Kopi’s story is our story: Why animal welfare is about justice, not votes

 

WE have all seen them—the stray animals in our neighborhoods. Some we shy away from, others we quietly feed, forging unspoken bonds. They are part of the fabric of our communities. But what happens when that fabric is torn by cruelty, and the systems meant to protect fail?

This isn’t a niche issue for a few animal lovers. It’s a test of our society’s character. In Malaysia, we have a promise on paper: the Animal Welfare Act 2015, a law born from the belief that causing suffering to animals is wrong.

It’s supposed to protect them from beatings, torture, and neglect. It even strictly limits the shooting of animals, intended as a last resort. Yet too often, this promise feels empty, shattered by stories we wish we hadn’t heard.

Take Kopi for instance. If you spent any time online, you might have seen him—a friendly dog in Besut, Terengganu, whose life was documented in joyful, viral clips. He was seen playing, coexisting peacefully, a familiar face cared for by a community feeder.

Then, one day, he was shot dead in a municipal operation. The outrage was immediate and visceral. How could a life known for gentleness end so brutally?

Advocates pointed out a painful truth: under the very law designed to protect him, a regularly fed animal is considered owned. Kopi wasn’t just a stray; he was, in the eyes of the law, someone’s dog. His death felt like a profound injustice.

Kopi’s story didn’t end in that alley. It moved to the steps of Parliament, where a hundred hearts, heavy with loss and determination, gathered to say, “Enough.”

It lives in a courtroom, where activists are asking a judge to affirm that the law must mean what it says. It echoes in the collective voice of 33 non-governmental organisations pleading with lawmakers to fix a broken system—to replace bullets with humane management, and apathy with accountability.

This is a wave of compassion that can’t be ignored. From lawyers in Perak demanding proper investigations to coalitions nationwide calling for an end to lethal “control”, ordinary Malaysians are insisting that mercy is a strength, not a weakness.

They champion solutions like Trap-Neuter-Release, which addresses population concerns without violence.

Yet, in election seasons, there’s a danger. Sincere grief can be turned into a political soundbite, and complex issues reduced to slogans. We must be wary of those who offer easy talk without committed action.

The call for change isn’t about scoring points; it’s about building a society that lives up to its own laws and moral conscience.

Kopi’s name has become a rallying cry—”Justice for Kopi”. But that justice isn’t just for one dog. It’s for every silent creature that shares our streets and our country.

It’s a demand for a system that reflects our better selves: one that chooses understanding over indifference, protection over cruelty, and lasting integrity over temporary political gain.

How we treat those who have no voice, no vote, and no power tells us exactly who we are. Let’s choose to be just. Let’s choose to be kind. Let’s make the promise of the law a reality for all. 

 KT Maran is a Focus Malaysia viewer.

The views expressed are solely of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of  MMKtT.

- Focus Malaysia.