SINGAPORE: From Umaisyah and Megan Khung to the unnamed boy who was caged and scalded to death, several high-profile child abuse cases in recent years have captured public attention, not only for their severity, but for how long the harm went undetected. Each time, the same questions echo: How could so many eyes miss the signs? Why didn’t someone step in sooner?
The uncomfortable truth is that most abuse doesn’t look the way we expect.
It is rarely loud or dramatic. More often, it hides in silence, in carefully rehearsed responses, or in small changes in behaviour.
When tragedy unfolds, the public reflex is to ask who failed to act.
No one intends to overlook signs of harm. Child protection is more complex than that – it is a field shaped by ambiguity, judgment calls, and the difficult task of seeing what isn’t always visible.
The Children and Young Persons Act (CYPA) defines ill-treatment as the infliction of “unnecessary” physical or emotional harm. But what qualifies as “unnecessary” in parenting? And who decides when a line has been crossed?
These are real challenges for those on the ground – even when there are “red flags” deemed to be obvious when abuse cases make the news.
While the Ministry of Social and Family Development (MSF) encourages non-physical forms of discipline, there is no legislation in Singapore that explicitly prohibits parents from using corporal punishment at home. In some households across Singapore and Asia, corporal punishment such as caning is still sometimes seen as an acceptable form of discipline. The ambiguity leaves room for differing interpretations of where discipline ends and abuse begins.
Teachers, neighbours, healthcare workers and social service professionals may grapple with doubt – wondering whether what they’ve observed is serious enough to report, or whether stepping in might cause more harm than good.
Child abuse is seldom a single, explosive event. More often, it unfolds gradually – a sustained pattern that chips away at a child’s sense of safety and self-worth.
I recall a case that a colleague once shared involving a teenage girl living in a children’s home. She would return to her family on weekends without incident. There were no bruises and no visible signs of distress.
But when her mother requested an extended home stay, the girl panicked and called the staff in tears, overwhelmed and afraid.
What followed was the uncovering of a troubling pattern of coercive control: Her mother had been demanding her part-time wages, coaching her on what to say to professionals, and threatening to cut off outings with friends or visits with her father and siblings.
There was no dramatic event, just a quiet erosion of her autonomy and sense of safety. The absence of clear warning signs delayed the recognition of what was happening.
Cases like this are more common than we think. Emotional abuse, coercive control and neglect often go unnoticed, especially when they unfold behind closed doors.
Child protection work relies on professional judgment, but not in isolation. It requires training, clinical supervision and agency support. There must be an organisational culture that recognises the weight and complexity of these decisions, and strong internal structures and processes to support the work that comes after the judgment call is made.
Tools such as the Safe and Strong Support Guide and the Child Abuse Reporting Guide offer some clarity on when to report. But no checklist can replace the practice-honed skill of attentive listening and contextual understanding of what is said and unsaid. For instance, a child who does not say they are uncomfortable but appears to avoid physical contact with an adult might need to be interviewed individually to find out what the relationships are like in the family.
Even with these tools in hand, two professionals may reach different conclusions on when to report – not because one is wrong, but because each is interpreting a complex situation based on what information is known at the time.
Abuse thrives in secrecy, and perpetrators are highly adept at concealing, manipulating or deflecting scrutiny. We saw this in Umaisyah’s tragic story: Her parents had managed to hide her death for years, by lying about her whereabouts or about the number of children they had.
That is why child protection must be a shared responsibility. Families, neighbours, teachers, healthcare providers, social service professionals, and members of the public – no one sees the full picture, but together, we can connect the dots.
The public needs to know that it’s okay to raise a concern, even if they’re unsure. Many people worry about being wrong, overstepping, or offending someone.
But the threshold for speaking up shouldn’t be certainty – it should be concern. A question or observation could be the very clue that enables earlier and safer intervention.
When abuse occurs, the responsibility lies first and foremost with the perpetrators. But these recent cases rightfully stir deep concern, and we must always ask: How can we strengthen the systems meant to protect children?
We must be willing to examine what’s working, what isn’t, and where the gaps lie.
For social service agencies, this means committing to ongoing training, establishing clear protocols for handling cases, and addressing the barriers that hinder detection, intervention, monitoring and collaboration. Beyond procedures, all parties involved in the child’s well-being must find ways to overcome their organisational barriers.
But strengthening the system cannot rely on internal efforts alone. Are we making it easier – or harder – to work together across systems when so many different people are necessarily involved?
We also need independent oversight. A transparent review panel – one that brings together voices from across disciplines – can shine a light on the challenges faced by frontline professionals, uncover systemic roadblocks, and recommend practical changes at every level.
Child protection is complex work, but we owe it to the children to keep asking how we can do better.
Alvin Goh is the Executive Director of Children’s Aid Society, and a psychologist by training.
Continue reading...
The uncomfortable truth is that most abuse doesn’t look the way we expect.
It is rarely loud or dramatic. More often, it hides in silence, in carefully rehearsed responses, or in small changes in behaviour.
When tragedy unfolds, the public reflex is to ask who failed to act.
No one intends to overlook signs of harm. Child protection is more complex than that – it is a field shaped by ambiguity, judgment calls, and the difficult task of seeing what isn’t always visible.
THE GREY AREAS OF HARM
The Children and Young Persons Act (CYPA) defines ill-treatment as the infliction of “unnecessary” physical or emotional harm. But what qualifies as “unnecessary” in parenting? And who decides when a line has been crossed?
These are real challenges for those on the ground – even when there are “red flags” deemed to be obvious when abuse cases make the news.
While the Ministry of Social and Family Development (MSF) encourages non-physical forms of discipline, there is no legislation in Singapore that explicitly prohibits parents from using corporal punishment at home. In some households across Singapore and Asia, corporal punishment such as caning is still sometimes seen as an acceptable form of discipline. The ambiguity leaves room for differing interpretations of where discipline ends and abuse begins.
Teachers, neighbours, healthcare workers and social service professionals may grapple with doubt – wondering whether what they’ve observed is serious enough to report, or whether stepping in might cause more harm than good.
Related:
ABUSE RARELY ANNOUNCES ITSELF
Child abuse is seldom a single, explosive event. More often, it unfolds gradually – a sustained pattern that chips away at a child’s sense of safety and self-worth.
I recall a case that a colleague once shared involving a teenage girl living in a children’s home. She would return to her family on weekends without incident. There were no bruises and no visible signs of distress.
But when her mother requested an extended home stay, the girl panicked and called the staff in tears, overwhelmed and afraid.
What followed was the uncovering of a troubling pattern of coercive control: Her mother had been demanding her part-time wages, coaching her on what to say to professionals, and threatening to cut off outings with friends or visits with her father and siblings.
There was no dramatic event, just a quiet erosion of her autonomy and sense of safety. The absence of clear warning signs delayed the recognition of what was happening.
Cases like this are more common than we think. Emotional abuse, coercive control and neglect often go unnoticed, especially when they unfold behind closed doors.
THE ROLE OF PROFESSIONAL JUDGMENT
Child protection work relies on professional judgment, but not in isolation. It requires training, clinical supervision and agency support. There must be an organisational culture that recognises the weight and complexity of these decisions, and strong internal structures and processes to support the work that comes after the judgment call is made.
Tools such as the Safe and Strong Support Guide and the Child Abuse Reporting Guide offer some clarity on when to report. But no checklist can replace the practice-honed skill of attentive listening and contextual understanding of what is said and unsaid. For instance, a child who does not say they are uncomfortable but appears to avoid physical contact with an adult might need to be interviewed individually to find out what the relationships are like in the family.
Even with these tools in hand, two professionals may reach different conclusions on when to report – not because one is wrong, but because each is interpreting a complex situation based on what information is known at the time.
A SHARED RESPONSIBILITY
Abuse thrives in secrecy, and perpetrators are highly adept at concealing, manipulating or deflecting scrutiny. We saw this in Umaisyah’s tragic story: Her parents had managed to hide her death for years, by lying about her whereabouts or about the number of children they had.
That is why child protection must be a shared responsibility. Families, neighbours, teachers, healthcare providers, social service professionals, and members of the public – no one sees the full picture, but together, we can connect the dots.
Related:
The public needs to know that it’s okay to raise a concern, even if they’re unsure. Many people worry about being wrong, overstepping, or offending someone.
But the threshold for speaking up shouldn’t be certainty – it should be concern. A question or observation could be the very clue that enables earlier and safer intervention.
WHAT WOULD IT TAKE TO DO BETTER?
When abuse occurs, the responsibility lies first and foremost with the perpetrators. But these recent cases rightfully stir deep concern, and we must always ask: How can we strengthen the systems meant to protect children?
We must be willing to examine what’s working, what isn’t, and where the gaps lie.
For social service agencies, this means committing to ongoing training, establishing clear protocols for handling cases, and addressing the barriers that hinder detection, intervention, monitoring and collaboration. Beyond procedures, all parties involved in the child’s well-being must find ways to overcome their organisational barriers.
But strengthening the system cannot rely on internal efforts alone. Are we making it easier – or harder – to work together across systems when so many different people are necessarily involved?
We also need independent oversight. A transparent review panel – one that brings together voices from across disciplines – can shine a light on the challenges faced by frontline professionals, uncover systemic roadblocks, and recommend practical changes at every level.
Child protection is complex work, but we owe it to the children to keep asking how we can do better.
Alvin Goh is the Executive Director of Children’s Aid Society, and a psychologist by training.
Continue reading...