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?
•  

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.

When the Answer Is Not Enough: A Reader Asks the Question Nobody Wants to Answer.

  

KOPITALK WITH MHO  |  Reader Response & Commentary

 

 

 

When the Answer Is Not Enough:

A Reader Asks the Question Nobody Wants to Answer.

By Malai Hassan Othman  |  KopiTalk with MHO  |  March 2026  |  In response to DMAO: 'Day Six of LegCo — Everything Was Answered… But There Is No Continuity, No Follow-Up, No Follow-Through'

 

  

DMAO read the Day Six report and asked one simple question: the answer was given — but then what? Who is still responsible after the session ends? KopiTalk with MHO responds.

 

 

 

DMAO wrote back again. And this time, his message is even simpler.

 

He said: Day Six showed that the system is listening. Ministers answered. Data was given. Issues were acknowledged. All of that is true — and fair. But here is the part that keeps him up at night.

 

After the session ends, after the Hansard is filed, after everyone goes home — what actually changes? 

 

Because if you look at LegCo over the years, you will notice a familiar pattern. An issue is raised. An answer is given. A programme is announced. And then, slowly, quietly — the follow-up stops. Nobody checks. Nobody reports back. Nobody asks: did it work? And in the next session, the same issue comes up again. Different words. Same problem.

 

The question is no longer: was the answer good? The question is: who is still responsible after the answer is given?

 

DMAO puts it plainly: we do not lack plans. We do not lack policies. What we lack is the discipline to follow through — to stay with the problem until it is actually solved, not just until it has been answered.

 

I think about the woman in the Day Six report. Working in the private sector. No written contract. Over time, nobody pays her for. She did not come to LegCo. But her situation was in the room — in the questions raised, in the data presented, in the gaps the Hansard quietly recorded. The answer acknowledged her reality. But the answer did not change it.

 

And her father — still waiting for a care system that has not yet reached his front door. The minister said it honestly: we cannot do this alone. Families will need to carry part of this. He is right that it takes a whole nation. But that whole nation includes her, the same person that the employment system is not fully protecting.

 

So I want to add one thing to what DMAO said. It is not just that nobody follows through. It is that the system was never really built to make anyone follow through. There is no one whose job it is to come back six months later and ask: Did the worker get her contract? Is the elderly care plan off the drawing board yet? Has that BND59.8 million housing arrears figure finally moved?

 

Good intentions do not close gaps. Accountability does. And accountability needs to be built into the system — not hoped for from individuals.

 

Good intentions do not close gaps. Accountability does.

 

DMAO ends with an image that stays with you. A son is still at home. After all the answers. After all the sessions. Still waiting.

 

That is the real test of every LegCo debate. Not how well the questions were answered in the chamber. But whether anything is different for that family when the next session comes around.

 

DMAO named the problem. Clearly. Fairly. Without fuss. And KopiTalk is glad he did — because this is exactly the kind of civic conversation that makes public life more honest.

 

 

 

Editor's Note

This is KopiTalk's second response to DMAO, who has now written two commentaries in response to the KopiTalk 22nd LegCo Tracker series. His first paper asked whether Brunei is confusing budget administration with nation-building. His second question asks who stays responsible after the answer is given. Both are worth reading. KopiTalk with MHO welcomes this kind of public engagement — it is the civic conversation Brunei needs more of.

 

 

 

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

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

  

KOPITALK WITH MHO

Column by Malai Hassan Othman

 

Whose Festival Is It, Anyway?

Every year, foreign traders arrive for Brunei's festive season, make their money, and leave. Local businesses are still here — and still struggling.

Bandar Seri Begawan  |  March 2026

 

Every Hari Raya, the halls are full.
The crowds come. The money flows.

But when it’s over, many local traders are left asking a simple question:

Was this season ever really theirs?

This week’s KopiTalk looks at a growing concern —
foreign vendors come, sell, and leave,
while local businesses struggle to stay afloat in their own market.

The numbers are telling.
The sentiment is real.
And the question is becoming harder to ignore.

 

Picture this. It is a few weeks before Hari Raya. Government workers have just received their Kurnia Peribadi. Annual bonuses are in the bank. People are in the mood to spend. The halls at Bridex and the International Conference Centre are packed, shoppers weaving between hundreds of stalls. The atmosphere is festive. The tills are ringing.

 

But ask a local trader how business is, and the answer may surprise you. For many, what should be the best season of the year is becoming one of the most demoralising.

 

The reason is not hard to find. Walk through those consumer fairs and count how many stalls belong to local businesses. Then count the rest. A growing number of Brunei traders and permanent residents — who have spent years building their businesses here, paying rent, licences, wages, and taxes — feel they are being crowded out of their own festive season by vendors who carry none of those long-term costs.

 

This column has received messages on exactly this issue. One veteran businessman put it simply: foreign traders come, sell, and leave with the money. They do not maintain shops. They do not employ locally. They do not reinvest here. And yet they are present at the most commercially valuable moment of the year, often at prices local businesses struggle to match.

 

It is a fair grievance. And the numbers behind it make it harder to dismiss with each passing year.

 

The Numbers Tell the Story

 

The Department of Economic Planning and Statistics publishes a Retail Sales Index every quarter. It is not light reading. But buried inside it is a pattern policymakers should not ignore.

 

In Q2 2021, when borders were closed, retail sales reached BND488.2 million — the highest in recent years. Bruneians could not shop across the border. Foreign vendors could not enter. So spending stayed local. And local businesses thrived.

 

Then the borders reopened. The trend reversed.

 

By Q2 2023, retail sales had fallen to BND446.1 million. In Q2 2024, to BND420.6 million. The latest figure, Q2 2025, stands at BND394.7 million — the lowest in at least eight years, even below pre-pandemic levels.

 

That is not a fluctuation. That is direction.

 

The relationship between open borders, foreign participation, and declining local retail may not be perfectly linear. But taken together, the trajectory is difficult to ignore — especially at a time when costs are rising and local businesses are under increasing strain.

 

Three Pressures, One Reality

 

Consumer fairs are only part of the story. Local traders are facing pressure on three fronts — simultaneously.

 

The first is cross-border spending. A 2024 Universiti Brunei Darussalam study estimated that Bruneians spend around BND1 billion annually in Limbang, Miri, and Sabah. That is almost the size of Brunei's entire retail sector, valued at roughly BND1.2 billion.

 

Why? The answer is simple: value.

 

"Spending BND100 [you get a] half cart here, or spending RM300 [you get a] full cart in Miri — people know how to calculate."

 

Part of that difference lies in the cost of doing business locally. Import delays, processing inefficiencies, and storage costs quietly accumulate — and are ultimately passed on to consumers.

 

"Imagine importing products and getting stuck in the container hub for weeks… you still have to pay for the space… you end up having to jack up prices."

 

The second front is online retail. Platforms like Shopee, Lazada, and Temu allow consumers to bypass local markets entirely — often at prices local businesses cannot match.

 

The third is seasonal consumer fairs themselves — events that can feature hundreds of booths, many operated by short-term vendors. They arrive, trade, and depart — taking their earnings with them.

 

The Kurnia Peribadi alone distributes over BND17 million just before Hari Raya. When a significant portion of that spending flows out just as quickly, it is reasonable to ask whether the intended economic impact is being achieved.

 

A Necessary Balance

 

To be fair, consumer fairs are not without value. They bring variety, competitive pricing, and a festive buzz that many Bruneians enjoy. For consumers, they offer access and choice. For organisers, they drive traffic and commercial activity.

 

The issue is not their existence. It is the balance of participation — and whether the current structure disproportionately disadvantages those who are rooted in the local economy year-round.

 

What People Are Actually Saying

 

This concern is not isolated. It is visible across public discussions — consistent in tone, and increasingly difficult to dismiss.

 

People are not opposed to foreign vendors. What they question is a system that appears to make it easier for outsiders to benefit than for those who have invested locally over decades.

 

"When people have less money, they try to maximise their buying power… one option is to cross the border… The government knows what they need to do… but they are not doing any of those."

 

Others point to the cumulative burden of regulation and inefficiency:

 

"Starting a business is not easy… regulations, inefficiencies, red tape… even when people have money, they go where there are more options."

 

And the long-term implication is clear:

 

"Businesses couldn't sustain… more Bruneians will join the unemployed pool."

 

Youth unemployment already stands at around 18 percent — among the highest in the region. When local businesses weaken, employment opportunities shrink with them.

 

A Question of Fairness

 

A Malay proverb comes to mind: menepuk air di dulang, terpercik muka sendiri — when you strike the water, it splashes back.

 

When policies unintentionally disadvantage local players, the consequences return to the economy itself.

 

Local traders are not asking for protection. They are asking for fairness — for the ability to compete on reasonable terms.

 

Another proverb says it more starkly: kera di hutan disusui, anak di rumah mati kelaparan.

 

It is a harsh image. But when the system consistently favours those without long-term commitments over those who sustain the economy daily, the question becomes unavoidable.

 

What Needs to Change

 

None of this is beyond correction.

 

Consumer fairs can remain vibrant — but the structure must evolve.

 

First, timing and access. During peak spending periods, local businesses should have priority access to stalls at major venues, at rates they can realistically afford.

 

Second, commitment. Participation should reflect contribution. Vendors who wish to benefit from Brunei's market should demonstrate a meaningful economic presence — whether through employment, longer-term engagement, or reinvestment.

 

Third, promotion. A serious Beli Brunei effort, tied to festive seasons and backed by real incentives, could shift behaviour meaningfully.

 

Fourth, measurement. AMBD and DEPS should quantify the extent of economic leakage linked to these activities. Policy should be driven by evidence, not reaction.

 

The Festive Season Should Work for Bruneians

 

Every year, the halls fill, the crowds gather, and the money flows. For a moment, it feels like prosperity.

 

But when the tents come down, too many local traders are left asking a quiet question: did the season truly belong to them?

 

The people who wrote to this column are not complainers. They are business owners who have stayed, invested, and contributed. They are asking for something simple — a fair chance during the one season that should matter most.

 

If Wawasan 2035 is about resilience and sustainability, then this is not a side issue. It is foundational.

 

Because in the end, a festive season is not just about celebration.

It is about who it sustains — and who it leaves behind.

 

 

KopiTalk with MHO is a public interest column by Malai Hassan Othman.

Readers may write to the column with issues of public concern.

 

— End —