Dragons & Butterflies

by Shani Krebs

  Sophon was also a bit of a nutcase. He began to use the closed-circuit TV to broadcast his multiple rules and regulations. During the day, his voice could be heard booming over the loudspeakers and on all the TVs. When you asked any Thai who watched what he was saying, they all responded, ‘Mai sumkan’ (Not important). Anyway, Sophon kept tightening the screws, and everyone agreed he needed to be stopped.

  Building 1 had by then been reduced to rubble, but work had suddenly been suspended. Once again, Thais and foreigners alike appealed to me to petition the Commander to have the UBC satellite TV installed legally through the prison. I drafted a letter and distributed a copy to every building, instructing the prisoners to collect as many signatures as possible. The plan was that we would all submit our petitions on the same day.

  13 October 2004

  The Commander

  Mr Sophon Thitithammapruek

  Bangkwang Central

  Dear Sir

  We the foreign and Thai inmates in Building 2 are appealing to you for your consideration, to please allow the reintroduction of some of the UBC channels on the Bangkwang cable TV. Primarily we are asking for a news channel, either BBC or CNN, and a movie and sports channel. Since your inauguration you have instituted many changes, making life increasingly difficult for all prisoners. There have been three stress-related deaths and one murder in Building 2 alone, all a direct result of these changes. The prison is over-crowded, tensions are running high, we still don’t have clean running water to shower with. The coffee shops are continuously without stock and we are unable to supply our daily needs. The prison does not provide any official rehabilitational programmes to prevent the mental and physical deterioration of prisoners, nor any organised events or representational forums to air our grievances. We cannot follow any of the local Thai TV networks because of the language barriers. UBC was the only form of entertainment that enabled us to pass time without going crazy. How many more prisoners must die before you ease the pressure and begin to meet the United Nations minimum requirement regulations for prisoners? Must we keep reminding you that we are serving life sentences; we are not short-term prisoners. We kindly ask you for your understanding and to allow UBC to be transmitted to all buildings for the benefit of everyone, as well as the Thai inmates, many in number, who are trying to learn to speak English. We are also calling on you to introduce medical emergency procedures, to supply proper medical equipment due to all the buildings, to train prisoners in CPR and other emergency procedures to prevent further avoidable fatalities. You don’t even have an emergency fire evacuation plan. Unless we start seeing some improvements to our living conditions and an easing of the unrelenting pressure you have imposed, we will be compelled to petition for your resignation and early retirement.

  Discontented foreign and Thai inmates

  Building 2

  A month after submitting our petition to have the satellite TV reinstated, we were informed that the Ministry of Education would donate all the equipment to get the satellite TV up and running. Not even two months later, four big satellite dishes were erected in Building 14 and every building was hooked up. We foreigners were given an English movie channel and a series channel. The others were all in Thai. There was also the National Geographic channel and a sports channel. Even though the guards operated and monopolised the satellite TV, this was a huge victory.

  In the middle of 2005 the Department of Corrections ordered the seizure of all electronics. We had to bag and tag everything and give them up. Even our frying pans had to be handed in. The reason for this was that, apparently, the electricity bill was far too high. This was a big blow. Without our electronics, life would be sheer hell. Even in prison we had grown to take things for granted. Now that we were going to be deprived of these simple luxuries, everybody panicked. We felt we had no choice but to fight for our rights, and to remind the prison authorities that even though we were the prisoners, we also had power in our numbers. The last thing they could afford was a riot.

  Towards the end of July, I drafted one of my by now famous petitions, addressed to the director-general of the Department of Corrections, requesting the restoration of our rights to use electronic equipment. My tone was respectful, as usual, but I also threw in the not very thinly veiled threat of letting our embassies, the media and human rights organisations know about this latest indignity.

  Eddie Tutin, our self-proclaimed French Jew, had become a Blue Shirt. For the past four years he had been in and out of hospital, after having been wrongly diagnosed, not once but three times, with tuberculosis. He began losing a lot of weight and complained of severe chest pains. He was eventually sent to the police hospital, where they detected cancer in its final stages. He was brought back to Bangkwang, but his condition had deteriorated to the extent that there was nothing that could be done for him. Too weak to survive in a general population, Eddie was admitted to hospital, where he would take his last breath and succumb to the unrelenting clutches of cancer. A fellow Frenchman volunteered to nurse him in those final stages, when even Eddie’s bowel movements were beyond his control. His embassy had done nothing to repatriate him. I didn’t have a lot of sympathy for Eddie. He had stooped too low when he became a Blue Shirt. He worked for the prison authorities and had become an informer. Yes, fate might have dealt him a cruel hand as far as his health went, but such is life – you reap what you sow.

  The last time I’d seen my sister was way back before the new millennium, but my family were planning to visit me in October 2005. Their primary reason for coming was personally to deliver my second application for a royal pardon, to put it directly into the hands of the King’s Principal Secretary at the Palace. Jai had already translated it into Royal Thai for me. Normally, after a pardon has been rejected, a prisoner must wait a minimum of two years before applying again. I had waited four years to submit a new application, my logic being that when the European Union countries had their citizens transferred back to prisons in their own countries, the Thai government would only accept a minimum of 14 years for that prisoner to be resentenced in his own country. This meant that, by the time my pardon would be considered, I would have served close to 14 years. It was all about timing. I was confident that the second time around I would be lucky.

  My niece Keri and nephew Darren would also be coming. I had not seen them for 11 years. My mom was advised not to come because it would be too traumatic for her. Whenever there was a contact visit coming up, prisoners would prepare themselves physically and mentally. It was not so much for myself that I did this, but more for my family. I felt it was important for their peace of mind if they knew, and could see, that I was strong and healthy. If I suffered, and I certainly did, I suffered in silence. My pain was not theirs to bear. Their own anguish was already deeply manifested, and my complaining would only compound it. Even so, I knew it was going to be hard to conceal my emotions. I loved my nephew like my own son, and my niece had been a mere toddler when I was arrested. I had only got to know Keri through our correspondence.

  Two contact visits of one and a half hours each hardly constituted a family reunion, but it was all we had and we would have to make the most of it. There would be a million questions I wanted to ask, and I had no doubt they shared the same curiosity. Time restrictions always frustrated me. One minute you were sitting there and the next it was time to say goodbye. The system was cruel – inhuman, actually. My family would have had to cross oceans to be with me, and it was miserable to think that we would see each other for such a limited time. An ex-Arcadian and good friend by the name of Peter Hough, who lived between Canada and Australia, had provided financial help to make their visit possible and I was enormously grateful for his generosity. There were some amazing people out there, many of whom didn’t even know me personally. They came from Australia, Canada, England, Israel and South Africa. Most of my old friends never bothered to send me so much as a letter. I think they had written me off for dead, believing that I would never make it out of prison ali
ve. It is true what they say: ‘In times of trouble real friends are precious and far in between.’ I was attracting a whole new crowd of friends, wholesome and compassionate people who didn’t judge but only wanted to help and to make my life as bearable as possible. Some did this unconditionally, while others who might have had some sort of expectation would ultimately be disappointed. However, this never diminished my gratitude; instead it opened my heart to others.

  For days before the expected arrival of Joan, Malcolm and the kids, I was extremely anxious. I couldn’t sleep a wink and my excitement was tangible. Our first meeting would be in the foreign visit room, with no physical contact but at least a chance to break the ice. I had prepared myself physically, but, when it comes to a man’s emotions, you are only as strong as the moment dictates. Nothing can prepare you for what may unfold.

  The day arrived and I made my way to the visit room, my heart beating rapidly and my palms sweating. And there they all were. Darren was so tall! And Keri, who would be celebrating her 16th birthday in Bangkok that weekend, had blossomed into a beautiful girl. She was the spitting image of her mother when Joan was young. My lower lip began to quiver and my throat went dry. Pull yourself together, I kept telling myself. I was a hero to my family – I had survived more than ten years in prison. Tears were forming in my eyes; the floodgates were ready to burst. Breathe in, breathe out, I willed myself. Breathe in, breathe out. I had a role to play and the cameras were rolling. Take 1. Action.

  I smiled so hard I thought my face would crack, but my joy was real. I could not believe how much the kids had grown, which made the years I’d spent in prison suddenly seem a lot longer than ten. I fought the tears back, and we joked and laughed, while all the time a thousand questions were racing through my mind. All of them were lost in the moment. Ten years was an awful lot of time to catch up. As we talked and got to know each other, those years simply fell away. I was so impressed with the kids. They were intelligent, well mannered and, above all, loving and caring towards me.

  Our first contact visit was deeply rewarding. The second and final visit was strained, however. Jai joined us for this visit. Until coming to Bangkok, my sister had never met Jai, although they had emailed each other and spoken over the phone. By now Joan loved her like a sister, and for everything she meant to me, but, when they finally met, Jai was not the woman Joan had imagined her to be. I wasn’t sure whether it was something about Jai or whether it was just the cultural barrier, but, as much as she tried, Joan just couldn’t warm to her. Jai sat next to me and we held hands. We were seven years into a relationship that still hadn’t been consummated. Sadly, her hands were as cold as my heart was for her; I no longer felt anything for Jai except gratitude. We are told that everything happens for a reason, and she and I were not meant to be.

  My family and I had agreed before our last visit that, when they departed, we would not shed tears but would rejoice in the joy of our reunion, knowing that it was only a matter of time before I would eventually be free. So once again we said our goodbyes.

  On their last day in Thailand, they delivered my petition requesting a royal pardon to the Palace. Now all I could do was wait. I was at the mercy of the King.

  Despite the high risk that went with them, mobile phones became big business in the prison, and this continued into 2006. The guards were still smuggling them in. When they caught one of us with a dog, they would simply resell it in another building. Prisoners were now communicating with each other by phone from one building to another, ordering drugs and mobiles. On a weekend, the Bad Boys would arrange to wait at a specific time at the wall dividing our building, with scouts placed at strategic positions just in case one of the guards decided to walk around. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a package would come flying over the wall.

  The price of mobiles and drugs fluctuated from building to building. Because security was far more lax in Building 3, for example, drugs were more freely available there. Prisoners were beating the system from every angle.

  In another attempt to curb the problem, the prison authorities installed closed-circuit television to monitor inmates and watch for illegal activities, and certain cells were targeted, ours being one of them. The first day the closed-circuit system was operational, we had a pretty good idea that our friend Veesarnou would be monitoring our cell. The incident with Flea, I’m sure, was still fresh in his mind. We were bound to be the target of his revenge. At lockdown, when we entered the cell, every member of our room lined up, our backs facing the closed-circuit camera. We pulled our shorts to our knees and bent over, flashing our brown eyes at the camera. It was really funny. Even so, that night most of us were extremely uncomfortable with the idea that our every move was being watched by the guards. Two days later, one of the guys climbed up on the security door and turned the camera towards the ceiling. I don’t know what we were thinking. As the room chief, the following morning I was summoned to the office and severely scolded by Veesarnou, who warned me that, if we so much as touched the camera again, he would send each and every one of us to another building.

  Still, the guys in the room were not happy. Using the dog under these circumstances would be extremely dicey, so once again I drafted a petition complaining about the cameras being invasive. We all signed it, but, after giving it some thought, I decided not to hand it in. I believed it would only draw more attention to our room. So Big Brother won that round.

  I developed a method of blocking myself out of the field of vision of the closed-circuit TV cameras. I would take a sarong, attach a string to it, and tie it to a nail in the wall. Then I tucked the sarong under my bed, which successfully cut me off from everybody’s vision up to my chest. Whenever I used the dog to make a call, I would lie on my left side with my back to the corridor, the dog resting under my ear and against my pillow. I would pretend to be sleeping. When I was texting I held a book with my left hand and with my right I typed away. I kept emphasising the risk and reminding the other guys who had dogs to be careful, as our room was always being watched.

  The date of His Majesty the King’s 60th anniversary on the throne was 9 June 2006, and so another amnesty was in sight. Once again, however, the Thai government proposed to exclude drug cases. I was so tired of them using us as an excuse to strengthen their own political ambitions that, this time around, I decided I was going to throw all I could muster against them. One thing I had learnt about the Thais: the more you ask for, the better your chances are of getting something – maybe not all that you ask for, but something. So, besides reminding them not to discriminate against drug cases, I would now also call for the abolition of the death penalty, knowing full well that they would never do this, but hoping that, while I wouldn’t win on the death penalty, I might be luckier when it came to the inclusion of drug cases in the amnesty. History was repeating itself once more, even here in prison. I drew up the petition and had it distributed to every building – same scenario. The petition demanded three things: first, the abolition of the death penalty; second, a general reduction in sentences; and third, an end to the discrimination drug offenders faced from the Thai judiciary. The petition this time was for the attention of the Minister of Justice, General Chidchai Wanasathit.

  In 2006 I met a new foreigner on death row. We first connected at the parcel area. He was in for murder, and although he claimed to be innocent, suspicious circumstances surrounded his story. He was accused of killing a Swiss businessman while having an affair with the man’s Thai wife. We struck up an immediate friendship and would often bump into each other either collecting parcels or at the registered mail section. In the course of one of our conversations, he told me that he owned property in northern Thailand, but ran the risk of losing it. He asked me whether I knew a good lawyer who could help him. I didn’t, but I offered to ask Jai to find him a lawyer. I didn’t particularly want to act as a go-between, so I suggested that Jai visit him herself and then he could deal with her directly. After all, what are friends for? Jai had helped out many
of my friends. To cut a long story short, Jai organised a lawyer and sorted out his property problem. She started visiting this guy regularly. I knew about these visits and I was quick to hear an opportunity knocking. It might sound diabolical, but I saw in this new friendship a chance to pawn Jai off. Jai and my new friend seemed to hit it off pretty well in any case.

  One day after his visit with Jai, we met up at the usual place. He congratulated me on how well I’d ‘trained’ Jai; she was so efficient, reliable and trustworthy. I didn’t suspect anything. I was genuinely happy that Jai was making a difference to his life. I trusted Jai and didn’t think for a moment that she would leave me. I sat my new friend down and explained that, as fond as he was of Jai, he should remember that she was still my girlfriend. In the event that I might soon be going home, however, if he played his cards right, I said he could take Jai over from me. There was no way I was going to have a future with her, I said. And so we had a gentleman’s agreement. He would respect the boundaries for now, but in the end it was up to him.