Part 24: A first-hand account of life in detention in Singapore’s draconian ISA

A narrative about injustice: Gathering information on ISD

A continuation of Zulfikar’s account of life under Singapore’s ISA

For the first year and a half, I was in cells with closed circuit cameras mounted on the corner between the back and side walls, opposite the squat toilet. Those were cells D2, A10, C10 and B10. Cells numbered “10” were at the end of the wing, just before the door to the yard.

Running through the centre of each wing was a 2m high partition, blocking us from the opposite cells. Those cells seemed larger. As we enter each wing, there were 10 cells on the left and 5 on the right. I was only ever in cells on the left. Apart from my first cell and those numbered “10”, the rest of the cells I was in did not have a camera. Or at least I think so. I cannot assume anything with the ISD.

When changing cells, an ISD prison officer would come over and tell me “cell change”. That was it. I would immediately be brought to another cell. I changed cells probably 10 times in the 4 years and 4 months.

I would go to bed at around 9pm every night. After my isha’ prayers, which would be a little after 8pm, I would read the Qur’an for a few minutes before setting the blanket to sleep on. I could not sleep on my back and had to turn on my side which puts pressure on the knee and hip bones as I laid on the stone. I could not sleep properly throughout my detention. I would wake up between 7-10 times every night. The good thing about not being able to sleep was that I could perform my night prayers.

The Gurkha officers have been told not to speak with detainees. They were not allowed to give us any information. Not even what day it was. But when I woke up for prayers, I would like to know what time it was, just to get a sense of how much time I had left before the dawn prayers. So I learned the sentries’ shift patterns.

I figured out that three Gurkha sentries worked in three shifts over 24 hours. They get the next day off. I monitored their shifts and realised that they worked 3 x 3 x 2 hour shifts, starting from the morning shift.

So when I woke up at night, I sometimes asked for new uniform. When the officer attended to me, I could know which two hour block it was by whether it was the first, second or third shift officer. Sometimes, I would just ask “is it long time before the next prayer time?” They would either tell me yes/no or an estimate number of hours to go. With these little bits of information, I was able to get some sense of control over my time.

Some sentries were nicer than others. In the absence of family or friends, the little interaction that I had with these officers became significant. Even though they did not talk to me, feeling a little kindness made me feel human rather than just something in a cell that ISD officers would call out occasionally to get information or assess.

I looked forward to some of the Gurkha sentries’ shifts. Only four out of 5 wings would be in use at once. Having the empty wing made it easy for them to transfer whole wings every few weeks or months. I figured out that the sentries would rotate back to my wing every 9 days.

Another way to get some control over my detention was to gather information. When I was detained, I decided to look at it as research. Not many Singaporeans understood what went on in ISD detention. I did not either. I did not want to be detained but I was going to make full use of it.

Two months after I was detained, my family informed me that La Trobe University had terminated my PhD candidacy. In the letter of termination, they specified the detention and its terrorism accusations as the reason. With my research on ASEAN democratisation gone, I focused on researching how ISD behaved. I tried to gain as much information as I could from the type of fluorescent tubes used (Philips) to the layout of the detention centre (I managed to sneak peeks through the bottom of the hood and side of the blackened goggles), to the tactics employed to break down a detainee.

I was not sure what I would do with the information I gathered. Initially, I used it to keep my mind active. There was very little to learn since I was not allowed out of the cells and would be blindfolded whenever I was. I only decided to write a book about my detention in the 3rd year. Prior to that, I was focused on returning to academia. After the extension of the detention order and witnessing the corruption of the ISD, I decided that it was my responsibility as someone who had witnessed the ISD’s abuse to write and speak about it.

I created memory aids, memorised layouts, conversations, dates, events. My memory is not perfect. For example, I cannot remember the number of “shut ups” Tim shouted during any interrogation or the exact date somethings happened. But for the important discussions, I remembered what were discussed, the posture, behaviour, the type of abusive words or threats used.

The officers had a lot to remember too. According to Iqbal, for every 5 minutes he spent speaking with me, he would need to submit 1 hour worth of report. I regularly recounted our conversations from months earlier. They knew that I had a good memory. Once, he asked me if I remembered everything we discussed a couple of days earlier. I had to run through the whole discussion.

He said, he had to report most of it.

One thing the ISD really dislike was for a detainee to have any sense of control. I was able to predict time and behaviour. For example, we were not told the times we would be brought to the yard. These times changed daily. Until March 2020, I get to go to the yard for 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening (still in solitary). During COVID, the ISD minimised contact, so we were brought to the yard for 1 hour once a day.

But because I did not know when I would be brought to the yard, I had no control over my time. It took me several months to realise that yard times were on weekly rotation. If I was on the first “shift” on Monday, I would be on that shift next Monday too. And I realised that being on first shift in the morning meant the same for the afternoon session.

That allowed me to tell time. Whenever I get to see an officer’s watch, I would use it. I would count the number of times the door had been slammed to know how many yard shifts had gone for the day. The doors were heavy and closed loudly. Because the Gurkha officers needed to get ready for every detainee, there was a 5-minute interval between every exercise shift. If I was on first shift and I noticed it was 7am, I would know the second shift would begin at 7:35am. And the same for the afternoon session.

I would sometimes ask my mother for the accurate prayer times. When the officers told me that it was time to pray, I would have another mark to the day. So even though I did not have a watch, I was able to tell time in blocks.

The yard time also helped me manage family visits. I lived for those visits. There were 14 yards between each visit. At the end of every exercise session, I would count down the number of yards until the next visit: “Two done and twelve to go” or “Seven done and seven to go. Halfway through.” I would also countdown the days before the next visit.

My wife and children visited me every 6 months. They would fly out to Singapore just to be able to meet me for a few minutes over 5 weeks. My brother would visit with my mother everytime he was in Singapore. My mother would visit every week without fail. The only times she did not visit were when my wife and children were visiting me, to allow them more time with me.

I found out later that during one of her visits, my mother was actually ill. She had been hospitalised and checked herself out of the hospital against doctor’s advice to visit me. She did not want me to be alone. I lived for those moments.

I learned that for some detainees, their families did not visit them. After years of detention, they were abandoned. Some were divorced. My family’s standing by me throughout my detention was one of my greatest blessings.

My wife and children would visit me for 5 weeks around every 24 weeks. I would count down the number of weeks. Every Monday, I would mentally cross out another week. 19 weeks to go. 18 weeks. 17. When it was down to 9 weeks, I would celebrate: “Single digit left.”

I kept up hope through celebrating little milestones. I would countdown to my family’s birthday or anniversaries. On their birthdays, I would face the mirror and wished them “Happy birthday”.

Every year, as we approached the AB meeting, I would look forward to being released. I would countdown the dates.

So even though I was not supposed to know the time, day or date, I made sure I knew them. I also knew when the barber would visit (last Tuesday of every month), when we would get nail clippers or shave (Tuesdays and Saturdays). Several times, ISD prison officers would tell me that the “barber is not coming today” only for me to brought to the haircutting room an hour later.

Once, I told an ISD prison officer that the day before was my birthday.

“How do you know?” he snapped. “Did your case officer tell you?”

“No. But I had been celebrating it for 46 years” I replied.

I was also able to predict when the officers would visit. There was usually a pattern. They would usually meet the same day as family visits. The next time I would meet with an officer would be 2 days later. Iqbal, who took over my case after the first year would try to convince me that I would not be able to predict his visits. For a week or two, he would break the pattern. But he would return to it everytime.

Keeping detainees ignorant of the date, day, time, interrogation sessions kept us disoriented, helpless and pliant. We were totally at their mercy.

I noted all of that.

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