07 December 2005

The Nguyen Tuong Van Case: An Epilogue



By Jonathan Fairbank, Editor-in-Chief



It is fitting that on the early morning of Van’s funeral, Melbourne was in the midst of an unusual summer storm. Heaven, too, is not indifferent to injustice. Later in the day, thousands of people flocked to St. Patrick's Cathedral, in the eastside of the city, to pay their final respects to the 25-year-old salesman turned smuggler.

He’s no hero, said Van’s attorney. That’s true. He was a mediocre kid who made one grave error and paid for it with his young life. His offense was a jailable crime, not one which is warranted by death by hanging. That’s where the injustice lies.

And that’s why thousands of Australians and thousands more overseas mourn Van’s death. It was uncalled for; it was barbaric “justice.”

Yet, even before Van was laid to rest, red-neck Australians and perhaps agents of the Singaporean propaganda machine have been telling the press that Nguyen Van deserved the death penalty. A recent poll, if correct, reveals that about half of the Australian public said Van deserved the noose.

While Australia does have a reputation for and a history of intolerance, I would like to think that a significant segment of the anti-Van crowd is just being contrarian because of the massive media coverage of this case in Australia. I would like to think that the vast and overwhelming majority of Australians are more like those who gathered at St. Patrick's today and at the parish church Friday last as Van was taking his last breadth—people of conscience who see the manifest injustice against a naïve criminal who deserved a jail sentence and not death…

In His Own Hand: Planning His Own Funeral

Nguyen Tuong Van's Last Words

The following is taken from the final page of Van's prison diary. It was written at about 4 AM on December 2, 2005, two hours before his execution in Singapore:

It is now the 11th hour. My work here is done now. Pray, may I not have failed you completely and by the Grace of God may you find strength and comfort in these words my heart now speaks to you my brothers and sisters.

As I lay here listening to the prayers being said for me I take measure of all that has taken place and what is about to be. I am returning to the Lord now. He loves us all so much. He is in all of us. He's always been there. It is we who need to love Him.

I shall be looking down on you and shall be in all your hearts. I shall never cease to love you and can only promise I will never leave your side. To know that I am there you need only place your hands (on) your heart and I'll be there.

I now thank each and everyone for all that has been achieved by the love you all possess. Amazing Grace because that is what you are.

I smile now as I prepare myself to return to the Lord. You all are now in my prayers. Please don't be sorry but instead celebrate the life God has made possible through his love. These shall be my last words now. But I will see you again. Be of great faith; of greater courage and firm heart.

It is now my time. May God continue to bless you. May His light shine upon you. May He grant you peace and bring you everlasting life. Amen.

See you my brothers and sisters.

I love you … and forever will.

Dear Brothers and Sisters, to one and all whom have fought so hard for my life, to all who have prayed and those I have hurt, please forgive me for my sins and accept my sincere apologies.

Death of a Salesman: Final Farewell to Nguyen Tuong Van








A Poem for Nguyen Tuong Van
By Ian Bui
Dallas,TX, USA



They carefully measure my weight
Then faithfully record my height
To calculate a string so straight
With which to stop my fall in flight

It is a most humane method
With a poetic sounding name
Officials call it the “Long Drop”
But in the end it’s all the same

They say my neck will snap so fast
Hardly will I feel any pain—
A “comatose asphyxia” blast
(If all metrics conform to plan)

Mother, forgive me for your grief
I never meant to cause you shame
Brother, my life – however brief
You’re not the one to take the blame

Let them who wealth and fortunes make
Upon the backs of mules like me
And them whose power to give and take
Is stained with blood which none can see

Let them who judge us by their book
Yet lie in proud hypocrisies
One day themselves be tried as crooks
Who are earth’s vilest enemies

When I am gone, please do not weep
Take up the fight where it belongs
I’ll give you all the rope you need
To set aright these onerous wrongs

My spine they’ll break from the gallows
Thusly I’ll pay my exit toll
When that sun rises tomorrow
Your love and spirit sheathe my soul