[Today, 27 October, marks the beginning of a police operation code-named ‘Operation Lalang’, some 33 years ago. For a few nights from 27 October 1987, leaders of various organisations were arrested and detained without trial. This article is the Prologue to my out-of-print book “Fragments From Kamunting: 325 days in police custody for the Christian faith”.]
It was 10.00 pm, 27th October 1987. I had just returned home from a pastoral visit. My ten-month-old third son who had not been well, vomited out the milk he had drunk. When I finished cleaning up the mess on the floor, a voice from outside the house called out my name. I peered out of the grill-door, and saw silhouetted in the street light some men, a few of whom were carrying large torchlights.
I went out and asked, not noticing at first the police van parked in the shadow a short distance away, “Are you students from the university?”
“No. We are police officers from Bukit Aman1. We are here to arrest you!”
The man who replied was an inspector from the Special Branch. With him was another inspector, an assistant superintendent of police (ASP), and five detectives. A number of faces appeared strangely familiar. It then dawned on me that some of these men had been observing my movements for the past months.
I invited the men to come into the house. Four of them came in while the others stayed outside. The spokesman-inspector told me that I was being arrested under the ISA (Internal Security Act, 1960).
“For what reason?” I asked. “You will know later. You follow us now. Pack up some clothing.”
“How long will I be away?” I asked. “Oh, a few days,” came the reply. The officer then said he had order to ransack the house. He went straight to the bookshelves and collected some nine Christian books in Malay and English to take away.
I was taken to the police station in the area where I lived, which is about a mile away from my home. Two officers were left to guard me, while the others went off to make more arrests.
I learnt later that that was a major police operation, code-named ‘Operation Lalang’2, in which nearly 200 people were arrested. The political situation in the country had become very tense in the past months. Communal feelings had been whipped up to near bursting point and there was fear of a racial riot breaking out, like the one that occurred in May, 1969.
Apart from other issues, one politician had claimed that some 60,000 Muslims had been converted to Christianity in the country. That was, of course, not true. The politician concerned retracted his statement later, but it was too late. The issue was picked up by others and the ensuing debates added fuel to the already tense situation in the country. The Muslims became agitated over the alleged conversion of so many of their own people. That was one reason why the police focussed their attention on the Christians, of whom I was one, when we were not involved in politics in any way.
I was taken to the district police station in Kajang. There, the police officers had their midnight supper, gleeful over the night’s successful operalion. I was next taken to the police station at Sentul in the city of Kuala Lumpur. That appeared to be a centre to which all who were arrested that night were taken. From there, we were despatched in different police vehicles, blindfolded and handcuffed, to a secret police remand centre on the outskirts of the city.
On arrival, the systematic process of de-individualisation began. I was told to strip and change into dark blue prison clothes. Fingerprints, of every finger, were taken. A number was assigned to me. Photographs were taken from the front and sides while I carried a wooden plague bearing that number, at chest level. My personal effects, toothbrush and wedding ring were kept in my bag, tagged with my number, and stored in the office. A rough blanket, a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste and a plastic mug, all dumped into a plastic pail, were given to me. All this done, the officer now wiped his fingers, dirtied from taking my fingerprints, on the blanket in the pail.
I was taken, handcuffed and blindfolded with wrap-around opaque goggles, along some corridors to a cell. Once there, the handcuffs and goggles were taken off me. The policeman on duty warned me not to communicate with anyone in the other cells, not to make noise, and not to try to escape. For measure, he warned that I would be shot if I attempted to escape. I had the temerity to ask him the time. It was 4.30 am.
I began examining the cell more closely. There was a concrete bed, on top of which was a slab of thin plywood serving as “mattress”, and immediately next to it a squatting toilet with a tap protruding about a foot from floor level. A three foot high swinging door at the toilet provided a measure of privacy when it was used. The cell was filthy with cobwebs on the walls and dust on the floor. The toilet was dirty with a coat of yellowish slime. When I lifted the plywood “mattress”, I found to my horror a patch of black ants nesting underneath! I gently put back the plywood for fear of disturbing the ants any further. For the next sixty-one days, I had to lay myself gingerly on the bed each time for fear of disturbing the ants underneath. Four days later, a dirty green mattress was dragged into the cell for me.
I laid down on the bed, with hands under the head, and began looking around the cell. From the square asbestos pieces on the ceiling, I estimated that the cell was eight feet wide and nine-and-a-half feet long. One wall was made of ventilating bricks with interlocking leaves that allowed in air and light but which cut off vision. By measuring the thickness of the bricks with the span of my hind, and counting the number of bricks up the wall, I estimated that the height of the cell was fifteen feet.
A carpenter bird in the distance began its monotonous sequence of, “Tutt, tutt, tutt, tutt…” sound. When it stopped, another responded. These birds were to be heard every night for the rest of my sixty-one days there, until I was transferred to Kamunting in the north of the country. I began thinking of my family, the church, and a host of other things, and finally fell asleep. Thus began my 325 days of nightmare…
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1. The national police headquarters is located on a hill called “Bukit Aman” in the city of Kuala Lumpur.
2. “Lalang” is a tough weed disliked by farmers.