World Day Against the Death Penalty: The Women Who Survived Death Row in Malaysia

Also published on Malay Mail on 10 October 2024.

“None of us have enough sanitary pads.” 

“They barely give us enough soap to clean ourselves.” 

“I haven’t spoken to my children in 8 years, I don’t know whether they’re alive.” 

Malaysia abolished the mandatory death penalty in April 2023, and replaced the punishment with 30 to 40 years’ imprisonment with caning or the discretionary death penalty for all death-eligible offences. This was followed by a resentencing exercise, where the Federal Court reexamined the death sentences handed down to 978 eligible prisoners — 95 of whom are women. 

At the 88th session of the Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) in May 2024, the Malaysian government said 88 of the 95 women eligible for the resentencing exercise are foreign nationals, reflecting the longstanding demographics of women on death row in Malaysia. Of those, 34 out of the 95 women have had their sentences reduced to life imprisonment — 30 years from their date of arrest. 

As part of HAYAT’s outreach work, almost 20 women have reached out to us. They have undergone the resentencing exercise and are currently serving the rest of their 30-year sentence in their respective prisons. They are Middle Eastern, East Asian, and Southeast Asian grandmothers, mothers, and young women.   

The disproportionate impact of the death penalty on women   

The Cornell Center on the Death Penalty Worldwide observed that most women are sentenced to death for crimes that arise out of their relationships with partners, friends and families. Women who are perceived as entrenching gender norms by being cast as “a bad wife, a bad mother, and a bad woman” are found to be more likely to receive a death sentence — regardless of the manipulative or coercive intimate relationships women face prior to their arrests.  

Despite the legislative progress last year, there remains no formal requirement for Malaysian courts to consider gender-specific concerns for women facing the discretionary death penalty. Moreover, the ongoing resentencing exercise has seen a trend where courts show significant reluctance to exercise any further discretion in reconsidering one’s death sentence beyond the stipulated 30-40 years’ imprisonment regardless of physical and mental conditions developed while in imprisonment. One quadriplegic woman on death row, for instance, was resentenced to 30 years’ imprisonment despite her worsening condition and risk of dying in prison. 

Fortunately, today we do not have to worry about the challenges, intricacies, politics and legal complexity behind judicial discretion. Today I want to share what we know about women on death row.

How did they get here? 

In 2012, Anne*, a single mother, was arrested for trafficking drugs into Malaysia when her son was 6 years old. Her husband had passed away not long after she gave birth to their son. 

Anne was initially handed a 16-year prison sentence, but this was overturned by the Federal Court in 2016 and she was sent to the gallows. Anne was eventually granted a 30-year sentence in replacement of her death sentence earlier this year, and she has about 8 years left to serve. 

Anne has consistently claimed that she has no knowledge of the substances in her possession; and the person who exploited her has also faced conviction back home for recruiting drug couriers among other charges. The person has since completed their sentence and has been released. To this day, Anne fails to comprehend how she is still being incarcerated away from home for someone else’s crime. “How is it possible that she (the exploiter) has faced punishment, but I’m still here?”

“Jangan disamakan, bukan semua orang di dalam sini adalah orang jahat.” — Mariam*, an elderly prisoner currently battling cancer

The abolition of the mandatory death penalty last year also resulted in an amendment to Section 39(B) of the Dangerous Drugs Act whereby the mandatory death penalty is no longer an option. For Anne, this transition would ideally better acknowledge her low-ranking role as a drug mule in the cross-border crime, but her frustration points to a lack of transnational coordination in investigating drug trafficking cases.  

Jen*, a mother of two, broke down in tears when I first spoke to her in her native tongue. “Do you know that you’re the first person ever to ask me about my story? No lawyers or judges have ever bothered hearing me out entirely.” 

Jen was convicted for drug trafficking and sentenced to death, yet she had never understood the legal proceedings she was facing. “How could I have? No one accorded me with a lawyer who knew my case well enough and spoke in my native tongue.” Jen has since received a 30-year sentence in place of her death sentence.

Article 14 (3a) of International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights states that every person has the right to be informed “promptly and in detail, in a language the person understands, of the nature and cause of charge against him/her”. 

I asked Jen about the moment she realised she was being sent to the gallows. “I did not know about it... Other women were crying in court, presumably about their death sentences too, but not me. The wardens were also being extra nice to me after I was sent back to prison to have my clothes changed (into the red-and-white top that signals one is a death row prisoner). One of the wardens finally realised that I may not know what was happening, and she found another prisoner to tell me that (the top meant) I was going to die.” 

Surviving death row

After getting their death sentences commuted to 30 years’ imprisonment, most women told me that they could now look forward to reuniting with their families back home. They have been moved from solitary confinement cells (the norm for death row prisoners in Malaysia) to larger cell blocks. For some, the move was a relief, for others, not so much. 

Mariam*, a single mother in her 60s who spent over a decade on death row before being resentenced, is currently battling cervical cancer in a cell block and tackling challenges of postoperative recovery on a daily basis. 

“Ever since I moved to a larger cell block, it’s tough as an old woman… especially with my condition. With my scars from the operation, it is physically challenging to have to queue for the toilet, and having to stand for hours to work for RM0.30/day is not doing my condition any good.” Mariam is now placed in the catering unit of the prison she is in.  

Apart from those on death row, prisoners can generally be placed in various units in Malaysian prisons for work. 

These days, what motivates Mariam most is the prospect of being reunited with her three children back home — although she has not been able to contact any of them for the last eight years. “I don’t know whether they’re alive… but I need to find out.” 

The women have also been finding their way around the lack of hygiene supplies, notably sanitary pads. While others attempt trading commodities with one another, Aly* and a few of her friends told me about how they cope with this issue. “We try to find t-shirts hanging around the area to tear them up and fold them into ‘reusable’ sanitary pads… but it does not do our skin good,” Aly reveals to me while scratching her arms that were noticeably infected with ringworm disease. 

While there's no legal barrier to healthcare in prison, limited resources given to the prison department affect what can be provided. In one prison, for example, women lamented a ‘lottery’ system where the clinic randomly selects prisoners weekly for appointments to be scheduled accordingly. It is entirely possible for one to not get ‘selected’ for a medical appointment over a lengthy period of time. 

I asked Aly what was being done about her infection. “It’s nearly impossible to get allergy medication here… we don’t even get enough fever pills, let alone for this (issue).” 

Reflecting on this World Day Against the Death Penalty 

On 4 July 2024, Kinabatangan MP Bung Moktar Radin asked in Parliament if Malaysia would “follow the Philippines’ lead… where (they have) successfully… managed to control drug dealers. (They) used to be one of the largest drug-exporting countries in the world. But today, it is almost empty… Why? Because tens of thousands were executed.” 

Inflammatory rhetoric on the necessity of the mandatory death penalty for drug trafficking offences, and framing drugs as a “threat to national security”, have historically been employed to justify the use of the death penalty as a deterrent to drug trafficking in Malaysia. This fact remains unchanged over a year after the abolition of the mandatory death penalty. 

After spending months getting to know these women who were convicted for drug trafficking in Malaysia, however, I cannot help but wonder: did I ever need the death penalty to protect myself and my loved ones from the drugs found in possession of these women before me? 

Are these women — faced with generational economic insecurity, coercion of multiple forms, fair trial violations, and long-term physical and mental deterioration — the ones who my government is trying to protect me from? 

Or am I more likely to find camaraderie in them?

*Names have been changed to protect anonymity.