Allow me, dear reader, to delve further into the character of Encik Hussin, a figure who played a significant role during my time in Form 2. As days and months passed, it became clear that my recollections were inexorably linked to this formidable warden. Few other memories from that period managed to take root, with moments of joy and camaraderie pushed to the periphery. The dominant colours of my experiences were marked by the oppressive shades of pressure and tension.
As the student population continued to grow, the already cramped living conditions of the Asrama became even more restrictive. This posed a significant challenge to Encik Hussin, whose responsibility was to maintain order and discipline among the increasing number of students. We had transitioned from childhood into adolescence, where wielding authority appeared to be more challenging. It was against this backdrop that I observed a transformation in Encik Hussin's approach, marked by a noticeable increase in his strictness.
This transformation was exemplified by the escalating severity of his punitive measures. Gone were the days of leniency; instead, an unyielding and aggressive stance took its place. Caning, an emblematic symbol of punishment, became a central feature of our lives. His office, as I distinctly recall, was adorned with various canes, each with its unique dimensions and weight, all of which he wielded with a seemingly sadistic relish. Just the sight of these implements struck fear into our hearts.
During this chapter of our Asrama life, Encik Hussin often delivered long lectures, focusing on themes of cleanliness, discipline, and the pursuit of academic excellence. While some may have found wisdom in his words, I saw them as lengthy dissertations, consuming precious hours with little tangible benefit. The elusive goal of fostering camaraderie remained out of reach.
In terms of disciplinary measures, Encik Hussin was an unwavering authority figure. Even minor offenses, like littering, did not escape his scrutiny. The slightest hint of misconduct could summon the entire student body, with the identity of the offender kept secret. The ensuing lectures were interminable, with no one daring to confess. At times, Encik Hussin went as far as prohibiting male students from going to the grocery store as punishment for a collective infraction. It was a heavy-handed response to a minor transgression, and it appeared disproportionate.
The consequences of a single, minor infraction, such as discarding candy wrappers, were felt through Encik Hussin's unorthodox approach. He decreed that all students, both guilty and innocent, must share the punishment, with the expectation that the true offender would eventually confess. However, it became evident that his intent was not to deliver justice but to exact vengeance. Innocent students were subjected to unwarranted punishment, a grave affront to their rights and dignity, all under the guise of discipline.
Who among us had the courage to defy him? We were impressionable youth, susceptible to his authority. But beneath our apparent compliance, a nagging question lingered: was this treatment legally sound?
Dissatisfied with caning as an instrument of punishment, Encik Hussin imposed physical demands that went beyond traditional penalties. These took the form of arduous tasks that he relished watching us struggle with. I vividly remember one occasion when several classmates and I were subjected to punishment for making disrupting noise after night class with our laughter. It was a minor indiscretion - little more than a friend's raucous laugh - that had caught Encik Hussin's attention.
As a punishment, we were asked to sprint through the boys' and girls' dormitories for five laps. We passed open windows without shame or remorse. Instead, we felt irritation and anger. After this nocturnal escapade, we were ordered to endure a grueling push ups session on the tarmacked area in front of the Asrama office. I often wondered how satisfied Encik Hussin was, watching us endure these physical ordeals.
In truth, Encik Hussin dispensed a range of punishments that went beyond traditional definitions of discipline. In my view, they bordered on acts of bullying, administered capriciously to innocent students. What troubled me most was the blatant injustice of his actions, which extended to the arbitrary punishment of the blameless. Who had granted him the authority to act in such a manner?
The policy of collective punishment, where all students suffered for the actions of one, created an environment where offenders sought to identify and rectify the wrongdoer. It frustrated them when the culprit refused to confess, implicating others in the consequences. I distinctly recall Encik Hussin once suggesting that it was our duty to unmask the offender and resolve the issue among ourselves. Our youthful minds failed to grasp the broader implications of such an instruction, and it was enforced without question.
After a routine caning of all students as punishment for an unidentified offender's actions, students took it upon themselves to uncover and "resolve" any perceived wrongdoing. Angry at the perpetrator's silence, the student body collectively pressured the offender to confess. Consequently, these endeavours went beyond Encik Hussin's direct control.
However, this campaign of "resolution" took a dark turn when students began to take matters into their own hands without Encik Hussin's explicit approval. Some students were penalized for playing Chapteh during midday hours, despite no action taken by Encik Hussin. It served as a stern warning against behaviour that might displease him. Consequently, anyone who displayed behaviour deemed antagonistic, arrogant, or stood out in any way became susceptible to relentless punishment.
What becomes clear, dear reader, is the inherent flaw in Encik Hussin's approach to moulding the character and moral fibre of Asrama students. Despite his dedication to maintaining order, he struggled to instil virtues of fairness and compassion. Why did acts of violence, such as caning, persist? My heart weighed heavy as I contemplated the mounting pressures that pervaded every corner of the Asrama. It seemed that stress and suffocation dominated this environment, leaving little room for joy or contentment. I was left with a nagging question: who was ultimately responsible for this state of affairs? Was this the inevitable path of boarding school life, where the weight of expectations cast a perpetual shadow over the prospect of happiness?
No comments:
Post a Comment