| The dream of the bench

 By David Dass

For many lawyers, becoming a judge is the pinnacle of a professional life - the culmination of years of study, advocacy, and sacrifice. It is the ultimate realisation of a dream.

Malaysia is a country governed by the rule of law. We have a written Federal Constitution, which stands as the supreme law of the land. As a parliamentary democracy, laws are made by Parliament and the state assemblies.

Our legal system draws from multiple sources - the Common Law of England, the personal laws of Muslims, native laws and customs of the Orang Asli and the indigenous peoples of Sabah and Sarawak, as well as the customs and usage of our diverse communities.

At the heart of this framework stand independent judges, whose task is to interpret and uphold the law.

They are the custodians of justice - the chosen ones on which the entire system of law and governance rests. Here we speak of the judges of the civil and criminal courts, and not of those serving in the syariah judiciary, which administers Muslim personal law.

The call to serve

The day a lawyer receives the call to the bench is unforgettable. It is a moment of heart-stopping excitement - one that marks a turning point in a life’s journey.

The news is shared first with family, then with close friends and colleagues. That joy is often mingled with deep anxiety.

Leaving private practice is never easy. A senior partner often anchors the firm they helped build; their departure may unsettle its stability.

Yet, the call to serve - long-awaited and deeply desired - cannot be refused. It is a call to duty, to something higher than self.

Of course, there are many judges who come from the judicial and legal services of the government. Their experiences may be a little different, but all else will be similar.

The burden of responsibility

With exhilaration comes apprehension. Can I sit through long hearings with patience? Can I send a man to prison - or pronounce the death sentence? Can I endure the long hours, the isolation, the endless reading, and the burden of deciding between competing truths and conflicting arguments?

Judges administer both the criminal law and the vast panoply of civil and commercial law. A daunting prospect for even the most able of lawyers.

The stories of great judges inspire awe and unease in equal measure. One Malaysian judge was said to have written over 800 judgments in his career - an almost superhuman feat.

The judge-to-be recalls the old cautions: a judge who speaks too much is like an “ill-tuned cymbal”, and a judge who “descends into the arena of conflict risks having their vision blurred by the ascending dust.”

Above all, in the words of Lord Alfred Denning, “Justice must not only be done but must be seen to be done.”

The perception of fairness is vital to sustaining judicial credibility and authority. There can be no conflict. Judges are independent. They stand between the powerful - the power of the state - and the individual citizen.

Lord Denning once said: “To every subject of this land, however powerful, I quote the words of Thomas Fuller, three hundred years ago: Be ye ever so high, the law is above you.”

And as Tun Salleh Abas, Malaysia’s Lord President until the 1988 judicial crisis, reminded us: “The judges are the protectors of the Constitution and the guardians of the people’s rights. Without their courage and integrity, the rule of law would be but an empty slogan.”

The trappings of office

The ceremony of elevation is solemn. The new judge dons the robe, shirt, and bib - the apparel of their office. Their family and friends gather proudly in the courtroom as the Chief Justice presides.

On that day, though several may be elevated, each feels a unique surge of pride and awe. He takes the oath of office and swears to uphold the Constitution. The transformation is complete.

Their day begins. He is assigned a driver and a car. On arrival at the courthouse, their assigned orderly opens their car door, the registrar greets them, court officers bow, and lawyers address them as “Yang Arif” or “My Lord.”

The symbolism is powerful - they are no longer the ordinary man, but the office he holds, the office that commands deference. And as others treat them differently, they, too, begin to see themselves differently.

From glamour to grind

The excitement soon fades. In its place comes the relentless rhythm of judicial life - chamber applications, interlocutory hearings, full trials.

Each day demands intense concentration, constant note-taking, swift rulings, and the projection of calm authority.

The writing of judgments is the sternest test of judicial competence. A poorly reasoned decision can cast doubt on a judge’s fitness for judicial office; a well-written one consolidates their position.

They labour long nights and weekends reflecting and writing. It is a challenging task that never gets easier with time.

Justice Benjamin Cardozo of the US Supreme Court observed: “The great tides and currents which engulf the rest of men do not turn aside in their course and pass the judges by. We, too, are subject to passions and prejudices, but we must strive to rise above them in the name of justice.”

And Justice Gopal Sri Ram of Malaysia captured judicial duty in these words: “Judges must also act impartially without fear or favour. A good judge… must not betray the oath of this high judicial office… He must also be passionately committed to defending the fundamental principle of the rule of law and the Constitution.”

The judge’s social circle narrows. The laughter of raucous dinners with lawyer friends gives way to quiet lunches with fellow judges.

Judicial independence demands social distancing; friendship gives way to more discreet interaction. Slowly, the judge discovers the loneliness of their calling.

A noble but lonely calling

A judge’s vocation is a noble but solitary one. The judge must be learned in law, wise in human affairs, and steadfast in conscience.

The dishonest judge, it is said, has a special place reserved in hell. Some rumours swirl through the chambers of errant judges.

There was that anonymous letter by a judge and that affidavit by a sitting judge. But these were unproven allegations, and generally, judges are respected and held in very high esteem.

A judge does not decide cases arbitrarily. He is bound by the principle of stare decisis, which requires him to follow precedent where the facts, issues, and law are similar.

Yet within those constraints lies room for creativity and moral courage - to interpret, to distinguish, and to find justice within the law. Each day, they must balance law, truth, and fairness.

As Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr said: “The life of the law has not been logic; it has been experience.”

And former chief justice Tengku Maimun Tuan Mat said this in a speech in Indonesia in 2021: “The task of a judge is onerous and is reflected in the oath that we judges take, namely to bear true faith and allegiance to Malaysia and to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution. Undeniably, judging requires knowledge, integrity and courage.”

Comparative perspectives

Across the common law world, judges share a kinship of purpose and burden in their pursuit of truth and justice.

In England, centuries of tradition surround the judiciary. Their judgments are scrutinised immediately by lawyers, academics, and the press.

The pressure for clarity and correctness is intense, tempered only by the knowledge that appellate judges may later critically dissect their reasoning.

In the US, the Supreme Court justices are the best known in the world. Though their rulings apply only to Americans, their influence extends globally.

Their power to interpret the Constitution gives them vast authority - but also exposes them to intense political storms between conservative and liberal ideologies. It is the force of their reasoning that influences.

The US Supreme Court

In Malaysia, the pressures are different but equally formidable. Judges face heavy caseloads, limited resources, and the complexity of deciding cases in a multi-ethnic and multi-religious society.

As former Lord President Suffian Hashim once said in a public lecture: “In a multi-racial and multi-religious society… while we judges cannot help being Malay or Chinese or Indian… we strive not to be too identified with any particular race or religion… so that nobody reading our judgment with our name deleted could with confidence identify our race or religion.”

Judges must constantly work to sustain public confidence - the judiciary has been shaken at times by crises of the past.

Their judgments, often written in solitude, ripple far beyond their chambers, shaping commerce, politics, and the delicate balance between state power and individual freedom.

Their authority devolves through the Constitution. They are the ultimate arbiters and interpreters of the Constitution. They safeguard our democracy and our freedoms.

The weight of office

After years on the bench, some judges ascend to the appellate courts, bearing new titles and expectations.

Their manner changes - they walk with quiet authority, conscious of the dignity their office commands. It is not arrogance but awareness - of the heavy mantle they wear, and the eyes of a nation that watch them.

A judge is, at their best, a servant of justice and a guardian of the law. Their life may be lonely, but it is a life that matters.

Within their courtroom, the fate of individuals, the liberty of citizens, and sometimes life itself, hang on their words.

The judge’s charge

Across centuries and continents, the message remains unchanged: For Lord Denning, the duty of a judge is to find the truth and do justice according to law.

Justice Cardozo urged judges to rise above their passions. Former Lord President Salleh Abas warned judges that without integrity, the rule of law becomes an empty phrase.

Gopal Sri Ram reminded judges that justice must be done without fear or favour. Suffian emphasised that judges must be blind to the race or religion of those who appear before them.

Raja Azlan Shah emphasised the importance of judicial independence. Judge Zainun Ali stressed the importance of judicial power, judicial independence, and the doctrine of separation of powers within our constitutional framework.

Tengku Maimun forcefully maintained that core elements of our Constitution could never be removed.

Former Chief Justice Tengku Maimun Tuan Mat

Judge Nalini Pathmanathan is quoted as saying that independence meant to her “the independence and freedom to adjudicate on the cases before her not only in terms of freedom from influence, but also the ability to study, absorb and analyse the law, be it statute or case-law from Malaysia and numerous other jurisdictions.”

Heavy is the burden on the shoulders of a judge.

Finally, when the trappings fade - the cars, the robes, the ceremonial bows cease or pass - what remains is the written judgment itself: reasoned in law, tempered by humanity, and anchored in conscience.

That is what endures. It is written testimony to a country’s adherence to the Rule of Law. That is the legacy of a judge.

In the words of Lord Bingham: “The rule of law is not a slogan or a mere lawyer’s construct. It is the foundation of a civilised society”.

DAVID DASS is a distinguished Malaysian lawyer

Is Discipline in Schools to Be Handed Over to the Police?

 In our schools, bullying has escalated into physical violence, humiliation, and psychological trauma. A Form Two student in Kota Kinabalu was recently assaulted by seniors for arriving late to the dormitory. The Ministry of Education is now considering deploying auxiliary police and setting up police booths in schools, a stark indication of how serious the problem has become.

(Fadhlina: MoE considering auxiliary police and school police booths as part of anti-bullying efforts | Malay Mail  viewed 14/9/25 at 11.30pm.)

Schools at a Crossroads

In March 2024, the Federal Court of Malaysia issued a landmark ruling that affirmed that schools, the Ministry and the Government have a legal duty to prevent bullying in schools. The apex court emphasised the importance of safety in schools.

 “It goes without saying that schools, residential or otherwise, must be safe and conducive for the purpose(s) intended. Otherwise, the providers and consumers of such institutions would face considerable difficulties in enrolment, whether of student or teaching faculty.” (Mary Lim Thiam Suan FCJ)

 The judgment is a declaration that the safety and dignity of students lie in the hands of teachers, school officials, the Ministry of Education and the Government.

 Government schools, established by the Ministry of Education, despite having a physical presence and a name, are not legal entities, and as such, legal duties cannot be imposed on them. Therefore, a duty of care for the safety of students and other persons who may be on the premises of the school falls on the teachers, the officials of the school, such as the principal, as well as the Ministry of Education, and the Government.

 The Minister’s duty under the Education Act 1996, to provide education in national schools, must now be understood to include a duty to maintain safety in those schools.

 As if that were not sufficient, the Penal Code was amended early this year specifically to address bullying, not only in schools but generally (The Penal Code (Amendment) Act 2025).

 Yet, even as the law speaks about duty and penal sanctions, the system appears not to be able to ensure safety in schools.

 Two recent cases have shown that despite the clear ruling of the apex court, there is no evident attempt to address bullying in schools.

 In Kota Kinabalu, a Form Two student was violently assaulted by seniors for arriving late to the dormitory. In Papar, a young girl died under deeply troubling circumstances in a religious boarding school. 

 The inquest in the latter case has revealed delayed responses, institutional negligence, and even threats against medical experts who gave evidence at the inquest.

 These are not isolated failures; they indicate a disconnect between the authorities, the schools they oversee, and what is actually happening in schools.

The Minister’s Response

In response to the recent case in Kota Kinabalu, Education Minister Fadhlina Sidek announced that the Ministry is considering deploying auxiliary police personnel and establishing police booths in schools. 

 She stated that these proposals are being reviewed through the school safety reform committee, an ongoing safety audit, and town hall sessions with the Ministry of Law and the Ministry of Communications. These efforts are part of a broader study into a proposed anti-bullying bill.

 But the proposals raise a fundamental question: Does the Minister and the Ministry understand their duty to ensure safety in schools as laid down by the Federal Court and implied under the Education Act 1996?

 It is doubtful if a police presence will deter bullying, which is a complex phenomenon, an aberration of adolescent development. It is marked by subtle patterns of isolation and intimidation of victims that frequently go unnoticed. When bullying becomes physical, it is the culmination, not the beginning, of a long and invisible ordeal. The police are not trained to deal with such conduct.

The Danger of Criminalising Schools

The deployment of police, even if they are only the auxiliary police, into schools changes the fundamental character of schools from safe sanctuaries of learning into detention centres. It tells students that they are not individuals being educated, but potential offenders monitored by the police. It tells teachers that their authority is insufficient and may be overridden.  And it tells society it can no longer trust schools.

 What begins as a response to bullying can quickly become a system of criminalisation. Students who make mistakes, who struggle emotionally, who come from vulnerable backgrounds, may now face punishment instead of psychological support. The very institutions meant to nurture them will instead treat them as potential criminals.

 There is a stark irony here. In the United States, under President Trump, the deployment of federal troops to suppress civil unrest was widely condemned as authoritarian overreach. In Malaysia, we now risk a similar trajectory, militarising spaces meant for growth, and treating children as threats.

The Federal Court’s Warning

The Federal Court did not call for police booths. It called for accountability, supervision, and a culture of respect. It laid out a framework for reform through awareness campaigns, curricular change, and institutional responsibility. The Court’s decision was a call to moral leadership, not criminal enforcement.

 “Yet, the discipline of students of all ages remains a necessary part of any education curriculum. Basic values of mutual respect for another must be inculcated in all our young, and it should not be left to expensive and unfortunate incidents, such as revealed in these appeals, to remind us of these values.” (Mary Lim Thiam Suan FCJ)

 To respond with policing is to misread what is a carefully crafted judgment. It is a retreat from the hard work of reform and outsourcing discipline to those wielding truncheons, not trained as educators.

Bullying is a major social problem. The Ministry must make an effort to determine why there is an increase in bullying in our schools. It needs a broader consultation than with the Ministry of Law or the Ministry of Communications. Advice must be sought from psychologists, educationists, parents and yes, students, especially victims of bullying.

Schools must address the problem directly by instituting procedures that would enable the detection of bullying and provide avenues for students to seek help discreetly.

 Schools must not be seen as battlegrounds. They must remain sanctuaries as the federal Court declares. Discipline must be rooted in dignity, not fear. And education, which is now recognised as a constitutional right, must be led by those who understand its purpose, not just to instruct, but to inspire good conduct.

 Schools must neither mirror the larger community where bullying and intimidation have become a political art, nor feed that world with graduates adept in that pernicious practice.

 

 Petaling Jaya

15 September 2025

Rotary Club of Damansara Connects 6,000-year Orang Asli Community to the Internet

 Kuala Lumpur, 5 October 2025

In a major step toward digital inclusion, the Rotary Club of Damansara has successfully installed a Starlink satellite link in Kampung Chang Lama, bringing Internet access to the heart of this Orang Asli village for the very first time.

This initiative marks the beginning of a broader community partnership aimed at improving educational outcomes for the village’s youth. With connectivity now in place, the club will begin conducting digital literacy workshops tailored to different age groups, focusing on safe and meaningful use of the Internet.

“Those living in Kampung Chang can now access the Internet through their handphones and computers,” said Mr. P. Rajendran, the club’s Community Services Director and lead coordinator of the Kampung Chang Lama initiative. “Our next step is to run classes that empower the community to use this tool wisely—for learning, communication, and opportunity.”

A Community Rooted in History, Facing Modern Challenges

Kampung Chang Lama is home to 675 residents across 191 families, primarily from the Semai/Seng’oi tribes. Nestled near Bidor along the historic trunk road from Kuala Lumpur to Perlis, the community has deep ancestral ties to the land—anthropologists estimate continuous habitation for over 6,000 years.

Despite this rich heritage, the village faces persistent socio-economic challenges. Most households earn below RM960 per month, placing them in Malaysia’s B40 income bracket. While education is compulsory for children aged 6 to 16, Orang Asli students often struggle with access, retention, and achievement due to poverty, geographic isolation, and cultural barriers.

Demographic Snapshot

• 👶 Ages 0–4: 49

• 🎒 Pre-school (5–6): 26

• 📚 Primary school age (7–12): 53

• 🧑‍🎓 Secondary school age (13–19): 95

• 🧑‍💼 Young adults (20–40): 280

Nearly one-third of the population is of schooling age or early adulthood. The project will find a powerful demographic for targeted educational support and digital empowerment.

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.

Malayan Tit-Bits by S. Durai Raja Singam - A book from the Past

A friend lent me his book, Malayan Tit-Bits by S. Durai Raja Singam. It is a fascinating collection of news and anecdotes. On Google, I found a reference to the author and the book in the Shonan Times (Syonan Shimbun), dated 20 November 1942, published during the Japanese Occupation. This, in itself, makes the book even more intriguing. Someone writing under the name Sakura praises the book for the information it contains about Malaya. He must have been a Japanese official in Japanese-occupied Malaya because he adds that copies of the book should be sent to Nippon so that the Japanese will be informed about Malaya. Then, quoting an entry in the book about how Sir Andrew Clarke, upon his appointment as Governor of the Straits Settlements, found no information about Malaya in the Geographical Society’s library in London, Sakura writes that the Japanese must not remain ignorant about Malaya as the British did when they first arrived in these parts.

The writer, referring to another entry in the book about the various claims of individuals like Stamford Raffles and Frank Swettenham regarding the development of the colony, cheekily adds that to that list must be included Lt. General Tomoyuki Yamashita – “I conquered Malaya.”

Simply fascinating.  

Espact Handout on Bullying

What the New Law Says About Bullying – Including Online Abuse

Although the recent amendments to the Penal Code do not define “bullying” in so many words, they introduce six new offences—Sections 507B to 507G—that directly target the kinds of conduct most commonly associated with bullying, particularly verbal abuse, psychological harassment, and online threats.  

These provisions apply to any form of bullying, whether in person, at school, in the workplace, or online. This is especially significant in an era where cyberbullying, including doxxing and online threats, is becoming increasingly common and damaging.

 Section 507B – Threats or Abuse

Criminalises threatening, abusive, or insulting words or behaviour, whether in person or online, if they are intended—or known to be likely—to cause harassment, distress, fear, or alarm. Penalty: up to 3 years’ imprisonment.

Section 507C – Causing Distress Without Intent

Even if the bully didn’t intend harm, they can be liable if their words or actions are likely to make a person feel distressed or alarmed. This includes cyber comments, messages, and posts. Penalty: up to 1 year in prison.

Section 507D – Causing Fear of Harm or Provoking Self-Harm

Making someone believe they or someone they care about will be harmed, or provoking them to harm themselves, is now a criminal offence. Includes online provocation or threats. If it results in suicide or an attempt, the penalty may extend to 10 years’ imprisonment.

Section 507E – Doxxing to Cause Distress

Makes it a crime to share or publish someone’s private information online (e.g. photos, phone numbers, addresses) with intent to cause distress or fear. Penalty: up to 3 years in prison.

Section 507F – Sharing Information to Threaten or Facilitate Harm

Criminalises sharing of personal information to make someone believe they will be harmed, or to help others attack or harass the person. Includes group targeting and viral attacks. Penalty: up to 1 year in prison.

Section 507G – Broad Definitions of Harm

Defines 'harm' to include not just physical injury, but also psychological harm, reputational damage, and emotional trauma—common outcomes of online bullying.

Together, these sections offer the most complete legal framework Malaysia has seen to date to combat bullying in both physical and digital spaces. They reflect a critical shift: that bullying—especially cyberbullying—is not merely misconduct, but can be a criminal act.

Still, the law could go further. A single, clearly defined offence of 'bullying' would help schools, workplaces, and the public more easily identify and act against it. Until then, these six provisions offer real protection, especially for those who suffer in silence behind screens of fear.

Bullying – Now a Criminal Offence Under the Penal Code

 Although thousands of cases of bullying are reported in schools and other educational institutions, there is still no clear legal definition of what constitutes bullying. Yet its impact is undeniable. Victims often suffer from fear, humiliation, and deep psychological trauma. In some cases, bullying has even led to suicide. For children, the effects can be devastating, driving them away from school and leaving scars that last a lifetime.

The law provides adequate remedies for physical bullying—assault, battery, and causing hurt are clearly punishable under the Penal Code. But when bullying falls short of physical violence, victims have had to rely on the psychological or emotional impact—feeling threatened, abused, or insulted—as a basis for seeking protection or redress.

Recent amendments to the Penal Code attempt to fill this gap. Six new provisions (Sections 507B to 507G) were introduced in 2025 to address various forms of bullying-related conduct. This article examines whether these provisions are adequate to control this persistent social scourge, especially in cases where emotional and psychological harm is inflicted.

Importantly, these provisions are not limited to schools. They extend to workplaces, public spaces, and online platforms—anywhere people interact and where bullying may arise. This broader scope is essential, but also raises questions about how clearly and effectively the law defines what bullying is and how it can be identified and punished.

What the New Law Says About Bullying – Including Online Abuse

Although the recent amendments to the Penal Code do not define “bullying” in so many words, they introduce six new offences—Sections 507B to 507G—that directly target the kinds of conduct most commonly associated with bullying, especially verbal abuse, psychological harassment, and online threats.

These provisions apply to any form of bullying, whether in person, at school, in the workplace, or online. This is especially significant in an era where cyberbullying, including doxxing and online threats, is increasingly common and damaging.

Here’s what the new law covers:

• Section 507B: Criminalises threatening, abusive, or insulting words or behaviour, whether in person or online, if they are intended—or known to be likely—to cause harassment, distress, fear, or alarm. Penalty: up to 3 years’ imprisonment.

• Section 507C: Even if the bully didn’t intend harm, they can be liable if their words or actions are likely to make a person feel distressed or alarmed. This includes cyber comments, messages, and posts. The law focuses on the effect on the victim. Penalty: up to 1 year in prison.

• Section 507D: Making someone believe they—or someone they care about—will be harmed, or provoking them to harm themselves, is now a criminal offence. This includes online provocation or threats. If it results in a suicide attempt or suicide, the punishment may extend to 10 years’ imprisonment.

• Section 507E: Known as doxxing, this makes it a crime to share or publish someone’s private information online (e.g. photos, phone numbers, addresses) with intent to cause distress or fear. Penalty: up to 3 years in prison.

• Section 507F: Criminalises the sharing of personal information to make someone believe they will be harmed, or to help others attack or harass the person. Includes group targeting and viral attacks. Penalty: up to 1 year in prison.

• Section 507G: Defines “harm” broadly to include not just physical harm, but also psychological harm, reputational damage, and emotional trauma—all of which are common outcomes of online bullying.

Together, these sections offer the most complete legal framework Malaysia has seen to date to combat bullying in both physical and digital spaces. They reflect a critical shift: that bullying, especially cyberbullying, is not merely misconduct but can be a criminal act.

Still, the law could go further. A single, clearly defined offence of “bullying” would help schools, workplaces, and the public more easily identify and act against it. Until then, these six provisions offer real protection, especially for those who suffer in silence behind screens.

Overlap with Sexual Harassment

The new Penal Code provisions on bullying also overlap with protections offered under the Sexual Harassment Act 2022. Both legal frameworks recognise that harm is not limited to physical injury, but can include emotional distress, fear, and psychological trauma. While the Penal Code amendments focus on general bullying behaviours—whether in schools, workplaces, or online—the Sexual Harassment Act specifically targets unwelcome conduct of a sexual nature that causes discomfort or humiliates the victim. 

Yet in many cases, particularly involving young people, bullying and sexual harassment often go together: persistent teasing, body shaming, inappropriate jokes, and coercive online behaviour may constitute both bullying and sexual harassment. Understanding this overlap reinforces the idea that respect, consent, and dignity must be upheld across all environments and that the law now provides a framework to achieve this.

Implementing the New Laws

Laws addressing bullying and sexual harassment will have little impact if they remain buried in legislation, unknown and unpractised. To be effective, these laws must be actively brought to life by the governors and managers of schools, universities, and workplaces. 

Awareness is crucial. 

Institutions must ensure that staff, students, and employees are made fully aware of their rights and responsibilities under these laws. 

In schools and universities, especially, the relevant legal protections should be integrated into curricula and orientation programs. 

These laws are not meant to be invoked only after an offence has occurred; their true power lies in prevention. By sharing them early and openly—especially with those most likely to offend or be victimised—institutions can create safer, more respectful environments where the law serves not only to punish, but to protect and educate.

The Irreplaceable Voice: Will Artificial Intelligence Silence Human Song?

 The Irreplaceable Voice: Will AI Silence Human Song?

 

The first thing I do every morning is to turn on the music. I start each day with Carnatic music from CDs randomly arranged on the player. The music brings to life the stillness of the morning and starts my day on a positive mood. The language, genre and style of music may change but music remains in the background all day long, at home and at work.

As I write, Maharajapuram Santhanam's distinctive earthy voice fills the room. Like all great voices, his voice is unmistakable—one that I doubt any human or algorithm can ever replicate.

Yet synthetic voices pervade the media to communicate news and other information and to persuade people to purchase goods and services. All we hear are the same few voices repeated over and over.

As artificial intelligence grows ever more sophisticated, I wonder if this distinct—and, I believe, irreplaceable—pleasure of listening to a multitude of voices in Carnatic music will one day be replaced by synthetic voices? Is this the beginning of us humans abdicating our individual differences to machines?

The Allure of the Human Voice

What makes a voice like Maharajapuram’s so captivating is not just its pitch or clarity, but its humanity—the slight tremble in a long-held note, the improvisational flourish in a raga, the faint breath between phrases, a cough, a clearing of the throat. These are not flaws; they are the fingerprints of a living artist. Carnatic music, like all great vocal traditions, thrives on this individuality. One singer’s rendition of a song does not sound like the same song rendered by another. Nor is one recording of a song identical to a later recording of the same song.

This diversity is not incidental; it is part of the tradition. There are over a hundred singers I listen to, and only rarely do I mistake a rendering by one for another, and I am no expert in the Carnatic tradition.

The Rise of Synthetic Sound

Yet, AI now threatens to flatten this richness. Already, tools exist to clone voices, generate "perfect" singing, or even compose new "performances" by long-dead artists. At first, this may seem harmless—a novelty, a tool for experimentation. But the danger lies in normalisation. If listeners grow accustomed to synthetic voices, will they still seek out the raw, unfiltered beauty of human song? If record labels can license an AI "Santhanam" to sing endlessly without fatigue or ageing, will they invest in living artists? The convenience of artificiality could quietly erode our connection to the real.

A Call for Self-Awareness

Our greatest challenge is not to reject AI, but to awaken to what it means to be human alongside it. We must recognise two worlds—the organic and the artificial—without blurring their boundaries. Just as we teach children to distinguish a photograph from a painting, we must now teach them to discern a living voice from a synthetic one, a human choice from an algorithmic suggestion. But this awareness must extend beyond sound to touch, intuition, and creativity. Our selves—and our agency—are not relics to be archived, but flames to be guarded.

Teaching Humanity

AI’s greatest danger is that it will make us forget who we are as humans and forget the multiple talents we are born with. To counter this demands a reimagining of education. Let us teach students to wield AI as a tool—for drafting ideas, transcribing melodies, or exploring creative possibilities—while fiercely preserving the sanctity of human expression. The new curricula must emphasise:

• The role of human emotions and the human body in art (the breath behind a note, the callus on a violinist’s finger);
• The ethics of authenticity (when to label AI, when to privilege human creation);
• The courage of imperfection (why a cracked note can express more than a flawless one).

As Santhanam’s voice rises in a final, resonant phrase, I am reminded that technology has no inner life. A song synthesised by AI may delight the ear, but only a human voice can reach the soul of the listener. Our task is not to resist progress, but to insist that progress serves what machines can never replicate: the messy, glorious act of being alive, of being human.

"Let us use AI, but never mistake it for artistry. Let us listen to both worlds—but only bow before one."