Part 34: A first-hand account of life in detention in Singapore’s draconian ISA

A narrative about injustice: Going home after 4 years 4 months of solitary confinement

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

I calmed down after my prayers. A couple of hours later, I heard someone calling my name. “Zul. Zul. Bawah pintu” (below the door).

I ignored him. I heard the other prisoners talking and shouting at each other. Most of their shouts were about who had snitched on whom.

“Why did you speak to officer Bryan?” the guy opposite my cell shouted to another prisoner.

They were members of secret societies. There were several groups and they shouted and threatened each other. They cursed and swore at each other’s families.

When the food vent was opened for dinner, I saw the guy opposite my cell. We smiled and he tried to talk. I just smiled and ignored him. He then talked to the prisoner in the cell beside his.

I just wanted to serve the two weeks and leave. But more importantly, I had not spoken to strangers for a long time. I was not used to it. It felt awkward.

I was given a Qur’an and spent my days reading it. Hanani told me ISD had approved for me to get books. The books never came. Another officer, ASP Rozale told me I was not allowed any books.

When Rozale first took me out of the cell, he walked ahead of me and I was allowed to walk on my own. When we rode the lift, I looked at the digital floor numbers and felt as though I was doing something wrong.

Not only was I never able to see where I was at the ISD, I was never allowed to know which floor I was on. Rozale took me to the ground floor and we walked the corridor between the laundry and yard. It was a huge yard with basketball courts.

I took my time to look at the courts. Such open space. Distance. I tried to get used to it. I tried to have a normal conversation with Rozale. He called me a terrorist. I asked him why I was not allowed to speak to the other prisoners.

“Because we don’t want you to radicalise them.”

Another officer called me “Remy.”

“We confuse the others. They won’t know your real name.”

I was not sure why we needed to confuse the other prisoners and for them not to know my name. Everyone’s name and picture were on cell doors. Unlike ISD detention where Gurkha officers delivered the food, at TMP, other prisoners delivered food and laundry. They were also allowed out of their cells. They would have seen my name on the door.

ISD officers came to the prison to return my personal belongings about a week later. My wallet, clothes, some business cards. The TMP took possession of my belongings from the ISD. I noticed later that they did not return my phone.

I asked for it. At first, they feigned ignorance. I had to repeatedly ask the TMP officers to query the ISD for my phone.

On the day of my release from TMP, Tim came to meet me. He told me they would not return my phone.

I was told to “start fresh”.

“I want my children’s pictures and videos on the phone. There are so many photos that are only on the phone.”

They refused.

I was told to write a letter saying I agreed for them to dispose my phone. It did not make sense for me to agree. I wanted the phone. But I signed it to make sure they did not jeopardise my release.

I realised later why they refused to return my phone. It was the same reason the ISD shut down my Facebook and hotmail accounts. There were a lot of evidence on my phone, Facebook, and email accounts to prove their accusations were false. They needed to make sure I did not have access to these evidence.

Later that day, Iqbal and Krishnan came to see me at the prison. I was given the cancellation of Detention Order. One condition of my deportation was that I was not allowed to enter Singapore anymore. If I tried to enter Singapore, I would be subjected to imprisonment.

But according to Krishnan, I could appeal the ban and they would approve it. As long as I behaved, stayed away from my Almakhazin friends and not criticise the government anymore.

On 5th November, I was released from prison and immediately deported. I was initially taken out of the cell and brought to the TMP holding cell. Once again, I was told to strip naked, raise my left leg, right leg, stretch it backwards, squat.

I put on the clothes I wore the day I was arrested.

I was brought to Changi Airport and met with the immigration officers in charge of my deportation. They gave me a suitcase my mother had delivered to them. I was going to Adelaide since Melbourne was not open for international arrivals yet. I would be in hotel quarantine for 2 weeks.

My mother bought me a new iPad, clothes, Australian currency and various items. The immigration officers arranged for me to receive it. They also helped me figure out how to use the iPad.

Tim, Ong and Roslan were there too. Tim gave me a bag of chocolates to bring home.

The chocolate Tim gave me to offset the 4.5 years of detention.

“No hard feelings” he said.

Sunrise was beautiful. It appeared while I was flying over Australia. I took a picture using the iPad. My first view of sunrise in years.

My first sunrise in 4.5 years

When I finally arrived in Adelaide, I felt at home and dislocated. I was not used to being free.

As I walked towards the customs inspection lanes, one of the officers looked at my declaration form and told me to take the end lane. It was empty while another lane was full. I thought it meant I would be allowed through without inspection.

As I walked through the lane, a Border Force officer called me to a checking counter. There was another officer there and we chatted a bit. They asked me where I went, how long I was away, what I did there.

I told them everything. I was in Singapore. I was in detention for almost 4.5 years. I was a political activist and I was detained without trial. A few minutes later, it dawned on me that they knew who I was. I asked them.

“Yes. We have been waiting for you” they admitted.

I continued discussing with them. They took my iPad to their office. They told me they had no issues with me and thanked me for being open. I was taken to a bus and to a hotel in Adelaide for the 2-week quarantine.

I received calls from the quarantine officers and mental health professionals regularly. They said they understood being in quarantine was difficult.

I told them that I just came out of several years of solitary confinement. 2 weeks in a hotel was easy.

“There is a bed. Mattress. Soft pillows. Windows. I can look through the walls. There is a TV. I can talk and see my family on video. This is easy.”

And a lot of good food.

A lot of good food in hotel quarantine

I put on so much weight in quarantine. I talked to my family everyday. When I arrived at the hotel on the first day, I logged in to the Wi-Fi immediately. My mother had left instructions on the iPad for me to use the Discord app so I could video call them.

I spoke with my children, my mother, my brother and his family. They cried when they saw me safe in Australia.

But Shireen was at work and did not know how to log in to Discord. After I spoke with them, Alauddin and Iskandar went to her school to help her log in. They did not tell her that I had arrived and had video called them.

They wanted to surprise her.

Alauddin and Iskandar pretended to help Shireen log in. When they showed her the phone screen, she saw me on video and immediately broke down.

My first video call with Shireen. She is crying. Our son Iskandar tried to console her. Alauddin took the picture.

“Are you safe? Are you safe?” she cried. She could not speak.

A friend bought me a new iPhone and delivered it to the hotel.

Towards the end of my quarantine, Adelaide went into lockdown. I had to wait another day before I could return home. On 22nd November 2020, I took a flight home to Melbourne. When I left the hotel, I was unsure what to do. For the first time in 4 years and 5 months, I could go anywhere I wanted. There was no escort. No instructions or demands.

I was disoriented.

I took a taxi to the airport and kept looking at the people around me.

Was I doing anything wrong? Was I allowed to walk up the escalators? Buying drinks for myself felt strange. My wife and children waited for me at Melbourne airport. Umar ran towards me and I lifted him.

Meeting my wife and children at Melbourne Airport.

My other children and Shireen surrounded me.

As though it was so normal, Shireen’s and my hands sought each other. We held hands as we walked out the airport to the car. I had not seen them for almost a year due to the Covid border closures. And we had not had proper hugs since my detention.

They asked me if I wanted to have a meal somewhere before going home.

Leaving the airport with Shireen and our children.

“I just want to be home.”

My family had moved house since my detention. This was a new place. It was surreal being home with my wife and children, but at a house I did not recognise.

For almost 4.5 years, my whole life was just 2m x 3m. At the new house, my bedroom was 20m from the living room. It felt so far. I had to get used to it.

There was so much space. So many people.

Time flew. The days went so fast. My children bought a car for me, took me out for meals. I had gone from solitary confinement, locked in a small cell alone, unable to speak or walk freely to being with my wife and children and able to go anywhere I wanted.

It was a lot to take in.

I needed a lot of readjustment. My children had grown up since my detention. Nafeesa was 12 when I was arrested. She was turning 17 when I returned home. I missed most of her teenage life. Umar was almost 6 when I was arrested and 10 when I was released. I missed out on so much of their growing years.

Mukmin was married for 2 years.

Alauddin was planning to get married and working full time. Iskandar was in his fourth year of University. Saifullah had graduated high school and planning to go into apprenticeship.

I did not get to attend his graduation.

All of them had changed. A lot.

I had to find my way back into the family. Shireen had changed too. And so had I. I knew that I would need to get to know my family again. I did not realise how different things were.

And how much I had to learn about them.

My wife and children had lived without me for years. They had taken care of themselves and each other. I felt like I was joining an existing family. I had to learn what they liked, their habits, their plans. They spoke differently now and had their own inside jokes. I was their father. I took care of them and protected them in their early lives.

Now, I am totally reliant on them and tried to fit in.

Some friends came to visit me.

I could not adapt at first. Shireen told me that I fell back into myself regularly. Whenever there were people around me, I would talk to them a little and suddenly go blank. As though I was inside myself.

I felt my mind folding back onto itself.

When anyone spoke with me, I felt as though they were assessing me. Just like every time when I met with ISD officers, psychologists or the RRG Ustadz. I clammed up.

A few weeks later, I went to the doctor and sought help. I asked for referral to a psychologist.

I spent the next 9 months speaking with a psychologist. When I told them what happened to me, both the doctor and psychologist were worried I would have PTSD.

I needed to work out the damage the ISD and their psychologists inflicted. The Australian psychologist kept reminding me that I was not in Singapore anymore. That the ISD had no control over me. I was back in Australia.

Both of them said I did not look like someone who spent 4.5 years in solitary confinement. I was jovial and talked openly. But I knew that I needed to work through the damage the ISD did.

We discussed what the ISD psychologists said and their political demands. I was able to work through the social anxiety I had since my release. I trusted others again. I am still working through some of the damage they did but I am comfortable with myself now.

When I was in quarantine, I contacted the lawyer Shireen had engaged for me. I asked her to arrange for me to meet with the Australian Federal Police. I wanted to get it done. The lawyer informed me that according to the AFP, there was no active investigations on me. I did not have to meet with them. I told her I wanted to.

Three weeks after my return to Melbourne, I met with several law enforcement officers with my lawyer. I told them everything. I told them my discussions, my views, what happened to me. I told them about the false confessions and the threats.

One of the officers blurted out “so cruel” when I told them about Tim’s “jihad camp”. (Read here on “jihad camp”)

At the end of the interview, I was told they were at ease with me.

“You are an Australian citizen. We are a liberal democracy. You have the right to your opinions.”

Yes I do.

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