A Secret History of the Bangkok Hilton (11 page)

My lawyer continued to be very unprofessional. He gave me the scripted testimony an hour before I had to appear before the judge. I was told to memorise it and recite as much as I could. I blew my lid. ‘Are you kidding me? This is not a play and I’m not an actor. I will testify with the truth!’ I said. It dawned on me then that he might have been working with the police all along. Nok refused to acknowledge my existence. I didn’t know at the time that it was a part of her defence.

Amnat must have been moonlighting as an actor because he ‘recalled’ before the court a very long fabricated story in great detail. ‘Your honour, an informant reported that the two suspects were looking for a buyer of 3.5 kilogrammes of heroin for 900,000 baht. I decided an undercover sting was the best way to expose them. I assigned another informant to play buyer and an officer to play his bodyguard. They went to a hotel in Trang to conduct the first sting on August 29.

‘The female suspect was waiting in the hotel restaurant when they arrived. She counted the cash, which had been borrowed from a US anti-drug agency, before excusing herself to phone the male suspect whom she told to bring the heroin. She came back to say that she couldn’t contact him and postponed the deal to September 2. They went to the same hotel the second time and met both suspects, who led them to room 423. There both suspects counted the money, gave it back and told them to wait at the same table on the ground floor.

‘The male suspect went out to get the drugs but came back to call off the deal, saying he had spotted a policeman in plain clothing walking in front of the house where he kept the drugs. He suggested a new place to meet, which is the hotel in Hat Yai where we conducted the third sting and arrested them on September 12.

‘I ordered five police officers to assume disguises to observe the sting, which was arranged to take place in the hotel car park. The female suspect got into our pick-up truck and counted the money while we were waiting for the male suspect to arrive. He stopped his black pick-up truck near ours and came out with a brown bag in his arms. The officer who played the bodyguard greeted him and checked the substance in the bag. He then touched his hair repeatedly to signal the team to arrest both suspects.’

Nok unexpectedly stood up and tearfully shouted at Amnat: ‘You liar. You lying bastard!’ Her lawyer told her that that kind of language was unacceptable in court and asked her to compose herself. I wanted to punch Amnat to a pulp for the lies he spewed. I made do with writing his name under my feet and squashing it against the floor as if it were a cockroach.

Nok testified with a story her lawyer had made up. Clearly upset, she delivered it unconvincingly.

‘On September 12, my friends and I went to see an underwriter in Hat Yai to buy a life policy from him but he was away. We decided to walk around the town before returning home. It was about 30 minutes before midnight when a white pick-up truck stopped in front of me. Three men who claimed to be plainclothes police officers told me I must go with them. I was taken to a property they claimed was owned by an anti-drug agency. There I was forced to sign papers that I didn’t read because I was so traumatised. I haven’t met defendant number one before in my life.’

To back up the lie that I was a stranger to her, she presented pictures of her wedding. She said she had been married for two years before she came to Trang to nurse her older cousin who had become paralysed.

Unlike Nok, I decided to tell the presiding judge what really had happened but he looked unimpressed. Perhaps our contradictory stories drove the nails deeper into our coffins but I wasn’t aware of this. I was in my prisoner uniform, feeling intimidated by the system that assumed I was guilty until proven innocent. My morale was at a low ebb due to months of being on remand and infrequent visits from my lawyer who wanted me to lie in my testimony. I realised my chances of convincing the judge of my innocence were as good as winning first prize in the lottery.

My lawyer’s words rang in my mind as I sat down: ‘…it would be your word against theirs and whose words do you think the court will buy?’

The presiding judge took Amnat at his word and believed the three buying stings had taken place. He ruled that Amnat and the other five officers had no motive to frame us since we hadn’t known each other before the arrest. I wonder how much a hitman knows about his target before he pulls the trigger. The falsified interrogation and arrest reports were brought up as solid evidence against us.

In them, both of us ‘admitted’ to keeping the brown bag for Mong, who asked us to pass it to someone in Hat Yai, but not to knowing what was in it. The judge said it was unconvincing for us to agree to carry something not knowing what was in it in the first place. How could it make sense when the police were liars? Testimonies given by two witnesses of Nok and four of mine failed to carry any weight in our favour.

The judge went on to say that it was unconvincing that I, as a man of as many responsibilities as I claimed, would choose to stay overnight at the hotel to sort things out with the factory owner when I should have returned to my company where bigger jobs awaited. Nok’s claim of being away from her husband to nurse an ill cousin was also dismissed.

We were sentenced to life in prison on December 30, 1983, almost 16 months after we had been abducted. It took that long before the first court read its verdict because there were many witnesses involved and several deferments caused by the police’s side.

Upon hearing the verdict, I immediately felt the will to live was taken out of me. I was overwhelmed by distress while Nok sobbed hard. It was heartbreaking to see her in that state. We exchanged a gaze as if to convey to each other ‘how could they do this to us?’. She shook her head in disbelief as her sobs became louder. I had to look away as I was nearly in tears.

In my opinion, it is just a fact of life that, in Thailand, rogue policemen can force you to admit to any crime, especially if you are poor and uneducated. I’m certain of this as I have lived it. Nok and I had some resources and education but look what we were reduced to. I met several drug suspects while on remand who all claimed they had been made scapegoats by the same group of people. We bonded over the common resentment we had towards them and shared theories on why they preyed on us.

Our consensus was that they wanted to impress their superiors with how effective they were in the hope of securing big promotions and making money from drug cases. To them, we were just scores. My fellow scapegoats said that they used small-time drug dealers to work for them. Some claimed their wives had been coerced into sleeping with the police.

Before the first court’s ruling, Nok was escorted by two guards to the hospital to deliver our baby. She was allowed to stay there for only one night because a female prisoner had escaped through a window after giving birth leaving her baby behind. We named our baby girl Pin.

I was transferred to Bang Kwang, Nok and Pin to Lard Yao. Pin was about eight months old at that time. There were about 30 infants being raised behind bars.

Nhe took Pin’s time of birth to a fortune-teller who said she was an auspicious child. She gladly informed Nok: ‘Your child is a blessing. If it wasn’t for her, the master said you would be dead already.’ She offered to raise Pin for us. Nok was certain that she could trust Pin with her now. I feared that Nhe would raise her out of obligation but not well, because she was not a legitimate grandchild and Nhe had considered her a jinx initially.

Nok raised Pin inside the prison until she was three. After that children start to form memories and no one wants them to have prison as their first recollection. Pin wasn’t crying too much when they had to part as Nok had been telling her of what was to come all along. It was Nok who was inconsolable afterwards because she derived so much joy from rearing her baby girl. Had she not decided to give up Pin to Nhe, our little girl would have been sent to a Christian orphanage in Chonburi and any chance of them reuniting would have been diminished. Nhe proved me wrong as she grew to love Pin so much. I can’t thank her enough for raising Pin for us and arranging for her to see us during contact visits over the years.

I had been in Songkla prison before so I was somewhat prepared for the notorious Bang Kwang. Feeling numb about life in general also helped. Boasts about body count by murderers and gunmen no longer startled me. Neither did their tattoos of big tigers or dragons. However, it was still very difficult for me, as an innocent man, to live in the prison. Conversation between the real criminals was often about people they knew from the same circles. After they realised I didn’t really know any of the names they were dropping, they assumed that I was snitching on them.

I wasn’t subjected to a rab nong (orientation) when I first arrived at Bang Kwang. By orientation, I mean newcomers being physically abused by those who were jailed before them. I consider myself very fortunate in this regard as this kind of practice exists even now, especially in provincial prisons.

Four women claim their relatives were attacked and killed by other inmates at a prison in Kanchanaburi on December 31, 2009. The four men had been transferred from another prison with 34 others, all of whom were beaten up by prisoners who said it was how they ‘welcomed’ newcomers. Apparently one man died on the spot while the rest were seriously injured. A 29-year-old drug offender with four months left to serve died after being beaten up and stabbed in the neck and all over his body.

I first saw addicts queuing to shoot up in Bang Kwang. Heroin was dissolved in a spoon and they eagerly tapped their arms to make their veins become clearer. All shared one tube with a needle at one end. One by one, they sucked the liquid from the spoon into the tube, stabbed the needle, sucked the tube lightly to make sure that blood was going up it and blew hard to push the liquid into their bodies. Some addicts claimed their relatives secretly gave them some drugs when they had to go to court, which they would use immediately so they wouldn’t be caught later.

Many young men were forced to become
nong
by convicts who held knives against their necks as they raped them. Others woke up in pain and bleeding because they had been drugged and violated in their sleep. The more fortunate ones met suitors who offered food and friendship until they felt indebted to them and eventually conceded to their sexual advances, knowing they would be provided for. I didn’t mind the lovebirds much except for when they noisily quarrelled because the ‘wife’ in the relationship was denying the ‘husband’ a pleasure unless he paid first.

It is disgusting what inmates do to kill time in Bang Kwang. Some inject lubricant from factories into their testicles to enlarge their manhood. They have to be sent to the hospital later because these botched ‘enhancements’ often go awfully wrong.

The inmates have ample opportunity to sharpen their skills as criminals if they wish. Given the vast network of contacts, after their release they can find a job in the underworld through recommendation as well. No doubt some left the Big Tiger worse people than when they walked in. Those who started out as robbers either became burglars or drug dealers. Knife wielders took up explosives or firearms.

At the other extreme, many have put their minds to education, religion, music and occupational training. A former soldier named Manote completed a few bachelor degrees while he served time in Bang Kwang. Like me, he had been wrongly convicted of drug dealing. Before being jailed, he had lived and worked in the Inkayut army base in southern Pattani province where he helped his wife to run a small food stall in his spare time.

Sombat, a known supplier of stolen cars in the province, used to stop by to eat there often because many of his buyers were army guys. The men became good friends. One day Sombat was pulled over by a few police officers who found heroin hidden in his car while Manote was with him. Both were arrested and Manote was jailed because he happened to be with a real drug dealer.

Armed with few degrees, he set out to find a decent job in Bangkok but his qualifications couldn’t outweigh his conviction. The last I heard, he had gone to Phuket to stay with his cousins and mind a fruit stand for them there.

By and large, Bang Kwang functions like a school for criminals. On top of that, it is like a drug expo of sorts given that major dealers from different countries have landed themselves in there. News about drug busts never fails to generate talk in the prison. Some crack their knuckles in anticipation of settling scores with the newcomers for unpaid drug bills or other reasons.

One drug dealer named Khong, who had been known to work for the police in many buying stings, received a very brutal welcome—an overnight beating up by some men he had helped the police to catch. I still remember his pleas for mercy while his assailants laughed and howled as they kicked and punched him senseless.

‘This is what you get for putting me in this hell hole,’ one man roared before dealing a kick to his stomach while he was lying on his side. The impact prompted him to curl up in the foetal position and cough up a small amount of blood. The malicious ‘orientation’ unfolded in the cell opposite mine. I shut my eyes tight and hoped the night would go quickly. I figured his attackers had arranged to be in the same cell with him. His cries were loud enough to reach the night shift guards but none came to his rescue. He survived but was maimed for life. He had worked for the police for too long and perhaps knew so much that they wanted to get rid of him one way or another.

Fellow inmates agreed with me that violence is common in the local prisons while the central ones like Klong Prem or Bang Kwang are more about illicit businesses.

Each cell was overcrowded. I shared one cell with about 20 men. The most coveted spot was the corner farthest from the open squatting toilet. The cost of this spot varied from 1,000 to 2,000 baht. When the gamblers wanted to stay up and play, they rented space from cellmates so they could put down their mats.

Whenever I got up to pee during the night, I forfeited my sleep space because a cellmate sleeping next to me would roll into it. We slept like one condensed mass ready to expand when space became available. Sometimes we all had to sleep on our sides simply because there was not enough room. When I finished peeing, I had to ask cellmates to move or shove them away to get my space back. Disturbed from their sleep, some picked fights with me.