Wednesday June 25, 2008
Forces at work
After spending three months in jail, the writer is sent to a drug rehabilitation centre. In this second of his three-part narrative, he recounts the horror stories he has heard about these facilities, and who calls the shots there.
By A. ANON
The court order to be sent to a government one-stop centre was probably the most despondent moment in my life given the circumstances.
In my mind then, these centres were for hardcore addicts: those who used drugs like heroin and morphine daily; spent a lot of time under bridges, in abandoned houses or secluded areas; were involved in crime to support their habit and forsaken by their families.
Inmates of drug rehabilitation centres have their own hierarchy, in which ‘big brothers’ establish dominance over the rest, especially the newbies. I had made a reasonable representation, and I felt the three months in remand was punishment enough. However, the magistrate decided to endorse the district anti-drug officer’s standard and oft-repeated recommendation that “subject should undergo specially planned treatment and rehabilitation”.
It all seemed unreal. While most people were with their families and loved ones, I had spent the Deepavali and Aidilfitri holidays inside a filthy lock-up that reeked of urine, waiting to be sent to my new “home”.
Now, sitting with handcuffs in a van and escorted by two policemen, my six-hour journey to Gambang, Pahang, was nearing its end. At Stop Oil KM22 (displayed on a big signboard), it turned into a winding side road flanked by oil palms which later gave way to secondary jungle.
There was fear and apprehension in my heart upon sighting the signboard at the road’s end proclaiming: Pusat Serenti Gambang and Agensi Anti-Dadah Kebangsaan (AADK).
I had reason to be worried, for during my remand at the Pengkalan Chepa prison, I had heard some acquaintances recounting their negative experiences – harsh bullying of newcomers by officers and senior inmates, and of tough daily activities and programmes that included hours of marching drills under the hot sun.
These acquaintances also said that many newcomers, pushed to the limit of their tolerance and endurance, would escape although previously they might not have had the intention to do so.
These government pusat serenti or one-stop drug rehabilitation centres certainly do not enjoy a good reputation nor evoke much confidence among the public, mainly due to the various negative reports that have appeared in the media.
There were quite frequent reports of inmates (or “trainees”) escaping, of drugs and alcohol finding their way inside, homosexuality, riots and violence. The incident where an officer was stabbed at Pusat Serenti Perlop in Sungai Siput, Perak, last year during a riot certainly added to this already negative perception about pusat serenti.
Inside racket
So what really goes on in these centres? To put it simply, it depends on which centre one is talking about and the specific period in time.
It would not be right nor accurate to make the generalisation that “one size fits all”, for there are 29 such centres in the country. They also tend to be in a constant state of change, either for the better or worse. This was one peculiar factor that I discovered, based on my own experience and through interviews with various inmates and officers.
One centre that was previously rated as “tolerable enough” might turn into “harsh and deplorable” in less than a year. Conversely, what was once negative might swing the other way. To a large extent, it depends on the quality of the officers and the inmates present at any one time.
Ask someone who had been in Pusat Serenti Gambang (PSG) before 2006 about his experience and he would most probably snigger and surprise you by saying, “It was great!”
Gambang at one time was one of the most notorious centres in Malaysia. It was classed and derided as “bohsia” – a place where anything goes. It was indeed “great” for those who chose to have a rip-roaring time during the supposed “treatment and rehabilitation” by indulging in drugs and alcohol.
And many inmates, too, had the audacity to flatly refuse to engage in rehabilitation activities, without fear of repercussion.
During that time, it was also child’s play to escape – and most did.
For the newcomer who was still resenting the court order that forced them there, the prospect of immediate freedom was tempting. Although surrounded by oil-palm estates, hills and jungles, PSG could hardly be described as “isolated”. It was quite easy to get to Kuantan or nearby towns – and to any place in the country from there.
For those who stayed, the challenge was to get out, and back in again, within a stipulated time – the specialty of a particular class of inmates known as kuda (runners or couriers). They were people crucial to the illegal operations that kept the supply of drugs, alcohol, thinner and tobacco flowing, and were respected by the others.
Money was required for these substances and there were two ways to get it – through friends or family members or by selling to nearby sundry shops and villages items siphoned off by inmates who worked in the kitchen: chicken, meat, rice, sugar and condensed milk.
There were a few handphones carefully hidden inside some of the hostels. Among other things, they were used by inmates to plead for money to be deposited in a certain bank account. The runner would be given the ATM card to withdraw the cash – minus his cut, of course.
Deals would also be cut through these handphones where arrangements were made for the kuda to pick up the drugs and return to Gambang. And these places might even be in Kuala Lumpur or Kelantan – hundreds of kilometres away!
Who’s the boss
It would be easy indeed to blame this indiscipline and lack of security on “incompetent officers”. But there are peculiarities and forces in play in this institution known as pusat serenti that may not exist elsewhere.
In these centres, there tended to be a group known as the abang-abang (literally “big brothers”). These were the masterminds and tough dudes who controlled the illegal operations, and held sway over the other inmates.
They would instigate disturbances and riots whenever it suited their purpose. One word from these abang-abang and the whole inmate population would rise, giving strength to whatever demands they might make.
And these ringleaders would be shrewd enough to incite the others on days when the inmates were also intoxicated with homemade samsu, ensuring a certain degree of enthusiasm in their participation.
In most disturbances, many of these inmates were unwilling participants. However, there was fear – and sometimes, real respect – of the seniors, and they did not want to be the odd ones out.
At Gambang, some of the inmates were also armed with parangs, knives, spears and catapults. The officers controlled the area where the offices were located but it was the inmates – or more precisely, the seniors – who were in charge in the hostels and other areas.
There were auxiliary policemen whose main task was to maintain discipline and security, plus many male officers. But with their physical selves at risk, plus the real possibility of seeing the centre literally up in flames, they were forced to turn a blind eye to many of the offences.
In this environment, discipline and morale suffered. The officers tasked with counselling and implementing self-improvement programmes, who tended to be women, became discouraged by the lack of response and interest and the insolence some inmates displayed.
In every centre and at any given time, there are bound to be inmates who were amenable to positive change through guidance by trained officers and positive peer pressure. They were the ones who lost out.
But fortunately for me, change was in the air when I arrived there in November 2005. Through a continuous combination of inspired leadership, hard work from the officers and some fortuitous events, Gambang gradually transformed into a different entity.
In the final part tomorrow, the writer talks about his incarceration at Pusat Serenti Gambang. Go to thestar.com.my for the first article.
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