At a border crossing between Singapore and Malaysia, a moment of road conflict was captured on video and released into the vast, unforgiving current of the internet — where it quickly became something its own recorder never intended. The man who posted the footage now watches as strangers, armed with fragments of information they cannot verify, pursue the people in that red car across the digital landscape. His regret illuminates a familiar modern tension: the act of bearing witness and the consequences of doing so in a world where documentation is never neutral, and where the crowd that gathe
Road rage video poster calls for end to doxxing of Kia duo
The woman and her family face online harassment and doxxing through publication of personal information by internet vigilantes.
I believe that the way she is being treated is unfair
Mark
Why did Haziq post the video in the first place? Was he trying to shame them?
Mimi
He posted it to a page called SG Road Vigilante—the name tells you the impulse. He saw what he thought was bad driving and wanted to document it. But he didn't anticipate the response.
Luke
We should be careful here. We don't actually know his full motivation. The article says he posted it; it doesn't say he was trying to shame anyone specifically. That's an inference.
Mark
Fair. So what changed his mind?
Mimi
He saw people online publishing personal details about the people in the red car. Addresses, phone numbers, photos. That's when he realized the video had become something else entirely.
Luke
And he expressed regret about that—or at least sympathy for the people being doxxed. But we should note: he still posted the video. The doxxing is a separate crime, but the video was the spark.
Mark
So there are actually two separate investigations happening?
Mimi
Yes. Malaysian police are looking at the red Kia occupants for mischief—the blocking, the confrontation. Singapore police are investigating the doxxing itself, the publication of personal information.
Luke
And those are two different legal questions. One is about the road incident. One is about what happened after online.
Mark
What does the law actually say about doxxing in Singapore?
Mimi
Up to a year in jail and a five-thousand-dollar fine if you publish someone's identifiable information intending to harass, threaten, or incite violence.
Luke
That's the penalty. But we don't know yet who will actually be charged or convicted. The report has been made, but investigations take time.
Mark
And Haziq—does he face any legal exposure himself?
Mimi
The article doesn't suggest he does. He posted a video of a public incident. The doxxing came from other people online.
Luke
Right. Posting the video isn't illegal. Publishing someone's home address with intent to harass is. Those are different acts by different people.
The Pulse
- A 25-year-old civil servant posted a road rage video to document bad driving near the Tuas Second Link — and within hours, online vigilantes had turned it into a doxxing campaign against the people in the red car.
- Phone numbers, home addresses, and photographs of the accused began circulating online, transforming a traffic dispute into a sustained harassment operation targeting a woman and her family.
- The video's own poster, Muhammed Haziq, publicly broke from the mob — expressing sympathy for the accused and admitting he could not confirm whether the information being shared was even accurate.
- Singapore police are now investigating the doxxing as a criminal matter, with convictions carrying penalties of up to one year in jail and a five-thousand-dollar fine.
- Malaysian authorities are simultaneously probing the red Kia's occupants for mischief, leaving all parties caught inside overlapping legal and digital storms of uncertain outcome.
At a border crossing between Singapore and Malaysia, a moment of road conflict was captured on video and released into the vast, unforgiving current of the internet — where it quickly became something its own recorder never intended. The man who posted the footage now watches as strangers, armed with fragments of information they cannot verify, pursue the people in that red car across the digital landscape. His regret illuminates a familiar modern tension: the act of bearing witness and the consequences of doing so in a world where documentation is never neutral, and where the crowd that gathers to judge rarely knows when to stop.
On a Saturday afternoon in July, traffic slowed near the Tuas Second Link customs checkpoint. A woman stood in front of a black Toyota Alphard; a man gestured from inside a red Kia. Someone recorded it. By Monday, the footage had spread across social media — and strangers had begun dismantling the lives of the people in that red car.
Muhammed Haziq, 25, was the one who posted the video to SG Road Vigilante on Facebook. He was not the driver — his father was, with his mother and two sisters along for a trip to the family's property in Johor Bahru. Haziq had posted the clip to document what he saw as dangerous driving. What followed was not what he had anticipated.
Within hours, online vigilantes were publishing what they claimed were the identities of the woman and the Kia's driver — phone numbers, addresses, photographs. Haziq watched the campaign unfold and felt its weight. When he spoke to journalists on Monday, he said the people in the red car were being treated unfairly. He admitted he had no way of knowing whether the information circulating was even correct. He asked people to stop sharing her pictures.
Law enforcement moved on two fronts. Malaysian police opened an investigation into the Kia's occupants for mischief. In Singapore, a doxxing complaint was filed, and the police confirmed they were looking into the publication of personal information with intent to harass — an offence carrying up to a year in jail and a five-thousand-dollar fine.
What lingered was the distance between what the video showed and what the internet decided it meant. Haziq's regret was not about the act of recording, but about the machinery that transformed a traffic moment into something far more damaging — a public trial conducted by strangers who had already reached their verdict.
On a Saturday afternoon in July, traffic crawled along the Tuas Second Link near the customs checkpoint. A man in a black Toyota Alphard found himself blocked by a red Kia sedan. A woman stood in front of his car. A man gestured from inside it. Someone recorded it. By Monday, the video had spread across social media, and strangers on the internet had begun pulling apart the lives of the people in that red car.
Muhammed Haziq, a 25-year-old civil servant, was the one who posted the footage to a Facebook page called SG Road Vigilante. He was not driving the Alphard that day—his father, 51, was behind the wheel. His mother, also 51, and his two sisters, ages nine and seventeen, were passengers. They were heading to a property the family owned in Johor Bahru. What happened next was not what Haziq expected or wanted.
Within hours, online vigilantes had begun publishing what they claimed were the identities of the woman and the driver of the red Kia. Phone numbers, addresses, photographs—the kind of personal information that turns a moment of traffic conflict into a sustained campaign of harassment. Haziq watched this unfold and felt the weight of it. He had posted the video to document what he saw as bad driving. He had not posted it to destroy anyone's life.
On Monday, Haziq spoke to journalists. He said the people in the red Kia were being treated unfairly. He acknowledged that he did not know if the information circulating online was even accurate—whether the woman identified was actually the woman in the video, whether the man was truly her husband. "My family doesn't know if we want to believe what is online," he said. He asked people to stop. He asked them to stop posting her pictures.
Meanwhile, the machinery of law enforcement had begun to turn in two directions. Malaysian police opened an investigation into the occupants of the red Kia for mischief—the blocking of the road, the gesturing, the confrontation itself. In Singapore, the police received a report about the doxxing. The Singapore Police Force confirmed that someone had filed a complaint about the publication of identifiable information with intent to harass or threaten. The law on this was clear: conviction could mean up to a year in jail and a fine of five thousand dollars.
What remained unresolved was the gap between what had happened and what people believed had happened. A video showed a moment. The internet had filled in the rest—names, faces, histories, judgments. Haziq's regret was not about the video itself but about what came after, about the machinery that turned a traffic incident into something larger and more damaging than the original act. He had documented something. He had not anticipated that documentation would become the opening move in a different kind of confrontation, one that played out not on a road but in the spaces where strangers gather to judge and punish.
Notable Quotes
I believe that the way she is being treated is unfair to her. I would appreciate if people stop putting up her pictures.— Muhammed Haziq, video poster
We are unsure if that is really the woman and if the man is her husband. My family doesn't know if we want to believe what is online.— Muhammed Haziq
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Crime & Justice