The 17-year-old is an undergraduate who wants what every teenager wants: freedom on four wheels. He walks into a modest driving school in his neighbourhood, clutching his documents, rehearsing eye test charts in his head.

Across the counter, the clerk barely looks up. The “options” come out smoothly, like an everyday menu.

“Package A: you surely pass.”

“Package B: you go through the full test. You pass only if you don’t make mistakes.”

He freezes. Is this how it works now? Has “guaranteed pass” become a legitimate product in Malaysia’s licensing system? Who actually decides if he is safe to drive: the road transport department (JPJ) examiner, or the cashier in front of him?

He walks out with a question lodged in his chest: “Is this real?”

The disturbing answer is yes – and the consequences ripple far beyond his own test day.

A nation bleeding on its roads

Malaysia’s roads are already unforgiving. Transport accidents made up 3.5% of all medically certified deaths in 2023, placing them among the major causes of death nationwide. International and regional profiles estimate that about 5,000 Malaysians die annually in road crashes, at a fatality rate of roughly 13.9 per 100,000 population.

Government-linked data and ministerial briefings translate these statistics into a stark daily reality: about 18 people die on Malaysian roads every day.

In 2023 alone, 6,443 lives were lost to road accidents; about 65% of those killed were motorcyclists, many of them young.

Behind each number is a human scene: orthopaedic wards with beds overflowing, families camping in corridors, and surgeons working overtime to repair shattered bones.

Public hospitals carry the long-term burden of surgery, follow-up care and rehabilitation – often for injuries that might have been avoided if driving tests were not treated as negotiable.

When a teenager buys a “KopiO” licence, every other road user unknowingly shares the risk.

The KopiO culture that won’t die

“KopiO licence” is not a new phrase. It has haunted Malaysia’s road safety conversation for years – a shorthand for licences obtained through bribes, shortcuts, and syndicates.

Enforcement drives in the past have uncovered JPJ staff, agents and middlemen who “sell” passes to candidates who do not properly sit for or pass their tests.

Some reports describe packages where cash “smooths the way” through both theory and practical exams.

In Johor, a single undercover operation at two driving schools reportedly found up to 80 violations in one institute alone – from absent instructors to unqualified coaches and learners driving while smoking.

Extrapolate that across 248 driving schools nationwide, and it raises an uncomfortable question: are these rogue exceptions, or symptoms of a systemic sickness?

JPJ has repeatedly issued warnings against fake driving schools and agents peddling illegal licences, including online, that promise quick passes without proper lessons.

Yet the offers persist, often whispered at counters and in WhatsApp chats: “Don’t worry, we can make sure you pass.”

JPJ’s promise vs reality

On paper, the rules are clear. Only JPJ has the authority to approve, conduct and certify driving tests. The department has tried to tighten the system, with eTesting, remote recording of tests, and proposals to suspend or revoke the permits of schools whose graduates accumulate high numbers of traffic offences or accidents.

It has conducted special operations targeting driving institutes and spoken of stricter enforcement. But the reality on the ground tells a different story: teenage candidates being offered “menu options” for integrity.

This gap between policy and practice suggests deeper problems: inconsistent oversight, entrenched corrupt networks around licensing, and a culture where young people assume, “this is just how the system works”.

The question then becomes: if a licence can be bought as a package, what is the true value of JPJ’s endorsement?

From licence counter to hospital bed

Every “sure pass” deal sets off a chain reaction.

Families send their children to driving schools trusting that a licence represents minimum competency. Hospitals struggle with the load of trauma cases from road crashes.

Society quietly signals that laws need not be obeyed if you can pay to bend them.

Road traffic incidents are a major contributor to premature death in Malaysia, especially among young adults. Beyond the human grief, each road death is estimated to cost the country millions of ringgit in combined healthcare, productivity and social losses.

Now layer on this question: how many of the drivers involved in these tragedies were waved through a compromised system, their skills untested, and their weaknesses unassessed and uncorrected, because someone had already promised them, “You surely pass”?

A system that must be forced to change

The young undergraduate’s question – “Is this real?” – should not stop at social media posts or coffee shop discussions. It should trigger reforms.

• Relentless enforcement: driving schools must undergo frequent, random, undercover checks. Those found selling “guaranteed pass” packages or collaborating with syndicates should face immediate suspension, and their names made public.
• Radical transparency: pass-fail rates for each school and testing centre should be published annually, with outliers flagged for audits. Licences should carry traceable codes linking examiner, school and location.
• A dedicated JPJ–Malaysian Anti-Corruption Commission unit: a permanent task force should focus on licence-related corruption, with genuine protection and incentives for whistleblowers from within the system.
• An informed public: national campaigns must make it crystal clear that paying for a “KopiO” licence is illegal, dangerous and punishable. Parents and students need easy, anonymous channels to report schools offering “sure pass” deals.

At its core, this is not just about internal discipline at JPJ. It is about road safety, public health, and the state’s duty of care to its citizens.

A driving licence should mean one thing: this person has been tested, corrected, failed if necessary, and only then trusted with a steering wheel. It should not resemble a shopping receipt where, if you pay extra, nobody checks your answers.

So, when a 17-year-old is told, “You surely pass”, the rest of us should hear a warning, “You surely increase the risk for everyone on the road”.

The young man who asked whether this is real has held up a mirror to the system.

The reflection is not flattering. The only acceptable response now is action – firm, transparent and sustained.

Eighteen deaths a day is already a national shame. Malaysia does not need more “KopiO” drivers to keep filling our wards and our morgues.

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.