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OPINION | The Cow, the Gun and the Missing Story
5 Jun 2026 • 9:30 AM MYT
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An MB shooting down a cow. Image credit: The Vibes
The Cow, The Gun, and The Missing Story
By Mihar Dias June 2026
There are two stories in the Perlis cow-shooting incident. https://newswav.com/A2605_iWUwy3?s=A_7T6chJ9&language=en
Unfortunately, Malaysian journalism chose the easier one.
The report dutifully informs us that a sacrificial cow broke loose, became aggressive, was shot in the leg by the Menteri Besar, and was subsequently slaughtered. https://newswav.com/A2605_iWUwy3?s=A_7T6chJ9&language=en
We are given quotes. We are given assurances. We are given police statements. We are given the obligatory social media reference.
What we are not given is journalism.
The modern Malaysian news formula appears to be simple: something unusual happens, somebody important explains it, the explanation is printed almost verbatim, and everybody goes home before lunch.
A reader who still believes journalism is supposed to ask questions rather than merely record answers is left hungry.
The first question practically begs to be asked: why was the Menteri Besar carrying a shotgun at a korban event in the first place?
Was he participating as a licensed gun owner? Was security present? Was the firearm routinely carried? Had organisers anticipated problems with the livestock? Was this normal practice in Perlis or an extraordinary circumstance?
We do not know.
Apparently, nobody thought to ask.
The second question is even more obvious.
Who determined that shooting the animal was the safest available option?
Veterinarians deal with agitated livestock. Farmers deal with agitated livestock. Abattoirs deal with agitated livestock every day. Were any livestock experts consulted? Were there established protocols? Had attempts been made to corner or restrain the animal before a firearm was used?
Again, silence.
Instead, readers are invited to accept that the cow was aggressive and therefore a gun became necessary.
That may well be true.
But journalism is not the art of believing people.
It is the art of verifying them.
The third question concerns proportionality.
The Menteri Besar cited incidents elsewhere involving escaped buffaloes that killed or injured people. Fair enough. Risk assessment matters.
Yet a serious journalist would ask whether the cow in question was displaying behaviour comparable to those fatal incidents or whether those tragedies were being invoked after the fact to justify a controversial decision.
There is a difference between a genuinely dangerous animal charging into a crowd and a frightened animal running away.
One requires immediate intervention.
The other requires competent animal handling.
Readers deserve to know which occurred.
Instead, we are handed a statement and expected to nod solemnly.
The story also exposes another weakness of local reporting: our addiction to official voices.
Notice how everyone quoted possesses authority.
The Menteri Besar speaks.
The police speak.
The police speak again.
The public does not speak.
The event organisers do not speak.
The livestock handlers do not speak.
Veterinarians do not speak.
Animal welfare experts do not speak.
Eyewitnesses do not speak.
The cow, admittedly, cannot speak, but by the standards of Malaysian journalism it would probably have been interviewed only after the Menteri Besar had explained what it thought.
This dependence on authority has become a defining characteristic of much of our news industry. Reporters often function less as investigators and more as stenographers with press credentials.
The result is journalism that answers only the questions powerful people wish to answer.
The irony is that this story had all the ingredients for genuinely interesting reporting.
How common is firearm use during korban events?
What are the standard procedures for escaped sacrificial animals in Malaysia?
How do other Muslim-majority countries handle similar incidents?
What do veterinary experts recommend?
Have there been previous cases involving public officials personally intervening with firearms?
Those questions could have transformed a viral curiosity into a useful piece of public-interest journalism.
Instead, readers receive a collection of quotations arranged in roughly chronological order.
The problem is larger than one story.
Too much local reporting remains trapped in the mindset that journalism means recording what happened rather than explaining why it happened, whether it should have happened, and what can be learned from it.
A cow gets shot.
A politician explains.
Police investigate.
Article complete.
But journalism worthy of the name begins precisely where the official statement ends.
The public does not need reporters merely to relay explanations.
Facebook already does that.
The public needs reporters willing to ask the uncomfortable second question after everyone else is satisfied with the first answer.
Until that happens, the real victim of stories like this may not be the cow.
It may be the reader.
By Mihar Dias June 2026
There are two stories in the Perlis cow-shooting incident. https://newswav.com/A2605_iWUwy3?s=A_7T6chJ9&language=en
Unfortunately, Malaysian journalism chose the easier one.
The report dutifully informs us that a sacrificial cow broke loose, became aggressive, was shot in the leg by the Menteri Besar, and was subsequently slaughtered. https://newswav.com/A2605_iWUwy3?s=A_7T6chJ9&language=en
We are given quotes. We are given assurances. We are given police statements. We are given the obligatory social media reference.
What we are not given is journalism.
The modern Malaysian news formula appears to be simple: something unusual happens, somebody important explains it, the explanation is printed almost verbatim, and everybody goes home before lunch.
A reader who still believes journalism is supposed to ask questions rather than merely record answers is left hungry.
The first question practically begs to be asked: why was the Menteri Besar carrying a shotgun at a korban event in the first place?
Was he participating as a licensed gun owner? Was security present? Was the firearm routinely carried? Had organisers anticipated problems with the livestock? Was this normal practice in Perlis or an extraordinary circumstance?
We do not know.
Apparently, nobody thought to ask.
The second question is even more obvious.
Who determined that shooting the animal was the safest available option?
Veterinarians deal with agitated livestock. Farmers deal with agitated livestock. Abattoirs deal with agitated livestock every day. Were any livestock experts consulted? Were there established protocols? Had attempts been made to corner or restrain the animal before a firearm was used?
Again, silence.
Instead, readers are invited to accept that the cow was aggressive and therefore a gun became necessary.
That may well be true.
But journalism is not the art of believing people.
It is the art of verifying them.
The third question concerns proportionality.
The Menteri Besar cited incidents elsewhere involving escaped buffaloes that killed or injured people. Fair enough. Risk assessment matters.
Yet a serious journalist would ask whether the cow in question was displaying behaviour comparable to those fatal incidents or whether those tragedies were being invoked after the fact to justify a controversial decision.
There is a difference between a genuinely dangerous animal charging into a crowd and a frightened animal running away.
One requires immediate intervention.
The other requires competent animal handling.
Readers deserve to know which occurred.
Instead, we are handed a statement and expected to nod solemnly.
The story also exposes another weakness of local reporting: our addiction to official voices.
Notice how everyone quoted possesses authority.
The Menteri Besar speaks.
The police speak.
The police speak again.
The public does not speak.
The event organisers do not speak.
The livestock handlers do not speak.
Veterinarians do not speak.
Animal welfare experts do not speak.
Eyewitnesses do not speak.
The cow, admittedly, cannot speak, but by the standards of Malaysian journalism it would probably have been interviewed only after the Menteri Besar had explained what it thought.
This dependence on authority has become a defining characteristic of much of our news industry. Reporters often function less as investigators and more as stenographers with press credentials.
The result is journalism that answers only the questions powerful people wish to answer.
The irony is that this story had all the ingredients for genuinely interesting reporting.
How common is firearm use during korban events?
What are the standard procedures for escaped sacrificial animals in Malaysia?
How do other Muslim-majority countries handle similar incidents?
What do veterinary experts recommend?
Have there been previous cases involving public officials personally intervening with firearms?
Those questions could have transformed a viral curiosity into a useful piece of public-interest journalism.
Instead, readers receive a collection of quotations arranged in roughly chronological order.
The problem is larger than one story.
Too much local reporting remains trapped in the mindset that journalism means recording what happened rather than explaining why it happened, whether it should have happened, and what can be learned from it.
A cow gets shot.
A politician explains.
Police investigate.
Article complete.
But journalism worthy of the name begins precisely where the official statement ends.
The public does not need reporters merely to relay explanations.
Facebook already does that.
The public needs reporters willing to ask the uncomfortable second question after everyone else is satisfied with the first answer.
Until that happens, the real victim of stories like this may not be the cow.
It may be the reader.
***
