Wednesday, 16 July 2025

Urgent case for student housing reform

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“The loss of a young woman who was on the path of academic pursuit and a bright future is a truly heart-breaking tragedy.”

– Hannah Yeoh Tseow Suan, Youth and Sports Minister

ON the morning of June 25, the nation awoke to the horrifying news that Maniishapriet Kaur Akhara, a bright, promising 20-year-old physiotherapy student, had been brutally murdered in her hostel room in Cyberjaya.

For my family, who knew her family very well, and who have shared bonds stretching back to the Sixties in Sibu, the shock is profoundly personal. Yet even for strangers, this tragedy echoes as an indictment of our collective failure to protect our young people.

Maniishapriet should have been safe. She was studying for an exam, alone because her housemates had left for the holidays. The hostel, part of the Mutiara Ville condominium in Cyberjaya, was supposed to be safe.

Instead, it became the scene of unspeakable violence. The assailants not only took her life but also stole her belongings. Investigators later discovered that CCTV cameras in the corridors were non-functional, and security patrols were virtually non-existent.

This is not an isolated incident. Over recent years, Cyberjaya, a city that markets itself as Malaysia’s ‘smart city’, has seen a disturbing rise in violent crimes, including robberies and murders. And a spot for drug addicts.

Maniishapriet’s death is the latest in a string of cases that should compel every university, government agency, and parent to ask: Why has it taken a life for us to pay attention?

In the aftermath of this tragedy, much of the official response has centred on investigating the crime itself. The police have been efficient and fast in detaining three people, including two women, over the murder.

I pray that the full force of the law is brought to bear on the three perpetrators, and that they receive the harshest possible punishment for their heinous crime. But focusing only on catching the perpetrators ignores the deeper, systemic problem: an utter lack of safeguards in off-campus student accommodation.

Currently, neither the Education Act 1996 (Act 550) nor the Private Higher Educational Institutions Act 1996 (Act 555) mandates universities to regulate or even monitor off-campus housing that they recommend to students.

Once students move into private apartments or hostels, they are effectively on their own. No mandatory security standards. No oversight. And no inspections!

Compare this with practices in other countries.

In Australia, student accommodation providers must comply with the Student Accommodation Code of Practice, which sets clear safety, maintenance, and complaint-handling standards.

In Singapore, student hostels require approval from the Urban Redevelopment Authority and must be inspected for compliance with stringent fire and security protocols.

Yet here, in Malaysia, too many institutions still see off-campus housing as “not our problem”. This mindset is both morally indefensible and dangerously outdated.

If anything, Maniishapriet’s murder has laid bare the illusion of safety in student districts. Mutiara Ville, like many private condominiums, used access cards for parking, lift usage, and vehicle entry. But students reported that anyone on foot could simply walk in.

The lifts’ CCTV system was faulty. Corridor cameras were not working. Common areas were poorly lit. Guards rarely patrolled the floors.

In her final hours, Maniishapriet was as vulnerable as any student could be young, alone, and living in a building that projected security without delivering it.

Her case should destroy the complacent narrative that private accommodation is somehow ‘better’ because it looks modern or has glossy brochures promising 24-hour surveillance. If universities recommend or officially list such housing, they must accept responsibility for ensuring it is, in fact, safe.

Some may argue that adult students must take responsibility for their own housing choices. But this ignores the basic reality that when an institution refers a student to accommodation either on or off campus, it implicitly endorses it as suitable. This is especially critical for young women, whose safety concerns are magnified by the risk of gender-based violence.

Even if students are legally adults, universities have a duty of care. This duty does not end at the campus gates.

The university in question, along with every higher education provider in Malaysia, should be held to a higher standard. Students and their parents must be able to trust that housing arranged or recommended by universities meets minimum standards of safety and security.

It would be a mistake to treat this as a problem unique to Cyberjaya. Across Malaysia, violent crimes, burglaries, and theft plague both on-campus and off-campus student residences.

Too many institutions have failed to prioritise security investments. Instead of proactive measures, like intelligent surveillance systems, access control, and routine safety audits, we see ad hoc responses that only materialise after tragedies.

These failures directly impact students’ mental health, academic performance, and sense of belonging. No one can study or grow in an environment where they feel perpetually at risk.

What can be done to ensure a similar heinous incident does not recur? The answer begins with leadership, by the Ministry of Higher Education, by university administrations, and by the property owners themselves.

Most urgently, enact minimum safety standards. The ministry must develop a regulatory framework that sets enforceable minimum standards for all student accommodation.

This includes functional CCTV coverage of all common areas, lifts, and entrances; secure access controls that prevent unauthorised entry on foot; trained, licensed security guards conducting regular patrols; emergency lighting in all corridors and stairwells; and annual safety inspections by certified auditors.

Another step is transparent accreditation and audits. Universities should be legally required to maintain an accredited list of approved housing.

To stay on this list, properties must pass periodic audits and publicly disclose compliance reports. This gives students and parents clear, reliable information to guide their decisions.

There should be emergency preparedness and communication where institutions must implement mass notification systems that deliver real-time alerts in emergencies.

All students should receive safety orientation, including how to report threats and access support services.

Fostering a culture of safety is of course important. Security is not only about hardware. Universities must train staff and students to recognise risks and respond effectively. Regular drills, crime prevention workshops, and mental health resources should be the norm, not the exception.

Security investments is one area which should be given priority. Universities and property owners should treat security as a core operating cost, not an optional expense. Whether through intelligent video analytics, secure access systems, or partnerships with experienced security providers, these investments save lives.

And university managements should work with law enforcement and not operate in silo. The proactive engagement that Selangor police announced, which is to meet with universities to discuss resident screening, is commendable.

But this must be sustained. Universities and police must maintain open channels to share intelligence, investigate incidents swiftly, and prevent recurrence.

As someone who has known Maniishapriet’s family for more than half a century, I struggle to express the sorrow this tragedy has brought. I think of her parents, having their beloved child taken away from them because of failures that could, and should, have been prevented.

How many more bright, ambitious young people must be sacrificed on the altar of negligence before we act?

Maniishapriet’s murder is a clarion call to every stakeholder universities, regulators, landlords, and the public to end the culture of complacency around student safety.

We owe it to her memory to build a system that ensures no other family must endure this pain. This is not just about policies and protocols. It is about our most basic duty, which is to protect those who trust us with their futures.

It is time to stop offering condolences and start offering solutions!

The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at rajlira@gmail.com

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