Pannir Selvam Pranthaman is one of several Malaysian nationals currently on death row in Singapore. In 2017, aged 29, he was sentenced to death for importing 51.84 grams of diamorphine (heroin) into Singapore.
During his trial, Pannir denied any knowledge that he was carrying prohibited drugs. The Singapore High Court judge, in convicting him, found that he was a drug “courier,” as his involvement was only limited to transporting the drugs. Under Singapore’s Misuse of Drugs Act, the court has the discretion not to impose the death penalty if the person convicted is a “courier” and has been issued a certificate by the public prosecutor stating that they cooperated with the authorities. However, the certificate requirement not only effectively shifts the sentencing decision from the judge to the prosecutor, but is also issued or withdrawn via a process that lacks transparency.
Pannir was denied a certificate and sentenced to death. Seven years on, he remains on death row. In this essay, Pannir’s sister Angelia shares what it’s like to have a brother at risk of imminent execution and why she won’t stop campaigning until his conviction is quashed.
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Growing up, Pannir’s childhood was filled with hobbies such as football, running, video games, music, and fashion. We frequently attended church camps and youth activities, creating lasting bonds and memories.
I remember Deepavali nights were spent in my auntie’s amazing village, surrounded by fruit trees and rivers, waking up to the sweet sounds of birdsong. The night before, we would play cards, sip hot Indian teh Tarik and breakfast would always be on the table, ready for us, the next day. It would often be tosai and chicken curry.
Memories of growing up together included cherished family holidays. During Hari Raya, one of the most important festivals celebrated by Muslims in Malaysia, our father would take us to visit relatives in the Cameron Highlands, where he grew up. We celebrated Raya with our Malay relatives, creating special moments together.
Looking back, these memories of church gatherings, cool breezes, and the joy of childhood feel like a dream we long to relive – a time of happiness that remains close to our hearts.
But as Pannir grew up, things didn’t unfold as expected. He became more rebellious. Communication became increasingly challenging. He worked as a warehouse assistant in a factory in Ipoh, a city in northwestern Malaysia, before eventually leaving for Singapore, where he sold children’s educational books and later worked as a security guard, sometimes taking on double shifts.
I learned about Pannir’s troubles from my sister, Sangkari. Together with my father, Sangkari learnt that Pannir had been arrested, through a pastor’s assistant in Singapore and one of his housemates.
When we heard he had been sentenced to death for trafficking 51.84 grams of heroin, we were utterly shocked. We couldn’t believe the news. How could this have happened? I kept thinking about the mess he was in. How did he end up in this situation?
We were overwhelmed with confusion and sorrow. The uncertainty and fear were paralyzing. We questioned our own actions, wondering if there was something we missed or could have done differently. The ripple effects of his actions spread through our lives, leaving us grappling with a mix of emotions: anger, sadness, and disbelief.
This was the beginning of a dark and difficult journey, one that would test our faith, our resilience, and our understanding of justice and mercy.
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It’s been close to 10 years since Pannir was sentenced to death. Even after that long, it doesn’t get any easier.
On death row, Pannir needs to seek permission for whatever he does, and all his moves are monitored. We try and visit him in prison four times a month; one visit is mine, the next my sister’s, and the other two are my brothers’.
We can’t take anything inside the prison. After registration, we’re thoroughly checked, our barcodes scanned and thumbprints keyed in. The prison doors open and close quickly as we enter. Then it’s a five to ten-minute walk down something that resembles a tunnel. We pass through a few gates, another steel door, and then another.
When we finally arrive, Pannir and I talk about everything: recent changes in politics, history, artificial intelligence, law, education, childhood memories, music, poetry, and great leaders. Sometimes Pannir sings songs and reads his poetry. I quite admire his talent, and it’s a must for us to pray for him before we leave. Either we pray for him, or he prays for us.
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One of the most difficult times for us was the week leading up to Pannir’s set execution, scheduled for May 24, 2019.
I can’t fully describe the feeling, but there was one day, a Wednesday, just before we filed his affidavit in court. Pannir brought his food, roti canai banjir, his breakfast or lunch, into the visiting room. It was the first time in a long while that we had seen Pannir eating. It was a truly heartbreaking moment, especially for my mum, who watched her son eat, not knowing if it would be one of our final moments together. We watched as Pannir ate and talked to us. I quietly captured that moment in my memory. It was truly heartbreaking.
We were so thankful when the Singapore Court of Appeals gave him a stay of execution, a day before he was scheduled to go to the gallows.
However, since then, it’s been difficult for my mother to visit Pannir. During the COVID-19 pandemic, phone calls were allowed, given the travel restrictions that were in place, but that was only after numerous demands and requests. Now that borders have reopened, those who are medically unfit, have health conditions, or are elderly mothers still can’t travel and aren’t given a chance for phone calls. I don’t understand why. After all, they are all on death row.
For the moment, Pannir is coping okay. One thing that fuels him is prayer and his connection with God. To keep his mind sharp, he constantly writes. He loves poetry and crafting poems.
While sharing relevant notes with him, I’ve learnt about poems, rhymes, stanzas and the nuances of poetry. Pannir has written over 80 poems on a variety of topics and his letters are carefully filed and recorded. They cover extraordinary subjects and tell compelling stories about life and the exploration of new ideas.
Our hope for the future is to keep Pannir alive. However, with the next court hearing scheduled for this month, we need to keep fighting for his release. Although our appeal for a certificate of substantive assistance was denied, we believe the prosecution should reconsider its decision, acknowledging the assistance he has provided to authorities. Greater transparency is needed.
I now run the NGO Sebaran Kasih (Spread Love Malaysia), and we desperately need a volunteer team to assist with Pannir’s case from start to finish, with members taking turns as needed. We need all the help we can get, and while we’re grateful for the support from organizations such as Amnesty International, we need more help. Regardless of whether he is inside or outside of prison, his life is valuable. His unique skills, potential contributions to society, and the impact he can have on others are just some of the reasons why he should remain alive.
The government of Singapore must remember that executing those convicted of carrying drugs denies them the opportunity to reform and contribute positively to society. Addressing the root causes of poverty and lack of opportunities is more effective than capital punishment when it comes to curbing drug trafficking. This is an opportunity for Singapore to join the global movement towards a more humane justice system.