In a move that once again spotlights how moral guardianship (polisi moral) plays out on Malaysia’s broadcast airwaves, the national station Radio Televisyen Malaysia (RTM) pulled the American preschool cartoon Santiago of the Seas from its TV2 schedule after a seemingly innocuous moment: two mermaid characters exchanging a kiss on the cheek. The episode in question—episode 22, aired 16 November 2025—prompted viewer complaints that the scene depicted same-sex affection, igniting a familiar debate about what is “appropriate” for children’s programming. RTM, although it stated that “based on our content assessment and checks, there were no actions or displays of affection suggesting same-sex relationships”, nevertheless suspended the show for a “detailed review… to ensure there are no elements that raise doubt or sensitivities”.
As our readers know, this episode of censorship in Malaysia is not an isolated hiccup, but sits within a deeper pattern of control over children’s media, LGBTQ representation, and cultural gate-keeping (penjagaan budaya). Malaysia’s laws criminalise same-sex relations and LGBTQ expression remains heavily regulated — federal laws and regulations such as the Printing Presses and Publications Act 1984 have been used to ban content deemed “prejudicial to morality, public order, or national interest”.
The RTM decision reveals two troubling dynamics. First, the program was pulled not because the broadcaster found offending content, but because of the perception of it. The mere suggestion of a same-sex moment triggered the suspension, despite a review finding no “display of same-sex relationships”. That suggests a system of pre-emptive self-censorship driven by fear of public or official backlash (awal pengawalan kendiri). Second, the target here is a preschool animation. In effect, children – or their guardians – become the terrain of moral policing. It raises questions: whose values are being protected and at what cost to diversity, representation and even creative freedom?
As our Malaysian readers may recall, this isn’t the first time the national censors have stepped in. When Beauty and the Beast (2017) included a brief gay moment featuring LeFou, Malaysia’s Film Censorship Board initially required a cut, and Disney delayed its release in the country rather than submit to the amendment. More recently, the government confiscated rainbow-themed watches in 2023 and barred their sale as “harmful to morality and public interest”. In terms of children’s media specifically, the broader rules require that programs broadcast on terrestrial TV avoid depictions of homosexuality, kissing or “immoral” behaviour — limits that apply to cartoons, comics and comics-inspired media.
In rejecting the episode of Santiago, RTM’s statement also referenced the need to “avoid public sensitivities” and prioritise local animation that reflects “our culture and values” over foreign influences. The sub-text is clear: imported children’s media is being treated as a potential cultural Trojan horse (Trojan kuda budaya) that could destabilise, or at least challenge, established norms around family, gender, sexuality and religion.
Yet the irony is stark: the show was designed for preschoolers, presented in a format of colourful CGI with pirate adventures, problem-solving scenarios and Spanish language phrases. The mermaid kiss was a brief gesture of affection, hardly an explicit promotion of sexual identity. But that nuance apparently doesn’t matter in the climate of caution. The result is a chilling effect (kesannya: kekangan) — broadcasters may err on the side of caution, domestic creators may self-censor, and children lose access to stories that reflect a wider range of human experience.
What does this mean for the child viewer (anak penonton) in Malaysia? It means the swirl of adventure and imagination in animation is being channelled through the narrow sluice of acceptable moral codes. It means certain messages — about love, difference, identity — may be edited out, avoided or never made in the first place. It means that the medium becomes less about discovery and more about discipline.
This episode is more than a one-off removal of a cartoon. It’s a snapshot of how cultural control (kendalian budaya) merges with childhood, media regulation and the policing of morality. The mermaid kiss may be tiny, but its ripple suggests an entire sea of filtered stories, unseen characters and silenced possibilities. And as Malaysia charts its course between tradition, modernity (kemodenan) and globalisation, the question remains: who decides which tales count, and who gets to tell them?
Auntie needs to have a stern word, again, with the self-appointed moral police who seem to think they’re the new headmasters of Asia’s playgrounds.
You’d think, with everything going on in the world—economic troubles, political scandals, floods, real social issues—they’d have better things to do than policing cartoons. But no. A mermaid gives a peck on the cheek and suddenly the guardians of “public morality” come marching in like we’re on the brink of societal collapse. Please. Spare me the drama.
Let’s get something straight, sweethearts: children are not fragile eggshells who will shatter if they see affection between two animated characters. They are brighter, tougher and far more curious than these pearl-clutching adults give them credit for. Kids today can troubleshoot a WiFi connection better than half the cabinet ministers in the region—but apparently, they must be “protected” from… kindness? Friendship? A cartoon kiss? Really?
And who told these people—these bureaucrats in their air-conditioned offices—that they get to decide what our sons and daughters can watch, read or think? Since when did public broadcasters become the gatekeepers of imagination? Hands off, abang-abang. Get out of the playgrounds, out of the reading corners, out of our kids’ minds. Childhood is supposed to be messy, magical, imaginative. It’s not a miniature military parade lined up according to your “nilai keluarga” (family values) checklist.
What irritates Auntie most, as always, is the sheer hypocrisy. Every day, kids in Asia grow up surrounded by real problems: bullying, exam pressure, mental health struggles, divorce, loneliness, economic insecurity. Where are the fierce moral crusaders then? Missing, darling—missing like a politician after an election. But show them a rainbow or a cartoon mermaid pecking another character and suddenly they’re warriors of righteousness.
Let Auntie tell you a secret the moral police do not want to hear: representation does not corrupt children. Suppression does. When you edit out difference, affection, or anything you find “sensitive,” you’re not protecting kids—you’re limiting their world. You’re shrinking their empathy, narrowing their understanding of humanity.
Children deserve stories that reflect complexity, kindness, diversity and joy. They deserve to laugh, imagine, explore, question. What they do not deserve is to have their entertainment filtered through fear, prejudice or political insecurity disguised as morality.
So to every censor who thinks cartoons are a battlefield for your anxieties—relax, sweetheart. The kids are fine. It’s the adults who need to grow up.