Eight Days, One Budget, One Question: After the Answers Were Given, Who Stayed Responsible?

  

KOPITALK WITH MHO  |  22nd Legislative Council Session — Closing Report

 

 

 

Eight Days, One Budget, One Question:

After the Answers Were Given, Who Stayed Responsible?

KopiTalk with MHO  •  Closing Report  •  22nd Legislative Council Session  •  Days 1–8  |  11–19 March 2026  •  Session resumes 25 March 2026

 

A young man in Belait is wondering if the industry that built his family still has a place for him. A mother is still photocopying textbooks so her son can read. Eight days. BND6.3 billion. And one question that outlasted all the answers: when the session ends — who is still responsible?

 

 

 

The Promise

 

The session began, as it always does, with confidence. The budget was tabled. The numbers were structured. The direction was clear. There were strategies, frameworks, and priorities aligned with long-term national goals. The language was steady and assured.

 

It was the official story of the system: we have a plan. We know where we are going. We are managing the future. And on paper, that is true.

 

No one doubted the intention. No one questioned the commitment. The budget, the ministers, the members — all present, all engaged, all serious about what they were doing. That matters. It is the foundation on which everything else has to be built on.

 

The Friction

 

By Day Three, the questions began to land differently. Roads. Housing. Transport. Delays in development projects. Gaps in service delivery.

 

Nothing dramatic. Nothing unexpected. But something important shifted. The discussion moved from planning to delivery. It became harder to ignore a simple pattern: the plans were there. The execution was uneven.

 

By Day Four, that pattern had a name. Brunei does not have a planning problem. It has a delivery problem. That was not said as an accusation. It emerged as an observation — repeated across sectors, reflected in timelines, and felt in everyday experience.

 

And it was at this point that a reader — writing in response to the series — put something plainly that stayed with this column for the rest of the session. A nation cannot be built, they said, if its people are left to fend for themselves. The brightest young minds — the ones this country needs most — are not thinking about nation-building when they are thinking about survival. How can a generation contribute to a future they are not yet sure they belong in?

 

We are no longer at a stage where activity is impressive. Only outcomes are.

 

The Reality

By Day Five and Six, the lens widened. The discussion moved beyond internal systems into the pressures shaping them. Budget constraints. Revenue ceilings. External economic shifts. Workforce strain. Mental health signals. Barriers to doing business.

 

Inside the chamber, answers were structured and measured. Outside it, the experience was less orderly. A worker is managing long hours without proper protection. A family stretching its income across rising costs. A young adult carrying uncertainty into their twenties.

 

It raised a quiet but difficult question: are we still talking about the same reality?

 

There were signs of movement — reviews underway, reforms being discussed, and a growing openness from ministers about constraints within the system. These are not small developments. But they are still steps, not outcomes.

 

DMAO — who has written in response to this series across multiple days — named this precisely. He drew on productivity research from the Centre for Strategic and Policy Studies to make his point: productivity is not built on the presence of resources. It is built on persistence in using them. His formula was simple. Productivity equals execution multiplied by continuity. If execution starts but does not continue, productivity stagnates. If follow-up stops, outcomes disappear.

 

We have become very good at starting. Launching. Announcing. Responding. But productivity is not created at the point of launch. It is created at the point of sustained follow-through. That is the gap DMAO has been naming since Day Six — and it is the gap that ran through every day of this session.

 

The People

By Day Seven, the numbers began to take shape as people.

 

A family in Belait — three generations tied to a single industry — asking what comes next. A man whose grandfather worked for Shell. His father did too. Now he is being told, gently and without certainty, that the path may no longer be there in the same way. Not because he is unwilling or unqualified. But because the industry that gave his town its identity is contracting, and the industries meant to replace it have not yet arrived in his street.

 

Civil servants suspended for years, their families managing on half salaries while waiting for a system to reach a conclusion. Some of those cases date back to 2020. A member of the chamber named them specifically, by department and by year. The minister acknowledged the problem and promised a review of the rules that have governed suspensions since 1998. The review is welcome. But it does not give those families the years back.

 

Young adults seeking help for anxiety in a system already under strain. More than 13,000 people were in mental health treatment in a single year. A 17 per cent increase. The largest group affected: people in their early twenties. The same people the chamber has been discussing all week — the unemployed graduates, the skills-mismatch generation, the ones carrying the weight of a future that keeps feeling just out of reach.

 

The budget speaks in billions. But the people inside it are speaking in ones.

 

The budget speaks in billions. But the people inside it are speaking in ones.

 

The Gap

 

Day Eight closed the session with its clearest image. A mother at a photocopier.

 

The Ministry of Education has over BND576 million allocated for 2026/2027. There are policies, programmes, and frameworks. And yet a child with a visual impairment is still waiting for materials he can use — while his mother produces them herself, page by page, year after year, at her own cost. A member of the chamber knows this family personally. She saluted the mother. Then she asked the question that mattered most: what about the parents who cannot afford even a photocopier?

 

DMAO took that image and pushed it further than anyone else in this conversation. He asked whether the real problem is not just a delivery gap, but a design gap. Citizens, he argued, are still being treated as passive recipients — people the system delivers to, rather than people the system works with. But in reality, families like that mother's are already solving problems. They are already filling gaps. They are already contributing — quietly, without recognition, without support, and without any formal place in the national delivery chain.

 

He introduced the idea of a WAQAF model — not as a religious obligation alone, but as a civic culture. A shared photocopier in a mosque or community centre, maintained by volunteers, available to any family that needs it, sustained by collective ownership rather than individual burden. One machine. One community. One less mother standing alone.

 

It is a practical idea. But it points to something bigger. Until the system recognises, enables, and scales the contribution that citizens are already making — quietly, at home, at their own expense — the gap will keep reappearing in different forms.

 

This gap appeared in other forms across the session, too. A minister is calling an event organiser, when what is needed is a policy framework for how foreign vendors participate in Brunei's festive economy. A welfare system using 2015 data, while families live in 2026 prices. A stock exchange is planned for 2027, while savers are looking for options today. The system knows the problems. It can name them clearly. It is still working to close the distance between naming and fixing.

 

 

"This is a dangerously accurate piece and that's exactly why it matters. We are no longer at a stage where activity is impressive. Only outcomes are." — A reader, responding to this series

 

An international reader — writing from outside Brunei — added a different dimension. He suggested that outcomes need to be valued and placed on the national balance sheet, not just counted as activities. If an investment is made, someone should be asking: What did it generate? Not just in money, but in human capability, adaptability, and resilience. What increased? What improved? Was the outcome recognised, measured, and replicated? Or did it disappear into a report that no one returned to?

The Question

 

Across eight days, the Legislative Council did what it is meant to do. It debated. It questioned. It answered. It recorded. Some answers were detailed. Some were candid. Some were genuinely encouraging.

 

But as the session drew to a close, one question — raised by DMAO in response to this series and repeated in different forms across each of his papers — remained unanswered.

 

After the answer is given, who is still responsible?

 

Who returns in six months to see if the textbook arrived? Who checks if the welfare rate changed when the KMKA was updated? Who follows up when the conversation ends, and the chamber goes quiet? Who owns the outcome — not just the announcement?

 

DMAO framed this as a national vital signs question. He listed four diagnostics. Continuity — does the system keep its pulse across leadership changes, or does it restart every time? Follow-through — is the pressure maintained until results actually arrive, or does it ease the moment the answer is given? Accountability — is there real ownership, or does everyone being responsible mean no one is? Execution speed — does the system respond at the pace people need, or at the pace that is comfortable?

 

These are not rhetorical questions. They are the difference between a session that matters and a session that was held.

 

His diagnosis was clear. Brunei does not have a budget problem. It does not have a policy problem. What it has is a continuity and execution discipline problem. And beneath that — a behavioural problem. Because continuity is not a structural issue. It is a discipline. And follow-through is not a procedural issue. It is a matter of character.

 

Brunei does not have a budget problem. It does not have a policy problem. What it has is a continuity and execution discipline problem.

 

The Measure

 

The moon was sighted on Thursday evening. Ramadan ended. The country moved into Hari Raya. The Yang Di-Pertua closed the chamber warmly, wished everyone well, and noted that when they reconvene on 25 March, the mood may be different.

 

He was right. The mood will be different. The questions will not.

 

A young man in Belait is still looking at his future and quietly recalculating it. His grandfather's industry is contracting. The new industries are still arriving. He is in between — not abandoned, but not yet held.

 

A civil servant is still waiting for the review that will update the rules that put him on half pay. The review was promised. It has not yet happened.

 

A young adult is still sitting in a mental health waiting room, managing what the economy has not resolved. The numbers are rising. The capacity is strained. The plan exists. The gap remains.

 

And a mother is still at the photocopier — making sure her child does not fall behind, in a system that already knows he needs help and has not yet made it easy to give.

 

They were all in the room across these eight days. Not as statistics. As people. Visible, specific, and impossible to reduce to a line item.

 

This series — KopiTalk LegCo Tracker — has tried to keep them visible. To report not just what was said, but what it meant for the people it was said about. DMAO, writing day after day alongside this series, kept asking the harder version of the same question: not whether the system cares, but whether it is designed to follow through.

 

Readers responded. Some from inside Brunei — business owners, young professionals, community members who recognised their own situations in what was being reported. Some from outside — people watching a small, oil-dependent nation navigate a genuinely difficult transition with seriousness and care, but sometimes without the institutional discipline to sustain what it starts.

 

The session will resume. The committee stage will continue. More ministries will be debated. More questions will be asked. More answers will be given.

 

The real measure of what those eight days were worth is not in the Hansard. It is in what happens between now and the next time the same questions are raised.

 

Will the textbook arrive? Will the welfare rate move? Will the young man in Belait find a path that does not require leaving everything his family built? Will the mother be able to put down the photocopier?

 

Those are not grand questions of national policy. They are the small questions that test whether the large answers meant anything.

 

 

 

Because in the end, a system is not measured by what it plans — but by what it no longer asks its people to fix on their own.

 

 

 

Editor's Note

This closing report concludes the KopiTalk LegCo Tracker series covering the first eight days of the 22nd Legislative Council session, 11–19 March 2026. The session was adjourned before Hari Raya Aidilfitri and is scheduled to resume on Wednesday, 25 March 2026. KopiTalk with MHO thanks all readers who wrote in, responded, and engaged with the series — particularly DMAO, whose sustained civic commentary across every day of this session added depth, rigour, and an accountability framework that no daily report can match alone. The series continues when the session resumes.

 

 

 

KopiTalk with MHO  |  Public interest. Plain language. Honest conversation.

What was said, what mattered, and what the public is still waiting for.

  

KOPITALK LEGCO TRACKER  |  22nd Legislative Council Session

 

 

 

Day Eight: The Budget Was Passed.

But Some Mothers Are Still at the Photocopier.

KopiTalk with MHO  •  Thursday, 19 March 2026  •  22nd LegCo, Day Eight

 

 

She has been photocopying her son's textbooks for years — making them bigger so he can see what the system has not yet made visible. On the day a BND6.3 billion budget was passed, a simple question remained: if parents are still filling the gaps, what exactly has been delivered?

  

 

She sits at the photocopier and does what the school has not done. She enlarges her son's textbooks — bigger font, clearer print — so a child with visual impairment can actually read. She has been doing this since primary school. He is now in secondary school. She is still doing it. At her own expense.

 

Dayang Hajah Safiah binti Sheikh Haji Abd. Salam knows this family. She told the chamber about them on Thursday — the final sitting of the 22nd Legislative Council session before Hari Raya. She saluted parents like this, then asked the question that mattered: what about those who cannot afford even a photocopier?

 

Over BND576 million has been allocated to the Ministry of Education for 2026/2027. There are programmes, frameworks, and plans. Yet somewhere within that system, a child is still waiting for a textbook he can read.

 

That is Day Eight in one image. Not the billions. Not the blueprints. A mother at a photocopier — bridging the gap between promise and reality.

 

Thursday marked the final sitting before Hari Raya Aidilfitri. The moon would be sighted that evening. The Yang Di-Pertua closed the session with Selamat Hari Raya, noting that when they reconvene on 25 March, the mood may be different. He was right. But before that shift, the day had something important to say.

 

What Was Raised

 

Day Eight moved through three ministries: Finance and Economy, Home Affairs, and Education. Each had moments that mattered.

 

The child who needed a bigger font.

 

The education debate was long and detailed. But one moment cut through everything. Parents are photocopying textbooks in larger print because adapted materials are not provided. This is not about one school. It is a system gap. Education exists. Access to it does not always arrive in the right form.

 

Other concerns reinforced this pattern. Strong primary results are not translating into O-Levels. Teachers are pulled into administrative work due to clerical shortages. Broken facilities persist longer than they should. Qualified graduates remain unemployed while the system reports shortages.

 

Individually, these are small issues. Together, they describe a system working hard — but still leaving families to quietly fill the gaps.

 

 

The lamb shanks — and what the response reveals.

 

Foreign vendors, festive crowds, strong sales — and money flowing outward. The minister responded candidly. He contacted the organiser personally, encouraged local sourcing, and secured agreement for future collaboration.

 

It is a meaningful step. But it remains a response to an event, not yet a structural framework. The issue itself — domestic leakage, declining retail performance, and cross-border spending — continues beyond any single fair.

 

 

Two signals many missed.

 

The first: the KMKA baseline for welfare remains tied to 2015 data. The update is coming this year. For families relying on assistance, this matters.

 

The second: a national stock exchange targeted for late 2027. It opens new pathways for savings, investment, and capital formation. It is a significant move — though still some distance away from immediate need.

 

 

The zakat story that opened the day.

 

In ten weeks, 2,380 backlog cases were cleared. More recipients are transitioning into contributors. It is a reminder that when systems align, transformation is possible.

 

From receiving zakat to paying it — that is how a system is meant to work.

 

What the Answers Revealed

 

Day Eight was marked by a level of honesty not always seen earlier in the session. Ministers acknowledged gaps, named constraints, and in some cases admitted solutions are still in progress.

 

The Education Minister addressed a wide range of concerns with candour. The issues are known. But acknowledgement remains the beginning, not the outcome.

 

On Kampung Ayer redevelopment, careful spending is being prioritised. That is responsible governance. It is also continued waiting for those on the ground.

 

On workforce structure, existing policies are in place — but the lived patterns suggest gaps between design and outcome.

 

There were also signs of movement — reviews underway, updates in progress, and a willingness to acknowledge constraints more openly than before. These are not small steps. But they are still steps.

 

From receiving zakat to paying it — that is how a system is meant to work. When it does, it is worth saying so.

 

What the Public Is Really Asking

 

• For the parent at the photocopier: when will support arrive in a form that reaches the child directly?

 

•  For the local trader: when does conversation become commitment?

 

•  For the family on welfare: when the KMKA updates, will assistance follow?

 

•  For the ordinary saver: what bridges the gap before 2027?

 

•  For the unemployed graduate: what is delaying a solution already understood?

 

The Signal of the Day

 

Day Eight closes a session that covered eight days and a BND6.3 billion budget. Much was said. Many answers were given. Some were strong. Others remain in progress.

 

The signal is not that the system does not care. It is that it has become very good at naming problems — and is still working to close the gap between naming and fixing.

 

The mother at the photocopier knows the problem has a name. Inclusive education. Adapted materials. Policy frameworks. What she needs is not the name. She needs the book.

 

The trader knows the language too — leakage, domestic demand, support mechanisms. The next fair is already being planned.

 

The family on welfare knows inflation has a name. They just cannot live on it.

 

DMAO asked the question that now sits over the entire session: after the answers are given, who remains responsible? That answer does not sit in the chamber. It sits in what happens next.

 

The moon was sighted on Thursday evening. Ramadan ended. The country moved into Hari Raya.

 

Eight days. One session. One budget. A country with plans for almost everything — and mothers still at photocopiers, making up the difference between policy and the child in front of them.

 

The session will resume. The mood will change. The questions will not.

 

Because in the end, a system is not measured by what it plans — but by what it no longer asks its people to fix on their own.

 

KopiTalk LegCo Tracker covers the 22nd Legislative Council session from a public-first perspective.

What was said, what mattered, and what the public is still waiting for.

  

KOPITALK WITH MHO

Raya, Respect, and the Brunei I Know

 

I remember a Ramadan from my childhood. The kampung slowed down. The Chinese neighbours understood without being told. Nobody needed a raid. That mutual respect was never a burden — it was simply how we lived together.

But somewhere between that memory and this Ramadan, lines got blurred. Respect is not the same as compliance. An Islamic state is not the same as an intolerant one. And enforcing a rule is not the same as carrying a value.

Brunei knows the difference. The question is whether we always show it.

By now the ketupat is ready. The rendang has been simmering since last night. Somewhere nearby, a household is already in organised chaos — small children in new clothes trying very hard not to spill anything before the first visit.

 

Hari Raya is here.

 

And with it comes that feeling that is almost impossible to explain to someone who has not lived it. Part relief after a long month, part genuine joy, and part something deeper — something you feel more than you can describe. A whole month of discipline, of pulling inward, of menahan diri — and now, finally, the doors swing open. Maaf zahir dan batin, and the table is full.

 

I have been thinking about Ramadan this year. Not just the celebration at its end, but what happened during it — the conversations it sparked, the noise it generated online, and what all of it says about us as a country and as a people.

 

You have probably seen the posts. The Reddit threads, the memes, the commentary from people in neighbouring countries using Brunei as a cautionary tale. Some of it was genuinely funny, some of it was ignorant, and some of it was just plain hostile — people who had already made up their minds about Brunei, about Islam, and about MIB long before they typed a single word.

 

But let me be honest, as I always try to be in this column.

 

Not all the voices were from outside.

 

Some were from our own people — including young Muslim Bruneians — who were confused, embarrassed, or simply unsure what to make of the enforcement actions during Ramadan. That is not something to dismiss. That is something to listen to.

 

So let me say what I actually think.

 

Brunei is an Islamic state. That is not a slogan or a talking point. It is simply what we are — shaped by centuries of faith, tradition, and a philosophy that places Islam not as a burden, but as a foundation for how we live together.

 

MIB is not three words on a letterhead. At its best, it is a living commitment — to mercy, to justice, and to genuine care for one another.

 

And part of that commitment — a very reasonable part — is that Ramadan should feel like Ramadan. Not just inside the mosque, but in the air. In the rhythm of the day. In the way the country carries itself from dawn to dusk.

 

That is all that is being asked.

 

Not that non-Muslims fast. Not that anyone pretends to believe what they do not believe.

 

Simply this: that in a Muslim country, during the holiest month of the Muslim calendar, there is a public atmosphere of respect.

 

That Ramadan does not look like any other month — as if nothing sacred is happening.

 

Is that really so unreasonable?

 

I remember Ramadans from my childhood. The stillness of the morning. The way the whole kampung seemed to slow down and breathe differently. Our Chinese neighbours, our non-Muslim friends — they understood this without being told.

 

Not because anyone forced them. But because they were part of the community.

 

That mutual respect was never a burden. It was simply how we lived together.

 

And that memory matters.

 

Because it tells me this was never really about enforcement in the first place. It was about something much simpler — neighbours understanding neighbours. A community holding something sacred together, even across lines of faith.

 

When it works the way it should, nobody needs a raid.

 

Now — and I say this carefully — there is a legitimate question about how enforcement is carried out.

 

The principle of maintaining a Ramadan atmosphere is sound. But the manner of enforcement matters just as much as the rule itself.

 

A non-Muslim eating quietly behind covered windows, in a place no Muslim would enter, is not flaunting disrespect.

 

But when enforcement comes across as a raid — masked officers, sudden intrusion — the message changes. And this is where the issue really begins.

 

Because the message received is no longer “please respect Ramadan.”

 

The message received is: you do not belong here.

 

That perception — whether intended or not — is where trust starts to erode. And once that feeling sets in, it is not easily undone.

 

That is not what Brunei is. And it is certainly not what MIB stands for.

 

The Islam in MIB is the Islam of rahmah — of mercy.

 

The Prophet ﷺ did not make life difficult for non-Muslims under his governance. 

 

He made them feel protected. That is the standard we inherit. And it is a high one.

 

We should not shy away from it.

 

To our non-Muslim brothers and sisters who felt hurt this Ramadan — I hear you.

 

Your place in this country is not conditional.

 

Brunei has always been home to people of different faiths and backgrounds. At its best, it has always made room for everyone at the table — literally and otherwise.

 

If the manner of enforcement this past month made you feel otherwise, that feeling deserves acknowledgement.

 

Not dismissal.

 

But I would also say this, gently.

 

Brunei being an Islamic state is not negotiable. And Ramadan having its own character is part of that.

 

What is being asked is not hardship. It is the same consideration anyone would extend to a community observing something sacred.

 

Not compliance. Just respect.

 

And respect, in this country, has never been one-sided.

 

As for the online noise — the memes, the threads, the quick judgments from outside — I will be brief.

 

Some voices asked honest questions. Fair enough.

 

But many were not trying to understand Brunei. They were trying to use Brunei — as an example, as a headline, as a convenient argument in a larger conversation about Islam.

 

There is a difference.

 

And a nation that knows itself does not need to chase every provocation.

 

We do not need to explain ourselves to those who have already decided what to believe.

 

What we owe ourselves is something more important — the honesty to reflect.

 

To ask: did what happened this Ramadan reflect our values at their best? And if not, what do we carry forward into the next?

 

Raya is a good time for that.

 

Because the spirit of Raya already answers many of these questions.

 

Open doors. Maaf zahir dan batin. A table set for everyone.

 

The Brunei that welcomes its neighbours — Chinese, Muslim, non-Muslim, old friends across every line — that is the Brunei worth being proud of.

 

It does not need to argue loudly.

 

It only needs to remain true to itself.

 

Because in the end, what defines us is not how firmly we hold our principles — but how gracefully we carry them together.

 

Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri. Maaf Zahir dan Batin — in the fullest sense of the words.

 

KopiTalk with MHO is a column on public affairs, national identity, and the conversations Brunei needs to have — over kopi, without pretence.

Day Seven of LegCo: The Budget Speaks in Billions. But the People in It Are Speaking in Ones.

  

KOPITALK LEGCO TRACKER  |  22nd Legislative Council Session

 

 

 

Day Seven of LegCo: The Budget Speaks in Billions.

But the People in It Are Speaking in Ones.

KopiTalk with MHO  •  Wednesday, 18 March 2026  •  22nd LegCo, Day Seven

 

 

His grandfather worked for Shell. His father worked for Shell. He grew up thinking he would work for Shell too. On Wednesday, a member of the Legislative Council asked the question this family has been quietly dreading: is there still a future in oil and gas for the next generation in Belait? KopiTalk LegCo Tracker — Day Seven.

 

 

 

His grandfather worked for Shell. His father worked for Shell. He grew up in Kuala Belait or Seria — the way many families there do — with oil and gas not just as a job, but as a way of life. A community identity. A sense of where you belong and what you are for. And now he is looking at his own future, and the question that nobody has answered plainly enough is sitting in front of him: is there still a place for me in this industry? Or should I be looking somewhere else entirely?

 

On Wednesday, Pehin Orang Kaya Indera Pahlawan Dato Seri Setia Awang Haji Suyoi bin Haji Osman put that question into the chamber directly. He said what many people in those communities feel but rarely hear acknowledged in official settings: there are families in Belait where grandfather, father, and son all worked for the same company — and the son now does not know where his future lies. He asked, simply and without drama, whether young people in the oil belt should now be advised to look for work elsewhere.

 

That is not a budget question. That is a question about identity, about community, about what happens to a town when the thing that built it begins to wind down. And it deserves more than a policy answer.

 

Day Seven of the 22nd Legislative Council session — Wednesday, 18 March 2026 — was different from every previous day of this session. There was no open debate. Instead, the chamber moved into the Committee Stage: a more technical process where members examine specific budget lines, ask pointed questions about individual projects, and ministers answer within tight time limits. It is less ceremonial than the policy debate. And sometimes, precisely because of that, it is more revealing.

 

What Day Seven revealed was not a new problem. It was the human face of problems this session has been circling all week — the economic anxiety that lives in specific communities, the governance failures that land on specific families, and the mental health crisis that is quietly building underneath everything else. The budget speaks in billions. But the people inside it are speaking in ones.

 

What Was Raised

 

Three issues stood out on Day Seven as genuine public-interest stories — not as policy abstractions, but as real situations that real people are living right now.

 

The oil and gas family — and what comes next for Belait.

 

The energy sector discussion on Day Seven was largely technical — project updates, electricity grid improvements, climate change targets. But it had one moment that cut through all of that. When Pehin Suyoi raised the future of oil and gas employment in Belait and Seria, he was not asking about barrels per day or downstream value chains. He was asking about families. About communities built around a single industry that is now contracting. About a generation of young people in those towns who grew up expecting the same career path their fathers had — and who are now being told, gently, that the world has changed.

 

The minister's answer was honest about the challenges. Oil and gas production faces ageing assets and cost pressures. New exploration is being pursued. Downstream industries are being developed to create new kinds of jobs. All of that is real. But none of it answers the question that young man in Belait is actually asking. When will those new jobs arrive? Will they be in his town? Will they pay what the industry paid his father? The answer to those questions was not in the chamber on Wednesday.

 

 

Civil servants suspended for years — and the families paying for it.

 

Pengiran Haji Isa bin Pengiran Haji Aliuddin brought something to Day Seven that was unusual in its specificity and its courage. He cited actual cases — drawn from correspondence with law firms — of government officers who have been suspended from work, placed on half pay, and left in legal limbo for years while investigations and court processes slowly inch forward.

 

One health officer was suspended in 2020 — nearly six years ago — for bringing candy containing cannabis into the country. He has been on half pay ever since, with no resolution. A male officer was suspended for two years after his girlfriend filed a complaint against him. Three senior officers in another department have been suspended for several years in an ongoing investigation. An education officer was suspended immediately after his wife made a domestic dispute police report — before any charge was filed in court.

 

These are not statistics. Each of these is a person. Each of them has a family managing on half a salary — sometimes for years — while waiting for a system that cannot seem to reach a conclusion. The rules that govern suspension were written in 1998 and have not been meaningfully updated since. The minister acknowledged this directly and confirmed that a review is coming. But a review is not the same as a resolution. And the families living on half pay cannot wait for a review to run its course.

 

Each suspension is a person. Each person has a family managing on half a salary — sometimes for years — while waiting for a system that cannot seem to reach a conclusion.

 

 

Mental health — the quiet crisis that connects everything else.

 

The mental health discussion on Day Seven was, in many ways, the most important of the entire session. Not because anything new was revealed — the numbers have been building for years. But because, for the first time in this session, the chamber connected mental health directly to the economic and social pressures that the rest of the debate has been describing all week.

 

Awang Abdul Aziz bin Haji Hamdan said it plainly: more than 13,000 individuals were receiving mental health treatment in 2023 and 2024. That is a 17 percent increase in a single year. Anxiety cases have been rising steadily. The group most affected is young adults in their early twenties — the same group facing job insecurity, financial pressure, and the weight of expectations the economy is not yet meeting.

 

Think about that for a moment. This session has spent seven days discussing youth unemployment at 18.3 percent, skills mismatches, graduates who cannot find work that matches what they studied, young people who cannot afford to start families, and workers without proper contracts. And now the mental health data tells us what all of that looks like when it lands on a person. It looks like a 17 percent increase in people needing help. It looks like anxiety cases rising year after year. It looks like the generation that was supposed to build Wawasan 2035 quietly struggling under the weight of a future that has not arrived yet.

 

The chamber also heard that 75 percent of deaths in Brunei are caused by non-communicable diseases — conditions like diabetes, heart disease, and cancer that are heavily influenced by lifestyle, stress, and whether people seek help early enough. Some patients are not being diagnosed until stage four — the final stage of illness — because they did not know the warning signs, or did not think their symptoms were serious enough to act on. Early screening is improving. But the social conditions that drive people toward poor health — stress, financial anxiety, overwork, hopelessness — are not a medical problem. They are a governance problem. And the budget alone will not fix them.

 

What the Answers Revealed

 

Day Seven's answers were, in the most honest sense, mixed. Some were genuinely encouraging. Others revealed just how long some of these problems have been waiting.

 

On electricity in Temburong — a community that has been dealing with power cuts for years — the minister gave a detailed and specific answer. The main power station in Temburong has been running for over 40 years. 72 percent of outages are caused by old, worn-out cables. The long-term fix — a transmission line connecting Temburong directly to the national grid — is 92 percent complete and expected to be ready by the middle of this year. That is a real answer with a real timeline. It will mean something to every family in Temburong that has been managing around power cuts for longer than they should have had to.

 

On mental health and the doctor shortage, the Health Minister was refreshingly candid. Doctors are leaving because other countries and the private sector pay more. They are leaving because the government system does not yet offer flexible working hours — and some doctors, particularly parents of young children, need that flexibility. The minister said this plainly, without defensiveness. That kind of honesty is worth acknowledging. But the people waiting months for a specialist appointment need more than an honest explanation of why the queue is long. They need the queue to get shorter.

 

On the civil servant suspensions, the minister confirmed that the 1998 rules governing when and how officers can be suspended will be reviewed. He also acknowledged that the Public Service Commission is reviewing the relevant sections of its own Act. These are genuine steps. But the officer who has been on half pay since 2020 — six years of his working life — does not benefit from a review that has not yet happened. His family has been living with the consequences of institutional slowness all this time. The review, when it comes, will help the next person. It will not give him those years back.

 

On civil service performance, a member noted that only 21 percent of government agencies have reached three stars or above in the public service grading system — and not a single agency has yet reached five stars. The minister acknowledged this and said more targeted support for lower-performing agencies is being planned. It is the right response. But 79 percent of agencies below three stars — after years of effort and significant investment in training — is a signal that something more fundamental than additional workshops is needed.

 

The review will help the next person. It will not give him those six years back.

 

What the Public Is Really Asking

 

• For the families in Belait and Seria: The government says new industries are coming. When will they arrive in our town? Will they pay what oil and gas paid? And until they do — what is the plan for the community that oil built?

 

• For the civil servant on half pay: The rules that put me here were written in 1998. A review has been promised. How long will it take? And while it is happening, who is responsible for my family's situation right now?

 

• For the young adult seeking mental health support: The session has spent a week talking about jobs, costs, and the future. But nobody has said clearly what the government will do for the generation that is carrying the anxiety of all that uncertainty. Is mental health a national priority — or is it still something people are expected to manage quietly on their own?

 

• For the patient waiting to see a specialist: Doctors are leaving because there is no flexible working arrangement for them. The minister said so himself. So when will flexible working hours be introduced for healthcare professionals? This is not a complex question. It is a policy decision that could be made this year.

 

• For every Bruneian watching the Committee Stage: The members asked good questions. The ministers gave honest answers — some of them unusually candid about real problems. But when the session ends tomorrow, who will be responsible for following up? Who checks, six months from now, whether the 1998 circular was actually reviewed? Whether the oil belt town got its answer? Whether the mental health numbers went up or down?
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The Signal of the Day

 

Day Seven was the day this session finally spoke in specifics.

 

For six days, the chamber debated the national budget in broad strokes — sectors, percentages, deficits, and blueprints. All of that is necessary. But it can also create a kind of distance between the discussion and the people it is supposed to be about.

 

On Wednesday, that distance closed — briefly, imperfectly, but genuinely. A member stood up and asked about a specific family in Belait — three generations of oil workers, and a son who does not know what comes next. Another member cited specific cases of specific government officers, by department and by year of suspension, and asked why the system had left them there. A third connected the mental health numbers directly to the economic pressures the chamber had been discussing all week and asked what is actually being done for the young people carrying that weight.

 

This is what a legislative council is for. Not just to pass budgets, but to make sure the people behind the budget numbers are visible — and to insist that the system sees them too.

 

The signal from Day Seven is this: the session has been building toward a question that DMAO, writing in response to this series, has already named directly — who is still responsible after the answer is given? Because the answers on Wednesday were, in many cases, genuinely good. The Temburong electricity fix is coming. The suspension rules will be reviewed. The mental health plan is being extended. The oil sector is being revitalised.

 

But good answers in a chamber are not the same as changed lives outside it. The son in Belait is still looking at his future. The civil servant is still on half pay. The young adult is still sitting in that clinic. The question is not whether the answers were good enough. The question is whether anyone will still be responsible for them when this session is over.

 

 

 

Seven days. One session. One budget. BND6.3 billion.

 

And somewhere in Belait, a young man is still working out what his future looks like without oil. Somewhere in Brunei, a government officer is still waiting for a decision that has been coming since 2020. Somewhere, a young adult in their early twenties is sitting in a waiting room, trying to get help for the anxiety that builds when the economy keeps promising a future that keeps not quite arriving.

 

They were all in the room on Wednesday. They were in the questions, in the numbers, in the cases that members put on record. They were, for a few hours, visible.

 

The real measure of this session is not what was said. It is what changes for them when the chamber goes quiet.

 

 

 

KopiTalk LegCo Tracker covers the 22nd Legislative Council session from a public-first perspective.

What was said, what mattered, and what the public is still waiting for.