By Angie S Chin (Lead, The Vote Wisely Project/CAMOS)
KOTA KINABALU: IIt has been a week since the election, and during that time, I chose to step back from making comments on politics on social media.
Not because it no longer matters, but because the emotional and mental toll is real. Politics in Sabah has always been complex, but this time, it feels heavier — heavier with implications, heavier with consequences, heavier with unanswered questions.
Still, even with distance, one reality refuses to fade: just how deeply divided Sabahans have become, especially among the KDMR communities. This division did not happen overnight. It is the result of long-standing neglect, broken trust, uneven development, historical wounds, and a system that has never quite known how — or cared enough — to truly listen to its people.
Never mind the unusual swearing-in of a new Chief Minister at 3 a.m. while coalition discussions were still ongoing.
Never mind the emotional whiplash many felt witnessing political U-turns, particularly from a certain leader who, just weeks before the election, were hailed as symbols of “integrity and courage”.
These moments, whether justified or not, have left deep impressions on the public psyche.
And no — the divide cannot be blamed solely on the sudden last-minute emergence of small local parties.
If we are truly honest with ourselves, we must move beyond easy judgements and acknowledge this: when it comes to rural voters, the issue is not ignorance, apathy, or “backward thinking.”
It is not:
A lack of intelligence
A lack of concern for Sabah’s future
An inability to think critically
It is:
Information isolation — limited connectivity, no neutral educational material, and minimal exposure to diverse viewpoints
Deep-rooted trust patterns — where family, village elders, and familiar figures are trusted over distant institutions
Fear of social consequence — where voting differently can be perceived as disloyalty or betrayal
A lack of confidence in one’s own voice — “I am not educated enough to decide”
This means the gap in Sabah is not merely political.
It is psychological, systemic, cultural — and generational.
That is an uncomfortable truth, but it is a necessary one.
For many of us who can access wider information, who can compare statistics, policies, and trajectories, it is disheartening — almost embarrassing — to see how a neighbouring state like Sarawak appears to manage its political and economic affairs with greater strategic clarity, while we in Sabah continue to wrestle with instability and internal fragmentation, despite sharing the same landmass not long ago.
Let that reality sink in.
Personally, I do not care who becomes Chief Minister.
What matters is this:
That whoever leads Sabah must not be controlled — either by the Federal Government or by individuals driven by vested interests — to the point where corruption, inefficiency, and abuse of power are not only tolerated, but normalised.
He must be able to articulate a clear vision for Sabah’s future — one rooted in sustainability, dignity, and growth — and, more importantly, demonstrate the competence and courage required to execute that vision effectively.
He must be able to bring in meaningful, ethical and long-term investments that benefit the people, not just a select few.
And above all, he must be firm and consistent in defending Sabah’s rights, particularly in relation to MA63 and Sabah’s 40% tax revenue — not as a political slogan, but as a constitutional responsibility. Its already overdue for the longest time.
Because these are not symbolic claims. They are the foundation of Sabah’s future autonomy, economic stability and dignity.
I shudder to imagine how much this five-year period will determine the rise or fall of Sabah as a state. There is a very real possibility that the space for public influence will shrink further, and that major decisions will increasingly be shaped elsewhere, beyond our shores and our voices.
And so, for now, we wait. We observe. We document. We remember.
But more than hope, what Sabah now needs is awakening — a deeper political consciousness, a stronger civic voice, and an unshakable commitment by its people to demand integrity, capability, and transparency from those who claim to lead.
From here onwards, perhaps all we can do is pray — not in passive surrender, but in active faith that Sabah will rise again through the strength, clarity, and courage of its own people.
It is still too early to judge the effectiveness of the new Cabinet. Many faces remain familiar, some recycled, others newly positioned — in roles that do not always align with their experience, expertise, or track record. In a state that urgently needs sound economic direction, competent governance, and innovative leadership, such mismatches are not just concerning — they are costly.
The next five years will not forgive incompetence. They will not spare inconsistency. And they certainly will not wait for us to “figure things out.”
Sabah’s turning point is now.
The only question that remains is — will we rise, or will we continue to watch ourselves fall even deeper?
