So begins my ordeal as ISA detainee
Raja Petra Kamarudin

“Empat puloh dua!” (Forty-two!)

“Ya!” I respond immediately as I had been tutored during my orientation the day I checked in.

“Keluar!” (Get out!)

I haul my aching body up from the board that has been my bed these last three days. The padlock is unlocked with the now all too familiar loud clank and the door creaks open. I wobble out of my eight by nine feet windowless concrete cell that doubles as my sleeping quarters and extend my arms out in front of me.

The handcuffs are slapped onto my wrists and a blindfold - dark glasses painted over - are placed over my eyes. The guard leads me out of my cellblock and my journey to an unknown destination begins.

I wonder where they will be taking me today.

“Turun!” (Step down!) I obey as commanded.

Today is my third day of detention so, by now, I am very familiar with the routine. I feel the ground with my bare feet and gingerly place one foot in front of the other. I obediently step over the drain at the command of “langkah” (Step over), take a step up at the shout of “naik” (Step up), and step down again when my guide yells “turun”.

’Blind’ world

Inside here we move around in a “blind” world so I am fully dependent on the direction of my guard to make the precarious trip to wherever it is they are taking me today.

Today we turn right. This is a new route. Yesterday it was straight ahead, across a gravel road, and the day before that it was left. Every day is a new journey for me and different from the previous day’s. My nights might be dull, but the days are full of new surprises and dreaded anticipation.

I am now in a room - I can feel the strong draft from the blasting air conditioner. I detect others in the room from the whispers that fall silent as soon as I step in. My handcuffs are removed, then my blindfold.

It takes a second or two for me to reorient my sight. There are two officers in plainclothes in front of me - one seated with clasped hands on the table, and the other leaning against the wall glaring at me menacingly. They do not look friendly at all.

Today, I believe, my ordeal will begin.

I stand at attention and gaze unflinchingly at my new “companions”. I am trying very hard not to look down at the floor, as this would be a revelation of my fear. They stare at me coldly and expressionless.

So, we are going to outstare each other are we? I am determined not to lose this “contest” by blinking first.

“Are you a Muslim?” the seated officer barks out to me in Malay in a very irritated tone of voice.

“Yes,” I reply, with an almost trembling voice.

“Then why did you not give us a salam (Muslim greeting - Assalamu Alaikum - which means ‘may peace be upon you’) when you came in?”

Why I should offer peace greetings when I am not at peace with them is beyond me.

I grope for a credible reply to what is apparently my transgression. This is our maiden meeting and already I have antagonised my interrogators. This is not a good start. I need to quickly pacify them with a suitable excuse.

“I was told not to speak unless spoken to,” I lie.

“Who told you this?”

Further scrutiny

Oh, oh. I am sunk. I should have known one question would lead to another. Maybe I should have just apologised and left it at that instead of trying to wangle out of this tight corner with an excuse that cannot be sustained under further scrutiny.

“The guards,” I lie again. Actually it is not quite a lie. Yesterday one guard did command me to keep quiet when I made an unsolicited comment, though he did not quite say this is a permanent rule throughout my stay here.

“Well, they are wrong.” Hmm, it looks like my story is holding up after all. “Maybe outside this room you are not allowed to speak. But inside here you must give a salam the minute you walk in. Understand?”

I nod to indicate the message has got through loud and clear and give the much sought-after salam - though, God knows, it is not given in sincerity or with Muslim brotherhood in mind.

“Lagi!” (More!)

More? What more does he want?

“Lagi?” I ask.

“Ya. What is your name?”

“Oh, sorry, I was told that inside here my name no longer exists. I am Raja Petra bin Raja Kamarudin.”

This time I speak the truth. When I was first brought in the morning of my arrest I was told I am now known as OKT (Orang Kena Tahan) 42/01 (Detainee 42/01). I will be called that and will answer when I hear this called out. My name is no longer in use here. This is the first thing you lose after you lose your freedom - your identity.

“Lagi?”

Lagi again? What more does he want me to say? Why doesn’t he guide me along? I ask him so and he replies, “Your number?”

Lost the first round

“Oh, yes, number OKT forty-two stroke zero one,” I quickly reply. Surely he knows this already.

“Right, in future, every time you walk into this room, you give your salam, tell us your name, and mention your number.”

“Okay,” I reply in a weak voice with my gaze now to the floor. I have lost the first round - the staring contest. I now fear looking him in the eye, lest he interpret this as defiance.

“You will reply in Malay when I speak Malay to you. You will only speak English when I speak to you in English. Do you understand this?”

I indicate my comprehension of this rule with a nod and a feeble “Yes.”

“And we will speak in Malay, as this is our national language.”

Again I indicate my understanding of what is expected of me.

“And you will remain standing until I ask you to sit down.”

I make sure there is no delusion that I not only understand all these commandments but will comply with them to the letter.

This is going to be one long day. I am already weak from three days of complete starvation. This last rule is going to be easier said than done.

So begins my ordeal.

The first day and already I am broken

“We will not beat you!”

This is nice. But how come I don’t believe him? How come I don’t feel assured?

“We are not animals. We will not touch you. I know what they say about the police. But inside here no one will harm you.”

Phew, my worst fears are over. That was the one uncertainty I was hoarding these last three days while waiting for this moment to arrive. What a way to start my interrogation. All that planning for nothing! My entire well-thought-of kicks and punches gone to waste. Funny I should think this but, in a way, I am disappointed. It’s a sort of anticlimax. Well, I suppose I can relax now. There will be no physical abuse after all. Now I can concentrate on my state of mind.

“Where were you during the Jalan Kebun demonstration?” The second guy takes over.

My eyes follow my interrogator as he paces the floor. This guy looks violent. Who knows, they may be tricking me into thinking there will not be any beatings and, just when I am relaxed, they surprise me with a blow?

“I was at home,” I reply.

“Yes. And why were you at home? Why were you not also at the demonstration? You ask innocent people to come out and demonstrate. Then you stay in the safety of your home. Why did you not go to the frontline? Why do you ask others to get beaten up by the FRU and get shot with teargas? Why not you yourself go to the frontline and take the beatings and teargas?”

So many questions, but I have no replies.

“You ask people to come out and demonstrate but you yourself are afraid to come out. What kind of a leader are you? You are not a leader! You have no balls! Coward!”

He walks away then turns to face me again. This is probably part of his dramatic effect. “People like you make me sick. I have no respect for people like you.” He gestures with his hands to emphasise his disgust.

‘I know what you are thinking’

Now I am angry. I cannot let him get away with these insults. “I was at home because my job is to update the Website. I have to give running commentaries as to what is happening on the Kesas Highway. This was the task allocated to me. Someone had to do it, if not the world wouldn’t be informed about what was happening on the Kesas Highway.” I express my views forcefully.

“Oh, you are angry with us, is it?” The first guy butts in.

“No, I am not.”

“Your voice sounds like you are angry.”

“No, I am just speaking loudly that’s all. This is how I speak.”

The second guy takes over again. “You are not just speaking loudly. You are angry. I can tell from your tone of voice.”

I do not reply but just look down at the floor.

“You are angry with us, right?” It is now the first guy’s turn. “We are very well trained. We are trained to read your mind. Just by looking at your face I can read your mind. I know what you are thinking. You are angry with us. I can tell.”

I just nod.

“I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, if you could, you would like to beat us up, right? Admit it.”

I look him in the eye. “You, maybe, but not him,” as I point to the other guy pacing the floor.

He laughs while the pacer remains stern. “Why not him?”

“Because I think I can defeat you. But he looks like he will beat me back. I don’t think you will be able beat me though.”

He laughs again, while his comrade reveals an amused smile.

“Why do you say he will beat you back?”

“Because he looks like a black belt.”

Go on, cry!

They both laugh and I look down again. The chief interrogator sits back and sizes me up. I look up, curious as to why the sudden silence. He sneers, revealing his contempt for me. With wagging finger pointing at me, “Do you believe or not, we are trained to read your mind?”

I humour him. “If you were not well trained, you wouldn’t be given the job of interrogating me.”

He seems pleased with this reply, and smiles.

“Yes. That’s right. And I am now reading your mind. I know what you are thinking. Do you want me to tell you what you are thinking?”

Actually, I am not in the least interested whether he knows what I am thinking but I think it best not to tell him so. “I am curious,” I lie.

“You are thinking of your wife. I know you love your wife very much. You are always with your wife. You are never separated from her. Now that you are in here alone, and separated from her, you are thinking of her. Right?”

I just nod without any eye contact.

“Yes. I knew this all along. And you feel like crying right?”

I look directly at him and shake my head.

“I know you feel like crying. Admit it!”

“Yes.” My voice is now very weak.

“So, why don’t you cry? Cry! Go on, cry!”

“I will not cry!” I defy him, while biting my lips to control myself.

“I know you want to cry. Don’t hold back. Go on. Cry!”

Emotional wreck

I can no longer fight back the tears. The tears flow down my cheeks and I hide my face in shame. I refuse to let them see me break down. I want to be strong. I want to fight them. A fighter does not cry. But I am now crying. I am no fighter. I am weak. It’s only the first day of interrogation and already I have broken down.

“I thought you were tough. I thought you were a gangster.” The ‘black belt’ has another go at me. “You know or not, when I saw your photos, I thought, ‘Wah! This is a tough guy.’ When I saw how you chased TV3 out of your office, I thought you are going to be difficult to break. But you are nothing.”

I hate myself for this. I hate them. They know my weakness and they worked on it. Even before the first day is up they have succeeded in making me cry. They now know how to play with my emotions. Now that they know this, they can control me. They can manipulate my emotions whenever they want to.

I have lost the first round. They now own me. As long as I cannot control my emotions, they can make me do what they want. These guys are good. I thought I could fight them, but it’s not that easy after all. I had planned well how to handle the anticipated fistfights. But there are no fistfights here. It’s a fight of the mind. This I did not plan for, and this is why I have been caught off-guard.

I can see they are happy with themselves. They fired their first shot and they hit the bull’s eye. After this it will be downhill all the way. Their job is going to be easier than they thought. They thought they were up against a tough nut. Now they know they have an emotional wreck on their hands.

This is just like taking candy from a kid.

RAJA PETRA KAMARUDIN, FAC's director was detained for 52 days after he was arrested under the Internal Security Act in April, along with nine other reformasi activists, for allegedly seeking to overthrow the government by ‘militant means’.

His book, From Prince to Prisoner, which chronicles his experience while in police custody, will be launched on Sunday, Aug 19.