In March 2018, I filed an application in the Syariah High Court of Selangor to be declared as no longer a Muslim. As I write this in April 2026, that application remains unresolved. It has been eight years.

I want to walk you through the key milestones and turning points across eight years of court proceedings. There is much more beneath each of these moments: what was said in court, the submissions I prepared, the emotions I carried, and the things I witnessed along the way. I will write about those in future posts. For now, I want to give you the summarised picture of what this journey has looked like from start to where I stand today. Because when we talk about religious freedom in Malaysia, we often talk about constitutional provisions and court decisions. What we rarely talk about is what the process actually does to a person who goes through it.

The Beginning

When I first approached a Syariah lawyer in 2018, I was told not to worry about payment – she said she wanted to stand for human rights. After my first court appearance, she withdrew from my case when I could not pay the RM30,000 initial fee. I was told the total cost could reach RM180,000.

I approached other lawyers. The quotations ranged from RM5,000 to RM10,000. One of them advised me to represent myself, saying that ‘everyone in the court will be against you’. The Syariah Court is the only avenue available to me, and because I did not know how to represent myself, I hired the one I could afford. It was still a financial burden, but I had no other option.

Counselling

Before the case could proceed meaningfully, I was required to attend counselling sessions with the Mufti’s Department – twelve sessions spread over roughly seven months. I was told the purpose was to understand me better and to assess whether I was genuinely no longer a Muslim. I cooperated fully and completed every session. I will share more about that experience in a future post, because what happened during those sessions deserves to be told properly.

The Court Process

Between 2018 and 2026, my case went through 16 court appearances. Each session moved the case only marginally – examining a single witness, cross-examining another – and then the next date would be set months later. I went through a range of emotions – including frustration, anger, and disappointment – which I will share more about in a later post.

The gaps between hearings ranged from three months to nine months. There was one postponement due to COVID because my lawyer tested positive. At one stage, my case was postponed for eight months simply because the presiding judge had been transferred and no replacement was assigned.

At that point, my own lawyer told me there was nothing that could be done to speed things up and that I should just wait. By then, I had studied enough of the Syariah court procedure to know that was not true. I discovered I could file a motion to expedite my case and write directly to the Syariah Chief Judge of Selangor. I did both, released my lawyer, and chose to represent myself.

My case was brought forward by four months. An avenue I had been told did not exist – existed. I had simply never been told.

A new judge was assigned, and the case proceeded through further hearings, new documents from the defendant, and a round of written submissions from both sides. After seven years and fourteen court appearances, the court delivered its first decision in mid-2025.

The Decision – and the 60 Sessions

The court did not grant the declaration. Instead, it ordered me to undergo ‘repentance and rehabilitation’ (Sesi Istitabah) sessions that is to be completed within 60 days.

The evidence I had presented included my statement of claims and submissions affirming that I am a Christian and believe in Jesus Christ, my baptism certificate, and the testimony of three witnesses: my mother, a friend who was baptised alongside me, and my pastor. All of them testified in court that I am a practising Christian.

The court said there was insufficient evidence.

When I attended the first session in September 2025, I was introduced to a panel of three counsellors assigned by MAIS (The defendant – Islamic Religious Council). It was then that I learnt what the court’s order actually meant in practice – within 60 days means 60 sessions on 60 separate days. Their response was simple: if I was unhappy with the decision, I could appeal. But I knew an appeal to the Syariah Court of Appeal would take far longer than the 60 days themselves – and in the meantime, nothing would move.

So I had no realistic option but to comply. And so I did. Between October and December 2025, I attended all 60 sessions – at mamak shops, hotel lobbies, and restaurants. Most of the sessions lasted about an hour. There were sessions where the panel discussed their renovation plans, their work frustrations, and their personal finances. There were sessions where meaningful conversations took place – about faith, about family, about what we each believe and why. I shared openly about my faith in Christ throughout. They listened, asked questions, and at times shared their own perspectives.

What struck me most was this: the panel members themselves acknowledged that the process was unfair. One of them told me they felt that there was no point holding a person against their will. They were candid about the system’s failures, yet bound by it saying they were told to just follow instructions.

Despite everything, these sessions became something the system did not intend. They became an opportunity for honest conversation, for mutual understanding, and for me to share what I believe and why. By the final session, one of the panel members said he hoped my case would come out in my favour. We parted with a handshake and a hug. Yet even as I valued what these conversations became, I could not escape the sense that the exercise itself was never designed to genuinely assess my belief. Sixty sessions of small talk, casual meetings, and check-ins – it is difficult to see this as anything other than a mechanism of delay toward a predetermined outcome.

I completed all 60 sessions on 18 December 2025 and reminded the panel to submit their report to MAIS promptly, so that MAIS could furnish it to the court before the deadline of 14 January 2026. The lead counsellor assured me verbally that the report had already been sent.

The Report That Never Arrived – and the Rejection

In January 2026, with the court date approaching, I contacted the defendant’s lawyer to check whether the report had been submitted. Her response: “Do not question my responsibility. My job is to settle your case.” For eight years, her role had been to oppose my application – so what “settle” meant, I still do not know.

On 21 January 2026, the court confirmed it had not received the report. The defendant submitted it only the day before – six days past the court’s deadline. The case was postponed by a week. When I returned, my application was rejected. I had done everything asked of me. The defendant had not – and yet the case was decided against me.

I filed my notice of appeal in February 2026.

As of April 2026, I am still waiting for the court to provide the written grounds of judgment from the rejection, and for the appeal process to begin.

What This Has Cost

I want to be clear about what eight years of this process has meant in real terms.

I married according to my Christian faith in 2022 in a church and obtained a legal marriage registration overseas. But I am unable to register my marriage in Malaysia because my religious status remains unresolved. My wife and I had our first child in 2023. The National Registration Department (JPN) refused to record my name as the father on my daughter’s birth certificate until the marriage registration matter is finalised.

I am a father who is not legally recognised as one – not because of any wrongdoing, but because a court process that I entered lawfully, cooperated with fully, and pursued for eight years has not reached a conclusion.

Why I Am Sharing This

I am not sharing this to attack any institution. I am sharing it because this is what the pursuit of a constitutional right looks like in practice – and most people do not know.

When I wrote in my earlier post that the law does provide a route for a person to be declared as no longer a Muslim, I meant it. The law provides a route. The jurisdiction exists. But the question remains: if a constitutional right takes nearly a decade to pursue and still leads nowhere – is it really a right? As William Gladstone once said, “Justice delayed is justice denied.” When a person is made to wait eight years for a fundamental liberty that the Constitution guarantees, the delay itself becomes the denial.

My appeal is pending. I do not yet know how it will end. But I believe the question deserves to be asked – openly, respectfully, and by those of us who are living through it.

This article was originally published on Buy Me a Coffee.