Prepared by: Angie S Chin Lead – The Vote Wisely Project, Sabah
KOTA KINABALU: It is not even halfway through 2026, and yet a pattern is already emerging—one that should concern not just Sabahans, but every Malaysian who believes in the spirit of federation.
Sabah is preparing to take the Federal Government to court on multiple fronts: the long-standing findings of the Royal Commission of Inquiry on Illegal Immigrants in Sabah, and the unresolved questions surrounding continental shelf rights.
At the same time, the 180-day timeline promised to address Sabah’s 40% revenue entitlement—rooted in the Malaysia Agreement 1963—has come and gone without meaningful resolution.
We were told that more time is needed. Time to “locate information.” Time to revisit “lost years.” Time to ensure the facts are complete before decisions are made.
One almost wonder—where exactly have these documents been hiding all this while? In a particularly elusive filing cabinet? Or perhaps waiting patiently for the right political season to be rediscovered?
And increasingly, it no longer sounds like due diligence. It sounds more like an orchestrated delay.
The Politics of Time
When timelines are extended without transparency, when responses are deferred without accountability, and when issues that have lingered for decades are still met with requests for “more time,” one begins to question whether the intention is to resolve—or to outlast.
Is the strategy simply to wait long enough for public pressure to dissipate?
To hope that fatigue will eventually set in?
That Sabahans, burdened by rising costs of living and daily survival, will eventually shift their attention elsewhere?
Because history suggests that this is not an unfounded concern.
When Asking for Rights Becomes “Greed”
There is something deeply unsettling about the way Sabah’s demands are often framed.
When Sabahans push for what is constitutionally theirs—whether it is the 40% revenue entitlement, transparency on continental shelf rights, or fair representation—they are sometimes labelled as “ungrateful” or “greedy.”
But what exactly is being asked for?
Not special treatment. Not charity. Only what was agreed upon.Only what was promised.
And yet, the louder Sabahans speak, the more resistance they seem to encounter—not just institutionally, but socially. The narrative subtly shifts. The conversation is reframed. The legitimacy of the demand is questioned.
This raises an uncomfortable but necessary question: why does asserting one’s rights feel like crossing a line?
The Silence That Speaks Loudest
Perhaps more concerning than the delays is the silence.
Take, for instance, the issue of Sabahans living outside the state and their constitutional right to vote via postal ballots. This is not a new concern. It is not an unreasonable request. It is, at its core, about democratic access.
And yet, from key institutions—the Election Commission, the Prime Minister’s Office—there has been little more than quiet.
Silence, in moments like these, is not neutral. It communicates priorities. It signals what matters—and what does not.
And for many Sabahans, that silence is deafening.
It Takes Two Hands to Clap
It would be convenient to place the burden of blame entirely on the Federal Government.
But that would not be entirely honest. Because governance is not a one-sided affair.
Sabah, too, must confront its own realities.
Over the years, even present—across administrations, across political parties—there have been leaders whose commitment to Sabah’s long-term interests has been, at best, inconsistent. Integrity issues, political compromises, and quiet “gentleman agreements” have too often taken precedence over principled stands.
As long as individual interests are protected, as long as positions are secured, the urgency to fight for Sabah’s rights appears to fade.
And so, the question must be asked: how much of Sabah’s current predicament is external—and how much is internal?
A Cycle of Repetition
Perhaps the most perplexing issue is not the lack of awareness—but the lack of change.
Sabahans today are more informed than ever. Social media, independent media, and grassroots movements have made information more accessible. Conversations about rights, governance, and accountability are no longer confined to small circles.
And yet, election after election, many of the same leaders return.
Promises are made. Disappointments follow. And the cycle repeats.
Why?
Is it loyalty? Is it lack of viable alternatives? Is it fragmentation of votes? Or is it something deeper—a systemic fatigue that leads people to settle for familiarity over possibility?
Whatever the reason, the outcome remains the same: progress is slow, and structural issues persist.
Leadership: The Missing Force
Leadership is not merely about holding office. It is about presence. It is about conviction. It is about standing at the forefront when it matters most.
And yet, time and again, when Sabah faces critical moments, the absence of its top leaders is painfully noticeable.
Consider the recent gathering at Padang Merdeka in Kota Kinabalu—a rally centered around the push for the 40% revenue entitlement. Only around 400 people attended.
Yes, it was a working day. Yes, traffic in Kota Kinabalu can be challenging. These are valid considerations.
But where were the leaders? Only 4 showed up?
How many stood shoulders to shoulders with the people they represent?
How many used their platforms to mobilize, to amplify, to lead for the same cause?
When leadership is absent, the message that trickles down is clear: this issue is not urgent enough.
And when the top does not lead by example, unity at the grassroots becomes significantly harder to achieve.
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The Machinery of Division
Disunity, however, does not occur in a vacuum. It is often engineered and cultivated over the years.
And in Sabah’s case, it seems to have been perfected.
The formula is simple: introduce emotionally charged issues—such as illegal immigration—into public discourse. Allow them to dominate narratives. Encourage debate, disagreement, and, eventually, division. Easy!
Add to this the amplification power of social media—where anonymity allows for trolling, misinformation, and provocation—and the result is a fragmented public.
When people are busy arguing with each other, they are less likely to hold systems accountable.
When attention is diverted, pressure dissipates. And when unity is lost, momentum collapses.
This is not unique to Sabah. The impact here is particularly profound—because Sabah’s strength has always been its people.
The Cost of Disunity
Disunity is not just a social issue. It is a strategic vulnerability.
It weakens negotiation power. It dilutes collective voice. It allows external forces—whether political or institutional—to operate with less resistance.
And over time, it erodes hope.
Movements rise, gain traction, and then falter—not because the cause is weak, but because the unity behind it is fragile.
If there is one lesson to be drawn from the past six decades, it is this: without unity, even the most legitimate demands struggle to gain ground.
Moving Forward—Or Standing Still?
The past cannot be undone.
The agreements signed, the decisions made, the opportunities missed—they have all shaped Sabah into what it is today.
But the future is still open. The question is: what will Sabah do with it?
Will it continue to rely on fragmented efforts, hoping that incremental pressure will eventually lead to change? Or will it recognize that the path forward requires something more fundamental—something more difficult?
This does not mean the absence of disagreement. Healthy debate is necessary. But it does mean prioritizing shared goals over individual differences.
It means holding leaders accountable—not just during elections, but consistently.
It means showing up—physically, mentally, and collectively—when it matters.
A Final Reflection
Sabah’s story is not one of helplessness.
It is a story of potential—repeatedly tested, sometimes compromised, but never entirely diminished.
The current moment, though challenging, is also revealing. It shows where the gaps are: in governance, in leadership, in unity.
But it also shows where the opportunities lie. Because awareness is growing. Questions are being asked. And silence, increasingly, is no longer accepted.
A Final, Uncomfortable Thought
Perhaps the most uncomfortable question is also the simplest:
If Sabahans cannot come together for something as fundamental as their own rights—then what exactly are they waiting for?
