Act to keep our children safe

IT was April 5, 1986. Young Jeanne Clery was asleep in her campus dormitory at Lehigh University in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

The door was closed but not locked; her roommate had yet to come back.

Clery awoke to the sound of someone in the room. It was a burglar, but not any burglar; it was a fellow student.

That student, Josoph Henry, beat, cut, raped, sodomised, and strangled the 20-year-old Clery.

It was a heinous crime and the outcry was loud. Her parents launched a campaign against the university, claiming it failed to share vital information about campus safety.

There had been many crimes there, but the university had not reported them, the parents claimed. Before Clery’s death, there had been 181 reports of auto-locking doors being propped open on the campus.

Henry confessed the murder to friends and was sentenced to death, although it was reduced to a life sentence later.

But more importantly, the parents’ campaign led to legal reform. The Disclosure of Campus Security Policy and Campus Crime Statistics Act was passed.

The Act, more famously known as the Clery Act, is a federal law requiring all colleges and universities that receive federal funding to disclose information about crime on and around their campuses. The tertiary institute has to inform students and parents of imminent dangers.

Fast forward to 2025 in Malaysia, and we have a similar case.

Maniishapriet Kaur Akhara was alone in her hostel in Cyberjaya, studying for an upcoming examination, when a man entered the house and bludgeoned her to death.

A man and a woman, both aged 19, have now been charged with the murder and for abetment. The two are said to be lovers, and the woman was one of Maniishapriet’s housemates.

Of course, they are presumed to be innocent until proven guilty, but there are many questions over the case.

How did the killer, whoever it was, gain access to the unit where Maniishapriet was? Had the person been there before?

Did the security officers of the building have any idea that an outsider was entering – or could enter – a unit occupied by half a dozen girls?

Did Maniishapriet or any of the other girls complain about an intruder? And if they did complain, did the security and management turn a blind eye and deaf ear? How about the university? Did they knowingly ignore the problem?

No parent in his or her right mind would allow their daughter to stay in a unit where a man could enter and possibly harm her.

I have a daughter of my own, and I certainly would not allow it.

That is why we need our own Clery Act. The hostel – it does not matter if it is within a campus or not – must have full disclosure. Those in charge at universities must know what is happening in hostels.

Parents who send their children with high hopes of educating and charting a good future for them must know how safe – or unsafe - these hostels are.

Those arrested and charged must not be the only ones under scrutiny. The hostel security has to be, too.

When students and young people are involved, the security standards have to be higher. The regular imported Nepali guard or retired man sitting in a booth is not good enough.

The security personnel have to be interactive and knowledgeable, and able to proactively intervene to prevent any mishaps.

They must be more – much more – than regular security guards.

Universities have foreign students, some of whom check in and then “disappear”.

While many come here to study, some have other plans and use the status as students for criminal purposes. They may even be drug dealers or human traffickers.

Campus security must be able to track these people and ensure only those here to study can stay in such hostels.

In Malaysia, we have another problem with security guards.

The Private Agency Act of 1971 is an archaic one. It licenses private individuals, usually high-ranking former policemen, to own security agencies.

However, over the years, these licences have been “franchised”, and these franchises have sometimes fallen into the wrong hands.

Imagine, criminals have become guards and, in some cases, the security business has become a protection racket.

“Pay and you will be safe. Refuse and your house will be robbed.”

Such security guards cannot be in charge of hostels. Only qualified ones, with proper training, should wear that uniform.

“These people are guarding our future leaders, the best brains we have. We cannot take risks with them,” says a former campus security director.

“We have to ensure they are safe – for that, we need our own version of the Clery Act, call it the Maniishapriet Act, if we want.”

The death of Maniishapriet in Cyberjaya is not just a crime, it’s a tragedy. So many lives have been affected.

A bright future physiotherapist is dead. Her family is in grief. They probably had dreams – of a graduation, a marriage for their daughter, and grandchildren. All that is now lost forever.

Ironically, it’s sad for the accused too.

They are not even out of their teens, and now face the death penalty or a lifetime behind bars if found guilty.

And what about their parents? Imagine the trauma they will be facing with their children charged in court. If they are found guilty, the parents will also have to live with dashed dreams and accusing eyes wherever they go.

So many innocent lives have been affected. That, I think, is the greatest tragedy. A tragedy that must never happen again.