THERE is a particular kind of loneliness that comes with being excluded.
It is not always loud. There may be no argument, no slammed door and no direct declaration that someone is no longer wanted. Sometimes, it happens quietly. Messages stop coming, invitations disappear, conversations continue without you and decisions are made in rooms where you are no longer expected to be.
In ordinary life, being left out of a family gathering or a group of friends can already be uncomfortable. People notice when the circle suddenly becomes smaller around them, especially when they do not know exactly what they did to deserve the silence.
But exclusion becomes more complicated when it enters a system of power.
In Malaysian politics, the recent dispute involving several MPs and access to constituency allocations has brought that question into sharper focus.
In May, then-Subang MP Wong Chen said his parliamentary office had been denied access to the MyKhas portal, which is used to process constituency development allocations and Projek Mesra Rakyat applications.
Petaling Jaya MP Lee Chean Chung was subsequently reported to have faced the same restriction, while other PKR MPs linked to the Bersama political movement were also reported to have been affected.
The government, however, maintained that the restrictions did not remove the MPs’ parliamentary rights and that allocations for residents would continue through other channels. Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim later said funds would still reach schools, places of worship and other community projects, but would no longer be channelled through MPs who no longer supported the government.
On paper, the distinction is straightforward: the allocation belongs to the people, not the elected representative.
Yet politics is rarely only about what is written on paper.
There is also the human experience of being told, directly or indirectly, that you are no longer part of the group.
For an elected representative, that can carry a different weight. An MP enters politics as part of a team, campaign machinery and political coalition. There are shared meetings, shared battles, supporters and, eventually, a shared sense that everyone is moving towards the same destination.
What happens when that sense of togetherness disappears?
The work does not stop. Constituents still call. Problems still arrive. Roads still need fixing, schools still need assistance and residents still expect their elected representatives to respond.
But the political support structure around that representative may no longer feel the same.
This is where the issue becomes bigger than a question of access to a portal or the mechanics of distributing constituency funds.
It raises a broader question about political belonging: what happens when an elected representative remains responsible for a constituency but is no longer considered part of the political group that controls the machinery around it?
Every organisation has its own way of deciding who belongs. Political parties are no different. Loyalty matters, collective discipline matters and political movements cannot function without some degree of shared direction.
But there is a difference between political disagreement and creating an environment in which disagreement automatically means exclusion.
The former is part of democracy.
The latter can gradually turn politics into a system where belonging depends on obedience.
That is the irony of political movements built around the idea of togetherness.
And once one person is excluded, others inevitably begin to wonder: who is next?
The possibility of being the next person left outside can itself become a form of political pressure. Politicians may begin to weigh not only whether they agree with a decision, but also what disagreement could mean for their place within the wider political group.
That matters because political parties and movements are made up of individuals before they become institutions.
Today, it may be one MP who disagrees with the direction of the group. Tomorrow, it could be another politician who questions a decision, refuses to follow a particular line or chooses to stand beside a different political platform.
The consequences of exclusion can extend beyond political relationships. They can involve access, influence, resources, networks and opportunities.
This is where the idea of being “ghosted” takes on a more serious meaning.
In everyday life, ghosting may mean that someone stops replying to your messages. In politics, exclusion can affect the ability to communicate, participate and maintain relationships within the political network.
The consequences are therefore much larger.
At the same time, it is important not to reduce every administrative decision to political punishment.
The government has argued that constituency funds remain available and that the mechanism is intended to ensure money reaches residents directly. From that perspective, the issue is not whether constituents receive assistance, but how that assistance is channelled.
That distinction matters.
An elected representative may see access to constituency development funds as an important part of serving constituents, while the government may argue that public money should continue reaching those constituents regardless of the political affiliation of their MP.
Both positions point to the same underlying question: who controls the relationship between an elected representative, the government and the people that representative serves?
The question, therefore, is not simply who is being included or excluded.
It is whether a democratic system can make room for disagreement without making people feel that they must choose between their principles and their place within the group.
Because politics, like friendship and family, cannot survive indefinitely on the assumption that everyone must always agree.
There will be disagreements. People will leave. Alliances will change. New political movements will emerge, and old friendships will inevitably be tested.
But perhaps the healthier question is not who should be pushed out, but how we can disagree without making someone feel they no longer belong.
Malaysia’s political landscape is changing, and the old lines between allies, rivals and former allies are becoming increasingly fluid.
In such an environment, today’s outsider can become tomorrow’s ally, and today’s ally can just as easily become tomorrow’s outsider.
The irony is that politics is constantly asking Malaysians to come together.
Yet some of its most visible moments are still about deciding who gets to remain inside the circle.