Politics We Don’t See, Literacy We Urgently Need

We fear politics - but politics has never stopped moving around us.
If we don’t understand influence, influence will understand us.
Read Episode 7 and see why Fikir & Zikir must guide the next generation.

PART 7 — Politics We Don’t See, Literacy We Urgently Need

Brunei is often described as “apolitical,” a nation where politics seldom enters daily conversation and where partisan competition does not shape public life. 

Yet beneath that calm, something quietly significant is happening: the world does not treat us as apolitical. Whether we acknowledge politics or avoid it, global influences continue to shift and attempt to enter our society through subtle channels.

In today’s geopolitical landscape, politics is no longer confined to elections or party rivalry. It encompasses influence, resources, narratives, and networks. It manifests through training programs, academic partnerships, foreign-funded NGOs, economic footholds, digital campaigns, and youth engagement platforms. 

In other words, contemporary politics does not always wear a political uniform. 

Sometimes it enters quietly, donning the guise of development, empowerment, or regional cooperation. Therefore, small nations like ours must remain alert, aware, and prepared.

This is why political literacy - not political combat - matters, and why awareness is now an integral part of national resilience.

A comment from a reader framed it sharply: “The question isn’t whether Brunei has politics. The real question is whether we understand the politics happening around us.” 

This observation perfectly captures the challenge we face. We cannot afford to be naïve in a world where geopolitical interests often hide behind soft power, where influence is exerted long before it is acknowledged, and where sovereignty is safeguarded not only by laws but also by awareness.

Yet within Brunei, we remain uncomfortable with the topic. Political conversations are often avoided, dismissed, or feared. 

Families still caution their children: “Jangan tah ikut-ikutan, nanti menyusahkan masa depanmu saja.” 

Some employers expect staff to declare political involvement as if it were a liability. 

Community leaders, under MPMK rules, must remain visibly apolitical, not merely neutral. 

Decades under Emergency Laws have shaped a cautious instinct—not enforced, but internalised. This internalisation has resulted in a society that prefers silence, even as the world grows louder around us.

Political observers note another point: although Brunei has no formal party system operating in the conventional sense, a de facto ruling apparatus exists - a network of institutions unified under national leadership and guided by the MIB. This is not unusual in small states, but it carries significant implications. 

If political structures exist even without elections, then political understanding is still necessary for the rakyat’s maturity and resilience.

That is why political literacy in Brunei cannot remain weak or secondary. 

A nation rich in resources should not be poor in political awareness. A Malay society grounded in Islamic values should not be “miskin politik.” 

Political poverty does not signify the absence of parties; it indicates a lack of confidence, understanding, participation, and clarity. 

A society without literacy becomes vulnerable to confusion, emotional reactions, and external narratives.

This is where the concept of Fikir dan Zikir becomes deeply relevant. 

Politics without spiritual grounding becomes mere noise. Spirituality without critical thought leads to passivity. 

Fikir provides clarity, awareness, and strategic thinking. Zikir fosters humility, restraint, and moral discipline. 

Together, they form the compass that guides how Bruneians should understand power—not as confrontation, but as amanah.

In an age of external influence, Fikir protects us from manipulation.

In an age of moral fatigue, Zikir keeps our intentions pure.

In an age of global competition, both safeguard national unity.

Brunei’s political culture will remain peaceful and unique under MIB. However, a peaceful nation still needs a thinking society. 

A stable system requires a confident rakyat. A small country needs citizens who understand how power moves beyond our borders. 

The younger generations—Gen Y, Gen Z, and the emerging Alpha generation - must grow up with the maturity to differentiate between toxic politics and moral participation.

We do not need partisan chaos. But we do need informed citizens.

We do not need political noise. But we do need political literacy.

We do not need adversarial politics. But we do need courageous participation.

Because a society that does not understand politics becomes shaped by it unknowingly. 

A nation that avoids discussion eventually loses its voice. And a people who remain fearful will never attain the confidence required to fulfil the promise of MIB: a nation that is peaceful, prosperous, and protected.

The world is changing. Influence is evolving. And Brunei must not watch silently from the sidelines.

Political literacy is not opposition - it is responsibility.

And in the era of soft influence, it is also protection.

KopiTalk closes this episode with one reminder:
A nation grounded in Zikir must also be strengthened by Fikir. Only then will Brunei stand resilient, aware, and dignified—not just in its governance, but in its understanding of the world around it. (MHO/11/2025)

 

 

 

 

Silent Childhood: The Digital Upbringing of Brunei’s Youngest

With one-fifth of the population now exposed to early screen dependency, concerns grow over the nation’s future generation.

By Malai Hassan Othman | KopiTalk with MHO

Bandar Seri Begawan — Today, a subtle but significant shift is happening in how young kids in Brunei are growing up. It's not about loud announcements or big events; instead, it’s in the everyday little moments that often go unnoticed. A toddler gets fussy in a shopping cart, and a phone appears almost immediately. A three-year-old is restless at a family gathering, and a tablet is handed to them just like a bottle used to be. Sometimes, these moments seem harmless, even necessary. But when you look at the bigger picture across thousands of homes, it adds up to one of the biggest changes of our time.

What makes this trend even more important is the fact that nearly 100,000 kids in Brunei -about 20% of the population - are 14 and under. That means one in five Bruneians is still in childhood, growing up in a world that’s totally different from what their parents and grandparents knew. 

Their first memories are digital. They calm down with screens. Their imaginations, once sparked by stories and playing outside, are now shaped by quick clips and flashy content designed to grab their attention. This is a generation whose habits and emotional skills will impact Brunei long after today’s adults have retired.

Around the world, governments are starting to recognise the scale of change and the risks that come with it. Malaysia’s recent move to ban social media accounts for anyone under 16 starting in 2026 is a clear sign that something’s gone wrong in how kids are raised with digital tech. This wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction; it reflects years of growing concern from parents, teachers, psychologists, and child safety groups.

Malaysian officials found that kids were facing harmful online exposure at younger ages. Reports of cyberbullying, online grooming, and kids being urged to share personal info were becoming alarming. Some cases even involved children just starting primary school. Teachers reported that students were having a hard time focusing, getting easily frustrated, or showing sudden behaviour changes after spending too much time on Instagram, TikTok, and gaming platforms. Health experts warned that too much screen time was causing sleep issues, anxiety, mood swings, and making it harder for kids to handle real-life stress.

By the time Malaysia took action, the evidence was clear. Parents felt overwhelmed trying to keep tabs on their kids’ online habits. Digital platforms were changing faster than families could adapt. For many households, especially those with two working parents, devices became the easiest way to keep a child entertained. The Malaysian government realized that families were losing control, and intervention was necessary not because society had failed, but because the tools kids were using had become too powerful and poorly regulated.

A similar situation played out in Australia, with its own twists. Educators and mental health pros noticed more behavioural issues among young students. Some kids, still under ten, withdrew from social activities, had trouble making eye contact, threw emotional fits when their devices were taken away, or couldn’t concentrate for more than a few minutes. Parents said their kids seemed “always switched on,” needing constant stimulation and getting frustrated at the slightest boredom.

Australia’s public discussion took a serious turn after the tragic cases of teenagers who died after engaging with harmful content recommended by social media. Some coroners linked their deaths to material found on platforms not meant for minors. This shook the nation. What used to be seen as a personal issue became recognised as a systemic failure.

Australia started national inquiries into how social media affects childhood development. Investigators found that minors were widely exposed to inappropriate content, violent videos, and harmful online communities. These findings pushed Australia to rethink whether the minimum age of 13 - set so loosely by global platforms - was really right for kids today. Policymakers decided that just restrictions wouldn’t cut it; a higher minimum age, along with age verification, was needed as a starting point.

If Malaysia and Australia reached these conclusions after seeing harm in large populations, what does that mean for a smaller nation like Brunei, where the margin for error is even slimmer? 

Brunei hasn’t faced social issues on the same scale as bigger countries, but that also means that any widespread behaviour change can hit harder. With a smaller population, every child’s experience matters a lot.

For over a decade, Brunei has been working to protect kids online. The Child Online Protection Framework, introduced in 2013, made Brunei one of the first in the region to recognise online risks. 

The National Framework on Child Protection, launched around 2020, aimed to bring government agencies together to help vulnerable children. The Children Protection Register recorded over 250 cases where kids were flagged for needing protection - some due to domestic issues, some due to neglect, and increasingly, some due to online safety worries.

His Majesty has often warned about the dangers of social media, the spread of harmful content, and the risks to young people’s mental and moral growth. Senior officials have pointed out the rise of cyberbullying, digital addiction, and emotional pressures from digital exposure. Schools are starting to teach digital literacy, though it’s not consistent across the board.

Despite these efforts, the reality in Bruneian homes tells a different, more concerning story. Many parents say they don’t know what safe screen time looks like or how early exposure affects a toddler's brain. Some turn to YouTube, TikTok, or kids’ gaming apps because they feel they have no other options while balancing work and caregiving. Others think screen time is just part of modern childhood, not realising that the platforms their kids are on are designed to keep them engaged, no matter their age.

Teachers are noticing clear trends. They report that more kids start school unable to focus for long. Some get frustrated when they can’t get what they want right away. Others have trouble making friends or dealing with conflicts without getting upset. A few show speech delays linked to too much screen time during early development. These observations, while not yet collected as national data, line up with findings from other countries.

Pediatric psychologists worldwide warn that when kids learn to soothe themselves with screens, they might struggle to develop self-regulation - a key emotional skill that helps build resilience, patience, and the ability to handle challenges later in life. They become reliant on external stimulation instead of learning to manage their emotions through real connections. Screens then become not just entertainment, but an emotional crutch.

This growing dependency creates a cycle. The more a kid leans on screens to feel better, the less capable they become of handling frustration or boredom without them. And the harder they are to manage without screens, the more parents turn to them to keep the peace at home. In many families, it’s not neglect but exhaustion that leads to screens becoming the go-to for parent-child interactions.

All of this is happening without much public conversation. Unlike health or infrastructure issues, the topic of digital childhood rarely gets talked about openly, even though it shapes the mental and emotional foundation of a whole generation. There are no national guidelines for parents on when a child is ready for social media, how much screen time is too much, or how to spot early signs of digital dependency. There’s no widespread campaign to help parents understand what’s going on in the minds of young kids when they spend long hours on screens.

So, Brunei’s families are quietly navigating this new digital world, often on their own. Parents make choices based on convenience, instinct, or habit, without fully grasping the long-term effects. Schools do what they can, but they can’t replace the foundational learning that happens - or doesn’t happen - at home.

For now, the country watches this change happen quietly in its homes. There’s no visible crisis, no public outcry, no heated debates in coffee shops. Screens keep the kids calm, and calm looks harmless. But underneath that calm, a generation is learning to manage their emotions through devices before they learn to do it through people. It’s a change that’s too subtle to make noise, yet too important to ignore.

Brunei has always taken pride in its children as the future. That future now sits in strollers with phones glowing inches from their faces. It’s in classrooms where teachers see attention waning faster than ever. It’s in living rooms where digital distractions replace family chats. None of this makes the news, but it’s happening every single day.

The question isn’t whether parents love their kids — they do. The question is whether society has underestimated how quickly technology can slip into the spaces where good parenting used to thrive. (MHO/11/2025)

 

Zakat Management Faces Mounting Challenges

When the inbox keeps filling faster than the system can respond, the question is no longer about money — it’s about the people waiting behind every file.

Despite new systems and structural changes, the gap between policy intentions and public experience remains wide.

By Malai Hassan Othman | KopiTalk with MHO

Brunei’s zakat system is drawing renewed public attention. Each year, tens of millions of dollars are collected with the hope that these funds will bring relief to families who genuinely grapple with daily expenses. 

Yet behind the numbers lies a quieter reality: many who seek help still face long waits, slow decisions and complicated processes. 

The institutions responsible for administering zakat have been working to introduce reforms, but the question remains whether these efforts are keeping pace with the needs on the ground.

The establishment of the Jabatan Urusan Zakat, Wakaf dan Baitulmal (JUZWAB) in 2023 was meant to mark a turning point. 

His Majesty’s approval to elevate the former zakat unit into a full department raised expectations that the system would become more responsive and more dependable. 

It came at a time when applications were rising, cases were becoming more complex, and officers were working against a growing tide of demand. 

There was hope that with a stronger organisational structure, clearer roles and modern tools, zakat distribution would improve in both speed and consistency.

His Majesty’s titah, delivered on 8 July, underscored the moral weight behind this responsibility. 

His Majesty reminded administrators that zakat distribution is not merely an administrative task but an amanah with spiritual consequences. 

The titah questioned whether the department had fully embraced the kind of digital transformation needed to strengthen governance and urged agencies to avoid lengthy projects that do little to solve pressing problems. It was a reminder that reforms must be felt by the people, not only written in documents.

Despite these reminders, the challenges remain substantial. As of July this year, nearly 6,000 zakat applications are still unresolved. Thousands are delayed due to missing documents, while others await investigation or field verification. 

Although processing time has improved from nearly 300 days two years ago to under two months today, the volume of new applications—averaging more than 500 a month - continues to outpace the department’s capacity. Officers are doing their best, but the strain is evident.

A look back helps explain how Brunei arrived at this point. In earlier decades, poverty carried a stigma that prevented many from applying. 

Families often hid their hardship, and many who qualified for help never came forward. As a result, zakat collections accumulated, and only a small share reached the poor. 

Today, the situation has changed. Rising living costs, uncertain employment and household pressures have made the system an essential safety net for many. More people are applying simply because they have no choice, not because they prefer assistance.

To keep up with the increased demand, the Ministry has introduced digital tools such as Microsoft 365 Teams for internal coordination and an online booking system for zakat payments. 

JUZWAB has also expressed interest in exploring artificial intelligence and blockchain technology as part of its long-term modernisation efforts. While these initiatives show ambition, the public response has been cautious. 

Many feel the announcements sound promising on paper, but do not always translate into a better experience on the ground. The sentiment is not a rejection of technology, but a reflection of the frustration that digital tools are only as effective as the processes supporting them.

Still, there are areas where progress is clear. The enhanced eZakat Harta Wang Simpanan platform, introduced with DST, has made it easier for Muslims to pay zakat on their savings. 

Online payment methods, automatic receipts and the planned inclusion of income and business zakat are meaningful improvements. Between January and August 2024, nearly $20 million was collected, while millions were disbursed in monthly aid, rental support and educational assistance. 

These figures show that the system is financially strong and actively supporting many families.

But numbers alone do not solve the deeper problems. Many applicants continue to struggle with unclear requirements, limited updates and long verification processes.

People want to know where their applications stand and what to expect. They want decisions made within a reasonable time. They want to feel that the system sees and understands their hardship. These expectations are not unrealistic; they are simply part of what good governance requires.

The truth is that zakat management cannot be improved by technology alone. It also requires a human touch - officers who understand the applicants’ circumstances, policies that reflect real situations on the ground, and communication that keeps people informed rather than guessing in the dark.

Without these elements, even the most modern systems will fall short.
Brunei has the resources, structures and religious foundation to build a zakat system that stands as a model for the region. 

The reforms introduced so far are a step in the right direction, but the real test lies in whether they translate into smoother, fairer and more compassionate delivery. 

For families waiting for assistance, for officers under pressure, and for the public watching closely, the measure of success is straightforward: whether help reaches those in need at the right moment.

In the end, zakat is not about forms, systems or technology. It is about people. It is about easing hardship, restoring dignity and strengthening the fabric of the community. 

When the system reflects these values in both intention and practice, then the amanah entrusted to it is truly fulfilled. 

Until then, the work must continue - with sincerity, clarity and a renewed sense of responsibility. (MHO/11/2025)
 

Tawadhu’: Leadership Without a Title

☕ KopiTalk with MHO | MIB Management 101

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Episode 6 — Tawadhu’: Leadership Without a Title

“Ad-dāʾimūna al-muḥsinūna bi-l-hudā — Always render service with God’s guidance.”

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A Workplace Story

First off, let me just say: what I share here isn’t a how-to. It’s just what I’ve seen, learned, and kept with me over time — a bit of a chill spot… and a wake-up call.

A while back, during one of His Majesty’s surprise visits, something pretty eye-opening came to light.

There was a building — fully equipped, air-conditioned, and meant for staff — just sitting empty. 

Meanwhile, the officers and workers who were supposed to use it were hanging out in metal containers outside. In the heat. In the rain. Not exactly the kind of treatment any worker deserves.

His Majesty asked:

“If the buildings aren’t being used, why not turn them into resting areas for staff? Is this really how we handle employee welfare?”

It was a straightforward question — the kind that seems soft but strikes hard. Like all simple questions from wise leaders, it revealed something deeper.

A leader had a building.

Employees had containers.

A leader had comfort.

Employees had excuses.

A leader had authority.

Employees had fatigue.

And the truth was right there, quiet but clear:

Leadership had forgotten to look down.

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When Leadership Ignores People, Stress Fills the Workplace

Before we dive deeper, let’s remember His Majesty’s wisdom — reminders that shaped my own views on leadership.

“For great leaders... It's important to be sensitive to their subordinates... not just to be a boss... but to be willing to guide... This is the concern of a leader for their team.” — Titah Hari Perkhidmatan Awam, 31 Okt 2018

And another time he said:

“Don’t prioritise your own interests... Don’t misuse power... Leaders must look after the welfare of the people.”

These aren’t just administrative tips; they’re ethical anchors — a reminder that leadership is about caring, not just having a title.

His Majesty stated something every manager — in any sector — should hang on their wall:

“The lack of leadership is a source of stress in the workforce.”

Not workload.

Not deadlines.

Not even performance pressure.

• Staff tiptoeing around

• Juniors are scared to share ideas

• Good employees leaving without a word

• People whispering instead of speaking up

• Leaders who care more about their title than their team

It’s the absence of Tawadhu’ — humility in leadership.

But leadership — when it’s missing, arrogant, or self-serving — becomes the biggest source of workplace misery.

And we see the signs everywhere:

In a Negara Zikir, this should make us stop and think.

Because the real issue behind all this, from what I’ve seen over the years, isn’t incompetence.

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Leadership That Cares for People, Not Just Titles

In another address, His Majesty reminded us:

“Leaders must be aware of the challenges their staff face and help them overcome these obstacles.”

This is tawadhu’ in its purest form. The older I get, the more I realise that humility isn’t just a technique — it’s a way to see people.

Not about putting oneself down.

But about lowering one’s ego to truly see the people you’re responsible for.

A humble leader picks up on things early:

• A struggling officer before they hand in their resignation

• A troubled staff member before issues escalate

• A quiet performer before they burn out

• A budget mishap before it turns into misappropriation

• An empty building before it becomes a scandal

A humble leader listens before people shout.

And cares before people walk away.

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When Ego Becomes Policy: Cronyism, Nepotism, and the Death of Trust

Tawadhu’ isn’t just about being a good person; from my experience watching leadership, it’s a shield against something really destructive.

It really is a shield.

His Majesty warned: “Favouritism is the root of poor management.”

Nepotism is the opposite of tawadhu

Making decisions to protect your friends is the opposite of tawadhu.

Humility, on the other hand, builds organisations that last.

Humility asks, “Who needs my help?”

Humility says, “I’m accountable.”

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“Leadership will fail if there’s no transparency, fairness, and integrity.”

Cronyism is the opposite of tawadhu.

The ego creates silent inner circles.

Ego asks, “Who is loyal to me?”

Ego says, “I’m the boss.”

The Prophet’s Model: Humility Wears No Crown

Of all the leadership philosophies out there, none captures humility quite like the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ.

He said:

“The leader of a people is their servant.”

He mended his own clothes.

He ate with the poor.

He made space for the vulnerable.

He never demanded special treatment.

It’s about earning trust.

Only from the ground where people stand.

And in another saying:

“Whoever humbles themselves for Allah, Allah elevates them.”

Islamic leadership isn’t about showing authority.

And trust can’t be earned from a throne.

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When Leaders Forget Titles, Organisations Start to Heal

In workplaces touched by tawadhu’,

The classic traits of Prophetic leadership blend seamlessly into everyday management. A humble leader practices Ṣiddiq by being honest about what's really happening on the ground. 

They carry Amānah sincerely, knowing that every decision is a trust. They apply Fatānah — wisdom — to analyse problems with fairness, not pride. And when they guide their team with clarity and empathy, they embody Tabligh, the prophetic art of communicating with wisdom.

These aren’t just theories; they’re lived qualities. And tawadhu’ is the soil where all four grow.

In workplaces touched by tawadhu’, we see:

• Leaders who mentor, not intimidate

• Seniors who guide without putting others down

• Managers who listen more than they talk

• Directors who ask, “Are you okay?”

• Employees who feel safe admitting mistakes

• Juniors who dare to innovate

• Teams that work without fear

One humble leader can change the vibe of an entire department.

People stop pretending.

Real conversations start happening.

Trust begins to breathe again.

Humility is quietly contagious — it spreads through example, not instruction.
And when tawadhu’ spreads, politics fade away.

Because tawadhu’ is the safeguard of the prophetic traits. Ṣiddiq loses its light when arrogance distorts truth. Amānahweakens when leaders protect status over people. Fatānah — wisdom — dies in an echo chamber of flattery. And Tabligh, the ability to communicate clearly and compassionately, becomes hollow when humility is missing.

So humility isn’t an add-on to leadership. From what I’ve seen, it’s the stabiliser — the quiet force that prevents power from turning cruel.

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A Gentle Reminder: Boss vs. Leader (Inserted Reflection)

Sometimes in our offices, people joke that B.O.S.S. actually means “Bikin Orang Susah Saja.” It’s a funny take, but there’s a real point beneath it — the difference between authority and leadership.

A boss commands. A leader accompanies.

A boss creates distance. A leader builds trust.

A boss relies on the title. A leader relies on character.

This little reflection fits right in because tawadhu’ is the dividing line:

A boss wants to be important.

A leader wants to be helpful.

And that brings us back to the heart of this episode — humility isn’t about lowering status, but lowering ego so we can truly see and serve people.

Closing Reflection: Is Leadership a Chair or a Responsibility?

The saddest thing about failed organisations — and I’ve seen a few up close — isn’t the lack of talent.

We have talented people everywhere.

It’s to be useful.

It’s to care.

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The saddest thing is this:

Good people shrink because leaders stand too tall.

Islam teaches that greatness rises from humility, not from hierarchy.

A leader’s first duty isn’t to be honoured.

A leader’s first instinct shouldn’t be to command.

A leader’s true greatness isn’t in how many obey him —but in how many he lifts.

And maybe the question I keep asking myself, and invite others to think about too, is simple:

Are we leading from the chair… or from the heart?

📖 KopiTalk with MHO — reflections brewed gently, with honesty and heart.