In Saudi Arabia’s Shariah-based courts, ordinary people—especially poor migrant workers and those without connections—routinely face opaque, discretionary proceedings that human rights groups describe as lacking basic due process, while wealth, status, and nationality often determine outcomes.
The system, rooted in Hanbali interpretations of Islamic law without a comprehensive codified criminal code, grants judges broad ta’zir discretion for many offenses. This produces inconsistent, frequently severe results that disproportionately burden the powerless.
Recent cases illustrate the disparity. In 2026, Sri Lankan migrant worker Anojan Sivarasa received a death sentence from an appeals court for a Facebook comment deemed blasphemous, after an initial five-year term under cybercrime laws; the Supreme Court later set it aside following diplomatic and legal appeals, but the episode highlighted how quickly speech-related charges can escalate for vulnerable foreigners.
Around the same period, Saudi authorities executed a Bangladeshi couple for alleged “indecent acts” inside a Mecca mosque under ta’zir, without prior notification to their government. These followed a 2025 record of at least 356 executions—many of foreign nationals for non-lethal drug offenses—after trials organizations including Human Rights Watch characterized as unfair, often involving limited legal representation, short hearings, and reliance on confessions.
The Specialized Criminal Court, originally for terrorism cases, has expanded to target peaceful dissenters, Shi’a minorities, and activists. Defendants frequently report denial of counsel, prolonged detention, and torture-tainted confessions, resulting in lengthy sentences or death penalties. Amnesty International and USCIRF have documented patterns of such practices, noting the court’s limited independence from executive and security authorities.
By contrast, the diyya (blood money) system allows the wealthy to negotiate compensation in lieu of qisas (retaliatory) punishments for homicide or injury, effectively enabling those with means or family influence to avoid the harshest outcomes that poorer defendants cannot escape.
Critics, including analyses in outlets such as The Guardian and The New York Times, have long described this as commodifying justice and granting de facto impunity to the powerful. High-status Saudis and those with royal connections have historically resolved sensitive cases through private settlements, royal interventions, or closed proceedings, while ordinary citizens and low-wage migrants from South Asia and Africa face public, severe penalties.
Saudi officials maintain that courts apply Shariah equally to all, regardless of status or nationality, and point to Vision 2030 reforms in commercial and labor areas.
Yet reports from Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, and others document persistent gaps: discounted testimony for non-Sunnis or women in some contexts, barriers for migrants under the kafala system, and a lack of precedent or transparency that favors those with resources.
Foreigners from poorer countries bear a disproportionate share of executions for drug and morality offenses, while high-profile Western cases sometimes draw diplomatic leverage unavailable to ordinary workers.
The result is a justice system in which ordinary people encounter proceedings that appear farcical and one-sided by international fair-trial standards, while the rich and connected navigate more flexible paths. Absent codification of criminal law, stronger procedural safeguards, and reduced judicial discretion, these disparities are likely to continue.