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SINCE I shared my tribute to the late Pope Francis, I have been overwhelmed—truly humbled—by the outpouring of love and positivity from every corner of the world.
It reached farther than I ever imagined, resonating with people across faiths, borders, and beliefs. Proof, once again, that we are all singularly plural: uniquely different, yet fundamentally the same.
Many who read my words have since asked me—“Why did you need hope?” “What brought you to that place?”
Let me try to explain.
It was during the dark days of Datuk Seri Najib Abdul Razak’s administration. The people around him were aggressive, vindictive, and utterly devoid of principle. If you supported Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim or questioned the blatant erosion of transparency and justice, you were marked. Targeted.
And I was not just any voice—I was a senior businessman. Worse in their eyes, I was openly supporting reform, standing beside Anwar, and funding efforts to build a better Malaysia.
That made me a threat. You see, businessmen were expected to be silent—grateful to the ruling regime for whatever scraps we were allowed.
Make your money, show your loyalty, and say “thank you.” That was the deal.
But I’ve never been good at silence. Ask anyone who knows me—I speak when something needs to be said.
And I cannot, in good conscience, support unchecked corruption. So, the attacks began.
Standing alone
I stood virtually alone among the business elite. Many chose silence. Others went so far as to publicly serenade the Prime Minister in choreographed videos—mockery masquerading as loyalty. It was pitiful.
And though I respected those who remained quiet, those who traded dignity for favour… well, let’s just say history will judge.
Some are now in positions of power again—hopefully with a second chance to do what’s right. Some are atoning. Others remain the same.
For my family and me, those years were brutal. Accounts were frozen. Investigations launched. Fake bankruptcy claims filed.
Coordinated smear campaigns in a tightly controlled media landscape—all aimed at coercing me to abandon Anwar and his reform movement.
Or at the very least, to break me. To remove me from the board—just another chess piece sacrificed for convenience.
But I don’t bend. Intimidation never sat well with me. I fight back.
A request to sell my soul
Eventually, they sent my late friend, Minister Tan Sri Jamaluddin Jarjis (JJ) to see me and Winy (my wife). He came with a man I strongly believed was from the National Security Council.
JJ, noticeably uncomfortable, said very little. The NSC man did the talking.
He apologised—claimed it was all “little Napoleons” running rogue—and that the government wanted to make things right.
He offered a large sum of money, reinstatement of contracts, the return of titles. A golden path back, they said. But only if I signed a letter. One simple signature.
It was a betrayal letter. A carefully worded piece of fiction confirming the government’s narrative against Anwar and the reform movement.
They said it was “for their records” and wouldn’t be used—unless they needed to. In essence, they wanted me to sell my soul.
I stood up and walked out to calm myself. My temper, as my friends know, can flare when principle is involved.
While I was gone, Winy—my partner in every sense—made the call. She told them to leave.
She looked them in the eye and said, “My husband is a businessman. He can buy and sell. But his soul is not for sale.”
That moment sums up everything.
So why did I need hope? Because even with my defiance, even with my strength, I was exhausted. The fight felt endless. I was physically deteriorating—heart failure looming, the darkness always nearby.
It was during this time that I had the honour of meeting Pope Francis.
And in that single, quiet encounter, he gave me what I didn’t know I was desperate for—hope. The kind of hope that reignites a fire. That reminds you your purpose hasn’t yet been fulfilled.
That was the turning point.
I kept fighting. Through the attacks, through the lies, through the collapse of my health. And then, in November 2022, Anwar Ibrahim became Malaysia’s 10th Prime Minister.
After nearly 11 years of unjust imprisonment, he stood tall. Najib Razak, who orchestrated so much pain, now sits in prison. If ever there was proof that God has a sense of humour, that was it.
But the battle wasn’t over for me. In January 2023, just weeks after Anwar’s victory, I collapsed on a flight from Chennai.
The plane turned back midair. I nearly died—three times, I’m told—saved only by the presence and brilliance of my wife, who happens to be a doctor. She feels the pressure I put myself through the two years before and during the election was the cause.
In ICU with a failing heart
Seven weeks in ICU. A failing heart. Was told I wouldn’t survive without a transplant. Six failed attempts.
One full year of waiting in Chennai. Finally, the seventh heart arrived in February 2024. It was perfect.
They said I shouldn’t have survived. My heart’s ejection fraction was under 10%—barely enough to function. But it held on. Somehow, it held on. Through everything.
So now, with a new heart and a second chance at life, I carry the responsibility of that survival.
To Pope Francis, I owe a debt. Not of money or favour—but of faith. Of belief. Of resilience.
And as a social capitalist, I will repay that debt by continuing the work. By being of service. By holding firm to the promise, I made to myself—to do more, to be better, to fight harder.
I haven't got it right a lot of the times, but I continue to try. And that's the key...to always keep trying.
As Robert Frost wrote:
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I still have miles to go.
Datuk Dr Vinod Sekhar is the publisher of the Vibes and Chairman of the Petra Group