Standardised policy framework essential to balance student well-being, academic schedules, and parental concerns.
AH yes, the haze. That beloved Malaysian seasonal feature has returned, bringing with it reduced visibility, questionable air quality and the annual national debate over one deceptively simple question: “So, sekolah tutup or not?”
And suddenly, everyone becomes an education policy expert. The WhatsApp groups awaken, the aunties activate, the uncles forward screenshots and someone’s cousin’s neighbour’s son – who apparently knows somebody at the district education office – has inside information.
“Tomorrow sekolah tutup.”
“Eh no-lah, open.”
“Confirm tutup.”
“Where got? My daughter’s school says open.”
“Wait, somebody just sent another update.”
Aiyo.
At this point, the haze is not the only thing reducing visibility – nobody can see what is going on. And honestly, you can understand why parents are anxious.
If schools close, one parent is thinking about their child’s health. Another is thinking, “Okay fine, but who is going to look after my child while I work?”
Because not every parent has a grandmother sitting at home waiting to become an emergency childcare centre. Some work shifts. Some run businesses. Some have elderly parents to care for. Some have bosses who hear “sekolah tutup” and immediately develop temporary hearing loss.
Then, there are parents at the other end. “Why are they keeping schools open? Anak saya needs to breathe!” Also fair.
Then somebody proposes letting students stay home if they are worried. Sounds wonderfully flexible until the next question arrives: “But exam how?”
And there we are again. One decision solves one problem and immediately produces three more. Welcome to Malaysian policy-making. Please take a number.
There is no magic button
The truth is, there probably isn’t a haze decision that will leave everybody completely puas hati.
Close schools and some will say it is unnecessary. Keep them open and others will say children’s health must come first. Allow absenteeism and parents worry about missed lessons. Continue examinations and somebody will quite reasonably ask whether academic schedules should trump health concerns. Delay everything and another group will ask why the education system has been placed on indefinite standby.
Makcik understands the headache. This is not simply an open versus close matter. This involves children, teachers, parents, school buses, examinations and working families.
And yes, there is the small matter of the air everyone is expected to breathe. So perhaps the conversation needs to move beyond that binary argument. Instead of asking only “tutup or buka?”, perhaps we should be asking: “What happens when the air reaches this level?”
And make the rules clearer before everybody starts fighting over screenshots in WhatsApp.
Less guessing, more planning
Parents should know what happens when air quality deteriorates. Schools should have clear protocols. Teachers should know what is expected. Parents should know how attendance works. Examinations should have contingency arrangements.
And where children do remain in school, reasonable measures should be taken to minimise exposure as much as possible. In other words, don’t make every haze episode feel like a national surprise examination. We already have enough surprise examinations in life, thank you very much.
And perhaps we need to be more flexible about learning too. If conditions make normal outdoor activities unwise, adapt. If certain activities can be postponed, postpone them. If temporary remote learning is practical in certain situations, use it.
Not every solution has to be “everybody stay home” or “everybody carry on as usual”. There is a middle ground-lah. It may not be glamorous. It may involve spreadsheets and contingency plans. It may even involve everyone actually reading the circular properly.
Terrifying, I know.
But here’s the bigger point
We must also be careful not to become too comfortable with managing the haze every year. Because Malaysians are very good at adaptation.
Too good, sometimes. We buy masks, check the readings, close the windows, cancel outdoor activities, keep children indoors and complain for three days.
I know, I am one of them.
Then the sky clears and life returns to normal – until the next time. But managing the consequences is not the same as solving the problem.
The ultimate objective should be fewer days when parents have to wonder whether sending their children to school is safe. Fewer days when teachers have to adjust lessons around unhealthy air. Fewer days when families stare at the sky wondering whether tomorrow’s school announcement will arrive before breakfast. And certainly fewer days when haze becomes so familiar that we treat it like another Malaysian public holiday. Because it isn’t.
No one wins the haze argument
There will always be somebody unhappy. That is democracy, family WhatsApp and Malaysian weather rolled into one.
But perhaps the goal shouldn’t be to make everybody happy. It should be to make decisions that are clear, consistent, evidence-based and, above all, put children’s well-being at the centre while recognising the realities families face.
Parents’ concerns deserve to be heard. Teachers’ realities deserve to be heard. Schools need practical support and policymakers need enough room to make difficult calls without every decision becoming a national shouting match.
We can disagree without behaving as though the person who thinks differently has personally set fire to the forest.
Gentle reminder, please. Because when the haze comes, everybody suddenly becomes an expert. One has the API reading. One has the doctor friend’s opinion. One has a screenshot. One has “my school principal said…”.
And one uncle has absolutely no evidence whatsoever but is somehow the most confident person in the group.
This is Malaysia. We know this uncle.
So yes, let’s debate. Let’s question. Let’s demand clarity. Let’s listen to parents.
But let’s also keep our heads while the air outside loses its visibility. Because the real victory is not making every Malaysian puas hati. That is a task even more impossible than getting the entire family to agree on where to makan.
It is protecting children, supporting families, keeping education moving where possible and addressing the causes of haze instead of treating it like an annual subscription nobody remembers signing up for.
Otherwise, next year, we’ll be back here again – same haze, same panic, same WhatsApp uncle forwarding a screenshot from 2019 as breaking news.
Aiyo. The haze may be seasonal but the nonsense need not be.
Azura Abas is the executive editor of theSun. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com