Harm in schools

Note: pseudonyms have been used for most of the interviewees.

For some, the pain, too, felt never-ending. Upon entering secondary school in 2011, Ryan’s classmates ganged up against him for being the “ugly”, “weird”, “skinny” kid. Having already experienced child abuse, the school bullying was too much to bear. Ryan attempted suicide multiple times. In 2021, he wrote about his experiences on Reddit. Elaborating in an interview with Jom, he said that after he submitted an essay about his suicide attempt, his teacher read it aloud in class. “You cannot write about suicide,” they had said. It was just one of the many examples in which mental health was belittled by those around him. “My teacher said that depression doesn’t exist, [that] it’s all in your head. We don’t have depression in this school. You’re being too sensitive.”

One day, the discipline mistress was called in, and Ryan felt what he now recognised as an anxiety attack. Panicked, he ran out of the school compound. “I still can really remember the discipline mistress saying ‘Catch him, catch him.’ You know, like, I’m a criminal. I wasn’t treated as someone who was struggling or youth at risk. I was treated as someone who was a blot to the elite school brand name.”

But what if Ryan’s act was recognised not as an act of rebellion that warranted punitive curtailing, but a cry for help that required genuine treatment? In all likelihood, his mental distress, and the feeling that the system had “failed” him, could have been mitigated. 

Singapore has long marketed itself as a hub for world-class education, with students often ranking as top performers in international academic assessments. As of 2022, close to 100 percent of all students graduate from secondary school, with 29.7 percent completing some form of tertiary education, the highest in the world. Unsurprisingly, this has also led to the label of a pressure cooker environment marked by standardised tests, a booming tuition industry, and taboos around youth mental health. Factoring in classes, co-curricular activities, and after-school remedial classes, on average, Singaporean students spend a total of 50 hours a week studying, with 28.6 hours devoted to classes in school and 22.2 hours to additional out-of-school study.

Beyond preparation for examinations, there are clear fundamental roles that a school plays in the lives of youth. During school hours, it can be a space for intellectual pursuits and the learning of social skills. As a central venue for after-school activities, it also transforms the way youth spend their time, ideally channelling boredom into interests, and restlessness into hobbies. At its highest potential, the classroom, as bell hooks, the author and critical pedagogist, famously wrote, “is the most radical space of possibility.”

But what happens when a school, this bedrock of nurture and guidance, is found to inflict deep harm, through staff misconduct, sexual assault, and bullying? These profound points of pain, encountered at a developmental stage in life, can follow one long into adulthood, with extreme consequences. 

In recent years, as broader mental health discussions slowly seep into the mainstream, more survivors, like Ryan, as well as administrators and counsellors, are speaking candidly about the potential dangers facing students today. The story they collectively tell is of a system earnestly trying, but still struggling, to equip individuals with the necessary pedagogical and emotional toolkits to adequately address harm in schools.

Even as Singapore works towards constructing the most rigorous preventive measures, when harm does happen, how can Singapore employ best practices that centre the healing of a child, one that enables them to blossom in spite of the odds? 

This opacity may stem in part from a culture that, despite progress, still considers discussions around harm to students taboo. Consider the discourse around youth suicide. Suicide cases among people 10-29 years old have been increasing, reaching a high of 125 in 2022, a statistic of 6.6 out of every 100,000. Suicide is the leading cause of death among people in this age group. Despite being asked for data specific to the student population, the Ministry of Education (MOE) has not revealed these figures. 

In 2020, Ong Ye Kung, then-minister of education, defended this decision, stating that “tabulating and publicising such data can have other implications, such as heightening suicide risk in vulnerable youths.” This is a misconception, argued Chirag Agaral, founder of therapy platform Talk Your Heart Out, in a TODAY commentary. “[This] is one of the most common myths about suicide—that somehow talking about suicide increases the chance a person will act on it,” he said. “It does not. In fact, mental health professionals agree that talking about it (and showing empathy) may reduce, not increase, suicide ideation.”

Such official reticence appears to extend to conversations about bullying. In 2020, a teenage girl and her family wrote a four-page letter to the prime minister detailing her experience of being bullied. TODAY also published it. This resulted in MOE acknowledging a lapse in managing the case, but immediately following up that “effective disciplinary action” had been taken. Instead of opening up a discussion around progress, there was foreclosure, with the incident seemingly taken to be an exceptional mistake rather than grounds for a further investigation.

Such a response, however, glosses over the consequences of bullying, which can have long-lasting consequences, such as in the case of Blue, who in 2010-2011 was the sole target of a bully who at one point strangled him. Seven years after the incident, “for some reason my trauma and memories returned,” he said. “The trauma keeps coming back to me now. I just don’t want to talk to people, [in case] this kind of thing happens again.”

In Japan, the word for bullying, ijime, refers to a specific form of aggression directed at someone perceived to be weaker than the perpetrator(s). The physical and psychological torment is not simply about dislike or disagreement, but about social exclusion, the intentional herding of the majority against an individual who is deemed different. 

With the widespread use of social media, the most cruel forms of bullying can take place beyond school hours or the confines of the classroom. In the ethers of cyberspace, harm can be constant and leave relentless traces. Nearly half of 1,000 secondary school students surveyed last year has experienced some form of cyberbullying, but of those, 43 percent said that they “would not take action because they believe it would not make a difference.”

It is unsurprising, then, that youth bullying cases often come to light through social media virality. The teenage girl in the 2020 case had perceived a lack of effective recourse in her school. If others feel similarly, this perception, combined with social media at one’s disposal, can provide a means of expression: a salve in moments of desperation. Cyberspace, the arena for much bullying, can also be a site for healing.

More generally, there is little information online about cases that happen in schools or among students. Reddit forums function like whisper networks instead, speculating on security guards locking roof access doors on GCE A-Level results day, and regular suicide cases in elite schools like Raffles Institution and Hwa Chong Institution.

Shortly after, Chan Chun Sing, minister of education, announced in Parliament that teachers would receive “enhanced training on mental health literacy”, and that there would be more deployed teacher-counsellors, “who have received additional training so they can help students who are dealing with more challenging social-emotional problems, such as grief and loss.” In his announcement, Chan outlined the existing mental health infrastructure in schools in the form of counsellors, the Character and Citizenship Education (CCE) curriculum, and specialist external interventions such as Response, Early intervention and Assessment in Community Mental Health (REACH). 

When a student needs help, the possible options appear like so: the first point of contact, the teacher, with the consent of the parents, can send a troubled student to the school counsellor. If and when the school counsellor evaluates that the child needs to be assessed by mental health professionals, they can refer the student to REACH. A spokesperson from the organisation noted that it is common to work in tandem with families and schools when treating youth. “This usually entails discussing and agreeing on a treatment plan that all can enact.” In the rare instances when parents do not give their consent, REACH and school personnel speak to them to try and understand their concerns. Youth with ongoing police, MSF, or Child Protective Service cases would be referred to the Institute of Mental Health or other professionals within these agencies, such as MSF’s Clinical and Forensic Psychology Service.

At first glance, there seem to be adequate structures in place for students. After all, mere months before the attack, River Valley High School had even won a mental health award. So how did this student slip through, with such devastating consequences?

A social media post by a River Valley High School alumnus, in the days after the attack, detailed a troubling culture of competitiveness, pressure, and a dismissive attitude towards mental health during their schooling days. Considering that the Secondary 4 student had attempted suicide and been warded at IMH, one wonders if there were cries for help that were dismissed. Questions remain, such as how the boy was treated in the years leading up to his actions, or if there were others in the student body who share similar feelings. Was he truly an exception?

After all, point personnel, organisational strategy, and standard operating procedures are only part of the solution. Perhaps the answers also lie in prevailing social norms and the need for a cultural shift. A year on, there appears to be some progress. Parents were reported to have engaged their children in conversations about their well-being: “I would try to find out how her day has been in school,” one was quoted as saying. “[R]ather than ask about results and when the next test is coming.” The school organised wellness seminars and published newsletters that expanded the notion of success. Zooming out, it seems self-evident: of course children should not be treated as academic robots. But perhaps the way such dispositions have been normalised are a sign of the frailty bubbling underneath the surface, like in the Stanford Duck Syndrome: “the idea that students are struggling to survive the pressures of a competitive environment while presenting the image of a relaxed student, like a calm duck gliding across a fountain.”

To Rachel, a former MOE educator, the red flags appeared early, as mild disturbances. For instance, a 10-year-old boy in her class began pouring water all over his desk, drenching his homework. Then his actions escalated: Whenever he was agitated, he began lifting his chair, threatening to swing it against his classmates. “When I’m able to stop him from lifting the chair, I will tell him to leave the classroom, go out and calm down. I also have gone through anger management strategies, so that you count one to 10, breathe, breathe and count slowly,” Rachel said. “Sometimes he is able to do it. Sometimes he is unable [to], and he will end up hitting the wall outside the classroom. And he can do this for half an hour [while the] lesson is ongoing.” 

Rachel informed her direct superior, the year head, but nothing was done. “The year head has a ton of other cases to deal with,” she said, noting the immense workload characteristic of the teaching profession. “If you don’t tell that year head that this is super-duper serious, the year head will think that this is just another case for me to deal with.”

A 2021 study of teachers’ mental health detailed that around 80 percent of teachers in Singapore are affected by mental health issues, lack a work-life balance, and manage an excessive workload. Considering that the average teacher in Singapore spends four hours a day on administrative work unrelated to teaching, the delicate work of caring for students in complex need might be more than an understaffed, overworked school can handle.

Rachel and her fellow form teacher had to manage things on their own. It was a frustrating process. “We were just thinking, so we need to wait until this boy starts to injure somebody, then the year head can do something about it?” Whenever things escalated, they’d call the school’s operations manager, the only person who was physically strong enough to restrain the boy. Eventually, their solution was to call the boy’s parents to take him home. The year head agreed to the decision. 

“I don’t know whether this should be the right way, because we are kind of throwing him back to home and saying, ‘hey, you all deal with this at home,’ when I feel that maybe the school could have done more for him.”

Responses such as physical restraint and sending a child home are not long-term solutions. Could the answer lie in disciplinary approaches? Beth, a former MOE educator, recalled a few incidents where students showed her screenshots of their friends being cyberbullied. Following protocol, she brought it up to her year head, and was eventually informed that the school would just dispense a warning to the bullies. More warnings would equate to detention, then suspension—a considerably gentler approach in a system where caning is still legal. Yet, these punitive measures are often reactionary, and rarely address the root of the problems.

Echoing practices employed in indigenous communities globally, restorative practice “puts the onus on individuals to be truly accountable for their behaviour and to repair any harm caused to others as a result of their actions.” A key aspect of the approach is a conversation circle, a non-hierarchical space where teachers and students sit in a circle and use restorative language to speak and listen to one another. 

Outside of the school, Beyond Social Services and Lutheran Community Care Services (LCCS) began adopting restorative practices in 2005, with LCCS having trained 30 schools by 2012. Restorative Practices Singapore, a social enterprise, has provided training to 155 local and five international schools. That said, such training varies in scale: according to a 2019 paper, restorative practices are most effective when adopted as a whole-school approach rather than through one-off training workshops. It is a long-term investment, one that can take four to five years to result in significant cultural change in the school. It often relies on strong leadership to initiate the process and see the intervention through. Though not mandatory, MOE encourages schools to adopt one of three approaches: restorative practices, transactional analysis or positive education. Transactional analysis stems from an area of psychotherapy and encourages one’s individual capacity to think and decide their own destiny, while positive education uses positive psychology to build students’ mindsets around well-being and happiness. Corporal punishment can still be practised in schools under Article 88 of the Education (Schools) Regulations of the Education Act, although only on male students. It is unclear when and how schools decide on their disciplinary approaches. 

Restorative practices have a relatively higher adoption rate among the 64 international schools in Singapore. Privately run, they remain outside the jurisdiction of government regulations and have their own codes of conduct. 

In Leilah’s experience working in international schools in various countries, restorative practices are the first and main route of recourse. The focus is on finding out the reason behind people’s actions: “…there’s usually something behind it, like low self-esteem, or they feel that they have to assert themselves because they need social standing, or something’s going on at home,” she explained. “And this is a reaction to that, because they’re not in control. Parents fighting for example…it’s kind of like looking at the before bit, rather than the reactive bit.”

Supplementing her work are initiatives like weekly well-being lessons, well-being days where they address issues like racism, and a diversity, equity and inclusion steering committee that invites guest speakers from different ethnic and national backgrounds. The staff are also trained in safeguarding and are meant to keep an eye out for students. 

In response to a parliamentary question in 2016, MOE stated that schools and it “work closely with Child Protection Services to support affected students,” without elaborating.

For Mariam, who was enrolled in an international school in Singapore, harm has left a long trail, one that she struggles to shed. She was 11 years old when her male teacher poked her between the breasts while congratulating her. “Good job,” he said in March 2019. She told her mother, Sarah, who responded that it was inappropriate, and to let her know if it happened again. 

In November 2020, the head of school and head of well-being visited their home. They told Sarah that Mariam was in a corridor with the male teacher, and that “it looked inappropriate,” without revealing any more details. 

Mariam began to show signs of distress, unable to concentrate in school. After being told that her daughter was breaking down in class, Sarah took her to see a psychologist. The feedback was worrying; the psychologist said that they believed Mariam was disassociating due to some form of post-traumatic stress disorder. In addition, the girl had told the psychologist that the teacher had touched Mariam and other girls in class. 

Despite the alarm bells, the head of secondary and head of well-being at the school told the mother that it was merely “celebratory touching,” and that Mariam “would just have to get over this.”

After demanding an internal investigation, and a back-and-forth exchange that would last months, Sarah was dismayed to learn that the school had concluded that there was no sign of inappropriate behaviour. The school also demanded that Sarah sign a non-disclosure agreement if she wanted her school fees back after withdrawing her child. 

Later, further facts were revealed: that another girl had left the school due to similar reasons; that the teacher had been charged for assaulting a taxi driver, and had subsequently been deported. Until today, Sarah has received no answers and no closure for her and her family. 

Tessa, a teacher in another international school, witnessed a former colleague acting in inappropriate ways towards students, but could not garner enough support for a case. It was the end of 2021, and Tessa noticed that a particular physical education teacher would come into her class during the last half-hour. He would lie on the floor, letting the children crawl all over him, and ask for hugs from particular children. 

Even if there were no harmful intentions behind those actions, his behaviour outside the classroom was disturbing. He would reportedly ask his colleagues questions such as, “You know what would make you a MILF (Mom I’d Like to Fuck) in the future, is if you do squats for your bum,” and “Do you think the school Wi-Fi would be able to track me if I watched porn on YouTube?” He would also allegedly initiate conversations with other male staff members about sex and masturbation. Despite her attempts at informing upper management, all the principal would comply with was “unofficial monitoring” for two weeks. 

Andrew McGeehan from Trident Training and Consulting, which works on issues of sexual misconduct, consent culture, diversity and inclusion, and restorative practices, noted that most schools “lump together” forms of harm, where “if someone punches someone or if there is a sexual assault,” the same response protocol ignores the nuance and complexity of specific situations. “Staff often don’t receive training on responding to specific incidents such as sexual misconduct, which can leave them feeling unsure of how to support students through this type of incident.” 

But the stakes are high. According to Kontinentalist’s analysis of news reports from 2017-2020, most victims of sexual violence are under 16. It is also important to acknowledge the obfuscating nature of recourse and the laborious task of proving harm. Not all encounters are reported, nor end up as cases in court.

The solution has to include a deeper understanding of consent culture, body safety, and sex education. A 2019 article quoted AWARE’s Sexual Assault Care Centre as stating the need for “more public education promoting honest, informed and non-judgmental understanding of the reality of sexual violence, especially in schools, institutions, and organisations.”

McGeehan said that there “remains a fear of discussing sexual misconduct,” because it opens up a wider conversation that would require the acknowledgement that young people have sexual desires and need to understand their own sexuality. “People get worried that if we talk about it, it creates the problem, but obviously it doesn’t,” he said, echoing the debate over suicide discourse. “We can’t pretend that’s not the reality, because it’s not giving students the education they need to make more informed decisions.” 

It is at odds with MOE’s current sex education curriculum, which continues to emphasise abstinence, and does not acknowledge the queer identities of students. “I don’t think there are a lot of people at the moment in Singapore who would be comfortable teaching trans-inclusive sex ed and queer-inclusive sex ed,” said McGeehan. “I think people just literally wouldn’t know what that’s supposed to look like.”

There has been progress. It was reported in 2022 that pre-school children would be taught about body safety. This came after the number of child sexual abuse cases investigated in 2021 was 443, an 11-year high.

According to an MOE statement, “From Primary 1, pupils learn about personal safety and the importance of establishing boundaries for themselves and others through Character and Citizenship Education lessons. These are reinforced at higher levels. School leaders and teachers are also trained to identify and report cases of child abuse.”

Yet, considering the potential consequences of harm in schools, Singapore has a long way to go. This broad examination seems to point to the need for a more open, transparent, and restorative culture; one that validates how young people are feeling and thinking, and pulls no stops when asked for help. 

In the 2009 novel Heaven, by Japanese author Mieko Kawakami, the English translation of which was shortlisted for the International Booker Prize, two middle school students undergo the torment of bullying by their classmates. The narrator, whose name remains unknown, is referred to as “Eyes” by other characters, for how his right eye gazes in a different direction than his left. His only friend is a girl named Kojima, who self-soothes by believing that they are bullied because they are allowing it to happen, that their suffering is a purifying process. Eyes, after bouts of struggle and depression, finally decides against this path of submission using whatever means he can. The desperation is palpable: he confronts his bullies, even as they continue to brutalise him and Kojima, then subsequently undergoes an eye operation to fix his shame. 

It is a sobering conclusion, one that offers little solace to young souls who have witnessed the cruelty of society. The truth is that the source of shame is us.

We would like to thank AWARE for connecting us to various survivors in this story, and to Jin Hee for assistance with reporting and research.

Charmaine Poh is Jom's head of visual culture and media.

Letters in response to this piece can be sent to sudhir@jom.media. All will be considered for publication on our “Letters to the editor” page.