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“Stripped for Healing?” The E-Hati Scandal and What It Says About Malaysia’s Silent Crisis

Jomanda Heng
Jul 22
3 min read

When videos of women reportedly stripping naked during a marriage-focused motivational retreat went viral, the internet exploded with outrage, ridicule, and questions. The event, organized by E-Hati International in Shah Alam, wasn’t some underground cult gathering—it was a paid retreat attended by working professionals and even civil servants. The programme promised “healing,” “rebirth,” and a chance to fix fractured marriages or broken selves. But what exactly went wrong?

The Event That Broke the Internet

Held between September 27–30, 2024, the event culminated in a private “Queens Night” session where at least four women—possibly facilitators-were—were seen undressing in what organizers described as a therapeutic exercise. Attendees had paid between RM6,000 and RM9,000 for the experience, expecting empowerment, emotional breakthroughs, and expert-guided healing.

But when the footage went public in July 2025, Malaysian authorities acted swiftly. Police arrested six individuals, including founders Diyana Tahir and Rahim Shukor. JAIS and JAKIM launched religious inquiries. The backlash was immediate—how could such an act occur in a Muslim-majority nation? Was this deviance, fraud, or simply misunderstood therapy?

Healing or Hype?

The organizers maintain that the act of “stripping” was a symbolic “rebirth” ritual—non-sexual, non-religious, and meant as a safe space for women to release trauma. They insist no one was forced, no drugs were used, and that this was a guided process built on NLP, breathwork, hypnotherapy, and Thai massage techniques.

But in the eyes of the public, it clashed head-on with cultural and religious norms. Malaysia may have modern cities and global ambitions, but societal expectations around modesty and morality are still deeply rooted. Public nudity is illegal. And for many, the idea of "therapeutic undressing" sounds like a Western import repackaged as healing.

Perhaps that’s the real issue.

In a society where emotional struggles are often silenced—where marriage counselling is stigmatized, and mental health is only beginning to shed its taboo—people are desperate for help. The fact that professionals, including civil servants, paid thousands of ringgit for this retreat speaks volumes. They weren’t thrill-seekers. They were people seeking relief. People who wanted to feel again.

And that’s what makes this scandal bigger than just a viral video. It uncovers a wound we’ve tried to bandage with religion, silence, or social expectations. Many women (and men) are suffering in silence—in failing relationships, unresolved trauma, or identity crises. The real question isn’t “Why did they strip?” It’s “Why did they feel this was the only place they could be free?”

Should We Be Outraged—Or Reflective?

The public's anger is understandable. Stripping as therapy crosses a cultural and legal line. But what if, underneath the shock, this event is a symptom of something deeper?

Are we offering Malaysians accessible, safe, and culturally relevant spaces for emotional healing? Or are we judging those who step outside traditional boundaries while offering them no real support?

If we criminalize every unconventional approach without understanding the need behind it, we risk driving more people into the arms of unregulated, unsafe, or even exploitative “healers.”

This controversy has put Malaysia at a crossroads. Do we continue to treat emotional health as taboo, especially within marriages and among women? Or do we finally admit that love, trauma, and mental well-being deserve real conversations, not just scandals?

If the only time we talk about women’s emotional liberation is when they’re naked, we’ve already failed.

E-Hati might be the flashpoint, but the real fire is what’s burning inside thousands of Malaysians who feel unseen, unheard, and unsupported.

This isn’t just about modesty or morality. It’s about meaning. It's about how we help people navigate heartbreak, loneliness, identity, and emotional exhaustion in a way that honours both their needs and our values.

Maybe the conversation shouldn't be “Is this deviant?” but rather—“What does this say about the help we aren’t giving people?”

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