I have adapted it. Rule No 1 No Names.
It is the times we live in.
THE LEADER WHO LEFT FOR RIO WHILE HIS PARTY BECAME A GHOST TOWN
A Reflection on the Rise and Fall of Riforma in a Cup of Stale Kopi Tarik
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I. WHEN IN RIO, PRETEND YOUR KITCHEN ISN’T ON FIRE
Let us begin, as most tragedies do, with a postcard.
Somewhere in Rio, a man once hailed as the voice of the oppressed is sipping something weird in a €600 suit while listening to a translator explain BRICS policy frameworks. Meanwhile, back home, his party is vanishing faster than cold cendol under the midday sun. Once a rallying cry for the reform-hungry rakyat, his party is now best described as an “ongoing rumour with legacy stationery.”
More than 200 twigs (branches?) have either resigned, dissolved, or spontaneously evaporated into the WhatsApp ether. The remaining ones appear to be operating out of nostalgia and group photos from 2008.
We are told this is not a collapse. It is, apparently, a realignment of aspirations. And if you believe that, you probably also believe your neighbour’s cat can be a senator.
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II. VOTER APATHY OR MASS NAP SYNDROME?
Let’s examine the numbers, shall we?
30,000 members were eligible to vote in the deputy president showdown between (Daughter of Destiny) and Okonomi (Spreadsheet Casanova). But only 14,000 showed up. That’s not democracy — that’s an RSVP to a forgotten birthday party.
It’s not even boycott. It’s indifference. And indifference, my dear reader, is not the opposite of love. It is the absence of belief.
Which is worse.
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III. THE LONG ROAD TO POWER (WHICH ENDED OVER A CLIFF)
Once upon a monsoon, Homo Sapien stood shirt-sleeved in the rain, fists clenched, shouting “RIFORMA!” into the collective ache of a nation. People believed. Not just in his message, but in his martyrdom. He was the human symbol of resistance: jailed, betrayed, resurrected.
Then, he became leader — through the behest of a 'Constitutional', in a musical chairs coalition arranged by decree. It was his grand Crescendo. Twenty-seven years of struggle, climaxing in one solemn oath and a photo op.
And what did the man who promised to fight corruption do as one of his first acts?
He made DNAA-man, who had enough charges to host a courtroom musical, his deputy.
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IV. THE RENAISSANCE THAT NEVER CAME
We were promised a Renaissance.
What we got was a badly rehearsed school play about Renaissance values performed on a floating stage in Paya Lintah with a malfunctioning smoke machine.
The Hakim-ery is now a whisper of what it once was. Corrupt politicians are receiving DNAA faster than we get our Shopee parcels. Cronies — the exact species Riforma once sought to exterminate — are thriving like mushrooms after rain, enjoying plush seats on GLC boards and gentle pats on the back.
Reform? No, thank you. We’re on a Madinah diet now. All slogans, no substance.
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V. OKONOMI'S EXIT INTERVIEW AND OTHER POLITICAL TUMBLES
Okonomi and one other resigning was less a resignation and more a slow clap in the face of political theatre. Okonomi, the man who could memorise inflation data for a history quiz, has now become the ghost of better policy.
And the Princess of Riforma, she is currently performing interpretive dances on indigenous rights in Sarawak, while her political living room catches fire. Her father is busy jetting between continents, but the kettle in the kitchen has boiled dry. Next the kitchen will catch fire.
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VI. THE ODD SILENCE OF UNMO (ALSO: WHERE ARE THEY?)
UNMO, the ghost of regimes past, now stares blankly at the nation like a man who arrived late to his own funeral. Once roaring with populist thunder, now they mumble nothing as SST rises, subsidies vanish, and petrol prices make Grab drivers cry in lowercase.
They know the ship is sinking. They are praying the captain drowns first.
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VII. TIKTOK DIKTATORSHIP AND NASI LEMAK ECONOMICS
Makcik Siti’s nasi lemak costs RM8.30 now. She blames “Madinah”.
On TikTok, Gen Z is remixing Homo Sapien's speeches into sad clown music. In pasar malam stalls, “Homo Sapien” is a punchline. “Riforma” has been reclaimed by students, not in support but in satire. The very cry that once rallied a movement has now been reduced to a meme.
“Homo Sapien” no longer inspires reverence. It triggers price comparisons, gasps over utility bills, and bitter WhatsApp chain messages from uncles who never studied economics but now feel qualified to conduct monetary policy.
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VIII. THE BETRAYAL OF BELIEF
This isn’t just a leadership failure.
It’s the betrayal of belief. The quiet unraveling of an emotional contract. The supporters did not expect miracles. They expected moral compass. Instead, they got roadshows and tax hikes. They wanted a non-Homo Sapien; they got a mediocre Homo Sapien with frequent flyer miles.
Hope is not infinite. It is fragile. And when squandered, it does not return as easily as it was given.
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IX. WHEN THE RAIN COMES
And so, the storm is coming.
Not the type that arrives with loud thunder and visible lightning, but the slow, punishing drizzle that warps wood and ruins foundations. When the next election comes, it won’t be with fireworks but with silences at the ballot box. Volunteers won’t come. Posters won’t be printed. Makciks won’t answer the call to ceramah. Riforma, like a vinyl record played too many times, will skip.
And those who stood silent in sunshine?
They should not expect umbrellas when the rain begins.
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X. EPILOGUE: CARNAVAL MASKS IN RIO
If you look closely, you’ll find that carnival masks are beautiful because they hide disappointment with art. Behind the glitter, nothing is real. Just papier-mâché, glue, and theatre.
Kind of like what’s happening now.
A leader far from home. A party crumbling like overbaked biskut raya. A movement that mistook itself for a destiny.
And the people?
They are watching.
They always have been.
Adapted from Badrul Hisham
