A Clear Sky, and
a Sun You Can Stare At

Malaysia's haze, and the neighbours' long argument over air

A weekday afternoon, not a cloud in the sky. And yet you can look straight at the sun. It doesn't dazzle. It just hangs in the branches like a ripe persimmon. This is the haze, Malaysia's autumn tradition. If autumn in Japan means red leaves, autumn here means grey.

Shinya Takei, Managing Partner, GASPARD & CO.14 October 2026

The sun seen as an orange disc through tree branches on a cloudless afternoon — A weekday afternoon. The sky is clear, and you can stare straight at the sun. That ripe persimmon is what the sun looks like in the haze.

So what is the haze?

Mention "haze" to people in Japan and you'll mostly get blank looks. They might think of the yellow dust that blows in each spring, or PM2.5. The haze is closer to a bonfire. It is smoke from forest and land fires across the water in Indonesia, mainly on Sumatra and in Kalimantan on Borneo.

Most of the fires happen in the dry season. Land is often burned to clear it for oil palm or pulpwood plantations, and that is a common source of the fires. The real trouble is peatland. Peat is layer upon layer of dead plants built up over a very long time, a natural charcoal store. Once it catches, it smoulders underground, and putting out the surface doesn't put out the fire.

From around June to September, the southwest monsoon blows. Smoke rising over Sumatra rides that wind across the Strait of Malacca and straight onto Peninsular Malaysia and Singapore. Smoke doesn't recognise borders. It doesn't need a passport either.

How the haze happens (schematic). The southwest monsoon carries smoke from the fires on Sumatra across the Strait of Malacca.

This year, the schools closed

This is a bad year. On the afternoon of 9 October, nine monitoring stations across Malaysia recorded an Air Pollutant Index (API) above 180. As a rough guide, 0 to 50 is "good", 101 to 200 is "unhealthy", and anything above 300 is "hazardous". On the morning of the 11th, Cheras in Kuala Lumpur recorded 157.

The Education Ministry announced that schools in areas with an API above 180 would close from 9 October, and those with readings above 150 for three days in a row from the 12th. Schools in Putrajaya, the administrative capital, closed too. The only people delighted by the news were, I suspect, the children.

Not that there's anywhere to go on a day off. The waterpark down the road has vanished into the haze as well. It's the same pirate ship I showed on a sunny day at the top of the third column.

The waterpark pirate ship on a clear day — The same pirate ship on a clear day (left) and a haze day (right). That orange in the sky isn't a sunset; it's smoke. Not a single swimmer in sight.

The same pirate ship and pool shrouded in haze — The same pirate ship on a clear day (left) and a haze day (right). That orange in the sky isn't a sunset; it's smoke. Not a single swimmer in sight.

0–50Good

101–200Unhealthy. Schools closed above 180 this year

300+Hazardous

Two sides of the smoke

Now for the main event. Every haze season brings the familiar argument over whose smoke it is.

The Malaysian and Singaporean position is simple: this smoke comes from Indonesia. This year, Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim phoned President Prabowo Subianto directly, offered help with the firefighting, and called for a meeting of ASEAN environment ministers.

The Indonesian position varies in flavour from year to year.

In 2015, then Vice-President Jusuf Kalla complained that his neighbours "enjoyed nice air from Indonesia and they never thanked us" for eleven months of the year, yet got upset over one month of haze. In response, Singaporeans built a website with a button for thanking Indonesia for the clean air. A rather stylish comeback. Better still, in 2023 the site was revived by an Indonesian. Humour doesn't recognise borders either. Just like smoke.

In 2023, Indonesia's environment and forestry minister went further and denied that any cross-border haze was reaching Malaysia at all.

And this year, on 10 October, the head of Indonesia's government communications agency put it like this: "When there's no haze, we send oxygen." The oxygen in Singapore and Malaysia, he added, comes from Indonesia's forests, and the fires are a natural phenomenon. In eleven years, "nice air" has been upgraded to "oxygen".

In terms of the balance of trade in air, Indonesia is an oxygen exporter for eleven months and a smoke exporter for one. Should we send an invoice, or a thank-you card? A tricky one.

Indonesia has a point, too

But it's not all a joke. Indonesia has a fair case to make as well.

First, fighting these fires is genuinely hard. Peat smouldering underground doesn't go out just because you pour water on it. This year Indonesia has mobilised more than 60,000 personnel and kept over 60 aircraft on standby.

Second, some of the plantations and concessions identified as fire sources are reportedly linked to Malaysian and Singaporean business interests. Follow the smoke back to its source, and the investors' addresses turn out to be on our side of the strait. Not the funniest punchline.

In other words, the haze isn't something you can pin on one country and be done with. Smoke doesn't care about borders, and neither does money.

Through a business lens: a crisis with advance notice

Occupational hazard, but let me put on my business hat for a moment. Unlike an earthquake or a flood, the haze is a crisis that arrives more or less on schedule: the end of the dry season, roughly August to October. Everyone knows it's coming every year, and every year everyone still scrambles a bit. In Japan, the equivalent would be the annual tax return.

With a crisis that sends advance notice, the gap between companies that prepared and those that didn't shows up in full. Plan events and outdoor activities around this season from the start. Set the trigger for switching to remote work or online classes in advance, using the API number. If "above 180 means work from home" is already agreed, nobody has to call a meeting that morning. Buy the air purifiers and masks before the smoke arrives. Once it's here, they're usually sold out.

There's opportunity, too. Clean indoor air becomes more valuable in this season alone. To borrow from the second column's pickleball: this is the season when an air-conditioned indoor court beats a covered outdoor one. People move indoors, and air purifiers fly off the shelves. Quietly, the smoke redraws the map of demand.

And one more thing, which Japanese companies shouldn't treat as someone else's problem. Japan is a major importer of palm oil, and it's everywhere: the frying oil in instant noodles, chocolate, detergent. Follow the fire-hit plantations along the supply chain and you may well find a Japanese company among the buyers. Call it ESG and it sounds stiff, but it really comes down to whether you can answer the question "Where did this oil come from?". Singapore already has a law that lets it hold companies responsible for haze, even when the fires are outside the country.

Earlier, I noted that if you follow the smoke back, the investors' addresses turn out to be on our side of the strait. Follow it a little further, and the buyers' address may turn out to be Japan. Unfunny punchlines are best dealt with early.

From where we live

For those of us living with it, haze season means closing the windows, running the air purifier, cutting back on time outdoors, and checking the API app several times a day. To anyone thinking of moving to Malaysia: there are no four seasons here, but there is a haze season.

The saving grace is that it ends when the season turns. Malaysia's Meteorological Department expects the inter-monsoon period to bring weaker winds and more rain, easing the haze.

So here I am again, looking up at a sun I can stare at, waiting for rain. In Japan, autumn is for leaf-viewing. In Malaysia, it's for praying for rain.