A Secret History of the Bangkok Hilton

by Chavoret Jaruboon

  My heart sank further when I heard Nok cry for help. We were forced to walk in different directions. They pushed and shoved me to the car park where I was told to get into a black pick-up truck. My first thought was that they were kidnappers, because Nok’s family was rich, and I was being taken along as a bonus.

  Blindfolded, I tried to remain calm but the darkness intensified my fear. Sweat ran down my face as hands pressed hard on both of my shoulders. I knew it was still daytime but I didn’t shout for help for fear of being beaten or killed. The abductors remained silent all the way. Finally, the truck came to a stop and the blindfold was removed. They manhandled me into a deserted hut in the middle of a rubber plantation and sat me on the floor, propped up against a wall.

  One of the abductors, whom I later knew as Amnat, said, ‘We are plainclothes police officers and now you are in a property of an anti-drug agency.’

  I was too dumbstruck to say anything back. Another man quickly brought out a bag full of white powder and a scale. He weighed the bag in front of me while the other took photographs of what was happening. Their movements were swift and in sync as if they had done this many times before. Amnat produced a piece of paper and told me to sign it. The moment my mind registered what was written on it, I was jolted out of confusion. It was a fabricated arrest report that said I had been found with heroin.

  ‘What the hell is going on? Why did you bring me here?’ I demanded.

  Amnat, who was clearly the one in charge, said, ‘Just sign the damn thing and you’ll be sent to a police station or else…’

  I replied, ‘I don’t know what’s in the bag but it’s certainly not mine. Why are you doing this to me?’

  Instead of an answer he tapped at a pistol tucked into the pocket of his trousers. I didn’t need further persuasion. I learnt that Nok had given in as easily as I had. What else could we do?

  On the way to the police station, I hoped the officers there would listen to me and believe that Nok and I had been framed. But, as a Thai proverb goes, we ran away from a tiger only to face a crocodile. The worst had yet to befall us. The clock said one hour before midnight when I was thrown into a holding cell. Within a few hours, my life had been turned upside down. There in the cell, I experienced some of the most confusing and desperate moments of my life.

  An hour later I was taken out of the cell and into another room in the police station. I knew what was about to happen and felt so helpless. I was told to sign a blank piece of paper, which I was told would be my interrogation report. I said ‘no’ and within seconds I felt hard blows on my face. After having a go at me, they got creative. They stacked up chairs in a pile and forced me to stand on top of it. Together they kicked the stack so it would tumble down and my body would hit the floor. They laughed like children engaging in mischievous play. All the while, they lied that Nok, who was being kept in another cell, had already confessed to the crime. There were other forms of assault, including punches to my stomach and slaps to my face, but I don’t want to elaborate. Suffice to say that I didn’t sustain any permanent injury and I count myself among the fortunate ones. I somehow managed to endure the pain and refused to sign the paper they thrust upon me. The second night they took me out of the cell and subjected me to the same routine.

  While Nok and I were on remand, our families were propositioned by several police officers, offering help in an exchange for hefty fees. They claimed they could use their connections with court officials either to guarantee bail would be granted or even to rig the court ruling in our favour. They were like vultures trying to pick shreds of meat from a dying animal. They seemed to work independently so I didn’t know who to trust. Even if I could somehow produce the money they demanded, there was no guarantee they would fulfill their promises. Nok’s family, however, spent a fortune on them.

  Corrupt police officers continued to pressure me to sign the interrogation report but I refused to sign away my life. Obviously, they could put anything in it. When I thought they couldn’t go any lower, a man I remembered as one of the six abductors visited me. He said they could secure bail release for Nok and me if we helped them to catch two more people. He didn’t explain exactly what was required so I assumed they wanted us to act as bait to lure people into drug-buying stings while we were on bail. I had had enough of their callousness and said, ‘You scum, just leave me alone.’ He shrugged off my insult and said, ‘You’ll be sorry. Definitely will.’

  At this point, Nok and I hadn’t been in contact with each other since the abduction and trust between us waned. My relatives started to feed me stories that Nok was involved in the drug trade while hers were pinning the blame on me. My family accused me of being infatuated with Nok when I defended her innocence but saying she was a drug dealer didn’t make sense. Nok’s family is wealthy and she worked for a firm on Bangkok’s affluent Silom Road before she got married. It didn’t add up.

  Nok admitted to her family that she was three months pregnant. A child conceived outside wedlock when she already had a husband made our affair an utter disgrace. They scorned me for corrupting her.

  My relatives urged me to sign the blank paper which was to contain the interrogation report. If I didn’t, they said the police would not process our bail requests. I finally gave in, however, to the emotional pleas of Nok’s mother on condition that she stop trying to persuade Nok to abort our unborn child. Nhe, Nok’s grandmother, was planning to hire a guard to smuggle in medication to Nok that could cause a miscarriage. Nhe believed the unborn child was a tua suai (jinx) which was bringing Nok great misfortune and by getting rid of it she would be freed.

  I can only wonder now how different things might have been if both sides had got together and put our lawyers to work building our defence. However, given how ineffective our lawyers were, I don’t think it would have mattered. My family hired a lawyer through recommendation but he turned out to be a huge disappointment. He rarely visited me to discuss my defence and the one time he did he offended me greatly with a suggestion that he would compose my testimony to be in line with the police fabrication.

  ‘How can you represent me when you don’t even believe me?’ I demanded.

  He replied: ‘It doesn’t matter what actually happened as it would be your word against theirs and whose words do you think the court will buy? Pointing out discrepancies in their report is your best chance. Or better yet you should plead guilty and get a smaller sentence.’

  Given that I had already and regrettably signed the falsified interrogation report, I agreed to see what he could write for me.

  Nok’s lawyer recommended that she plead guilty, adding that 25 years in jail would be the worst-case scenario. Her relatives, however, detested the idea of having the family name tainted by a conviction and insisted she fight the case and declare her innocence or else she would never see them again.

  Our families and friends eventually gathered enough money and land deeds worth a few hundred thousand baht to meet the collateral demanded for our bail applications. However, we were denied bail as the charges against us were considered high priority and because the police in charge of the case objected. The court ordered that Nok be escorted to a hospital when she went into labour. I was to be tried as defendant number one, Nok number two.

  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 looki
ng 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 (orientatio
n) 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.