I am not aligned with any political party. I have never been part of political organising, nor do I see myself as politically driven. I am, however, an ordinary citizen who pays attention. And recently, I have found myself asking questions that feel less provocative than they are simply obvious.

A recent public discussion surrounding the appointment of a Nominated Member of Parliament (NMP) prompted these reflections. Not because of the individual involved names are beside the point but because of what the situation revealed about how we now understand neutrality, credibility, and legitimacy in Parliament.

The NMP scheme, as it was originally explained to the public, exists to bring non-partisan voices into Parliament. It is meant to broaden perspectives, represent civil society and professional expertise, and add balance without the pressures of electoral politics. Its legitimacy rests not on votes, but on public trust in the nominee’s independence.

From the standpoint of an ordinary observer, a simple question arose:

What does “non-partisan” mean today? When an NMP is nominated by someone clearly affiliated with the ruling party, and when the nominee has a visible history of political sympathy or alignment, even if no longer formally active it becomes reasonable to wonder how neutrality is being interpreted.

This is not an accusation, nor a judgment of competence. It is simply an attempt to understand whether the spirit of non-partisanship is being stretched, even if no formal rule has been broken. What gave me further pause was how, following the appointment, visible traces of prior political association appeared to be quietly removed from public view. Images and symbols that once clearly signalled alignment were no longer present.

I do not presume to know the intent behind this. But from the perspective of a lay observer, such retrospective distancing raises an uncomfortable question: if neutrality needs to be curated after the fact, was it convincingly present to begin with?

At the same time, public discourse has increasingly turned toward questioning the credibility of the elected opposition leader. Again, this is not to suggest that any political figure should be beyond scrutiny. In a democracy, all leaders — government and opposition alike, should be questioned.

But as an ordinary citizen, I cannot help noticing an asymmetry. An opposition leader derives legitimacy through elections. He is voted in, scrutinised publicly, and can ultimately be voted out.

An NMP, on the other hand, derives legitimacy almost entirely from perceived neutrality and independence. There is no electoral mechanism to correct public doubt. Trust, therefore, matters even more. If the credibility of an elected opposition leader is open to question and debate, it seems reasonable to ask why similar scrutiny is not applied to non-elected parliamentary roles whose authority rests on claims of non-partisanship.

This is not about individuals. It is about consistency of standards. Political systems evolve. Institutions adapt. This is normal. What is new and perhaps healthy is that ordinary citizens are beginning to notice these adjustments and ask whether mechanisms designed to provide balance still function as intended.

I do not ask these questions to provoke or to accuse. I ask them because they arise naturally when one observes how governance is practiced, not just how it is described. Neutrality, like credibility, is not something that can be asserted once and assumed forever.

It has to be demonstrated, sustained, and trusted. Perhaps this is simply what political maturity looks like not loud dissent, but quiet, persistent questioning. Not from activists or insiders, but from ordinary citizens who find themselves paying closer attention and wondering when the obvious became controversial.