Welcome to Hell

by Colin Martin

  * * *

  The Thai prison system was designed to brutalise the inmates in every way. I cannot over-state this. The authorities installed four one-metre fluorescent tube lights in the cells, which they left on all night. The commandos refused to turn any of them off, and most of us ended up wearing blindfolds to try to get some sleep.

  In the beginning I often went for three or four days at a time without sleeping at all. At one stage, I bribed a guard to buy me some sleeping pills. He would only give me one at a time, since if I were to take my life it might be traced back to him, so I’d take the single pill and hope for the best.

  But looking back, I now think that more than anything it was the sheer stress of being held in such conditions that made it difficult to sleep for more than a few hours a night.

  The other prisoners were also overwhelmingly loud and obnoxious. They would parade around the cell in nothing.

  And they would do anything for money. Most begged from everyone else, especially the foreigners, for the money to buy a bag of rice. Sometimes they would need money to gamble or rent a porn magazine.

  The gambling and porn created a very violent atmosphere. Gambling led to fights, and in such a small and cramped room that affects everybody. But the porn was worse. I found the whole thing sickening.

  Most of the long-term prisoners had lost all their self-respect. They would masturbate constantly in the toilet. There was only a one-metre wall surrounding the toilet, so it was impossible to avoid noticing.

  One man masturbating out of a room of 40 might not be so bad, but it was never just one. If someone managed to smuggle a porn magazine into the cell, a queue would form, with maybe 15 or 20 prisoners waiting by the toilet for their turn.

  Some didn’t even bother going into the toilet. They would just take their penises out and relieve themselves in the middle of the room. When they were finished, they’d either use their t-shirt or a blanket to wipe themselves off.

  Others would openly masturbate each other; while others would have sex with other men they called their prison ‘wives’. A lot of these men were serving in excess of ten years, and had turned to homosexuality out of desperation.

  So for everybody, the threat of gang rape was ever present. I saw men raped many times.

  One Thai prisoner I shared a cell with was convicted for raping a child. He was put in my room, and had only been there a few days when we all found out why he was in prison. That night, the room leader gave him a sleeping place beside his own.

  Later in the night, he raped him, and continued to rape him every night for a week. The man complained to a guard and was moved. God knows what would have happened if the guard hadn’t been sympathetic.

  * * *

  When I was first sent to prison, I was naive. I didn’t look as if I could defend myself or stand up for my rights. But my years inside made me remarkably strong. I eventually changed my image and the way I dealt with people. I shaved my head and got tattoos. After a few months in prison, it was clear to everybody that I would take no nonsense from anyone who gave me trouble.

  This made sure that I wasn’t raped. I was never sexually assaulted because the other prisoners knew what the consequences of such an action would be. I had changed since I was sent there. I was no longer the slight, straight-laced businessman I once was. I had adapted, and was well able to look after myself.

  I was strong, and never resorted to any sexual depravity in order to survive. I blanked it out of my mind as much as possible, but with half the prisoners in some form of fornication or other it wasn’t easy.

  I’ve lived among men all my life, and I’ve worked offshore for months on end, but I’d never seen men act like that before I was in prison. There were times when I wanted to castrate the lot of them, and there were times when it took every ounce of restraint not to get up and kill the bastards.

  I found it especially hard when foreigners behaved that way.

  I remember one particularly revolting English prisoner called Simon. He had been sent to Chonburi for molesting a woman.

  Simon went into a shopping centre and grabbed a sales assistant by the breasts. He got six months.

  One night, before anyone had gone to sleep, Simon went to the toilet. He didn’t even turn his back, but just sat there and started masturbating. I shouted at him to get a grip of himself and not to behave like the others.

  He turned to me grinning and said, ‘I can’t stop now!’

  I’d had enough. I got up and beat the shit out of him.

  Simon refused to come into the room the next night. When he explained to the guards why, they all thought it was hilarious. They transferred him to another room.

  * * *

  Not all of the Thai prisoners were pushovers. There were groups or gangs of Thai inmates who called themselves Samurai. But they had no code and no honour like the real Samurai. They were basically just gangs of thugs who picked on the weaker prisoners, or extorted money from them.

  They might not have been real Samurai, but they were dangerous. If you pissed them off, they’d attack. I was particularly cautious around them.

  They thought nothing of stabbing rivals with a sharpened toothbrush or spoon, or splitting someone’s head open with a plate or even a lump of concrete.

  They fought incessantly, and even killed each other over as little as a few cents or anything that they felt caused them to lose face with their friends.

  My life was worth more to me than a few cents, so I tried to have as little to do with the Samurai as possible.

  Apart from these, most of the fighting that went on was over gambling debts or borrowed money, and some of it was over drugs. But then again, it could be over anything.

  I survived by continuing to remind myself that I was the only person I could trust.

  I had a few friends in the prison, but by and large I tried not to get too close to anyone. It didn’t matter who they were. They were all fucking criminals, and I soon learnt that my fellow prisoners would cheat me in any way they could.

  There is one case that springs to mind. Before my arrest, while I was living in Pattaya, an English guy who lived across the road with his boyfriend got to know my wife Nanglung. I’d met him once or twice and he seemed like a nice guy. One day he asked Nanglung if he could borrow 5,000 baht until his own money came from England.

  My wife asked me if that would be okay.

  ‘If he’s really stuck for the money, lend it to him,’ I said. So he borrowed the 5,000 baht.

  A few weeks passed and, the next thing I knew, he was gone. He’d moved house without saying a word. I felt stupid for trusting him, but that’s life.

  I’d been in Chonburi Prison for two years when Andrew, or André as he liked to be called, turned up.

  He’d been arrested for molesting a young boy, though he claimed he was innocent. Obviously, he was surprised to see me. He knew I’d been arrested, but thought I’d gone to Bangkwang prison in Bangkok.

  He apologised about the money.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Now I’ll clear everything.’

  He explained that he was just waiting for his embassy to transfer money for him.

  I had to help him out with most things in the prison because he didn’t know anything or anybody. I got him organised and into a good room, and I got him some credit in the prison shop.

  He said that now he knew where I was and the conditions in here, he’d return my 5,000 baht as soon as he got out. He’d also send me food parcels, medicine, books and magazines. Whatever I wanted, I’d get.

  A few days later he was gone again, out on bail. I never received a penny of the 5,000 baht, and no food parcels or any of the other things he had promised. In fact, I didn’t even get a letter.

  What I did get from him was his credit bill in the prison shop – which I had to p
ay whether I liked it or not. This was typical of the kind of thing that went on.

  There is a saying that revenge is a dish best served cold. I met André four years later in another prison. He’d been arrested again for molesting little boys.

  I would have kicked his teeth down his throat, but he’d just suffered a stroke and I didn’t have the heart to hit him. Amazingly, he asked me for help again.

  ‘Can you help me get moved into your building?’ he asked me.

  ‘Not a chance. I don’t want you near me,’ I said with a shrug.

  ‘Well, maybe you could help me out with some cigarettes and coffee.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ I said bluntly, and left the room.

  He could fend for himself. It wasn’t really revenge; it was poetic justice.

  There was no loyalty among any of those criminals. I remember this American guy I used to meet regularly for a few beers and a game of pool. He landed in Chonburi one day. He, like André, told me that he hadn’t known where I was being held – or he ‘would definitely have visited me’. He said he had been arrested for fighting over his laundry, but was getting out on bail soon.

  He was shocked at the state of the place.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said. ‘How do you survive in this shit?’

  He only had the clothes he’d been arrested in and they were filthy, so until they could be washed I gave him some of my own. I bought him a shower bowl, soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a bag of coffee, milk powder and sugar.

  He promised to help me in whatever way he could once he got his bail.

  A couple of days later his bail came through, and he was gone. Not only did he get out, but the tight bastard took everything with him – my clothes, the shower bowl, a bar of soap, even a half a bag of coffee and sugar. He left nothing. But like André, I’m sure that we will meet again some day.

  12

  My first few years in Chonburi prison were a nightmare. I was beaten and subjected to utter degradation on a daily basis. I had never felt so low. My Thai wife had stolen my bail money and I could not afford to hire another solicitor.

  But as I waited for my trial to conclude formally and for my sentence to be given, my health began to deteriorate. This happened gradually but the effects remain with me to this day.

  The rooms we slept in were basically big cages. They had open walls with bars all around.

  Parts were covered with mosquito mesh, but other parts weren’t.

  This was tolerable in the summer, but once the monsoon season came it was a nightmare. The wind and rain beat in mercilessly. A few of us once tried putting up blankets against the bars, but the guards made us take them down immediately. They said they needed to be able to have a clear view on all sides.

  In Chonburi, I slept in a room which was designed to hold 20 prisoners, but actually held many more, sleeping sardine-style head to toe.

  There wasn’t room to fart, never mind sleep. There were no beds – if there were, they could never squeeze the same number of prisoners into a room.

  Nobody on the outside really thinks that a prisoner ever goes hungry, especially in this day and age where most prisons around the world serve what could be considered gourmet food. But there was nothing gourmet about the food in a Thai prison. In fact, it didn’t even resemble food I’d ever eaten.

  We were given what is called khao dang, the cheapest grade of rice available. It wasn’t washed – just cooked the way it arrived from the farms. In Chonburi, the rice was cooked in huge vats which must never have been cleaned either because, by the time it got to us, it stank.

  The fish soup they served was so full of peppers and spices that that’s all you’d taste anyway, but God only knows what else was in it.

  I was never brave enough to eat the shit they served as food. Anything that smelt that bad couldn’t be good for you. I couldn’t eat it even if I wanted to.

  In fact, the only poor buggers who did eat it were those that didn’t have any family or friends outside to visit them or give them a little money.

  Most of us bought food from the prison shop. The shop sold white rice, omelettes, chicken, bread and some other things. This was prepared by the guards’ wives, mistresses or other family members – but you still got hair, flies, mosquitoes and a few other surprises inside anything you ate. The guards were allowed to sell food to the value of $75 each per day, which meant that in this way, they could make ten times their salaries.

  I often went without food for days because I didn’t have the money to buy it and I couldn’t force myself to eat the shit they provided, but nobody gave a damn. In fact, the prison only prepared food for around 200 people because it was only the very poorest prisoners that would eat it. There was money allotted by the government for food for the whole prison population – but, of course, the guards stole it.

  The bad diet I was forced to accept played havoc with my digestive system. I began to lose weight upon entering prison, but I slowly began to lose my health entirely. The fact that there was no medical supervision or care available only quickened my deterioration.

  At Chonburi, there was no doctor, just a medic. There was no proper clinic, and no dentist.

  My teeth were the first to go. After a few years of the unhealthy atmosphere and awful diet, they got very bad. A dentist did visit Chonburi about once a year. By the time he was due, I was in real pain, so I put my name down to see him.

  I went to see him together with another foreigner, Amir. Altogether there were about 500 prisoners going to the dentist that day.

  We all had to squat and wait in the yard. Finally, about 12 people arrived in white coats. I thought they looked like students, and my impression turned out to be right.

  They started to call out names and people would step up to be treated. But there was no type of examination and no real treatment at all. It soon became obvious that they were only there for one thing – to pull teeth.

  The first three or four students gave Novocaine injections. The inmates were then told to stand in line for other students to pull their teeth out.

  I looked on in horror. I remember that the students all had rubber gloves and face masks, but there was no real consideration for hygiene. They didn’t bring 500 separate syringes. Instead they just dipped the same ones into an alcohol solution and re-used them. It was the same with the teeth pliers.

  I looked at the way they operated in disgust. I knew there was no way the pliers could be sterile. I also noticed that the students never once changed their rubber gloves. They were pulling teeth at the rate of one every 30 seconds or thereabouts. When my turn came I refused to go near them and so did Amir.

  ‘Fuck that shit,’ I said to him. We walked quickly away, past the students. There was blood everywhere, and bits of teeth were scattered across the yard floor like fallen confetti.

  Over the next few months I made dozens of requests to see a proper dentist. They wouldn’t let me go out of the prison, even though there was a hospital directly in front of it and I’d only have to walk across the road. They said I was a potential escape risk.

  Eventually, probably just so that I’d shut up, the building chief agreed to ask one of the government hospitals to send a dentist.

  After looking at my teeth, this dentist said I’d have to have 18 of them removed and I’d have to visit him at the hospital. He said he couldn’t pull that many teeth where we were.

  When the day came for me to go to the hospital, there was no prison van or car. After all the fuss about security and escape risks and the need for me to be shackled, I went to hospital on the back of a motorcycle.

  Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t that they’d decided to trust me after all. I still had to wear the chains, so I just threw my leg across the saddle. But it wouldn’t have been hard to throttle the guard driving the motorbike and escape
. Another prisoner might just have done just that.

  I went to the hospital on the back of that motorcycle about ten times. A few times we used one of the guards’ pick-ups with me sitting in the back, and we took a taxi a couple of times. I even walked to the hospital twice because there was no transport available. It’s a good 30-minute walk to the nearest government hospital, and in 4 kg of shackles that’s no joke.

  Of course, I had to pay for my own dentures, and my own treatment. The prison should have provided the lot, but they didn’t.

  * * *

  Government regulations in Thailand and the law are actually fairly sound, but the problem is that the Thais never follow them. If they did, life for prisoners would be a lot easier. But they thwart, pervert or ignore the law at every turn.

  For example, according to Thai and international law, remand prisoners and convicted prisoners should be segregated. But, in practice, once you enter that gate, you’re a convict. There was no inequality in there; they treated everyone like shit.

  The only difference was that when a prisoner was convicted, the shackles came off.

  Thai law says that ‘methods of restraint are never to be used as a form of punishment.’ But I’d seen some men with three sets of shackles on their ankles for being caught gambling or using drugs. I saw others with bloody anchor chains on their legs, so heavy that they’d have to half carry, half drag the things around.

  But one of the favourites was ‘the daisy chain’ – usually for those caught in the act of homosexuality or similar, but also for any group caught breaking the rules together. A daisy chain was where all involved – three, five, ten or even more – were all shackled together ankle to ankle.