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By Mihar Dias November 2025
A 15-year-old boy was caught stealing bread and cheese to feed his sick mother. When questioned, he admitted he had no money and was driven by hunger. The judge, instead of scolding him, said something extraordinary: “This boy isn’t responsible for this theft, but all of us are.” https://www.facebook.com/share/p/16XsTQQWSr/
He then fined everyone in the courtroom $10 — including himself — and fined the shop $1,000, handing the money to the boy so his mother could eat. “There is no greater punishment than hunger,” he said. https://www.facebook.com/share/p/16XsTQQWSr/
That single sentence should be engraved on every courthouse wall in Malaysia.
Because no child should ever have to steal food in a country that collects hundreds of millions in zakat each year.
Malaysia’s zakat system — run by state religious councils such as Lembaga Zakat Negeri and MAIWP — is meant to ensure that no Muslim goes hungry, that orphans, widows, and the poor are protected, and that wealth circulates to where it’s needed most. It’s not charity; it’s justice — a divine social contract.
Yet, despite the impressive annual figures, stories of hunger still surface: single mothers sleeping in cars, children fainting in schools, rural families living on instant noodles. Meanwhile, zakat agencies proudly report healthy reserves, some even rolling over unspent funds from year to year.
Something is clearly wrong.
Zakat was never meant to be trapped in bureaucracy. It was meant to flow like lifeblood through a community — cleansing wealth and erasing want. The Qur’an names eight categories entitled to receive zakat — foremost among them the poor and needy. And the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, “He is not a believer whose stomach is filled while his neighbour goes hungry.”
That judge in the story may not have quoted scripture, but he understood its essence better than many who claim to serve religion. His act of compassion turned punishment into policy, and reminded society that justice without empathy is merely paperwork.
If Malaysia’s zakat system were administered with the same moral urgency as that judge’s verdict — prioritising the hungry before the ceremonial — no boy would have to steal bread.
In truth, the tragedy is not the theft itself, but our collective indifference that made it necessary. The boy’s crime was desperation; ours is complacency.
So perhaps it’s time our zakat institutions return to the heart of the principle — to free people from want. The solution to hunger in Malaysia does not lie in new committees or endless campaigns. It lies in practising what faith already commands: give 2.5%, distribute it swiftly and justly, and let no one sleep hungry.
Until then, we remain guilty — not of theft, but of forgetting that true justice begins not in the courtroom, but in compassion.
Mihar Dias (mihardias@gmail.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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