RCI on Corporate Mafia: A Cure, or a Convenient Distraction?

In Malaysia, few phrases carry as much political drama as Royal Commission of Inquiry (RCI). 

Invoke it, and the message is clear: something is deeply wrong, and only the highest level of scrutiny will do. Yet, as history shows, the call for an RCI is not always about justice—it is sometimes about optics, timing, and political advantage.

Today, calls for an RCI into an alleged Corporate Mafia echo loudly across segments of the political and civil society landscape. Among those advocating such a move are groups and figures like Democratic Action Party (DAP), Rafizi Ramli, Center to Combat Corruption and Cronyism, and Lawyers for Liberty. 

Their argument is familiar that public confidence is low, institutions may be compromised, and only an independent commission can uncover the truth. It is a compelling narrative—but is it the right tool for the job?

The RCI Reflex

Malaysia has, over the decades, developed something of an RCI reflex. Whenever a major controversy erupts, the call for an RCI soon follows. 

No figure better symbolises this tendency than Lim Kit Siang, long known for demanding RCIs on a wide range of issues—from judicial scandals to financial crises to public administration failures.

One might say, only half-jokingly, that if a pothole appeared large enough in Kuala Lumpur, someone, somewhere, would suggest an RCI to investigate its origins. Humour aside, this pattern raises a serious question: 

Has the RCI become less a tool of last resort and more a default political instrument?

Consider past episodes. The Lingam video controversy led to an RCI. The Teoh Beng Hock tragedy led to an RCI. The Sabah “Project IC” issue led to an RCI. In each case, the inquiry generated headlines, public hearings, and lengthy reports. 

Yet the long-term outcomes—particularly in terms of prosecution or systemic reform—were, at best, uneven. Perhaps, it is convenient ploy by the prime suspect to chorus the demand for RCI. Effective PR exercise without paying foreign agency in the million.   

The lesson is not that RCIs are useless. Rather, it is that they are often overestimated and possibly manipulatable.

From Suspension Calls to RCI: A Shift in Narrative

An often-overlooked aspect of the current debate is how the narrative evolved. Before calls for an RCI gained traction, there were earlier demands to suspend Azam Baki over allegations related to administrative or public sector policy—particularly concerning share ownership.

This raises an important point of proportionality. Administrative or governance concerns, even if legitimate, are typically addressed through internal disciplinary mechanisms, or parliamentary oversight, or existing regulatory frameworks.

They do not automatically escalate to the level of a national crisis warranting an RCI. Yet, as the conversation progressed, the focus appeared to shift. The broader and far more complex issue of a Corporate Mafia was brought to the forefront—but some observers argue that the underlying emphasis remained disproportionately centred on removing or discrediting a single individual.

This creates a perception—fairly or unfairly—that:

the RCI call may be less about systemic reform, and more about a specific target.

Petty or Proportionate?

To many observers, the alleged administrative issue involving share trading does not, on its face, equate to proof of corruption. At most, it raises questions about compliance with rules or governance standards—matters that should be investigated and clarified through proper channels.

But to elevate such concerns into justification for an RCI risks stretching the mechanism beyond its intended purpose.

It is akin to calling for a full structural audit of an entire building because of a cracked window. The response may be technically possible—but is it proportionate?

Diagnosis Without Treatment

At its core, an RCI is a fact-finding body. It can summon witnesses, compel documents, and produce a detailed account of what may have happened. But it cannot prosecute, convict, or dismantle criminal networks.

If the concern today is a deeply embedded Corporate Mafia—a network of collusion between business interests and elements within institutions—then the challenge is not merely to understand the problem. It is to act decisively against it.

That responsibility lies not with an RCI, but with enforcement agencies such as the Malaysian Anti-Corruption Commission (MACC), Royal Malaysia Police, Bank Negara Malaysia, Securities Commission and finally prosecutionary power of the Attorney General's Chambers.

When Calls Become Complicated

The current push for an RCI is further complicated by the profiles of some of its proponents and stakeholders. It has been noted in public discourse that certain complainants are themselves under investigation, or facing charges in court, or previously scrutinised by enforcement authorities.

This does not invalidate their concerns—but it does shape perception. When individuals entangled in legal processes call for sweeping inquiries, questions naturally arise about motive and timing.

Similarly, while whistleblowers play a vital role, situations where allegations are intertwined with personal grievances can muddy the waters. These are matters that require careful verification—not assumption—but they contribute to public scepticism.

The Enforcement Gap—or Enforcement Discomfort?

There is also the argument that enforcement agencies have failed, hence the need for an RCI. Yet this claim is not universally accepted.

In recent years, the MACC under Azam Baki has been perceived as taking a more assertive stance in pursuing corruption cases, including those involving corporate and political actors. While criticisms exist—as they do for any institution—it is difficult to argue that enforcement has been entirely inactive.

This leads to a more uncomfortable possibility: What if the issue is not a lack of enforcement—but discomfort with who is being investigated?

An Anecdote on Misplaced Solutions

Imagine a doctor treating a patient with a serious infection. The treatment is ongoing—perhaps aggressive, perhaps uncomfortable. Some observers question the doctor’s bedside manner, or whether certain procedures were followed perfectly.

Instead of refining the treatment, they call for a public inquiry into the doctor’s conduct—while the infection itself continues to spread.

The analogy is imperfect, but it captures a risk:

focusing on the process may overshadow the problem.

The Politics of Visibility

RCIs are highly visible. They generate headlines, public hearings, and political momentum. For figures like Lim Kit Siang, the call for an RCI has long been part of a broader strategy to highlight issues and mobilise public opinion.

There is nothing inherently wrong with this. But it does mean that RCIs can become part of political theatre—where visibility sometimes outweighs outcome.

Disturbing entrenched interest? 

The instinct to demand an RCI is understandable. It signals seriousness and urgency. But it is not a cure-all. In complex cases involving alleged corporate crime, what matters most is sustained, effective enforcement—not parallel inquiries with no prosecutorial power.

The earlier focus on suspending Azam Baki over administrative concerns, followed by a broader push for an RCI, raises legitimate questions about proportionality and intent. It invites reflection on whether the mechanism is being applied judiciously—or politically.

Which brings us to a final, uncomfortable question:

Is it possible that Azam Baki and the MACC are being targeted not because they are inactive—but because they are, in the Malay phrase, “kacau daun”—disturbing entrenched interests?

It is a question worth asking—before yet another RCI is called, and before expectations once again outpace outcomes.