By Mohd Khairy Abdullah
SOOK (Sabah, Malaysia), Dec 24, 2025 — When a state in Malaysia can restrict or prohibit the public display of Christmas celebrations on religious grounds, the world should take notice: this is not a minor administrative issue—it is a symptom of a far deeper disease, where religion is worn as a mask for power and fear.
The case and controversy in Malacca are not isolated incidents. They reflect a dangerous pattern in which religion—meant to guide humanity toward morality and compassion—is reduced to a tool of social control. When Christmas lights are treated as a threat, and festive greetings are framed as contamination of faith, what is truly under attack is not belief, but the moral sanity of a nation.
Religion has never required the erasure of other people’s symbols to prove its own truth.
Only fragile faith needs prohibition.
I write not as a distant observer, but as a Malaysian who has lived religious plurality since birth. I was born into a family without formal religious affiliation; my parents came from pagan belief traditions. At the age of 15, my parents, several siblings and I embraced Islam. Before that, I had learned the fundamentals of Christianity. Today, half of my extended family is Muslim and half Christian—among us are priests and formally trained religious teachers.
Yet for decades, no one’s faith has ever been threatened simply by sitting at the same table.
We celebrate Eid, Christmas and other religious festivals together. Food is prepared with full respect for religious requirements and sensitivities. No symbols are banned. No greetings are silenced. No one feels compelled to police another person’s faith. This is everyday life in Sabah and Sarawak.
So the question must be asked plainly: why is what is normal in Borneo treated as dangerous in Malacca?
The answer is uncomfortable but necessary: in some places, religion has been stripped of compassion and fused with politics of fear. This produces three destructive outcomes.
First, religion is narrowed into a “us versus them” weapon.
Second, society is forced to live in suspicion rather than trust.
Third, the nation loses focus on real problems—corruption, poverty, education—because energy is wasted policing symbols and celebrations.
The Malacca case should embarrass us as a plural nation. It sends a message that tolerance is optional, not foundational; that diversity can be suspended to appease narrow sentiment. This contradicts Malaysia’s lived reality and risks turning the country into a cautionary tale on the global stage.
In contrast, Sabah and Sarawak have long demonstrated what some policymakers in Peninsular Malaysia seem unable—or unwilling—to grasp: strong faith does not require the suppression of other people’s cultures. In Borneo, mosques, churches and temples stand close to one another without fear. Interfaith families are normal. Diversity is not a slogan—it is a way of life.
If Malaysia is serious about becoming a mature and respected nation, Sabah and Sarawak should be elevated as national models—indeed, as global references. Not because we are perfect, but because we have long practiced what others are still debating.
National leaders must ask themselves honestly: do we want a Malaysia confident in its diversity, or a Malaysia afraid of other people’s celebrations? Strong nations do not prohibit. Weak nations manufacture prohibitions.
Religion should liberate humanity from fear, not produce it.
I am proud to be a son of Sabah—a land that taught me faith and humanity are not opposites. What stands in opposition to true religion is religion worn as a mask.
Finally, I wish Merry Christmas to my family, to Malaysians, and to communities around the world celebrating Christmas in 2025. May we have the courage to remove the mask, and to save religion—and the nation—from those who damage both in the name of sanctity.
