This article first appeared in Forum, The Edge Malaysia Weekly on September 8, 2025 - September 14, 2025

Earlier this year, controversy erupted following the historic appointment of Malaysia’s first Chinese lieutenant general, Johnny Lim. Sungai Buloh PAS division chief Zaharudin Muhammad reposted the appointment on a now-deleted Facebook post, in which he hypothetically posited that Malaysia would in time have a Chinese prime minister.

This triggered a backlash from all quarters, including his own political party. Zaharudin had claimed that the image of Lim had no connection to the satirical message in his posting, and that it was for “decorative purposes”.

By resorting to coded language and satire, rather than directly criticising the situation, the message was more easily brushed aside as nothing more than a blundering jab.

This comfort in expressing racially-infused rhetoric without clear accountability is hardly new in Malaysia. In 2022, Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad labelled all political parties run by non-Malays as “parti pendatang”, claiming that giving power to these so-called “outsiders” was equivalent to “giving away the country”. More recently, although not overtly racist, his familiar tone has returned under the guise of helping Malay people with their struggles, with his new movement Jawatankuasa Sekretariat Orang Melayu. According to Mahathir, this platform is not politically motivated and will primarily serve to resolve the issues that Malay people face, although he did note that regaining the power of the Malays can only be achieved if they regain control of the government.

It is worth noting that such rhetoric is not unique to any one community or political faction. Across Malaysia’s political landscape, we have seen countless moments where leaders from various backgrounds have resorted to racialised language for short-term gain. For example, Tan Sri Lim Kit Siang’s caution that Malaysia risks evolving into an Islamic state within two election cycles was viewed by some as inciting fears among non-Malay voters. More notably, during the 15th general election, phrases such as “Green Wave” and “Chinese Tsunami” were used to subtly stoke fears of cultural erosion. Platforms like TikTok, Facebook and Twitter became breeding grounds for dog whistles, where violent imagery, references to May 13, as well as slogans like “Taliban Rule”, “Bangsa Melayu” and “DAPigs” were widely circulated.

Such coded and identity-charged language is particularly tricky, because it can carry racial undertones without being overly seditious (in the way defined under the Sedition Act 1948 — that is, having the tendency to promote “feelings of ill will and hostility between different races or classes of the population of Malaysia”) and without explicitly calling for violence, allowing it to escape scrutiny.

While Malaysians are far more familiar with the notion of “seditious language”, it is noteworthy that the racially provocative undertones of the examples given above can also be understood through the lens of an emerging academic concept called “stochastic terrorism”. In the book The Age of Lone Wolf Terrorism, Mark Hamm and Ramon Spaaij define stochastic terrorism as involving “the use of mass media to provoke random acts of ideologically motivated violence that are statistically predictable but individually unpredictable”.

The general criteria for stochastic terrorism, as outlined by Kurt Braddock, an assistant professor specialising in research on political violence, in his book Weaponized Words, include: A prominent speaker with influence; vague, inflammatory rhetoric directed at certain groups; wrongful demonisation; cultivation of public hostility without explicitly calling for violence; and plausible deniability of responsibility when individuals eventually act.

A prominent example given by Dr James Angove, a senior researcher on stochastic terrorism, is the United States Capitol riot in Washington, DC on Jan 6, 2021. In the lead-up, Donald Trump repeatedly claimed the 2020 election was “stolen” and urged supporters to “fight like hell”. This rhetoric was further amplified by media and online communities; the result was a violent siege on the Capitol, with five deaths and over 140 officers injured, yet Trump avoided accountability as he didn’t order the attack, but his vague yet urgent messaging laid the groundwork for individuals to act on their own.

Similarly, in the UK, the murder of member of parliament Jo Cox in 2016 further highlighted how everyday stereotypes and hostile rhetoric can escalate into real-world violence. Leading up to her assassination, political figures and media outlets circulated anti-immigrant slogans like “Take back control”, and the infamous “Breaking Point” billboard fuelled xenophobic sentiment. Cox, a vocal supporter of refugee rights, was targeted by Thomas Mair, who shouted “For Britain” as he killed her. Though no one had ordered Mair to murder her, he had long been inspired by the right-wing terrorist David Copeland and was emboldened by the charged political atmosphere, particularly during the Brexit campaign.

Perhaps we have become accustomed to race-infused rhetoric (and even accepted it as part of Malaysian politics), but we can hardly ignore the parallels between this phenomenon and the rhetoric often seen in Malaysia’s political context, which often orbits around coded language and dog whistles normalised through repeated exposure, echo chambers and deniability of accountability. While some may argue that Malaysia differs from the US and the UK in terms of historical context and political structure, this should not breed complacency. As Braddock pointed out, while the likelihood of each person committing terrorism is a fraction of a fraction of one per cent, when hateful rhetoric is broadcast to millions of people, it becomes more likely that at least one person will interpret it as a call to violence.

This escalation does not usually happen in a vacuum; it thrives in environments shaped by post-truth politics, echo chambers and conspiracy theories. In today’s media landscape, where social media algorithms amplify sensational content, facts often compete with emotions and persuasive narratives, and misinformation spreads faster than it can be debunked, it is not difficult to see how a controversial and derogatory post can become mainstream, and how conspiracy theory or fictitious information can seem reasonable.

In philosopher Hannah Arendt’s words, “thoughtlessness” can “wreak more havoc than all the evil instincts taken together”. This is one way we see stochastic terrorism’s seeds take root — not necessarily through explicit agendas or calls for violence, but through coded ordinary rhetoric and the passive complicity of those who fail to question it. In the context of stochastic terrorism, while individuals who spread coded rhetoric and those who eventually carry out violence are not completely without evil intent, they differ from traditional terrorism in that their intent and actions are often less overt or coordinated, and begin from seemingly “thoughtless” jokes, opinions and complacent attitudes.

We are past the era where threats to security only come from organised groups with explicit agendas. Today, violence can be triggered from information that spreads memetically. It may not even require a leader in the traditional sense — only platforms or individuals with influence using vague, coded language and dog whistles to push harmful rhetoric against certain groups. Just the suggestion of “something must be done” can potentially drive individuals to act out of their own interest.

As the mechanisms of hate and violence evolve to become more covert and decentralised, we need to redefine hate speech and incitement to reflect contemporary modes of influence. This involves establishing precise standards that hold influential individuals accountable for rhetoric that instigates harm, even if indirectly, without compromising lawful political conversation.

And as citizens of multicultural Malaysia, we need to recognise the blind spots of political violence — that harm can accumulate in everyday “jokes”, normalised stereotypes and discriminatory policies. With the West as an example, we mustn’t wait for violence to erupt before we take action.

One key solution is to develop and encourage critical thinking, especially in how we consume media and political rhetoric. We must learn to identify not just what is said literally, but what is implied. We need to start creating spaces for dialogue and polylogue, be it in classrooms, local communities or at home.

Equally crucial is the practice of empathy and moral imagination: the ability to see the world through other perspectives. By stepping into the shoes of those whose views differ from our own, we can sever the stochastic thread that weaves words into hatred, regardless of whether it is spun by influential figures or everyday people.

Only by confronting these blind spots can we prevent the seeds of stochastic violence from taking root, and make room for unity and harmony to flourish.

Brian Loke Zheng Yin is events officer at Malaysian Philosophy Society

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