Can we build values such as responsibility, empathy and respect in the young without the cane?
THERE are not many things I can recall in vivid detail from my primary schooldays, but one of them is definitely the “love stick” that was wielded by my science teacher.
Despite its name, there was hardly any “love” to it. It was a fashionably thick cane, with a flat top shaped like a hand pointing an index finger. It was used to mete out punishment to students who handed in work late, among many other offences that were deemed punishable.
The issue of corporal punishment has received renewed attention in recent months in different ways. Two teachers were charged last month with “acting beyond the limits of the rules set” when they caned a special needs student. And in October, murder, gang rape, and bullying incidents went viral, shocking the nation and igniting debates about the merits of corporal punishment in schools.
The government has since indicated openness to granting teachers limited flexibility to use corporal punishment under strict guidelines, while the Education Ministry announced plans to strengthen principals’ and discipline committees’ roles in enforcing school rules. Current regulations allow only headmasters, principals, or authorised teachers to administer caning, and only for serious disciplinary offences.
National leaders have weighed in on this matter, too. Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim told Parliament that caning should remain permissible, with safeguards to prevent abuse. Education Minister Fadhlina Sidek stressed the need for clear standard operating procedures and better communication on misconduct and consequences.
Make no mistake, corporal punishment in schools is a youth issue, too. Under Malaysia’s current definition, “youth” includes those aged 15 to 40. In other words, when debates arise about expanding or legitimising corporal punishment, adolescents aged 13 to 17 will bear the brunt of these policies.
Furthermore, a child is anyone under 18, a definition that is clear and accepted in both international and Malaysian law, and forms the basis of how we are expected to protect young people.
This does not mean ignoring the complexities. Many Malaysians genuinely believe that caning “worked for them”. Some argue that “we grew up with it and turned out fine”. Others worry that without it discipline will collapse entirely.
These concerns must be engaged with, not dismissed. However, evidence suggests that caning might not be the effective tool many assume it to be.
Research conducted by the National Bureau of Economic Research, which looked at psychology and education, consistently shows that caning does not deter misconduct. Instead of developing moral reasoning, caning conditions children to associate wrongdoing with physical suffering rather than accountability or reflection.
This is affirmed by a 2025 World Health Organisation report which showed that corporal punishment harms children’s emotional and mental health. It increases risks of anxiety, depression and low self-esteem, and these effects can last into adulthood and manifest as higher rates of substance abuse and suicidal tendencies.
A phenomenon I observed while following conversations in our country about corporal punishment, be it in Parliament or all over Facebook comments, is that it frequently collapses into a false binary: either we cane students, or we lose all discipline. This is untrue.
Scandinavian countries such as Finland and Sweden have long banned corporal punishment in schools and homes, instead replacing it with restorative practices that teach children accountability through compassion by making them understand the consequences of their actions and making amends. Their societies have reported lower rates of youth violence and delinquency.
Defending the practice of caning students as a South-East Asian “value” does not hold water, either. Thailand passed a landmark reform in 2025 prohibiting all forms of corporal punishment in every setting, including schools. Meanwhile, the Philippines prohibits corporal punishment in schools under Article 233 of the Family Code (1987).
If our regional neighbours with similar cultural contexts can modernise their approaches to discipline, it suggests Malaysia is not as constrained by supposed tradition as we think.
None of this diminishes the real challenges teachers face, nor does it dismiss the frustrations of parents who want their children to grow up to be responsible.
Acknowledging harm does not mean taking sides against teachers. In fact, we should support the many educators who say they want more training and support so that they do not have to resort to the cane.
But discipline should never begin with a cane in a classroom. Discipline begins at home. Parents play the most important role in shaping values such as responsibility, empathy and respect. When these foundations are strong, teachers are not left to enforce discipline through fear.
At the same time, this is not about blaming parents. Families today navigate enormous pressures ranging from long working hours to rising living costs. I believe many are doing their very best with limited support.
The issue of discipline among young people requires a whole- of-society approach. Parents must be given access to positive parenting programmes, teachers must be equipped with non-violent classroom management tools, and schools must be given the resources to intervene early before behaviours escalate.
Corporal punishment is often seen as a quick fix, but long-term discipline of the kind that grows socially responsible young Malaysians comes from guidance both at home and in classrooms. When families and schools work together, the cane becomes unnecessary not because we deny the need for discipline, but because we build it more effectively.
Malaysian youth advocate Jonathan Lee Rong Sheng traces his writing roots to The Star’s BRATs programme. The views expressed here are solely the writer’s own.
