What FAM could learn from Malaysia’s uneasy record at CAS

It marked Malaysia’s rare return to the global tribunal where sports disputes are settled by evidence, not emotion.

CAS, based in Lausanne, Switzerland, often called the “Supreme Court of Sport”, is where the world’s athletes, coaches, and associations take their battles when all avenues are exhausted.

But few Malaysian cases have ever reached those marble corridors, and none ended in success.

As FAM prepares to challenge Fifa’s rejection of its appeal in the naturalisation scandal – a fiasco that saw seven footballers banned for a year and FAM fined RM1.8 million – Malaysia’s past appearances at CAS offer sobering lessons.

Malaysia’s first brush with CAS

The nation’s first encounter with CAS dates back to 2008, when the World Anti-Doping Agency (Wada) took the National Shooting Association of Malaysia (NSAM) to task.

Three Malaysian shooters, Joseline Cheah, Bibiana Ng and Siti Nur Masitah Badrin, had tested positive for the banned beta-blocker propranolol, which helps calm nerves, during a 2007 domestic competition.

NSAM initially imposed a six-month suspension, later extending it to one year after consultation with international bodies.

But Wada wasn’t satisfied. The agency appealed to CAS, arguing that the reduced ban fell short of the World Anti-Doping Code’s mandatory two-year suspension.

CAS agreed. The panel ruled that athletes bore ultimate responsibility for any substance found in their system, regardless of intent.

The two-year suspension was reinstated, setting a precedent that reinforced how international standards override local leniency.

It was Malaysia’s first hard lesson at the tribunal: that sympathy carries little weight when measured against global sporting law.

The Wushu case: A gold lost, a principle upheld

Six years later, another Malaysian case landed in Lausanne, this time from the gleaming floor of the 2014 Incheon Asian Games.

National wushu exponent Tai Cheau Xuen had dazzled the judges with her nanquan and nandao routines, earning Malaysia a coveted gold medal.

However, she was stripped of it days later after testing positive for sibutramine, a banned stimulant.

Her camp protested the decision, claiming a 16-hour delay between the collection of her urine sample and its arrival at an accredited lab.

They argued that such a delay compromised the chain of custody. CAS disagreed.

The court found no evidence of tampering or irregularity and upheld the Olympic Council of Asia’s (OCA) decision to disqualify Tai.

In its written ruling, CAS noted that there was no stipulated maximum time for sample transport and that the results remained valid.

The verdict reaffirmed what many Malaysian officials had come to accept reluctantly: CAS decisions are rooted in procedure, not politics.

No amount of public sympathy, no amount of debate back home, can shift a judgment once the Lausanne process runs its course.

Karim Ibrahim: The most high-profile Malaysian case

But no Malaysian case at CAS has been as complex, or as politically charged, as that of Karim Ibrahim, the long-time power broker of Malaysian athletics.

In 2018, Karim appealed to CAS after the International Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF, now World Athletics) declared him “ineligible” to serve on its ruling council.

The IAAF’s vetting panel had raised concerns over his past involvement in controversies linked to doping cover-ups and financial mismanagement.

Karim’s troubles stretched back years. In 2012, the then Malaysian Athletics Union (MAU) banned him for six years for allegedly assisting six national athletes who refused doping tests at the National Sports Institute.

The ban was later overturned by the Kuala Lumpur High Court, which ruled that the federation had no jurisdiction over him at the time.

That legal technicality, however, did not erase the underlying allegations. When a German documentary aired in 2016 accusing Karim of covering up doping practices in Malaysia, the IAAF launched an internal review.

By 2018, its vetting panel had concluded that his continued presence on the council posed a “serious likelihood of damage to the reputation of athletics and the IAAF”.

Karim brought the matter to CAS. He argued that the decision was unjust and that the panel had overreached.

But CAS dismissed his appeal, finding that the IAAF had followed proper procedures and that the evidence was sufficient to sustain the ban.

The ruling effectively ended Karim’s international ambitions, or so it seemed.

A controversial return

In June this year, in a twist few foresaw, Karim was elected president of Malaysia Athletics (MA) once again.

MA had amended its constitution to allow officials found guilty of wrongdoing to contest elections after five years had passed since their verdict.

The change, described internally as a “five-year cap”, opened the door for Karim’s comeback.

The amendment did not erase his CAS defeat, nor did it alter his ineligibility under World Athletics’ global governance standards.

But domestically, it restored his legitimacy. The same man whose integrity was rejected by an international tribunal was now back at the helm of national athletics.

The move sparked quiet discomfort in sports circles. To some, it symbolised resilience and redemption.

To others, it exposed a troubling disconnect between Malaysia’s sports governance and the world’s expectations of accountability.

At CAS, integrity is a threshold; in Malaysia, it is a timeline.

Football and the CAS: Reality bites

While Malaysian appearances at CAS have been scarce, football disputes are among the court’s most common cases worldwide.

Over the years, CAS has adjudicated a wide range of football matters, from Adrian Mutu’s €17 million compensation case against Chelsea, to Carlos Tevez’s transfer dispute with West Ham, to Luis Suárez’s appeal against Fifa’s four-month ban for biting an opponent in the 2014 World Cup.

In most of these cases, CAS upheld Fifa’s disciplinary processes, demonstrating a strong deference to the world body’s internal regulations.

Clubs and players often appeal to CAS seeking leniency or procedural relief, but few manage to overturn core findings.

The trend is clear: while CAS provides a final avenue for justice, it rarely reverses sanctions unless clear evidence of procedural error or rights violation is proven.

For the FAM, whose appeal against Fifa’s ruling has been rejected, the prospects in Lausanne may therefore be slim.

Yet the symbolism of taking it to CAS — the act of pushing back, of showing defiance — resonates powerfully in a football nation desperate for redemption.

A Regent’s hand and a nation’s reputation

Adding to the intrigue is the reported willingness of Tunku Ismail Sultan Ibrahim, the Regent of Johor, to bear the legal costs of the appeal on behalf of FAM and the seven suspended players.

His intervention frames the case not merely as a legal dispute, but as a question of honour and loyalty within Malaysian football.

Whether the move reflects faith in the players’ innocence or frustration with Fifa’s disciplinary structure remains unclear.

But it highlights the blurred lines between administration and patronage — between accountability and influence — that continue to define Malaysia’s sports culture.

As the appeal heads towards CAS, the football fraternity faces a mirror moment.

The question is not just whether Malaysia can win, but whether it can learn from past defeats — from shooters who were banned for negligence, to a wushu champion stripped of gold, to an athletics president who returned after falling from grace.

Lessons in Lausanne

Every Malaysian journey to CAS has ended in loss, but not necessarily in vain.

Each case revealed a recurring theme: that international sports governance demands transparency, procedural rigour, and an unyielding commitment to integrity, principles that often collide with domestic norms of forgiveness and favour.

If FAM proceeds with its appeal, it will step into a courtroom where sentiment holds no sway, where even football’s biggest names have stumbled.

It will also test whether Malaysia, this time, seeks vindication or understanding, and whether its leaders are prepared to let accountability stand, not bend, under pressure.

For now, history offers a quiet warning from Lausanne: Malaysia’s record there is short, its defeats instructive.

And while the courtroom may be far away, its echoes reach directly into how the nation governs sport at home.

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