The Last Executioner (12 page)

There were plenty of rituals involved in those days, including dousing with holy water, meditating and praying aloud to the gods at a nearby shrine. Then, in 1934, King Rama VII abolished beheading, deciding that shooting was more humane for both criminal and executioner. I must say that I could not have chopped off someone’s head with a sword—there is no way on earth I would have been able to do that. It was horrific. Three men would be involved in the beheading. One would try to distract the condemned man by stomping around, making noise, while another would make the deadly strike. A third man would stand to the side, just in case. All three were considered part of the ritual. There are some incredible black and white photographs of an actual beheading on display at the museum in the Department of Correction, in the Phranakorn district of Bangkok. Just make sure you don’t visit the museum right after eating—some of the stuff on display could prove a bit traumatic for your stomach.

***

I was always conscious of looking after my sanity. I was not naïve—I knew that plenty of prison staff who had been involved with the executions didn’t die in a hospital bed. Prathom, whose place I had taken as executioner, had formerly been an undertaker so he was used to dealing with death. I had led a more sheltered life, playing the guitar, and even my stint in the army was not ample preparation for what I as doing. Depression and addiction were part of the set-up. To counter this I took up chanting, and went to a monk for some guidance. I read up about it and taught myself how to do it effectively. Chanting is great for aiding concentration and helping my confidence.

Originally I had applied to do a proper course in Sukothai Thammathirat and Ramkhamhaeng open universities, but I just couldn’t afford it. Albeit, I probably could have scraped the money together but if I had, my daughter would have missed out on attending university, and my kids are everything to me. My father had taught me that you must do the best that you can as a parent. He showed me how with his consistent generosity to me and my brother.

Chapter 11

Foreign prisoners complain a lot! I realise that we should try and understand their different cultures and customs. It is bad enough to be jailed but it must be really harsh to be held in a foreign prison, far from home. Nevertheless you would not believe the time wasted on sorting out silly complaints from serious ones. Black prisoners accuse us of racism and everyone else complains about living in cramped, unhealthy conditions. But Bang Kwang is a prison, not a hotel.

One Indian prisoner lodged a complaint that he never received the 30,000 baht that he claimed was posted to him. There was an investigation and the DOC had to question us over our security measures. I mean, who puts all that money in an envelope and shoves it in the post nowadays? Of course we prison guards do try to understand the inmates’ problems. It would be foolish to ignore genuine complaints or else we might end up with another riot on our hands.

The farang prisoners are, on the whole, treated quite well by the staff and Thai prisoners. Generally Thai people really look up to farangs and their western ways. Farangs find it very easy to hire Thais to do their errands, inside and outside of Bang Kwang. Most of the foreign inmates are here because of drug trafficking. Some are small-time criminals while others are or were members of huge criminal groups making millions of baht from drugs.

The foreigners are distributed over all the wings. If we locked them all in together and there was a dispute we might have a difficulty interpreting them. Therefore, each wing is usually made up of 99% Thai and the rest foreign. Because of the different treatment meted out to foreigners, resentment can build up. For instance, Thai convicts are only allowed family visits at a certain time, even if their relatives have travelled all the way from the outskirts of Thailand for a surprise visit. Meanwhile an embassy will contact us and tell us that ‘Mom’ got on a plane and flew all the way over to see her son, so what are we to do? We have to make an allowance and let her see him.

And now, of course, it is nearly a fashionable or touristy thing to do. All these young people, full of ideals, who turn up to visit the foreign prisoners after watching
Green Mile
or
Dead Man Walking
and we have to cater for them. I think there are far too many of them but I suppose they don’t cause any trouble. They tend to stick out because they look more frightened than the inmates on death row, although I appreciate that it is quite an intimidating experience for young farangs who have never been near a prison before. When you visit you have to be prepared—dress modestly and remember to be polite to the prison staff. You will have to shout to be heard as you will be separated from the guy you are visiting by a few feet, and also you and your prisoner will be only two of a large group of noisy relatives and loved ones. You can bring gifts of food and books, but just in case you are thinking about it, stuff like nude photos will probably be taken off you!

Some years ago families of foreign prisoners who couldn’t afford to visit Thailand as much as they wished got the brilliant idea of putting up notices in guest house and hotels with information of their loved ones, in the hope that some of the many tourists might visit them. I completely understand their anxiety. I don’t know what I would do if one of my children was jailed in another country.

There are two other groups to contend with, in relation to the foreign prisoners. The first are the ones who are appointed by the embassies. They might be the wives of officials who have volunteered to visit and meet the prisoners, and they are very reasonable and do not cause us any trouble. Then there are the ‘missionary’ groups. Some of the prisoners are converted to Christianity and find themselves with an extra tube of toothpaste for Christmas. When I was in charge of Ward 1 the missionary groups used to throw a Christmas party for the foreign prisoners. There would be 30 to 40 inmates who were allowed to go to the party which was held in the wing. Food and drink would be brought in specially and it was an enjoyable few hours, especially for me, since I could speak English.

The different groups furnish us with a list of whom they want to visit, but I think they also have a hidden agenda. I believe they visit everyone on the list to find out who has money. The one with money receives a lot more visits than the one without. Bear in mind that the ones with the money are usually big-time drug lords and now they have this group hard at work for them, emailing their every complaint to all and sundry. I sometimes even find myself suspicious about the inmates’ letters to these groups. Are they full of codes and actually trying to use these people to keep in touch with people on the outside about supplying drugs?

Then there is the problem with diet. The farangs complained that the food we served was too spicy for them. So we cooked white rice separately for them in small plastic bags. Then they complained that they weren’t getting enough food. So we allowed them to see how we prepare the meals from the quantities that we had in the kitchen and they rewarded us by stealing food. Then they said that they weren’t receiving equal amounts of food. So we began to measure it all out.

Right now we have 500 foreign convicts from 45 different countries and things can get quite complicated. The white prisoners will eat the white rice. The Asians normally don’t touch the white rice, except if they are from Hong Kong and hold British passports. Then people from Taiwan and Taipei get upset because they want to have a choice of rice and feel they are losing out otherwise. Then the Japanese embassy told us that they were just as civilized as America so why weren’t all their people just offered the white rice? Before you know it we almost had an international rice crisis on our hands. Although, everyone seems to get on with the Thai prisoners, which is nice.

Anyway, it gives the foreigners something to do. They love lodging complaints—sending five copies of one document to their embassies and any other organisation that might help them. The embassies are kept very busy by their own criminals and sometimes they are conned by their own legal system. I personally welcome their inspections. It keeps us on our toes and forces us to keep changing. The embassies never support what a prisoner has done; they just need to know that he is being treated properly. They double check everything we do in Bang Kwang and we must be able to answer any question put to us. The prison staff don’t like when there is a complaint about us so we try to ensure that we do our jobs well.

We once had a German who was on parole. He was a child molester. The embassy didn’t approve of him being out on parole but one of their volunteers was compelled to sign the papers. He agreed to stay in a church in Bangkok and not leave the country. However, when we tried to contact him two days later he had gone. It transpired the German embassy had to issue a temporary visa for anyone with a German passport. Because of that we cancelled parole as an option. The normal procedure now is for them to spend eight years here in Bang Kwang and then they are sent back home. It is more beneficial to us to return them to their own country. No good can come out of keeping them here, taking up valuable space. I think that a prison sentence of more than ten years would be too much for the average man. A Hong Kong prisoner wrote to us that he was on parole in England and living with his family. Then we heard that when the English authorities sent him home he was jailed in his own country. Not all crimes lead to long sentences but the penalty for dealing in drugs in Thailand is severe.

As to the organisations that campaign against the death penalty, I would love them to take in two or three hardened criminals and then see how they feel. 69 countries have the death penalty today so there must be some sort of necessity for it. I remember once when an Australian businessman was shot in Thailand, his supporters did not want to know about his killers—what was their background and how they did become killers—they just wanted to know when I was going to shoot them. The same attitude prevails when a white girl is raped; nobody cares why, they just want the rapist punished.

***

I cannot emphasise enough to the people who come to see Thailand—be very careful! Be on your guard. If you come here to sell or buy drugs there are plenty of people waiting to catch you, including police who will falsify evidence to arrest you. Drugs are completely illegal here. There are spies everywhere, especially watching for foreigners who might break our laws. The prostitute that you sleep with just might be working for the police. Thailand is more dangerous than you think. It is quite easy to get yourself arrested if you don’t know any better. Do you know that if you are driving a vehicle that accidentally knocks someone down and injures them, you could find yourself charged with attempted murder? If that happens you better have plenty of money to ‘help’ the police keep you out of jail.

Unfortunately, the number of foreign prisoners had increased over the years. Thailand attracts lots of people who think they can make their fortune here. Unemployment is rife. The Russians gangs in Pattaya kidnap Thai women and send them abroad to their brothels. Foreign criminals, I can’t remember the nationality, tricked a compatriot to come to Thailand and open up a bar. When he did so, they killed him and stole all his money. Poor Africans, from Nigeria and Ghana in particular, end up carrying drugs and then end up here as a result. The death penalty is not a solution but it should function as a strong deterrent. However, with the increasing number of foreigners being arrested and convicted here, I am not so sure that it does.

Chapter 12

Being a prison guard is a tough job and not for the fainthearted. Yet no matter how tough the staff at Bang Kwang, or any prison on the planet for that matter, the merest hint of the word ‘riot’ will probably shake their collective confidence, however temporarily. It was in 1985 that we had what you might call the mother of all riots and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time for the already stretched and busy staff. Anyone who has ever worked in a prison will tell you that a riot is a constant threat; they are part and parcel of the whole experience. The best that you can hope for is that it doesn’t spread to involve the entire population of convicts.

About 20 years ago Tawee Choosap was the Director-General of DOC. He felt very passionately about his job and about his role in the prison system. It irritated him to know that society in general held no curiosity about the prisons or prison life and what knowledge they did have was probably very clichéd or stereotypical. He wished to change all that. He established a sort of Open Day for prisons, which the media and public were invited to. It went down very well and resulted in the ‘Visiting Day’.

‘Visiting Day’ was a very special occasion for the inmates because it was the only time in the year that they could welcome their families without bars between them. This only applied to those who had a good grade. You remember how I said that each prisoner was graded from very bad, bad, satisfactory, good, and very good to excellent depending on his behaviour? Well, first offenders were usually given an immediate grade of ‘satisfactory’ on their arrival while a convict who was on his second prison sentence in five years received the ‘bad’ grade. After that it was up to the individual to get himself promoted or demoted by the guards. I suppose you could compare it to school but at least this helped the staff to identify potential trouble and also motivate the prisoner to obtaining a better grade if he was to be put forward for a royal pardon. The pardon doesn’t mean that he is immediately unleashed on the outside world again; it just mean a reduction in his prison sentence.

On Visiting Day the well-behaved criminal could receive up to ten relatives who would usually bring a picnic with them. In fact it was much more than one day. The event lasted ten days each time—twice a year. Therefore, for 20 days out of the year the prisoner could hug his wife, children, parents and siblings. He could even have a proper discussion with his lawyer. The only thing he could not do was have sex with his spouse or girlfriend. There just wasn’t the room. Usually a prisoner’s family could only visit one day a week, Friday, when they could peer at their loved one through the prison bars. The celebration was usually held near Mothers’ And Fathers’ Day, which was the birthdays of Her Majesty Queen Siritkit and His Majesty King Bhumiphol, on 12 August and 5 December. So reducing prisoners’ sentences was a royal version of making merit; they helped out the most miserable class in society and would be rewarded for it in this life or the next.

To accommodate and cater for the extra thousands of visitors, the staff at Bang Kwang had to work very hard indeed. The football pitch and the auditorium, which were both to the right of the prison’s entrance, were the specified ‘visiting’ location—or, if you like, the reception area. The auditorium is probably our biggest enclosed space and has a stage. The prison also rents huge tents, and hundreds of tables and chairs. It also involved a huge amount of administration. The family contacted the prison and made a request to visit. They would have to furnish us with identification for each relative, along with their census records.

I was usually stationed at the security tower between the six wings and the football field and was in charge of security. It always meant long hard days for the prison guards because we were constantly short of staff, in relation to the numbers of visitors and prisoners. Therefore, if you got a break you were lucky. My day would normally begin about 7am when I would do a complete check of the football ground and auditorium. At 7.30am the excited prisoners who were receiving visitors would be escorted to the auditorium where they eagerly lined up to be frisked. Their relatives would not arrive until 8.30am and it was a busy hour and a half to make sure that everything was as it should be. The relatives had to pass through a sort of metal detector and I would also frisk them. It was quite a big operation, though the mood was always light. Administration would already have sent them a letter informing them what they could or could not bring. The relatives could stay until 11.30am and they would have to leave until the afternoon session. This meant that the prisoners had to be frisked four times, before and after meeting their families. Back-breaking work for the prison guard! All the normal day-to-day running of the prison had to continue so we were literally cramming extra tasks into each day.

It was an enjoyable time for everyone involved. During those two sets of ten days Bang Kwang was a warmer place, where everyone was smiling, hugging, kissing. There was a real sense of compassion in the air and the staff were always very moved by it. It was customary to see the younger prisoners fall asleep with their heads in their mothers’ laps. Prisoners might introduce a favourite prison guard to his family, who would fall over themselves to be welcoming.

It is also a very productive time, commercially speaking. There were lots of stands selling food and items made by the prisoners themselves, which were usually run by relatives of the guards. Tew, my good wife, ran a food stand during Visiting Day and made a whopping 10,000 baht in sales every day. She and her sister would get up at 4am to prepare the food and I would usually find myself being roped in to fetch the ingredients. The visitors wanted to shower the prisoners with food and anything else they could lay their hands on. You can surely imagine it, especially if you are a parent—you would spend freely to ease your own mind that you were doing all that you could for your unfortunate child.

***

4 August 1985 was the last day of the first ‘visiting season’ of the year. There were a lot of people as usual, fanned out across the football pitch, sitting in their family groups and enjoying the good weather and each other. The scene was more suited to a beach than a tough prison. I was on my ninth day of frisking the prisoners and visitors from my check-point at the front gate of the security tower. It was 10am and everything was running smoothly, except for my aching body. I stretched my back and tried to improve my stance so that I didn’t slouch. I had been working straight for the nine days and was verging on exhaustion. As you can imagine the prison staff had to be extra vigilant during this time. The guards want to appear more flexible and friendly but of course you wonder if one of the smiling families is going to try their hand at a rescue mission. And then there are the prisoners themselves. They might take the opportunity to act out some frustration, although I tend to believe that the prisoners would keep each other in line because they are in the company of their loved ones. Each convict would protect his own family from harm, and if a guy was fool enough to capture another’s daughter or sister then he would be leaving his own womenfolk open to attack.

I had been working incessantly for the past hour and was ravenous. It was approaching the end of the morning shift when the visitors would be asked to leave. We would then make our rounds to ensure everything was ok and all the prisoners were accounted for. The visitors would return at approximately 1pm for the afternoon shift which would finish about 3pm. Once the visitors were gone I planned to have a good meal before getting ready for the afternoon. Just as I was mulling over what I would like to eat, one of my assistants raced over to me looking tremendously excited over something. In between gasps of hot air he managed to tell me, ‘Sir, something is happening in Wing 6!’

I felt a cold shiver in the pit of my empty stomach and asked him to be more specific.

‘I’m not 100 % sure but it kinda looks like a riot.’

This was bad—really, really bad. In less than an hour hundreds of happy relatives would start walking from the football field towards the entrance. To do this they would have to pass by the front gate of Wing 6 where they would have to stop and wait in order to be frisked before they could leave the prison’s premises. In other words they would make an easy and large target for angry criminals who couldn’t meet with their families because of their low grade. It might sound overly dramatic to say that, as I stood there with my breathless assistant, I quickly envisioned a blood bath of impressive proportions, but you have to remember the context. This wasn’t some boarding school; this was Bang Kwang.

I raced over to the gate at Wing 6 hoping against hope that he was wrong. Maybe it was just the usual run-of-the-mill gang fight. These happened frequently and only involved key players. They could be bloody but relatively short. It was a two minute run to the gate from the tower. I gripped the bars of the gate. There was a security guard stationed here 24 hours a day. You just didn’t want to think of the consequences of the emptying out of the inhabitants of Wing 6 on to the unprepared streets. Beyond the bars, the inner gate is a big solid metal door with a huge lock on it. There is also a slot which can be uncovered to peek inside to check on things, like you would see on the door of a police station’s cell. We would use it when a prisoner was preparing to be brought to court. You would have to check that the right prisoner was standing there waiting, without weapons or accomplices. Of course we also used it regularly during the visiting season, to ensure that the right prisoner was waiting to join the right family.

The officer at the outer gate was obviously hoping for assistance or direction. He beckoned me immediately and whispered:

‘Sir, they have taken Officers Gamol and Prasit as hostages.’

Shit, shit, shit. I asked him what exactly was going on.

‘I don’t know the details Sir but they are mounting a riot for sure’.

I babbled at him, ‘We are going to be in big trouble. There are over 1,000 inmates and family outside who will be shortly heading this way. We have an hour and that’s all!’

I took a deep breath; there was no point in panicking him any more than he was. I had to pull myself together. I told the officer to lock the inner and outer gate of Wing 6 and not to open them, under any circumstances, until he received instructions from our superiors. He locked the gates without a word. We both knew that we were locking some of our colleagues in with the madness but this is what we had been trained to do in these circumstances.

I climbed up the wall to get a view of what was going on in Wing 6. It was like a scene from a Hollywood movie—all that was needed was a Johnny Cash or Elvis soundtrack. The inmates were in groups spread over the wing. Some were wearing bandanas which might have made me smile in a different setting. They all appeared to be armed, some with blocks of wood and some with metal poles with pointed ends that looked to me like medieval lances. They must have taken the poles from the equipment room and sharpened them in the workshop. A few of the men looked high and it was later discovered that they had stolen and consumed paint thinning substance, also from the workshop. I couldn’t see any officers; there are usually ten to every wing—ten for every 1,000 prisoners. You do the maths! On Visiting Day two officers from each wing had to accompany his prisoners to the football field, leaving behind eight men to supervise a fractious village of convicts.

Within minutes, Prathin Glaisung, Chief of the Custody Section, reported the riot to the Superintendent, who immediately ordered the outer and inner gates of the rest of the wings, 1 to 5, to be locked until further notice. Then an announcement was made over the loud speakers informing everyone that a riot was taking place. The visitors were asked to remain calm and make their way to the auditorium to await instructions. The convicts—the ‘visitees’—were asked to line up at the end of the football pitch. Meanwhile the people running the stalls had started to swiftly pack up their belongings. I had a quick look to make sure that Tew was one of them. We would have a terrible row later when she returned with our three children to watch the chaos, along with the rest of Nonthaburi. We lived in a house that was provided by the government, down the road from the prison.

I couldn’t believe it when I spied my family calmly taking in the proceedings. I charged out and told Tew to take the children away to some place safe. And what did she do? She waited until I left and then turned to our eldest and told him to take his younger brother and sister over to his Uncle Oud’s dormitory at Klong Prem so that she could remain to watch the rest of the show. It has become a family joke now but I was still mad at her days later.

With as many staff as we could spare, we led the nervous relatives towards the exit point at the security tower; women and children were first in line, followed by the men. As I had foreseen, the crowd were subject to taunts and insults. We all just gritted our teeth and grimly prepared to ignore it. But we couldn’t ignore the missiles. Bottles, plates and stones were hurled at the crowd, which understandably panicked and started to run towards the main road. Women tried to huddle shocked and screaming children to themselves to protect them. Thankfully no one was hurt. I was also grateful for the fact that the visitees didn’t try to take advantage of the panic and follow their loved ones to the outside world, or didn’t quickly form an army to take on Wing 6 and punish them for the maltreatment of their families. It could easily have gone either way. While I was busy at the front gate, a couple of officers were retrieving weapons from the armoury in the security tower and the administrative officers were ringing around the various police stations for assistance.

When the last family member had been sent safely through the gate we were ordered to lead the waiting prisoners from the football field to where we kept those in solitary confinement. They would have to wait there until we got the situation under control, for their own safety. A few minutes later dozens of police officers arrived from Nonthaburi police station. Sawas Sansern, our Superintendent, had rang the Director General of DOC for assistance. He responded by ordering the police and prison officers to spread out, covering as much of Bang Kwang as possible. Some senior officers attempted to identify and talk to the ring leaders of the riot and open some sort of negotiations. There were dozens of ring leaders, which didn’t help matters. They ordered their comrades-in-arms to gather all the tables and chairs from the canteen and stack them behind the inner gate to support it in case of an attack. They also had hostages—two guards.