Harm Reduction Versus Doing Good

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpted from my Qur’an, Hadith, And Hikayat: Exercises In Critical Thinking (2021)

October 4, 2026

Consider a traffic policeman who abandons his duty at an intersection in order to attend Friday prayers. In his absence the traffic snarls into gridlock, precipitating a series of fatal crashes and delaying an ambulance carrying a critically ill patient.

 

Then consider this. While practicing surgery in Malaysia during the 1970s, I reprimanded a junior doctor for doing precisely that: abandoning a fragile patient in the Casualty Ward to rush off to the mosque for his Friday prayers. In his mind, his personal salvation superseded the survival of his patient. It never occurred to him that saving a human life might be the very path to his own salvation. Worse, he was genuinely bewildered as to why I—a fellow Muslim—would dare discipline him for fulfilling his religious obligation.

 

Distinguishing the Universal from the Particular

Taking a more broad view, failing to observe the Saturday Sabbath is a transgression only within Judaism; likewise, skipping Friday prayers carries gravity only for Muslims. Drunk driving, however, is a potential harm that transcends creed. It poses an immediate threat to everyone on the road—Muslim and non-Muslim, driver and innocent bystander alike. Society thus has a clear duty to act against that.

Yet drinking itself is not synonymous with being drunk or belligerent. While consuming alcohol is sinful for Muslims, it is not so for others. Across many cultures it is an integral part of life, woven into weddings, religious sacraments, and civic celebrations.

A government may choose to restrict public drinking, or it may go further and impose total prohibition. America’s grand experiment with prohibition did curb public drinking, but it produced vastly worse outcomes: lethal poisonings from bootlegged moonshine, rampant property destruction, and the rise of organized crime. Modern arguments for legalizing and regulating cannabis and other illicit substances draw directly from those lessons of prohibition.

Could evil operate like a biological pathogen? In trace amounts, a weakened strain of virus acts as an inoculant, building immunity against a far greater catastrophe. In excess, it destroys a civilization—much as opium gutted China during the Qing Dynasty.

There is little wisdom in suppressing a minor vice if the enforcement yields a far greater societal tragedy. This insight underpins modern public health strategies of harm reduction. You cannot instantly eliminate the self-destructive compulsions of drug addiction, but you can reduce the secondary mortality and disease transmission by providing sterile needles and safe disposal infrastructures.

 

The Moral Failure of Institutional Cruelty

Consider human sexuality. Illicit sexual encounters carry public health consequences; HIV and other severe sexually transmitted infections are stark reminders of that reality. Yet punishing unwed mothers does not eliminate illicit sex. Instead, it drives vulnerable women toward backstreet abortions or desperate baby abandonment—a far greater moral and human tragedy, where the ultimate victim is an innocent child. This crisis has reached epidemic proportions in contemporary Malaysia.

Equally cruel is the state’s practice of branding babies born to unwed Muslim mothers with the lifelong patronymic "bin (or binti) Abdullah" on official birth certificates. Through bureaucratic decree, society stigmatizes an innocent child for life.

The consider the Islamic punishment for illicit sex – death by flogging or throwing rocks. Barbaric without any doubt by any cultural standard. However, consider the criteria for guilt. You would need four adult witnesses to the actual act. Meanaing, you would have to be fornicating in a public place and in brought daylight.  

We must maintain a clear distinction between the sin and the sinner. More crucially, state institutions must not inflict punitive collateral damages on innocent third parties.

 

Privacy, Authority, and the Bedouin Spirit

There is a traditional account of the Caliph Omar performing his nocturnal rounds—an early form of "walkabout management"—when he overheard an unmarried couple in a private residence. He breached their door and declared them guilty of zina (adultery), an offense carrying severe penalties.

The man looked at the ruler and replied calmly that while he and his partner had indeed sinned against Allah, the Caliph on ther hand had committed a far graver offense: violating their divine right to personal privacy.

Omar—demonstrating the humility of true leadership—apologized and withdrew. He understood that Allah is All-Forgiving and All-Generous, capable of pardoning private moral failures. Humans, however, are rarely so merciful. By invading their home, Omar had sinned against his subjects directly. In Islamic jurisprudence, a profound distinction exists between transgressions against God (Huquq Allah) and violations of human rights (Huquq al-'Ibad). Allah may forgive a missed prayer; He does not absolve you of the wrongs you commit against your neighbor unless the victim forgives you first.

That story also illustrates something even more vital: the intellectual courage of those early Bedouins. They were untamed by titles, unimpressed by authority, and unhesitating in challenging their leaders. Even Omar was held accountable to his face. Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.) himself was routinely questioned and challenged by skeptical Meccans during his early ministry.

A society cannot achieve greatness—nor can it adapt to a changing world—if its citizens are too terrified to question authority. In modern Malaysia, criticizing political figures can draw the attention of the police Special Branch. As for the Sultans, positioned as representatives of Allah on earth, they remain shielded from public critique. Few dare ask the more fundamental question: Why does the Almighty require a royal representative on earth?

 

 

Next:  Good Versus Evil