The Bloomberg report alleging that Tan Sri Azam Baki owned 17.7 million shares in Velocity Capital Berhad has predictably ignited a media and political storm. Within hours, the narrative hardened: the MACC Chief Commissioner had breached a 1993 civil service circular, and therefore his integrity was in question.
But when the noise settles, a more uncomfortable question emerges: are we dealing with a clear governance breach, or another episode of selective outrage shaped by politics, timing, and institutional backlash?
An Incomplete Report, a Conclusive Tone
Bloomberg’s report centres on a 1993 Public Service Department circular limiting civil servants’ share ownership to 5% of paid-up capital or RM100,000, whichever is lower. The implication is that Azam’s alleged shareholding—worth roughly RM800,000 based on recent prices—constitutes a breach.
Yet the report omits critical facts that any fair assessment would require:
• When were the shares purchased?
• Were they acquired in stages or at a single point?
• Were they declared to the Chief Secretary to the Government (KSN)?
• Was clearance sought and granted?
• When were the shares sold?
According to Azam, the shares have already been disposed of.
A review of Velocity Capital’s historical price movement suggests prolonged periods of stagnation, making it entirely plausible that there was little or no capital appreciation. Without a timeline of acquisition and disposal, insinuations of unexplained wealth remain just that—insinuations.
In governance matters, process and chronology matter. Their absence weakens the credibility of the conclusions drawn.
Scale Matters: 1.7% Is Not Control
Seventeen-point-seven million shares sounds dramatic, but in context it represents only about 1.7% of Velocity Capital’s paid-up capital—well below the 5% ceiling cited in the circular. This level of ownership confers no controlling interest, no board leverage, and no meaningful influence over corporate decisions.
Velocity Capital is a publicly listed company. Its shares are traded openly on Bursa Malaysia, accessible to any investor. There is no special allocation, private deal, or discretionary favour involved. Attempts to frame this as influence peddling collapse when confronted with the basic mechanics of public markets.
A Crucial Bursa Disclosure Question
There is, however, a point that has been conspicuously absent from public discussion, yet is central to understanding the issue.
Under Bursa Malaysia’s Listing Requirements, only shareholdings of 5% and above are deemed “substantial” and trigger mandatory disclosures. Such disclosures must be made through statutory declarations lodged by the company’s secretary and announced to Bursa.
Below that threshold, share ownership remains non-public information, known only to the investor, the broker, the company’s registrar, and the company secretary.
Azam Baki’s alleged holding of 1.7% does not cross the disclosure threshold. Which raises an obvious and uncomfortable question: how did Bloomberg obtain this information?
If the holding was below 5%, it would not have appeared in any public filing to Bursa. It would not be visible through routine market disclosures. It is not information ordinarily accessible to journalists or the general public.
So where did it come from?
Was it leaked? If so, by whom—and for what purpose? Was there unauthorised access to confidential share registry data? If this information was selectively disclosed, that itself raises serious governance and legal questions, independent of Azam Baki.
This is not about conspiracy-mongering; it is about information asymmetry and motive. Selective leaks targeting enforcement officials are not unheard of, particularly when investigations begin to encroach on powerful interests.
The RM100,000 Question: Absolute or Conditional?
Critics have latched onto the RM100,000 limit as an absolute prohibition. Yet even former minister Kulasegaran has acknowledged that there are rules allowing capped investments subject to declaration and approval. So which rule applies?
Is the RM100,000 threshold an immutable ceiling regardless of circumstances, or is it a default limit subject to administrative discretion following disclosure?
If Azam declared his interest and obtained clearance from the KSN, the issue becomes one of administrative compliance—not misconduct.
The lack of clarity has allowed public debate to drift from legal interpretation into assumption of guilt, aided by selective readings of decades-old circulars without reference to actual practice.
Rafizi’s Reframing—and Its Silences
Rafizi Ramli’s rapid intervention reframed the issue through his long-standing rivalry with figures linked to Farhash Wafa Salvador, dragging in Datasonic (NexG) and MMAG by association. The implication was clear: a web of influence benefiting insiders.
But this framing ignores a basic fact: Velocity Capital is publicly traded. Share ownership does not equate to control, nor does proximity establish causation.
More striking is what was left out. Names such as Iwan, Yati, and the entity known as GIPS, relevant to the broader ecosystem Rafizi appeared to allude to, were absent. The subsequent removal of his video from social media only deepens the sense that the framing was political first, evidential second.
A Familiar Pattern of Backlash
This episode fits an established pattern. Whenever MACC intensifies scrutiny of powerful figures, its leadership comes under attack.
In September 2024, when MACC began probing matters linked to Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad and the late Tun Daim Zainuddin, Bloomberg again surfaced—this time alleging Azam was acting on instructions from Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim.
That allegation was serious, unproven, and timed precisely when investigations were politically sensitive. The message was unmistakable: there is a cost to touching the untouchable.
The Questions That Actually Matter
The issue is not whether Azam Baki should be scrutinised. No public official is above accountability.
The real issue is whether scrutiny is being applied fairly, consistently, and based on full facts, or weaponised through selective leaks and incomplete reporting at moments when MACC’s work becomes inconvenient.
Before verdicts are passed, the public deserves clear answers:
• Was the investment declared?
• Was approval obtained?
• When were the shares acquired and sold?
• Was there any material benefit or influence?
• And crucially—how did non-disclosable shareholding data find its way into the public domain?
Until these questions are answered, what we are witnessing is less a governance debate and more a trial by headline—and that weakens not just Azam Baki, but the institutions tasked with fighting corruption itself.
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