For moviegoers in Malaysia, the idea of a dark cinema hall where couples whisper and friends sprawl across rows is usually taken for granted. But in the east coast state of Terengganu, going to the movies has become a carefully regulated moral experience. Since 2020, cinemas in this conservative Malaysian state have drawn national attention for introducing gender-segregated seating, turning what is normally a private leisure activity into a highly visible debate about religion, gender, and public space.
The policy first came into public view in July 2020, when cinemas reopened after pandemic closures. At a Lotus Five Star (LFS) cinema in Kuala Terengganu, management announced that men and women who were not related would be required to sit in separate seating zones. Audiences were divided into three categories: men, women, and families. The justification was explicitly religious. The arrangement was said to comply with Syariah principles and to prevent pergaulan bebas (free mixing between unrelated men and women), a long-standing concern in the state.
The approach was reinforced a few months later in Kemaman, where TGV Cinemas at Mesra Mall introduced similar seating rules following guidance from the local municipal council. In this case, the policy was spelled out in detail. “Family” seating applied to married couples, parents with children, siblings, or legal guardians. Cinema staff were reportedly empowered to conduct random checks, and married couples could be asked to show proof of marriage before being allowed to sit together. The rule applied to all patrons, regardless of religion, reflecting the fact that Terengganu’s regulations govern public venues rather than private religious spaces.
Terengganu’s government, led by the Islamist party PAS (Parti Islam Se-Malaysia), defended the move as a matter of local values. State officials argued that cinemas were not being banned, but rather “Islamised” in a way consistent with adat (custom) and akhlak (moral conduct). Supporters framed the policy as modest and respectful, noting that family members could still sit together and that enforcement relied on advice rather than criminal punishment.
Yet the reaction outside Terengganu was swift and sharp. Feminist groups and civil society organisations warned that what was presented as a local guideline risked normalising gender segregation in everyday life. Sisters in Islam, one of Malaysia’s most prominent women’s rights organisations, criticised the cinema rules as part of a wider pattern in which moral policing was creeping into commercial and social spaces. The group argued that segregation treats women as potential sources of moral disorder rather than equal citizens, and that it reinforces patriarchal assumptions under the guise of religious piety.
Civil liberties advocates also questioned the practicality and dignity of the policy. Requiring couples to prove marriage status in a cinema lobby was widely mocked online and criticised as invasive. Commentators pointed out that such rules disproportionately affect women, younger people, and mixed-gender friend groups, while doing little to address genuine social harms. Opposition politicians at the federal level called on the national government to intervene, warning that inconsistent moral rules between states undermine the idea of equal citizenship in Malaysia.
The controversy was not just symbolic. Terengganu has long served as a testing ground for conservative social policies, from dress codes to entertainment restrictions. Critics fear that cinema segregation could be a template. Indeed, discussions about extending similar guidelines have already surfaced in other PAS-governed states, including Kelantan and Perlis. In Perlis, plans for the state’s first cinema in decades sparked headlines about possible gender separation and lights remaining on during screenings, explicitly citing Terengganu as a model—even though post-opening enforcement there remains unconfirmed.
Culturally, the debate exposes a deeper tension in Malaysian society. Terms like aurat (parts of the body that should be covered), ikhtilat (mixing of genders), and maksiat (sinful behaviour) are increasingly invoked in discussions about public life. For many urban Malaysians, cinemas are neutral spaces of leisure. In Terengganu, they have become arenas where religious authority, gender norms, and state power intersect.
Five years on, segregated seating in Terengganu cinemas remains one of the clearest examples of how morality policies move from sermons and schools into shopping malls and multiplexes. Whether these rules stay local or spread more widely will shape not only how Malaysians watch movies, but how they negotiate gender, faith, and freedom in public spaces.
Speechless? Me? Please. I was speechless for exactly seven seconds, which is about as long as it takes me to inhale before launching into a proper rant. Gender-segregated cinemas? In 2026? Sweethearts, this is not piety, this is cosplay morality, and it smells like mothballs and control.
Let’s be very clear. Separating men and women in public spaces is not some neutral cultural quirk, not some cute local “value.” It is the political technology of a dark past. It is what societies do when they are terrified of women’s autonomy and deeply suspicious of men’s self-control. It says: men are animals, women are temptations, and the state must babysit everyone. Romantic, no?
I’ve lived long enough, traveled enough, and fought enough small, exhausting battles to recognize this script. First it’s “just seating.” Then it’s proof of marriage. Then it’s how you dress, how you laugh, how loud you speak, how visible you are. Moral policing always starts politely. It never ends politely.
And don’t give me that tired line about “protecting women.” Protect us from what? From watching a movie next to a friend? From sitting with someone we choose? Women are not fragile teacups trembling at the sight of male elbows. We are adults. Citizens. Taxpayers. Mothers. Lovers. Workers. We manage entire households and careers — but apparently not a cinema seat.
What really irritates me is the selective amnesia. Malaysia is not some sealed-off time capsule. Women here are educated, mobile, online, outspoken. Young people date, flirt, think, disagree. Trying to roll public life back to imagined moral purity doesn’t create virtue — it creates hypocrisy. Everyone knows that. Everyone pretends not to.
And yes, I hear the defenders already: “If you don’t like it, don’t go.” Ah, the classic authoritarian lullaby. Don’t like it? Stay home. Don’t question. Don’t complain. Don’t exist too loudly. That’s not morality. That’s obedience training.
To my sisters — Malay, Chinese, Indian, Indigenous, Muslim and non-Muslim — I see you. I know exactly who pays the price when segregation becomes “normal.” It’s women, always women, who are told to adjust, comply, explain, and smile while doing it. Enough.
Cinema is not a threat to faith. Women are not a threat to society. Mixing genders is not the collapse of civilization. What is dangerous is teaching the next generation that separation equals virtue and control equals care.
So no, I’m not speechless. I’m louder than ever. Stop this nonsense. Gender segregation belongs in history books, not movie halls. And trust me, Auntie will be sitting exactly where she damn well pleases.