I buried something in the backyard this morning. Metaphorically. I don’t dig holes, man. I don’t got the energy for manual labour.
I buried my loyalty to the concept of the “Political Party.”
For 48 years, I’ve been told that democracy is a team sport. You pick a jersey, Red, Blue, White, whatever shade of “Hope” or “Nationalism” is trending this season, and you wear it until it rots off your back. You cheer when your team scores, even if the goal was an own goal against the people. You boo the other team, even when they actually make sense.
I’m done. I am officially declaring the Political Party dead to me.
Why? Because a political party is just a gang in suits.
Think about the term “Party Whip.” In any other context, a “Whip” is an instrument of torture or slavery. In the state assembly and parliament, it’s an “essential mechanism.” It is a guy whose sole job is to make sure that the elected representative, the man you voted for, the man who swore to protect your kampung, shuts his mouth and votes the way the Party President tells him to.
The moment a man joins a party, he stops working for you. He works for the Party Supremes in KL or KK. He becomes a dog on a leash. If he barks out of turn, he doesn’t get the funding. If he bites the hand that feeds him, he gets sacked.
We keep waiting for a “Good Party” to save Sabah. We treat them like football clubs. “Oh, maybe this season, STAR will be good.” “Maybe this season, Warisan has the strategy.”
Stop it. It’s pathetic. We are grown adults.
I look at my son, Ben. He has Asperger’s. He sees the world in black and white, truth and lies. If I told him, “Ben, you have to agree with this man even if he’s wrong, because he’s on our team,” Ben would look at me like I was brain damaged. He literally cannot process that level of cognitive dissonance.
And neither can I anymore. Maybe it’s the ADHD, or maybe it’s just getting close to 50 and realising I have less time ahead of me than behind me. I don’t have time to pretend that a corrupt idiot is a “statesman” just because he’s wearing my preferred logo.
So, here is my resolution for 2026.
I do not care about the flag. I do not care about the coalition. I vote for the man.
If the candidate is a saint running for the Devil’s Party, I will listen to him. If the candidate is a moron running for the Angel’s Party, I will ignore him.
I want a representative who can be yelled at. I want a man who fears his neighbour more than he fears his Party President. I want a leader who knows the price of chicken wings in Benoni, not the stock price of a GLC in Kuala Lumpur.
The Party is dead. Long live the Person.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a steak to fry.
