If there were an award for the unluckiest industry in the country, the Malaysian media would win it hands down—no jury deliberation required.
The list of its misfortunes no longer reads like a string of unfortunate coincidences, but like a pattern that keeps repeating itself with grim regularity. In recent months—and especially in recent weeks—the Fourth Estate has found itself lurching from one controversy to another, each incident reinforcing the sense that journalism in Malaysia has become not just a difficult profession, but a permanently endangered one.
Last year, Sin Chew got in trouble over a front-page illustration depicting the Jalur Gemilang without the crescent moon.
Forty police reports were lodged nationwide. The case is being investigated under the Emblems and Names (Prevention of Improper Use) Act 1963 and the Printing Presses and Publications Act 1984. The Yang di-Pertuan Agong himself publicly criticised the lapse, calling it unacceptable and urging greater care. Sin Chew apologised, promised disciplinary action, and announced tighter review procedures—particularly in relation to the use of artificial intelligence.
The paper responded by suspending its chief editor, Chan Aun Kuang, and deputy chief sub-editor Tsai Shwu San, who reportedly approved and designed the illustration respectively. If you thought that that would have resolved the issue, think again. After they were suspended, both Chan and Tsai also ended up detained, and questioned for nearly three hours by the police over the matter as well.
Now if you thought that what happened to Sin Chew was just a one off affair, think again.
The same theme runs through almost every other recent episode.
A few months ago, National Press Club deputy president and veteran sports journalist Haresh Deol was assaulted by two men in Bangsar—an attack so shocking that it was reportedly the first physical assault in his 25-year career. Not only was Haresh assaulted, a third person was even filming the attack. Nothing of Haresh was stolen to indicate that this was a case of robbery or theft. The symbolism was unmistakable: journalists are no longer merely pressured through institutions and laws; they are now vulnerable on the streets.
Then came the recent cascade.
Just a couple of weeks ago, a Free Malaysia Today journalist was hauled up by police in the middle of the night over a question posed at a lecture on Gaza featuring British politician George Galloway—a question said to have carried racial overtones. Not only did he get into trouble with the authorities for his question, but he lost his job and had to endure threats to himself and his family as well because of it.
Roughly around the same time, Malaysiakini’s top editors made a highly publicised trip to the UMNO general assembly to apologise to party president Datuk Seri Ahmad Zahid Hamidi over inaccurate visuals posted on social media. Sinar Harian followed with its own apology after mistakenly reporting a “Hidup Anwar” chant at the 2025 UMNO annual general assembly following complaints from UMNO leaders.
Then there was China Press.
A couple of days ago, The Chinese-language daily found itself in hot soup after inaccurately translating the Yang di-Pertuan Agong’s Royal Address in Parliament.In a Facebook post, China Press made a headline headline in Mandarin saying that Sultan Ibrahim had said Malaysians who do not understand Bahasa Melayu should not stay in Malaysia.
What the the king actually said was that Malaysians who cannot accept Bahasa Melayu as the national language are better off living elsewhere.
The difference was marginal—so marginal that even I, who have been doing this for years, had to read both sentences 4-5 times before the difference occurred to me. If I wasn't prompted to notice it, I doubt I would have noticed the difference at all. China Press also corrected the error almost as soon as it was noticed, but it did not matter. Its editor-in-chief and a subeditor were still called in to give statements, and the case is now being investigated under Section 505(b) of the Penal Code and Section 233 of the Communications and Multimedia Act, carrying the possibility of jail time and heavy fines.
Which brings us, inevitably, to the Malaysian Media Council.
The council’s Code of Conduct was supposed to take effect this year. Its very purpose is to ensure that journalists are judged by their peers—professionally, proportionately, and without fear—rather than being immediately dragged into police stations or regulatory proceedings.
Yet in every major controversy of the past few weeks, it has been the authorities who have wielded the stick: the police, the Malaysian Communications and Multimedia Commission, and sometimes politicians themselves. The council, meanwhile, has been conspicuously absent.
It is as if the idea of taking grievances to the Malaysian Media Council never crossed anyone’s mind.
Imagine bypassing the Malaysian Bar Council entirely and calling the police every time a lawyer was accused of professional misconduct. Whatever happened to the idea of being judged by your peers in Malaysian journalism?
Perhaps the council is still finding its footing. Perhaps enforcement agencies are not yet accustomed to routing complaints through it. Or perhaps—more troublingly—they have simply forgotten that it exists.
The uncomfortable truth is this: while we may now have a Malaysian Media Council, we have not yet normalised it as the first and obvious port of call when things go wrong. And until we do, journalists will continue to be judged not by professional standards, but by political pressure, public outrage, and the blunt instruments of the law.
All this is unfolding at a time when the media is already under existential threat—from artificial intelligence, collapsing business models, shrinking newsrooms, and vanishing job security. If that were not bad enough, journalists are now expected to work while permanently walking on eggshells.
By any measure, 2026 does not look like it is going to be a very good year for the media industry.
If in January itself the media has been submitted to so many …….embarrassment……maybe the media needs to consider some out of the box action to make it through the remaining 11 months of 2026 in one piece.
Perhaps, half-jokingly but not entirely in jest, it is time for Malaysian media organisations consider collectively arranging for a mandi bunga session—to buang sial.
Maybe the Malaysian Media Council can arrange it - as it is, it doesn't seem that has much else to do.
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