Date: Sat, 25 Mar 2000 23:01:16 PST Why visit a Prison, let alone in Thailand? I've yet to form a definitive answer to this question, but I do have some ideas. I had spotted handwritten pleas posted by backpackers and expats, their compassion and desperation scared me. I tried to imagine the life of a fellow Canadian in a foreign jail, and if only for a few hours I wanted to help alleviate their pain. As I left the guesthouse from Khao Sahn Road, Bangkok, I had little idea what to expect. I could never have guessed the apathy I felt >after 16 months travelling was about to be erased. Today I was off to Dan Kwan Prison, AKA the "Bangkok Hilton" The one-hour journey to Dan Kwan was an experience within itself. In terms of pollution, crowds and traffic, Bangkok serves its reputation well. With a little effort however a more endearing scenario unfolds. Alms collecting Monks gently conversing with Noodle vendors and parades of boisterous school children all share the same alleys in a uniquely South East Asianexperience. It was amongst this beauty that I boarded the longtail boat, which plied up the filthy Chao Phraya River to the walls of the "Hilton". After passing security, I am directed to a row of 15 picnic tables, where as the inmates shuffle in, a myriad of languages erupt. It reminds of a U.N. free-for-all. Before this madness has time to register, a slight bespectacled man, separated by two chain fences, sits across from me, this is my first introduction to Jimmy Bradford*. An Australian citizen, Jimmy was busted while attempting to smuggle 36 grams of heroin (approximately a tablespoon) back home four years ago. Jimmy has 46 years left to serve, and hasn't received a visitor in 3 months; needless to say he's excited. During our two hours, no topic is avoided. His guilt and previous addiction, living conditions and tales of the raucous Black Market is spoken of candidly. 14 hours of inmates' day are spent in lockdown. Beyond this, the number one priority is food. Farang (Non-Thai) prisoners are given negligible amounts, requiring Jimmy and his three culinary/security partners to utilize the Black Market daily. I can only hope the bag of fruit I donated served as a welcome respite to their struggle. The polluted river I traveled up serves as the prisoners' bathing water; brown meaning silt, green indicating worm larvae present; luckily for Jimmy the day I arrived the water was a healthy brown! Soap isn't effective in these conditions; rather disinfectant is used to kill the waterborne parasites and worms exposed to skin after contact. Not surprisingly, tales of Guard conduct dominated our conversation. Could some of these stories be embellished for the sake of listener, perhaps. Were these stories of fear and mistrust based on fact, definitely. Due to underpayment, the "Hilton" prison guards employed various methods to ensure 'sufficient' wages. According to Jimmy, guards ran the Black Market. Food, Alcohol, drugs, and protection was all readily available, at a price. Tales of botched prison escapes and the retribution that followed were remorseless. There are no appeals or hearings here, only solitary confinement and public floggings. For two hours I had been under the spell of Jimmy's persona. Didn't this man realize he had 46 more years to endure his entire natural life! It seemed as if the outside world had given up, yet what could I do to help? The emotions I experienced as we parted ways will never be forgotten. I was about to re-enter the free world and he was condemned. Jimmy sensed the end and last minute requests for disinfectant and cigarettes were shouted through fence barricades, as Guards signaled time-up with a slap of their Bamboo staffs against the concrete wall. As I watched Jimmy disappear into the unspeakable mess he is forced to call home, I couldn't escape the question; did this punishment fit the crime?*Not his real name
