By Three Eyed Raven (Majangkim Office)
KOTA KINABALU: In his recent commentary for the Daily Express, Datuk John Lo offered a glowing, almost poetic defense of Chief Minister Hajiji Noor’s governing style.
He painted a picture of a “quiet strategist”—a soft-spoken master of political chess who uses the subtle philosophies of Sun Tzu to outmaneuver opponents and secure Sabah’s future without making a sound.
It is a comforting narrative for a certain generation of establishment figures. It suggests that behind the closed doors of the palace, passive survival is identical to calculated dominance.
But for those of us born in the mid-1970s—a Gen X demographic old enough to remember when Sabah’s basic utilities actually functioned, yet young enough to be thoroughly exhausted by the state’s perpetual subservience—John Lo’s commentary reveals a massive, generational blind spot.
He is confusing a political holding pattern with a grand strategy. In the brutal calculus of power, survival is merely an instinct; true strategy requires results you can actually see when you turn on the tap. Niccolò Machiavelli famously wrote that it is better to be feared than loved if you cannot be both. Right now, Sabah’s leadership is neither feared by the South nor loved by its own thirsty populace.
The Fallacy of the Silent Master
John Lo argues that “shouting and aggressively beating the chest helps very little,” praising Hajiji’s quiet diplomacy over more confrontational regional approaches.
But in the architecture of raw power, silence isn’t a virtue unless it masks an impending strike. Silence without leverage is just submission.
Look across the borders to our neighbors in Sarawak. They understand the Machiavellian truth that projecting power is the only way to maintain autonomy.
They do not whisper, nor do they beg for concessions. They act as an equal, sovereign partner, demanding their constitutional rights with an iron fist, and the federal capital complies because it fears the consequences of their wrath.
When Sabah opts for absolute compliance and calls it “subtlety,” we aren’t executing a masterclass—we are merely settling for crumbs and pretending it was our grand design all long.
Ia leader who relies entirely on the goodwill of a distant sovereign isn’t a prince; he is a tenant.
Paper Victories vs. The Realities of the Realm
The core of the establishment’s defense relies heavily on corporate milestones and boardroom metrics.
We are routinely told to celebrate record-breaking revenues of RM6.8 billion, the Commercial Collaboration Agreement (CCA) with Petronas, and the implementation of an 80% local hiring mandate in the oil and gas sector.
On a PowerPoint presentation in Kota Kinabalu, these look like spectacular strategic victories. But a prince cannot feed his subjects on paper decrees.
A corporate balance sheet means absolutely nothing to a local business owner whose stock is rotting because the power grid failed for the third time in a week. It means nothing to families who must store water in buckets because the state cannot secure its own basic infrastructure.
An 80% local hiring mandate is a fantastic headline, but when the local industry faces an immediate skilled worker shortage because the foundational human capital wasn’t built up, it reveals a fatal flaw: the administration is more concerned with the appearance of power than its actual execution.
If the Energy Commission of Sabah (ECoS) is meant to finally fix our four-decade power woes by 2030, what are Sabahans supposed to do while waiting in the dark for the next four years? Administrative milestones are not achievements until they translate into functional control on the ground.
The Generational Ledger of Accountability
This is where the divergence between John Lo’s generation and mine becomes irreconcilable.
The older political guard is content with “rebalancing relationships” on paper because they measure progress against a timeline of historical upheaval. They are grateful just to have a seat at the table, even if their plate is empty.
But our generation is left to inherit the structural fallout of those compromises. We are tired of being told a political chess game is going exceptionally well when the basic board is falling apart beneath our feet. Machiavelli warned that a prince who creates the conditions for others to become powerful ruins himself.
By relying on fragile survival alliances, backroom deals, and “Littlefinger” proxies to whisper chaos and sow discord among the opposition, the ruling coalition has built its throne on a foundation of shifting sand.
While they play their short-term survival games inside the palace walls, the actual terrain is moving. As outlined in the Jesselton Times piece, “Borneo Fortress: New Alignment and Fortification”, cultural and regional consolidation is happening entirely outside their control.
The independent houses of Sabah—the coastal strength of House Stark aligned with the grassroots indigenous base of House Tully and the interior strongholds of the Vale—are combining their banners. They are realizing that true power isn’t granted by Putrajaya; it is seized locally.
The Final Verdict
True strategists are judged by their conquests and the tangible prosperity of their realm, not by the politeness of their surrender.
If a ruling coalition remains entirely dependent on federal goodwill and fragile domestic pacts to stay alive, it isn’t a fortress—it’s a house of cards waiting for a sudden gust of wind.
The new vanguard moving through Sabah today isn’t looking for quiet diplomatic excuses or establishment op-eds to explain away a collapsing state.
They are looking for a leadership that commands respect. When the historic houses finally pack up and begin their steady march down the Kingsroad toward accountability, no amount of “subtle diplomacy” will save a throne that forgot how to rule.
