There was a book I read a few years ago that was very popular at the time called “Freakonomics” which dealt with some of the wilder outposts of markets. One chapter I recall was titled “Why do drug dealers still live with their moms?” and was based on the PhD research of a guy who spent two years studying the drug market in a Chicago public housing project. It was fascinating reading.
If ever there was a subject for a thesis – probably an MBA – it would be the economics of this Polresta remand jail. I can’t think of another business model in the world that could change its suppliers, management, staff and customers every 90 days and operate at close to 100 percent efficiency despite flouting every rule in a heavily regulated market.
Because Polresta is a remand jail, inmates can only spend a maximum 90 days interned before either being charged and moved to the main prison, or released. Every day one or two prisoners move out, and a new intake replace them. These are the customers.
The management is elected by the inmates in a very democratic process – there is an actual ballot. The winner and runner-up become the “Boss” and his deputy and they are responsible for keeping the business running and enforcing discipline. In my time here we’ve had two Bosses – both obviously among the toughest guys in jail, but both too also natural leaders who only resorted to violence on specific occasions.
The Bosses handpick their management team – an accountant, security, logistics – and they have some privileges such as being allowed to roam the corridors at all times instead of being confined to their cells during lockup. They’re known as ‘the Boys’. On signs listing prohibited items scattered throughout the jail, the first things listed are “money, food and handphones,” but without access to those you wouldn’t last very long in here.
Firstly food. The system provides you with two meals a day – both meals consist of around 300 gm of rice, a sliver of chicken or half a hard-boiled egg and a tablespoon of veg. It comes at 9 am and 5 pm, wrapped individually in a brown paper triangle. You eat communally on the floor, with your hands. If you didn’t have access to other sources of nutrition, you’d waste away pretty quickly, but the guards allow almost unlimited amounts of food to be brought in on visiting days so that’s how we stock up on fruit, coffee, toiletries etc.
The Boys exact a ‘tax’ on everything your visitors give you, but in fairness this is redistributed to inmates who have nothing – and there’s many of them. The guards can be extremely fickle, depending on their level of supervision. Last week, for instance, they confiscated every box of cigarettes (worth about $1.50 a packet) and later sold them back to the inmates for $1.
If you have a visitor (no matter how many) you have to pay 25k rupiah (about $2) to the Boys later that night and a further 25k if you were allowed to meet them physically in the guardhouse. This money goes to the guards later. Twice a day the boys organise “etep-etep”, a meaningless word which is prison slang for takeaway. Orders are taken for food stalls outside the jail and one of the guards will get the goods. Everything cost 25k regardless of what you order, so they cut a nice profit given most things ordered cost less than 20k.
You have to pay 50k a week to the Boys to rent your cell. This money goes toward buying potable water to drink and we go through about 125 litres a day of that.
Each day every cell must pay 25k to be “let out early”. Officially we are confined to cells from 10 am – 4 pm but this fee, which goes to the guards, allows us to roam the corridors from noon. Each cell does clean-up duty once a week and inmates are responsible for keeping the common areas spic and span and emptying the garbage. Inmates who are genuinely destitute – and there are a few – are assigned this more regularly. I’m excused clean-up because I’m in a two-man cell and therefore pay more corridor tax than the others.
Of the 90 inmates, I’d say around a quarter have phones. These are collected for safekeeping by the Boys between 6 am – 12 pm, when the chance of a raid is highest, for which you pay 40k per week. For the rest of the time you are responsible for your phone, but if its discovered you’re likely to get a beating as it invariably lends to a series of raids. Fortunately the guards usually give fair warning of a raid, and any confiscated phone is usually back in circulation a day or two later, for a price! There are no power points in the jail so you have to pay 40k per charge to the boys to get it done. A couple of them, the smallest in the prison are literally flung into gaps in the roof where they tap into the wiring with crocodile clips to power up battery packs. Electric shocks are frequent!
While the Boss undoubtedly skims from the top for smokes, etc, all the money collected goes towards paying off the guards, or cleaning materials, or water etc. Financial records are painstakingly kept in neat ledgers and no credit is allowed.
The knowledge of the system is passed on through every rotation of remand. It works the same with the guards, who are also rotated every 90 days. At first they’re officious and sticklers for the rules, but a veteran will take him under his wing and start sharing the largesse. The system seems to benefit everyone.
Because I have friends who have spoilt me and bring me everything I need, I reckon I spend around 300-400k ($30-$40) a week in here. It will cost more when I move to Kerobokan, apparently, where you can get anything for a price – private cell, TV, aircon. I’m told that for three million rupiah – about $250 – you can even have a day out, accompanied by a guard. I wonder if any of them play golf?
I’m told I’m due to move to Kerobokan around Dec 6, but I’m still not sure what the final charges will be. This is still being ‘negotiated’ between my lawyers and the prosecution, and we still have to deal with the judge.
I’ve finally got rid of all the prison illnesses I acquired in the first weeks and I’m physically strong. I’m trying to stay positive and thanks to all your support I’m bearing up.
Thanks to all of you for caring.