Law and Home Affairs Minister K Shanmugam criticised US President Joe Biden’s clemency decisions on 19 January 2025, questioning the inconsistencies in sparing some death row inmates while allowing others to face execution.
However, a recent case in Singapore has drawn attention to potential contrasts in the country’s own application of the death penalty.
Mr Shanmugam, writing on a Facebook post in response to a December 2024 Wall Street Journal (WSJ) article titled Biden’s Prisoners of (His) Conscience, noted the inconsistency in President Biden’s actions.
He highlighted how some prisoners, such as individuals convicted of sexual assault and murder, were pardoned, while others responsible for mass shootings in Charleston and Pittsburgh were not.
“Why was it ok to pardon some cold-blooded killers, while no pardon was given to others?” Mr Shanmugam questioned in a Facebook post, adding that Singapore’s policies prioritise the public interest over personal beliefs.
It should, however, be made clear that a pardon doesn’t mean these criminals get off the hook but rather have their death penalty commuted to life sentences—something the Minister seems to suggest or imply.
Mr Shanmugam reiterated that Singapore’s death penalty acts as a deterrent against drug trafficking, which he said directly protects lives. He pointed to the country’s success in reducing drug abuse, with annual arrests dropping from 6,000 in the 1990s to 3,000 today, despite rising regional drug supplies.
Stark contrast of practice in reality
However, these assertions are being contrasted with the recent case of Lian Hoe Heng, a 58-year-old Singaporean drug syndicate leader who avoided the death penalty despite playing a pivotal role in trafficking operations and laundering over S$1.27 million in proceeds.
Lian, described by prosecutors as a “chief operating officer” within a Malaysia-based syndicate, coordinated the supply of drugs into Singapore and amassed S$203,000 in personal profits. On 30 December 2024, he was sentenced to 28 years and nine months in prison.
Judicial Commissioner Christopher Tan noted Lian’s central role in the syndicate’s operations. Yet, his charges stopped short of invoking the death penalty, as one trafficking charge specified 249.99g of methamphetamine—just below the 250g threshold for capital punishment.
The decision to charge Lian with only one count of drug trafficking and four counts of money laundering deserves closer scrutiny.
Under Singapore’s Misuse of Drugs Act, provisions explicitly allow for the punishment of those who abet, aid, or counsel the commission of offences, even if the acts were conducted outside the country. Sections 12 and 13 of the Act clearly state that such abetments and preparatory acts are punishable as if the offender committed the offence itself.
Given Lian’s admitted role as a coordinator of drug supplies into Singapore—a role akin to a chief operating officer within the syndicate—his activities appear to align squarely with these provisions. The fact that he laundered over S$1.27 million in proceeds and directly amassed S$203,000 suggests his involvement was far-reaching. His central position in the syndicate’s operations likely facilitated the trafficking of quantities far greater than the 249.99g cited in his sole trafficking charge.
This raises a critical question: why was Lian not charged under the abetment provisions, which would have held him liable for the full extent of the syndicate’s trafficking activities? Such a charge might have resulted in harsher penalties, potentially including the death penalty, given the scope of the drug operations he orchestrated.
One could argue that this selective charging undermines Singapore’s tough stance on drug trafficking, creating a perception of leniency toward those at the top of the supply chain.
By limiting the charges to one count of trafficking and four of money laundering, the case appears to fall short of addressing the full gravity of Lian’s offences. This disparity invites further scrutiny of how Singapore’s drug laws are applied and whether they effectively target the masterminds of trafficking networks.
In contrast, Singapore’s Substantive Assistance Framework often places lower-level offenders, such as drug mules, at greater risk. These individuals, despite their relatively minor roles in trafficking operations, face execution if they cannot provide sufficient intelligence on syndicate leaders—knowledge they often lack. This creates a catch-22: drug mules are penalised with the death penalty for limited culpability, while major figures like Lian are more likely to escape capital punishment if they can provide information to the authorities.
As Singapore continues to uphold its tough rhetoric on drug crimes globally, cases like Lian’s expose the challenges in applying the death penalty consistently. This disparity forces a fundamental question: who are we truly threatening with the death penalty—mules with little impact on drug trafficking, or the drug lords who profit the most from it?