Posthumous tributes to M Ravi

Singapore's pioneering and foremost human rights lawyer, M Ravi, passed away suddenly on Christmas Eve, 24 December 2025. The following are some of the tributes that poured in, in the days following his death.

Andrew Loh

I will see Ravi today for the first time since the news of his death broke. I am still very much in shock[1].

As I sit here at a hawker centre typing this, my eyes tear up thinking of him, thinking about how his death is so sudden, unexpected.

I had run into him about two and a half weeks ago, at Fernvale Hawker Centre, one of his usual haunts. We hadn't met for a while, and so we ended up chatting for about half an hour. Ravi seemed his usual self, always bright and cheerful, full of energy and excited about life. His disbarment didn't seem to faze him. "In fact I now have more work coming to me!" he told me.

As we always did when we met, we spoke of Yong Vui Kong, the Malaysian from Sabah who had been sentenced to death for trafficking drugs back in 2007.

Vui Kong, then just 19, was due to be hanged in 2009 when Ravi stepped in. With little time to lose, and with Vui Kong himself having committed to not filing an appeal earlier, Ravi managed to persuade Vui Kong to change his mind.

Ravi rushed to file for a stay of execution, just 2 days before Vui Kong was scheduled to be hanged on 2 December 2009.

The court granted the stay, and what followed was a 3-year campaign led by Ravi not only to save Vui Kong, but also to abolish the mandatory death penalty under the Misuse of Drugs Act (MDA).

In 2012, the government announced changes to the MDA, giving judges discretionary powers in sentencing, to commute death sentences to life imprisonment upon fulfilment of certain conditions.

Ravi applied for Vui Kong's death sentence to be commuted, and succeeded.

Vui Kong is alive today directly because of Ravi.

"You know, Andrew," Ravi said to me, "Vui Kong may have his life sentence reviewed in 2027. Isn't that wonderful? He may finally be released."

We both expressed our hope that this would happen, and that we would both be there to see Vui Kong again.

Ravi had been smeared, attacked, ridiculed, threatened, bullied, condemned, and more, for the work he did with those who have run into trouble with the law.

But he never wavered. Not once in all the 18 years I had known him.

At the very core of M Ravi is a deeply spiritual belief that life is precious, that life is God, and everyone and everything emanates from this Divine Life.

And that this Divine Life expresses itself in myriad ways and forms, and that there is meaning to all of Life, meanings which our limited human intellect do not yet understand.

Ravi and I often spoke of religion and the universe, and Hinduism, and he was always most alive - you can literally see his eyes light up! - when we did.

I had spent a month in an ashram learning yoga once when I was younger, and was taught Hindu teachings and philosophy and did chantings every morning and night. So I developed an affinity for such things even today. (I still listen to these chants today, esp when I meditate.) Ravi and I would therefore talk of these beliefs which we share, and it helped me understand where Ravi's passion for his work, and for life, came from.

I first heard of M Ravi when he was involved with the SDP, back in 2007. At the time, an uprising was happening in Burma, led by monks. And there was a vigil at the Burmese embassy here, organised by the SDP.

As part of the coverage for The Online Citizen (TOC), of which I was editor then, I went down to the event. Hundreds of Burmese and Singaporeans had gathered there, spiĺling onto the roads.

It was then I asked a SDP friend, "Who is M Ravi?" I had heard of Ravi then but never met him. The friend pointed Ravi out to me, so I went up to him and introduced myself.

That began a friendship which lasted 18 years.

I mourn you, my friend, as tears fall from my eyes. My soul is heavy, and my heart cries.

I miss you already.

But I know the Divine has taken you into its embrace, the Divine whom you had always been devoted and faithful to. Rest in peace, Ravi.

We will meet again some day.

"𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. 𝑯𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑯𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏, 𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓-𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒍. 𝑯𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏."

- 𝑩𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒅 𝑮𝒊𝒕𝒂.

Peter Ong Lip Cheng

M RAVI: THE INDOMITABLE SPIRIT WHO SHAPED SINGAPORE'S JUSTICE SYSTEM[2],[3]

The passing of lawyer M Ravi (Ravi Madasamy) marks the end of an era in Singapore’s legal history. More than just a formidable courtroom advocate, Ravi was a constitutional force, a gentleman, and the last hope for countless individuals facing the ultimate penalty. His career, defined by tenacious and often solitary battles, has left an indelible mark on Singapore’s criminal law, directly contributing to landmark reforms that will outlive him, most notably the recent Post-appeal Applications in Capital Cases Act (PACC Act) of 2022.

A Defender Unafraid: Fighting to the Last Breath

M Ravi’s legacy is built on the simple, profound belief that every life is worth defending to its fullest legal extent. He specialised in capital cases, stepping into the breach where others hesitated. His work was not merely about legal procedure; it was a moral crusade to ensure that the state’s awesome power to take a life was met with the most rigorous possible defence. There are a fair number of people who would have been hanged if not for his relentless interventions, his meticulous scrutiny of evidence, and his willingness to pursue every last avenue.

My own professional encounter with him remains a powerful memory. I was the Defence Counsel for Vignes Mourthi at his trial (Public Prosecutor v Vignes Mourthi & Another [2002] SGHC 240), which concluded with a conviction and death sentence by then Judicial Commissioner Tay Yong Kwang. Later, in the appellate stage, I watched M Ravi appear before Justice Woo Bih Li in a criminal motion for Vignes (Vignes s/o Mourthi v PP [2003] 4 SLR(R) 300). He fought for Mourthi without fear or favour. His advocacy was passionate yet precise, respectful yet unyielding. He bore the weight of a young man’s life with solemn dignity, embodying the very best traditions of the Bar. Despite the outcome, his effort was a masterclass in dedication, leaving a lasting impression on all present about the sacred duty of a counsel in a capital case.

The Architect of a Lasting Reform: The PACC Act 2022

Ravi’s most significant systemic contribution may well be his indirect role in compelling the enactment of the Post-appeal Applications in Capital Cases Act (PACC Act) 2022. For years, his persistent filings of last-minute applications, habeas corpus petitions, and constitutional challenges—though often unsuccessful—highlighted a critical gap in the legal framework. He exposed the tension between the finality of judgments and the emerging possibility of genuine new evidence or legal developments arising after all appeals were exhausted. The PACC Act, in many ways, is a legislative recognition of the issues Ravi tirelessly brought before the courts. It creates a structured, singular pathway for convicted individuals in capital cases to file one final application to the Court of Appeal, after their conventional appeals are concluded. This application can be made on two key grounds: if there is new evidence that could not have been adduced earlier with reasonable diligence, and which is compelling, credible, and materially relevant; or if there is a fundamental legal change in the substantive or procedural law applicable to the case.

By channelling these grave last-ditch challenges into a clear statutory process, the Act brings order, certainty, and rigorous scrutiny to what was previously an ad-hoc and often chaotic legal space. It ensures that legitimate late-stage claims receive a dedicated hearing, while preventing abuse of process. This landmark reform, which adds a crucial safeguard to the death penalty regime, stands as a monument to the years of pressure applied by advocates like M Ravi, who refused to let the system rest easy.

A Gentleman and a Colleague

Beyond the legal battles, M Ravi was remembered by fellow lawyers as respectful, principled, and deeply compassionate. His fights in court never descended into personal attacks; he maintained courtesy towards judges and opponents alike. This gentlemanly conduct earned him the respect of the wider legal community, even from those who disagreed with his methods or causes.

The latter years of his career were marked by profound personal struggle. As mutual friends have shared, he was deeply affected by his professional tribulations and faced periods of depression and financial difficulty after being struck off. This tragic dimension underscores the immense personal cost often borne by those who choose to wage such lonely, high-stakes wars against formidable institutions. His struggles humanise a figure who was, to many, a symbol of indefatigable resistance.

A Legacy of Conscience

M Ravi’s life’s work was a testament to the idea that a lawyer’s duty is to be a shield for the powerless and a check on power. He contributed to Singapore’s constitutional discourse by constantly testing its boundaries in the name of justice and mercy. He saved lives, mentated a generation of lawyers on the importance of courageous advocacy, and ultimately helped forge a more nuanced legal process for the most serious of cases through reforms like the PACC Act.

He was not just a lawyer; he was an institution. The Singapore legal landscape, for all its robustness, is more conscientious, more careful, and more humane because M Ravi walked its corridors and stood before its benches. He fought the good fight, finished his course, and left the law itself changed in his wake. That is the ultimate good deed for any advocate. May he rest in peace, and may his legacy of fearless compassion endure.

Michael S Chia

In Memory of M Ravi (1969–2025)[4]

“Crazy,” some called him. And it’s true. M Ravi was unpredictable, passionate to the point of recklessness, and deeply troubled by his bipolar condition. But for all that, Ravi was also relentless. Tenacious. Fearless. And, in his own way, faithful to the cause he had chosen.

I did not always agree with the clients he chose to defend. In fact, I acted against him — in a way — in the Vignes s/o Mourthi saga. Ravi had not yet entered the case then. He only came in post-appeal, when I had already moved on.

I had assisted Lee Teck Leng in defending Moorthy a/l Angappan (Vignes’ anna, friend and alleged supplier) both at trial and on appeal. The High Court conviction was reported as Public Prosecutor v Vignes s/o Mourthi & Another [2002] SGHC 240, and the appeal as Vignes s/o Mourthi and Another v Public Prosecutor and Another [2003] SGCA 2.

My lead counsel and I to this day believe Moorthy was innocent and wrongly executed on the basis of Vignes’ co-accused statement. Once the appeal was dismissed and clemency denied, I accepted Moorthy’s fate in the system. So did Teck Leng. Moorthy’s death sentence broke Teck Leng. He swore off capital cases entirely. I did too, for a while. Only much later, persuaded by close friends, did I take on new capital briefs and finally return to LASCO.

Ravi did not stop.

He picked up Vignes’ cause post-appeal, filed motion after motion, and took the flak for it. Even though I disagreed with the case, I recognised the courage it took to keep trying.

Vignes was eventually executed, alongside Moorthy, on 26 September 2003.

That case became the first of a long line — including Yong Vui Kong and others — where Ravi sought to crack open the door after appeal had been exhausted. Eventually, Chief Justice Sundaresh Menon, in a case involving an Indian accused (whose name now eludes me), decided that the courts would consider such motions if there was a serious risk of a miscarriage of justice. That door was opened, in no small part, because Ravi kept knocking.

Because of the path he carved, I later argued three post appeal criminal motions for Phua Han Chuan Jeffery — two to quash his conviction and death sentence (CM 74/2013 and CM 6/2015 before the Court of Appeal), and a third to re-sentence him based on contested psychiatric evidence on abnormality of mind, which was heard in the High Court in Phua Han Chuan Jeffery v Public Prosecutor [2016] SGHC 73. Jeffery is now serving life. At the second hearing, Justice Andrew Phang practically turned tomato red, chiding me for trying too hard. But that is another story.

Through it all, Ravi chipped away at the once absolute finality of capital punishment.

A defence counsel who never stopped trying.

For that, I honour him.

Rest well, Ravi. Your battles are over.

P.S. For the record, I am not against the death penalty per se. I am against its mandatory imposition without judicial discretion.

Kirsten Han

Remembering M Ravi[5]

A shocking, devastating loss that none of us saw coming. Rest in Power, M Ravi.

How do I process something that doesn’t feel real?

As I'm writing this, the amount of information I have is distressingly small. M Ravi is dead. He was pronounced dead at Tan Tock Seng Hospital this morning. The police say they don’t suspect foul play, but investigations are ongoing.

None of us saw this coming.

Ravi is gone.

The earliest versions of local media reports of his death were awful, mainly listing his series of controversies, disciplinary proceedings, and convictions. “Suspended lawyer”, the headlines called him. “Former lawyer.” The articles have since been updated to include quotes from his peers and mention of his human rights work, but it’s appalling that that was all they had to say in the beginning. And there’s still so much that can be said about a man who really made his presence felt, and whose sudden absence now hits me like a bolt from the blue. I’m not sure if that had been our very first meeting, but my earliest memory of Ravi is from 2010, of him preparing for a constitutional challenge against the mandatory death penalty, hard at work in a meeting room, assisted by British lawyers from the Death Penalty Project. (This was captured in ‘Yong’s Story’, a documentary for Al Jazeera English’s 101 East.) I was completely new to the death penalty issue, and had only recently learnt about Yong Vui Kong's case. Although the constitutional challenge did not succeed, it bought us time to campaign for Vui Kong. In 2012, amendments were made to the Misuse of Drugs Act, creating limited conditions under which people could be spared the mandatory death penalty for drug trafficking. Vui Kong met the criteria and was resentenced to life imprisonment and caning. He’s still alive today, 16 years after the execution date the state had set for him. The government might insist that these amendments were the result of their own review process and weren’t influenced by activist or international pressure, but I believe that Ravi’s advocacy—above and beyond a lawyer's job scope—and the Save Vui Kong campaign made a difference.

If Ravi hadn’t come forward to take on the case even when it seemed as if all hope was gone, Vui Kong would not be alive today. And, because it was the campaign for Vui Kong that led me into the abolitionist movement, I probably wouldn’t have become an anti-death penalty activist either.

Ravi was part of so many of the death row cases I’ve worked on. After Vui Kong, he introduced us to Cheong Chun Yin’s father; we went to press conferences and campaign events together, even one in the JB pasar malam where Chun Yin and his father ran a stall. (Chun Yin was eventually also resentenced, and is still in Changi Prison.) I remember meeting Ravi with Masoud’s father, cooperating with him to crowdfund for Prabagaran’s mother, scrambling to raise the $20,000 in security that was needed to file an appeal for Roslan and Pausi. Where others hesitated, Ravi stepped forward, making the choice again and again to stick his neck out to file legal applications for death row prisoners. Some people criticised him, calling him reckless, inappropriate, a troublemaker. But saving a life was more urgent and important to Ravi than scoldings, fines, or disciplinary action. And, in a city that values conformity and obedience, change often requires someone who's willing to smash through what's 'proper' and 'expected' and 'sensible'.

Here’s another man Ravi saved: I was in the courtroom in October 2020 when the Court of Appeal overturned Gobi Avedian’s death sentence—a sentence that they'd given him just two years prior. Gobi had already been at the end of the line, as it were; if Ravi hadn’t taken on his case, no one would have filed the criminal motion that saved him, and he would have been hanged. Because of Ravi, Gobi is now home with his family in Malaysia.

I won’t pretend that Ravi was an easy person to get along with, or that we always had an easy friendship. He had his struggles and his failings, some of which were publicly known (as the local media reminded us first thing this morning) and for which he paid a heavy price. I don't want to whitewash or sanitise the person he was—there were times when being his friend and caring about him was difficult and painful—but I also don't want us to only remember his troubles.

He was so, so much more.

In the middle of the Covid pandemic, I filed a Protection from Harassment Act case against someone who was troubling me online. When he heard that I found the process bewildering and stressful, Ravi stepped in. He represented me during the Zoom mediation session, handling the matter with a righteous indignation and flair—what can I say, the man loved drama — that I would have struggled to express myself. It massively lightened the load of an awkward and uncomfortable situation, and he did it without any hesitation or fuss because he was my friend.

Ravi could be brash and A Lot, sweeping through like a hurricane, talking a mile a minute, leaving introverts like me feeling slightly flattened by his sheer force of personality (and, sometimes, mania). But he could also be surprisingly perceptive. “I know when Kirsten is stressed,” he once proclaimed to anyone within earshot, grinning at me as he teased. “When I see her post a lot of cute-cute stuff and then she has a new tattoo, then I know she is very stressed.”

His read was spot on.

I saw Ravi in Hong Lim Park on 15 October, at the vigil we held for Hamzah and his co-accused, both of them executed that morning. Hamzah was a former client; Ravi was sad and a little deflated to have lost yet another person, but still he was calm and agreed that we had to keep going. We didn’t talk much that evening; we just said hi and he gave me a hug. I could never have imagined, would never have believed—not in a hundred years, not ever—that that would be the last time I’d see him alive.

It's been hours since I first heard the news, since the media reports and the flurry of shocked, grieving texts, all of us asking one another questions that no one has the answers to. It still hasn't really sunk in; I still don't quite believe it. Maybe I won't, not until I see him for myself.

Right now, I don't know how to say goodbye to Ravi—my overwhelming, intense, gregarious, dramatic, impulsive, infuriating, inspiring, difficult, kind, mercurial, brave, brilliant friend.

How hollow the world feels today.

Ho Ee Kid

FAREWELL TO THE KAMPONG BOY[6]

Christmas Eve of 2025 turned out to be a sad day indeed when Singapore found out that it had lost kampong boy, M. Ravi. He will be remembered not merely as a lawyer, but as a man who chose the hardest paths when easier ones were available — and walked them with conviction, courage, and an unyielding belief in justice.

Called to the Bar in 1996, Ravi began his legal career in general practice. His life’s work, however, took a defining turn in 2003, when opposition politician J. B. Jeyaretnam approached him to defend Vignes Mourthi, a death row inmate. It was Ravi’s first capital punishment case, and it marked the moment he found his calling. From that point on, he stood where few dared to stand — beside the condemned, the silenced, and the politically vulnerable.

In 2004, Ravi represented Shanmugam s/o Murugesu, a taxi driver sentenced to death for cannabis trafficking. When the courts failed him, Ravi did not retreat. Instead, he led a public campaign appealing for clemency from then-President S. R. Nathan, organising protests and petitions against the death penalty. Though Shanmugam was ultimately executed, Ravi’s efforts showed Singapore that the law could be challenged not only in courtrooms, but also in conscience. That same year, he defended Chee Siok Chin and political protestors in a landmark case on the constitutional right to free speech — reinforcing his belief that civil liberties must be actively defended, not passively assumed.

From 2006 to 2021, Ravi emerged as Singapore’s most recognisable cause lawyer. He defended opposition figures such as Chee Soon Juan, Roy Ngerng, Daniel de Costa, and John Tan, often against defamation or contempt charges brought by powerful figures. These cases came at great personal and professional cost, but Ravi persisted, believing that democracy loses meaning if dissent has no defender.

In 2011, Ravi mounted a constitutional challenge against Section 377A of the Penal Code after his client Tan Eng Hong was charged under a law the government had said it would no longer enforce. Though the Court of Appeal ruled against the challenge, the case was later described as a milestone in the struggle against the criminalisation of gay men — a struggle that would eventually culminate in the law’s repeal years later. Ravi had once again stood ahead of his time.

Perhaps his most profound legacy lies in his death penalty work. From 2009 to 2015, Ravi represented Yong Vui Kong, a young Malaysian sentenced to death for drug trafficking. After six relentless years, Ravi succeeded in having Yong’s sentence commuted to life imprisonment, following significant changes to Singapore’s capital punishment laws. It was a watershed moment — proof that persistence, even against overwhelming odds, could bend the law toward mercy.

That momentum continued. Ravi reopened the case of Cheong Chun Yin, securing another commutation. He then represented Norasharee Gous, Gobi Avedian, and others in some of the rarest reviews of death row cases in Singapore’s legal history. In Gobi’s case, Ravi achieved what was once thought impossible — a successful appeal after all legal avenues had been exhausted. Gobi’s sentence was reduced, and in December 2024, he walked free. A life returned to the world.

M. Ravi’s career was not smooth, nor was it universally celebrated in his lifetime. He was criticised, challenged, and often misunderstood. Yet history has a way of clarifying courage. Ravi believed the law must serve humanity, not just authority. He believed that even one life saved was worth years of struggle. And he believed that justice, though slow and imperfect, must always be pursued.

Today, Singapore remembers M. Ravi not only for the cases he won, but for the values he refused to abandon. He gave voice to those on the margins, dignity to those written off, and hope to those who had none left.

His legacy lives on — in lives spared, laws questioned, and the quiet courage he inspired in others to stand up, even when standing alone.

Remy Choo Zheng Xi

I first heard of M Ravi when I was completing my LLM in NYU. It was 2009, and Ravi had successfully applied for a stay of execution for Yong Vui Kong, a young Sabahan boy sentenced to hang for drug trafficking[7]. On returning to Singapore to practice law, I decided to intern with Ravi before pupilling in a large law firm. During my time with Ravi, I saw first-hand how he married public and courtroom advocacy, unimpeded by public criticism or institutional pushback.

Eventually, Ravi’s multiple challenges in Vui Kong’s case coincided with the Government changing the law on the mandatory death penalty, entitling Vui Kong to a reprieve from death row. Vui Kong’s was one of the several lives Ravi saved from the gallows.

In 2010, Ravi challenged the constitutional validity of Section 377A of the Penal Code in the case of Tan Eng Hong. Tan Eng Hong had originally been investigated under Section 377A, but the charges were eventually withdrawn. Despite the withdrawal of charges, Ravi decided to press ahead with the constitutional challenge, overcoming the Government’s objection that Tan Eng Hong did not have legal standing to bring the case given that charges had been withdrawn.

In a landmark decision by the Court of Appeal, then Justice of Appeal VK Rajah said:

“we want to acknowledge that in so far as s 377A in its current form extends to private consensual sexual conduct between adult males, this provision affects the lives of a not insignificant portion of our community in a very real and intimate way. Such persons might plausibly assert that the continued existence of s 377A in our statute books causes them to be unapprehended felons in the privacy of their homes. The constitutionality or otherwise of s 377A is thus of real public interest.”

The watershed decision in Tan Eng Hong v Attorney-General in 2012 paved the way for several constitutional challenges that were later filed, amongst them the case of Lim Meng Suang, which Peter Cuthbert Low and I commenced in 2012. Although ultimately unsuccessful, the constitutional challenges and public advocacy led to the law’s eventual repeal on 29 November 2022. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that, if not for Ravi, S377A may not have been repealed.

Life is full of contradictions, and no one personified these contradictions more than Ravi. Ravi was a flame that burnt bright, illuminating moral darkness with clarity, but sometimes scorching those who came too close. Ravi challenged and changed laws, but in the course of doing so he sometimes broke them. He fought the hardest to save the lives of strangers, but was also capable of hurting the people he cared for the most.

In recent years, our friendship had become strained by his episodic outbursts triggered by his bipolar disorder.

The last time I saw Ravi was at an IBA conference in Tokyo in 2024, over some Suntory premium malt. Ravi sipped: he wasn’t much of a drinker, and always blamed me for getting him started. I taught him how to enjoy a drink when I was interning with him in 2010, while helping him with the case of Alan Shadrake, a British author charged and convicted of contempt of Court.

That evening in Tokyo, Ravi was in a good mood, and apologetic over our disagreements over the years. We shared a laugh: those of us who knew him over the years knew that you could be his best friend one day, and on the receiving end of the threat of a lawsuit the next. I confess: I tried not to take our disagreements too personally, but sometimes it was difficult.

Ravi was a deeply spiritual person, and many of my conversations with him were peppered with references to the cosmos and the universe, and the inter-connectivity of all living beings. Ravi dreamt of living in a society where no life force had to be taken, and dedicated his life to making this dream a reality. Whether it was the abolition of the death penalty, animal rights, or veganism, Ravi lived a life utterly and completely devoted to the living.

Ravi, you’ve now departed the world of the living, to a place without disappointment and sorrow, beyond hurt feelings or the need for apologies. You will no longer uplift, annoy, challenge or terrify your opponents and friends. In words you would have used, you are now one with the Universe. This world will be quieter without you, but it is a better place for having had you in it. Be at peace now, Ravi.

The Independent

In Memory of M. Ravi (1969 – 2025) – A tireless advocate, a fearless voice, a deeply human soul

By Kumaran Pillai

24 December 2025

We are deeply saddened by the passing of Madasamy Ravi, widely known as M. Ravi, who left us on 24 December 2025, aged 56. With his departure, Singapore has lost one of its most passionate and unyielding advocates for justice and human dignity.

For more than two decades, Ravi stood courageously on the frontlines of human rights advocacy. As a lawyer, activist, and community champion, he fought tirelessly for those society often overlooked — especially individuals facing the death penalty. Ravi believed profoundly in the sanctity of life. He often said that “life given to us cannot be taken away by man,” and he lived this conviction with clarity, courage, and compassion.

Those who worked alongside him knew the depth of his dedication. I had the privilege of working closely with Ravi on a number of advocacy initiatives. I watched him spend countless hours poring through complex legal arguments, remaining relentless in his pursuit of justice, determined to make sure every possibility was explored and every voice was heard. His work was not just legal — it was deeply moral. Ravi stood beside families in some of their darkest moments, and he stood firm even when the odds were overwhelming.

Ravi’s journey was also a deeply human one. He faced personal struggles and was open about his mental health challenges. I have seen him at moments of vulnerability and at moments of extraordinary brilliance and strength. Despite everything he endured, Ravi never stopped caring, never stopped believing, and never stopped fighting for what he felt was right. It remains heartbreaking that someone who gave so much of himself to others so often stood alone in his own battles.

Yet that is not where his story ends.

M. Ravi leaves behind a powerful legacy — not only in the legal records and courtroom speeches, but in the lives he touched, the debates he sparked, and the courage he inspired. He changed the landscape of human rights discourse in Singapore. He reminded us that justice requires heart as well as intellect, compassion as well as principle, and bravery as well as skill.

Today, we remember Ravi not only as a lawyer, but as a human being of rare conviction, empathy, and spirit. We remember his laughter, his sharp intellect, his stubborn commitment to justice, and the fire in his heart for those who needed help most.

We extend our deepest condolences to his family, friends, colleagues, and all who walked alongside him in his journey. May we honour his memory not only in words, but in action — by continuing to stand up for dignity, fairness, and humanity.

Rest well, Ravi. Your voice, courage, and legacy will not be forgotten.

Ng Yi-Sheng

Human rights lawyer M Ravi (1969-2025) passed away this morning[8]. This is a photo we took together in 2011, back when I was profiling him and Ivan Tan Eng Hong for Fridae, trying to give a human face to the first constitutional challenge to Section 377A. (We ended up having to redact a lot of that story, e.g. how Ivan ran after AGC lawyers, saying, "I bless you; I forgive you.")

A lot of articles out there will talk about what an inspiration Ravi was: how he rose from an impoverished background and fearlessly he used his legal skills to advocate for death row inmates, migrant workers and the queer community. And yeah, his dedication was amazing; his willingness to take on desperate cases and make last-minute crazy pleas was jaw-dropping, irrational to the average Singaporean raised on a doctrine of pragmatism.

The truth is, a lot of this was because he was kind of nuts. During his manic phases he'd occasionally refuse to take his meds, believing that his ecstasy was divinely inspired. He'd do things so crazy that his worst enemies couldn't publish them cos everyone would assume they were lies to discredit him. And despite his incredible compassion, he really did behave terribly to some of his colleagues and allies, souring a few of them off human rights law forever. He was one of those *impossible* people, who used and abused his gifts, harming folks while on his juggernaut missions to help.

I think it's important to remember this, because the truth is, sometimes we *need* activists like that. All progress depends on the unreasonable man, as Russell says, and he was one of those people who looked at the status quo — e.g. 377A — and said to hell with it. After which other lawyers joined his cause, equally driven by kinship and damage control, and eventually drove the government to give up and change the law on their own terms.

I do also think he was one of the pioneers that led to so many of us queer folks moving towards broader human rights activism, for freedom of speech, for migrant workers, for death row inmates, for Palestine. Assimilationism's understandable, sure, but some of us wanna change the world.

ஆன்மா சாந்தி அடையட்டும், dude. The rest of us won't stop fighting.

Here's the article, by the way: https://www.fridae.asia/gay-news/2011/10/21/11279.the-faces-of-the-s377a-challenge-m-ravi-and-ivan-tan-eng-hong

Lucy Davis

I have written and rewritten this, it will never be complete.. how could it be .. a rush of stories[9].

M. Ravi — lawyer, fighter, dreamer, poet, fire-walker, beloved friend

A wise one once told me: This story is for the Singaporeans.

And that is true — your story belongs to the city you walked through barefoot, the city you shook awake when, in a mix of iconoclasm and reverence, you tried to climb statues and paint their eyes.

I must ask forgiveness — this tribute is also a reckoning, written from my own entangled position as friend and witness, shaped by the joy but also by the pain of proximity to your storms.

I am hallucinating, you can tell. It's hard to find for language, even if it is what we all feared would one day happen, I am trying to find words from that porous threshold where your visionary brilliance met what society called illness, and I choose to hold both with tenderness rather than erasure.

Kirsten texted yesterday, “I have to write something... we cannot let The Straits Times or the police be the only authors of this.” https://www.wethecitizens.net/remembering-m-ravi/ here is Kirsten's response

Yes. You must not be reduced to a headline or a case file. You were never containable.

I scroll through your messages and find one: “DUN disturb my dreaming,” you scold. I smile through tears."I am quite content sleeping with cobras in the Bishan Park'

Dear trauma-turner, dear dream-seller — charting your very own form of legal divination with the bridges you have burned.

13 May 2005. I met you during Shanmugum (Sam) Murugesu’s case — the first hanging I witnessed. From the bowels of the goodbye rooms deep in Changi Prison. Then waiting with Madam Letchumi, Shan's twin boys Gopal and Krishnan , with Chee Soon Juan 徐顺全 and Chee Seok Chin, for yet another broken body to return from the hangman the next morning to Jurong West.

It was also where I met Brigitte Persson, trying to persuade Changi prison guards to let her carry a stray kitten down to the goodbye rooms to show Sam. Brigitte was later approached by a crooked journalist who offered a large sum of money for her to tell lies about relationships with friends on death row to an Australian tabloid. She told him to fuck off. I was so proud of her. I am so damn proud of you Madame B.

We stood outside the prison together in the dark. Braema Mathi knew instinctively how each long night like this was a performance; a rehearsal as you tried to stop your beloved Mama from falling.

I wrote clumsy things, trying to get my head around an excess of concrete lasers and tech needed to contain the soft bodies of Changi prison. You fancied that I, as an artist, activist and insider-outsider, could be a co-witness organiser. I did my best. It nearly killed me.

But you were made of stronger stuff. A fire that reshaped Singapore’s legal and moral imagination. You defended the condemned when others turned away. You challenged not only capital punishment, but also so many other colonial laws, patriarchal and state power. Your work shifted public consciousness around the death penalty and queer rights. You fought for migrants, for the marginalised, for the forgotten with a courage that was brilliant, unpredictable, and costly.

You won cases no one believed could be won — until you DID.

But this story is not only legal. It is also so compelling because it is so human. It is messy, vulnerable and beautiful. It is silly songs sung off-key, Tamil films quoted in court corridors.

So many places haunted by you — courtrooms you electrified, Furama Hotel. Your office with Violet Netto. The buildings into which you crashed when the sun melted your wings, and when city lights blocked your magnetic fields.

Jalan Kayu, childhood songs. Stolen goldfish from primary school aquariums..

RavviiiiiiiI!

The teachers running after you.

Dance competitions, TV programmes you quoted out of nowhere. Manic brilliance. Divine Chaos. RavviiiiiiiI!

Nataraja — the dancer of destruction. You knew instinctively that some things must give way for new orders to be born. And yet the colonial bureaucracy was never going to be an easy dance partner. The lawyer in you dreamed of rules-based means to protect the frail, liberate the oppressed. Your mind on overdrive, breaking through Imperial enclosures seeking ways to be more inclusive, fair.

And in this, you cracked open conversations this nation no planet desperately needs. You made the impossible thinkable. But dear one, you cannot have meant that new orders be born from such much cruelty, such self-harm?

Why, dear, did this dance take such a toll on the body that carried it, and indeed so many of those around you?

'DUN disturb': half-written futures on late-night SMS--grandiose projects you assured us that only you could realise, the questions only you dared ask. The arrogance and narcissism that any moment could turn to mercurial humility, wishing only for connection.

What would you wish to tell me now if I asked?

What song would to pull me from this grief?

And yes, I know I am not alone in receiving these songs:

“She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes,"

Or the yogic incantations at ungodly hours while I am recovering from dengue fever in that little house in Joo Chiat.

Is everything OK Ravi? How much connection is enough? Will you ever feel loved enough? How to tell you that you are indeed enough already?

May you rest where no institution can bind you,

No diagnosis can name you,

No headline can flatten you.

https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=425079120843&set=a.483446535843

Ravi Philemon

In October 2014, Andrew Loh organised a small gathering of activists and friends at Annalakshmi Restaurant to thank M Ravi for his years of tireless advocacy centred on human rights and, in particular, the anti-death penalty campaign. By then he had already succeeded in defending Yong Vui Kong, whose death sentence was lifted and reduced to life imprisonment. Yong became the first drug trafficker on death row to have his sentence reduced to life imprisonment. I was among those invited by Andrew to thank Ravi for his work and to recognise him for being nominated for the prestigious Singapore Literature Prize that year.

At the gathering, I paid tribute to his work. I recalled an interview that renowned actor Kamal Haasan gave that same year, where he paid tribute to fellow actor Nasser. The interviewer had asked Kamal why Nasser appeared in almost every film he had made since Nayagan. Kamal said that Nasser was like a spirit. As a technician he could be rigid, but without the spirit the work becomes unexciting, and the love for the craft cannot shine through. I said Ravi was that spirit for Singapore, and I meant every word.

I have known Ravi since 2009, and I cherish these 16 years of friendship that shaped so much of how I see courage, conviction and compassion.

I have sat in conversations with former Attorney-Generals who said they had no regard for Ravi because he had no technical rigour. But how can a spirit dwell too long on technicalities? The spirit goes to depths that technical details can never reach. The spirit sees the humanity. That was who M Ravi was.

Whatever his critics may say, no one can deny that he did far more for Singapore and fellow Singaporeans than they ever could or would. He was the kind of spirit technocratic Singapore needs, if only to remind us how far we have drifted from placing human beings at the centre of everything. He was the spirit we did not deserve.

Ravi showed what fallibility looks like. He never hid the fact that he was broken. There was beauty and dignity in the way he carried himself even in his most vulnerable form. That is why I never had a harsh word for him. That is why I always stood up for him, defended him. I am proud that I did.

During the last GE, Ravi volunteered with Red Dot United, the party I co-founded, and I remain thankful to him for that. Others asked for his help during that same period, but he told me, “Ravi, I believe in what you are doing.” There were some who did not want RDU to be associated with him, but I did not care. I knew this man. I knew his heart. There was no malice in it.

Last Saturday, he visited me at home for my open house, and I had the pleasure of introducing my granddaughter to him. I told her, “Iliana, this uncle has my name. He is also Ravi.” I do not know if she understood, but I am glad she got to meet a great man. A man who did more in his 56 years on this earth than most of us will even think of doing.

We spoke about many things. He bought a copy of my book, "Here I Am, Memoirs of a Social Activist in Singapore". He asked me to autograph it and said it was an important book. He talked about returning to the legal profession and applying to be reinstated as a lawyer. He even mentioned the year, 2031. I asked him why he intended to wait until 2031. Could he not apply earlier. He replied as technically as any lawyer would. He said there were precedents, that disbarred lawyers had to wait at least 5-years before applying to be reinstated to the Bar. But he wanted to be doubly sure and wait 7 years. And that was why he kept his social media posts minimal, always making sure his public comments added up.

Someone told me earlier today that the pictures we took on Saturday might be the last public photos of him. I do not know. But I am grateful that I saw him just a few days ago. I am grateful to have shared that slice of life with him.

Whenever we spoke on the phone, he would usually begin our conversation with, “Ravi calling Ravi,” and we would laugh. We were on the same frequency on many issues. His death came as a shock. I mourn him.

Goh Meng Seng

M Ravi - A Rare Talent we would miss

I met M Ravi almost 24 years ago, in one of the social activist events. He was a very loyal friend of Mr. JB Jeyaratnam.

He was very passionate of his beliefs and had a soft spot for the socially disadvantaged. He would do whatever he could to fight against Death Penalty cases. When he lost and his clients were sent to the gallows, he would suffer emotionally and even had mental breakdowns.

Of course M Ravi was just like most of us who are not flawless. I have heard numerous bad things about him but I still respect him very much. Although we didn't see eye to eye on many issues, we agreed to disagree.

I respect his truthful dedications to his strong beliefs. He dared to go all out to defend and fight for his beliefs. Not many people dare to stand by their own beliefs till the end, because it might probably ask for making unimaginable sacrifices.

Never mind if I agree to his ideas and ideals, that kind of unrelenting commitment and convictions itself is the spirit we lack as a People and a Nation.

M Ravi might give people the impression of aggressiveness and sometimes madness, but deep down, he was full of compassion towards the downtrodden.

I remember during the run up to one of the GE, he scolded me on the phone with all sorts of expletives when I didn't even know the reason. But I understood that he might be under tremendous mental stress. Some years later, he apologized to me for his rude behavior back then. I have almost forgotten that incident but he remembered, reflected on it and apologized, no matter how trivial it might have seemed. I have even more respect for him since then because that's the Honourable thing to do.

There will always be negative spin on Singapore MSM about M Ravi and the power that be disliked him extremely. He was really a pain in their Axxx.

And in Singapore, perhaps only M Ravi dared to do all those things against the PAP Gov and its Ministers, no one else.

M Ravi was constantly pushing envelopes. Although we didn't see a drastic change in the system which he wanted to change, we do notice the many tweaks and fine tunings done to improve the legal system.

M Ravi and I may have vast differences in our ideals and ideas on what works the best for Singapore, especially on the legal front and the Death Penalty laws, but deep down we share the same aspiration to make Singapore a fairer and just place for everyone.

We need someone like M Ravi who dared to challenge the unthinkable, with full passion and convictions, in a society or nation like Singapore.

Despite our differences, I truly value him as an intellectual and spiritual sparring partner who had helped me sharpen my mind and strengthen my understanding of the various human rights perspectives. Most important of all, he had provided me the inspiration to stay Truthful to my commitment and convictions to Democracy.

Rest In Peace, my friend. You will be dearly missed.

Leong Sze Hian

A tribute to M Ravi[10]

Several friends contacted me as the news of M Ravi's death broke today

Like many, I am saddened by his sudden death at such a young age

As I sat down with my laptop reading the news about his death, my mind flashed back to some of my encounters with him, such as:

I first met him about 20 years ago, when he was a speaker at a public forum, organised by The Singapore Democratic Party

He was planning to travel overseas for his first speaking engagement on human rights, and he contacted me

We were both among the several founding members of MARUAH, and met frequently at meetings

I travelled with him by car with Andrew Loh, the founder and editor of theonlinecitizen, to Perak, to interview the family of an inmate on the death penalty row

He asked me, when I was the president of Maruah, to go with him to the Malaysian High Court to watch a case regarding a Malaysian on the death penalty row

When 2 of my friends were charged or sued, I referred them to him, as he was only one of the very few pro bono lawyers taking such cases We were speakers at Hong Lim Park, over the years

When he stood in Ang Mo Kio in a general election - we met with some friends, and he talked about this plan, logistics, strategy, etc I congratulated him in person when he was honoured with the International Bar Association's (IBA) Human Rights Lawyer Of The Year

RIP Ravi

Video:

https://www.facebook.com/reel/1450275969846860

Pink Dot

Oogachaga

Tan Wah Piow

2024 With M. Ravi and Eugene Thuraisingam in Bangkok on the final day of the conference. M. Ravi spoke of Eugene as his long-suffering and generous benefactor—someone who stood by him and overlooked his missteps.

It is with great sadness that I learned of the sudden passing of M. Ravi[11].

I first met him in Oslo several years ago at an international conference on the abolition of the death penalty, and our last meeting was in Bangkok at the Asia Centre’s conference on Artificial Intelligence and Governance. He spoke with exceptional clarity and conviction at both gatherings. He struck me as a true lawyer’s lawyer—one who dared to go against the grain and who consistently thought beyond conventional frameworks.

His passing is a profound loss for Singapore. The state treated him harshly during his lifetime, and this undoubtedly contributed to the untimely loss of a genuine patriot and democrat who stood firmly on the side of the disadvantaged.

Ariffin Sha

“Love and compassion must deploy every tool to fight against inhumanity and law is one such tool" - M Ravi

This were the words you wrote to me when I asked for a signed copy of your book, Kampong Boy, back in 2014. These are the words that we will remember you by.

You saved many lives and inspired many fights.

You first sparked my interest in law and eventually you also spoke to my late father to allow me to pursue law. After he passed you came for his prayers too.

In 2014, during my first ever internship I did not have a blazer to follow you to Court. You brought me to G2000 picked a suit out and bought it for me. I still wear the same suit today, even on the day that I was called.

This photo was taken during JBJ's memorial dinner. I think it was in 2016 or 2017. You often shared about how JBJ was your mentor and inspiration. Vignes Mourthi - your first death penalty case was from JBJ.

During the GE you came for the rallies. I remember telling you that I wished my Tamil was half as good as yours. You said that you were proud that many non Tamils were saying "Achamillai" with pride.

We met again just last night after many years and differences. You gave a lot of good advice which I will carry with me for a long time. You also shared stories of your legal battles and your hopes for the future.

We had some differences in the past but we made peace and parted ways. You were very kind and even said that I could call you if I ever had any issues. Just before we left. This morning we all woke up to the news..

If you have the time, do read Ravi's books Kampong Boy and Hung At Dawn. They are an important part of our history.

Thank you for fighting the good fight and blazing the trail.

Red Dot United

It is with much sadness that Red Dot United received news about the passing of Mr Ravi Madasamy, better known to most as M Ravi[12]. We offer our heartfelt condolences to his family and friends, and share in their grief.

Ravi MRavi had been a larger-than-life figure in Singapore politics and civil society, but few can appreciate his passion for the country he loves and his tireless spirit to chip in when help was most needed.

When RDU set out to contest the Single Member Constituency of Jalan Kayu in the last General Elections, we knew it would be a massive undertaking against a candidate that the ruling PAP was intent on putting back into Parliament. Ravi, a Jalan Kayu resident, gave himself tirelessly to assist with our campaign, helping us reach out to residents and sharing with them about our prospective candidate. While we eventually decided to give way to Workers’ Party for a straight fight with the PAP, we owe Ravi a debt of gratitude for his passion, persistence and loyalty to the opposition cause.

That said, Ravi’s battles were mostly outside of the political arena. Most Singaporeans would know him to be the human rights lawyer bravely taking on cases, frequently pro bono, for those on death row due to drug offences. It was a thankless task given the reticence most Singaporeans have towards the scourge of drugs on societies.

Yet Ravi never wavered in his commitment to fight for a more just and compassionate society. His work epitomised the belief that everyone has right of access to legal justice. His dedication to his mission saved the life of Yong Vui Kong, sentenced to death for drug trafficking but subsequently had it commuted to a life sentence. One life has been pulled from the brink and given a fresh chance at repentance, thanks to M Ravi. That is a lot more than what most people could have hoped to accomplish in a lifetime.

His constitutional challenges against the government would have left many bewildered. Why do something that had a limited chance of success and win nothing but the ire of the government? Ravi remained focused on his cause, simply because he believed that the Singapore legal system can do better.

Not everyone can appreciate the way he did his legal work and civic activism, in part due to his bipolar disorder that left many unsure about what would happen to him and the people around him. But you cannot dispute that he had Singapore’s interests at heart.

At RDU, we will always know him as a son of Singapore, the kampong boy from Jalan Kayu. Singapore owes him more than we care to admit, for he represented the dedication and loyalty that we must all have to make this home of ours a better place.

Farewell, M Ravi. You will be missed.

Asia Centre

M Ravi: A Decade of Regional Human Rights Advocacy[13]

When Asia Centre announced its opening in 2015, M Ravi was one of the very first people from Singapore to reach out. He said the Centre’s human rights mission aligned with his own, and wanted to engage with the Asia Centre’s regional approach to democracy and human rights.

At the time, Ravi was facing intense legal pressure, negative media publicity, internal tensions within the local death penalty movement and challenges to his law practice – all contributing to mixed public opinion on the death penalty in Singapore.

In Asia Centre, he sought a respite, an opportunity to extend his networks to the regional level and regain the self-esteem he saw being denied to him in Singapore.

Here is a list of his contributions to commemorate his work through the Centre.

On 14 May 2016, he spoke at Asia Centre’s seminar “Cause Lawyering: Advocating for Justice”. He urged young lawyers to see legal practice not as technical work alone, but as a public responsibility rooted in ethics and courage. The event also marked the Bangkok launch of his book “Kampong Boy”, a personal account that connected his lived experience with the pursuit of justice in Singapore.

Later in the same year, he returned on 15 September 2016, to Bangkok to speak at Asia Centre’s 1st International Conference “UPR in Southeast Asia”. There, he argued for the need to strengthen regional engagement with international human rights mechanisms such as the Universal Periodic Review (UPR).

Using the arguments of his presentation at the conference, he contributed a chapter, “The Abolition of the Death Penalty in Southeast Asia: The Arduous March Forward”, in Asia Centre’s edited volume “Universal Periodic Review of Southeast Asia: Civil Society Perspectives” (2018). The chapter provides a comparative analysis of death penalty laws and practices across five Southeast Asian countries through the lens of the Universal Periodic Review, highlighting legal frameworks, state justifications and reform trajectories. It examines how international human rights mechanisms, civil society engagement and domestic legal reforms shape the arduous path toward abolition in the region.

M Ravi returned for Asia Centre’s 5th International Conference “Hate Speech in Asia”, 7 October 2020, where he moderated a panel on hate speech regulation and moderation. He noted how laws in the region are often used to suppress expression rather than protect communities.

His engagement with Asia Centre continued, this time as a trainer for the 2022 regional programme for parliamentarians entitled “Business and Human Rights in Southeast Asia”. During his session, Ravi worked to equip parliamentarians with practical tools to align national policies with international standards on Business and Human Rights, believing structural change required informed lawmakers.

21 August 2025 was to be M Ravi’s last formal engagement with Asia Centre. He spoke on the panel “Rethinking Technology for Collective Impact: AI in Society and the Path Ahead” during the Centre’s 10th International Conference “AI and Governance in Asia”. He presented his paper, “Southeast Asia’s AI Boom: A Human Rights Perspective”, which called for technology to serve and push the cause of human rights rather than deepen inequality.

Before his sudden demise, Ravi had registered to attend Asia Centre’s National Convening on “Climate Disinformation in Malaysia: Appropriating Indigenous Peoples’ Entitlements”, at Asia Centre Media Hub, Iskandar Puteri, Malaysia, 7 January 2026.

Over a period of nearly ten years and through his different engagements with Asia Centre, Ravi sought to share his expertise in a regional setting – an opportunity that was not available to him in Singapore. Even with his death, controversy continues to surround his anti-death penalty legacy.

Nevertheless, Asia Centre is proud to have supported M Ravi in a small way and recognises his contributions.

The Online Citizen

Remembering M. Ravi: The lawyer who would not stop fighting[14]

Terry Xu (26 December 2025)

It took me some time to gather my thoughts after the sudden passing of M. Ravi in the early hours of Wednesday, 24 December 2025.

Part of the shock came from how ordinary our last exchanges had felt. I had been in regular contact with Ravi ever since I had to leave Singapore at short notice three years ago, and we had spoken just days earlier about the outcome of the Law Society’s extraordinary general meeting (EGM) held on Monday.

There was nothing in his tone that hinted at finality — only the familiar mix of intensity, interest, and the hard-earned resignation of someone who understood, better than most, how things work in Singapore.

It is difficult to come to terms with his death precisely because, in his own way, he believed he was climbing out of the worst chapter of his life.

Ravi had fallen — publicly, painfully, and repeatedly. He had paid heavy personal and professional costs.

Yet even after being struck off, he remained, at heart, a lawyer: not in title, but in instinct and conviction.

He still spoke in the language of rights and procedure. He still kept himself up to date on legal developments. He still dissected legal arguments. And he still tried to help those who had nowhere else to turn — with the clarity that his help should not come at the cost of his mental health.

I first met M. Ravi through my work at The Online Citizen. Over the years, we worked together on and off — sometimes closely, sometimes at a distance—often shaped by the rhythms of his bipolar disorder and the periods where life, pressure, and relapse disrupted everything.

Like many who knew him, I saw more than one Ravi: the fiercely principled advocate; the relentless campaigner; the man who could be generous, warm, and protective; and the man who could also be difficult, combustible, and self-destructive.

If there is one thing I learned from being around him, it is this: the stress borne by a human rights lawyer in Singapore is not merely professional. In capital cases and constitutional challenges, the stakes are unusually high.

The work is adversarial by design, but the environment can also be unforgiving—legally, institutionally, and socially. You are not simply arguing law; you are often arguing against public sentiment, state power, and a political culture that does not readily tolerate dissent framed as rights.

Ravi chose that path anyway. And the reality is that, in Singapore, there are only a small number of lawyers who consistently take on public-interest cases at the sharp end of state power — especially when the death penalty is involved. Ravi, for all his flaws, was one of them.

Over time, he also found himself not only fighting for clients, but repeatedly having to fend off steps aimed at him personally. One episode that stayed with him was the Attorney-General’s attempt to seek a personal costs order against him in a High Court matter involving two Malaysian death-row prisoners. The court dismissed the application. In doing so, Justice Valerie Thean queried whether a remark by an AGC representative—stating that the Attorney-General “reserved” his “rights against Mr M Ravi” — was discourteous.

That incident mattered to Ravi not only because it involved him, but because of what it signalled to the wider Bar. In his own submissions, he argued that for courts to exercise effective supervisory jurisdiction over those who wield power, the threat of personal adverse costs orders against counsel should not be allowed to chill urgent litigation—particularly in death penalty cases, where the disposition of a party’s rights may be final in the truest sense.

Another episode reinforced that point for him. After Gobi Avedian was taken off the death penalty, Ravi’s public comments about the Prosecution’s conduct became the subject of disciplinary proceedings, and the Attorney-General later pursued a High Court review application arising from those proceedings.

Even where Ravi ultimately prevailed on that specific charge, the message to the Bar was unmistakable: in Singapore’s public-interest arena, a lawyer can find himself fighting on two fronts—one for the client, and another for his own professional survival.

Whether one agrees with every legal move he made, the point he was making was broader: if you make it professionally hazardous for lawyers to act in time-sensitive public-interest matters, you shrink the already limited pool of advocates willing to step forward.

He was not a human rights lawyer because it made him wealthy. He was a human rights lawyer because he could not accept certain outcomes as “normal” — not when a life was on the line, not when procedural finality was treated as moral closure, and not when the most marginalised were expected to disappear quietly into the machinery of the system.

His work also extended beyond capital punishment. While it is less discussed today, Ravi was among the lawyers who took on cases involving LGBT persons and equality-related issues at a time when doing so came with professional and social costs. Many of those efforts were not widely understood or appreciated, but they mattered to the people who needed counsel willing to stand beside them.

There was another choice that many people believed Ravi could have made, and at various points urged him to consider: leaving Singapore and applying for asylum.

To those around him, he appeared to present a clear case. Yet he never seemed to seriously contemplate it. He never gave a straight answer — at least not to me — but the impression he gave was that he wanted to remain where he felt it was home, even if that home had become a place of pressure and persecution.

Whatever the cost, Singapore was where his family resides, his friendships were, where his memories were, and where his sense of identity was anchored. And despite his hardships, there are episodes involving Ravi that will stay with me forever.

I remember seeing Uncle Cheong — the father of Cheong Chun Yin—breaking down in tears in Ravi’s Chinatown office when Ravi delivered the news that his son’s death sentence had been commuted to life imprisonment. There was no triumph in that moment, only the raw collapse of a man whose son had lived under the shadow of the gallows and was finally allowed to breathe again.

I also remember Gobi Avedian — saved from the death penalty after a final appeal succeeded when many believed there was nothing left to be done — standing in the accused’s dock at the Supreme Court behind a glass wall, thanking Ravi profusely for taking on a case others had written off. Ravi, in his own way, acknowledged the thanks and congratulated Gobi on his second chance at life. I was with Ravi when he met Gobi in Malaysia after he was released.

Whatever anyone thinks of Ravi’s style or temperament, those moments remain difficult to dismiss. In the lives of the families involved, he was not an abstract symbol. He was the person who picked up the phone, filed the papers, and fought when hope had become an embarrassment.

Ravi’s professional journey was complicated—by his conduct, by his illness, by disciplinary consequences, and by battles that sometimes spilled beyond the courtroom. He could be his own worst enemy. Yet even when he was no longer able to practise, he carried the profession in his identity. In his mind, being a lawyer was not reducible to a certificate; it was a duty to act when injustice appeared entrenched.

In recent conversations, Ravi spoke about rebuilding. He knew there were long roads ahead—legal, personal, financial, and reputational. He sought to rebuild trust after regaining clarity following his disbarment, and to address his debts through structured repayment rather than bankruptcy — thankfully with the understanding of creditors who either wrote off what was owed or allowed the debt to be paid by instalments.

He believed, firmly, in the idea of return: that a person could fall far and still stand up again; that the years ahead could still be shaped by purpose rather than by punishment; and that he could, one day, properly conclude the story he had been living.

That is why I feel a grief that goes beyond the fact of death.

I feel grief that Ravi did not get to finish what he saw as his journey — especially the goal of reclaiming, in some form, the professional life he had been proud of for decades. For Ravi, law was not simply employment; it was the central axis of his identity.

In the days since his passing, there has been public commentary about the alleged involvement of drugs. Some supporters of the death penalty have seized on the insinuation and treated it as irony — almost as moral entertainment.

That response is as crude as it is inaccurate.

Ravi’s opposition to the death penalty was never about excusing drug trafficking. It was about the moral and legal limits of state power. He rejected the claim that execution is a proven deterrent, warned about the irreversibility of mistakes, and argued that the law’s presumptions in drug cases risk undermining fair trial principles. In his view, society may punish severely—but it does not follow that it must kill.

If the death penalty truly stops drug trafficking, we would not still be having the same enforcement battles decade after decade. And if drugs are the supposed proof of deterrence, then the obvious question remains: how do drugs continue to circulate in a country known for some of the world’s harshest penalties?

The deeper point — one far less convenient for armchair moralists — is mental health.

Ravi was tormented by bipolar disorder. That illness cost him relationships and stability. It severed ties, distorted judgment, and magnified conflict. Yet mental illness is not a morality play, and it should not be treated as one.

Singapore’s mental health system, despite incremental improvements, remains under immense strain. Capacity constraints, long waits, high costs — both the actual financial burden and the fear of it—and stigma still shape how people seek, or avoid, care.

For high-stress individuals who feel perpetually cornered, the path of discipline and compliance is not always as simple as outsiders imagine. This is not an excuse for harmful conduct; it is an appeal for honesty about what it takes to endure prolonged pressure, public condemnation, and personal collapse while still trying to function.

Ravi also lived with forms of social stigma that are easy to weaponise after a person is gone. In death as in life, he deserved basic dignity: to be remembered for the causes he took on, not reduced to insinuation about his private life.

Ravi lived at the edge of that struggle. He could be extraordinarily lucid and principled, and he could also be unwell. He could act with courage, and he could also self-sabotage. He could help others with startling generosity, and he could also push away those closest to him. If you choose only one version of Ravi to remember, you will either romanticise him or demonise him. Both would be dishonest.

The truth is more human and more difficult: it takes a particular kind of person to repeatedly stand up against the full weight of the system on behalf of people society would rather forget. That kind of person is rarely comfortable to be around. Often, they are not even safe for themselves.

Ravi did what he believed he could do with the tools he had—his voice, his training, his courage, and, yes, his flaws. He fought cases few wanted. He spoke for people many preferred to silence. He insisted that procedure is not the same thing as justice, and that legality is not the same thing as morality.

For that, Singapore is different — subtly, painfully, and undeniably.

And for that, whatever else one thinks of him, M. Ravi deserves to be remembered not as a punchline, and not as a scandal, but as a man who tried — sometimes brilliantly, sometimes disastrously — to make things right.

May he rest in peace.

Lynn Lee

Dear Ravi,

Two days ago, at your wake, I tried to write a few words in your condolence book, but just couldn’t think of what to say[15]. It felt too surreal. You were in that beautiful green box, all dressed up, covered in flowers. When I stopped to say goodbye, I made sure to stand on your better side. Because it was what you would have wanted. Because when I looked at you inside that box, all I could think about was the time I accompanied you to one of your kopi sessions at Cantonment, and I said, let’s take a photo before you go in, and you said, OK, but please, from my better side. And then we laughed. You were always so vain.

You had so many sides. We’ve all marvelled at your brilliance, your fearlessness, your astonishing creativity. You believed what you believed and never once wavered. Never once thought you should not fight for the weak, the marginalised, the condemned. The ones the powerful would rather we forget. Vui Kong is alive today because of you. Chun Yin is alive today because of you. Gobi is at home with his family because of you.

I think I saw you at your very best when you went to Sandakan. You wanted to rally support for Vui Kong, and you did it so brilliantly. You charmed politicians and community leaders – even the ones who were not against the death penalty. Many of them even joined the family when they went out to collect signatures in support of the boy. You spoke to hundreds of people on the streets, in wet markets, at a food centre. After that, you went to see Vui Kong’s mother, and inside that tiny flat, you sang to her. Aunty was deeply depressed then and barely said a word. Then you saved her son’s life, and I think in doing so, you saved hers too. I will never forget that second visit when the case was finally over – the big, wide smile on Aunty’s face, the letter she wrote to say thank you.

But Ravi, it was also terrifying being your friend. I think you know this too. Because when you were trying to save a life or trying to right a wrong, nothing else mattered. Not sleep, or safety, your health or even your sanity. I still remember our shouting matches – me, yelling at you to please take your meds, you, insisting I didn’t know what I was talking about. And you would hang up on me, and we would both seethe. Sometimes, you would spiral out of control, and the local press would pounce, and internet trolls would have a wonderful time tearing you apart.

Some reports of your passing have been deeply unflattering and distressing. The Straits Times and CNA seem to know so much more than your friends and even your family. They say you consumed drugs with another man, and imply you died of an overdose. They’ve published the name of your companion, informed us that he’s been charged, and even released details of how the two of you met. How very efficient, and during the holiday season too. I fear many more ugly reports will soon appear. I worry for your friend who must be deeply traumatised, and who might have to spend long years behind bars.

Already we can see legions of strangers rushing to pass judgement on your life. Some people make crude jokes about what you might have been doing in the hours before your death. Others say you deserve your fate because of who you chose to defend. Still others insist that what happened to you justifies our drug laws. Their glee, especially at a time like this, is galling and illogical. Singapore executed 17 people this year – 15 for drug offences. The killing spree did not save your life. Why would anyone think your death strengthens the government’s argument for a cruel policy?

While your friends brace themselves for a broader smear campaign, your community is unequivocal about which side they remember most of you. They sent you off with so much love yesterday – with loud drumming and music, with a fabulous hearse decked out in gold and light and flowers, with prayers and deeply moving rituals. I took some photos and texted friends who couldn’t make it over – “I think he’d approve, no?” They all agreed. You were loud and controversial and tender and unforgettable. You inspired and infuriated in equal measure.

I miss you so much already.

Love, Lynn

Vadi Pvss

When my wife asked me in the morning of 24th Dec 2025, “Did you receive the news?”, I asked back, “What news?”[16]

I had lost my handphone, and with it, I was cut off from Singapore—and from the world of social media. I was completely unprepared for what followed.

M. Ravi had passed away. Suddenly.

Ravi was many things to many people — a mixed bag, some would say. But to me, before he was ever a lawyer, he was a theatre friend. A man deeply in love with the Tamil language. A natural orator. A gifted actor.

I first knew him from his days hosting the current affairs programme 'Kannottam' கண்ணோட்டம் on SBC — the former, former, former incarnation of what is now Vasantham. When he acted in NUS TLS flagship show Sangae Muzhangu ( சங்கே முழங்கு) during a voice over I mischievously slipped in a line linking his 'Kannottam' persona to the character he played on stage. The audience loved it. Ravi did too.

I remember sharing the stage with him again at an NUS ICS show and also being in the same NUS Tamil debating team —he was sharp, witty, and effortlessly clever. Eventually, our paths diverged. I still remember him urging me to abandon Arts and Social Sciences and join him to read law at a private school. I wasn’t that brave then.

His journey later took him away from Tamil media, but his command of the language never left him. I always admired that about him. When I was toying with the idea of studying law—full-time at SMU instead of part-time—he encouraged me to do the former. Later, I did pupillage under Ms Netto, who was overseeing him then due to conditions imposed by the Law Society. That was when I came to see, up close and personal, his struggle with bipolar disorder.

Ravi tried. He really did—to stay on his medication, to stay steady. But it was often two steps forward, three steps back. I remember casting him in Thondan, an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus. As always, he was cool as ice. Those who knew him only as a lawyer were astonished by his crisp, classical Tamil delivery. Only a few remembered—and fewer still truly knew—his linguistic prowess. When I posted about Thondan on fB a year ago, he had only kind things to say. He even asked me to cast him in Hamlet, which I was then considering staging. He loved the stage. And the stage loved him back.

Much has been said about Ravi and being said. But I choose to remember him not merely as a lawyer, but as a theatre friend; not just as a public figure, but as a lover of language; not only as a man of controversy, but as a cool artiste—one the current audience never truly got to know, and doesn’t quite realise what it has missed.

Gone too soon, indeed—but in the time he lived, he experienced enough for five lifetimes.

Goodbye Ravi - Rest well. What a ride it was. Thank you for sharing the stage with me, and for loving the language the way you did.

Iris Koh

In the days following M. Ravi’s passing, many tributes have been written celebrating his courage, his early work, and his role as a human-rights lawyer. Those tributes are understandable, and I do not begrudge them.[17]

However, I feel compelled to write something more honest.

I do so because there are other victims like myself—people who were misled, hurt, or financially abused by Ravi—and our experiences matter too. I have never hidden my position. I have stated it publicly on multiple occasions, including my last post on this subject on 7 December 2025, after we served a Statutory Demand on Joseph Chen. Ravi has not denied my allegations when he was alive.

This reflection is therefore not written in anger, nor to diminish what Ravi once stood for. It is written to place on record a fuller truth, as I experienced it.

Ravi himself often said that God is our final judge. On this, he is right. I do not judge this man. Judgment belongs to God alone—who alone knows the heart and mind of every person. Whatever his failures, he is now free from the trappings of this world, and I leave his ultimate account to God, the supreme judge.

What follows is not condemnation, but testimony. I write this with mixed feelings about a man I cannot ignore.

M. Ravi (1969–2025):

A Cautionary Tale of Not Becoming the People We Hate

I once treated M. Ravi as a friend, a fellow Singaporean, and a fellow traveller in conscience. Toward the end, I came to despise him—not because of his beliefs, but because he lied to me, cheated me, and abused my trust. That betrayal has legal consequences that I am now pursuing against Joseph Chen.

Many tributes have understandably focused on M. Ravi’s courage and early contributions. This reflection records a fuller, more complicated truth, as I experienced it.

M. Ravi was a brilliant man. He was also a deeply troubled one.

He carried demons—some rooted in the death of his mother, others shaped by years of confronting death, injustice, and what he believed to be evil itself. On his better days, he would speak vividly about his work: the details of executions, his encounters with “the Old Man,” and his conviction that he was fighting Lucifer and his legion. These were his beliefs and his language, and they formed part of the inner world he inhabited.

Yet brilliance does not excuse dishonesty.

Toward the end of our relationship, Ravi lied to me about money. He told me that S$24,000 was required as a “security deposit” to the Attorney-General’s Chambers for the objecting to Tharman's Presidency lawsuit. This was untrue. The money was used to enrich himself and his friend and former lawyer, Joseph Chen.

At the same time, Ravi told others that his work for me was pro bono. That too was untrue. He repeatedly asked me for money whenever we met, and I paid him approximately S$8,000 for work done (in which he spent very little time personally drafting and I had to suffer from verbal abuses while he was at it). I have no issue paying a lawyer for work performed. I do, however, object to being treated like an ATM while false narratives of altruism were circulated. For the sake of the record, this must be stated plainly.

Our History

My history with Ravi goes back more than two decades.

Around 2003, after returning from my studies in Australia, I became acquainted with the late Violet Netto, Ravi’s then law partner. I visited Violet regularly to learn meditation. Ravi, at the time, was a serious young lawyer—his head buried in documents, always working. One day, Violet handed me Hung at Dawn. I spoke to Ravi about the book and the death-penalty cases he was handling. Shortly after, I watched Dead Man Walking to better understand the cause he was fighting for. I respected his work then.

Over the years, Ravi appeared increasingly in the news. My personal interactions with him, when they occurred, left me with the impression of an intense, emotional, and at times volatile person—especially after his diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Our paths did not cross often, but I followed his trajectory from a distance.

In 2007, when Raymond and I got married, we invited Ravi to our wedding dinner. Violet Netto was our solemniser. After that, our interactions were sporadic and often unpleasant, marked by defensiveness and emotional volatility.

COVID and the Constitutional Challenge

In 2021, at the height of the COVID vaccine rollouts, I spoke to dozens of lawyers in Singapore. Many refused outright to take on any case challenging the Government.

One lawyer encouraged me to contact Ravi. I hesitated, knowing his reputation and fearing he might be difficult to work with. But I was at my wits’ end.

When I finally approached him, Ravi was animated and enthusiastic. He spoke about COVID as a monumental human-rights issue and said lawyers around the world were discussing it.

On 16 November 2021, we filed an Originating Summons against the Singapore Government alleging Crimes Against Humanity arising from COVID policies—specifically inducement, coercion, and lack of informed consent. Ravi cited:

Article 9(1) of the Singapore Constitution

Chapter 14 of the ASEAN Human Rights Declaration

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights

Singapore’s Geneva Conventions Act 1957

I remain grateful that, at that moment, there was at least one lawyer willing to file the case exactly as I understood it. I genuinely believed—and still believe—that the inducement and lack of informed consent surrounding COVID vaccines raised serious crimes-against-humanity concerns under the Nuremberg Code and violated our Constitutional Right to Life.

Incidentally, that same day—16 November 2021—Singapore hosted the Bloomberg New Economy Forum, attended by global elites, including Bill Gates, who publicly joked that those unwilling to be vaccinated should be caned. I remember that day vividly. It was one of the moments when Ravi’s darker worldview about power and impunity felt disturbingly plausible.

Aftermath

In the months following the filing, I was placed in remand for 15 days in January 2022. Ravi later faced disbarment.

While I do not believe the filing alone explains it, his conduct in court had deteriorated badly—likely a combination of bipolar disorder and his own desperation of his circumstances.

Intellectually, Ravi was a formidable constitutional lawyer. He believed deeply that no one is above the law—not even the Chief Justice. That belief animated him.

But conviction without integrity corrodes itself.

I know I am not the only one hurt by Ravi’s actions. Many who turned to him in desperation were left disappointed or damaged.

During my 15 days in remand, Ravi did not once reach out to Raymond despite being my lawyer. After my release, he never asked me about it. I can only conclude that by then, he was consumed by his own struggles and saw me less as a client or friend than as a convenient source of cash.

Forgiveness, Not Exoneration

I considered paying him a final visit. Instead, I will light a candle and say a prayer.

Ravi hurt me deeply. He hurt Raymond and others. I will not detail those harms here.

Death is a kind of report card. Ravi never apologised to me before he died. While I forgive him, he is sadly no longer a friend.

Still, I remain thankful for the constitutional challenge he filed. At that moment in history, it was the only glimmer of hope I could see. What I see now, looking back, is not heroism—but a cautionary tale.

A warning about what happens when those who fight injustice slowly adopt the very traits they claim to oppose. When anger replaces integrity. When conscience is invoked but not practised.

That is why I choose to forgive Ravi.

Not because he deserves it — but because forgiveness is how I refuse to become the very people I hate.

Only love can heal the divide.

A Note for the Record

None of the mainstream media coverage—nor M. Ravi’s own Wikipedia entry—mentions that we filed this constitutional challenge together on 16 November 2021.

For completeness, I will leave in the comments the video recorded outside the Supreme Court on that day, immediately after the Originating Summons was filed. It captures, in real time, what was said, what was believed, and what was at stake.

This period—and the days leading up to the constitutional challenge—will be addressed in greater depth in future parts of The Silent Roar. Despite his failings as a person, I do not know that he took or would take drugs as a person. I am not going to believe blindly the circumstances surrounding his death and I would urge everyone not to come to any fast conclusions regardless of how you feel about him.

Thank you.

See also

• M Ravi
• Public forum: 377A – Where did it come from and where should it go
• Challenge to the constitutionality of Section 377A

Acknowledgements

This article was compiled by Roy Tan.