By: Angie S Chin, Lead, The Vote Wisely Project
KOTA KINABALU: In every functioning democracy, there exists an unspoken contract between the people and those they elect into office. It is not a ceremonial agreement sealed at the ballot box every few years—it is a continuous obligation. A promise that the voices of the people will be represented, their rights defended, and their future actively safeguarded.
But in Sabah today, that contract feels increasingly strained—if not quietly broken.
Because an uncomfortable question is no longer avoidable: If Sabahans must rely on NGOs, activists, and ordinary citizens to fight for their rights, then what exactly are politicians and the state government being paid to do?
This is not a question driven by blind frustration. It is grounded in repeated patterns. Patterns where the most critical battles for Sabah’s rights are not led from within the halls of power, but from the ground—by citizens with no salaries, no institutional backing, and no political protection.
It is a painful truth.
Consider the ongoing struggle over Sabah’s continental shelf and resource rights. This is not a minor issue. It strikes at the heart of sovereignty, economic justice, and the long-term future of the state. One would expect a unified, forceful, and highly visible push from both state and federal leaders.
Instead, what we see is something else entirely.
NGOs. Activists. Everyday Sabahans.
They organise. They educate. They mobilise. They fundraise. In some cases, they even bear the financial burden of bringing these matters to court—digging into their own pockets, or appealing to a public already weighed down by rising living costs.
Pause and consider the weight of that reality..
The rakyat are not just fighting for their rights—they are funding the fight themselves. Not because they want to. But because they feel they have no choice.
And this is not an isolated pattern.
When the issue of constitutional rights for Sabahans living outside the state—particularly their access to postal voting—was raised, what followed was not a surge of political urgency. Not a coordinated push. Not even a visible effort to champion the issue at scale.
What followed was a deafening silence. No unified stand. No strong advocacy. No relentless pressure from those with the authority to act.
Again, it was left to NGOs, activists, and concerned citizens to raise the alarm, to push, to demand.
So, the question becomes sharper, more difficult to ignore: Why does it take unpaid citizens to fight for constitutional rights, while those elected remain passive?
And perhaps more importantly:
Why does it feel like Sabahans are fighting on their own?
This sense of fragmentation is not accidental. Sabahans are not just facing external challenges—they are also navigating internal disunity. Instead of a unified political force advocating for Sabah’s interests, what we often see are silos.
Different leaders. Different parties. Different agendas.
Each moving within their own lanes—sometimes cautiously, sometimes competitively.
Is it ego? Party obligation? Political calculation? Perhaps ALL of these.
But whatever the reason, the outcome is the same: a diluted voice.
And in politics, a divided voice is an ineffective one.
The truth is uncomfortable but necessary—Sabah does not lack issues worth fighting for. Sabah lacks unified political will. We want to be like Sarawak but the leaders are weak.
Because imagine, for a moment, what could happen if that UNITY existed.
If leaders across parties stood together—not just in statements, but in action.
If state and federal representatives aligned on core Sabah rights and pursued them relentlessly.
If NGOs and activists were not left to lead, but were instead supported, amplified, and partnered with.
The trajectory of Sabah could shift dramatically. Real change is not impossible. It is simply unrealised.
And yet, instead of recognising NGOs and activists as allies in this struggle, they are too often painted as villains. Labelled as disruptors. Accused of stirring unnecessary tension.
But what is more disruptive? Voices demanding rightful justice—or silence in the face of it?
NGOs and activists are not perfect. But they are necessary. They are the pressure points that keep democracies alive. They ask the uncomfortable questions. They highlight what others prefer to avoid. They persist when it is inconvenient.
And they do all this without salaries, without allowances, without the privileges that come with public office.
Contrast that with elected representatives—ADUNs and Members of Parliament—who are entrusted with resources, authority, and the mandate of the people.
Leadership was never meant to be passive. It was never meant to be reactive. It was never meant to wait until the people push hard enough.
And yet, that is precisely the pattern many Sabahans are witnessing.
Some will argue that governance is complex. That negotiations happen behind closed doors. That progress takes time. Perhaps all is true.
But complexity cannot become an excuse for invisibility. Process cannot justify prolonged silence. And time cannot be the answer to everything.
Because silence creates a vacuum. And in that vacuum, something dangerous grows—distrust.
Sabahans today are not the same as they were decades ago. They are more informed. More connected. More aware of their rights. And increasingly, more willing to question.
They are no longer satisfied with symbolic gestures or vague assurances. They want clarity. They want action. And they want to see leadership that matches the urgency of the issues at hand.
Which brings us to a critical moment in time.
As Malaysia approaches the next general election—GE16—Sabahans must confront not just political choices, but fundamental questions about leadership and accountability. Can we afford making the same mistakes – electing wrong leaders to represent us, our voices?
Voting is not just a routine exercise. It is a statement of expectation. And meaningful voting requires meaningful reflection.
Ask yourself the followings:
Who has consistently stood up for Sabah’s rights—not just during elections, but when it truly mattered?
Who has taken real, tangible steps—not just issued statements for the medias?
Who has pushed forward, even without public pressure?
And perhaps most importantly—Who is willing to stand united, beyond party lines and flags, for Sabah?
Because this is what Sabahans are truly asking for.
Not more voices. BUT ONE STRONG, UNIFIED VOICE.
A voice that does not fracture under pressure. A voice that does not retreat into silence. A voice that does not wait for NGOs to lead the way.
Sabah does not lack talent. It does not lack passion. It does not lack issues worth fighting for.
What it lacks—acutely—is alignment. And until that changes, the burden will continue to fall on the people.
A functioning democracy is not one where citizens must constantly fight to be heard. It is one where they are heard—because those in power are already fighting for them.
This is not a call to reject leadership. It is a call to redefine it. To demand more from it.
To expect that those who are paid to lead will actually lead.
And to remind ourselves, as Sabahans, that we deserve nothing less.
Because in the end, this is not just about NGOs, activists, or politicians.
It is about the kind of Sabah we are willing to accept—and the kind we are willing to demand.
A Sabah where the people are not left to fight on their own.
A Sabah where leaders act, not just react.
A Sabah where unity is not a slogan, but a strategy.
And as GE16 approaches, the question remains—clearer than ever:
“If Sabahans Are Fighting Their Own Battles—So What Exactly Are Leaders Paid For?
