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Umno's Najib is just a convicted thief/pencuri who deserves no respect from Malaysians
KUALA LUMPUR, Dec 23, 2025: The simple fact - the disgraced and shameless former Umno president and prime minister Najib “1MDB” Razak is a convicted thief/pencuri.
Like all criminal convicts, they are all the same and deserve no respect whatsoever.
Look where Najib has put Malaysians into for the next few decades:
The corrupt, racial and religious bigoted wants their former president “freed” (read as house arrest/backdoor freedom).
The High Court has denied Najib that “freedom”.
So, what’s wrong with Malaysians celebrating/welcoming justice and the upholding of the law against the nation’s No.1 thief/pencuri?
Are we expected to respect a common thief/criminal?
Only Umno and it must be wiped out of the political arena or Parliament come the next general election due in 2027!
No News Is Bad News reproduces two articles found on Facebook on the High Court’s decision to deny Najib his bid to be placed under house arrest:
Thesan ·oneSsdoptrc1h8m4ft1g7496claa8i74cmg9u1u0281f21g0t6tli4m7fth7 ·
This is so well encapsulated. Thanks Hisham Badrul Hashim Spice . You never disappoint me. Couldn't have written it better myself. And some bedtime reading for you Liyana Marzuki .
This is very well put.
Hisham Badrul Hashim Spice
oneSsdoptrc1h8m4ft1g7496claa8i74cmg9u1u0281f31g0t6tli4m7fth7 ·
HOUSE ARREST, HOUSE RULES, AND THE STRANGE COMFORT OF A LOCKED DOOR
A VERDICT ARRIVES, QUIETLY, WITH PAPERWORK
The Kuala Lumpur High Court spoke. Calmly. Carefully. With the kind of tone judges use when they know someone, somewhere, will still shout after the gavel falls.
Najib Razak’s bid for house arrest was dismissed.
The addendum was declared invalid.
Unconstitutional.
Contrary to Article 42.
In legal terms, this was not a drama. It was housekeeping.
Yet the nation reacted as if someone had overturned a dinner table in the middle of a wedding.
THE PROBLEM WITH HOUSE ARREST IN A COUNTRY WITHOUT HOUSES FOR IT
Let us start with the most boring point—which also happens to be the most devastating.
Malaysia does not have a house arrest law.
No statute.
No policy.
No SOP.
No mechanism.
Not even a pamphlet explaining where to buy the ankle bracelet.
House arrest, in Malaysia, exists only in imagination, WhatsApp forwards, and hopeful legal strategies.
So when the court said, “We do not practise this,” it was not being cruel. It was being factual—almost tediously so.
Trying to enforce house arrest here is like asking the LRT to stop at a station that was never built. You can shout at the driver all you want. The track still ends where it ends.
THE ADDENDUM THAT NEVER WENT TO THE MEETING
Then came the other confirmations, each one less dramatic than the last but cumulatively fatal:
1. The addendum was issued outside the pardon board meeting.
2. It was never discussed by the pardon board.
3. The government cannot implement palace orders that fail legal requirements.
In other words, the addendum did not merely arrive late.
It arrived at the wrong building, on the wrong day, with no appointment.
SO… DID THE KING MAKE A MISTAKE?
If one reads the court’s decision plainly—without emotion, slogans, or caps lock—the answer is uncomfortable but clear.
Yes. A mistake was made.
Whether it was made personally, or through flawed legal advice, only heaven truly knows. Wallahu a’lam, as we like to say when we are politely admitting that something went wrong but do not wish to assign a face to it.
But here is the crucial detail conveniently lost in public outrage:
When the addendum reached the Attorney General, it was examined, found unconstitutional, and sent back to the palace.
By then, a new Yang di-Pertuan Agong had been appointed.
Meaning: the addendum has been with the palace from the beginning.
Not hidden in the AG’s drawer.
Not locked in the Prime Minister’s safe.
Not misplaced under a pile of Madani slogans.
ON “HIDING” AND SAVING FACE
Now comes the dramatic question whispered loudly on social media:
Was the addendum hidden?
Perhaps.
But if so, it was hidden for the most Malaysian of reasons: to save face.
Because publicly parading an unconstitutional decree would not have strengthened the palace. It would have embarrassed it.
Ironically, what some now call “concealment” was, in hindsight, an act of institutional damage control.
And no—this is not treason.
The Yang di-Pertuan Agong is not above the law. The constitution is not a suggestion. And respecting judicial findings is not an insult to royalty—it is the foundation that protects it.
SO WHO, REALLY, IS AT FAULT?
Here we arrive at the least glamorous answer.
Najib’s lawyers.
Not the palace.
Not the court.
Not the Prime Minister.
The lawyers.
Because anyone with a working knowledge of constitutional law would have known—early on—that the addendum was legally defective. Yet hope was sold anyway. Narratives were spun. Expectations were inflated.
Families were reassured. Supporters were mobilised.
And now, inevitably, disappointment has arrived like a bill nobody wanted to open.
Had the lawyers been honest from the beginning—had they advised a fresh pardon application instead of theatrical litigation—this entire episode could have ended quietly, months ago.
Instead, they chose to fight the wrong battle, in the wrong arena, at the wrong time.
THE STRATEGY THAT NEVER LEARNED FROM HISTORY
Legal veterans have already pointed out the obvious:
Wait for half the sentence.
Apply properly.
Seek a full pardon.
That was the path taken by others before. It worked.
But time, ego, and misplaced confidence intervened.
Now the verdict is final.
No house arrest.
No addendum.
Three more years in Kajang.
Legally, the matter is closed.
Politically, however, the wound has been reopened—and salted.
WHEN CELEBRATION SOUNDS LIKE HUMILIATION
Then came the Facebook post.
“One more reason to celebrate this year end.”
A single sentence.
Light. Casual. Festive.
And yet, it did more damage than any judicial ruling.
Not because Najib is innocent.
But because the tone confirmed a suspicion UMNO’s grassroots have harboured for some time:
This was never only about justice.
It was also about humiliation.
Courts decide guilt.
Politicians decide whether to gloat.
And gloating, especially from within the government, corners allies into silence or rebellion.
UMNO: SWALLOW, AGAIN, OR SPEAK AT LAST
For UMNO, this is not merely Najib’s loss.
It is a test of dignity.
Every time a coalition partner celebrates Najib’s downfall publicly, UMNO’s bargaining power erodes. Its relevance shrinks. Its patience is tested.
So the real question now is not about Kajang Prison.
It is about UMNO.
Will it swallow this quietly, once again?
Will it issue another polite statement about respecting institutions?
Or will it finally admit what its grassroots already feel—that in this unity government, UMNO absorbs the blows while others pop champagne?
WHEN DISAPPOINTMENT TURNS INTO DANGEROUS NOISE
Yet here is where the story becomes more troubling.
Some voices within UMNO have responded not with reflection, but with insistence—bordering on pressure—towards the judiciary.
This is where disappointment turns dangerous.
Because in a functioning democracy, political parties do not instruct courts. They do not pressure judges. They do not reinterpret verdicts until they sound more agreeable.
The separation of powers exists precisely to prevent that.
Once courts bend to political noise, everyone loses—even those cheering today.
WHY THE COURTS MUST REMAIN BORING
Courts must remain dull. Predictable. Resistant to applause.
Because the moment judicial decisions start reflecting political will instead of legal reasoning, democracy becomes theatre—and justice becomes optional.
If people lose faith in the courts, every verdict becomes suspect.
If courts lose independence, governments become unchecked.
If law becomes a tool, not a boundary, society fractures.
And fractured societies do not heal easily.
A QUIET ENDING, WITHOUT FIREWORKS
I understand the disappointment. Truly.
But this decision was made on facts and law—not spite, not politics, not celebration.
Najib remains in prison.
The addendum is invalid.
House arrest is not a thing here.
And now, we wait—not for another court ruling—but for political maturity.
For leaders to lower their voices.
For parties to respect boundaries.
For the constitution to remain supreme.
Because once the law is bent for convenience, it will eventually snap for everyone.
And that, unlike house arrest, is a reality we all live in.
Jonson Chong
The following article is reproduced verbatim as received via WhatsApp.
Najib, House Arrest, and the Malaysia We Are Still Becoming
By Joseph Masilamany
The High Court’s decision to reject Datuk Seri Najib Razak’s application for house arrest should have been straightforward. Constitution consulted. Process examined. Law applied. Case closed.
Yet the intensity of the reaction — anger, relief, triumphalism, grief — reveals that this case was never just about where Najib serves his remaining sentence. It is about something Malaysia has been wrestling with since 2018: whether power still bends the system, or whether the system has finally learned to resist power.
Justice Alice Loke Yee Ching’s ruling was unequivocal. The alleged addendum order by the former Yang di-Pertuan Agong was invalid because it did not comply with Article 42 of the Federal Constitution. It was neither deliberated nor decided by the Pardons Board. Without that constitutional process, there was no lawful order to enforce.
This was not judicial drama. It was judicial discipline.
And in today’s Malaysia, discipline is revolutionary.
*The Temptation of Exceptionalism*
Najib’s supporters argue that house arrest is humane, reasonable, even customary for a former prime minister. His critics counter that he deserves no special consideration.
Both sides, however, circle the same dangerous assumption: that Najib is an exception — either worthy of mercy beyond the ordinary, or of punishment beyond the law.
The court rejected that premise entirely.
Article 42 exists precisely to prevent exceptionalism. It ensures that clemency is not dispensed through whispers, assumptions, or retrospective interpretations of royal intent. It anchors mercy to process.
Had the court validated an undocumented, non-deliberated addendum order, it would have signalled that constitutional procedures are optional when the accused is powerful enough. That would not have been compassion. It would have been capitulation.
*Why This Ruling Matters Beyond Najib*
Najib Razak will continue serving his sentence at Kajang Prison. But the ruling’s real audience was not Najib. It was the political class.
For decades, Malaysia operated on an unspoken hierarchy of accountability. Ordinary citizens faced the full weight of the law. Elites negotiated their exits quietly. Influence mattered. Connections mattered more.
The 1MDB scandal shattered that arrangement, but it did not erase the instinct to restore it.
The house arrest application was, in many ways, a test balloon: how far could the old logic be stretched in the new Malaysia?
The answer, at least for now, is: not far enough.
*Popularity Is Not Innocence*
Najib’s enduring appeal — the “Bossku” phenomenon — complicates the picture. He remains popular across racial and class lines, buoyed by nostalgia and economic discontent.
For many Malaysians, life felt more predictable during his tenure. That emotional memory is real, even if incomplete.
But courts are not referendum halls.
If popularity were a mitigating factor, Malaysia’s justice system would collapse under the weight of sentiment. Today it is Najib. Tomorrow it could be anyone with a loyal base and a compelling narrative of grievance.
Justice Loke’s ruling quietly reaffirmed a principle that democracies ignore at their peril: the law does not compete with charisma.
*The Monarchy and the Constitution*
Some have framed the ruling as a slight against royal authority. It is not.
In fact, it does the opposite.
By insisting that royal clemency must flow through Article 42, the court protected the monarchy from politicisation. Informal or opaque interpretations of royal intent expose the institution to controversy, contestation, and erosion of moral authority.
In a constitutional monarchy, the Constitution is not a constraint on royalty — it is its shield.
Today’s ruling reinforced that balance.
*Selective Justice: The Argument That Never Ends*
Perhaps the most emotionally potent response to the ruling is this: “Others were not punished like him.”
This grievance is understandable. Malaysia has a long history of selective enforcement. Many powerful figures have evaded accountability.
But selective injustice is not cured by expanding privilege. It is cured by narrowing it.
Allowing Najib to bypass constitutional procedure would not have corrected past failures. It would have confirmed them.
The uncomfortable truth is this: every high-profile conviction that holds weakens the old culture of impunity — but only if the system does not blink afterwards.
Blinking now would have undone years of institutional effort.
*A Judiciary Finding Its Spine*
This ruling also arrives at a delicate moment for the judiciary. Public confidence has been bruised by inconsistency, delay, and perceived political sensitivity.
That is why the clarity of this decision matters.
Justice Loke did not editorialise. She did not moralise. She did not yield to public noise. She applied the Constitution as written.
In doing so, she reminded Malaysians that judicial independence is not always a loud voice. Sometimes it is expressed through a simple refusal to bend.
*Where Malaysia Goes From Here*
This decision does not end debates about mercy, sentencing reform, or prison conditions. Nor should it. Those are legitimate policy discussions.
But it draws a firm boundary: clemency must be constitutional, or it is not clemency at all.
If Najib Razak is to receive further relief, it must be through the proper channels — openly, institutionally, and in full compliance with Article 42. Anything else invites cynicism and corrodes trust.
*Conclusion: The Long Work of Becoming*
Malaysia is still becoming the country it claims to be.
Every generation inherits institutions shaped by compromise, courage, and contradiction. The test is whether those institutions can mature — whether they can say “no” when saying “yes” would be easier.
The High Court said “no” today.
Not to mercy.
Not to humanity.
But to shortcuts, shadows, and the old habits of power.
That may not satisfy everyone. But it moves Malaysia, however incrementally, closer to a future where the law does not ask who you are before deciding what applies to you.
And that is a future worth the discomfort.
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