Both inmates and guards were forbidden to carry cash in the prison. Officers had to empty their pockets before they went on duty. As for the prisoners, money would just cause extra headaches. The biggest problem was that a prisoner with ready cash would be tempted to bribe a guard to bring him in his drugs or even to escape. Then there were the other prisoners. If you had money you can be sure that someone else would try to take it from you. Therefore you would be endangering yourself as well as in-house law and order.
The guards could also be tricked into carrying drugs to the inmates. A prisoner would sometimes urge his ‘favourite’ guard to go to a particular bar or restaurant with assurances that he would be well looked after, because the owner was a friend of his. The prisoner might even write up a letter of introduction for the guard as further encouragement. The guard is persuaded and heads off, maybe on a Friday after work, to the venue in question and finds himself being utterly spoiled without having to put a hand in his pocket. Then after the guard has eaten and drank his fill for free he would be presented with a carton of cigarettes to bring back to their poor friend in prison. And maybe just one packet in that carton would be crammed with drugs, but how could the guard insult his generous host by refusing this simple errand?
Then there’s the case of unfortunate Prayuth Sanun who was a prison guard that I liked and is now sentenced to the death penalty. His troubles began after he took a weekend job as a bouncer for extra money. He was hired by a popular restaurant. Bouncing usually entails being paid cash in hand, with instant respect from the men and attraction from the women. The most trying problem is probably persuading drunken teenagers that they have had enough. A bouncer can earn up to 400 baht a night, cash in hand. Prayuth enjoyed his new job and started to make all kinds of friends, including dangerous ones like mobsters, loan sharks and drug dealers. He found that his new associates were handy when things got out of control. You try barring someone from entering the venue, they are drunk or mad and get aggressive, you hit them and they leave, filling the air with threats and promises. True to their word they return with a gang of friends, all wanting to damage you. Now, that is the worst thing that can happen and you need friends near you in those circumstances. Then favours are done and repaid back and forth, and before you know it you are helping your new friends collecting monies owed, for which you need to start carrying a gun because now you have entered a vicious circle.
Prayuth says he was never asked out straight to start selling drugs, and neither does he remember exactly when he started to do it—one thing simply led to another. He soon came to the attention of the police who filmed his every movement. Eventually he was caught with 700,000 amphetamine tables, a M16 gun and lots of cash. Because he was a prison guard he received an even worse sentence. He has been on death row for six or seven years now. I could hardly look at him after he received his sentence. He was absolutely distraught. Prayuth was a good guy. You could rely on him if you had a problem. When he had money he would spend it on his friends.
But there are also corrupt guards. I would never deny that. A prison guard contacts a prisoner’s relatives, which we are not allowed to do. He informs the family that their son, husband, brother, father, needs money and he will personally see that he gets it. And the prisoner does receive the money, albeit after the guard deducts his ‘fee’. The family might even be encouraged to reward the guard for looking after their relative, with booze or perhaps a pretty young daughter or niece.
Of course I think a lot of the problem could have been dealt with by improving the wages of the prison guards. Back then I was getting 580 baht a month, which wasn’t much with a growing family, especially since I wanted my kids to go to the better schools. To make ends meet I played gigs at the weekend and I suppose this was also a good escape for me. Music kept me sane in later years when the pressures of the job could have driven me to alcohol or worse. I even played for the prisoners and taught some of them to play guitar.
Whether you’re carting in drugs to the prisoners or not you have to be aware of the part you play, as a prison officer, in contributing to their role-playing within the prison. I can simplify it down to two categories of inmates: the big egos and the small egos. Now the small-time crooks or first-time offenders do not give any trouble at all. They are usually too concerned with their own misery, and also many of them have been abandoned to their fate by friends and family. Others just think about getting through their sentence and then getting back to their lives outside. It is the big noises that you have to watch. We have had all sorts in the prison, from ex-generals to doctors. They lived important lives on the outside and they see no reason why they should be treated as any less important behind bars.
So they come in full of attitude. They look down on the prison guards, and will not actually engage with the guards who are younger than them. Instead they will demand to talk to the Superintendent. They talk loud and bold about who they know on the outside. Once, a guard wanted his child to get into a particularly up-market school. He approached one of these guys for help. The inmate wrote a letter and told the guard to give it to his local politician. He did and his kid was immediately accepted by the school. I don’t think I would have done that. If you ask them for help you are pandering to them, and acknowledging their superiority to you. If they are so big and important, what are they doing in Bang Kwang? Also nobody does something for nothing. You can be sure that if those guys do you a favour they will want something in return, which could involve you risking your life by bringing in drugs.
The guard thinks he is having a friendly chat with the inmate who has just asked him what car he drives. When the guard admits to owing a very ordinary vehicle the inmate lights up and tells the guard that he drives a BMW and better yet he can help him become the proud owner of one because he knows a car-dealer. If you take his advice and seek out this dealer you will probably find that cars are not the only products he supplies.
A further headache for the prison guard is caused by the relatives. A father with money and power will have an important friend ring the Superintendent and tell him that he wants his son looked after inside. His wish is passed on to us and we have to treat the little fool with kid gloves. This gives him a big head and an ego boost in front of the other prisoners, and suddenly he is causing problems for the young and inexperienced guards because he knows that Daddy is just a phone-call away.
Chapter 5
20 December 1971.
Bangjak Subdistrict, Phrapradaeng District, Samutprakarn Province: The police station in Phrapradaeng receives a phone call from a farmer who has found a body on his coconut farm. Officers rush to the scene where the battered and torn body of ten-year-old Varee Songsuk lies in the mud. The autopsy report is difficult to read; her little body is covered in wounds and bruises. The hymen is torn and there is semen in the vagina, which is also bloodied and torn. There is extensive bruising to her neck and chin. Clay has been shoved down her throat as far as the larynx. The report concludes that she was strangled and then suffocated to death.
The following day the police arrest four young men aged between 14 and 21: Sane Oongaew, Somchai Sansuk, Cherdchai Praditsuwan and Narat Oongaew (Sane’s younger brother). The three youngest immediately confess to the crime, and place Sane—who denies all charges—at the scene. They describe the previous night in detail.
On the night of 19 December 1971 Varee was crossing the street near where she lived, heading for Thaigrienggao Alley in Bangjak. Seven males in total grabbed the child who started to scream. They picked her up by her arms and legs, covered her mouth to stop her cries and carried her across Suksawat Road to a construction site where Sane was waiting to join them. They then continued with the struggling child on to the farm. When they reached a secluded spot two of the males, Cherdchai and Poom, pinned her arms and legs to the ground while Sane, Narat and another guy Eed took turns raping her. They were also trying to strangle Varee as t
hey raped her. After the raping the eight males beat up the little girl, and stuffed up her mouth with dirt before running away.
The police discovered that 21-year-old Sane’s father was the chief authority in the village of Bangjak. They were suddenly approached by villagers who had been too scared to report the many rapes committed by Sane against their women. Sane, who had become a monk, never ever admitted to committing even one rape and showed absolutely no sign of guilt or remorse.
Somchai, Cherdhai and Narat, aged 16, 15 and 14 respectively, were juveniles. It was also taken into consideration that they had co-operated fully with the police in their investigations. Cherdhai, in particular, who did not partake in the actual raping, had methodically taken the police through the sequence of horrific events. As a consequence, they received different prison sentences: Somchai Sansuk was sentenced to life imprisonment, Cherdchai Praditsuwan was sentenced to 15 years and Narat Oonkaew was sentenced to 25 years. Their prison terms were effective immediately. Sane Oonkaew, however, was sentenced to death by General Thanom Kittikajorn, head of the Revolution Committee. Once the execution order had been issued, the Director of National Security, Prapas Jarusatian, instructed the Ministry of Interior to carry it out immediately. The location of the execution was Bang Kwang Central Prison in Nonthaburi and the date was 9 February 1972.
***
I was excited. I had been working in Bang Kwang for less than 20 days and already I was going to witness an execution. The prison had an execution time-table which impacted on the normal routine. The execution team of ten to 12 officers was only announced the morning of an execution. The various roles included executioner, escort, gun adjuster and administrative—those two were to take the fingerprints, photograph the prisoner and assemble the records. Letters had to be written to certain officials, asking them to come and witness the execution. These guests could be an inspector from the DOC (Department of Corrections), the Governor of Nonthaburi, the chief of police and Attorney General in Nonthaburi, lawyers, and representatives from the Criminal Records section of the police departments.
Keeping detailed records and properly filing them away is imperative to the process. When a prisoner is sentenced to death we take their fingerprints and photos, which are sent to the Criminal Records section for verification. Their records are also checked for previous offences. Then all the information is sent to the DOC. 60 days after sentencing the condemned can submit an application for a more lenient penalty. The case will be discussed by a committee and if it fails the execution process resumes. The Ministry of Interior briefs the DOC which in turn contacts Bang Kwang, who usually receives the execution order at approximately 9am that morning. The letters go out to the witnesses and the Chaplain or abbot is told that his services will be required. He will perform the last rites.
Lunch is usually served an hour early, which means that all the prisoners know when there is to be an execution. They are then locked into their cells before the officials arrive. At 4pm the escorts will go to collect the prisoner, whose fingerprints and photos are taken again. Then the execution order is read to them and they have to sign it. After that they are offered paper and pen to write out their last letter or will for their families, followed by their last meal and then the last rites. By 5 or 6pm everything should be in place for the execution itself. During the reign of the Revolution Committee summary executions were announced on TV and radio after the evening news. On 8 February at 8pm it was broadcast to the nation that Sane Oonkaew was to be executed the following day, for the rape and murder of a young girl.
The next day the prison was surrounded by journalists and camera crews, all desperate for a shot of the condemned man. Some had even climbed on to the roof of the Buddhist temple, the temple where relatives usually cremated the body 24 hours after execution. The atmosphere in the prison was frantic, at least among the wardens. High ranking officers from the Department of Corrections, and other organizations, were coming to see the execution and the prison officers were running around making sure that everything was perfect.
The quietest part of the prison was the six wings; the inmates were silent and watchful. Officers were on high alert and took extra precautions in the face of possible riots and protests. There was also the fear that with all the fuss some gangsters on the outside might take the opportunity to break in and release their friends—especially those on death row.
At 4.30am I stood on a box to the left of the entrance to the security tower to allow my colleagues to search me for illegal substances. As they patted me down I noticed a temporary sign at the gate: ‘No officer is allowed to leave Bank Kwang at this time. Please remain calm.’ All prison rules were being followed to the letter that day. At 5am, 15 armed police left Phrapradaeng station in a van owned by the Royal Thai Police to pick up Sane at Samutprakarn Provincial Prison. A police car with siren blaring led the way.
Sane was probably the only one who didn’t know he was about to die. I heard that he remained silent throughout the journey and mostly just gazed at his open palms, possibly trying to gauge his destiny from his life line. We Thais believe in fate and destiny. The life line is the line that extends from the edge of the palm above the thumb, and curves like a rainbow towards the wrist.
At 5.50am the van arrived at Bang Kwang Prison. Sane was now under the jurisdiction of the Execution Supervision Committee which was appointed by the Ministry of Interior. He was met at the prison entrance by the then prison Superintendent Slab Visutthimuk, Sompong Choomworathayee, Governor of Nonthaburi and prison doctor Dr Sujarit Pamornbood.
While the van was briefly delayed at the entrance a reporter ran to the window and asked a visibly surprised Sane if he had any last words for his family. The reporter repeated his question to which Sane smiled and replied: ‘Tell my parents to come visit me’.
At 6am the prison Chaplain, Phra Mahasai Thanamangkaro, then abbot of the temple, arrived to perform Sane’s last rites. Ten minutes later, Sane’s fingerprints were taken for the execution records, and the Superintendent read the out the execution order to him. He exploded with rage and showered the prison staff with threats and expletives.
‘I didn’t fucking do it. I don’t know a god damn thing about it. I will haunt you motherfuckers throughout all your lives. Let me see the face of the detective in charge! Where’s the son of a bitch?’
The prison and police officers cowed under his fury and moved closer together. What if he was telling the truth and he was innocent? The detective who led the investigation assured us that that wasn’t the case.
‘Sane is not innocent. He has raped countless girls in his village. Most of his victims were afraid of his influential father so he thought he would get away scot free. He committed this particular crime with his kid brother; we have collected a substantial amount of evidence against him. The bastard won’t make any more trouble for these people.’
His words calmed us officers while Sane continued to shout and scream obscenities at us. Without thinking I approached Sane and spoke quietly to him.
‘Calm down. Stop shouting and pull yourself together. You can’t do anything else at this point now. Just think of it as bad karma coming back to you for what you have done. If you are positive when you ‘go’ you will end up in a good place, so empty your mind of anger and negativity.’
In Buddhism it is believed that if you are thinking positive when you die you will be born in to a good place in your next life. Sane refused to shut up completely, though he did simmer down a little.
At 6.30am he was offered papers and pencil to write his last will but he turned away saying, ‘I’m not fucking doing it! I’ve got nothing to give anyone’.
After a couple of minutes he changed his mind and asked to write the following letter to his father;
Dear Dad,
I just want to say goodbye to you. I hope you won’t be too sad. Just think of it as a natural occurrence, we
’re bound to birth, age, be hurt and die anyway. Please look after my wife and don’t let her struggle. Tell her not to take another husband. Don’t bury my body, keep it for three years. Don’t forget, Dad, to visit Narat as often as you can.
When he was finished, the prison officers brought him to the Chaplain to hear the words of Buddha for one last time and ask for forgiveness. Sane refused to participate or sit on the floor. He was still furious and spat: ‘No god can help me now. I was a monk. Don’t waste my time. If you are going to kill me just do it!’
At 6.50am he was brought his last meal and reacted to that as he had to the Chaplain.
‘I won’t fucking eat it! You motherfuckers want to shoot me? Then go ahead and do it. Don’t waste my time.’
It was decided to do as he wished and escort him to the execution room. Sane constantly urged the prison warders to take care of his younger brother. Then, a few steps down the hall he asked for a cigarette. I remember that moment as if it happened yesterday. He inhaled deeply without looking at any of us and continued walking purposely in his leg irons towards the door of the execution room, without pause or regret. It was said afterwards that the sound of his chains bashing together could be heard outside the prison. When he was asked to drop his cigarette he stubbornly stood to quickly finish it and then entered the room.
The Last Executioner Page 6
