What Happened During the Malaysian Judicial Crisis in 1988?

What Happened During the Malaysian Judicial Crisis in 1988?

In 1988, a tremor rent Malaysia’s halls of justice: an institutional earthquake that cleaved its very bedrock. Constitutional pillars crumbled; and the Beacon that once burned bright for Justice flickered, and then, died. Sacred robes, woven with centuries of honour, lay torn in the rubble.
The Unthinkable carved its wound into the very beating heart of the Constitution.
Here sleep the lasting memories of those who fell, shields raised against the dying of the Light— the Guardians of the Rule of Law. Sadly, they breathe no more. Here dwells an inkling of that story. Will you read it?

by GK Ganesan June 3, 2025 2416 Views

[1]. We start from the middle of the saga

Because the Lord President Tun Salleh Abas fought for the independence of the Judiciary, he was tribunalised. You must ask who the tribunal members were: you would be surprised.

Five judges of the Supreme Court ordered a stay of the Tribunal. So his lawyers came to deliver it at Parliament, where the Tribunal sat. They were barred from the very halls where democracy breathes. When the court was informed, the judges requested the police to effect the delivery of the order. Grudgingly, the gates opened.

In the end, Tun Salleh was removed, five Supreme Court judges were suspended and tribunalised. The Government demanded that they “apologise”. Two refused and were removed.

Their crime? Upholding the Rule of Law: [Click here to find out what the Rule of Law and Separation of Powers mean].

Thus unfolded Malaysia’s constitutional tragedy—a darkness so profound it eclipsed the very soul of judicial independence.

[2]. The spark that lit the fire

The trouble began with politicians, as it always does.

In 1987, UMNO—Malaysia’s ruling party—split. Dr. Mahathir Mohamad led ‘Team A’ against Tengku Razaleigh Hamzah’s ‘Team B’. It was a leadership contest so close it could have been decided by the toss of a coin. Mahathir won by the narrowest of margins. The margin of victory was razor-thin, at just 2.9%, or 761 to 718 votes.¹

But victory tasted bitter, for Razaleigh’s supporters dragged the party to court. A dozen of them filed a suit at the High Court – one pulled out. The eleven struggled on.

They complained that the election had been rigged: as indeed it was.

They showed proof that 78 of the 1,479 delegates were illegal: these ‘delegates’ were from unregistered branches.

Justice Harun agreed. He found in favour of the applicants. Had the court declared the votes of the illegitimate 74 delegates void, had it ordered a re-election, it was clear what the eventual result would have been. Had the court stopped there, it would have been normal.

But the court did something rather odd.

On February 4, 1988, Justice Harun Hashim delivered a bombshell: “UMNO was illegal.”²

The ruling party was gone—just like that.

For his part, Mahathir formed the ‘New’ United Malays National Organisation: “UMNO Baru.” The acolytes of the new party scattered across the hinterland, assuring the faithful that “nothing had changed.”

At hastily convened UMNO Baru gatherings, a large ‘UMNO Baru’ banner would hang behind the evening’s speaker. At the opportune moment, a can of spray paint would be used to black out the word “Baru.”

How many of you can recall how PAS, then in the opposition, would heckle the ‘New’ UMNO, calling it ‘UMNO cat’: “painted UMNO”?

Mahathir had the assets of the old party transferred to the new. Predictably, he only accepted members loyal to him.

[3]. The law had spoken to power—and that could not be tolerated

Mahathir remained Prime Minister through parliamentary support.

The judiciary had spoken. But Power did not approve it.

That humiliation stung Power, like salt cast into an open wound.

Thus began Mahathir’s relentless and open attacks against the Judiciary. He berated the judges for judicial verdicts that dared displease him. Again and again, he lashed out against the judges.

[4]. The Constitutional Coup

Eventually, Mahathir moved against the Judiciary: he tried to use law to kill Law: (for the record, he failed).

On March 17, 1988, his government tabled the Constitution (Amendment) Bill 1988.

Hidden within its clauses lay a constitutional time bomb: Article 121(1) would no longer vest ‘judicial power’ in the courts.

Instead, courts would have only “such jurisdiction and powers as may be conferred by federal law.”³

To the layperson it meant Parliament could now control how the Judiciary did its work. And who controlled Parliament? That meant the sacred principle of the Separation of Powers was paralysed or at worst, dismantled.

The change seemed subtle—a word here, a phrase there. But constitutional lawyers knew better.

Thus the judiciary had been reduced from constitutional guardian to parliamentary servant.

Former Lord President, His Majesty Sultan Azlan Shah warned it would strip courts of their inherent jurisdiction.⁴ His warnings fell on deaf ears.

Parliament passed the bill with unseemly haste.

The first constitutional salvo against judicial independence had been fired.

[5]. A letter that shook the Palace

Lord President Tun Salleh Abas watched these developments with growing alarm. On March 26, 1988, he convened an unprecedented meeting of twenty judges.⁵

The judges jointly drafted a confidential letter to the monarch, the Yang di-Pertuan Agong, expressing their “disappointment” with the Prime Minister’s public vilification of the judiciary.⁶

The letter was respectful, even deferential. Salleh spoke for every judge in the land, telling the King that Mahathir’s attacks had wounded the institution they served.⁷

A copy went to each State Ruler—insurance, perhaps, that the message would not be buried.

The letter would become Salleh’s death warrant.

[6]. The Tribunal and the Theatre

On May 27, 1988, Mahathir struck back. Using Article 125(3) of the Constitution, he initiated removal proceedings against Salleh for alleged ‘misconduct.’⁸ The tribunal was chaired by Chief Justice Tun Hamid Omar—the very man who would inherit Salleh’s position if the Lord President fell. ⁹ The conflict of interest was breathtaking, yet no one in power seemed to care.

Salleh, sensing the noose tightening, tried desperate measures. On May 28, he wrote to Mahathir offering to retire immediately, taking all ninety-six days of leave due to him.¹⁰

Mahathir’s reply was coldly formal: “appropriate action would be taken according to the Constitution.”¹¹ There would be no graceful exit.

[7]. The Rulers’ failed mission of mercy

Even Malaysia’s Conference of Rulers recognised the constitutional catastrophe unfolding. During the Conference of Rulers, they offered Salleh a lifeline: “Apologise to the Yang di-Pertuan Agong, and his suspension would be lifted.”¹²

Desperate, Salleh agreed.

On June 27, 1988, he travelled to Johor Bahru to meet the King. The royal mediation was compromised before it began. When he arrived, the Attorney General and Chief Secretary to the Government were already there.¹³

The Yang di-Pertuan Agong informed Salleh that the tribunal would proceed. There were, “other allegations, beyond the letter”.¹⁴

[8]. Drama at Parliament’s Gates

The tribunal commenced on June 29, 1988. In desperation, Salleh’s lawyers sought an injunction from the High Court. When that failed, they turned to the Supreme Court.

On July 2, five Supreme Court judges—Wan Suleiman, Eusoffe Abdoolcader, Wan Hamzah, Azmi Kamaruddin, and George Seah—granted an interim stay restraining the tribunal from submitting its report.¹⁵

[9]. Power had barricaded itself against the law

What happened next reads like constitutional theatre. Salleh’s solicitors rushed to Parliament to serve the court order on the tribunal chairman. But the gates were locked—literally locked against justice.

This obstacle was conveyed to Tan Sri Wan Suleiman, who, after consulting with Tan Sri Abdoolcader, rang up the Deputy Inspector-General of Police. The Deputy IGP then directed the police constable stationed at the gate of Parliament House to open the gate, allowing passage for Tun Salleh Abas’ solicitors to effect service of the Court Order on the Chairman of the Tribunal. This was duly effected that same Saturday morning.¹⁶

[10]. The Purge Begins

The government’s response was immediate and brutal. On July 6, 1988, all five Supreme Court judges were suspended.¹⁷

The Supreme Court—Malaysia’s highest judicial authority—was effectively neutered and lay in paralysis.

No judge remained to challenge the tribunal’s legitimacy.

With the coast clear, the tribunal delivered its verdict on July 7. Salleh must go, they recommended, for ‘misbehaviour.’ ¹⁸

The Yang di-Pertuan Agong ratified the decision on August 8, 1988. After twenty-two years of distinguished service, Tun Salleh Abas was cast into the constitutional wilderness. A second tribunal followed in September, targeting the suspended judges. Only Wan Suleiman and George Seah refused to apologize for upholding judicial independence.¹⁹

Both were dismissed.²⁰

Of the two, Justice George Seah said – correctly as it turned out – that, “History will be my judge”.²¹ Seah fell back on the example of Socrates refusing to obey an order because it was wrong to do so. His own conduct, he said, was to emulate Socrates who said, “I did not care a straw for death; but that I did care very much indeed about doing wrong”.²²

The others, chastened and humbled, were eventually reinstated.

[11]. The Long Shadow of 1988

The crisis left scars that have never fully healed. As retired Court of Appeal judge Datuk Hishamudin observed twenty-seven years later, “the negative public perception against the judiciary is still there.”²³

Former Lord President Tun Suffian had predicted it would take a generation for the judiciary to recover.²⁴

More than three decades later, many question whether recovery is complete.

Chief Justice Tengku Maimun Tuan Mat, speaking in 2022, called 1988 “the darkest chapter in the history of the Malaysian judiciary”.

Yet she drew from it a defiant lesson: judges must remain “faithful to the Federal Constitution and be resolute in upholding the rule of law.” ²⁵

But His Majesty’s son, Tunku Abdul Majid Idris, has countered that Mahathir used his father to achieve his political ends.²⁶

The truth, like justice itself, remains elusive.

What cannot be disputed is this: 1988 marked the moment when Malaysia’s judiciary bent its knee to executive power.

The constitutional amendment, the tribunal proceedings, the mass suspension of judges—all spoke to a single, chilling reality.

In the contest between law and power, power had won—then.

[13]. All this was against the Basic Structure doctrine

Yet, under the Basic Structure Doctrine, such an amendment had “torn the very fabric of the constitution.” The doctrine was established in the landmark case of Kesavananda Bharati (1973). There, the Indian Supreme Court held that the ‘basic features of the Constitution’ (such as, in this case, judicial independence) cannot be amended or destroyed—even through constitutional amendments supported by a two-thirds majority.

[14]. Epilogue: The Price of Silence

Today, Malaysia’s courts operate under the shadow of 1988.

The amended Article 121(1) remains in the Constitution, a constant reminder that judicial power flows from Parliament’s grace, not constitutional right.²⁷

In 2008, the government offered ex-gratia payments to Salleh and the affected judges—compensation, perhaps, but not vindication.²⁸

Salleh himself never received the closure he sought. As Chief Justice Tengku Maimun revealed, he had repeatedly spoken of wanting to address the Bench one final time, to bid a proper farewell to the institution he had served.

That moment never came.

He passed away in January 2021, carrying with him the unfulfilled hope of constitutional redemption.²⁹

[15]. The 1988 Judicial Crisis poses some uncomfortable questions:

Can a judiciary truly be independent when its very existence depends on the permission of Parliament?

What happens when the guardians of justice become servants of power?

And in a nation built on constitutional principles, who watches the watchers when the watchers themselves fall silent?

[16]. These questions have no easy answers:

Yet in asking them, we honour the memory of those who stood firm when the constitutional storm raged—and perhaps, in time, we, and the Judiciary, may yet find our way back into the Light.

[17]. Even now, the shadows of the 1988 Crisis dance through the courts’ marble corridors.

In chambers where robes once rustled with dignity, they whisper their terrible secrets.

History’s bitter teachers—Hitler’s jackboots, Mussolini’s theatrical rage— still offer us their harsh lessons. The uniforms fade. The symbols change.

Yet Evil endures, shape-shifting through the ages, like smoke through stone.

And so you must stand sentinel.

We must raise our voices when Darkness stirs.

For in every generation, Tyranny tests the Gates of Freedom.

The price of justice is eternal vigilance.³⁰

∞§∞

The author thanks UK Menon, G Naidu KN Geetha, TP Vaani, JN Lheela and Lydia Jaynthi.

Acknowledgements: the image is from Nhan Hoang, Unsplash

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What Happened During the Malaysian Judicial Crisis in 1988?

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