Housing and local goverrnment minister Nga Kor Ming could have simply explained why English was used for the Visit Malaysia Year 2026 campaign: that it was aimed mainly at foreign tourists.

Instead, the housing and local government minister aimed his frustration at a reporter from Utusan Malaysia, warning that he would be calling up the newspaper’s editors.

Nga drew brickbats for reprimanding the reporter at the pre-launch of the “I Lite U” project in Kuala Lumpur after being asked why the name of the programme was in English instead of Malay.

The DAP minister responded by asking which media company the reporter was from, and said he would “call your chief editors because this concerns national interests”.

He said the project was aimed at attracting tourists ahead of the Visit Malaysia 2026 campaign and that the English name would give foreign visitors a “sense of belonging”.

That’s when the event stopped being about tourism and started being about temper.

It’s not the first time a politician has taken offence at a question and it won’t be the last, but this one hit the wrong note.

The minister’s remark drew criticism from media groups who saw it as an attempt to bully a journalist for merely asking.

To be fair, the question was clumsy, not malicious. Many Malaysians do feel sensitive about the standing of Bahasa Malaysia and the reporter probably thought the question gave voice to that concern.

It was a moment for explanation, not escalation.

If Nga had paused for a breath, or a smile, he could have turned it into a teaching moment.

He could have said: “English brings tourists in, Bahasa Malaysia makes them stay.” That would have been classy, clever, and headline-worthy for all the right reasons.

Instead, he flexed political muscle when a lighter touch would have done the trick.

Ministers forget sometimes: you don’t win a moment by scolding a reporter, you win it by showing you’re smarter than the question.

I’ve seen both sides fumble and recover. In my years, I’ve learned that the calmest person in the room, whether reporter or minister, always wins the day.

Anger may get applause from loyalists, but composure earns respect.

Yes, reporters ask awkward questions. The world is full of bad phrasing and thin research. But that’s not a crime, it’s a cue.

A good politician uses it to teach, not threaten. And for journalists, it’s a reminder to come prepared — curious, but not careless.

Let’s be honest, we’ve all winced at questions that make us wonder if someone skipped their homework.

But the test of a leader isn’t how he handles a perfect question. It’s how he handles an awkward one.

Calling editors to complain crosses a line. Ministers don’t manage newsrooms, they manage ministries.

If politicians start phoning editors over bruised egos, we might as well replace press conferences with PR briefings.

Still, let’s not turn this into a moral panic. It was a bad moment, but bad moments can teach good lessons.

The minister might learn that grace works better than a growl. The journalist might learn that preparation is the best armour.

If I were speaking to a journalism class or conducting a media training session for political aides, I’d tell them: questions test patience and answers test character.

Handle both with calm, and perhaps with a little humour, and you’ll walk away intact.

Nga’s outburst will pass, as such storms always do. But what lingers is the sense that we still haven’t perfected the art of talking to each other — the press, the politicians, the people.

Language wasn’t really the issue here. The issue was tone in every sense.

And in this business, tone is everything. Respect, like fluency, translates well in any language.

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.