Kindness, Compassion, and the Law

 

In a legal system built on confrontation and technicalities, one judge’s bold decision in Ipoh dares to rewrite the script. This post examines a case that could redefine how we think about justice—not just as a matter of rules, but as a moral obligation to care.

Kindness and compassion are not words that one normally associates with the law. The remote, often obscure language of the law and the cut and thrust of the judicial trial have no place for kindness and compassion.

Trials are adversarial. Their origins are in combat, and combatant attitudes still rule the way trials are conducted.

Lawyers’ letters to opponents are aggressive, demanding, and threatening. Judges, when they decide on a matter, whatever that matter is, will generally apply the dry letter of the law regardless of how it might impact the person against whom it is applied.

Any mitigation of the harshness of the laws must be found in the laws themselves. Compassion and kindness play no role, even when the most human needs, such as the need to be employed, come before the courts for a decision.

It was refreshing, therefore, to see a recent judgment of the High Court in Ipoh adding those elements of compassion and kindness to its decision. This note will omit the citation to the case to protect the identity of the teacher.

The case concerned an application for judicial review of a decision of a disciplinary board to dismiss the applicant. The applicant was a government schoolteacher. The teacher, because of persistent psychological problems, was absent from school on several occasions. The school was aware of his medical condition when he was transferred to the school in 2007. The school was also aware that he elected not to be boarded out of service because of his illness, but desired to continue to work as a teacher.

Because of the severe effect of the medication on him in the morning, the teacher had asked to be reassigned to teach in the afternoon, but this was denied. Instead, following his absences from class, the Ministry of Education found him guilty of misconduct and dismissed him from service. He appealed to the Disciplinary Appeal Board, but without success. The teacher then applied to the High Court in Ipoh for a judicial review of the Appeal Board’s decision.

The teacher’s main argument was that neither the disciplinary board nor the appeal board had, in reaching their decision, considered his medical condition or his appeal to be reassigned to teach in the afternoon classes.

A judge who is considering an application for judicial review must confront a whole range of technical issues in law. Judge Su Tiang Joo JC, the judge in the instant case, waded through all these issues before deciding in favour of the schoolteacher.

But what is noteworthy about his judgment is his comments about how the education authorities disregarded the teacher’s medical condition and his request to be reassigned to classes in the afternoon.

Kindness, the judge thought, could have avoided the teacher having to appeal to the courts for relief.

‘It is unfortunate that the respondents have collectively failed to show kindness to the applicant, necessitating his having to come to the Court to seek justice and, undoubtedly, the compassion of this Court on the situation in which the applicant finds himself, and this Court ought not to turn him away. Along the path on Constitutional Hill in Johannesburg, leading to the Constitutional Court of South Africa, the highest court on constitutional matters, is a big structure made up of letters that reads “BE KIND”. Its location within the grounds of the Constitutional Court makes it clear that it is this attribute that the Constitutional Court holds dear, and which underpins the cornerstone of a civilised society of equals governed by the Rule of Law.

The American psychiatrist, Theodore Isaac Rubin, said in words that resonate very well with this Court, and I quote, “Kindness is more important than wisdom, and the recognition of this is the beginning of wisdom.”

According to the judge, the silence was deafening on the part of the authorities when they refused to deal with the serious ailment ‘suffered by a man who was struggling to cope and who at the same time is desperately seeking to hold onto his job which he cherishes so as to be able to pay off his housing loan (with 17 years more to go) and to look after his aged mother . . .’

This is an inspiring decision. The imposition of a duty on government officials to be kind may establish a new judicial ground for reviewing their decisions.

More than that, the judge’s remarks might persuade them in their work to be kind to the thousands who turn to them daily for help.

Flags, Errors, and the Boundaries of Legitimate Protest

 

Over the past few months, several incidents involving the Malaysian flag (Jalur Gemilang) have surfaced, some due to misprints in the flag's design, others to incorrect hoisting procedures. These have occurred across a range of settings, from newspapers to police stations, and reflect no coordinated intent or communal orchestration within Malaysia’s multiethnic society.

As Merdeka Day approaches, flags are displayed widely as a gesture of national pride. In the enthusiasm, errors are bound to happen. These should be recognised for what they are: innocent mistakes. A simple correction or polite notice suffices. No individual, regardless of motive, would deliberately choose such a conspicuous and self-defeating method to express dissent.

Yet, despite this context, a hardware shop in Penang became the target of a public demonstration on August 14 after mistakenly displaying the Malaysian flag upside down (https://mothership.sg/2025/08/malaysia-protest-upside-down-flag/).  The shop owner was arrested despite correcting the error and issuing an apology (The Edge, 10 August 2025). Nevertheless, a crowd assembled outside the premises—waving flags, chanting slogans, and brandishing placards that read “Rise to Defend the Nation’s Dignity” and “Reject Treachery.” The organisers claimed to be defending sovereignty. But what unfolded was not a patriotic rally. It was a public shaming, cloaked in the language of national pride.

This incident raises a deeper concern: when does protest cross the line into harassment? Under Malaysia’s newly amended Penal Code (Act A1750), harassment is no longer a vague or discretionary concept. Sections 507B to 507G now criminalise conduct that includes threatening or abusive language (s.507B), intimidation (s.507C), sustained psychological provocation (s.507D), and doxxing or misuse of personal information (s.507E–F). The legal threshold is clear: harassment involves a persistent and deliberate course of unreasonable and oppressive conduct that causes alarm, fear, or distress.

The demonstration in Penang, despite its patriotic claims, meets several of these criteria. It was targeted, sustained, and emotionally coercive. The shop owner had already acknowledged the mistake and taken corrective action. The continued mobilisation, complete with slogans and placards, served no corrective purpose. It inflicted reputational harm and emotional distress. Under the law, such conduct must now warrant criminal investigation.

More troubling is the selective nature of such mobilisation. Errors involving the national flag have occurred in government institutions, including police stations and media outlets. Yet these did not provoke similar demonstrations. The disproportionate response in Penang hints at a deeper pattern: one where outrage is selectively deployed, often against vulnerable or politically unaffiliated targets. This undermines the credibility of the protest and risks turning civic vigilance into a tool of intimidation.

It is also worth noting the ethnic undertones that can accompany such demonstrations. While the slogans may be nationalistic, the subtext often carries communal implications, especially when the target is a non-Malay business owner. This is not to accuse the demonstrators of racism, but to highlight the structural bias that can emerge when public mobilisation lacks thoughtful restraint. In a plural society, the framing of protest matters as much as its content. Targeted harassment is not an expression of constitutional rights.

To be clear, the national flag deserves respect. It is a symbol of shared identity and constitutional order. But respect for the flag must not come at the expense of respect for fellow citizens. Patriotism is not performative outrage. It is the quiet, consistent commitment to fairness, proportionality, and unity. In moments like these, the most dignified response is not to escalate, but to educate, to correct the error, affirm the shared values, and move forward.

And where protest becomes harassment, the law must intervene. The new legal thresholds are not symbolic. They are actionable. If we are serious about protecting the dignity of both nation and citizen, then false demonstrations must be met not with applause, but with accountability.