On a humid Sunday morning in Kuching, inside the Sarawak State Library Gallery, a small but important gathering took place. The room was filled with community leaders, village chiefs and local representatives, people who do not always appear in headlines but whose influence reaches deep into the everyday lives of Sarawakians. They had come for the Programme on Information and Explanation of Current Issues and Achievements of Sarawak Government Initiatives, a long and formal title, but one that represented a genuine effort to bridge the gap between government policy and community understanding. The guest of honour, Dato Fazzrudin Abdul Rahman, the Sarawak Premier’s Chief Political Secretary, stood before them with a message that was equal parts challenge and encouragement. He said plainly that every Sarawakian has a role to play in countering misinformation and false perceptions about the state. His comments came in response to a lingering and frustrating reality: in Peninsular Malaysia, and perhaps elsewhere, there are still people who believe Sarawak is underdeveloped, a place of villages and jungles with little progress. Fazzrudin did not dismiss these views as ridiculous; he understood where they come from. “It is not just a perception from the past; even today, there are still people who think of us that way,” he told the audience. He acknowledged that in earlier days, when outsiders imagined Sarawakians living in trees, such ignorance was easier to understand. But he also made clear that those old ideas are no longer acceptable. He had personally experienced people saying such things to him, and instead of lashing out, he had chosen to educate them. “My responsibility is to educate them and share information with those who may not fully understand what Sarawak is like today,” he said. That statement captured the spirit of the entire programme. The goal was not to defend Sarawak with anger, but to introduce it with pride.
For many Sarawakians, the experience of being misunderstood by fellow Malaysians is painfully familiar. There is a kind of casual ignorance that can surface in conversations, social media comments or even official settings, where someone from the peninsula expresses surprise that Sarawak has modern shopping malls, highways, universities and a thriving technological economy. It is the same old stereotype that once imagined Sarawakians living in jungle huts, and although the state has transformed itself into a modern, ambitious region with a vision for renewable energy and digital innovation, the tired images remain stubbornly strong. Fazzrudin did not dismiss these perceptions as harmless. He recognised that they have real consequences, shaping the way outsiders see Sarawak, the way investors view its potential, and even the way young Sarawakians see themselves. That is why he insisted that the battle against misinformation cannot be left only to politicians or government agencies. It begins with ordinary Sarawakians, with teachers, business owners, students, and especially with community leaders who are trusted by their neighbours. The programme was designed to give those leaders the tools they need to become effective ambassadors. It offered them detailed information about the achievements of the Sarawak government, from infrastructure projects and economic reforms to social programmes and cultural preservation. It also explained the bigger picture behind the state’s direction, including the goals of Premier Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Abang Johari Tun Openg, whose vision for Sarawak goes far beyond short-term development. Fazzrudin explained that when community leaders and village chiefs fully understand these objectives, they will not simply accept them passively; they will embrace them and help make them a reality. “When they understand, they will be on board to ensure these objectives can be achieved,” he said. In other words, knowledge is not just for personal enrichment; it is the foundation for collective action.
The programme also clarified the unique position of community leaders and village chiefs, known collectively as KMKK. They are the bridge between the government and the people, the first point of contact when a family faces a problem, when a village needs assistance or when a new policy is announced. Yet to play that role effectively, they must understand not only what the government is doing, but why it is doing it. That is why the programme focused heavily on the concepts and strategies behind the state’s initiatives, not just the technical details. Fazzrudin noted that not every initiative launched by the Sarawak government will be directly felt by every citizen in the same way. Some projects are long-term, some are designed to create conditions for future growth, and some may initially reach only a few localities before spreading. But he expressed confidence that the spillover effects of these initiatives will eventually benefit all segments of society. The challenge, he said, is to help community leaders see the whole map rather than just a single dot. If a new digital economy project seems irrelevant to a village that still struggles with basic roads, the leader must understand how that project fits into a larger plan that will eventually improve roads, healthcare and education. If a renewable energy initiative seems distant from daily life, the leader must be able to explain how it will lower costs, create jobs and protect the environment for future generations. Fazzrudin described this as an important part of the KMKK’s responsibility. They are not only administrators or ceremonial figures; they are educators in their own right, or as the event made clear, “spokespersons” and “ambassadors” for Sarawak. When they speak to relatives, friends and visitors, they carry the official story of the state, but more importantly, they carry its lived reality. By sharing information about Sarawak’s achievements, culture and way of life, they help break down the wall of ignorance that has isolated the state for too long.
One of the most touching moments of the programme came not from a top official but from a veteran village chief. Aluyah Salleh, 66, who leads Kampung Masjid in Kuching, said the event was both important and meaningful, especially for people in her position. She appreciated the clear, straightforward way the information was presented, a quality that is often missing in official briefings. Too often, she said, government programmes are packed with jargon and acronyms, leaving ordinary citizens confused rather than informed. But this programme was different. The speakers explained things in a way that she could easily understand and, just as importantly, in a way she could repeat to others. Aluyah was so impressed that she asked the Sarawak Public Communications Unit, known as Ukas, which organised the event, to share the slides used during the briefing sessions. That request may seem small, but it shows the kind of proactive spirit the programme is trying to encourage. Aluyah did not want to simply attend the event and file away the notes; she wanted to take the material home, study it further and use it in her own community. She admitted that some of the information was already familiar to her, but added that the programme gave her a deeper, more detailed understanding. For a 66-year-old leader who has spent years serving her community, that willingness to keep learning is inspiring. It also reinforces Fazzrudin’s point that even those who know Sarawak well can benefit from a more complete picture. The state is changing quickly, and new policies, new technologies and new challenges emerge all the time. A leader who stops learning becomes a leader who cannot guide. Aluyah’s simple request for the presentation slides may have been one of the most powerful endorsements of the programme, because it showed that the information was not only understandable but also genuinely useful. She was not just listening; she was preparing to act.
Yet the programme was not only about village leaders; it was also about the wider community in Sarawak. Fazzrudin’s speech reminded everyone that misinformation can affect not only how outsiders see Sarawak, but also how Sarawakians see themselves. If the old stereotype were truly harmless, it would not matter. But there are real dangers in a false narrative that says a state is stagnant, poor or backward. Such a narrative can discourage young people from staying in their home state, can make investors look elsewhere, and can even influence federal policies. It can create a psychological barrier that is harder to overcome than any physical distance. Fazzrudin’s call for every Sarawakian to play a role is therefore not a matter of public relations; it is a matter of self-determination. The people who attended the programme are not expected to stand on a stage and make speeches. They are expected to live their lives, tell their stories and answer the questions of their neighbours with facts. When someone says, “I heard Sarawak has no proper internet,” they can talk about the state’s digital infrastructure plans. When someone asks, “Is it true Sarawak is poor?” they can point to the state’s income records, economic growth and ambitious green energy projects. When someone says, “Sarawakians cannot compete with the rest of the country,” they can share the achievements of Sarawakian athletes, musicians, scholars and entrepreneurs. The programme, in this sense, was a reminder that public policy is not something that happens far away. It is something that communities experience and interpret every day. By keeping community leaders informed, the government ensures that the message of Sarawak’s progress is not lost in translation. It also creates a feedback loop; informed leaders can share their own observations and concerns with the government, helping policymakers adjust and improve.
As the event drew to a close, the atmosphere was one of cautious optimism. Among those in attendance were Ukas director Awang Putrayusrie Awang Redzuan and Sarawak State Library chief executive officer Japri Bujang Masli, both of whom represented institutions dedicated to information, communication and public knowledge. The setting itself was symbolic. The State Library is a place where knowledge is preserved and made accessible, and the programme was an attempt to do the same for civic understanding. It was not a rally or a political campaign; it was an exercise in public education, a quiet but essential effort to align the people with the vision of their leaders. Fazzrudin’s message, repeated in different ways throughout the morning, was that no single government can transform a state alone. It needs the support and understanding of its people. It needs village chiefs who can explain why a new dam or a new solar farm or a new digital academy matters to a farmer in a remote longhouse. It needs schoolteachers who can answer students’ questions about Sarawak’s place in Malaysia and the world. It needs grandparents and parents who can counter the old stories with new stories of progress and pride. The programme did not promise to end all misinformation overnight. It did not pretend that every misconception will disappear after a single briefing. But it took an important step forward by equipping community leaders with accurate, up-to-date information and by reminding them that they are not powerless in the face of false narratives. Every Sarawakian, in this view, is an ambassador. Every conversation is an opportunity to shape perceptions. And every time someone corrects an outdated stereotype with a simple, confident and true story about Sarawak, the state becomes a little bit better understood. In the end, the message was both simple and profound: Sarawak has come a long way, and the world should know it. But that cannot happen if Sarawakians themselves stay silent.