My trial proper started on Thursday and according to my legal team went “very well”, but the week wasn’t without incident leading up to the legal proceedings.
It has been raining almost non-stop all week, ratcheting-up tension in the block as inmates are effectively confined indoors. A roof that leaks in several places adds to the general grumpiness of those who have to sleep in the aula, or hall, and rumours of a big raid by the external national narcotics agency (BNN) kept everyone on a short leash.
The raid rumours started on Monday and were taken seriously enough for everyone to stash their phones, chargers and other contraband in various largely inaccessible secret places. Usually the guards will forewarn us of an external raid, as finding contraband reflects as badly on them as it does the inmates, but they couldn’t confirm or deny the rumours, blaming it on the new administration.
One block was raided after two inmates continued to flagrantly use their phones in the yard as a junior guard walked past. The de facto rule is don’t flaut the rule, and as long as the guards don’t actually see a phone, they won’t look for one. This defiance was too much, however, and so the disrespected official rampaged through the block and while he didn’t do anything more than a visual search, left with around a dozen chargers — a real pain to replace in here.
By Wednesday word had filtered through that there would be no external raid, and so tempers eased as prisoners could retrieve their contraband, get online and get high again. Having access to the Internet — whether for chatting with loved ones, doing business, watching movies, listening to music or playing games — definitely helps pass the time for most in here. Before the all clear, one paranoid inmate, believing the guards were coming for him — climbed to the top of a 10 meter fence that protects the chapel from errant soccer balls and threatened to jump. Of course his actions meant the guards did come for him, but if he was looking for sympathy he was looking in the wrong place. Dozens of prisoners gathered below him chanting “jump, jump” before he sheepishly came down and was hustled off to isolation.
On Thursday about 60 of us were again handcuffed in pairs and packed onto two buses for the journey to court. Like last time, we all picked the locks on our cuffs — another prison skill I have already mastered — and snapped them on to the window bars as a mark of our defiance.
While in the holding cell, my lawyers gave me translated copies of all the statements that the six witnesses in my case have given to police. They are expected to effectively repeat that testimony in court and are then asked a couple of questions by the prosecutor, cross-examined by my lawyer, and then I have an opportunity to say what I think of their evidence.
The first two witnesses were the arresting officers, who appeared together and gave their evidence by blatantly referring to the crib notes on the palms of their hands that I’d earlier seen them writing while conferring with the prosecutor.
They said I had been polite and cooperative throughout, and made mention of all the “exotic” nick-knacks in my study and unprompted told the judges I’d been a war correspondent who’d seen lots of mischief around the world. They also detailed fully how I had been grassed on by Joe and how they set the trap for me. My lawyer, Pak Haposan, can sometimes appear a bit lethargic, but when it is time to act he is on fire and asked a couple of great questions when his turn came, such as how does hash compare to crystal meth (the real scourge of Indonesia) and making a sure they told the court that I was not suspected in any way of being a dealer despite Joe’s treachery.
When my turn came, I asked them to clarify that rather than just calling once, Joe had called me half a dozen times, and SMSd me that many times again, but I kept refusing before finally agreeing to give him a sliver for a joint. They readily agreed and the judges took note.
Next up was Rahmat, my helper’s husband. They lived in the staff quarters and were there when the police took me home after arresting me at Joe’s bar. He had been asked to confirm details of the search, which he did, stressing my cooperation. The judges asked if he had any suspicion I had been using drugs, and he said no, despite having worked for me for five years. This was another plus according to my lawyers.
That was it for the day, but after the senior judge banged his gavel, he summoned me to the bench and then started chatting about my career and the places I’d been — all very friendly. My lawyer was very pleased with this. As we were leaving the court, the two policemen approached, shook my hand and apologized and wished me luck … only in Indonesia.
Next week will be the turn of Joe and two of his bar staff who witnessed my arrest. I don’t expect much but routine from the staffers, but Joe is the real dark horse in this. I had a slight confrontation with him earlier in the week when I warned him that if he didn’t stick to the truth, he had better watch out. His written statement is actually accurate, but does contradict the statement he originally gave police. In reality we both used to buy from a dealer in his bar, but he made up a cock-and-bull story about buying from a masked stranger at the local McDonalds.
Joe also had his first day in court where he apparently expressed concern for his safety in Kerobokan and the judge said given the circumstances, our trials would in future be held on separate days. The Sydney Morning Herald covered the session quite fairly, I thought, although it is not clear from their story that Joe wasn’t giving evidence in my trial, but rather in his own separate one.
A lot of people in the holding cell were given their final sentences on Thursday. A German from my block I’ve nicknamed “Walter White”, of Breaking Bad fame, was relieved to get four years and eight months for running a meth lab in Denpasar. When he was arrested, he had just gotten rid of his latest batch, and so was found with just a few grams in situ.
A local inmate — the fattest in the prison — was expecting to get just a year for dealing meth, but completely lost his temper and went on the rampage in the holding cell after being sentenced to eight years, lashing out at anyone within range. The original “boss” inmate from when I first went to remand (now one of the top prisoners at Kerobokan) told him to calm down and eventually he was removed and put into solitary and taken back to prison alone, where he apparently was given a good kicking for his impudence.
Also on Thursday came news that one of my cell mates, a local lad due for release next month and who has been coughing blood since I moved in, has been confirmed to have tuberculosis — the fifth case in the jail in the past month. I’d been concerned enough previously to have a friend bring a box of surgical masks as a precaution, so I hope I haven’t been exposed. Most Indonesians are latent carriers anyway, but full blown TB in a place like this is obviously a worry. The clinic is refusing to test us unless we become symptomatic — a question of cost and avoiding the scandal of an epidemic, we feel. Another cellmate, an Indian American coke dealer I’ve nicknamed Saleem Sinai (anyone get the literary reference?) coughs non-stop, so he is arranging to get an external test done. Depending on that result, I might too.
On Friday morning, just as the block was due to be opened, there was a terrific roar and those awake thought it was the feared raid, but instead three trustees accompanied by guards burst in with fogging machines and proceeded to cloud the place so completely that several inmates couldn’t find their way out — and one slept through it. I’ve seen fogging done many times before, but nothing on this scale; the smoke didn’t clear for at least an hour.
I’m not sure if that was responsible, but the next day several, of us came down with eye problems and I’m still suffering the effects.
Apart from that, I’m well physically and mentally and feeling good about how the first day in court went. The trial resumes this Thursday.