When words divide: The politics of “kafir” in Malaysia

When words divide: The politics of “kafir” in Malaysia


By KT Maran

THE recent debacle involving PAS leaders, who wooed the electorate by pledging not to call non-Muslims “kafir” or “pendatang” (immigrants), raised eyebrows about the sincerity of their inclusivity over exclusivity.


While Pendang MP Datuk Awang Hashim argued that the term “kafir” should not be seen as negative if used in its proper theological setting, he was technically correct. In classical Arabic, the word derives from “kafara”—“to cover” or “to reject”. Within Islamic jurisprudence, it functions as a doctrinal label, not an insult.


But in modern Malaysia, the problem is not what the word once meant in scripture. It is what the word means in practice today.


In a plural, multireligious society, “kafir” is rarely received as neutral. It carries centuries of baggage, and to the ears of many non-Muslims, it sounds demeaning, an affront to their dignity.

This is not the first time Malaysians have wrestled with the issue. In 2006, then-prime minister Tun Abdullah Ahmad Badawi urged Muslims to use more respectful alternatives, emphasising that nation-building required sensitivity.


In 2016, when Kelantan officials used the term in speeches, interfaith groups condemned its divisive undertones.

The Malaysian Consultative Council of Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Sikhism and Taoism (MCCBCHST), reacting to the Pahang Mufti’s controversial description of critics of hudud law as “kafir harbi”, warned that the term is a “dangerous provocation” that can destabilise a nation that has lived in harmony.

The group further viewed the classification as seditious, “inciting people to commit murder and clearly unconstitutional”.

More recently, even Islamic scholars at local universities have proposed “orang bukan Islam” (non-Muslim) as a better term—one that conveys meaning without insult.

Human rights advocates have echoed the same concern. The Human Rights Commission of Malaysia (SUHAKAM), in a May 2025 statement, stressed that Malaysia’s multi-cultural and multi-religious heritage is not a weakness but a strength; one that must be nurtured with understanding, mutual respect and a shared commitment to equality.


SUHAKAM had also called for the adoption of a National Harmony Act “to foster mutual respect, promote inclusivity and protect all communities from hate speech, incitement and discrimination”.

This is why Awang’s defence, though linguistically accurate, misses the deeper reality.

In politics, context is everything. A word that may be acceptable in a book of “fiqh” (Islamic jurisprudence) becomes provocative in Parliament.

What matters is not only intention, but impact. In Malaysia’s fragile pluralism, the impact of “kafir” is alienation, resentment, and distrust.

The uncomfortable truth is that religion and race remain convenient tools for political mileage. Words like “kafir” are not always invoked out of theological necessity but for their emotional charge.


They draw lines between “us” and “them”, mobilising support at the cost of national unity. This is politics at its most cynical, turning sacred terminology into blunt instruments of division.

True religious conviction should not rest on such tactics. The Qur’an calls on believers to speak with wisdom and gentleness even to those who disagree. The Prophet Muhammad’s reputation as “al-Amin”—the trustworthy—was built on fairness and compassion, not exclusion.

If leaders claim to defend Islamic values, they should do so not by clinging to divisive words but by embodying the Prophet’s example in both substance and tone to gain the respect of the non-Muslim population—not just to woo votes.

The question Malaysia must confront is simple: will we continue tolerating the politicisation of words that wound, or will we demand a higher standard from those who lead us?


MCCBCHST has warned, SUHAKAM has cautioned, and history has shown that inflammatory language can corrode and destroy social cohesion faster than any policy failure.

In the end, this is not about banning a word. It is about recognising the moral responsibility of leadership. A true statesman chooses words that heal, not harm.

A politician seeking only votes may find short-term gain in division, but at the expense of the nation’s long-term peace and security.

“Kafir” may belong in theology. But in the streets, in Parliament, and in the everyday life of Malaysia, what belongs is respect, empathy, and language that binds us together. Anything less is not leadership—it is recklessness and blatant hypocrisy. ‒ Sept 23, 2025


KT Maran
Seremban, Negri Sembilan