The Last Executioner (5 page)

Chapter 4

In 1902, King Rama V bought a large piece of land in Nonthaburi to build a prison for long-term prisoners. Construction only started in 1927, after his death, and under the rule of King Rama VI, it was completed in 1931. Today Bang Kwang Central Prison holds three types of prisoners: prisoners whose appeals are pending in the Appeal Court and the Supreme Court; prisoners who are serving a sentence of 25 years or more, and the ‘death sentence’ prisoners. The prison was only ever intended to hold 4,000 prisoners, but today it holds more than twice that.

It is strange. My father was always so supportive of me and followed me around Thailand whenever he could to watch me play with the various bands, but I am glad he didn’t live to see me enter this new phase of my life. He wouldn’t have liked to see me in a prison guard’s uniform, as he looked down on the guards and believed them to be a rough, vulgar lot.

I had told my brother Oud about the job vacancies and persuaded him that he should at least apply too. He agreed to but wasn’t very enthusiastic. The following morning we met our cousin Too at Sanam Luang and went to the Ministry of Interior to pick up the application forms. We needed a letter from our doctor so we headed over to Tah Phrajan, but his office was closed. I gritted my teeth in frustration while Oud merely shrugged his shoulders. Then Too brought us over to Klong Prem Central Prison to ask a friend of his, Rabiab Supokiawanich, who was a senior guard, to sign both our forms as guarantor. That evening my brother and I went to a doctor in Pratunam for our medical. After a thorough examination he gave us a clean bill of health.

I posted off our forms the next day, after attaching passport photos and doctor’s certificate. Too was fairly confidant that we would be called to attend the examination. I met up with him a few times so that he could take me through the different questions asked and give me pointers. Sure enough, on 16 August, the Minister of Interior released the names of the applicants who were to do the exam and issued them with their examination numbers. I was number 72 and Oud was 58. We were to attend the Arts building at Thammasart University on 11 September, where we had to undergo a two-day examination as well as an intensive interview. The exam consisted of four papers spread over two days. The first one concerned general knowledge followed by the afternoon paper on the rights and duties of the individual in society. The third paper concerned law, corrective law in particular. The last paper involved the rules and regulations of being a prison guard.

I went home determined to pass. Too had given me his books and I buried myself in them. I was really meticulous in my study; I took pages and pages of notes, and set myself questions that I had to answer in a certain amount of time. Then I used a tape-recorder to tape myself reading aloud possible questions with the right answers so that I could listen and hopefully absorb the answers into my subconscious as I went about my day. I read and re-read those books until I could practically say them in my sleep. I did my best to help Oud. He found it quite tough to do any study since his typical working day in the bar didn’t finish until three, sometimes four, in the morning.

In no time at all, or so it seemed, the morning of 11 September dawned. Poor Oud had to cram for hours the night before, after telling his boss that he was too sick to work. That was a drama in itself when George, his boss, wanted to know exactly what was wrong with him. Two months earlier Oud’s eyes took on a yellow hue and his boss made him go to doctor. It turned out he was in the early phase of cirrhosis of the liver and had to go on a course of medicine immediately. George’s girlfriend’s niece was studying nursing and he asked her for information on the condition. Obviously thrilled to be asked her professional opinion, while still a student, she wrote him a letter furnishing him with more detail than was perhaps required. As a result, when George was told that Oud was sick again, and after he was reassured that it wasn’t life threatening, he forbade anyone to visit him while he was ill.

We were just two of a total of 707 people who were taking the exam. It was tough enough. I felt I might have scrapped a pass, but Oud wasn’t as positive. Interviews for those numbered between one and one hundred were held on the following Monday, 13 September. Oud went in first and came out sweating. One of the questions had thrown him: ‘Where was the Emerald Buddha’?

He just couldn’t think of the answer which unnerved him for the rest of the interview. Of course, everybody knew the Emerald Buddha was a famously valuable Buddha made of nephrite jade. Its true value was discovered in the 15th century after it fell and its gold-leaf coating cracked open to reveal the green rock. It moved around a lot but was now kept in the Buddhist temple called Wat Phragaew in Bangkok. Oud just couldn’t remember this, and this made me even more nervous than I already was. However, it didn’t turn out to be as bad as I expected. They mostly asked me personal questions. Too had warned me that they would be testing me for my reactions or solutions to different scenarios.

The weeks dragged by and finally, on 10 November, we got our results. Out of the 707 applicants, Oud came 311th and I came 122nd. Too was delighted when he heard, and I invited him over to my house for dinner that night to celebrate and thank him for all his help. We reckoned that I would probably get a position in the second round of the hiring process. I was very proud of myself. After the whole experience working with my American boss, a button had been pressed inside of me. I knew that I never wanted to work for farangs again; I had found the whole experience demeaning and unpleasant. I didn’t ever want to be in a job that left me open to insults and put-downs. Being a prison guard wasn’t a fancy job, nor was the pay a huge amount, but I saw it as a respectable government job, and one that I gotten through my own capabilities. I felt that it would suit me and my personality. My father had taught me to treat people as I would like to be treated in turn, so I could achieve things within the role of prison guard, and improve my position.

Finally on 27 December 1971 the journey was over. I was to report to the Ministry of Interior on 10 January 1972, when I would begin my new job. That morning I found myself standing among a crowd of successful applicants in a cramped room, on the first floor of the Ministry. We were waiting to be told where we were going to work. I was hoping to be sent to Klong Prem and my heart sank a bit when I heard my name called out with nine others who were assigned to Bang Kwang prison. My new colleagues, six men and three women, and I immediately headed back out into the heat of morning sun to take the bus to Nonthaburi Watchtower, which is near the prison. We talked a little amongst ourselves and I suppose we were all a bit nervous. Some of the louder ones talked about beating up any inmates who gave them a hard time but I don’t think they meant it. They were just trying to reassure themselves.

I had never really taken much notice of the prison when I was growing up. It was a landmark like any other, and I gave it as much attention as I gave the opium houses, or maybe less so. Now that I was about to enter it for the very first time I noted everything in the minutest detail. The walls were huge and seemed to go on forever—in fact they are 2,406 metres long and six metres high.

We made our way to the general office where we were welcomed by the Slab Visutthimuk, the superintendent. He was quite pleasant and asked us a few questions about our education, work experience and skills. There were vacancies in all the different sectors within the prison, such as administration, prisoners’ welfare, teaching and religious instruction, and prison warden. After spending some time with us he decided who was best suited for what. Basically the girls ended up in the pen-pushing departments while the guys and I headed to the custody section to meet another boss, Manoo Nargvichian. My first responsibilities were to search the prisoners for weapons and drugs when they went in and out of the different buildings, and make sure they were wearing their uniforms correctly, and I had to train the ‘assistants’, the fierce inmates chosen to help the prison officers in keeping a firm control of the jail. Their official name was ‘trustee’.

***

It is the smell of pig shit that hits you first. Livestock were kept to the left of the prison’s entrance, in what was known as the vocational training area. However, that smell was no where as bad as the smell inside the prison. I thought I was going to be sick that first day. I do remember being seriously worried that I wouldn’t be able to stick it out. It’s hard to say which was worse—the stench of urine, shit, stale sweat, or rotting foodstuff.

I wasn’t allowed to patrol the wings of the prison until I had spent a month getting to know the place. Patrolling could be a risky business; a guard had been killed after finding a prisoner attempting to escape. For the first few weeks I only patrolled in the company of a senior officer. We were told never to turn our backs on a prisoner because it would give him the chance to hit you, and we were also told never to stop a fight in case we got hurt. There was an evening and night shift—basically the jail had to be patrolled from 4.30 in the morning to 6am the following morning. This would be divided into three sections: 4.30am – 12pm, 12pm – 3am and 3am to 6am. We would take turns covering the different stages. It was quite strict when I started. You had to walk quietly and not let your keys jangle together. Any guard who fell asleep on his shift would be reported. I think it is different today, a bit more laid-back. The guards today can watch TV, which was unheard of when I first started patrolling.

I was very apprehensive about meeting the prisoners themselves. I had always been careful to stay away from trouble and now I was going to be dealing with hardened criminals. Some of them were definitely rough looking but in fact they were quite well behaved. They knew the rules and most just wanted to keep their heads down and get on with it. It was a big enough job trying to get on with other prisoners without willfully pissing off the guards. There were the normal power struggles as in any society. Someone who committed a murder thought he was toughest until the next one bragged that he had killed 12, and so on. As I got used to the job and the prisoners I reasoned that it didn’t matter how notoriously bad they had been on the outside, now they all had to wear shorts and address me as sir.

Their lives revolved around routine. The day began at 6am with breakfast. At 8.30am prisoners, who wished to, attended the various vocational training workshops or classes. Lunch was at mid-day, followed by more classes at 1pm until 3.30pm. Then there was an hour of recreation for personal activities. Some enjoyed sports or just worked out to keep fit. Dinner was at 4.30pm and at 5.30pm the prisoners were locked back into their cells for the evening. The prisoners were supposed to sleep from 9pm but they usually stayed up until midnight chatting. They had an easier time than prisoners did years ago. In the early days there were no humanitarian organisations keeping an eye on conditions. Nowadays, officers cannot hit inmates and there has also been quite a furore over the wearing of leg irons. The chains are smaller and lighter today and are only used on death row prisoners or on prisoners likely to try to escape. It is the Ministry of Interior who decides whether a prisoner should be chained up or not. Female convicts are not required to wear chains. The shackles were formerly used as an extra punishment for being in prison, now they are more about preventing escape.

I wasn’t interested in befriending the prisoners. One of them did ask me where I was from and was delighted to hear me say Nonthaburi, as that was where he was from. I was very strict in those early days and had no real interest in the men as yet. Over time I would wonder what brought them to the jail. I attended seminars on criminality and read up on the cases of the prisoners to understand them better. Fortunately I didn’t have to patrol as much as the others. I spent a lot of time in my office liaising with the ‘helpers’ which I felt made me look authoritative and gave me a bit of leverage with the rest of the prisoners.

Managing the ‘assistants’ was a good job and I was appreciative of it. I was given it on account of my army training and experience. These inmates were like the highest-ranking prisoners—they didn’t live with the rest of the prisoners, instead they had their own little dormitories which were located in front of Wings 5 and 6. They were my own army of 30 men who had to do my bidding. Of course it wasn’t going to be easy. I had to make my mark first, though only one guy gave me some attitude because I was a rookie. Some papers had fallen all over the floor and I asked him to pick them up. He refused and said it wasn’t his job. I said nothing and just smiled at him, and waited.

On Saturday I summoned all the assistants to my office. I told them that I wanted them to check around the Bang Kwang wall just to make sure all was normal. Not everyone heeded my call. A few of the helpers decided to visit their friends in other wings, this being a Saturday. I was gratified to see that my awkward friend was one of these. I reported all the absentees to my superior with the suggestion that they lose their privileged position. The men who had turned up went running for their friends to warn them. I received quite a few desperate apologies over the next hour but I didn’t care. I wanted to make an impression that I wasn’t to be messed with. The absentees lost out and were sent back to live in the wings; after that nobody tried to test me again.

***

I certainly would not have wanted to live there. Prison life is extremely stressful. You wear the same clothes every day. You share a cell at night-time, and during the day a small room, with far too many other men. Imagine trying to sleep at night with all the snoring, groaning and coughing. They even shower together in groups, in open areas. In the day-time you have to use the toilet in front of your room-mates; there is no toilet door, only a wall that is waist high—to prevent suicides. Although, a few years ago if you needed to take a dump when you were in the cell, you had to sit on a wooden bucket and then clean yourself using a bottle of water kept for that purpose. Arguments would start when sleeping inmates were inevitably hit with bits of shit because they were so near the bucket, through lack of floor space. Now we have toilets in the cells along with small bowls of water.