JANUARY 21 — The country was recently shaken by the arrest of a medical doctor accused of killing his wife and young son.

A man entrusted with healing is now alleged to have extinguished life within his own home.

Not long before that, in Melaka, a 17-year-old boy allegedly stabbed his mother and elder brother to death and seriously injured his younger sibling.

Early reports suggested that the attack was preceded by intense emotional strain because he was sitting for his SPM examinations and had been repeatedly scolded at home.

These tragedies revive the memory of an older horror, the 2010 Gemencheh familicide in Kampung Batang Rokan, where four members of a single family were brutally killed.

Separated by time and circumstance, these cases are bound by a single, chilling reality – they were not crimes committed in dark alleys or by faceless strangers.

They unfolded in kitchens and bedrooms, within families, behind doors that were meant to protect.

These are cases of familicide. Familicide refers to the murder of multiple family members by one family member, often the head of the household, in a single event.

It typically involves the killing of a spouse and children and frequently ends in the perpetrator’s suicide.

It is, in essence, a form of murder-suicide or “family annihilation,” where the perpetrator seeks to erase the family unit itself.

Research shows that these crimes are rare but profoundly complex.

They are usually committed by men and often triggered by separation, loss of control, or financial collapse.

Beneath them run recurring themes of dominance, revenge, despair, and perceived humiliation.

The violence is not random; it is intimate, purposeful, and directed at those closest.

When a parent kills a child, or a child kills a parent, the public instinct is to search for something monstrous, something incomprehensible.

We ask: What kind of person does this?

But that question, while human, often obscures the deeper truth – that familicide rarely emerges from a single moment of madness.

It is usually the end point of long-building stress, conflict, psychological distress, and structural failure.

International research shows that familicide is often preceded by patterns of control, despair, financial strain, untreated mental health conditions, or prolonged relational breakdown.

It may involve planning rather than sudden impulse.

The home, paradoxically, becomes the most dangerous space because it offers both access and privacy.

Emotions are raw, power is asymmetrical, and there are no witnesses until it is too late.

What makes these Malaysian cases particularly unsettling is not only their brutality, but their ordinariness.

A schoolboy. A professional. An ordinary family in a quiet village.

They remind us that familicide does not belong to any single class, race, or social category.

It cuts across status and respectability.

The narrative that such crimes happen only in “broken” families or among the “problematic” is comforting – but false.

Our legal system can respond after the fact.

The Penal Code provides clear pathways for prosecution, punishment, and incarceration.

But familicide is not merely a legal failure; it is a systemic one.

It exposes the absence of early intervention when families are in crisis, the stigma around mental health, the lack of coordinated support between schools, welfare agencies, and healthcare providers, and the cultural reluctance to treat domestic distress as a public concern until it turns fatal.

We are very good at mourning after the bodies are found.

We are far less effective at recognising danger while it is still forming.

Families in crisis often exist in plain sight – children under extreme pressure, spouses in volatile relationships, individuals collapsing under debt, isolation, or untreated illness.

Yet these warning signs are fragmented across institutions, each seeing only a piece of the story.

Familicide forces us to confront an uncomfortable reality – the home is not always a place of safety.

It can also be a site of unobserved escalation.

Prevention, therefore, cannot rest on policing alone.

It requires a shift in how we think about domestic harm, towards early detection, accessible mental health care, school-based intervention, and social services that are empowered to act before violence becomes inevitable.

These deaths should not be remembered only as shocking headlines.

They should compel us to ask what we missed, what systems failed, and how many similar stories are quietly unfolding behind closed doors.

Familicide is not a mystery of evil.

It is a tragedy of neglect of pain that grew in silence until it became irreversible.

* Haezreena Begum Abdul Hamid is a criminologist and senior lecturer at the Faculty of Law, Universiti Malaya and may be reached at haezreena@um.edu.my

** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.