To Cane or...

To cane or not to cane. That is the question currently making its rounds in Singapore, especially after the Ministry of Education announced that caning will continue to be part of the disciplinary framework in schools for serious bullying cases. Suddenly, everybody became an expert. Parents. Keyboard warriors. People who have not stepped into a school since Nokia phones had antennas. Everybody has something to say.

Some are strongly against it. They argue that caning perpetuates violence. Others say it traumatises children. A few even claim it teaches fear rather than morality. Fair points, honestly. But somewhere within all the noise, many people seem to have forgotten one important thing: in Singapore schools, caning is never the first step. It is the last door after all the other doors have failed to open.

That part somehow gets conveniently ignored.

The image people paint online is as though schools are waiting in dark rooms holding canes like some WWE entrance scene. As though discipline masters wake up every morning whispering, “Ah yes, who shall I traumatise today?” But anyone who has worked in schools, especially in student development, counselling, teaching or the arts scene, knows discipline frameworks are far more layered than that.

When bullying happens in schools, investigations are conducted. Witnesses are interviewed. Students are called in repeatedly. Teachers spend hours trying to piece together what happened because every story has ten versions. The victim gets support. The bully also gets support. Parents are contacted. Counselling sessions happen. Reflection exercises are done. Teachers monitor the students. Peer relationships are observed. In some cases, restorative circles are conducted where students attempt to understand the harm they caused.

And then comes the difficult part.

Sometimes, despite all of that, nothing changes.

Some students continue bullying because they know the system is reluctant to escalate. Some parents refuse to cooperate. Some even defend their children regardless of evidence. Every teacher knows this line by heart: “My son would never do such a thing.”

Of course. Apparently every bully in Singapore was manufactured by Shopee and delivered anonymously.

What many fail to realise is that schools today are already heavily centred around rehabilitation. Ministry of Education itself repeatedly states that discipline is an “educative process” and that caning is only used as a last resort for boys involved in serious offences. The framework already prioritises counselling, emotional support, reflection and restorative practices before harsher punishments are considered. 

But here is the uncomfortable truth many people do not want to admit: not everybody responds to counselling.

Some students respond to empathy. Others respond only when consequences become tangible.

And this is where many people misunderstand the purpose of caning.

Caning is not primarily meant to teach. It is meant to deter.

There is a difference.

Teaching is reflexive. It happens after the mistake. You explain why something is wrong after someone already crossed the line. But deterrence works before the act. The mere existence of a severe consequence discourages people from crossing the line in the first place.

People who say “Caning teaches nothing” are technically correct. Because that is not its central function.

A fire alarm also teaches nothing. But it prevents disaster.

The irony is this: if deterrence works properly, caning rarely needs to happen. The system exists precisely so it will not need to be activated often. If students know serious bullying may lead to public disciplinary consequences, many will think twice before doing it.

And honestly, schools are not dealing with harmless pranks anymore. Bullying today is more vicious because it follows students home. Social media ensures humiliation becomes permanent. In the past, somebody got bullied in school and escaped after dismissal. Today, the bullying continues on TikTok, Telegram, Instagram and group chats at 2am.

A bruise heals faster than a viral humiliation video.

Yet oddly enough, society seems more uncomfortable with punishing the bully than with the suffering endured by the victim.

That imbalance is strange.

People often speak about the psychological impact of caning. Fair enough. But where is the same energy when victims experience anxiety, trauma, depression or social isolation because of prolonged bullying? Studies consistently show bullying has long-term effects on mental health, self-esteem and academic performance. The World Health Organization has repeatedly identified bullying as a major risk factor for adolescent mental health struggles. Victims often carry emotional scars for years.

And yet whenever harsh punishment enters the conversation, suddenly empathy becomes selective.

One of the more fascinating examples people keep bringing up is Michael Fay, the American teenager caned in Singapore in 1994 for vandalism. The incident sparked global outrage. The United States protested. International media painted Singapore as some authoritarian dystopia where chewing gum probably got you sent to Alcatraz.

But here is the interesting thing nobody talks about anymore.

After the case became widely publicised, open vandalism of the sort Michael Fay committed became extremely rare in Singapore. Michael Fay became less of a person and more of a warning sign.

And perhaps that is the uncomfortable point critics dislike acknowledging: deterrence works precisely because consequences become socially visible.

In fact, public caning in schools has never really been about physical pain alone. Many former students will tell you the emotional embarrassment was worse than the actual strokes. The anticipation. The shame. The loss of status. The collapse of the “tough guy” image.

And maybe that matters more than people realise.

Bullies often thrive on power, ego and social dominance. Bullying is performance. It is theatre. It is someone trying to establish superiority before an audience. Public disciplinary consequences dismantle that performance. Suddenly the bully is no longer feared. Suddenly the bully looks vulnerable, accountable and human.

That shift matters psychologically.

Of course, none of this means caning should be abused. There are legitimate concerns. Excessive corporal punishment can absolutely become harmful when done irresponsibly. Even Ministry of Education acknowledges this and emphasises strict protocols. Only authorised personnel may administer it. Approval processes exist. It is limited to boys and serious offences. Counselling and restorative measures continue alongside punishment. 

And before people start shouting online, “See! Gender inequality!”, there is also a legal and medical rationale involved. Singapore’s framework does not permit corporal punishment for girls partly because of longstanding concerns regarding potential physical implications and broader legal norms surrounding female corporal punishment.

But perhaps the bigger issue here is not even caning itself.

Perhaps the bigger issue is that schools are increasingly expected to parent children while some parents slowly outsource responsibility.

Teachers today are expected to educate, counsel, monitor emotional wellbeing, teach cyber wellness, manage mental health concerns, detect abuse, stop bullying, communicate with parents, run CCAs, complete administrative work, and somehow still smile during morning assembly like they slept eight hours.

Then when discipline measures are introduced, suddenly everyone says schools are “too harsh.”

But where exactly do people think discipline begins?

At home.

A school can reinforce values. But if a child repeatedly learns at home that accountability can be escaped through excuses, denial or aggression, eventually schools run out of tools. And when schools run out of tools, society starts blaming schools for being “ineffective.”

You cannot simultaneously remove every disciplinary consequence and then complain about worsening student behaviour.

At some point, boundaries matter.

And perhaps that is what this debate is truly about.

Boundaries.

Children need to know where the line exists. More importantly, they need to know the line means something. A society without consequences eventually becomes a society where victims feel abandoned.

This does not mean every child deserves harsh punishment. Far from it. Many bullies are themselves struggling emotionally. Some come from unstable homes. Some repeat behaviours they themselves experienced. That is why rehabilitation remains important. But rehabilitation without accountability becomes meaningless.

Kindness without boundaries is not kindness. It is avoidance.

And strangely enough, Singapore’s education system already attempts to balance both. Ministry of Education consistently frames discipline as restorative and educative rather than purely punitive. Schools investigate cases, provide counselling, engage parents and support both victims and perpetrators. Caning enters only at the extreme end of repeated or severe misconduct. 

But because the word “caning” sounds dramatic, public discourse often reduces the entire framework into one simplistic headline.

Sometimes I wonder whether people are actually reacting to the punishment itself, or reacting to the symbolism of it. Caning reminds society that consequences still exist. And perhaps in an era where many systems are becoming softer, more negotiable and more therapeutic, the existence of hard consequences makes people uncomfortable.

Yet schools are not utopian spaces. They are ecosystems filled with real human behaviour. Some students are kind. Some are cruel. Some are impulsive. Some test limits repeatedly. Educators deal with all of them simultaneously.

And honestly, anyone who has seen a badly bullied child cry in a counsellor’s room knows why schools cannot afford to be entirely toothless.

No punishment system will ever be perfect. But pretending severe bullying can be solved entirely through “talking nicely” feels equally naïve.

Sometimes students need guidance.

Sometimes they need counselling.

Sometimes they need second chances.

And sometimes they need consequences serious enough to interrupt destructive behaviour before adulthood does it far more brutally.

Because the unfortunate reality is this: outside school, consequences become harsher. Assault becomes criminal record. Harassment becomes legal action. Workplace bullying leads to dismissal. Society itself operates on deterrence. Laws exist not merely to rehabilitate but to discourage.

Schools are merely introducing students to that reality in controlled environments before the adult world does it with less mercy.

Perhaps that is why the old phrase still survives despite all the debate: spare the rod and spoil the child.

Not because violence is glorious.

Not because punishment is enjoyable.

But because consequences matter.

And maybe, just maybe, what frightens society today is not the cane itself.

It is the reminder that discipline still requires discomfort sometimes. 

Written by: Adi Jamaludin