HAVE you noticed how we always talk about technology in Malaysia as this big, shiny solution? Faster internet will save us. Smart cities will fix our problems. We’re always chasing the next big thing, trying to catch up or leap ahead.

It’s a good story, but lately I’ve been wondering if we’re asking the wrong questions.

I came across this philosophy piece recently that stopped me in my tracks. It argues that technology isn’t just a neutral tool we pick up and put down. It actually “changes” us—reshapes our relationships, our values, the way we see each other.

And reading it here, in Malaysia, hits different. It felt less like abstract theory and more like someone holding up a mirror to our daily lives.

Remember when we thought we were in control?

Since independence—through the New Economic Policy (NEP), through all our digital blueprints—we’ve treated technology like a magic engine for progress. It’s always presented as obviously good.

But here’s the thing: technology isn’t just about growth. It’s about power. It quietly rewires how we connect, how we learn, how we think.

There’s this concept called “reverse adaptation” that explains what’s happening. Instead of us mastering technology for our own purposes, we’re twisting ourselves to fit what technology demands.

Think about it: During COVID-19, we scrambled to move our children’s education onto global platforms. But when did we ever stop to ask what disappeared in that rush? The warmth of a teacher’s presence. The kid without a device falling further behind. The foreign values quietly baked into someone else’s software.

Those slick e-government services? They’re efficient, sure. But try being elderly in a rural kampung, suddenly locked out of something simple because it’s all behind a digital maze now.

The gig economy—Grab, Foodpanda—we loved the convenience before we ever really looked at the humans behind it. Drivers managed by algorithms that care more about speed than dignity.

Here’s what keeps me up at night. In a country as beautifully complicated as ours, technology that claims to be neutral often isn’t. It ends up deepening the cracks we already had.

The algorithms trained somewhere else don’t get our slang, our context, our way of speaking. The facial recognition and surveillance—who’s really being watched? Is privacy just for people who can afford it?

We talk about social harmony, but then we roll out technology from the top down, never asking the communities who’ll actually have to live with it what they think.

That feeling that we have no choice.

Listen to how we talk about tech in policy meetings: “AI is inevitable.” “Digitalise or die.” This language bothers me because it shuts everything down. It makes us feel like passengers, not drivers.

What if we stopped treating technology like weather we just have to endure? What if we asked: “What do “we” actually want?”

Right now, decisions get made in ministries, by experts. Public feedback feels like a checkbox after the real choices are already locked in. We import tech packages from abroad instead of building things that actually fit us.

Honestly, the internet in Malaysia is a case study in everything going wrong. Algorithms designed to keep us glued to screens are feeding us the worst of ourselves. Polarisation. Outrage. Identity politics on steroids.

Misinformation spreads until we can’t agree on basic facts anymore. And our solution? More control. More laws. More crackdowns. Not the harder, slower work of teaching digital literacy or building ethical norms from the ground up.

So where do we go?

I keep coming back to this idea: maybe we need to stop asking “How fast can we adopt this?” and start asking better questions.

What kind of people are we becoming through our technology?

Whose values are really coded into these systems? Urban elites? Global corporations?

Who actually gets to imagine our digital future—and who just has to live with whatever they build?

For Malaysia, this isn’t about importing another foreign model. It’s about returning to something we already claim to believe in. “Musyawarah”—real dialogue, not just procedure.

Technology that strengthens our communal bonds, not just our individual profiles. Innovation rooted in local wisdom, not just consumption.

The point isn’t just to build a digital Malaysia. It’s to build a “good” Malaysia. One where technology serves us—our humanity, our relationships, our values—and not the other way around. ‒ Feb 20, 2026

KT Maran is a Focus Malaysia viewer.

The views expressed are solely of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Focus Malaysia.

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