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.