The Malaysian Media Council (MMC) heads into its first annual general meeting on November 7 facing an early test of relevance.

The newly minted body was meant to mark a turning point for the industry, a move from reliance on political goodwill to genuine self-regulation, professionalism and public trust.

But the Nga Kor Ming episode is the real test of what the council stands for, whether it will speak up when power is exercised against the press.

Nga, the housing and local government minister, publicly reprimanded an Utusan Malaysia reporter who had asked why the Visit Malaysia 2026 pre-launch was branded in English instead of Malay.

He demanded to know the reporter’s organisation and warned that he would “call your chief editors because this concerns national interests.”

The clip spread quickly, shifting attention from tourism branding to political temper.

What should have been a routine press event turned into a public scolding.

The reporter’s question may have been clumsily phrased, but it wasn’t hostile. The query flapped at a real worry about Bahasa Malaysia and probably meant to flag that.

Media groups swiftly condemned the minister’s tone, calling it intimidation, when there was cause for explanation.

The matter was raised at Cabinet, with communications minister Fahmi Fadzil later reaffirming Putrajaya’s stance that journalists have the right to ask questions, and ministers must answer with courtesy and openness.

The housing ministry’s follow-up statement — claiming to respect media freedom while defending the minister’s “right to respond” — convinced few.

There is a clear line between responding and browbeating. As veteran newsman R Nadeswaran put it: “If this was damage control, it failed. If it was an attempted exoneration, it flopped.”

And that is precisely the gap the MMC must help close, not by echoing government clarifications, but by exercising independent judgment and reminding both sides of the rules of engagement.

Silence where a voice was needed

The MMC was created precisely for such moments, but strangely stayed silent.

In September, the MMC criticised the RM100,000 compounds imposed on Sin Chew Media and Sinar Karangkraf for national flag misuse and false content respectively, describing the penalties as excessive and disproportionate.

That action mattered. It showed the council could, when it chose, step into contested territory and speak for the profession.

Which is why its muted response to the Nga affair is so puzzling.

If the council can challenge regulatory excess, it can, and should, also weigh in when a minister’s conduct threatens to chill reporting.

Selective interventions invite questions about consistency and courage.

Yong Soo Heong, president of the Malaysian Press Institute, captured it well in an op-ed: “A council born of such a hard-won struggle must not settle for silence.”

That’s not rhetoric; it’s a challenge. The MMC’s legitimacy will rest not on the rarity of its statements, but on their steadiness and principle.

Consider the UK’s Independent Press Standards Organisation (IPSO). When public officials clash with journalists, IPSO doesn’t wait for political permission to speak.

It issues calm, principled reminders that both the press and politicians have duties they must honour.

It shows up. It clarifies. It steadies. That is the posture the MMC should adopt.

A short, firm statement would have sufficed. It could have affirmed that journalists have the right to ask questions, however uncomfortable; that public officials must respond with professionalism; and that disputes should be settled through dialogue, not threat.

It could offer mediation, and make clear its readiness to defend journalists who face intimidation.

That’s not taking sides. That’s taking responsibility.

The MMC was created to be the industry’s referee, not its spectator.

The test of principle

And there are practical stakes. Media credibility is fragile, public trust is fraying, and journalists face pressure from every direction — commercial, political and digital.

A confident, consistent MMC would tell the public that the profession is policing itself, and that press freedom is not a slogan but a standard.

The irony is plain. The council was born to fill a vacuum: to end the habit of waiting for government cues to define what is right or wrong in journalism.

If it now waits for ministerial signals to decide when to speak, it risks surrendering its very reason to exist.

The Nga incident will fade from the headlines, as tempests do. But for the MMC, it should linger as a test of mettle, a reminder that credibility is earned not by presence, but by principle.

Will the council build on the independence it showed in September, or will it let that moment stand alone?

Because in journalism, as in governance, what is left unsaid can speak the loudest.

If the council wants to matter, it must begin by speaking — clearly, calmly, and without hesitation.

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