If there’s one thing you can count on in modern football, it’s that the powers-that-be will find a way to make a genuinely moving moment feel utterly, soul-crushingly mundane. And so, just the other day, we watched the Malaysian national team host Palestine in an international friendly—a match that should have been a screaming, defiant statement. Instead, it was a masterclass in bureaucratic cowardice.

The game itself was a beautiful spectacle.  It was a game that meant more than just a 1-0 win for the home team. The last time Malaysia won against Palestine was 24 years ago, at the World Cup Qualifier in 2001.

And because of the ongoing crisis, some of the fans, bless their passionate hearts, came to Sultan Ibrahim Stadium wearing green attire as a clear sign of solidarity with the Palestinian people. Many described the match as “sentimental” and viewed it as more than just a football game, but a symbol of support for the ongoing struggle.

The day before the friendly match, the Regent of Johor, Tunku Mahkota Ismail (TMJ), performed Maghrib and solat hajat with both the Malaysian and Palestinian national football teams at the Sultan Abu Bakar Mosque in Johor Bahru. During this event, TMJ presented a personal contribution, along with a donation of RM2.5 million from the Johor State Government, to the Palestinian Ambassador to Malaysia, Walid Abu Ali. The donation was channeled through the “Tabung Kasih Johor-Palestin” (Johor-Palestine Compassionate Fund) to support humanitarian and development needs in Palestine.

While the rest of the nation was busy making a powerful statement of solidarity, FAM was busy perfecting the art of doing … absolutely nothing. They hosted the match, sure. They provided the changing rooms, the field, and the bottled water. It was a flawless execution of basic event logistics, the kind of competence you’d expect from a well-run hotel concierge. But as for a single word, a single public statement, a single gesture of moral courage beyond the contractual obligation of hosting a game? Crickets.

It’s the sort of toothless, corporate-speak neutrality that makes you want to throw your television out the window. FAM’s inaction wasn’t just a silence; it was a full-throated endorsement of the status quo. It was a tacit agreement with FIFA’s ludicrous, hypocritical doctrine that “politics and sport don’t mix.” Which is, of course, the biggest lie in the history of human existence.

FIFA, that glorious bastion of transparency and moral fortitude, had no problem banning Russia from every footballing competition on earth the second it invaded Ukraine. But when it comes to Israel, a nation whose military has systematically killed over 400 Palestinian athletes, flattened stadiums, and turned Gaza into a desolate graveyard for a generation of footballers, FIFA suddenly becomes a pillar of philosophical ambiguity. Oh, we can’t get involved! It’s complicated! It’s all just so wonderfully, magnificently, spectacularly two-faced. And FAM, in its infinite wisdom, decided to fall right in line, proving that when the big bosses decide to be spineless, you’d best be prepared to shed yours too.

This isn’t about being “anti-Israel.” It’s about being anti-genocide. It’s about standing up for a people whose very right to play the game is under threat. Look, I’m not suggesting a full-blown mutiny, but there are degrees of defiance that doesn’t involve a first-class ticket to a FIFA tribunal. The Norwegians, for example, took a World Cup qualifier against Israel – a match they were obligated to play – and turned it into a public shaming. They announced that every single Krona from ticket sales would be donated to humanitarian aid in Gaza. A simple, elegant, and wonderfully infuriating act of protest that said, “We’ll play your stupid game, but we’ll use your money to help the people you’re hurting.” And then you’ve got the Italians. The Italian Football Coaches’ Association sent a formal letter to their own federation urging them to kick Israel out of international competitions. These are not acts of reckless abandonment; they are acts of moral clarity, a public rejection of the “business as usual” farce. They are the footballing equivalent of grabbing a rusty sword and charging into a machine-gun nest, knowing full well you might get shot for your troubles, but doing it anyway because the alternative to stand idly by is madness.

But FAM chose the path of being comatosed. The safe path. The path of utter, complete irrelevance. They had a chance to show that Malaysian football is more than just a game; it is a reflection of the nation’s heart, a heart that has long beat in solidarity with Palestine. Instead, they gave us a logistical masterpiece and a moral vacuum.