Have you ever wondered what really happens behind the closed doors of an unlicensed tahfiz school? What looks like a place of piety and discipline often hides a reality that would horrify any parent. According to BERNAMA, nearly 1,000 private tahfiz centres across Malaysia were unregistered. In Selangor alone, 800 of these schools had no official approval. And shockingly, the problem has only grown worse—earlier this year, the Selangor State Legislative Assembly revealed that 606 tahfiz schools have remained unregistered with JAIS since 2008.
Child rights activists warn that such unregistered tahfiz schools expose children to unimaginable risks, including sexual abuse, due to weak oversight, untrained staff, and a culture of silence. Yet despite these alarming facts, many parents still send their children to such institutions. They believe they are giving their sons and daughters a noble path to memorizing the Quran, never suspecting the hidden horrors that lie within. Behind the guise of religion, many of these schools enforce harsh rules, abusive punishments, and toxic environments that scar children for life. The smiling photos and promises of spiritual growth often mask something much darker. It is only when survivors speak out that the disturbing truth finally comes to light.
One such survivor is Nurul Firdaus Ali - a doctor, but more importantly, a trauma survivor. At just eleven years old, she was sent to an unlicensed tahfiz school. What awaited her was not a sanctuary of learning, but a nightmare disguised in religious clothing. Her testimony rips away the illusion that all tahfiz schools, including unregistered ones, are safe havens. Instead, it reveals a cycle of violence, humiliation, and fear that continues to haunt her to this day.
Her story sheds light on an uncomfortable truth. Beneath the guise of piety, discipline, and memorization of the Quran, some unlicensed tahfiz schools are instead breeding grounds for abuse, trauma, and fear. What children face there is not spiritual growth but the slow destruction of their innocence and well-being.
And as shocking as her story sounds, she stresses: her school was considered one of the better ones. Others had it far worse.
Nurul asked to be sent to a tahfiz school at the age of eleven because she loved the Quran and wanted to memorize it. Her father was pleased, and at first, she thought it was the right path. But the moment she stepped in, she realized she had walked into what she calls a “breeding ground for demons.”
Punishments were constant. A slight mistake meant being caned. If your memorization wasn’t fluent, you were caned again. Rules were endless, and the chance of breaking one was always high. And if beatings weren’t enough, there came humiliation - being isolated, being shunned by the entire school. Even those who did nothing wrong could be punished just for being there.
The ustazah (religious teacher) was feared more than respected. Nurul describes them as psychopaths who seemed to thrive on fear. They enjoyed the sound of the cane striking flesh. The minimum punishment was three strokes, but it could easily go up to fifty or more. All of this was carried out in the name of religion, often justified with fabricated hadith.
Life inside the school was stripped of dignity. There was no clean water. Meals were of the lowest quality - sometimes rainwater-soaked dishes, sometimes three tiny fishes shared among four starving children. With RM120 stretched thinly, growing kids were left to fight for scraps.
Students were confined in cramped spaces, forbidden from even peeking outside. If caught doing so, they were beaten. The outside world became a forbidden fruit, glimpsed only through punishment.
And yet, Nurul emphasizes: this was considered one of the best tahfiz schools. Others especially for boys faced far worse abuse, often swept quietly under the rug.
Nurul explains that speaking out about her experience is not to insult Islam, but to prevent other parents from repeating the same mistake. Prophet Muhammad, she insists, would never have agreed with such cruelty.
She pleads: Do not send underage children to boarding schools. Do not send children at any age to unlicensed tahfiz institutions. If your child is difficult to handle, seek counseling. Do not throw them into the hands of strangers who might ruin their lives or worse, turn them into abusers themselves.
Nurul herself became a doctor, but not because the tahfiz experience “built” her. Rather, she worked desperately hard to escape that life. Even then, she could never fully move on. She remains trapped in therapy, reliant on medication, scarred by trauma since her first panic attack at age eleven. Her psychiatrist believes she may need lifelong treatment, as trauma in childhood rewires the developing brain permanently.
And Nurul counts herself lucky. Some of her friends had it worse. One girl who was beaten so badly that Nurul had to rub hot oil on her bruises later became an ustazah - passing on the same cycle of abuse to other children, whipping them without hesitation. Nurul asks us to think: how many others have grown up to become either abusers or broken souls like her?
The testimony is haunting. It tears down the false glamour surrounding unlicensed tahfiz schools. Behind the curtain of religious devotion lies unchecked cruelty, fear-driven control, and broken childhoods.
Parents must open their eyes. Love for the Quran does not mean subjecting children to violence disguised as discipline. It is far better to allow children to study in regular schools, to return home each day to the safety, care, and affection of their families. No amount of memorization is worth a shattered childhood.
Nurul’s story stands as a warning. The cost of blind trust in unregulated institutions is too high. Let no parent believe that suffering in these schools builds character. More often than not, it breeds trauma, scars, and unending cycles of abuse.
So the next time you consider sending your child to an unlicensed tahfiz school, ask yourself: would you really trade your child’s happiness, safety, and love for a lifetime of fear?
Aaron Colt (aaronafter@hotmail.com) is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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