The British political system has just witnessed its fifth prime ministerial transition in a decade—a sign of historical turbulence. Yet what distinguishes recent British departures from office is their remarkable restraint. When David Cameron exited over Brexit in 2016, followed by Theresa May's 2019 defeat, Boris Johnson's forced resignation after lockdown scandals, Liz Truss's 45-day tenure, and Rishi Sunak's crushing 2024 election loss to Keir Starmer, each maintained a dignified distance from the political arena. Cameron and May now occupy House of Lords seats where they comment respectfully on policy. Johnson channels his energies into memoir-writing and journalism. Truss has receded from public view. Sunak remains an MP while pursuing corporate employment. None harbour apparent resentment toward their parties or seek to reclaim former glory through destructive manoeuvres.
Malaysia's political culture presents a starkly different phenomenon. Here, defeat does not signal an exit but rather a tactical repositioning. Ambition, wounded pride, and unfinished business drive departing leaders into new alignments, often accompanied by scorched-earth attacks on those they once served. This pattern has become especially visible ahead of the Johor elections, where multiple defections and vendettas reveal a system where political identity proves far more malleable than principle.
Consider Puad Zakarshi, who abandoned Umno after 44 years of membership just as Johor's electoral campaign commenced. His appearance at Pakatan Harapan events and accusations that party leaders answer to undefined "higher powers" mask, according to observers, deeper frustration—his son's rejection as a candidate. Rather than accept party decisions with grace, Zakarshi has weaponised his departure, transforming personal disappointment into factional warfare. The damage extends beyond his own prospects; such defections fragment vote bases and erode party discipline precisely when cohesion matters most.
DAP faces its own hemorrhaging of disgruntled veterans. Marina Ibrahim, once a dedicated state assemblyman, quit the party following her reassignment to a less winnable constituency. While she claims ideological grounds—concern that certain leaders secretly supported imprisoned former premier Datuk Seri Najib Razak—observers recognise the unmistakable signature of wounded ambition. Unlike Zakarshi, Marina has resisted the temptation to join a rival party or contest independently, yet her very defection signals fractious internal relations within the opposition coalition.
Moree destructive is the trajectory of Rafizi Ramli. After failing to secure Pakatan Keadilan Rakyat re-election as deputy president, Rafizi established his own political vehicle, ostensibly championing identical causes to his former party. Yet his true motivation appears revenge-driven—his new party actively competes for the same voter demographics as PKR, virtually guaranteeing that opposing coalitions benefit from vote-splitting. Such behaviour exemplifies Malaysian politics at its most self-sabotaging: two ostensibly allied movements, pursuing identical policy aims, nonetheless wage war against each other because personal resentment supersedes strategic coherence.
DAP's internal rifts illustrate how even governing parties suffer from the vindictive behaviour of exiled figures. P. Ramasamy, dismissed from candidacy in 2023, has waged relentless war against his former party, founding Urimai and directing particular vitriol toward former secretary-general Lim Guan Eng. Yet Lim himself has become a destabilising force within DAP's Penang stronghold, conducting an undeclared feud with current chief minister Chow Kon Yeow. Their open conflicts—Chow once publicly told Lim to "sit down" during legislative proceedings—damage the party's governing capacity and risk electoral consequences. When those who once held supreme state positions refuse to cede psychological authority to successors, organisational paralysis inevitably follows.
The phenomenon intensifies dramatically when examining ex-prime ministers. Muhyiddin Yassin exemplifies this pattern. His journey from Umno to Bersatu to Perikatan Nasional, alongside his engineering of particular coalitions only to wage war against former partners like PAS, demonstrates a political operator motivated almost entirely by restoration of personal authority. Rather than accepting his premiership as a concluded chapter, Muhyiddin remains an active combatant, creating instability within the very coalitions he helped construct. Ismail Sabri, Muhyiddin's successor, maintains at least nominal loyalty to Umno whilst the Johor contests unfold, yet his political irrelevance at federal level—a direct consequence of his electoral losses—has left him embittered and opportunistic.
Then there exists the singular case of Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad, whose recent 101st birthday marked not retirement but continued political militancy. Having orchestrated the collapse of the Barisan Nasional government he once led, having worked alternately with and against PAS, DAP, and countless other entities according to expediency rather than conviction, Mahathir remains Malaysian politics' ultimate cautionary tale. His recent declaration that Malays should vote exclusively for Malay candidates—framed as protective of Malay homelands—exemplifies how former premiers deploy divisive rhetoric not from principle but from calculation.
These contrasts between British and Malaysian practices reveal something fundamental about institutional maturity. British political culture, refined through centuries of parliamentary tradition, has inculcated acceptance that power eventually transfers and that graceful exit preserves reputation far more effectively than vindictive campaigns. Former leaders recognise that their historical legacies depend upon demonstrating dignity in defeat rather than pursuing revenge. Malaysian politics, by contrast, remains dominated by personalities rather than institutions. Individuals view political positions not as temporary trusts but as personal possessions temporarily surrendered, justifying any tactics necessary toward reclamation.
The costs of this perpetual vendettas approach prove measurable and substantial. Coalition stability deteriorates when defeated faction leaders remain active combatants. Electoral competition fragments between allied parties pursuing identical demographics, allowing ideologically opposed groups to prevail through vote-splitting. Governing effectiveness suffers when predecessors undermine successors through parliamentary obstruction or public attacks. Most seriously, principles become secondary to personal restoration, meaning policy continuity and institutional development consistently sacrifice to vendetta settlement.
Malaysia's political establishment might profitably study how the British system encourages departing leaders toward constructive disengagement. Honour and respect accrue to those who accept defeat and redirect their energies toward elder-statesman roles—offering wisdom without claiming authority, commenting on policy without seeking operational control, building legacies through institutional contributions rather than personal resurrection attempts. By contrast, the Malaysian model—where every electoral defeat becomes a platform for revenge, where party-switching follows personal disappointment, where former premiers remain permanently mobilised for power restoration—creates perpetual instability and marginalises principle in favour of personality. Until Malaysia's political culture evolves toward accepting that some chapters close permanently, these cycles of vendetta and counter-vendetta will continue destabilising governments and dividing coalitions.
