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Most Malaysians only see the legal system when something has already gone wrong. But few see it from the inside; the fear, helplessness, confusion, and coldness that comes from not knowing what your rights are.
For A’minahtul Mardiah, she has seen all of it.
At 40 years old, she has worked as a Deputy Public Prosecutor, Magistrate, defence lawyer, NGO founder, and now an educator who uses social media to help ordinary Malaysians understand the law.
A’minahtul’s journey isn’t defined by job titles; it is instead defined by layers of pain, injustice, and humanity she witnessed in each role.
Her story is not neat nor romantic. In fact, it is uncomfortable, heavy, and brutally reflective of a system that often leaves the common folk struggling in silence.
But above all, it is a story about someone who has seen and felt the worst, but yet still believes justice is worth fighting for.
Multiple moments that turned into a single purpose
When asked when she first realised the Malaysian legal system failed ordinary people, A’minahtul didn’t point to a dramatic turning point. Instead, she described a pattern; a painful collection of experiences across years of service.
“It wasn’t a single day. It was a series of experiences that opened my eyes to how fragile justice can be when the process loses its humanity.”
As a Deputy Public Prosecutor, she saw accused persons nodding through proceedings without understanding a single thing and agreeing out of fear, not guilt. As a Magistrate, she saw families break under the weight of unexplained decisions.
As a defence lawyer, she saw how easily the vulnerable can be blindsided by procedures they do not understand.
Some people were treated more like files than human beings.”
A’minahtul’s realisation was not an epiphany. It was a slow, painful awakening to how lack of awareness, representation, and empathy can turn the legal system into a trap.
Thus, she had a new purpose in life: to stand between power and vulnerability.
Fighting fear with empathy
One incident A’minahtul remembers clearly involved a young man nodding to every question out of sheer terror as he thought nodding was the only way to avoid punishment.
When people don’t know their rights, they become victims of the process.”
“Fear is one of the strongest forces used against the rakyat, not always intentionally, but systemically.
“This is why I began explaining Malaysian legal rights on social media in simple language that is free from jargon and intimidation.
“Because justice begins long before a courtroom. It begins when an ordinary person realises that they have rights and that they matter,” she explained.
Among all the cases A’minahtul has handled, one case involving children remains etched into her memory and one that triggered fierce debate and outrage nationally.
But from her seat, it was not a spectacle.It was a moment where law and emotion collided, where narratives drowned out truth, and where real children were caught between pain and public perception.
“It was one of those cases where emotion and law collide. Narratives drowned truth. Justice became fragile when public opinion replaced evidence.”
It also taught A’minahtul that Malaysia must be more sensitive with child-related cases as misrepresentation can destroy lives long before a verdict is reached.
Finding her voice as a young girl
A’minahtul’s sense of empathy didn’t come from the courtroom, but rather from childhood.When she was young, she experienced sexual harassment and tried speaking up but was dismissed by those she trusted.
This act of betrayal, though deeply hurtful, shaped her far more than any legal training ever could.
It also taught her several things, such as
- what it feels like to be unheard
- what it feels like to be disbelieved
- what it feels like to be silenced for someone else’s comfort
Writing soon became her refuge and her way of reclaiming her voice. “Writing saved me. It helped me heal,” she said.
The courtroom stories Malaysians never see
Courtrooms are often portrayed cleanly on TV. In reality, they are filled with quiet tragedies. Here are some cases that A’minahtul remembers vividly:
- A 70-year-old father trembling as he said he used his Hajj savings to bail out his son.
- A teenage boy who stole because he was hungry and abandoned — whispering “Saya lapar, puan.”
- Children whose names were exposed online, their innocence compromised forever.
- Families confused by sudden procedural decisions that changed their lives overnight.
The law can punish. But it cannot mend broken families, reverse childhood trauma, or erase hunger. It was these moments that shaped my belief that compassion must guide the legal process.”
When public opinion becomes the judge
There were moments when A’minahtul took cases that were judged not by the law, but by public opinion.
People attacked my family because of the clients I represented. They didn’t see the principle, they only saw the headlines.”
The lowest point came when her child’s picture was taken and posted online with a threat.
“That moment shook me to my core, not as a lawyer, but as a mother. The fear of seeing your loved ones dragged into something they never asked for is a kind of pain that never truly leaves you.”
She has lost clients because she refused to bend her integrity to please the crowd.
“I have been harassed, criticised, and called names for standing beside people the world had already condemned. And yet, even through all that noise, I held on to the belief that justice cannot exist only when it’s popular.”
When she stood up for a child & society turned on her
Many Malaysians first learned A’minahtul’s name when she spoke publicly about a 13-year-old girl who was threatened with rape while playing Mobile Legends.
Though she helped the girl in lodging a police report and tried raising awareness so other minors would be protected, the Internet instead turned against her.
“People mocked me, mocked her, and defended the man who threatened her. The girl once whispered to me saying, ‘I just wanted to play. Now I’m scared to even turn on my phone.’”
Worst of all, the cruelty didn’t just come from strangers but from lawyers.
I never expected people trained in justice to belittle my intentions, mock my work, or question my integrity. But amid the cruelty, there were also lawyers, activists, parents, and silent supporters who sent me messages of encouragement.
“This reminded me that compassion survives even in hostile spaces and that empathy is still a form of resistance.”
Through A’minahtul’s NGO, she has handled cases that demanded emotional strength, sensitivity, and deep empathy.
The cases also reminded her that abuse isn’t always visible as some wounds are silent.
‘Yes, I have cried alone’
Many would assume lawyers often put on a straight face most of the time, but for A’minahtul, she doesn’t hide her vulnerability.
“There were nights I cried in my car after hearings went nowhere. I questioned my purpose in life and wondered if the system was too broken to fight. I also felt the loneliness of standing up for people others would rather ignore.
But each time, I’m reminded of the people that I fight for, such as children dismissed as unruly, abused women, those wrongly accused of a crime, families seeking closure, and most of all, my younger self. If I stop, they lose their voice too.”
One heartbreaking pattern A’minahtul often encounters is the widespread dismissal of children’s emotions, where they are often told to sit down, shut up, and keep their emotions to themselves.
“This has resulted in an entire generation growing up believing their feelings don’t matter. It also explains why children rarely report abuse as they’re conditioned to think adults won’t believe them.
“To me, emotional neglect is one of the most unaddressed forms of harm in Malaysia,” she said.
Writing as a form of healing and teaching
Throughout her life, writing has been A’minahtul’s companion and her safe space. Today, it is also her tool to reach out and educate the masses on their rights and protect the vulnerable.
Among the three critical rights she emphasises include:
1. The right to legal representation
This starts from the moment of arrest or investigation.
2. The right to know why you are arrested
It must be clear and immediate.
3. Freedom of speech has limits
It does not protect harm, harassment, or defamation.
When asked which law she would change if given the power to do so, A’minahtul said she’d opt to reform statutory rape laws involving minors.
“I have seen teenage boys, who are children themselves, being branded as offenders for consensual acts with peers. Children must be treated as children first, not criminals. Education, not punishment, must be the focus.”
The cost of fighting for justice
Malaysia prides itself on values like morality and compassion, but A’minahtul has seen how easily those can be weaponised.
What I learned is that we are a nation torn between conscience and convenience. We say we stand for justice, but too often, we choose comfort over truth. Some of us weaponise the law or our positions to humiliate others.”
Her work has come at a cost, to her peace, her safety, her career, and even her family.
But she has also learned the deepest truth:
“Healing is not about forgetting. It’s about learning to breathe again, to live again, to love yourself again. One day you will wake up and realise that the girl who once cried in silence became the woman who refused to give up.”
Her hope for Malaysia
One of the heaviest emotional burdens she carries is how her advocacy work affects her own child.
Her child’s photo was once used maliciously online, a moment that shook her deeply. It made her reconsider her entire public presence. But motherhood became her anchor.
“I fight for my child. I fight to become a stronger mother. I want my child to inherit a Malaysia where silence is no longer a norm.”
After being a deputy public prosecutor, magistrate, defence lawyer, NGO leader, and educator, A’minahtul’s vision for Malaysia is simple: a country where dignity matters, children are protected, women are believed, justice is accessible, and the law isn’t a threat but a safeguard.
“Please, be brave enough to reach out. Be gentle enough to rest. Be patient enough to heal. You are worthy of peace. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of a life that doesn’t hurt anymore”, she added.
And if she could leave only one message for future Malaysians:
“Stand for what is right, because I did, and it nearly broke me, but it also became the reason I still believe in justice.”
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