Leaders across Sabah have spoken. The issue has been brought to the attention of the Election Commission and the Federal Government.

And yet, the response has been silence.

Now Sarawak is speaking up too. And that should tell us something—this is bigger than any one state.

This is not a Sabah issue. This is not a Sarawak issue. This is a Malaysian issue.

So perhaps the problem is not awareness. Perhaps the problem is that we have been pushing alone.

For too long, the effort has been fragmented—voices scattered, momentum diluted. That must change.

This is a call—not for another statement, not for another post—but for unity.

I call upon to all NGOs, civil society groups, youth movements, and community leaders across Sabah: Let’s come together. Build one voice. One demand. One memorandum that cannot be ignored.

Because silence from the system should not be met with silence from us.

We are not asking for anything radical. We are not asking for anything political. We are asking for what is fair.

A system where every Malaysian—no matter where they are—has a real, practical chance to vote.

Because democracy cannot be selective. It cannot depend on how much money you have, or how far you live.

It must include everyone.

And if it does not, then we must ask—how many voices are missing, and how long more are we willing to accept it?

The time for asking has passed. The time to act—together—is now.

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