Within the sun-bleached walls of Malaysia’s military camps, an online storm has erupted that few defence institutions expected but many are now talking about: allegations that female entertainers — termed “yeye” in military slang, roughly equating to “call girls” — along with alcohol have been brought into Angkatan Tentera Malaysia (ATM) facilities for parties that flout official discipline and decorum. What began as TikTok and Threads posts showing clips of civilians socialising with uniformed personnel has spiralled into one of the country’s most talked-about defence controversies in years, prompting the Ministry of Defence (Kementerian Pertahanan Malaysia, MINDEF) to order an internal investigation into allegations of “immoral activities” and unauthorised entry at military camps.
The story went viral in early January 2026 after Malaysian rapper and influencer Ariz Ramli — better known online as @capricedaddycap — reposted videos and screenshots he received describing a culture of entertainment that allegedly plays out at bases like Subang Air Base. In one clip shared widely, the camera pans over young women seated at a makeshift bar with uniformed men and bottles of liquor, while other screenshots purportedly show message exchanges discussing yeye culture in military circles. Some commentators on social media have even jokingly contrasted the “base parties” with fried nuggets and fries in memes, highlighting how quickly the controversy captured public attention.
What makes the episode particularly combustible is not simply the allegations themselves but the questions they raise about discipline, professionalism and the integrity of Malaysia’s defence forces in a digital age. In an official statement, MINDEF said it was taking the social-media claims seriously and has instructed ATM to carry out a thorough internal probe to determine whether the allegations are true, stressing that if validated, “strict action will be taken without compromise against any party involved, in accordance with existing regulations, procedures and laws.” The ministry also urged the public to avoid speculation that could harm the reputation of the armed forces, emphasising that the viral content “does not reflect the culture, values and practices of ATM, which are founded on discipline, professionalism and strict adherence to security procedures.”
Beyond the headlines and internet chatter, the claims hint at deeper cultural currents within parts of Malaysia’s military community. According to some of the online messages that have circulated, yeye culture is not a one-off event but an accepted — and expensive — “entertainment tradition” among certain groups of personnel, with junior officers feeling pressured to participate in weekly gatherings that can cost hundreds of ringgit. One anonymous tipster said that troops earning modest salaries were forced to dip into their pay or even take out loans to cover costs for alcohol, transportation and escorts, a dynamic that has only amplified the controversy as it touches on issues of hierarchy, peer pressure and morale.
For many Malaysians, such allegations collide awkwardly with national ideals about the military as an institution of discipline and patriotism. ATM’s public image, like that of many armed forces around the world, is bound up with notions of matlamat negara (national mission), order and sacrifice. Even isolated instances of misconduct — whether financial impropriety or breaches of conduct — can be fuel for broader debates about governance and accountability. In recent weeks, the armed forces have already faced scrutiny over unrelated procurement probes and leadership changes, lending extra context to a moment when trust in public institutions is a palpable theme in Malaysian civic life.
The cultural backdrop to this scandal is also distinctively Malaysian. While the word yeye may carry a joking or slang quality on social media, the underlying behaviour it alludes to connects to broader tensions in Malaysian society over gender, morality and modernity. Malaysia is a multi-ethnic, largely Muslim country where public norms around alcohol and sexual behaviour are often conservative, particularly within official institutions like the military. At the same time, the ubiquity of smartphones and social platforms means that private or informal scenes can become instantly public, subject to ridicule, outrage or mobilisation. The result is a collision between traditional values and a globalised digital culture that rewards sensational content.
As the investigation unfolds, ATM’s leadership will need to balance the demands of transparency with the imperative of maintaining internal morale and external confidence. No matter the eventual findings, this episode has already sparked a broader conversation about how military organisations adapt to the age of social media and how they uphold standards of conduct when every moment can be filmed, shared and scrutinised by millions online. In Malaysia’s charged media landscape, where questions of maruah (honour) and institutional integrity resonate widely, the impact of this scandal may extend far beyond the gates of any single camp.
Oh please. Spare me the pearl-clutching.
When the news broke about alleged yeye parties inside Malaysian military camps — booze, escorts, uniforms folded neatly on chairs — Auntie didn’t gasp. Auntie laughed. A slow, knowing laugh. Because if there is one thing Asia (and frankly, the world) has taught us over and over again, it’s this: the louder an institution preaches morality, discipline and “values”, the more likely it is hiding a mess behind locked doors.
The military. The clergy. The police. The political class. The same script, different uniforms.
Let’s be clear: this is not about sex. Sex is not the scandal here. Sex workers are not the scandal either — they are doing a job in an economy that relies on hypocrisy to survive. The real scandal is power plus secrecy plus entitlement. When institutions wrap themselves in flags, hierarchy and “honour”, they tend to forget that human desire doesn’t magically disappear at the barracks gate. It just goes underground. And underground behaviour tends to rot.
What amuses Auntie most is the performative shock. “Immoral activities,” they say, as if young men with salaries, stress, boredom and unchecked authority suddenly invented libido in 2026. As if alcohol, escorts and transactional intimacy haven’t orbited military life since Roman legions were paid in coins and conquest. The only novelty here is the camera phone. Welcome to the age where what happens on base no longer stays on base.
And let’s talk about gender for a second. Because while the outrage machine focuses on “call girls”, nobody seems very interested in asking why hyper-masculine institutions consistently fail at emotional regulation, consent culture and adult accountability. No one asks why junior officers feel pressured to join, pay, comply. No one asks where women fit in an ecosystem that treats them either as symbols to be protected or commodities to be consumed — never as equals.
This is why Auntie isn’t shocked. Conservative institutions thrive on control, not ethics. They regulate bodies publicly and indulge them privately. They punish deviation while quietly rewarding excess — as long as it flows upward and stays invisible. Until it doesn’t.
So yes, investigate. Clean house. Issue statements about discipline and values. But don’t pretend this is an anomaly. It’s a mirror. And mirrors are uncomfortable precisely because they don’t lie.
Auntie’s advice? Less moral theatre, more structural honesty. Less obsession with “immorality”, more attention to power, safeguarding, and grown-up rules that apply even when no one is watching. Because secrecy doesn’t create virtue — it just breeds better liars.
And Asia? Asia has seen this movie before. Different country, same plot twist.