Sunny Side Up: The contradiction in using violence to stop violence

Across decades, research across cultures points to similar outcomes. Physical punishment is linked to higher aggression, poorer emotional regulation, and strained relationships later in life. — Filepic/The Star

Growing up in the west of Scotland in the 1980s and 1990s, physical discipline was a normal part of life intended to ensure children were well-behaved. It wasn’t in schools by then, having been banned in classrooms in 1987 and, more recently, banned entirely in 2020.

But being smacked or “belted” wasn’t seen as cruel, just part of how children were kept in line. Phrases like “children should be seen and not heard” were also common, and they shaped how adults saw children, as though obedience and respect were the same thing.

Over time, global attitudes toward children have shifted. We’ve learned, for example, that forcing children to show affection when they’re uncomfortable doing so isn’t healthy. We talk more now about boundaries, trust, and emotional development. Yet corporal punishment is still brought up.

When distressing stories emerge about school violence, calls to “bring back the cane” invariably return. It’s an understandable reaction. People feel angry and helpless, and when systems don’t seem to work, the idea of a strong, decisive fix sounds attractive.

Teachers are under enormous pressure. They’re expected to be educators, counsellors, mentors, and disciplinarians, often while managing large classes, administrative work, and the emotional needs of students. It’s easy to see why the appeal of something that promises quick control remains strong. Corporal punishment seems to offer that, but the long-term consequences are worth considering. 

Research shows that physical punishment can stop unwanted behaviour in the moment. It appears effective: the child behaves, disruption ends, order returns. But that order is temporary. What looks like instilled discipline is usually fear, and fear doesn’t help children learn or grow. It teaches them to avoid being caught rather than understand what went wrong.

I’ve spoken with many young people who grew up with corporal punishment at home, and themes of resentment, distance, or a feeling they couldn’t be themselves are common. The intended lesson rarely stuck; what often remained is fear, resentment, and low self-esteem.

Across decades, research across cultures points to similar outcomes. Physical punishment is linked to higher aggression, poorer emotional regulation, and strained relationships later in life. The only clear benefit is short-term obedience, which fades quickly.

A significant cost is relational – a breakdown of trust between adults and children, and a reliance on fear to maintain order. The findings are remarkably consistent, whether the research is conducted in the United Kingdom or South-East Asia.

A common defence of corporal punishment – which, by the way, is banned in over 70 countries – is, “I was hit and I turned out fine”. Many people probably did, but that might be because of other protective factors such as supportive adults, stable environments, or personality strengths – not the punishment itself. Even among those who say they’re fine, it’s not unusual to see traces of its effects: struggles with anger, people-pleasing, avoiding conflict, or feeling they must work for affection.

There’s also a contradiction in using violence to discourage violence. Corporal punishment models the very behaviour it claims to correct. It shows children that causing pain is a legitimate way to control others. When adults rely on force to maintain authority, that message sticks through time. If we want young people to learn empathy and responsibility, fear isn’t the teacher they need.

Misbehaviour rarely stems from a single cause. It can come from stress at home, bullying, trauma, loneliness, personality traits, and other social determinants. When those issues aren’t addressed, behaviour becomes the outlet. Corporal punishment might suppress that behaviour for a while, but it often makes existing problems worse in the long run.

That’s why we need better support systems. Teachers can’t do everything. They need counsellors, training, and time to handle issues before they escalate. Parents also need guidance, not guilt. When adults have proper support, they’re less likely to react out of frustration. It’s important to keep in mind that parents tend to raise their children in a similar manner they were raised by their parents.

The long-term relational cost often goes unnoticed until it’s too late. If physical aggression becomes the response to perceived mistakes or misbehaviour, we shouldn’t be surprised when those same young people grow into adults who keep their distance.

Years later, when parents or teachers ask, “Why won’t they open up to me?”, it’s worth considering whether repeated negative experiences contributed to the relational silence.

Relationships rely on trust and safety, and when those are absent or unpredictable, polite obligation might be the most we can reasonably expect. Helping children grow into kind, capable adults begins by modelling the same qualities ourselves.

When homes and schools work together to set firm but fair boundaries, support emotional education, and make space for connection rather than control, young people learn how to manage themselves and others with understanding.

If we can build systems that reflect the values we want to see, alongside reducing harmful behaviour, we’ll nurture emotionally mature, well-adjusted adults able to build genuine relationships grounded in respect and trust.

Sunny Side Up columnist Sandy Clarke has long held an interest in emotions, mental health, mindfulness and meditation. He believes the more we understand ourselves and each other, the better societies we can create. If you have any questions or comments, e-mail [e-mail]. The views expressed here are entirely the writer's own.