As mentioned before, development in Sarawak is considered to be a ‘gift’ from the government to the people. On the ground, the gift is translated in the provision of development goods, accessible to those who support the political parties in power. In rural areas such support can be well rewarded with good infrastructure (roads, energy and water supply) and services (especially education and health). People are made to understand that wanting development means supporting political parties in power, so that the continued provision of development gifts is conditional on sustained support for these parties. Such support is regarded as the people’s recognition of the government’s sincerity. By extension, doubts about particular development practices are regarded as doubting the sincerity of the government, and are by implication an ungrateful act. Furthermore, not wanting to vote for the ruling political parties is interpreted to mean that people are ‘anti-development’, which is considered a sin in Sarawak’s hypermodernist tradition. The dominant image that emerges, and one that is officially sanctioned, is that there is only one type of development (the modernisation variety), and only one institution able to undertake it (the government — which in the Malaysian context is synonymous with the ruling parties).^[21] This image is often supported in practice when planned projects are reportedly withheld when citizens vote for opposition parties, as happened in the 2004 by-election for the seat of Ba Kelalan in northern Sarawak.^[22]

In top-down development such as Konsep Baru, the avenue for expressing dissent or merely asking for clarification about the program is extremely limited. As noted above, asking or raising questions at whatever level carries a certain amount of risk. As a result, confusion and lack of information abound among the implementers of Konsep Baru as well as the longhouse communities (Ngidang 2002).

Ngidang (2002: 168) claims that the politics of implementation of Konsep Baru is based on co-optation, which is built on a ‘psychology of consensus’. For fear of being labelled deviant, ‘anti-government’ or ‘anti-development’, community leaders in Ulu Teru and Kanowit (where he conducted his fieldwork) agreed to participate in the joint venture program.^[23]

Under Konsep Baru, though, there is some small room to ask questions. From the perspective of officials or implementers,^[24] there are two kinds of queries, although they may be similar in substance. From the perspective of officials what makes the questions appear different is their source (who does the asking). The first type is raised by individuals, groups or institutions considered ‘friendly’ to the government and its programs. The second type of questioning may come from those who have a history of voting for political parties other than the dominant ones, those who have connections with non-government organisations (NGOs), or those who are merely seeking clarification or have reservations about public policies that affect their lives. These groups are regarded as ‘unfriendly’ (Ngidang 2002: 169) and are often ignored, while officials show a preference for communicating and interacting only with those considered ‘friendly’. By contrast, among the ‘friendlies’, difficult questions can be comfortably glossed over, because even among officials some of the legal and economic implications of Konsep Baru are not fully understood (Ngidang 2002). One significant feature of Ngidang’s findings is that the politicised nature of land development has created a pattern of communication wherein, at the official and community levels, key questions about Konsep Baru concerning security of tenure of Native Customary Land and the economic viability of joint ventures were not being openly debated, for fear of being stigmatised. However, these important questions were discussed freely among perceived detractors.^[25]

Not being able to clarify important issues breeds confusion and generates unnecessary division among perceived supporters and detractors within communities and across rival ones. More importantly, not being able to address questions that matter to communities places implementers at risk of not being able to plan efficiently. That is because the feedback they need in order to evaluate the social and economic sustainability of projects may be subject to two levels of filtration, as evident from my own research at Ulu Teru.^[26]

For various reasons mentioned earlier, some of the Ulu Teru longhouses were regarded by officials as ‘anti-government’ and ‘anti-development’. In the context of Konsep Baru, those considered ‘anti’ were merely concerned with the same sorts of issues that were harboured by the perceived ‘supporters’, who did not dare express their reservations openly for fear of being stigmatised. The difference was that the ‘anti’ group wanted to be better informed before they made decisions about Konsep Baru. These groups were consulted at the initial stages when officials visited Ulu Teru, but as a result of their daring to ask questions, they were labelled ‘anti’. As the process unfolded, the ‘anti’ groups missed out on the series of dialogues held in Ulu Teru regarding Konsep Baru. Since officials were only comfortable dealing with their perceived supporters, the ‘anti’ groups were often not invited to these information sessions. To gain information, the  perceived  ‘anti’  group  resorted  to  other  means. Not losing faith in government, they visited the local government offices at Long Lama, Marudi or Miri. Local government offices are a mixed group of institutions with varying degrees of understanding about local issues. While some local officials may be politicised to the point of regarding the independent-minded groups as ‘anti-government’, others can be counted on for support, and rural longhouse dwellers learnt quickly about these differences. Longhouse people’s creativity also led them to seek information from NGOs in Miri and Marudi.

Putting the different types of information together, several longhouses in Ulu Teru decided in 1998 that they would prefer not to be part of the plantation program under Konsep Baru. Since most implementers were not interacting with the more independent longhouses, they were not aware of changes in local sentiments (interviews at Ulu Teru, May 2000). In 1998, when longhouse residents resisted company bulldozers or stopped surveyors from working on their land, implementers were caught unaware. About 60 men and women blockaded bulldozers from what they regarded as ‘trespassing’ on their land. All were arrested and later released. This unfortunate episode was interpreted by many as an attempt to ‘defend’ their ‘land and lifestyle’. Although many other longhouses in Ulu Teru were keen to accept Konsep Baru, the oil palm company pulled out because of unresolved ‘sensitive issues’, and the project had to be put on hold (see Ngidang 2002).