Even the worst criminal, the cruellest person deserves a proper trial, says top S’pore criminal lawyer

In his third month as a rookie criminal lawyer in the early 1990s, Mr Shashi Nathan faced a daunting case: defending a man accused of molestation. Still green and struggling to find his footing, he was shaken when the judge bluntly told him: “When I convict your client, expect a very long sentence.”

The use of “when”, not “if”, hit hard, rattling his confidence. “I asked myself if it was my fault, if it was because of my inexperience or lack of knowledge,” he recalls.

But then, a remarkable show of solidarity took place. Six of Singapore’s top criminal lawyers at the time, including the late Subhas Anandan and Mr Leo Fernando, appeared at the hearing.

When the judge entered and noticed the audience, he asked: “Why are there so many people in this courtroom? Are you trying to pressure me?” 

One of the senior lawyers calmly replied: “This is a public courtroom. Surely, we can observe the proceedings?”

Their presence was a turning point. Bolstered by the support, the young litigator pushed forward and eventually secured an acquittal for his client. Today, as a leading criminal lawyer and joint managing partner at Withers KhattarWong, Mr Nathan, now 56, mentors young lawyers, reminding them to persevere, no matter how daunting the odds.

His career has seen him take on both blue- and white-collar crimes, from murder trials to cases involving insider trading and market manipulation.

Among his high-profile cases was one when he was the defence lawyer for Guen Garlejo Aguilar. In 2005, the Filipina killed her fellow domestic worker Jane Parangan La Puebla, chopped her body into six parts, stuffed them into bags and dumped them in different parts of Singapore.

Mr Nathan was also the defence lawyer in 2013 for businessman Tang Boon Thiew, then 39, who made nearly $400,000 from the earnings of 19 escorts he recruited to provide sexual services.

An animated raconteur, he says his path to law was not planned.

Comfortably ensconced in a Chesterfield sofa at The Writing Club, a whisky library at Palais Renaissance, he says: “Growing up, everyone said I talked too much. My aunts, uncles and even my parents would say ‘This one will be a lawyer,’ but I didn’t think so.”

The elder of two sons, he describes his parents, both civil servants, as simple folks who placed a lot of importance on education. His father, an extroverted man who often invited strangers home, much to the exasperation of his wife, was a big influence. From him, Mr Nathan learnt the values of generosity and kindness, and the importance of looking beyond a person’s social status. 

Growing up in an HDB flat in Holland Drive, he went on to study at Raffles Institution and Raffles Junior College, where he found his passion for drama, debate and public speaking. Crime fiction was another big love; he devoured the adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle, along with the feats of Agatha Christie’s iconic detectives, Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot.

Then squeamish at the sight of blood, he ruled out medicine and chose to study law at the University of London simply because nothing else intrigued him. The game plan was to become a corporate lawyer because “I liked the idea of wearing nice suits”.

Fate, however, had other plans. His father managed to get him an internship at the law firm of his good friend Sant Singh, a former police investigator turned criminal lawyer.

Mr Nathan says of Mr Singh, who is now a senior counsel with Tan Rajah & Cheah: “I followed him to court and he made me appreciate how interesting this work really is and what a big impact you can make on people’s lives. I learnt a lot just watching him in court. He was very measured and soft-spoken, but he was very careful with every word he used. It made me realise you don’t need to be brash and flamboyant in court.”

More importantly, Mr Singh introduced the young man to the late Michael Sherrard, a celebrated barrister and Queen’s Counsel who was bestowed the CBE (Commander of the Most Excellent Order Of The British Empire) in 2003.

“He was a superstar in the English bar, and he invited me to do a mini pupillage with him in London for three months. He opened my eyes to a whole new world.”

More than just courtroom strategy, Mr Sherrard, he says, taught him how to conduct himself in and out of court and behave like a gentleman.

“He was an amazing man. Have you read the books by John Mortimer?” Mr Nathan asks, referring to the late lawyer, writer and playwright who created the character Horace Rumpole, the witty barrister defending the accused in London’s Old Bailey. “Rumpole reminds me of Michael Sherrard.”

Mr Nathan had hoped to do corporate law upon his return from London in 1992. However, at an interview with Khattar Wong, one of the firm’s partners told him bluntly he should forget about corporate law because “he did not cross the t’s and dot the i’s”.

That was how he ended doing shipping law for six months at the firm instead. He moved into criminal law when one of Khattar Wong’s senior lawyers was elevated to the High Court bench, and he was tasked to take over his files.

It was a steep learning curve but the criminal bar in Singapore, he says, is different from other legal circles.

“They are close-knit because criminal lawyers don’t fight against each other, they fight against the state. They saw this young and, at that time, skinny Indian boy fumbling around and looking stressed and they’d come and put their arm around me when they saw me in the bathroom and ask me: ‘What’s the problem today?’ And they’d teach me.”

In 1995, he was handed his first murder case. Mr Nathan was the second chair in the case of Thai construction worker Thongbai Naklangdon, who was sentenced to death for killing a fellow worker by hitting him on the head with an iron pipe.

A few weeks before he was hanged, Naklangdon, then 23, asked to see Mr Nathan.

“He said: ‘I know I’m going to die, I know that there is no appeal, no hope. But I want you to know I did not do it,’” recalls the veteran lawyer.

“That statement has remained in my head until today. It disturbed me a lot. I could not sleep and kept asking myself if we had overlooked anything or (could have) done other things better,” he says.

The episode underlines the responsibility and weight criminal lawyers have to bear.

“I always tell my lawyers: ‘You must feel it. If you can finish a case and feel nothing, you have to step away because you’re doing a disservice not just to your client, but to yourself and the law,” he says.

After all, a criminal case, he says, involves more than just the accused.

“They have wives, husbands, parents, siblings and children. There is a knock-on effect on so many people.”

In his view, defending goes beyond legal arguments, it’s about preserving the dignity of every person, regardless of his crime.

“Criminal law is all about humanity,” he says, adding that a key trait for any defence lawyer is empathy. “If you don’t have empathy, you can’t put yourself in the shoes of somebody you’re defending. It’d be very difficult to do this sort of work.”

He continues: “Many people judge (a case) based on what they read, but they don’t know all the facts. They ask me why I defend criminals and I tell them: ‘The day the accused is your father, brother or son in that dock, you will be the first to call me.’ Even the worst criminal, the cruellest person in the world, deserves to have a proper trial.”

He brings up the case of Aguilar, who killed her friend and dismembered the body. Despite the gruesome nature of the crime, he focused on the humanity of his client, arguing that the woman had no intention of killing her friend and had panicked after a physical struggle.

“You have to understand the whole story. She wasn’t a monster,” he says, adding that Aguilar was sentenced to 10 years in prison after her murder charge was reduced to manslaughter.

People, he says, are like onions. “Everyone has layers and backstories, and it’s the job of defence lawyers to make sure their stories are told... even though the outcome is not always desirable.”

What if he knows a client is guilty?

“I have a very simple rule. I will do my best for my clients, put forward the best defence, but I will never lie for them because I’m an officer of the court. It’s taken me 30 years to build my reputation, and I’m not going to throw it away.

“I tell them: ‘If you have lied, you need to deal with your lie. I can help you explain the life through my questions but I cannot lie to the court.’”

Mr Nathan now spends more time navigating the complexities of white-collar fraud and corruption, a practice which he admits is more lucrative. But whenever possible, he will defend individuals accused of violent crimes.

“In some cases, we are appointed by the High Court to defend people on death row or facing capital offences. We are paid honorariums, not commercial rates, but I’m happy to do it because it’s our national service for the system.”

He adds: “I just Robin Hood it. I can take on some of the cases cheaper or pro bono because I know I have paying work,” says Mr Nathan.

White-collar work, he says, requires a different approach involving not courtroom theatrics but negotiations, finding solutions and working behind the scenes. He has been recognised for his white-collar defence work in legal guides such as Who’s Who Legal, Business Crime Defence and Doyle’s Guide.

In addition to his legal practice, Mr Nathan serves as the patron of Hao Ren Hao Shi, a ground-up movement which distributes monthly provisions to the needy. The non-profit organisation was set up by serial volunteer and used car dealer Anson Ng, whose work won him The Straits Times’ Singaporean Of The Year Award in 2022.

“Anson has done a lot of work for hospices and for the needy, and he uses his own money to pay for things, like buying coffins. There’s charity and there’s genuine good-heartedness, and Anson’s one of the kindest people I know.”

 At home, the foodie and whisky lover finds joy in simple pleasures. Married and with no children, he and his wife Geraldine are devoted to their golden labrador Rumpole.

His long walks with Rumpole every morning and night help him decompress.

“During the walks, I spend a bit of time talking to him and telling him about my day. I’ll say: ‘I don’t think you fully understand,’ but he will look at me knowingly.”

Looking back on his career, Mr Nathan says life and Lady Luck have been good to him.

“I’ve made many friends in my career, and have had highs and lows. The lows are important because they are measuring points for what you did wrong or could have done better. The highs shouldn’t be celebrated too much because they only last so long.” 

Source: Straits Times © SPH Media Limited. Permission required for reproduction.

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