What happened in Taman Maluri, Kuala Lumpur, where a man believed to be homeless was abused outside a bank in broad daylight, was not just an act of cruelty.

It was a public collapse of conscience that exposed three failures at once: a bank that hid behind its vendors, a state welfare system yet to be seen, and a society that chose to film humiliation instead of stopping it.

The video lasted seconds. The questions it raised will not go away so easily.

What followed was a familiar ritual in corporate Malaysia: indignation, a statement, and a careful measure of distance.

AmBank said it was “deeply concerned and saddened”, clarifying that the uniformed guard seen in the video was employed by an external security company, and that the second man — reportedly a nearby cobbler — had acted out of frustration.

This distinction may satisfy a legal team. It does not satisfy a moral one.

Outsourced or not, anyone stationed at a bank’s entrance represents that institution.

A uniform is a symbol of authority. Responsibility does not evaporate when it is subcontracted.

But the most disturbing element of this incident is not merely the assault itself. It is the vacuum that surrounds it.

If violence against a vulnerable person occurred in full view of the public, where was the immediate response? Was a police report lodged as soon as the video surfaced?

Have the assailants been identified by authorities? Have charges been considered, let alone filed?

Or are we expected to quietly accept an apology as a substitute for justice?

Assault is a crime, regardless of the victim’s social status. Being poor, homeless, or inconvenient does not strip a person of legal protection.

Being sprayed with water, kicked, humiliated, and driven away is not “crowd control”. It is violence.

If such acts go unpunished, it is not just one man being abandoned, it is the rule of law being quietly eroded.

Then comes the silence of those entrusted with care. Where is the social welfare department in all this? Has it made any effort to locate this man?

Has he been offered food, medical attention, shelter, counselling? If the welfare department exists for moments like this, where are its footsteps now?

And we must, uncomfortably, look in the mirror as well.

People stood by as a human being was degraded. One person chose to record instead of intervene. Others watched, waiting for it to end.

The modern reflex is to document suffering, not disrupt it. But a camera lens is not a conscience. Virality is not virtue. Recording cruelty does not absolve us from the duty to stop it.

This is not only a story about homelessness. It is about hierarchy — who is seen as human and who is treated as a nuisance.

It is about which lives command protection, and which are hosed down and kicked aside in plain view, without consequence.

An apology, however well-worded, is only the beginning. Now come the questions that demand answers, not silence.

Will the police investigate this as the assault that it is? Will the welfare department locate and assist the victim?

Will AmBank move beyond damage control and accept real institutional responsibility?

And will Malaysians, the next time we witness cruelty, finally choose to act instead of simply pressing “record”?

Until those questions are answered with action, this incident is not closed. It is a warning.

This was not enforcement. It was assault.

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.