By Remy Majangkim (Majangkim Office)
KOTA KINABALU: The ink on the Johor state election post-mortems isn’t even dry, and already Kuala Lumpur’s delusional political class is gaslighting the rakyat with another fairy tale.
They want you to believe Pakatan Harapan is staging a “comeback” in Negeri Sembilan.
Let me stop you right there.
From the ramparts of our Borneo Fortress, we see the wreckage clearly. What the Peninsular elite spins as a “temporary dip” is a full-blown, systemic haemorrhage.
Sabah was a political graveyard—DAP walked in with six seats and limped out with zero. Johor was a brutal, skull-crushing avalanche on July 11. The reformist alliance isn’t just losing; it is flatlining.
And they know it. Non-Malay voters are exhausted. Federal reforms are a sick joke. The coalition’s traditional base isn’t just disappointed—they are disgusted, betrayed, and checking out in droves.
Just days before the Negeri Sembilan polling, DAP is set to hold its special congress on July 12—a high-stakes “referendum” to decide whether its leaders should collectively resign from all government posts.
Over 4,000 delegates will vote on whether to stay in the Unity Government or walk away from executive power altogether.
Secretary-General Anthony Loke insists it’s not a threat to Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim—the party’s 40 MPs will still prop up the federal government regardless of the outcome.
But here’s the rub: while DAP national leaders dither over their own political survival in Putrajaya, their state-level counterparts in Melaka have already pulled the trigger, withdrawing from the state unity government on July 14 over a controversial constitutional amendment.
One hand clings to federal power. The other walks out of state office. This is not a coalition with a strategy.
This is a party tearing itself apart in real time, on live television, while asking voters in Negeri Sembilan to trust them with 19 more seats.
As I’ve warned before, Peninsular politics has degenerated into open cannibalism. It is a fractured, backstabbing cesspool of warring warlords, splinter movements, and desperate moral blackmail.
These people aren’t building a nation—they are tearing each other apart over cabinet scraps.
So, how does a dying coalition survive the meatgrinder in Negeri Sembilan? They don’t attack. They don’t inspire. They suffocate.
They must abandon the fantasy of “total football.” No grand reformist charges. No heroic promises. Instead, they deploy the ultimate white-flag tactical formation: the 1-4-6-0.
The Politics of Fear: The 1-4-6-0 Formation
In football, the 1-4-6-0 is the coward’s masterpiece. You abandon strikers. You pack the middle with six bodies. You choke the pitch.
You starve the opponent of possession and pray they trip over their own feet. It is anti-football. It is ugly. And it is the only thing PH has left.
Here is how this cynical, desperate blueprint plays out in Negeri Sembilan.
1. Zero Strikers — No Hope, No Attack (0)
The “0” is not a tactic. It is an admission of bankruptcy.
The age of Reformasi is dead. Bury it. PH is fielding zero national superstars, zero aggressive policy attacks, and zero risky offensives that might offend the conservative rural vote.
Their game plan? Keep their mouths shut, stay local, and pray that caretaker Menteri Besar Datuk Seri Aminuddin Harun’s personal clout can shield them from the avalanche of their own incompetence.
They aren’t trying to win hearts. They are trying to bore you into submission.
2. The Overloaded Midfield — Eight Bodies, One Panic (6+)
In theory, the 1-4-6-0 calls for six midfielders. But Anthony Loke is so paralysed by fear that he has thrown numerical orthodoxy out the window.
He is packing the centre with eight rearguard relics because he trusts absolutely no one else.
This is not strategy. This is desperation.
While he trots out three sacrificial new faces—Ho Weng Wah in Temiang, Lee Kai Yet in Mambau, and S. Mugunthan in Seremban Jaya—the real heavy lifting falls on eight battle-scarred incumbents. Loke anchors Chennah alongside Teo Kok Seong, J. Arul Kumar, Nicole Tan, and the rest of his defensive cabal.
Why? Because their brand is so toxically radioactive to new voters that Loke has no choice but to cling to familiar, fading names.
These eight are not a wall; they are a human barricade built from sheer panic. Loke is refusing to rotate his squad because he knows one fresh face in the wrong seat could collapse the entire rotten house of cards.
3. Starving the Opposition — Let the Wolves Eat Each Other
PH’s entire masterplan hinges on one thing: sitting deep, keeping their mouths shut, and watching the Malay vote implode.
With the PH-BN state alliance in tatters, Negeri Sembilan is a four-cornered free-for-all.
UMNO and Perikatan Nasional are locked in a savage, bloody civil war over the Malay heartlands. They are circling each other like rabid dogs over the same carcass.
PH knows they cannot win a clean fight. So they aren’t fighting. They are crouching low, absorbing pressure, and letting UMNO and PN exhaust themselves in mutual slaughter.
With non-Malay turnout cratering, Loke is betting everything on the opposition carving each other up just enough for his pedestrian midfield to stumble over the 19-seat finish line.
It is cynical. It is parasitic. And it just might work.
The Verdict: Terminal Relief, Not a Cure
Make no mistake—this cowardly, “park-the-bus” stunt might stop the bleeding on August 1. Anthony Loke might scrape through with an ugly, narrow victory. It might keep the Madani administration on life support for another six months.
But let’s be brutally clear: a tactical win in Negeri Sembilan changes absolutely nothing.
It does not fix the dry taps in a Sabahan household. It does not bridge the seas. It does not cure the terminal rot of a Peninsular political class so obsessed with their own thrones that they have forgotten the people below them—least of all a party that cannot decide whether to cling to federal power or abandon state office.
From the unyielding walls of the Borneo Fortress, we watch their defensive games with contempt.
Let them choke the midfield. Let them scrabble for marginal seats. Let them celebrate their ugly, hollow victory.
Because while they fight over crumbs, the ground is moving beneath them. The awakening is broad.
And when the final whistle blows on their decrepit political order, Borneo will still be standing—unimpressed, unbroken, and utterly unmoved by their pathetic theatrics.
Disclaimer: This article is a political commentary and reflects the personal views of the author, Remy Majangkim. While every effort has been made to ensure factual accuracy regarding dates, events, and candidate information, readers are encouraged to verify official announcements independently. The Majangkim Office does not endorse or oppose any political party or coalition. This piece is offered as a perspective from the Borneo Fortress—unvarnished, critical, and wholly independent of the Peninsular political machine. And yes, birds was injured during the inception of this article. We regret nothing. Sabah Maju Jaya.
