Bullying in Schools: An Alarm That Must Not Be Ignored

Bullying is too often minimised as mere jesting, mischief, or ordinary conflict between children. We only label it a problem when a video goes viral, a police report is filed, or news breaks of a pupil’s death. Yet, long before reaching that point, numerous ‘small alarms’ are ignored: a child reluctant to go to school out of fear, a student who suddenly becomes silent and withdrawn, or a learner who returns home with a gloomy face and stories held back.

In recent weeks, the public has followed the case of a junior high school student in South Tangerang who died after allegedly experiencing repeated bullying. In Central Jakarta, a young boy was forced by two teenagers to touch an electricity pole, resulting in electrocution that caused convulsions, unconsciousness, and even a temporary coma. In Bandung, a student who repeatedly received rough treatment from peers chose to drop out of school because they could no longer bear entering the classroom. In West Nusa Tenggara, violence at an Islamic boarding school under the guise of ‘seniority tradition’ ended in severe injury and loss of life. In Bekasi, a child became so terrified after being humiliated and having the video circulated that school no longer felt like a safe place. This string of examples is not a coincidence, but a portrait of how violence gradually grows into a part of daily life.

To understand why bullying can become so deeply rooted, the concept of the normalisation of deviance is useful to bring to the surface. Deviance is behaviour that clearly strays from values meant to protect human dignity and safety. Normalisation occurs when that deviance is repeated and tolerated so often that it no longer feels deviant. In schools, a punch morphs into ‘a spice of camaraderie’, taunts are called ‘banter’, humiliation is packaged as ‘mental training’, and seniority traditions are framed as ‘hereditary customs’. The line between mischief and violence is deliberately blurred, especially by adults comfortable with the status quo.

Psychologist Albert Bandura termed this process social learning: children learn not only from what is taught, but from what they observe. They watch, imitate, and repeat behaviour that appears safe or even rewarded. When they see a bully being highlighted, feared, or quietly admired, they learn that hurting others can be a way to gain status and attention. Conversely, when perpetrators escape sanctions or matters are settled ‘amicably’, children receive the message that violence carries small risk with large social gain.

Bandura also reminds us that children learn through observed consequences—not just those they experience themselves. If a teacher laughs when a student is humiliated, or a school is busier protecting its reputation than safeguarding victims, this is a form of indirect reinforcement: it signals that such actions remain within ‘permissible’ limits. When a victim who reports abuse is labelled a troublemaker, deemed too sensitive, or asked to yield for the sake of the institution’s image, children learn that silence is a safer choice than speaking up. In simple terms, adults are teaching, through flawed example, that a child’s wounds are negotiable.

On paper, the state has actually prepared quite a number of instruments. The Minister of Education and Culture Regulation No. 46 of 2023 governs the prevention and handling of violence in educational units, from establishing violence prevention teams to reporting mechanisms. The Minister of Primary and Secondary Education Regulation No. 6 of 2026 on Safe and Comfortable School Culture asserts that physical, psychological, social, and digital safety are prerequisites for a quality learning environment. There is also a broader umbrella in the form of the Child Protection Law and cross-sector policies that position children as subjects to be protected, not merely objects of guidance.

The problem is that good regulations do not automatically translate into real protection. Research on the implementation of anti-violence policies in schools reveals various obstacles: limited understanding at the implementer level, a shortage of human resources, and cross-institutional coordination that is not yet functioning. In other words, we are not short of rules, but we lack the seriousness to enforce them. The normalisation of deviance occurs precisely when rules are treated as a formality—displayed, briefly socialised, and then forgotten when faced with a concrete case.

This is where the moral responsibility of adults becomes key. Parents play a major role in believing their child’s story, rather than immediately accusing them of being ‘too sensitive’ or telling them to ‘just hit back’. Teachers need to resist the urge to turn classroom mockery into entertainment that ‘lightens the mood’. School authorities must dare to admit that protecting a good name must not sacrifice student safety. And all of us need to stop consuming bullying cases merely as fleeting drama on our timelines that quickly disappears under new issues.

Stopping bullying is not just about adding more rules or toughening sanctions. It is also about changing what we teach through our actions: whether we set an example that violence is non-negotiable, or whether we demonstrate that as long as it does not ‘go viral’, everything can be quietly settled. Every time adults normalise violence, we are teaching the next generation that hurting others is a normal part of growing up. Every time we choose silence, we become models who grant permission. The emergency does not begin when a bullying video goes viral or a police report is made, but from the moment a child steps into a classroom with fear and stops telling stories about school. If schools still dare to call themselves safe spaces while adults turn a blind eye and call wounds ‘ordinary’, then the problem is not just the perpetrators of violence, but those of us who choose comfort over taking sides with the child.