The Art of Looking Busy

In recent months, our public conversations have been loud - full of condemnations and announcements made in the name of “values.” We seem eager to prove that we stand on high moral ground. Behind all that noise, the silence on more painful issues such as children being harmed, systemic failures, the quiet injustices - says something uncomfortable about who we really are, and what we choose to notice.

Lately, everyone seems very busy proving how moral we are. Announcements here, bans there - all to show that we’re a nation that stands firmly for “values.” It’s quite impressive, really. If public statements could fix society, we’d be perfect by now.

When it comes to symbolic issues, for example, whether alcohol should be served at official events, the machinery of morality runs perfectly. Meetings are held, declarations are made, and everyone gets to pat themselves on the back for protecting the nation’s soul. Crisis averted.

But when it comes to things that actually matter, like children being abused, stabbed, or even forced into marriage - suddenly, the response feels very different. Yes, statements are made. Words of concern are expressed. Promises of “thorough investigation” are repeated. But after a while, everything fades into silence. The headlines move on, and so does everyone else. It’s as if these issues are too heavy, too uncomfortable, or perhaps too politically risky to truly confront. The same remains unresolved and the cycle continues.

 Why is that? Why can we be so loud about some things, and so quiet about others? Why do we spring into action for moral optics, but whisper when it comes to protecting real lives?

 At times, one can’t help but notice that those most eager to ban and condemn often forget to look closer to home. The moral outrage burns bright in public, until it reaches their own families, their own circles and their own homes. Then, the tone softens. Suddenly, the rules don’t seem to apply beyond the front gate. What was once a moral emergency becomes a “personal matter” or even buried somewhere.

 It is deeply troubling that we now live in a time where children are capable of harming one another, and where schools, the very spaces meant to nurture safety and education are becoming scenes of violence. Something, clearly, is broken. But instead of asking why, we often distract ourselves with debates that are far easier to manage.

 In recent years, cases of bullying in Malaysian schools have grown at an alarming rate. Reports of students being beaten, humiliated, and even driven to death have filled the headlines — only to fade away as quickly as they appeared. Each time, the response is predictable: shock, outrage, and another round of ‘zero tolerance’ statements. Task forces are announced, committees formed, reports promised and then everything goes quiet. The pattern repeats itself, but the root problems i.e. poor school management, broken education system, poor law enforcement, lack of counselling support, and a culture of silence remain untouched. If only outrage lasted as long as a news cycle.

 And beyond bullying, our education system itself is showing cracks. Classrooms are overcrowded, teachers are overworked, and basic facilities and safety protocols remain inadequate. Many public schools struggle with broken infrastructure, limited access to technology, and not enough trained staff to deal with mental health or behavioural issues. These are not moral issues; they are management failures.

Then comes the part that’s hard not to miss. The way religion gets pulled into everything. So many policies are made in the name of “upholding Malaysian values,” and yet, those very values - justice, compassion, and the protection of the vulnerable often go missing in action.

It’s almost as if some of the people up there have mastered the art of looking religious without being responsible. Loud about appearances, quiet about accountability. Quick to moralise, slow to empathise. It’s a kind of moral theatre. Looking holy matters more than doing what’s right.

 It is not uncommon, either, to notice the quietness among those in positions of influence. Perhaps silence feels safer. Speaking up may threaten relationships, opportunities, or in some cases, rice bowls. Silence, after all, is safer than integrity and a lot more convenient. Better to stay neutral, smile for the cameras, and hope the next scandal blows over.

Meanwhile, our attention drifts easily to problems happening elsewhere. We express solidarity, issue statements, and discuss the moral failures of other nations, while often overlooking similar injustices at home. It seems outrage is easier when distance protects us from responsibility.

Because fixing our own problems means asking uncomfortable questions - about broken systems, neglected schools, ignored warnings, and how we raise our children. It means leadership that listens instead of lecturing. And that, unfortunately, doesn’t make for good headlines.

 So we stay where it’s comfortable, banning things, moralising, and pretending all is well. Because talking about real reform? That’s a little too real.

 We always say we’re a “moral” nation. But morality isn’t about bans and slogans, it’s about what we protect. It’s not about how loudly we condemn others, but how much we care when one of our own is in danger.

So here’s to us, a nation of good intentions and selective outrage. Let’s raise our glass (of whatever’s allowed this week) and toast to our finest skill yet: looking busy while staying blind. 

Written by: Eisyarmily Akhtar