Post by Anja Nieser on Sept 8, 2006 20:30:17 GMT -5
Thank God I haven't got the death penalty
Deborah Cassrels goes behind the bars of Kerobokan prison to find out how two of the nine Bali drug couriers are coping.
THE sun beats down relentlessly on the small, dusty visiting yard at Kerobokan prison, which houses the nine Bali drug couriers. It is eerily quiet around the jail, about 10 minutes' drive from the fashionable Legian district. There are no guards in the watchtowers and the visiting process appears relaxed, the guards joking. The banter briefly abates as a plastic bag full of groceries and toiletries arrives for Schapelle Corby.
She and the Bali couriers share a dubious claim to fame: they have made Kerobokan an Australian household name.
In the overbearing tropical humidity, prisoners line the walls of the circular, open-air enclosure. They sit on mats, chatting and eating, as though at a Sunday picnic.
Huddled against a wall is the only Westerner, Martin Stephens, one of the nine Bali couriers, and one of two serving a life sentence for his part in trying to smuggle 8.3 kilograms of heroin from Indonesia to Australia in April last year. On Wednesday his life was spared when appeal judges imposed death sentences on four members of the group. Stephens's appeal to reduce his sentence failed this week.
Facing the wall, he is almost obscenely entwined (for a public place) with an older Indonesian woman called Christine, who is visiting. She is his "girlfriend" of nearly a year. They met when she visited another inmate, made eye contact and he amorously poked his tongue out at her.
"She brings my food; you've got to have someone."
They both wear tiny earpieces and appear to be listening to music. He slowly disentangles himself and proudly relates he has spent two birthdays inside. He is 30 now and much thinner; he weighed 105 kilograms when he was jailed and now weighs 79 kilogams. Wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, and blond, scruffy hair he looks like a surfer minus the tan.
He is happy with the weight loss but complains of suffering respiratory and other infections, for which he receives antibiotics from his mother, Michelle Stephens. She has also given him antibiotics in case of an outbreak of bird flu.
Shortly before visiting time finishes at 3pm, Renae Lawrence, the only female member of the nine, sidles up from inside the jail, smiling shyly. Sporting an austere haircut, and large "tribal" tattoo snaking down her left forearm, Lawrence says her parents would be upset to know she has had it inscribed in prison. She jokes with Stephens she cannot remember her age. "Am I 29?" she asks him. She too has lost about 20 kilograms.
Wearing pants and T-shirt, she speaks haltingly as if English were not her native tongue but talks easily to fellow inmates in Indonesian. Stephens has not mastered the language. She has an upper tooth missing, but will not say how it happened, only that she has visited a local dentist. One of 10 women to a cell, she says the women live in an overcrowded section and that the men have it better because Kerobokan is traditionally a men's prison.
"I'm coping," Lawrence says. "I read, talk. You just cope, otherwise you'd climb walls or go crazy, like some do in here." Pledging emotional support for one another, she and Stephens giggle self-consciously. When she is distressed, the guards summon Stephens to Lawrence's cell. "It's therapeutic. I've been strong for Renae. You look after each other." In turn, Stephens says: "I really needed her to get through this."
Stephens shares a cell with two others, including another of the Bali couriers, Michael Czugaj, 21, from Brisbane. His original life term was cut to 20 years on appeal. But his life sentence has now been reinstated.
Stephens appears to be a one-man band: he says he is lonely and does not socialise with the other couriers, except for Lawrence. He gets on with Czugaj and Matthew Norman, suggesting bad blood with the others. But they cross paths when Stephens "hangs out", playing a bit of tennis and basketball with the Indonesians.
Stephens said from jail on Thursday that he was surprised by the appeal verdicts. "It's a stink. Everyone's in shock. They don't know if it's true or definite; nothing's on paper yet. We don't get told nothing. I can't see them doing it though [carrying out the executions], not for that many Australians. The Government won't let them do that."
Not surprisingly, Stephens says he will lie low and stay quiet.
"I am quite lucky. It would have been nice to get 20, the same as Renae, but I just thank God that I haven't got the death penalty. But I don't believe they [the four Bali couriers] should have got the death penalty. The only person who should have got it was Andrew [Chan, the ringleader], and he already did. As for the others, they're just the small pawns in a big game. They didn't do anything to me … I'm against the death penalty anyway. It's morally wrong."
How is he coping?
"I play tennis and basketball and read. I talk to my parents. I pray to God but I've always done that."
What would he be doing if he was free? "I wish I was back working at the bowling club, " says Stephens, a former barman in Wollongong.
"Living expenses and bills" come from the $200 a month his parents provide but he is worried about their welfare and the fact they have had to remortgage their house.
"You have to buy everything here." As if on cue he and Christine tuck into a plate of chicken wings bought from the jail's kitchen. He has also bought a small fan for his cell to try to combat the sweltering heat but complains he still cannot sleep at night. Bottled water, which inmates buy themselves, is essential because tap water is polluted and undrinkable.
Can he buy a day or a night out? No, things have changed since the appointment of the new prison warden, Ilham Djaya, who is tougher than his predecessor but fairer too.
"He tries to listens to us."
Stephens is also thankful the warden is cleaning up the gangs that operate within the jail. The guards are no problem, he says, while surreptitiously pointing to a gang member sitting beside us, who clearly is. Is he a member of the Balinese mafia, Laskar Bali, which holds sway across the prison? Stephens is too petrified to answer.
www.smh.com.au/news/world/thank-god-i-havent-got-the-death-penalty/2006/09/08/1157222334258.html?page=fullpage#contentSwap1
Deborah Cassrels goes behind the bars of Kerobokan prison to find out how two of the nine Bali drug couriers are coping.
THE sun beats down relentlessly on the small, dusty visiting yard at Kerobokan prison, which houses the nine Bali drug couriers. It is eerily quiet around the jail, about 10 minutes' drive from the fashionable Legian district. There are no guards in the watchtowers and the visiting process appears relaxed, the guards joking. The banter briefly abates as a plastic bag full of groceries and toiletries arrives for Schapelle Corby.
She and the Bali couriers share a dubious claim to fame: they have made Kerobokan an Australian household name.
In the overbearing tropical humidity, prisoners line the walls of the circular, open-air enclosure. They sit on mats, chatting and eating, as though at a Sunday picnic.
Huddled against a wall is the only Westerner, Martin Stephens, one of the nine Bali couriers, and one of two serving a life sentence for his part in trying to smuggle 8.3 kilograms of heroin from Indonesia to Australia in April last year. On Wednesday his life was spared when appeal judges imposed death sentences on four members of the group. Stephens's appeal to reduce his sentence failed this week.
Facing the wall, he is almost obscenely entwined (for a public place) with an older Indonesian woman called Christine, who is visiting. She is his "girlfriend" of nearly a year. They met when she visited another inmate, made eye contact and he amorously poked his tongue out at her.
"She brings my food; you've got to have someone."
They both wear tiny earpieces and appear to be listening to music. He slowly disentangles himself and proudly relates he has spent two birthdays inside. He is 30 now and much thinner; he weighed 105 kilograms when he was jailed and now weighs 79 kilogams. Wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, and blond, scruffy hair he looks like a surfer minus the tan.
He is happy with the weight loss but complains of suffering respiratory and other infections, for which he receives antibiotics from his mother, Michelle Stephens. She has also given him antibiotics in case of an outbreak of bird flu.
Shortly before visiting time finishes at 3pm, Renae Lawrence, the only female member of the nine, sidles up from inside the jail, smiling shyly. Sporting an austere haircut, and large "tribal" tattoo snaking down her left forearm, Lawrence says her parents would be upset to know she has had it inscribed in prison. She jokes with Stephens she cannot remember her age. "Am I 29?" she asks him. She too has lost about 20 kilograms.
Wearing pants and T-shirt, she speaks haltingly as if English were not her native tongue but talks easily to fellow inmates in Indonesian. Stephens has not mastered the language. She has an upper tooth missing, but will not say how it happened, only that she has visited a local dentist. One of 10 women to a cell, she says the women live in an overcrowded section and that the men have it better because Kerobokan is traditionally a men's prison.
"I'm coping," Lawrence says. "I read, talk. You just cope, otherwise you'd climb walls or go crazy, like some do in here." Pledging emotional support for one another, she and Stephens giggle self-consciously. When she is distressed, the guards summon Stephens to Lawrence's cell. "It's therapeutic. I've been strong for Renae. You look after each other." In turn, Stephens says: "I really needed her to get through this."
Stephens shares a cell with two others, including another of the Bali couriers, Michael Czugaj, 21, from Brisbane. His original life term was cut to 20 years on appeal. But his life sentence has now been reinstated.
Stephens appears to be a one-man band: he says he is lonely and does not socialise with the other couriers, except for Lawrence. He gets on with Czugaj and Matthew Norman, suggesting bad blood with the others. But they cross paths when Stephens "hangs out", playing a bit of tennis and basketball with the Indonesians.
Stephens said from jail on Thursday that he was surprised by the appeal verdicts. "It's a stink. Everyone's in shock. They don't know if it's true or definite; nothing's on paper yet. We don't get told nothing. I can't see them doing it though [carrying out the executions], not for that many Australians. The Government won't let them do that."
Not surprisingly, Stephens says he will lie low and stay quiet.
"I am quite lucky. It would have been nice to get 20, the same as Renae, but I just thank God that I haven't got the death penalty. But I don't believe they [the four Bali couriers] should have got the death penalty. The only person who should have got it was Andrew [Chan, the ringleader], and he already did. As for the others, they're just the small pawns in a big game. They didn't do anything to me … I'm against the death penalty anyway. It's morally wrong."
How is he coping?
"I play tennis and basketball and read. I talk to my parents. I pray to God but I've always done that."
What would he be doing if he was free? "I wish I was back working at the bowling club, " says Stephens, a former barman in Wollongong.
"Living expenses and bills" come from the $200 a month his parents provide but he is worried about their welfare and the fact they have had to remortgage their house.
"You have to buy everything here." As if on cue he and Christine tuck into a plate of chicken wings bought from the jail's kitchen. He has also bought a small fan for his cell to try to combat the sweltering heat but complains he still cannot sleep at night. Bottled water, which inmates buy themselves, is essential because tap water is polluted and undrinkable.
Can he buy a day or a night out? No, things have changed since the appointment of the new prison warden, Ilham Djaya, who is tougher than his predecessor but fairer too.
"He tries to listens to us."
Stephens is also thankful the warden is cleaning up the gangs that operate within the jail. The guards are no problem, he says, while surreptitiously pointing to a gang member sitting beside us, who clearly is. Is he a member of the Balinese mafia, Laskar Bali, which holds sway across the prison? Stephens is too petrified to answer.
www.smh.com.au/news/world/thank-god-i-havent-got-the-death-penalty/2006/09/08/1157222334258.html?page=fullpage#contentSwap1