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There’s still anger in the air. But you can already feel the edges of it fading: that slow Malaysian slide from outrage to resignation.
That must not happen.
The naturalisation scandal that has shamed the Football Association of Malaysia (FAM) cannot be allowed to follow the familiar national script: fury, statement, committee, silence.
Because if the shame was about forged papers, the cover-up is now about withheld answers.
Public fatigue is the best ally of those who fear scrutiny. When people stop asking questions, institutions stop feeling accountable.
We’ve seen this pattern across every sport, every crisis — when attention moves on, truth is buried in “ongoing investigations”.
This time, Malaysians must resist that fatigue. Because this case isn’t only about footballers and forged documents; it’s about trust, transparency, and the price of national embarrassment.
If we stop asking, FAM wins twice: first, by escaping responsibility for the disgrace; and second, by proving that silence still works.
Don’t let the story die
When the next news cycle takes over, the story could easily fade from the national conversation. That’s what those responsible are counting on.
But this story deserves endurance. It deserves to stay in the public eye until answers, not promises, arrive.
The football community, fans, and citizens should keep pressing FAM because it has yet to provide the most basic clarifications.
We still do not know whether the seven players involved hold dual citizenships, and if they do, which countries they are tied to.
We have not been told who acted as their agents or which local officials processed the documents, nor whether those agents are still operating within the system.
It also remains unclear whether an audit is being conducted on all previously naturalised players, or even how many foreign-born players currently hold Malaysian passports.
No one has explained how much money changed hands in fees, commissions, or facilitation costs during the naturalisation process.
We have also not been told whether the seven players are still in the country, or whether they are cooperating with investigators.
The public deserves to know why the police do not believe a crime has been committed when the case revolves around forged documents, and whether any legal advice has been sought by the authorities to test that assumption.
We have not heard the side of the seven players themselves: what they were told, who handled their papers, or whether they knew their documentation was falsified.
Just as important, we don’t know what safeguards have since been put in place to prevent a repeat of this fiasco.
Has the immigration department reviewed its vetting process? Have FAM and the national registration department exchanged data to verify existing passports?
Has the home ministry stepped in to ensure all naturalisations under the sports category are legitimate?
And crucially, FAM and the government have yet to disclose the terms of reference for the two investigative committees, or confirm whether their reports will ever be made public.
Each of these questions is basic. None of them should still be unanswered.
A national embarrassment, a quiet pivot
For weeks, Malaysians were glued to the story, one that stretched from Putrajaya to Zurich.
Fifa’s verdict confirmed what many feared: forged papers had been used to naturalise players for the national team; seven players suspended for a year, FAM fined RM1.8 million; and the country’s football integrity called into question.
The backlash was immediate, emotional, and deeply personal.
Football is not just sport here, it’s sentiment, identity, and weekend ritual.
But after the storm came a subtle shift. The language turned procedural: “internal probe”, “disciplinary review”, “moving forward”.
That phrase, “moving forward”, is football’s favourite escape hatch. It’s a polite way of saying, let’s not dig too deep.
Committees and comfort
FAM announced an internal committee, and the government formed another. Names were released, but little else.
The public still doesn’t know their terms of reference. Will they audit the process or just examine files? Who will they question? And when will their reports be released, if ever?
Who will review their findings? Will anyone face disciplinary or law enforcement action if negligence or collusion is found?
It’s a familiar script: investigate, report, forget. This time, Malaysians must not let the ending be written in the same way.
FAM has said it will appeal Fifa’s ruling to the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) but only after receiving the written judgment from the world governing body’s appeals committee.
That judgment, expected soon, will outline the reasoning behind the penalties and the scope for any challenge.
Until then, FAM’s position is suspended between intention and action.
But even as it prepares for Lausanne, one thing is clear: the appeal is not just legal housekeeping. It’s a test of transparency — of whether FAM will finally explain what went wrong, not just what it plans to contest.
FAM’s credibility is now on the line, not because of Fifa’s punishment, but also because of its response.
Integrity begins with clarity. If the association cannot even outline how the scandal happened, what hope is there for reform?
These are not hostile questions. They are the minimum owed to the Malaysian public.
The reckoning Malaysia needs
Football in Malaysia has always been more than a game. It’s where national pride gathers when politics divides us.
That’s why this scandal hurts so deeply. It wasn’t just about eligibility, but about authenticity.
To wear Malaysia’s colours is to represent every fan who sings the anthem and believes in the flag.
To betray that trust through falsified papers isn’t just an administrative failure, it’s a moral one.
Now, Malaysians are being told to wait for “process”. But process without transparency is just performance.
Silence as strategy
FAM’s greatest skill right now isn’t crisis management, it’s patience. It knows that in Malaysia, time erases everything.
If this story fades from the public’s mind, then the committees can report quietly, the findings can be filed discreetly, and the same people can carry on.
That’s why this humiliating episode in Malaysian sport must stay alive. Because silence isn’t recovery — it’s strategy.
When the CAS appeal is finally filed and heard, Malaysia’s name will once again echo through international headlines.
But the real test won’t be in Lausanne. It will be here, in how FAM answers, in how the government responds, and in whether Malaysians still care enough to keep the pressure on.
The outrage is still alive. Let’s not let it fade. Not this time.
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The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.

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