Wisdom for a weary Malaysia

The mood on the ground in Malaysia is heavy with a deep, suffocating weariness. People are simply tired

They are tired of politics and the power plays that have dragged focus, energy and resources away from building the economy and addressing the rising cost of living.

They are tired of watching the federal unity government navigate its own fragile choreography—with Umno Youth rattling sabres about realignments with PAS, whispers of possible early polls and convicted former prime minister Najib Razak’s conditional royal pardon which allows for house arrest.

Adding to the turbulence, the Negeri Sembilan political landscape appears to be spinning into administrative chaos. What began as a move by several traditional chieftains (undang) to remove the ruler has become more entangled and ugly with the involvement of the menteri besar and state executive council in a high-stakes power play.

The people are exhausted by a system where political survival and power are chased for their own sake, while ordinary families bear the brunt of rising costs and uneven development.

Compounding this instability is something even more dangerous: a profound crisis of public trust. Malaysians have grown deeply cynical, widely viewing politicians as power-hungry actors looking out primarily for themselves.

How do we break out of this exhausting loop? Perhaps the answer lies not in inventing new political spin, but in turning back the clock to timeless wisdom.

Global leaders occasionally lean on ancient texts to remind modern states of foundational statecraft. This was brought sharply into focus when reports emerged of India’s Prime Minister Narendra Modi presenting Russian President Vladimir Putin with a Russian translation of the ancient Thirukkural on the sidelines of the recent BRICS summit in New Delhi.

Having read the text, I could understand Modi’s choice of cultural diplomacy—taking a 2,000-year-old masterpiece on governance, ethics, and human conduct and placing it on the global stage.

Modi frequently quotes from the Thirukkural, as does our own Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim. For instance, in tabling the 2024 federal budget in October 2023, Anwar noted that according to the Thirukkural, a good ruler is one who is capable of creating wealth, acquiring it, protecting it, and distributing it wisely for the welfare of the people.

In 2025, in talking about the burdens of the rising cost of living in Parliament, Anwar reminded Malaysians of the text’s lesson that steadfastness of the heart is a core mark of human virtue.

Long before modern party politics and coalition arithmetic, the ancient Tamil text—composed by Tiruvalluvar—laid down a remarkably clear framework for governance. Its core principles offer an unsparing mirror for today’s politicians if they care to look.

Early icons of independent Malaysia understood this resonance. First prime minister Tunku Abdul Rahman heaped profuse praise upon the Thirukkural, as did national laureate Dr Ismail Hussein, who felt it held vital lessons for all of mankind.

Perhaps it’s time to introduce today’s politicians to this timeless wisdom, which transcends race, religion, and creed. We already possess distinguished Malay translations of the Tamil original, including works by Dr Ismail Hussein and Dr S Singaravelu, formerly of Universiti Malaya.

If our members of Parliament and state assemblymen genuinely imbibe these tenets, our public life could look entirely different, providing an ethical counterweight against systemic governance failures.

The Thirukkural rests on three essential pillars: aram (justice/virtue/righteousness), porul (material prosperity/politics/governance) and inbam (love/joy/human connection).

Aram deals with ethics, morality, and the leading of a balanced, honest life; porul focuses on the practicalities of governance, economics, and the social responsibilities of citizens and leaders; and inbam explores the nuances of intimacy, longing, and emotional connection.

The Thirukkural has many gems for both the ordinary citizen and rulers/leaders. For instance, it says good rulers/leaders are marked by courage, liberality, wisdom, energy, diligence and learning. They must also be easy of access and soft-spoken.

At the heart of the text with 1,330 couplets or Kural is a deep commitment to justice, the virtue that prevents resentment and division. Tiruvalluvar insists that true leaders must act with strict impartiality and safeguard the dignity of every single citizen.

In today’s climate of fragile state-level realignments and casual ethnic grandstanding, this is more urgent than ever. Kural 317, for instance, states: “It is the highest wisdom not to cause pain to any living creature, at any time, in any degree, even in thought.”

For our leaders, this is a practical warning against the abuse of power and divisive rhetoric that leaves communities feeling marginalised. Applying justice means defending an independent judiciary, maintaining fearless anti-corruption frameworks, and enacting policies rooted in equal opportunity rather than racial patronage.

Equally critical is the text’s emphasis on economic pragmatism and resource management, prioritising public welfare over elite accumulation.

For instance, Kural 385 says: “To acquire wealth, store it up, guard it, and distribute it wisely—these are the four distinct marks of an accomplished ruler (government).”

In practical terms, this means our leaders must stop treating national development projects as tools for cronyism or personal enrichment. Tax collected must be used for public benefit and every ringgit spent must be designed to uplift the people equitably.

The text places supreme importance on moral character and ethical duty. Leadership is not about bare political survival or relentless power plays; it is about steadfast integrity. As Kural 954 notes: “Even if wealth piled high is offered, those of good family will not do anything that lowers their honour.”

In a political culture scarred by broken promises, patronage politics, abuse of government resources and corruption, this is the missing link.

Ultimately, the Thirukkural is more than an ancient classic; it is a reality check for modern Malaysia. It reminds us that a nation’s true wealth is measured not by towering skyscrapers or quarterly GDP figures, but by the safety and dignity of its humblest citizen.

If our leaders have the courage to choose principled, people-centred governance over tactical survival, they – and we citizens – will find that Malaysia’s greatest days are still ahead.

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.

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