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One of the silliest arguments in the defence of the Internal Security Act (ISA) is that there have not been any criticisms of the Act or the Internal Security Department (ISD) by former detainees.

Josiah Zee, in his article “Defending Singapore’s Internal Security Act: Balancing the need for national security with the rule of law” claimed:

Josiah used the claim that there have been a lack of challenge by former detainees as an indication that those detained are really guilty.

How silly.

For starters, let us note that several former detainees have written about their experiences and how they were forced to make false confessions.

The best known book on the corruption of the ISD is probably Francis Seow’s To Catch a Tartar.

Seow was a former Solicitor General of Singapore. He was arrested and detained for 72 days because he challenged Lee Kuan Yew’s attempt to control the Law Society. He described how the ISD extracts false confessions from detainees:

Said Zahari was detained without trial for about 17 years. He was arrested a few hours after he was elected as president of Partai Rakyat Singapura (Singapore People’s Party).

Said Zahari discussed how the Deputy Director of Special Branch (precursor to the ISD) said they may release him and pretend he had tried to escape, allowing them to shoot him. Said Zahari relayed the mental torture that the ISD put him through. He was never charged with any offence.

G Raman was a Singapore lawyer. He had participated in political cases. A major reason for his arrest was to create a fiction to justify Dr Poh Soo Kai’s detention.

Raman revealed what happened to him when he was arrested:

Raman was told to make a television confession in order to be released. He had to frame Dr Poh Soo Kai and accuse Dr Poh of being a communist. He complied. When he subsequently spoke with a State Prosecutor who wanted him to be a witness against Dr Poh, Raman recanted the confession and accusation. As a result, the PAP reneged on their promised release. Raman was kept in detention.

When he was finally released about a year later, he was not allowed to practice law for two years, not allowed to meet other former political detainees and not allowed to leave Singapore. He was placed on Restricted Order.

Dr Poh was an opposition leader. He was initially detained in 1963 for 11 years. He was then redetained in 1976 for 6 more years.

According to Dr Poh, he was initially not interrogated. He was left in a cold room for hours everyday.

Dr Poh wrote:

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Teo Soh Lung was a lawyer and social activist. She was initially detained in 1987. Together with several other detainees, she was forced to make a Television confession of being a Marxist. She was released a few months later, in 1988.

After their release, Soh Lung and 8 others sent a Press statement to recant their false confessions and described what happened in detention.

According to the detainees,

They noted that they:

“had been intimidated by implicit and explicit threats against our safety should we speak up on our arrests and detention.”

For recanting the false statements and speaking publicly about their arrests, Soh Lung and the other former detainees were re-arrested. Soh Lung was re-released 2 years later.

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Detainees are not allowed to speak

What Josiah Zee may not realise is that former detainees are not allowed to discuss publicly what happened to them in detention. Upon release, former detainees are placed on Restricted Order (RO).

RO is a 2 year order. And just like Detention Order, the PAP government can renew it as many times as they want. It is an indefinite restriction.

No one will speak publicly about their detention, no matter how unjust and brutal it is.

They are kept in close control after release. Being on RO means curfews, electronic tagging, restriction from joining associations, meeting friends, social media accounts or public statements.

To speak publicly will result in re-arrest and indefinite detention.

Why would anyone challenge the ISA? The ISD had absolute power over detainees in detention.

And they have control over detainees’ actions and movements upon release.

No one will challenge the ISA. Challenge it and be detained for much longer.

I am one of the fortunate few.

I can speak publicly because I am in Australia.

No recent detainee is able to do the same.

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Article #34

Read article #33

After I was released, I learned about what happened while I was in detention. Some of my friends had met with Shireen to offer help. They said “Zul would have done the same for us.”

The ISD then called them in for interrogation. After their interrogations, they abandoned my family. Shireen contacted them and they ignored her. From AlMakhazin, only Mohamed and Shawal continued to contact my family and support them.

My brother Zulkarnain was also called in for interrogation. The Senior ISD officer, Chang, told my brother they could cancel his security clearance which meant he could not work as a cabin crew anymore. He was told he was an ISIS supporter because the ISD said I was.

They threatened to take his daughters away.

“You click ‘like’ on his Facebook posts right? That means you are the same.” Chang accused him. I learned the Tanah Merah Prison officer, ASP Rozale was part of the ISD too. Rozale interrogated my brother and threatened him. After my arrest, they blocked my brother’s clearance several times. He had to keep applying for clearance to keep working.

Chang told my brother it would be terrible for his daughters if he was detained for several years. They would have to grow up without him. I did not know about any of this while I was in detention.

In mid 2019, Zulkarnain asked me if he should retire from Singapore Airlines and migrate to Australia. I told him to do it. In June 2019, he left Singapore for Australia.

Several other friends said they were called in for interrogations by ISD. The message was clear. Stay away from me and my family. Or get the same fate.

The ISD listed me internationally as a terrorist supporter and flagged my bank accounts.

Ong told me that any bank account I had, whether in Singapore, Australia or anywhere else would be flagged. The ISD shut down my Singapore bank account.

My brother and sister in law owned a bakery in Singapore. In 2014, because I helped them in their marketing, they made me a director of the company. When I was arrested, their company bank accounts were shut down.

The same thing happened with my family’s bank accounts in Australia. Because ISD listed me internationally as a terrorist supporter, my children and brother’s bank accounts with Commonwealth Bank Australia were shut down.

Iskandar was on the committee of an Australian registered aid agency and a signatory for their bank account with the Commonwealth Bank. It was shut down too.

In January 2021, a couple of months after my return, I set up a bank account with WestPac. Shireen and a couple of our children had accounts with WestPac too. The rest had accounts at other banks. I listed my home address with WestPac. About a week later, Shireen and I went shopping at Broadmeadows Shopping Centre. I wanted to buy an Irene Nemirovsky’s book, The Fires of Autumn. My debit card was rejected. Shireen used her card and it was rejected too.

I called WestPac and we were told both our accounts had been shut down. No reason was given. My other children who had accounts at WestPac found out their accounts were shut down too.

They changed banks. I could not be seen to be associated with them. If the banks traced me and my address to my family, their accounts would be shut too.

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In December 2020, I contacted CPF to withdraw my superannuation funds. I believe I had about SG$50,000. I was told that I needed to have the forms signed off at the Singapore High Commission in Canberra, about 600km away. I was given an appointment in March.

In March 2021, I went to Canberra with Shireen. We had all the documents ready and they were signed off. I mailed the documents to the CPF office in Singapore. I was told it would take 6-7 weeks to get my money.

I discussed Singapore politics again. Before I was arrested, I had setup a couple of dormant accounts to be admin of my FB pages in case my actual account was shut down.

My friends advised me not to criticise the PAP until I get my CPF funds. “You know they will make trouble for you. Maybe you won’t get your CPF.”

But I could not. “I thought about that.” I told them. “But how can I encourage Singaporeans to speak up against the PAP if I was afraid?”

Singaporeans who speak up against the PAP’s corruption would be putting themselves on the line. How can I expect them to speak and yet I keep silent because I am afraid to lose money? I want my money. But if the ISD blocks it, then it was not meant to be. I pray Allah will replace it with something better. From other sources.

I waited for months.

I called or emailed the CPF board every few weeks. In July, when I called the CPF office, I found out that nothing had been done to process my application. A few months later, the CPF officers asked for my Singapore passport and identification card (which the ISD had and was never returned to me).

More than 6 months after submitting my withdrawal application, on 13th October 2021, I received an email from the case officer at CPF, Adeline Ng. She told me to contact “Jairam” at the Ministry of Home Affairs. I called the number she gave and it was ISD’s hotline. The ISD officer said he did not know a “Jairam” but told me to forward the email to them.

My biggest worry however, was my mother. She was alone in Singapore. My brother and his family were in Tasmania. While I was in detention, my mother refused to leave Singapore because she wanted to visit me every week.

But with the COVID border closures, she was not able to come over to Australia when I was released. I applied several times for her to be allowed into Australia. All my applications were rejected.

In mid October 2021, the Australian government announced that non-Australian parents of Australian citizens and residents would be allowed entry. I immediately applied for my mother to be granted permission. On 25th October, I received an email allowing my mother to enter Australia.

I had been terrified of anything happening to my mother the whole time. She immediately bought a flight to Melbourne departing Singapore on 8th November. The few extra days would give her time to pack and get her affairs in Singapore sorted.

On the morning of 5th November, as she was packing her suitcase, 3 ISD officers went to her house. She knew one of them, Zubaidah, the Aftercare Officer who liaised with her while I was in detention. The other two were a lady, Nor and a man Ismail.

My 75 year old mother, who was living alone and getting ready to come to Melbourne was taken away by these ISD officers. They wanted her to give me a message.

They took her to their office at Onraet Road.

At Onraet Road, the ISD officers took my mother’s phone away and demanded she give them her email password. After about a couple of hours, she was told she could leave. But they kept her phone for a few more hours. She was sent home and a few hours later, they returned her phone.

She was told to deliver a message:

“Tell Zul to stop criticising MUIS”, the Islamic Council of Singapore.

And if I wanted my CPF funds, I had to see the ISD first.

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I grew up a PAP supporter. I believed in the system. I supported it. I advocated for it. I fought for the rights of Muslim women to education and employment. As I learned about the PAP’s heavy hand, I became disillusioned. But I harboured hope in their fairness.

I was told I am too soft hearted. Maybe I am. I cannot stand seeing others hurt. I was arrested by the ISD, my family was threatened, stories were manufactured about me. I spent almost 4.5 years in solitary confinement. Without trial.

I was helpless, relying on God’s mercy. My family’s steadfastness. The kindness of strangers. The lawyers, the friends that stood by us.

I experienced how cruel people could be when they have absolute power and convinced that their cruelty was for a greater good.

I have no malice against any of them. I have tried to tell my story as accurately as I remember them.

While I am not against the people who committed such cruelty on my family and me, I am against the PAP’s corruption. The system is corrupt because it can be corrupted.

We believe there is little corruption in Singapore because we focus only on financial corruption. We do not discuss corrupt abuse of power. This needs to change.

We need transparency and accountability. As long as information is restricted, as long as power is unchecked, as long as democracy is demonised, corruption will prevail.

The ISD needs to remember that the PAP is not Singapore. Their responsibility is to the country. Not the PAP.

No matter how much the PAP may want to equate the two.

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Article #33

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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.

“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.

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

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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.

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.

“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.

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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.

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.

“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.

Continued in the next article.

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Article #32

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In early 2020, Iqbal told me about the COVID pandemic. Since then, whenever we met, he would begin by giving me updates on the situation. The pandemic affected my detention in several ways.

The yard time was changed from 30 minutes each morning and afternoon to 1 hour once a day. I was also not allowed to go to the library. Iqbal would pick some books from the library, and I would be allowed to choose three. By then, I had read almost every book in the library and had to re-read the books I had read earlier. The reason for the change for yard and library arrangements was to minimise contact between detainees and officers.

I did not meet Iqbal in interrogation rooms anymore but in the family visit rooms with the glass wall.

What was more crucial was the change in family visits. My mother was not allowed to visit me in person. For several weeks, she was not allowed to visit me at all. When we were finally allowed to meet, we had to speak to each other via videoconference. Instead of coming to Changi for the visits, she would go to ISD’s office at Onraet Road for the videoconferencing session. Iqbal told me to write a letter to the Director stating I understood the reasons for the change.

Ustadz Feisal did not visit me for several months too. And even the psychologists’ visits became irregular. When we did meet, Roslinda and Hafiz would use the family visit rooms with the glass partitions too. The last couple of times they met with me prior to the AB meeting in 2020, rather than coming as a pair, they met with me alone.

I believe the last time I met with Hafiz was in early May. He told me it was about time I left the detention.

“You have been free-riding in here” he said, with no trace of irony.

I decided to test Hafiz. “According to Roslinda, she gave me a positive report last year. But I know you have been giving me negative reports.” (Read what Roslinda said)

He looked annoyed. “If Roslinda had given you a positive report last year. You would not still be here.”

Hafiz admitted that he did not want me to be released earlier. I asked him why.

“Because I think you would still have criticised the government. Now I am confident you won’t criticise the government.”

Shortly before the AB meeting in May, I met with the lawyers again. Throughout the detention, I met with them once or twice before the AB and once after. Eugene had repeatedly told me there was not much he could do to represent me.

“The ISD don’t give us anything” he said. “I don’t get any documents, any reports.” He said he could not really represent me when there was nothing to work with.

I assured him that I knew there was not much he could do. But that was not the reason I needed his help. What was important was to know I had someone in my corner who knew what went on and could advise me on the process. They gave me that.

About a year before, Iqbal and Krishnan showed me a Straits Times write up about Eugene and his firm.

“He is getting a lot of big cases” Krishnan said. “He won’t have time to help you.”

I played along.

During the AB meeting, Eugene repeated the difficulties he faced in trying to represent me. There was nothing for him to work with when the ISD did not share any information. It was an impossible job.

I was hopeful that I would be released in June. It would have still been part of the Eid season. The month came and went.

Singapore’s General Elections was on Friday, 10th July 2020. On Tuesday 14th July, Krishnan came to visit me with Iqbal. He asked me if I was interested in the election’s results. I told him I was not.

Krishnan told me that he had good and bad news. I was told the Singapore immigration was interested in me.

“You made a false declaration when you applied for Singapore passport. You said you were not a citizen of any other country. They will send an investigator to talk to you. If they charge you, we will release you to them. You will be told to renounce your Singapore citizenship or it will be revoked. Then you will serve whatever prison term. I think it is 1 or 2 months. After that they will deport you.”

I did not remember making any false declarations but I accepted the possibility. I was more keen to learn about the release.

“What happens if they don’t charge me?”

“Then we will still deport you. If you are not a Singaporean, we don’t keep you in ISA.”

Listening to Krishnan, I was reminded of the privileges of Singapore citizenship. I learned that ISA was only for Singaporeans or those who acted in Singapore. Krishnan said that they did not know how to release me earlier. They found a solution by revoking my citizenship and deporting me.

In the months leading to the AB, Iqbal asked how much money I had in CPF (Singapore government owned superannuation funds). I am sure they knew the amount better than I did. He asked me to get me to think about my CPF money. Hafiz and I talked about my citizenship and if I would be politically active if I was no longer a Singaporean.

After telling me about the immigration authority’s interest to charge me, Krishnan told me that my detention was extended for 2 more years. But with the immigration charge, I could be released in 4-6 months.

“We could have been bastards and let them charge you in 2 years’ time. But we allow them to take over now” he said.

Of course, they did not have to detain me at all 4 years earlier. But I let that slide.

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On 17th July, 2 police officers from the immigration authority came to interrogate me. I had decided to plead guilty and get it over with. As is any Singapore police interrogation, I did not have the right to a lawyer during interrogation.

They showed me screenshots of the immigration website I used to apply for the passport. At the end of the application form, there were 3 points of declarations. One of the statements was that I did not have citizenship of any other country. I had clicked that I agreed with the 3 declarations. One of the officers typed the statement and told me to read and if I agreed, to sign it. He covered the top of the statement that would have showed his name.

I waited for what else would happen. Next, two immigration officers from the citizenship department came to visit me. I was told to renounce my Singapore citizenship. I asked what would happen if I did not renounce.

“We will revoke your citizenship but it will take more time.”

I decided to get it over with. On 25th August, my mother was told to take my Australian passport to the immigration department. They already had my Singapore passport and identification card from my arrest. On 26th August, my renunciation was completed.

A few days after my renunciation was completed, I was told that I would be meeting with representatives of the Australian consulate. I felt such relief when I saw Mark and Nicholas walk through the family visit room door. It was a cordial meeting. I met them again a month later when I was sent to Tanah Merah Prison.

They asked me if I had any messages to share with my family. One of their concerns was whether I would be able to function in society again after almost five years in solitary confinement. I told them I was sure I could. However, I was concerned whether I could communicate and feel at ease with strangers.

The immigration investigators visited me again about a month later. I was charged for the offence. I was told that if I wanted to raise anything to the court, I should tell them first. If I did not and I brought it up with the court, it would carry less weight and could be used against me.

On 8th October, I was brought to the court for the case to be heard. I had hoped to be sentenced that day and start serving my time. If they adjourned, then it would only prolong my detention.

The judge suggested 22nd October for the case to be heard. I was disappointed. That would mean 2 more weeks of detention. Zhi Rong, from Eugene’s firm represented me. Eugene told me they would help me all the way to my release. When I heard Zhi Rong asked for a later date, I was worried. Every day the hearing was delayed was an extra day I would be in detention. I asked to speak with him. He said he needed to go through my case files but agreed to take the earlier date.

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Iqbal met with me as usual. But in the month preceding my release, he kept saying he will miss me. “We had been meeting regularly for three years” he said.

“I can meet you outside. I’d rather meet you at Starbucks.”

“But it won’t be like this. Not this meeting.”

“Only if you want to be on my side and I’m on yours.”

My case was heard on 22nd October 2020. My mother attended the hearing and looked on from the public gallery on the upper level. The prosecutor argued I used my Singapore passport more than 10 times since obtaining it with false declaration.

When I was finally released and about to be deported, Tim used that statement to argue it was a terrible offence.

“You make it sound as though I travelled out of Australia into Singapore 10 times” I told him. “That was in 2014 when I was in Singapore for 6 months and my mother was in Johor. I visited her every few days.”

The judge handed me a 6-week term. I had hoped for 3-4 weeks. But he backdated it to 8th October which meant, I only had 4 weeks to serve. He did not have to backdate it, especially since the detention was not a prison term. But I appreciate his decision.

Zhi Rong reminded me that there was a one-third remission, which meant that was another 2-weeks off. I would only have to serve 2 weeks.

2 weeks before I was released. 2 weeks before I go home to my family. I had done 4 years 4 months. 2 weeks was nothing.

I was immediately taken to the holding cell at the court where I was told to change to the prison uniform: white T-shirt and blue shorts. About half an hour later, I was taken to another room for processing.

I was not blindfolded. No ankle cuffs. No chain. Just handcuffs. I was giddy with excitement. I could see my surroundings. The officers did not hold my arms for me to move. No more penguin steps.

The officers spoke nicely with me. We joked. It was such a different experience.

I was handcuffed and felt so free.

When I was finally transported to Prison, I was made to sit in a cage in a van. But I could see outside the van, through its backscreen. I looked at Singapore, at the buildings, the people, the signs.

I soaked it all in. It was a different world. Men, women, children, were walking, crossing the streets, talking.

It was like what I saw in videos. I had not seen trees or roads or the outside of buildings for more than four years. It was a lot to take in.

I was brought to Tanah Merah Prison. The immigration investigators told me they expected me to be sent to Cluster C, which was a prison for minor offences. They said, the worst would be Tanah Merah Prison (TMP). That was where hardcore criminals were sent. Iqbal told me I would be sent to TMP.

But I would be in solitary confinement. I asked if I could be with the general population. He said it was better if I was not since there were violent offenders and I would be safer alone.

I told him I would rather meet others. In the end, it did not matter since any prisoner would be in Covid quarantine for the first two weeks. But if I had served more than 2 weeks, I would still be in solitary confinement.

Iqbal assured me that I would be allowed to read books and the ISD would organise it for me.

When I arrived at TMP, I was brought to meet with two officers from the Prison intelligence unit, El-Hanani and Bryan Chong. I was told prison would be very noisy. I told them that was not a problem. I was used to constant loud airplane noises. They warned me against speaking to other prisoners.

“The food door can only be opened from outside. But these guys have figured out how to open from inside. Make sure you don’t open it. If you open it from inside, that is vandalism, and we will charge you for it. And don’t tell them anything. They will know your name but don’t talk to them.”

I asked El-Hanani how the other prisoners would know my name and was told they had their ways. He said he would get instructions from ISD whether I was allowed any books.

I was then escorted by several officers to my new cell at E block. As we entered the corridor, the officers shouted “close the door! close the door!”

Suddenly, one food vent, which was at the bottom of the door flipped open and a hand jutted out, holding a cup. The hand flicked the water in the cup in our direction and several officers and I were covered with water.

“Report him! Report him!” shouted the ASP escorting me. I was brought to my cell. It was similar to the first cell I was in at the ISD detention, though older. There was no stone bench. I was given a tub with a mug, toothbrush, toothpaste, several pairs of uniform and a couple of blankets. A closed circuit camera was on the wall.

Once the officers departed, the shoutings began. All over the corridor, I heard the prisoners screaming and shouting at each other. It was loud, maniacal. It was overwhelming.

I was shaken. I took my ablution and prayed. I seek God’s forgiveness for my arrogance. I thought I could handle the noise and the screaming.

I could not.

Continued in the next article.

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After my continued detention was confirmed in 2019, Hafiz returned as the main psychologist. Roslinda continued to attend too. Hafiz briefly mentioned his postgraduate work in England. He said he learned to be holistic in his approach.

His focus for the fourth year was for me not to trust others. I was told I was too trusting which resulted in me being used. It was not a new theme, just a stronger emphasis.

One common argument the ISD officers and psychologists made was that those who spoke against the government were used by others. I was told I was being used. Why would anyone want to criticise the PAP of their own accord?

This was of course, a continuation and yet contrary to their earlier demand that I should criticise myself. I had to go from “I was wrong” to “others made me”. There was of course, a convergence in the criticism and blame. What they wanted was for me to believe that I would not have criticised the PAP but others had tricked me into doing it. And it was my mistake for believing them.

For the first couple of years, I rejected the argument. Later, I played along. Hafiz expanded on the theme by saying ISA detainees were altruistic. They are “radicalised” because they want to help others.

I was told to stop trying to help society and to focus on my family. I argued that while it was true that others wanted me to take up issues that they were too afraid to raise, ultimately, these were my decisions. The problem was not that I discussed PAP’s mistakes in public or that I criticised them. The problem was the climate of fear that stopped others from speaking up.

But even as I disputed with them, I knew that it was not helpful for my release. I met with the psychologists 10-12 times a year. I knew that if they submitted a report that I would still criticise the government, my detention would be extended.

If I criticised the PAP in one session, I had to undo it and argued against the position the next time I met the psychologists. It was difficult. I hated having to pretend. To maintain the pretence, I had to come up with memory techniques. Before meeting with the psychologists, I would have to come up with a list of things to discuss, which included what they wanted me to say. When I found myself speaking openly in one session, the next month, I had to undo what I said.

It was not easy. I had to remind myself that the psychologists and ISD officers had been lying to me the last few years. They of course, claimed to have good reasons for everything they did.

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I told Iqbal that I met with a couple of Singaporeans who were detained in 1987. One of them told me she was slapped repeatedly by ISD officers.

Iqbal replied, “I am not trying to justify it, but sometimes if you know, then you have to. I watched this Indian movie. There’s this reporter wrote an article about a police inspector who beat up criminals. Because of her article, the inspector was demoted.

Then one day, someone stole her camera. She took the thief to the police station and told the inspector to make him confess and return her camera. The inspector bought the thief biryani and asked him ‘did you steal her camera?’. The thief said ‘no’.

So the inspector told the reporter he said ‘no’. She told him beat him up. Finally, the inspector gave him one big slap and then he confess. I am not trying to justify but sometimes you have to slap them so they confess.”

Iqbal told me that detaining me helped me. “It’s like you have gangrene so we cut off your leg. You lose your leg but you can live. Before this you wasted your life talking politics. Now you can focus on your job and become successful.”

Tim told me that the chairman of the Banyan Tree resorts was detained under the ISA. He credited his detention for his success. I was interested in the stories they tell themselves to justify their corruption. Krishnan said they were trying to help detainees but the detainees were not cooperating.

Hafiz continued to demand that I should not discuss politics. He criticised “keyboard warriors” who disagreed with Halimah Yaacob becoming Singapore’s President. Iqbal made the same reference.

“All these social media complainers because a woman become President of Singapore. It is secular what, what is wrong?” Hafiz asked.

“I have no problem with a woman becoming President of Singapore. There have been queens in Malay societies before. My problem is: why is it another PAP President? How is she supposed to check on the PAP government?”

Hafiz asked me about secularism. I asked him what it meant to him.

“It means everyone living together and getting along with each other.”

I was surprised that was what he thought. “You serious?”

He looked unsure. “Yes” he said.

I turned to Roslinda. She claimed to have studied philosophy. “Can you tell him what secularism means?”

Roslinda was uncomfortable. “What he said. Everyone getting along with each other.”

After almost 4 years of discussions, they did not understand secularism or how I used it.

“That is not what secularism means. Secularism is about materiality. It is about privileging the material, temporal life. Why would I criticise people getting along with each other? I criticised the emphasis on the material in life and in governance at the expense of the non- material, religious and spiritual.”

We discussed philosophy several times. Or at least, I thought we did. I realised later that I discussed it but they did not.

Hafiz argued that since I was not in government, I did not have the right to discuss the government’s policies and actions. My responsibility was only to my family, not to society or to discuss policy. I discussed Kantian public and private use of reason. I told him I understood that as a psychologist in government service, he needed to perform his job but he would have a responsibility to society that is external to his private function as an MHA psychologist.

Similarly, I was a political activist and researcher in political science and international relations. I had a public responsibility to use my expertise for societal development.

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Ustadz Mohamed had initially thought in a democratic society, majority views would be imposed on minority communities. He thought the Muslims being minorities in Singapore should feel fortunate with our condition.

I have heard this misunderstanding of democracy among a lot of Singapore Muslim community leaders. They believed the PAP’s threat that if they pushed for their interests, then the Chinese would push for theirs, making it difficult for the Muslims. In the PAP’s narrative, the one protection against tyranny of the majority was the PAP.

I had to explain to him that a democracy is not simply about majority. “Have you read De Tocqueville’s Democracy in America?” He had not.

“Why don’t you read it Sheikh? Then we can discuss the attributes of democracy, tyranny of the majority and how a democratic society can establish institutions that protect the rights of minorities.”

This sense of accepting everything that the PAP demands seemed to permeate his thinking. The PAP system was the only one to accept. Even though he alluded to working with PAP out of a necessity that he did not elaborate, I had expected more from him.

Tim, Iqbal, Amir and Ustadz Mohamed also made references to the inapplicability of the Shariah. They made it sound as though the Shariah was to be rejected.

Ustadz Mohamed’s argument however, was not that the Shariah as a whole should be rejected but that it was not relevant today, especially in multireligious societies.

My position was that a society had the right to its own socio-political and legal systems, whatever the system maybe. If a Muslim society wanted the Shariah for itself, then it had the right to it. If a non-Muslim society wants it, then it has the right to it too.

The discussion with the two Ustadz, Mohamed and Feisal concerned the applicability of the Shariah. Ustadz Mohamed, in the 2nd year, argued against the Shariah. Ustadz Feisal, in the 4th year was doubtful about its applicability.

In response to my argument that a society, even a multireligious one could choose to live according to the principles of the Shariah, Ustadz Mohamed asked, why would non-Muslims want to do so.

I told him, “In 2008, I went to Malaysia for the World Halal Forum. I took a taxi with a Victorian government officer, Eddie, from the airport to the hotel. It was soon after the Malaysian elections. The driver was Hindu. He had a statue of Ganesh on his dashboard.

Eddie and I talked to the driver about the elections. The driver said he was happy that a lot of Ministers lost their seats because he said they were corrupt. Eddie asked the driver if there was any non-corrupt Ministers.

The driver said ‘that man, that man, in Kelantan. He is not corrupt. You go his house, he don’t even have a chair to sit on’.”

The man in Kelantan he referred to was Nik Aziz, the spiritual head of the Islamic Party of Malaysia.

“Just because someone is not Muslim, does not mean he will reject the Shariah. He may see value in the Shariah.”

I had a similar conversation with Ustadz Feisal a couple of years later. I asked if he was English. He said he was not.

“Any connections to England?”

No.

“Are Singaporeans English?”

Of course not.

“Then why do we use English law? Why do we support it and apply it?” I asked. “It is because we see its value, because it was applied on us prior to Singapore becoming a state and we followed on with it and we accept its effectiveness and legitimacy. Do you believe we cannot promote the Shariah as a system that is legitimate, that has value and effective too? Why do we privilege the English political-legal system and argue it can be applied on us who are not English, but believe that the Shariah will definitely be rejected?”

Ustadz Feisal however agreed that Hafiz and Roslinda’s response on secularism did not make sense. “Yes, secularism is about materiality” he said. I am not sure if he was just agreeing with me as a matter of conversation.

“Sheikh, of all the states, which one will you say is closest to be non-secular?” I asked him.

“Morocco” he replied, after some hesitation. He felt Morocco was not as concerned about the economy as other Muslim states.

“For me, the closest to a non-secular state is the Vatican. Its concern is mainly religious, not material.”

“They still like money” he argued.

“Sure, but the material well-being of Catholics is not the driving force of the Vatican. Its focus is developing the religious, moral well-being of its followers.”

After more than a year of meeting Ustadz Feisal once a month, he admitted that he did not understand me. Krishnan and Iqbal told me to listen and internalise their messages. I was told I talked too much with Ustadz Mohamed and that I should listen. Krishnan told me off for arguing terrorism is about politics instead of religion. They wanted me to believe that religion was the cause.

With Ustadz Feisal, I let him speak more. A lot of his views resonated with me, especially when we discussed God’s mercy. For those I disagreed, I usually kept quiet or made some minor responses.

Ustadz Feisal said he did not know how to assess me. I was told to write my views. As usual, I knew that whatever I wrote would be read by various people including ISD officers and the psychologists. I wrote my response with that in mind. Iqbal however, pretended as though only Ustadz Feisal would read it.

A couple of weeks after I submitted my response, one of the ISD officers told me: “I don’t understand what you wrote. I had to give it to my boss.”

Continued in the next article.

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In March and April 2019, Roslinda discussed my release several times. It was not uncommon. In January 2018, Ajitpal had also discussed my release. I was told I would be placed on a Restriction Order. I would not be allowed to contact my old friends. I would have to wear an electronic ankle tag. Nothing came of that discussion. A few months later, my detention was extended.

Roslinda discussed the type of work I would be interested in. I had told her I would like to return to academia. I was told that was not an option. I replied that I did not really care what work was available, as long as I could take care of my family. She asked if I would work as a storeman at IKEA.

“Yes I would.”

“Won’t you be bored?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I had been in solitary confinement for almost three years. How much more boring can anything else be?

“But if there is a better opportunity in marketing or academia, I would probably take it.”

Roslinda told me that she was going to submit a positive report. “I think you have made a lot of progress.”

Iqbal was more circumspect. He did not tell me whether he was going to recommend my release or submit a positive report. But he had already admitted that I did not support ISIS. He accepted that my discussions on Syria and ISIS were because I was against Bashar Al Assad’s tyranny. He admitted that I was not violent.

I was told I was soft hearted.

We disagreed on politics. I knew that my political views were the reason I was detained. But I kept telling myself that it should not. So as I discussed politics with them, at times telling them their arguments did not make sense, I also kept quiet a lot and acted as though I agreed.

It was not easy. I had always been open with my views and to accept ridiculous arguments and pretend as though they made sense was a struggle. Iqbal advised me to learn to keep quiet. Even if I disagreed with them, I should say nothing. I should not even look as though I disagreed. I was told to learn to keep a poker face.

During almost every meeting after the first few months, I was told to not react to anything he said. Iqbal told me that there was a difference for someone who disagreed and kept quiet and those who spoke up. The one who kept quiet was not a concern.

We only became a problem when we spoke.

I understood his intention. If I learn to keep quiet, I will stop discussing politics. I could only be released if they were sure I would not criticise the PAP again. They spent years training me to not respond and not react.

Iqbal usually spoke cordially with me. Most of the meetings would begin with him giving me soccer updates. Then he would segue into some issues he wanted to discuss. Usually, these discussions would be staged.

Iqbal always wore jeans and collared T-shirts. I once told Larsson about the time Shireen and I were tailed by a man in white shirt and black pants and that the Bedok Station police officer remarked that it was the ISD.

Larsson said that it was probably the normal police. The next time I met with Iqbal, he wore white shirt and black pants. I was sure he wanted me to remark on it. Sometimes there would be items or props in the interrogation room. If I mentioned it, he would use the opportunity to discuss whatever he had planned. Once I realised his tactics, whenever I noticed these props, I would ignore them.

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I found out after the second year that when they said I “radicalised two youths”, they meant Saiddhin and Shamin. I was surprised. In my first week, Chang said there were two youths in detention because of me. I felt terrible about it. Why would they be in detention for anything I said?

Tim then talked about Saiddhin. I knew Saiddhin was on Restriction Order. He said Saiddhin had planned to fight in Syria. I told him that was nonsense. Saiddhin never had such plans. He was a gentle-hearted man who was trying to start up his own sandwich shop. His wife was pregnant. He was helping a group of Malay kids living in rental flats.

Saiddhin and I chatted regularly and there was nothing, ever, about going to Syria.

I was not as close to Shamin. We met once and chatted irregularly. I heard that he was detained and wanted to lobby for him to be tried in open court. Shamin called me a sell-out when I regularly discussed democracy.

The ISD officers and psychologists discussed Saiddhin and Shamin with me several times. I did not realise these were supposed to be the “two youths” that I radicalised. I told Roslinda that the claim was ridiculous.

The only time they could claim I said anything positive about ISIS was right after Mosul when I thought they were defending the Syrians. But Saiddhin and Shamin knew that I criticised ISIS later.

“But you don’t know what they tell ISD” she replied.

“I know how ISD force false confessions” I countered.

During the interrogation period, Tim said my discussions on Facebook in 2014 were dangerous.

“If what I said was dangerous, why did you wait 2 years to arrest me? Why didn’t you contact me? You had my contact details.”

“Would you have agreed?” Tim asked.

“I would have listened. Or why didn’t you get the Australian authorities to speak with me? If it was so dangerous, why did you not try to stop it?

“Because it is not about anything I said that was dangerous” I continued. “You knew I was going to return to Singapore at some point. You just wanted to use it to arrest me.”

I pointed that out to Tim and Iqbal several times.

In 2019, Krishnan came to meet me and shared the story of a girl they arrested recently. This girl had a boyfriend who was in ISIS. Her phone number was in his mobile phone. The ISD found out about it 2 years later.

“Even after 2 years, we still detained her” Krishnan said as he smiled proudly. Iqbal nodded and gave me a broad smile.

“Even after two years” Iqbal repeated.

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Sometimes, Iqbal would create a situation for him to shout at me. Several times, he would talk about my continued detention. Whenever I was about to be released, he would talk about “next year in detention.” The first few times, I told him “I am not supposed to be here next year.”

On one occasion, I waved away what he said. Iqbal flew off the handle.

“Why do you do this?” he shouted, making a waving off gesture.

“Why would you talk about me being here next year?”

“I cannot joke with you? You can joke but I cannot joke?”

“You are joking about causing me and my family pain. How is that a joke?”

“You can joke but I cannot joke?” he shouted again. He became angrier.

I let him be. Sometimes I would apologise.

He would then send me back to the cell.

I told him several times “if you get upset with me, when you leave the room, meet others, do your work, you will probably forget feeling upset. If I am upset, I go back to the cell, I have no one to talk to, no distraction, nothing to do. That feeling will remain.”

“Good” he told me emphatically. “I want you to feel the pain. So you will change.”

Larsson told me what he referred to as a maths joke. He and Ong laughed as he asked me, “what is 2 + 2 + 2 +2 +2”, referring to the 2 years renewable detention.

Even as they trivialised and made fun of the detention, ISD officers would get angry quite easily. When Larsson met with me, he would show pictures and asked me if I knew any of them. Just as with Tim, sometimes I would make up stories. “His mother is a teacher and his dad is a lawyer” or “I think he is a taxi driver”.

For the first couple of years, Larsson would end the profile “statements” by asking me if they knew I supported ISIS. I would tell him they did not. He would include in the statement that “...did not know I supported ISIS.” I hated those statements. Larsson kept forcing me to repeat them. After the second year, I asked him to stop with those “support ISIS” lines.

During one session, Larsson showed me the picture of someone that looked vaguely familiar. At first, I did not recognise the person until he mentioned the name. It was an Ustadz that my brother Azman was close to. Larsson asked me when I met the Ustadz, what we discussed, why my brother introduced us. A few minutes into the interrogation, I realised he was interested to get information about Azman.

“Don’t get my brother into trouble” I told him. I was worried.

“Who gets people into trouble? Do people get themselves into trouble or ISD get them into trouble?” he snapped.

“Both” I said.

“You should be careful with what you say” he warned me, getting angry. “You are talking to authority. You may be jovial but you better becareful.”

I thought it was amusing. If I get slightly upset, they would shout and tell me “don’t throw a tantrum.” I may not even be angry. If I asked anything that they did not like such as “when will I meet the psychologist?”, I was told that I was “throwing a tantrum.”

But they get angry so easily.

I apologised to him. The next day, Iqbal met with me and asked me about my meeting with Larsson. I was told I needed to be counselled.

I left a lot of discussions feeling amused. By the third year, I was in full research mode. I recounted any conversation I had whenever I get back to the cell. I knew that I would not be released if I continued to disagree with them. I had to consciously decide to agree.

But in a lot of discussions, I had to buffer my responses. And I was aware that I did not have any information apart from what they told me. I could feel my mind becoming dull. There was very little intellectual stimulation. I talked to myself everyday to slow the dullness.

I was not really successful.

I knew what they wanted me to say whenever they discussed political events. I knew I had to pretend to agree or at least, not respond. I struggled with it. I finally managed to minimise the pretence by telling myself that I would agree with what they said, while reserving judgement. I did not really know what was going on. The world outside the walls did not exist. All I knew were what they told me.

I would accept what they said while reminding myself that it was merely what the ISD wanted me to believe. I planned to review my opinions once I was released. My acceptance was based on current information (what they told me) while recognising that the information was skewed. That decision made it easier for me to speak with them as though they were right while staying true to myself.

One of the ISD prison officers, Hamidah, would jokingly ask me if I had washed my brain yet. She suggested I used Clorox to wash my brain so that I would be released.

I met with the Advisory Board in May 2019 for mid-term review. There was a new judge that chaired the board and new members. Scowl face was gone. During the meeting, one of the AB members asked what I thought about secularism. I responded with what Krishnan told me (without mentioning his name) that my criticism of Shanmugam’s demand for Muslims to wish others on their holidays was taken as being anti-secular. Another AB member said that my criticism of Shanmugam should not be taken into account by the AB since it was a political disagreement.

In July, Krishnan met with me. I was told that I would not be released. When I met with Roslinda, she said the AB wanted to keep me in detention since the extension was for 2 years.

“They want you to stay so we can keep monitoring you.”

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The first two years, I requested to meet with the Australian consulate several times. My family met with consulate officials to discuss my detention and to get support regularly. We were told that consulate officers tried to meet me repeatedly but their requests were denied.

In October 2018, my mother told me that the Australian consulate suggested I make a formal request to ISD to meet with them. I relayed the request to Iqbal and was told to write a letter to the director. About two months later, in January 2019, Krishnan came to meet with me.

“Your request to meet the Australian embassy is rejected. You are a Singapore citizen. We won’t allow you to meet.”

“Then I renounce my Singapore citizenship.”

I wanted the Australian government to know what was going on. No one knows what went on inside detention. The more access I had to non-ISD persons and organisations, the better.

I was also worried that I may lose Australian citizenship if I remained a dual citizen. My family lived in Australia and as much as I loved Singapore, I love my family more. About a year before I was detained, Australia passed a law that allowed the government to strip someone’s citizenship if they were dual citizens and was convicted of terrorism.

I was not tried, let alone convicted of terrorism. But I was worried if the Australian government believed the PAP’s claims and stripped me of my citizenship. That would mean the ISD would have absolute power to do anything they wanted to me and I would be separated from my wife and children for years more. If not permanently.

Krishnan told me that it would not make any difference if I renounced my Singapore citizenship. “You will still have to serve the detention.”

“But I can meet with the Australian consulate.”

He was surprised. He thought I wanted to renounce my citizenship so that I would be released. He did not realise it was mainly because I wanted to meet someone who was not from ISD.

“Then we won’t allow you to renounce.”

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Iqbal regularly told me that my discussions of democracy was an attempt to “impose Australian politics on Singapore”. ISD officers and psychologists argued that “Singapore is different.”

Singapore did not need democracy. I was told that the Singapore system works differently. I told them that the PAP was anti-democratic.

Iqbal asked me why I criticised the Singapore government but not the Australian government. I told him, there were three reasons. First, I am a migrant to Australia. Migrating to Australia meant that I accepted the Australian system as it was. It did not make sense to migrate to Australia to change it.

However, after migrating, I had the right to seek changes as I learn more and see areas and policies to improve. As for Singapore, I was born there. The Singapore system is a collection of views and preferences of every Singaporean. Because I was a Singaporean, the Singapore system should reflect my beliefs too. If it did not, then I had the right and responsibility to seek changes.

Second, there were a lot of Australians who spoke up and campaigned on various issues. They spoke louder than I did. There were lobby groups for almost every issue. My call to speak up and campaign on issues was not needed. Everyone was doing it.

Third, there were independent institutions for Australians to seek redress for any grievance. In Singapore, the PAP controlled every policy and institution. Any grievance would go through them. In Australia, we could seek review and redress through tribunals and various organisations.

Basically, my push for democratisation and active politics were not needed in Australia.

The idea of Singapore exceptionalism kept coming up. Whether it was Iqbal, Ajitpal, Roslinda or Hafiz, I was regularly told that Singapore was unique. It was different. Democracy would not work. Hafiz repeatedly told me not to challenge the status quo.

I asked Hafiz what he thought of Gandhi. “Terrible man. He broke up India.”

I was amazed by his statement. Gandhi was against partition. I let it go. I wanted to discuss status quo, not India.

“What about Mandela?”

“Terrible. I went to South Africa and met the blacks. They said life under Mandela is worse than under the whites.”

I let that go too.

“Martin Luther King?”

“He was a good man.”

“You know he challenged the status quo?” I asked him.

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Hafiz argued that the PAP had done very well for Singapore, especially given how little resources there were. Singaporeans are constantly reminded how the government developed the country out of a malaria infested swampland with no natural resources. Singapore’s development was a result of the PAP’s ingenuity.

“You know that Singapore in the 1950s was already one of the most economically
developed states in Asia? We were second, right after Japan. Our GDP per capita was higher than Korea.”

I asked Hafiz to imagine a scenario. “What if, at independence, there was a massive climate change event. The whole island was flooded. But through some incredible foresight, the government was able to build another Singapore, an exact copy, brick by brick, wood by wood, on another island. But the island is in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Every Singaporean is transported to that island. So that island, a New Singapore is exactly like the original Singapore. Same infrastructures. Same people. Same government.

Do you think it would have the same economic development as the original Singapore?”

“No” he admitted.

“Why not?”

“Because we won’t have the busy port and neighbouring market.”

“Exactly” I told him. “Singapore’s natural resource is our location. You take that away and you won’t get the economic development we’ve had.”

I told him what I remembered from secondary school history. “By 1826, 7 years after Raffles took over Singapore and 40 years after Francis Light took Penang, Singapore’s GDP overtook Penang’s.”

I was told to stop thinking about politics, even as they talked to me about it. Iqbal regularly argued that all I knew was theory. “You only read books. What do you know?” The government he claimed, had to deal with real issues.

“Yes, I work on theories. Theories are a coherent set of assumptions. Without theories, all you have are assumptions. You assume a policy is good because you want to believe it is.”

“How many books have you read? Have you read 500?” Iqbal queried.

“In detention? I think I’ve read about 300.”

“No your whole life.”

“I don’t know. Maybe a couple thousand?”

The fact that I read a lot was a source of criticism.

From the first week of my detention, I was told that I was too intellectual. Hafiz asked “why would someone want to be an intellectual” as though it was a mental disability. He however noted that my mind and my emotions could be detached. I can be critical about an issue or debate someone without it affecting my emotions. I do not dislike those I debate or criticise.

I can intensely debate someone while still liking and appreciating them.

“That is not normal” he told me.

“Is that bad?”

I was curious why they thought it was a problem. Charlton told me in the second week of my arrest that he would recommend my detention because my heart and my mind were not connected.

“Most people are not like that.” I was told that intense disagreement tended to mean dislike. I do not feel that way.

For Hafiz, for me to be released, I needed to be like everyone else. That meant, in Singapore, for me to be deferential to the PAP, not discuss politics and focus on making money for my family.

Focusing on my family was regularly discussed. Iqbal told me about his colleague who died on the day he retired. He had worked so hard and on the day he was supposed to begin life with his family, it ended.

He also repeatedly talked about the Tabligh, a Muslim group that travelled overseas for missionary work. He said he knew a Tabligh man who went overseas, leaving his wife and children without sufficient money and supplies.

“What he thinks he will go to heaven? If this guy goes to heaven, then I don’t want to go to heaven” he declared.

I agreed that the man should have provided for his family. But for a Muslim to decide who should or should not go to heaven was extreme arrogance. And to state that he would not want to be in heaven if this other man was, was almost blasphemous. We accept that heaven is solely Allah’s prerogative. It was not for any of us to declare who should or should not be rewarded.

As he told me his views, I was reminded of the story of a man who told a sinner that he would not go to heaven. On judgement day, Allah asked the man, upon whose authority did he make that declaration? The sinner was subsequently granted heaven by Allah’s mercy and the man sent to hell for his arrogance.

I understood his intention. He wanted me to not discuss politics. He wanted me to end my activism. Focus on my family. Keep quiet. Don’t get involved.

But that was not his responsibility. There was nothing that I did that was a threat to security. Not Singapore’s not Australia’s.

I reminded Iqbal and Hafiz that my discussions of Singapore politics were not illegal. And neither were my discussions of international politics.

And my criticisms of colonialism in the Middle East, were made in Australia, as an Australian citizen. Nothing that I said was illegal in Australia.

Iqbal however argued that it did not matter that I was an Australian citizen discussing in Australia. I was also a Singaporean.

“If a Singaporean goes to Thailand and smoke ganja, when he comes back to Singapore he will still be arrested. If he say he was not in Singapore then I will say to him lanjiao1. I will still arrest him.”

“I guess that is the privilege of Singapore citizenship.”

“What?”

“The privilege of being arrested.”

Continued in the next article.

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Article #28

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The psychologists and ISD officers were surprised that even after 3 years and having had my detention extended, I was still in good spirits.

According to Roslinda, “most people would stop talking in the third year.” They would be depressed and lose trust in the officers and the process. According to Krishnan, some of them became very angry. I totally understood the anger. If the other detainees went through what I did, they would have been forced to make false confessions, been mentally, spiritually, and emotionally abused and seen the corruption of the ISD process. There would be little to assure them that they would be treated fairly.

And they would not know when they would ever be back with their families. I do not know if any of the other detainees were guilty of what they were accused of. What I know is that they have never been convicted. The accusations were never tested.

ASP Amir told me that some of the other detainees had gone insane. They hallucinate. Solitary confinement is torturous. I talked to my reflection every day, although I was fully aware of it. I can understand how others lost their minds.

After I was given the detention order in 2016, most of the ISD officers calmed down and talked without shouting. Tim still talked down and made regular threats but most of the time, we would have conversations with normal speaking voice.

During the second Eid Fitr that I spent in detention, in June 2017, I was allowed to meet my family in an “open visit”. There was no glass partition in the room. I was able to hug my family. After the Eid visit, we went back to the “closed visits” with glass partitions.

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In January 2018, I was told that they were downgrading my risk assessment. I was given new T-shirts. The red band across the chest was replaced with amber. With the downgrade, I was allowed to have regular open visits. My left hand was still cuffed. But I was able to hold my family with my right hand.

When they downgraded my risk assessment, Iqbal told me that I would be allowed a tablet. I received it 1 year and 2 months later in March 2019. Tablets were delivered to each cell on weekdays for about 2 hours in the morning. During those two hours, I could watch videos or play games such as chess or backgammon against the computer. The videos were curated from Singapore television that were several years old. In 2019-2020, I watched Manchester United soccer games from 2013, the Anugerah Skrin from 2009 and similar videos.

I looked forward to receiving the tablet. Its main value for me, was that I was able to hear and see humans on the screen. For two hours, every weekday morning, I was not absolutely alone.

I would usually spend the morning watching videos, making zikr and exercising. In the afternoon, I would read books. At the end of a weekly meeting with Iqbal (usually on Mondays), I would be brought to the prison library, which was the same size as my cell, about 2m by 3m. There were a couple hundred books, from comics to fiction. By the end of my second year, I had finished reading most of the books and magazines and had to re-read the books I had read. A few months later, the ISD procured more books such as National Geographic magazines from the 1990s to S Rajaratnam and Lee Kuan Yew’s biographies.

Apart from the enjoyment of reading, I used books to make the time fly. I set a goal of reading about 200 pages a day and to understand and remember what I read. Those goals required me to read relatively slowly and created a time rush because I needed to finish the 200 pages everyday. And since I exchanged books every Monday, it made me feel as though I did not have much time to read.

My constant reading became a source of conversation with the Gurkha officers. Several of them told me that everytime they looked into my cell, I would either be standing at the door and looking at the mirror or I would be reading.

“Sleep. Everyone sleep” they told me. Iqbal regularly told me to sleep during the day. I refused. I knew that if I slept during the day, I would not be alert if I was called for interrogation or counselling. I made sure I was mentally ready for interrogations and I would remember what we talked about.

I did not want to waste my time in detention. Spending years sleeping would not only be an absolute waste but it would further dull my mind. After my release, I read ISD’s claims that some detainees were allowed to study. From what I know, that was a rare case. From my first year in detention, I asked to be allowed to study.

I requested to be allowed to take a diploma in business, in Islamic studies, Masters in Business or PhD. Anything. Just allow me to study. My requests were rejected. In my fourth year, Iqbal finally allowed my family to send course information for distance learning in Australia. But he dissuaded me from carrying it out.

Several Gurkha officers asked me about the books that I read and I would describe them. These conversations were invariably short. There were closed circuit cameras everywhere and the officers could not be seen as having conversations with me. Gurkha officers were probably the nicest people in detention. Even though we were not allowed to speak with each other, most of them treated me with kindness and courtesy.

Sometimes, I would talk to them and ask questions. They would respond briefly before telling me that we were not allowed to speak to each other. Some would put their finger on their lips and look at the walls, as though looking for cameras or listening devices.

There were several groups of Gurkha officers. Apart from those who provided external escorts (for example, to the courts or hospitals), there were three groups that I dealt with. The most junior seemed to be the officers who were on sentry duty. They were stationed beside the entrance to the wings and attended to our daily needs. An intercom button and speaker were housed on a metal plate on the wall beside the door. The intercom connected me to a control room.

Whenever I needed daily items such as uniform, toothbrush, soap or detergent to clean the cell, I would intercom the officers at the control room. The sentry would send the items to me. One of the officers told me of his frustrations working as sentry. It was a very boring job. They sat at a desk and waited to be told to deliver items. They would also periodically check up on us and called out the prayer times.

“We train very hard, but we work like maid” he said.

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Another group were the internal escorts. There were always 2 escorts whenever I left the cell. They were the ones who took me to the yard or interrogation rooms. Most of these officers and the sentries were Corporals (sometimes a Sergeant would perform these duties). Whenever I was taken to interrogation, they would knock on the door, open the food vent and call out “interrogation”. I would be given military socks to put on as we waited for the hydraulics door to open. The first few days I was detained, I was not given socks for my ankle cuffs and the metal cut into my skin. The socks helped ease the discomfort.

Once I was fully cuffed and hooded, I listened to their instructions and felt their directions on my arms.

“Turn left. Move. Step up. Stop. Turn right.”

Sometimes, they would tap me softly to “stop” or “step up.”

During the interrogation period, I was given a lot of water to drink in between Tim’s screaming. I would need to go to the toilet every couple of hours. Ong would call the control room and the Gurkha officers would uncuff me from the chair, blindfold me, recuff my hands and lead me out.

The single room toilet was next door to the interrogation room, in the middle of the building. Both Gurkha officers would enter the toilet with me. There was no window. All the walls were solid. There was a glass panel on the door that allowed them to look inside. But they still needed to enter it.

The room was probably 3m by 3m with a low wall on two sides of the squat toilet.

When I needed to use it, some officers would uncuff one of my hands. Others would not. I would have to use the toilet with both hands cuffed and chained and tiptoe to push the flush button.

Over the years, I got to know some of them. Most of them covered their names on the security passes that they wore. So I gave them names for my own reference. There was “Chee Koon” who reminded me of an old classmate, “Khalid” who reminded me of my cousin, “BJ Kadir” who looked like a Singapore Malay celebrity.

There was also “stay strong” who saw me breaking down in the yard one day. It was a couple of days before my son Mukmin’s knee surgery, and I was worried for him. I wanted badly to be there for Mukmin and felt terrible that I could not. When the Gurkha officer escorted me back to the cell, he told me to “stay strong.” That became his nickname.

There were also the officers who delivered food. Usually these were officers who were rotated from escort duties. A coveted job was as medic. The Gurkha medics escorted the doctor and nurse on their rounds. In the evenings, when the doctor and nurse were off duty, the medics would do the rounds and dispense medicine.

About a year into my detention, I was taken to Changi Hospital for an eye check. Just like my trip to the courts, I was made to wear a purple jumpsuit with the hand and ankle cuffs, chain, blindfold and GPS tracker. When we arrived at the hospital, I was made to sit in a wheelchair and a blanket was spread over me.

I was fully hidden with the hood covering my face and the blanket over my body.

“Get in. Get in!” shouted the voice to the hospital staffs as they prepared me. I believe they were the hospital security. No one was allowed to be in the corridors when I was wheeled in. I was not to be seen.

Doctors and nurses spoke very briefly to me. Some of them ignored my questions. The eye specialist looked nervous when he attended to me. When he was adjusting the eye- pressure machine, I glanced at his signature stamp on the table. He looked at me and quickly grabbed the stamp and put it away. The moment he finished checking my eyes, he rushed out of the room, pushing the nurse in his hurry.

Most of the doctors or nurses would not speak with me. I would hear them speak and joke with the officers but when I asked them anything, they clammed up. It felt as though I was invisible or an object for them to work on.

I understand their anxiety. I was an ISA detainee. According to the PAP government, ISA detainees were terrorists. I was supposed to be dangerous.

I brought it up with the prison doctor and Iqbal. Iqbal felt the eye specialist overreacted because he lacked information. “They think ISA is for violent people. They don’t know about you.”

Dr Tan laughed when I showed him how the specialist rushed out of the room. In October 2017, Dr Tan asked me about a book I was reading: James Tooley’s The Beautiful Tree. I explained Tooley’s work with private schools for the poor in India, Africa and China. At the end of my explanation, Dr Tan shook his head and said, “It is such a waste to keep you here.”

When I relayed Dr Tan’s comment to Iqbal, he became angry. “Tell him to take my job.” For Iqbal, he needed to change me before I could be released.

Because I refused to change my opinions, I had to be kept in detention.

Continued in the next article.

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Article #27

Article #26

After my detention was extended, I asked Iqbal if I could have a mattress. I had slept on a couple of blankets on the stone bench for two years and the pain did not subside. I was given a pillow in September 2017, more than a year after my detention. Having a pillow meant I could use two blankets instead of one to sleep on.

A few months into my detention, I was visited by two Justices of the Peace (JP). They asked if I had any complains to make. I asked what I could complain about. I was told they could write a report if my food was not good enough or other similar problems. At another occasion, a JP said I could tell them if the food was too salty. I was told the report would go to the highest levels.

I thought it was quite a waste of time to submit a report to the highest levels for salty food.

In the time I was in detention, I was visited by the JPs probably 5 times. No advance notice was ever given. A Gurkha officer would open the food vent, say “JP visit” and I would then face the wall with hands and legs parted to be patted down.

After my release, I read the ISD’s claims about visits by the JPs. They made it look as though these were independent auditors who could provide oversight on what went on in detention.

But the JPs did not ask me about what the ISD officers did. Even if they did, I would not have told them since that would mean I would be in greater danger from ISD abuse. Their oversight was more administrative than functional.

My discussions with a couple of these JPs were also instructive on how independent they were. In a meeting with a JP in 2018, I told one of them that I used to be a PAP supporter.

“You should have remained a PAP supporter” he reprimanded me. “Then this wouldn’t happen to you.”

The next year, I met with a Malay JP.

He told me that I was wrong to push for hijab to be allowed in schools.

“Singapore is a multiracial country it is not appropriate for us” he declared.

“Australia is more multicultural” I countered. “And it is not a problem.”

“I think most of the world is like us” he claimed.

There was really nothing much for me to share with the Justices. When I requested for a mattress about 4 months into my detention, I was told that it was “early days” and I would get used to sleeping on the stone bench.

After the extension, I requested for a mattress again. Iqbal told me he would arrange for one. About three months later, I was told that I could get a mattress if I gave up the pillow. I could not make that trade and had to make do with sleeping on blankets. As a compromise, they gave me another blanket to sleep on.

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After Krishnan confirmed the extension, he tried to trivialise it. A few minutes after being told that my detention was extended, I told myself to pull myself up. I felt terrible for a few minutes. I bowed my head and thought about losing two more years of my life. Two more years away from my family. Two more years of pain. Two more years wasted.

“It’s only two years. Time will fly” he said.

“Have you watched Interstellar?” I asked him.

He had not.

“It is about ‘time’. How it is different depending on your perspective. Two years is short for you. I am in detention. It is long for me.”

But what bothered me was not simply the way he trivialised the detention. I was used to it. Iqbal liked to claim he knows how it feels to be detained because he had been in ISD for 30 years. Hafiz said it was like sitting in his bedroom with the door and windows closed.

Ustadz Mohamed said he envied me because being in detention meant I could read the Qur’an all day everyday.

“You don’t have to envy me” I told him. “The cell next to mine is empty.”

Somehow, none of them wanted it for themselves.

What bothered me was how ISD abused the system. They claimed I was detained for supporting terrorism.

After he told me the three reasons for the extension, I said to Krishnan, “I know that even without the false confessions, you would have found another reason to detain me.”

“That’s right” he replied.

After the meeting, I thought about what he said. He wanted me to accept the Islam the ISD approved, he claimed my criticism of Shanmugam’s statement meant I was on the same spectrum as a terrorist, and he wanted me to internalise what they told me.

Throughout the 2 years I was detained, the main discussions were about politics. I was told not to criticise the government.

I discussed the extension with my mother on her next visit. She told me she broke down when she found out.

Shireen was driving when she received the call and had to pull over because she couldn’t breathe.

My mother asked me what happened. I told her the three reasons Krishnan gave me.

“But I asked them” I said to her, “’if you think I am a threat to Singapore’s security, then why spend the last two years discussing politics with me? Why not discuss security?’ But they spent two years telling me not to criticise the government.”

“Stop it. Stop.” I turned to look at the ISD officer behind me. Nelson leaned forward and was slightly shrill.

“That is under OSA. You cannot tell your mother that”.

“How is this under Official Secrets Act?” I asked him. “Why can’t I tell my mother the discussions?”

“That is under OSA. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

The extension however, brought several changes. Hafiz told me that he was continuing his studies in the UK for a year. Ben, a Chinese psychologist in his 40s took over and partnered Roslinda in the counselling sessions. Hafiz used to lead the sessions while Roslinda monitored our discussions. In the third year, Roslinda led the discussions while Ben monitored.

While Hafiz used to demand I stop discussing politics or criticise the government, Roslinda’s demand was for me to be more “balanced” in my criticisms of the PAP. She said that I should balance my criticisms with positive comments.

“I would have no problem if the PAP is balanced in reports about itself. But everytime the Singapore media or the PAP discuss its policies or leadership, they give a positive spin. I provide the other point of view to balance the PAP” I explained.

“But surely you can say good things about the PAP. Is there nothing good you can say?” she asked.

“The Workers’ Party runs Aljunied Town Council. And the PAP criticised everything they did. When has the PAP ever said anything positive about the Workers’ Party?” I countered.

Inevitably, the discussions with the psychologists were about politics. Their primary concern was to make sure I did not criticise the PAP. Or if I did, then I should do it deferentially or layer it with praises.

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I was aware that the ISD wanted me to adopt whatever they told me. In my discussions with Iqbal, he repeated “we want you to internalise what we tell you”. The challenge for me, from the beginning of the third year was to act as though I was internalising their message.

I struggled with that. For the ISD, if someone rejected their messages, it was because he was egoistical. I regularly countered their claims, especially those that made little sense. I was told that my rejection of their demands was because of my ego.

Ajitpal Singh was usually brought in to discuss ego. One day in the third or fourth year, he met with me and Iqbal. He had a full beard.

“I am going for pilgrimage to India” he told me. He then told me about an earlier pilgrimage to a mountain in India.

“After the pilgrimage, I felt light. And I realised it’s because I have lost all my ego” he stared at me, as though drilling a message.

“And you know what filled me when I lost all my ego? Humility. I am filled with humility.”

I stopped myself from laughing. That was the first time I met someone who proudly told me he was filled with humility.

But I understood his message. He wanted me to accept their views. I tended to reply and show the weakness in their arguments. That did not work for the ISD. My job was to accept and internalise everything they told me.

During this period, Iqbal finally discussed terrorism briefly with me. He knew that one of my son Alauddin’s bestfriends’ name is Usama. The first year that he met with me, he would occasionally criticise people who named their children Usama.

“Why would they give their children that name” he complained. When Iqbal wants to discuss something indirectly, he would look away as though trying to imagine a scene.

“Usama was the name of the Prophet’s companion” I told him.

“These people, in western countries they will be stopped. They cannot go in. They get in trouble.”

“No, they won’t” I argued. “I know a lot of people with the name Usama. It would be illegal to profile them based on their names.”

“It’s like Stalin. Who would name their children Stalin?” he tried to argue.

“Usama is a given name. Stalin’s given name is Josef. People still use the name Josef.”

That discussion took place several times. He would criticise the name Usama and liken it to Stalin or Hitler. Finally, towards the end of the third year, he asked me what I thought about September 11th.

“If you support the attack on America because you think it is strong and you want to bring their economy down, ok. But if you support the attack because you support Al-Qaeda then no”.

This was a common tactic. They would offer two bad choices and tell me to choose one.

“Why would I support the attack?” I asked him.

Iqbal continued to stare at me.

“You know what I think about when someone mentions 9/11? I think about those people in the plane. I think about them knowing they were going to die and not able to do anything. I think about their fear, their pain, their families. You talk about geopolitical excuses. I am more interested in the people” I explained.

I found the discussion terrible and annoying. He behaved as though I supported violence even though he admitted it was obvious I did not. And he thought I could not see that both options were terrible. After years of weekly discussions, he acted as though I supported the attack on America or the killing of civilians.

Following that discussion, I realised they thought my doubt that Osama ben Laden or any Muslim being involved in the attacks meant I supported it.

“That is insane. How does saying ‘I do not think Muslims would commit these atrocities’ mean ‘I support these atrocities’?” I asked him. “I did not think Muslims, whether Osama or anyone else would do it because it can never be justified in Islam. If someone or some group claim to act for Islam, then they cannot commit these acts. My argument is an absolute rejection of these attacks.” (Read here)

It took me years to get them to understand how I approached these discussions. A large part of the problem is the ISD’s demand that I say only what they wanted me to say. I was not allowed to explain the way I think. When I tried to explain my perspective, they would shout me down and cut me off.

It was only after the Advisory Board meeting in 2019 that I realised they misused the term “Caliphate”. According to Iqbal, throughout my detention, whenever they used the term “Caliphate”, they meant ISIS. That revelation surprised me.

“Why would you refer the ‘Caliphate’ to ISIS?”

“Because they call themselves ‘Caliphate’” he explained. Ustadz Feisal said the same thing. They refer to ISIS as “caliphate” because the group used the term for themselves.

I was reminded of the times Chang, Tim and Charlton forced me to sign statements saying I referred to ISIS as the caliphate. I thought it was simply them trying to get me to sign false statements to justify my detention. The discussion with Iqbal made me realise the reason was more egregious than simply trying to justify detention.

They actually did not know I rejected ISIS. Even though I had publicly criticised ISIS, they assumed I supported it. When I was arrested, Chang repeatedly tried to tell me I supported ISIS, even though I criticised it.

“Your wife has good points?” he asked, smiling as though he was making a brilliant argument.

“Yes” I replied.

“Bad points?”

“Sure.” I was used to him insulting Shireen.

“More good than bad?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you stay with her right? Because she has more good than bad. Just like ISIS. You don’t like what they do but they do more good than bad right? So you must support them.”

I was amazed with his logic. When have I ever said ISIS had good points? I told Hafiz about it and how silly ISD’s arguments were. I discussed Chang’s attempt to argue support if there were “good points”.

“Let me ask you something” I said to Hafiz, after describing Chang’s argument.

“Let’s say someone marries a beautiful woman, she is perfect in everyway, loving, caring, brilliant, gentle...everything. But there is just one problem. Every Saturday night she will sleep with your next door neighbour. More good than bad. But will you stay with her?”

Hafiz said he would not. “Exactly. We do not calculate and make cost-benefit analysis about people we love or groups we support or reject. We do not go....250 good 249 bad points so we support. There are some things that are key and affect our assessments. If they fundamentally go against our values, no matter how many “good points”, we will reject them.”

ISD’s attempt at logical arguments are driven by the outcome they wanted. They were so committed to their mistaken assessment that they would not contemplate a different possibility.

I asked Iqbal if the AB judge’s question about me advocating that Muslims should be able to migrate to a caliphate was about ISIS.

“Of course, it was about ISIS” he laughed, amused. “Everyone called them caliphate.”

It did not make sense to me. The term caliphate was more than a thousand years old. When Chang asked me what a caliphate was, I replied “It is the political entity representing the ummah.” He smiled and said he could not describe it better.

I realised in the discussion with Iqbal, that Chang would have thought I meant ISIS represented the ummah. Insane.

Iqbal reiterated that they referred to ISIS as a caliphate because that was the term ISIS used for themselves.

“So what if they call themselves caliphate? If I call myself the most handsome man, will you call me the most handsome man? If someone points to dogshit and tell you that is chocolate, will you call it chocolate too? Because I can tell you something. You keep calling that dogshit chocolate and someone looking for chocolate will eat that dogshit.”

During the third year, I learned more about the psychologists too. I had asked them where they went to school. In the first few months, Hafiz told me he went to Anderson Junior College. According to Roslinda, she went to Yishun Junior College.

In the third year, Roslinda claimed to have gone to Anderson. I told her that was where Hafiz said he went to.

“I could go to the same school as him” she snapped.

A few months later, she told me she went to Catholic Junior College.

“You either really messed up and got kicked out of school several times or you lied to me.”

She smiled guiltily.

“We are not allowed to tell you anything. So yes, I lied.”

Continued in the next article.

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Article #26

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If there was one thing that almost everyone associated with the ISD enjoyed more than anything, it was power and the exhibition of it.

Tim showed his power through shouts and screams, constant use of vulgarities while I was handcuffed to the chair, threatening my family, laughing after I realised he was lying to me, smiling when he had me accept the false confessions, knowing I could not do anything about any of it.

Chang did it through his threats to arrest my children and my wife, telling me he would keep me in detention.

Even Anderson, the nurse got into it. One of the comments he liked to make was that he could stop me from going to yard. “I can write a note and say you cannot go to yard. Then you stay inside your cell” he smiled. The yard may not be much, but it was important for me to at least be able to leave the cell. Just to see a different set of walls.

In one of my early meetings with Superintendent Ajitpal Singh s/o Amarjeet Singh, he demanded surrender of my Australian passport. My family had shown my Australian passport to the ISD officers during the interrogation period after they asked me about my Australian citizenship. In January 2018, Ajitpal told me to instruct my family to hand over my Australian passport. I told him that I had to get the Australian government’s approval. A passport is the property of the government and since I entered Singapore with my Singapore passport, he had no right to demand my Australian passport.

He was not happy. ISD officers were used to absolute compliance. He kept demanding it and finally walked out saying he don’t know what the issue was.

“I had even seized a birth certificate before” he informed me.

Iqbal followed up with the demand after that. “We can get your passport anytime. But we want to see if you will listen.”

Iqbal constantly told me that I had no power. “ISD is like a rock. You cannot change it. You can bang your head and it won’t change.”

The second time I met him, Iqbal told me that he needed only 1 week to figure me out. “I will have you in my pocket” he said.

I thought, “Great.” If he could figure me out in one week, I should be released in two.

Because there was no way I was a threat to Singapore’s security. One year later, I asked him how long it took him to figure me out.

“With you, it took longer. 4 months” he said.

But it took him much longer than that.

In December 2018, 17 months after we first met, he told me “we just realised that you have never supported ISIS.”

I was surprised at first. It took him almost 1.5 years and ISD 2.5 years to realise that?

They knew about the false confessions. They knew that I was forced to sign those statements. In fact, I said it repeatedly to Iqbal and other officers that 50% of the statements were false. And it still took them 2.5 years to realise the mistake.

The problem was that the ISD believed their lies. After getting me to agree to their fiction, they believed those fiction to be true.

Their realisation that I have never supported ISIS came after Iqbal asked me to write a review of Sheikh Yaqubi’s book “Refuting ISIS”.

I told them from the beginning that I was not interested in ISIS. My discussions about the Syrian revolution were due to the brutality of the Bashar Al Assad’s government. I followed the Syrian National Coalition, Free Syrian Army and the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights. ISIS just happened to be the group in the media in mid 2014.

I told ISD officers repeatedly that I initially did not know who ISIS was and thought they were defending the Syrians from Bashar Al Assad. When there were reports that they were committing brutalities, I did not believe it because that was not the conduct of Muslims. I thought these were fake news. I later took the position of “reserved judgement”. When I realised the accusations were true, I criticised them.

The ISD officers knew all these.

In his book, Sheikh Yaqubi discussed several issues. What caught my attention, however, was his discussion of ISIS’ history prior to the Syrian revolution. He quoted their publications that detailed their strategy to commit violence and creating chaos that would result in state collapse. With state collapse, they would be able to take power.

When Iqbal told me to write the review, I admitted to not knowing that history. I knew that various ISD officers would read what I wrote, so I wrote what they expected me to (I had learned they wanted self-incrimination). I criticised and insulted myself as they demanded.

The demand for me to self-criticise was given from the first days of detention. I was told to take responsibility for everything they accused me of. Taking responsibility meant self- criticism and self-insult. Whatever accusation they made, my response was to criticise myself. If I did not, that meant I was not remorseful and if I was not remorseful, that meant I was a threat to Singapore.

I criticised myself when I was told to write my review of Sheikh Yaqubi’s book. What was significant about the book was that I realised that ISIS was not a product of the Syrian revolution or simply due to Bashar’s brutality. They predated the revolution. I acknowledged that mistake in my analysis.

But that acknowledgement did not affect my initial position. I did not support ISIS prior to the realisation and did not support them after I found out about it. What Sheikh Yaqubi provided with his writing was the historical context of the group.

It was a couple of weeks after I wrote my review that Iqbal made the admission that they just realised that I had never supported ISIS.

Writing in detention was not a common exercise. After my release, I read accounts from other prisons and ISD detentions from the 1960s-1980s. Detainees and prisoners were allowed to write. They had access to writing material and drawing sheets.

I did not have any of that. I was only allowed to write when these officers wanted me to. That happened probably once or twice a year.

Every time I was told to write something, ISD prison officers would give the ink tube of the pen (not the whole pen) and a couple sheet of A4 paper. That was all.

I was told to return everything when I was done writing (usually within a couple of days). If I needed more paper, I would have to request it. The prison officers would check with Iqbal whether I would be allowed more. If I was, then they would give me another couple of sheets.

The officer would make sure that every piece of paper was returned. Nothing would be left in the cell. After my release, I read how previous detainees were allowed to decorate their walls with cards or letters and to have personal items or food from home in their cells.

I was not allowed any of that.

My walls were the same bare, pale green. Nothing that were not officially issued (such as the blankets and uniforms) were permitted in the cells.

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After a while, my family was allowed to send pictures of themselves to me. Iqbal would show me their pictures when he met with me in the interrogation room. I would look at pictures of my wife and children for a few minutes before the pictures were taken away. I asked repeatedly if I could bring these pictures to my cell.

“No” he replied. “We want you to feel the pain of longing. We want you to yearn for them so you will change.”

Twice a year (during the anniversary of our first meeting in Hawaii and our wedding anniversary) I was allowed to write a letter to Shireen. I would make the requests to Iqbal in advance, and he said he would submit the request to his bosses. A couple of weeks later, he would tell me it was approved (it was approved for those two dates). He would then bring a sheet of A4 paper to the interrogation session with the pen ink tube.

I would write a few lines for Shireen and hand it back to Iqbal.

The letter would then have to go through ISD censors. On one occasion, I wrote a Shakespeare sonnet as part of the letter. In our next meeting, Iqbal told me the letter was not approved by ISD censors and I had to rewrite it without the sonnet.

ISD officers would then take a photo of my letter and send it to Shireen via WhatsApp. Shireen and our children would send cards to me, that like the photos, I would be allowed to look at in the interrogation room for a few minutes before handing it back to Iqbal.

The sense of helplessness, of disconnection, of being degraded and less than human is a constant in ISD detention.

I get the sense that ISD officers were afraid too. Tim looked subservient whenever Chang entered the room. When he was with Krishnan, Iqbal seemed to lose his confidence. He became deferential.

Because I was not supposed to know their names, Tim, Ong, Roslan and Larsson did not refer to each other by name. They would call each other “brother”1. On the surface, it sounded egalitarian. But early on, I noticed the hierarchy.

At the end of any interrogation, the lower ranking officer would be told to call the Gurkha officers to take me back to cell. Tim could be sitting by the phone, but he would turn to Ong and point to the phone and Ong would make the call. The same happened when Ong was with Larsson. Ong would point to the phone and Larsson would pick it up.

The ISD prison officers tended to be rather cordial, even when they performed cell checks. But there was always tension. They could not talk much. No information could be given. When I heard someone screaming a few cells away and asked one of the officers, Siva, if the person was alright, he told me he could not say anything.

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ISD officers were terrified of their bosses.

One example was when I dropped a shave clip cover.

Shave days were on Tuesdays and Saturdays. ISD officers would enter the cell together with 2 Gurkha officers. They would give me a shave and I would remove the shave clip cover and return it to them. I would then stand over the metal squat toilet, look at my reflection in the metal plate on the wall (that housed the flush and shower buttons and a fixed shower knob) and shave.

The hole for the squat toilet was more than elbow deep, filled with water.

In April 2019, as I unclipped the shave cover, it fell into the toilet hole. The ISD prison officer panicked. He told me to get the cover back from inside the toilet hole. I refused.

“No, that’s dirty” I told him.

He squatted at the toilet and thrust his hand in, trying to fish the cover back out. I told him to stop.

“I don’t care its dirty. I carried dead body before” he said, agitated.

“You know, Singapore, everything is accountability. I have to be accountable for this. I have to report this” he was frantic. “You did this on purpose!”

“Why would I do this on purpose?” I asked him.

One of the Gurkha officers signalled to me to flush the toilet. I pressed the button.

The ISD officer looked terrified and kept saying I was trying to get him in trouble. I felt sorry for him. Losing a shave cover could terrify him so badly. A few days later when we met again, he had recovered himself and we chatted briefly. But he repeated that he was held to account for losing the cover.

What he did not realise is that it never was about accountability. The PAP government is about control. Nothing can be allowed to slip out of its control. Everyone is kept on their toes.

To lose control is to lose power.

Continued in the next article.

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Article #25

Politics was never far from our discussions.

Tim initially tried to claim that my detention did not have anything to do with my criticism of the PAP. Almost a year into my detention, I was told “You are not here because you were a thorn in the government’s side. But there is a Chinese saying “If you stand by the river long enough, you will see the dead bodies of your enemies floating by.” I am not sure if he meant I was his enemy or the PAP’s enemy.

The discussion on politics however, was premised on not discussing it. Throughout the 4 years and 4 months, the main discussions the psychologists and ISD officers had with me were about not discussing politics.

I was warned repeatedly against trying to challenge the “status quo”. Hafiz argued that Singaporeans did not discuss politics.

“No, we keep quiet. We only vote during elections. We don’t get involved. We keep quiet” he said, while cupping his hand over his mouth.

“Like if you buy a Honda. If there is a problem with the car, why would you say anything? You keep quiet” he continued.

“No, if you buy a Honda and if there is a problem, you should say something. If there is a factory fault, it may be the same for others” I argued.

The main argument he made was that Singaporeans were not smart enough. Because they were not smart enough, they would misunderstand my arguments and cause chaos.

“If 50% of Singaporeans have university degree then you can talk. Now they are not smart. We have what? 25% university graduates?” he asked while looking at Roslinda as though looking for confirmation. “If you talk politics they will misunderstand and cause trouble” he continued.

I spent the first two years of detention having such political discussions with Hafiz. “Let me ask you this” I said to him. “In a democracy, where is the source of power?”

“With the people” he reasoned.

“Exactly. How are the people supposed to use their power if they don’t discuss issues? How will they apply their power if they don’t know what is going on?”

According to Hafiz, the only legitimate place to criticise Singapore politics was in academic books. Krishnan however said I did not have to write academic books: journal articles would do. These journals would not read by most Singaporeans.

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One thing I appreciate about Hafiz however, is that he was direct. He admitted that he wanted me to stop discussing politics. He readily labelled the PAP government as “authoritarian.” When I referred to Singapore as an “illiberal democracy” he laughed because he had never heard the term before. When I asked him and Roslinda if they were both PAP, Roslinda kept quiet while Hafiz nodded his head vigorously.

As much as they demanded that I not discuss politics or to adopt realism rather than constructivism, I could not do it. At first, I took their demands as supplementary to my detention. I tried to hold on to the official allegation: their accusation that I supported ISIS or terrorism. I knew that the officers relayed their discussions with me to their department. I used whatever discussions we had to reiterate the fact that I had never supported ISIS. The ISD officers knew I did not support violence. They had alluded to that repeatedly. And they knew that the statements I signed were their statements not mine.

I brought up the fact that the statements were false repeatedly. Early during the interrogation period, as Tim demanded I sign the statements they crafted, I told him that 30-50% of the statements were false. Tim asked me why they were false.

“Because that is not how I think” I replied. As usual, he smiled.

Later, the false statements became more dominant. I said to Iqbal that 50% of the statements were false. The only true information on every statement were my name, identity card number and signature.

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In July 2017, I met with the Advisory Board (AB) for the second time. For this meeting, Eugene and Suang were with me. The “scowl face” AB member asked me:

“You said you love Singapore! Then why did you want to have a jihad camp against Singapore.” (Read here on the “jihad” camp)

I was shocked and upset. I had accepted that the statement on “jihad camp” that Tim forced me to sign was used to justify my detention. But I had hoped that the ISD would have retracted it. I did not have any indication that they would. It was just a hope or expectation of fairness.

I had also expected that the statements I was forced to sign a year earlier would not be used anymore. The statements were supposed to justify the initial detention, not its continuation.

I turned to Eugene. “Should I tell them the truth about what happened?” I asked him.

“No, just tell them what you really feel.”

Eugene had advised me against antagonising the ISD. They had absolute power and if I antagonised them, they could simply keep me in detention and make things worse.

I told the AB the basis of my political beliefs. “I believe that every society has the right to determine for itself its own socio-political system. These systems cannot be imposed on them.”

At hindsight, it appeared as though I did not answer their question directly. I had wanted to tell the AB what happened. I wanted to tell them about the Fardhu Ain camp. I wanted to tell them about the threats on my family, on the demand that I signed the false statements. That if my response was different from their assessment then the ISD would accuse me of being deceptive and I would be detained.

I wanted to tell them that I was told to accept the false statements first and that I could tell the truth at the AB. That they would give me reams and reams of paper to tell the truth. (Read here)

I wanted to tell the AB that I was not allowed to have a lawyer for the first AB. That I was not allowed to take the notes I had written. That I was told to repeat what I signed during interrogation. That they told me they would know what I said at the AB.

I wanted to tell them that the jihad camp never existed. That I had never even thought of such a plan. That it was a fiction that Tim and the ISD created.

I could not directly reject the accusation. I thought about how flawed the system was. Anyone arrested by the ISD would be forced to agree with everything the ISD demanded. And we could not speak against them. As Tim and Ong had warned me, they would know what I said to the AB.

I agreed with Eugene’s advice that if I spoke against the ISD, they could make things worse for me. I know that they would extend my detention, make the conditions worse, target my family. And there was nothing that anyone could do. I thought about women who were battered by their husbands and told to make a report against him.

Only to be forced to return home to her abuser after making the report.

The only way I could answer was obliquely. I could not tell the AB that there never was a plan for a jihad camp since that would show that the statement was false. So, I referred to my political philosophy that every society had the right to its own system.

The meeting upset me. When I met with Tim, I told him about it and how I was deeply offended by the question.

“There never was a jihad camp” Tim admitted.

“Of course not!” I snapped. “You were the one who forced me to sign it!”

Tim kept quiet and then discussed other matters.

A few weeks later, on 31st July 2017, Tim met me with an Indian Muslim officer in his mid 50s.

“This is Iqbal” Tim introduced us. “He will be your rehabilitation officer.”
I realised then that I would not be released. Again.

“Make sure you don’t lie to him. You are here because you lied on the first day.”

Tim had kept to that line for the past year: “You are here because you lied on the first day.”

He claimed I was arrested because I lied when I said I did not support ISIS. His evidence that I lied were the subsequent statements he forced me to sign.

According to Tim, that was why he was forced to arrest me.

I was tired of that fiction and had ignored him every time he said it. But when he said it in front of Iqbal, I decided to show him his lies.

“According to the allegation of facts, I was detained because I radicalised two youths, right?” I asked him.

“That’s right” Tim agreed.

“You already knew about these two youths before you arrested me” I continued.

“Yes.”

“Ok. Since I was detained because of the two youths and you already knew about these two youths before you arrested me, you would have arrested me no matter what I said the first day.”

Tim looked uncomfortable and Iqbal laughed. “Let’s not talk about the past” Iqbal suggested.

Iqbal met with me twice a week for about 30 minutes each from then on. He kept telling me to forget what they did to me. Forget the fact that I was forced to make false confessions or that they threatened to arrest my family.

“Move forward” he said.
“No problem. But how do we move forward when you guys won’t admit what you did?”

“What do you want us to do?” he asked me.

“Apologise.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You want ISD to apologise?”

I learned that Iqbal was the same rank as Tim. DSP Iqbal Abdul Rahim.

There were three main things that Iqbal discussed with me: he was a Liverpool supporter and knew that I supported Manchester United. We talked soccer. He would make circuitous references to AlQaeda or ISIS and assessed my responses. But his main point was that I should not discuss politics.

Iqbal was not as direct as Hafiz. While Hafiz demanded I stop discussing politics, Iqbal would tell me that he did not “give a damn about the PAP.”

He said that whatever I thought about PAP was my right. But I should not criticise the government. He based his argument on the belief that the government knew better.

“What do you know? You only know theory” he would say repeatedly.

I was also told that I was getting old (I was 45) and had wasted my life discussing Singapore politics. That I had no right to discuss unless I had achieved material success. I should have focused on making money.

In January 2018, I was introduced to another officer, Superintendent Ajitpal Singh Amarjeet Singh. Iqbal told me Ajitpal was his supervisor.

In his first few meetings with me, Ajitpal instructed me: “don’t seek change.”

“If we did not change, we would still be colonised, women still can’t vote, there will still be slavery” I replied.

“Don’t seek change the way you seek it” he told me.

Continued in the next article.

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Article #24

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I was told that the only way I would be released was if I changed.

Soon after I was given the detention order, Chang asked me “Have you heard the song ‘Another day in paradise’?”

“Yes Phil Collins” I replied.

“Yea. If you don’t change, you will be here for years and years. Your case officers will change. We will get other people. They will go to different department or retire. You will stay here. It will be just ‘Another day in Paradise’ for you.”

I have no problems with change. To reject change was to reject growth. I looked forward to it. The problem with their demand was that they wanted me to change to what they wanted me to be.

The ISD lost any chance of that happening when they abused their power and forced me to make false confessions to detain me.

How was I supposed to accept that?

Amazingly, while they were each supposed to “counsel” me on different matters, the ISD officers, psychologists and religious counsellors converged in the rejection of politics. Hafiz demanded I stop criticising the government and argued that Singaporeans did not discuss politics.

Iqbal told me that he did not care about my criticism of the PAP but said I should not criticise the government. He further argued that the government knew what they were doing. Ajitpal told me not to seek change. Both Iqbal and Ajitpal argued that democracy was not acceptable in Singapore. They claimed that my discussions of democracy was tantamount to trying to impose “Australian democracy” to Singapore. Singapore for them, was exceptional. It had its own brand of democracy.

For the RRG counsellors, politics was rejected with an Islamic or anti-Islamic justification.

The second counsellor, Ustadz Dr Feisal Hassan had two primary messages. He claimed that his PhD research was on the concept of “wasatiya”. Wasatiya had regularly been mistranslated to mean “moderation” in Islam. I told him that I reject the use of the term moderate and extreme. Even Osama ben Laden would claim to be moderate. He agreed. According to Ustadz Feisal, the term moderate did not do justice to wasatiya. He viewed wasatiya as representing the ideal point for a Muslim’s action as understood through the work of Imam Ghazali.

I enjoyed those discussions. A discussion that resonated strongly with me was the concept of mercy in Islam. We agreed that Islam is beautiful and merciful. That Allah is merciful. That Allah’s compassion envelopes his creation.

But he also made several problematic arguments. His PhD thesis was not simply about understanding wasatiyah or the ideal point of Islamic understanding and practice. After my release from detention, I read his PhD thesis. His thesis claimed that the Singapore religious leadership (MUIS and RRG) and PAP Muslim Ministers were the ideal examples of Islamic practice.

What I found most problematic with his counselling however, was his constant demand that I not get involved in other discussions. The government should be left to govern. The Islamic scholars should be left to their role. I should keep away. He used the analogy that every flower is beautiful in its own way but they were all different.

And yet, he demanded I keep away from my research area. I studied politics. And have researched quite a bit on Islam and politics. These were my areas of study. To demand I not discuss governance and politics did not make sense. 1. I believe politics is everyone’s responsibility. 2. It was my area of research.

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While Ustadz Feisal’s demand for depoliticization was based on his privileging the PAP elites (and that we should leave politics and governance to them), Ustadz Mohamed’s demand was probably based on intra-religious rivalries. It led to him blaming Islam.

Ustadz Mohamed claimed that terrorism was an Islamic phenomena. It should be noted that the leaders of the RRG including the two counsellors were Sufi. Traditionally, the Sufi have been political rivals of the Salafi. With the Sufi forming the RRG and its close connection with the PAP, they get the greatest traction in the Singapore establishment.

I have no issues with someone choosing to be Sufi, Salafi or any of the other denominations. I have a problem with the RRG using state power to privilege their preference.

Ustadz Mohamed argued that terrorism was a Salafi project. For him, hatred, enmity (and violence) against non-Muslim was a Salafi creed. I disagreed. I explained that I know a lot of Salafis who lived peaceably and with affection with non-Muslims. I argued that terrorism was political violence. Some may use religion as justification but their motivations have always been politics. I accept that there were some Salafis who were inclined towards violence but that was not a condition of the belief. I reminded him that Omar Mokhtar, the Libyan freedom fighter against Italian colonisation was accused of being a terrorist and was a Sufi Sheikh.

We continuously disagreed on the source of terrorism. I relayed my definition of terrorism as “violence committed against a civilian population to cause fear for a political objective.” The four elements of violence, on civilians, fear and political objective must exist before an act can be classified as terrorism.

Ustadz Mohamed was adamant on his blame of the Salafis. It did not make sense. The FARC, LTTE, Basque separatists have all been accused of committing terrorism. Would he trace their motivations to Salafism? Various political groups have committed terrorism from France’s Robespierre to Peru’s Shining Path and they were not associated with religion.

In a side discussion, Ustadz Mohamed repeatedly asked me for advice on how to counsel Muslim youths who were becoming extreme. I am quite sure he asked me not because of whatever insight I could provide, but to assess my response. I asked him what he meant about Muslim youth extremism.

“They do not want to get involved with non-Muslims” he replied.

“You can get someone they respect to discuss with them. What are their demographics?” I queried.

“Young, university students.”

“What do they think of the government?”

“They don’t like the government” he explained.

“Then you cannot be the one to counsel them” I told him.

“Why? Why not?” he snapped.

“Because you are too close to the PAP.”

“Do they know?” he barked. “Do they know why I’m close to the PAP?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. You won’t have credibility because you are too close to the PAP.”

The claim that religion was the cause of violence was not just Ustadz Mohamed’s argument. Ajitpal Singh kept selling that point. According to Ajitpal, Muslim rulers in India were so evil that the Hindus created a pure army (the Khalsa) that became the Sikh warriors to fight against the Muslims.

He ascribed violence to religion and especially Islam. At first, I argued against it. It did not make sense. But after the third year, I looked at him and ignored what he said. If that was what he wanted to believe, then I would leave it to him. I knew that he wanted me to adopt that view. My best response was just to ignore him.

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In the lead up to the AB meeting at the end of the second year, I was confident of being released. Ustadz Mohamed was quite excited in the “counselling” session a few weeks before the AB meeting. He showed me a newspaper clipping of the Surabaya church bombings. The bombers included a family and three of their children. 28 people died in the bombings.

“See, they attacked churches” Ustadz Mohamed exclaimed “It is religious.”

“How many temples were attacked?” I asked him.

He looked uncertain. “None.”

“So why did they attack churches but not temples in Indonesia?”

He looked perplexed and unsure.

“Because in Indonesia, the church symbolises the west. This was not a religious attack. It was political” I explained.

During the AB, “scowl face” (he was still scowling) asked me if I heard about the attacks.

“Yes, the Ustadz showed me the article about it. And like I explained to the Ustadz, the motivation for the attacks seems to be politics not religion.”

“Did you hear about the Las Vegas shooting?” he continued.

“No, I did not.”

“There was a gunman who shot at people from on top a building.” He went on to describe the shooting.

“The Surabaya bombing was terrorism” he said.

“I agree with you. But I don’t agree it was due to religion. It was politically motivated” I replied.

“The Las Vegas shooting was also terrorism” he continued.

I kept quiet. I disagreed. Terrorism required political motivation. The shootings met the first three criteria of violence, on civilians and causing fear. But what was the objective? It looked more like mass murder than terrorism.

The Malay looking AB member did not have anything to ask me. When the judge offered the floor to him, he brushed it away, looking upset. “No, nothing” he dismissed.

I was not sure how it went. After the 2017 AB meeting (the midterm review), Eugene told me he was confident of the hearing. He thought it went well. I asked him about the questions that the AB members asked. They appeared hostile, especially the question on the jihad camp (Read here).

Eugene explained that the AB just wanted to see how I would react. He said I was calm and answered well.

Eugene addressed the AB members before I spoke. He said that I had spent time in detention and would like to be reintegrated into society. But of course, the AB did not release me. My detention carried on.

On 25th July 2018, about 3 weeks after the AB hearing, I was taken to the interrogation room. I had expected to meet with Iqbal and maybe another senior officer.

About 20 minutes later, Iqbal entered the room with S Krishnan, the director that issued the first detention order against me.

And once again, he looked angry.

He berated me. I was told to cooperate better.

I had been detained for two years and expected to be released. I had made plans to meet with my mother and Facetime with my wife and children. I was trying to control my excited anticipation.

His anger worried me.

“You think Islam is perfect” he charged. I nodded.

“We want you to accept the Islam we approve.”

I was surprised that he said it so openly and easily. The Islam the ISD approved. Iqbal looked at me and nodded his head.

“You argue about the Christmas greeting. Which means you are anti-secular. Which means you are an extremist. Which is on the same spectrum as being a terrorist” he bellowed.

I kept staring at him. What was he going on? Those were crazy links. Criticising Shanmugam’s demand for Muslims to wish Christians “Merry Christmas” meant I was on the same spectrum as being a terrorist?

And finally he told me the third reason.

“This is not about who has the better argument. We want you to internalise what we tell you.”

I had been discussing openly with them the whole two years. I realised that was not what the ISD wanted. They kept telling me to “talk” and share my thoughts. But what they wanted was to know how I think so they could change my views. What they wanted was for me to just listen and accept what they said. No matter how silly their arguments.

“You know the result right?” he asked condescendingly. “Extension?”

“Yes extension.”

Continued in the next article.

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Article #23

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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.

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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.

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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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Article #22

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Around the period that I met with the lawyers, Eugene and Suang, I began getting printed religious sermons. Being in solitary confinement without communication and connection could create not just emotional and intellectual vacuum but also spiritual emptiness. I felt spiritually alone.

I asked Ong if they could pipe sermons from Friday prayers through the intercom. At least, I could gain some spiritual connection. A few weeks later, while I was running in the yard, two officers, a Chinese lady and Mdm Hamidah came and handed me printed copies (in Malay and English) of MUIS’ Friday sermon. I was allowed to have the printed sermon for 2 days before returning it to the ISD.

MUIS sermons were as expected, focused on personal character building. I would read the sermons to get English translations of Quran texts and for recommendation on prayers to recite. I looked forward to them.

I was also introduced to another ISD officer. Assistant Superintendent (ASP) Amir Asad met with me a few days after my birthday. On my birthday, I was brought to the interrogation room to enjoy a feast. There was cake and chocolate and various food. I appreciated the gesture.

I met Amir in one of my last meetings with Chang. Chang stopped meeting me around October when I insisted to meet with a lawyer. It seems that Chang’s main purpose after my Detention Order was given, was to dissuade me from getting legal representation.

According to Amir, he was part of Tim’s team and oversaw my rehabilitation. At first, he told me that part of his responsibilities was to arrange for the psychologist and religious counsellor’s visit. Hafiz had told me that he would meet with me once a month. I would ask Amir for the exact date every month. I was later told that Hafiz arranged directly with the ISD detention centre officers .

According to Amir, the psychologists and ISD rehabilitation worked independent of each other. However, there may be areas that overlapped and they would ask Hafiz to probe or “counsel” me in those areas.

Around November, I was told that I would meet with two Ustadz from the Religious Rehabilitation Group (RRG). One was Ustadz Salim Jasman and the other Ustadz Dr Mohamed bin Ali. Ustadz Mohamed was Ustadz Ali’s son, the Chairman of RRG.

We did not discuss much during the first meeting. The session was mainly introductory. I knew the work of the RRG and had always been critical of their close association with the ISD and PAP. I wanted to understand how they viewed their role.

I knew Ustadz Salim from when I was a child. We lived in the same housing estate (Depot Road) and he was friends with my mother. In fact, in that meeting he told me “I don’t know you, but I know your mother.”

Ustadz Mohamed had a PhD in Islamic studies and a Masters in International Studies. I looked forward to the discussion that we would have.

Amir had suggested I tell the two Ustadz that I did not know Islam well and to teach me Islam from the very basic. ISD officers had a habit of denying their suggestions and recommendations. After meeting with the two Ustadz, I met with Amir again. He asked me how the meeting went, and I told him that it went well and I followed his suggestion. He looked angry. “You tell them I tell you? I did not tell you.”

That was not the first time. A lot of times during interrogations, after Tim told me what to say and I repeated them, he would say “You said it, not me.” Amir would pull that act several times over the next few years.

November also marked the first admission that I had nothing to do with ISIS. In my meeting with the psychologist Hafiz, he admitted that “it is obvious that you have never supported ISIS.”

When he made the admission, I was puzzled and relieved at the same time. To acknowledge that he realised I had never supported ISIS implies that he thought I did. If he knew what went on during interrogation, he would know the accusations were false. At the same time, I was relieved because he finally admitted it.

Since Hafiz was primarily responsible for my “rehabilitation”, which was supposedly due to the support for ISIS, acknowledging that I have “never supported ISIS” would naturally mean I did not need to be rehabilitated. If I did not need to be rehabilitated, then I should not be detained.

We had discussed politics, Islam and my meeting with the AB. According to Hafiz, his role was twofold: help me with coping strategies for my detention and to encourage me to stop discussing politics.

Although initially, he did not say that I should not discuss politics.

“I am helping you build other areas. It is like we are building a garden. You don’t just discuss one thing, but a lot of other flowers.” Hafiz had originally assumed that I worked on a binary black/white intellectual approach. In October he told me that not everything was black or white. I agreed. He realised later that I operated a lot in the gray areas. When he found that out, he argued that it was a problem and wanted me to change that too.

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I found Hafiz amusing. He demanded I think in very specific ways. Some of his demands did not make sense either due to the ideas themselves or the fact that a demand was made.

For example, he asked me about international relations theories that I worked with. I explained realism, neoliberalism and constructivism. I told him that realists believed in states pursuing self-interest and that conflict is the basis of relationships while constructivist are more ideational, coalitional and accepted that our interpretations and perception were socially constructed.

I was a constructivist.

“I don’t want you to be constructivist. I want you to become a realist” he demanded. He made it sound as though adhering to a theoretical lens was as simple as picking a shirt colour.

But he was adamant. For the rest of my detention, one of his constant demands was for me to abandon constructivism and adopt realism.

By February 2017, 7 months after I was detained and 3 months after conceding that I had never supported ISIS, Hafiz told me that he had nothing to counsel me anymore.

I felt optimistic. If the psychologist admitted that I had never supported ISIS and he did not have anything to counsel me anymore, then I should be released soon.

I had waited to be released from the day after I was arrested. The ISD knew that I did not support ISIS. They had purposefully forced me to make false confessions. They had achieved their objective in showing me their absolute power and publicly assassinate my character. There was no reason to carry on with the detention.

I harboured a hope that they would show their humanity. Every morning when I woke up and realised that I was still in a 2m by 3m cell, I would feel hurt. I told myself “this is the day” I would be released. I could not see them being more cruel than they already were.

Every night, I went to bed disappointed. I spent the whole day waiting to be taken to meet with the ISD officers. And if I met with them, I expected to be told I would be released.

And every night I went to sleep with the knowledge that I was still in a tiny cell, separated from my family. I did not have a life. My whole life was that cell. Nothing else.

And the next day, it went on again. I woke up hoping and expecting to be released and went to bed disappointed that I was not.

I went through this daily routine of hope and disappointment everyday for the first two years. I kept the belief that they would release me, that they were human, they made mistakes but regardless of what they did or said, they were not cruel. The system was flawed but I had faith in their humanity.

When Hafiz said he did not have anything to counsel me anymore, I thought, that was it. I would be released soon. My expectations grew.

I waited for the release. I told Amir and Larsson what Hafiz said. I was happy and optimistic. I asked them when I would be released. I held to the optimism and increased expectations until the next month.

When I met Hafiz in March, he had one specific demand:

“If you keep criticising the government, I will not release you.”

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Article #21

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Even though I had met with the AB, I was still adamant about meeting with a lawyer. I had two reasons for wanting a lawyer.

The most important reason was to get independent advice. Up till then, everything I knew was what the ISD officers told me. Whether it was about being able to speak the truth during mitigation, that I would be released if I followed what they told me to do, the threats on my wife and children or the processes of detention and release, I was totally dependent on my captors.

The other reason was to have a witness. I did not know if I would ever be released. And because I was not allowed to speak openly with my family and did not have anyone else to communicate with, having a lawyer would at least mean someone would know what happened to me.

I was also keen to make sure that the ISD did not continue to abuse their power, whether on me or someone else. One way to help end their corruption was to ensure public accountability in the way they operate. Having lawyers for everyone arrested under the ISA would help minimise if not end the corruption.

Tim and Chang kept dissuading me from it. “You are personable, the AB will like you. You don’t need a lawyer” Tim tried to coax me.

They insisted that if I engaged a lawyer and my case received publicity, it would jeopardise my release. Chang held out the carrot of an early release. I may not have to serve the full two years. I may be released earlier if I followed their instructions.

But if my case generated publicity, then they could not release me. It would make things difficult.

The challenge was to insist on meeting with a lawyer while not making it a threat to the ISD’s absolute power. I had to request to meet with a lawyer while making it look as though I was not sure about it. I had to phrase my insistence as questions rather than statements.

The discussion went on for weeks until I finally insisted that I wanted the lawyer, against their demands. “I think, I should meet with a lawyer, don’t I? I don’t know what is going on.”

Only then was my family allowed to arrange one for me. It would have been difficult to ask my family to get a lawyer without the officers’ indulgence. If they were not happy with anything I said to my family, I would be in trouble.

A couple of months after I was arrested, I asked my mother to remove me from the family’s WhatsApp group. The group name was “KSK”, signifying “Kita sayang kita” (We love us) that my mother, brother and I said to each other.

Ong interrogated me after my mother’s visit.

“You said KSK what is that? What did it mean?” he demanded.

I was made to explain what it meant, why I asked to be removed, what my intentions were. The officers regularly asked me to explain whatever I said to my family. Everything was fair game for them to know more.

A few weeks before meeting with the lawyers, I was given one comic book to read a week. The officers would pick out a book and had it delivered to my cell. Getting the comic book was a massive upgrade in getting at least some mental stimulation. At least, I could read words and look at the drawings. Instead of spending my time staring at the walls or talking to myself.

The week that I met with the lawyers, the ISD gave me 3 comic books to read. Immediately after the meeting, it went back to 1 comic book.

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My mother told me that Shireen had organised with M Ravi to represent me. However, right before the meeting, I learned that Ravi’s licence may be suspended, and Eugene Thuraisingam had taken over my case.

I was not allowed to request the meeting. The lawyer had to write in to the ISD and wait to be given a date to meet with me. It was up to the ISD’s discretion.

When I was brought to the family visit room to meet with Eugene and his associate Suang Widjaya, it became apparent that lawyers’ visits at ISD detention was not normal. There were conflicting information, and the Gurkha officers did not know what to do. When I was brought to the room, I asked the ISD officer that accompanied me how much time I had to meet with the lawyers.

“As much time as you want. It depends on your lawyer.”

The Gurkha officers were not sure what they were supposed to do. I told them that I was meeting with my lawyers and that there would be no ISD officers in the room. It was protocol for case officers to attend every family visit. In fact, if my family had arrived at the detention centre and an ISD case officer was not present in the family visit room, my family would not be allowed to meet me until the case officer arrived.

The family visit room would remain closed and an ISD prison officer would periodically check if a case officer had arrived on my side of the visit room.

I told the Gurkha officers that they should not wait for the case officers to arrive and that they should not be in the room. They were confused.

They had to keep calling their command centre to get instructions whether I was allowed to meet with my lawyers without case officers present and if they were supposed to leave. That confusion happened several times in the first couple of years. Some of the Gurkha officers would remain in the room while I discussed my case before leaving a few minutes later.

I asked Eugene, how long we could discuss my case on that first meeting. Like the ISD officer, he said that he could be there as long as I needed. ISD did not set any time limit. I took time to discuss my case.

I told them about the threats to my family and how I was forced to make false confessions. However, in the middle of our discussions, the door was opened, and we were told that time was up. We did not know that we were given only 30 minutes. I had to rush through the rest of what I needed to discuss with them.

Meeting with Eugene and Suang lifted my spirits. Eugene said that there was nothing he could do about my detention as it stood. I was advised to accept the detention and to only seek recourse if I was given an extension. They said they would try get me better conditions and books.

The lack of options did not bother me. I had accepted that the ISD had absolute power and there was nothing I or anyone else could do to hasten my release. But being able to share with Eugene and Suang and get independent advice gave me some hope.

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Article #20

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From the time I was given the AB notice, Tim told me to write what I would say at the meeting. I was given one piece of paper, not the reams and reams he promised during interrogation. (Read here) After writing, I was told to insert the paper in an envelope and hand it to him.

“You can have it when we meet again.” I was given the paper to look at and work on during the twice weekly meetings.

I was told to write everything that I planned to bring up with the AB.

I checked his intentions: “You just want to know what I will say at the AB.”

“It’s normal. Even in criminal trials, prosecutors and defence will share information and documents” he claimed.

“Then can I see what you say about me to the AB?”

“No you can’t” he retorted.

It did not matter that they would read what I planned to say. All of it would be what they told me to do anyway. What other options were there?

I kept asking to meet with a lawyer even though Gilbert told me that I could not arrange for one after not including it on the notification form. Chang and Tim discouraged me from trying to get legal representation.

“You are articulate” said Tim. “You don’t need a lawyer.”

“Only people who cannot speak get a lawyer. This is not like normal trials. There are no witnesses to examine. You won’t call any witnesses” Chang rejoined.

“I don’t know what to say and don’t know the procedures” I explained.

“You know, I’ve seen one detainee, he brought his paper then he crumpled it up and throw it away. He spoke from the heart.”

I asked for a lawyer repeatedly and kept getting rejected.

Tim assured me that Singapore’s judiciary was not the same as it used to be. “There are even cases where the judge ruled against the prosecution” he assured me.

Each of them told me what I should say at the AB. Roslan told me to say that I was looking forward to the rehabilitation. When I heard his advice, I thought it sounded crazy. I wanted the AB to release me, not to be detained. Why would I look forward to the rehabilitation?

Tim repeatedly told me to make sure I plead guilty. He argued that by pleading guilty, the AB would look at me more kindly

“Like if I get a parking fine and I write to the authorities. I will say it was my mistake first then I explain I had stomachache.”

Tim’s reasoning for my detention changed repeatedly. “This is not a punishment. This is rehabilitation. ISA is not punitive” he would claim.

At other times: “even though you don’t do anything wrong, because you speak in public you still need to be punished. Like if someone say ‘stab, stab’ even if he don’t stab anyone, if other people follow him, he must be punished.”

After I met with the AB, Tim tried to counter a claim some of the other officers had made about my detention. Roslan especially, liked to say that my detention was God’s will. I understood Roslan’s position: he wanted to absolve himself from his actions. If it was God’s will, then he and the ISD were not at fault.

Tim however, said “I don’t agree this is God’s will. You are here because of what you wrote.”

“I agree that we should not blame God for my detention” I countered. “It is ISD that detained me.”

“Well, when we write our reports, God nudge us on what to write.”

I thought it was interesting that he claimed to be doing God’s work.

A few days before the AB, Tim told me to be careful with what I say at the meeting.

“We will know everything you say” he warned. “After they speak with you, they will ask us.”

Ong told me to “make sure you say exactly everything you signed.”

I requested to see the statements I signed. It was rejected off hand.

On the day of the AB meeting, I was brought to meet with Ong. I had written what I planned to say at the meeting. It would be what Chang, Tim and Ong had demanded I say: I would plead guilty. Tim had repeatedly assured me that if I did, the AB would find that I am not a threat to Singapore’s security. He insisted that he did not think I was a threat.

During the meeting with Ong, I asked him for the paper that I had written. “Will I get the paper at the court or bring it with me?”

“You are not allowed. The prison side said you cannot bring any paper.”

I did not expect that. They had assured me that I would be able to bring my note.

I was taken to court the same way as previously, in a purple jumpsuit, hand and ankle cuffed, chained, blindfolded, GPS tracker and in a blackened out truck. I was led along a series of corridors and several elevators. I was finally brought to a holding room, surrounded by 4 Gurkha officers with bullet proof vests. A few minutes before the meeting, I was taken to meet Tim and Ong.

They reminded me what to say to the AB.

I was then blindfolded again and taken to a conference room. My hood was removed outside the room. I walked in, accompanied by two Gurkha officers. It was never easy walking with ankle cuffs. I had to take penguin steps.

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There were five people in the room sitting at one side of a long conference table. Advisory Boards were made up of a Supreme Court judge who acted as the Chairman and two laypersons appointed by the President. The judge sat in the middle. On his right was a Chinese man in his 50s with a perpetual disgusted scowl. Beside him was a younger man who looked like a lawyer and took notes of the proceedings.

On the judge’s left was another man who looked Malay. Beside him was a lady (who also looked like a lawyer) probably in her mid to late twenties who spent the time taking notes.

The Gurkha officers stood beside me. To be held in handcuffs behind your back for hours was terribly uncomfortable. When they uncuffed my hands, I had to take some time to massage my arms and get my circulation going again. The Gurkha officers kept their hands behind me or on my shoulder.

During the AB meeting, I tried to remember what I had written. I followed the ISD’s demands. I admitted that I was wrong. I repeated what Tim said that I had to be punished for my online discussions. Throughout the meeting, the warnings that ISD officers would find out what I said and the knowledge that they could target my family and punish me further were forefront in my mind.

When the judge said that my detention was not punitive but rehabilitative, I thought “only because you do not know what happens during the interrogation and detention.”

The judge asked me if I felt betrayed by ISIS given their violence. That question threw me off. Why would I feel betrayed by a group that I did not care for? The Malay looking AB member asked if I would condemn ISIS if I was released. I told him I just want to go back to my normal life.

I was asked how religious I was. I replied that I did not know how to answer that question. I go to the mosque weekly, perform the obligatory practices and believe in Islam. But I could not quantify my belief or practices.

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The judge asked if I advocated for Muslims to migrate to the caliphate. I wondered about that theoretical question. There was no caliphate, but I said, if someone wants to migrate anywhere, it was up to them. Just like how I migrated to Australia. It was only 3 years later that I found out that when they referred to “caliphate”, they meant ISIS.

I was shocked when Iqbal confirmed that was what they meant. I did not use the term “Islamic State” or “Caliphate” for them. I referred to that group as ISIS. To refer to them as Caliphate would have been an abuse of the term and given them undue credit. ISIS was a name not a designation or title.

I told the AB that I had always loved Singapore. During the meeting, we touched on the death penalty. I told them I was against it. “If you are against the death penalty, then why did you support ISIS?”

I did not.

But it did not matter what I said.

The AB members had been given the ISD’s report and that provided the basis of their assessments. Everything I said was judged against what the ISD claimed. If I disputed what the ISD said, I would be accused of lying. The questions they asked showed they had already formed their opinions.

But I still hoped. I held to Tim and Ong’s assurances that they wanted me to be released. Because the ISA was not supposed to be punitive, then pleading guilty would mean I could be released.

After about 30 minutes, I was recuffed and taken out of the conference room. Tim, ISD prison officers, Gurkha officers and court staffs were standing outside the door. I was blindfolded again and driven back to the detention centre. Tim told me that after my meeting, he was called in to confirm whatever I said.

I waited for the outcome. I had hoped that would be the only time I met with the AB. I had hoped to be released soon.

I asked Tim and Chang how long it would take for the AB to decide on my detention. I was told it was around three weeks. I waited.

I was never told of the decision. I should have understood what Tim told me at the court after I met with the AB.

As I was brought out of the conference room, I mentioned that I forgot to say somethings that I had planned.

Tim told me not to worry about it.

“You will meet them a lot of times” he laughed.

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Article #19

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After receiving the detention order, I met with ISD officers once or twice a week, usually for around 30 minutes each. My mother and brother visited me once a week, for 30 minutes.

For the rest of the time, I would be in solitary confinement. No one to speak with and nothing to do. I would read the Qur’an, zikr (religious chanting in remembrance and glorifying God) and talk to myself.

I met with the psychologists and RRG Ustadz once a month.

I spend my days standing at the door. I would look at my reflection in the mirror and talk to it as though I was speaking with a friend. I would talk about my conversations with the officers, reminisce about my life, tell jokes (which did not work since my reflection would laugh before I get to the punch line) or anything else that came to mind.

Talking to the two-way mirror allowed me to feel as though I was really having a conversation with someone else. It relieved some of the bottled-up emotions and help me past the time.

I would stand and speak with my reflection for hours. Everyday. Whenever I thought of something, I would get up and talk to my reflection.

I felt sorry for some of the Gurkha sentries. They had to check on us regularly and would lift the shutter on the other side to look into the cell. Sometimes, when they lifted the shutter and tried to peek in, they would see my face just inches from the mirror. A couple of them had let out yelps of shock.

About 3 weeks before the AB, Gurkha officers opened the food delivery vent on the door and said “cell inspection.” As usual, I had to face the wall as they entered the cell and patted me down. Two ISD prison officers then entered the cell.

The ISD officers told me that they were there to make sure I did not have anything that was not issued to me.

“Don’t try to be creative.” Nothing on the walls, nothing in the cell. Only what have been specifically issued to me.

“Do you have anything to declare?”

“I used a straw for the Qur’an bookmark.” The straw was taken away. I had also used threads from the blanket as my Qur’an book mark. They were removed. I had affixed a sticker from an apple onto the water jug. The sticker was taken too.

I had used the metal part of my Ventolin inhaler (which I was allowed to keep in the cell) to discreetly write my bank login number onto the wall. I wanted to tell the number to Shireen when she visited me in a couple of months and was worried if I would forget. The text was small and not visible unless someone knew to look for it. The officers did not.

As they were about to leave, I remembered the writing and told them.

The first thing I was asked was “have you given this number to your case officer?” Everything, from my e-banking login and password, email password, Facebook password had to be given to the ISD within the first couple of days. After the threat on my children, I gave most of these private information to the ISD.

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Tim told me that they would shut down my Facebook account. “You are a virus. We don’t want others to read what you said.”

I understood that they did not want others to read what I said since it would contradict ISD’s accusations.

Chang, Tim and Ong regularly told me that they knew the answers to everything they asked me. “We just want to see if you will cooperate.”

I decided to test that claim. I had a few email accounts. I told them two. They did not know about the others.

But for my bank account login, I gave it to the ISD after their threats. A few days after the cell inspection, Gilbert came to my cell. I was told to sign a document. It was a warning letter. Writing on the wall was considered vandalism and I could be caned if I did it again. I washed it off with detergent.

Cell inspections were irregular initially. But after a couple of years, it was practically every week. They would go through everything in the cell, from the seams on the blankets to checking under my sandals. They would hit the metal grille that covered the air vent (to check if I hid anything behind the grille) and flush the toilet in case I hid anything in the bowl.

After my release, I read other detainees’ accounts of their detention. They described sleeping on old mattresses or wooden bed, writing and receiving letters weekly, they were allowed to put up family mementos on the wall. Other accounts referred to communal living, meeting other detainees, getting books or food from home.

Solitary confinements tended to be only for a few months.

ISD detention has become more harsh. There was no bed. I tended to get aches in my neck and requested a pillow from the beginning. I was finally given one 15 months later. Prior to that, I used a rolled-up blanket as a pillow.

Previous conditions seemed easier, especially during the British run Special Branch detentions.

Throughout my detention, I did not meet any other detainee. We were not even supposed to see or hear each other. If another detainee came to the same area I was in, I would be turned to face the wall (even with the hood over my head) until they left. A lot of times, after I have been cuffed, chained and blindfolded, the Gurkha officers would tell me to wait in the cell. There was a “traffic jam” because another detainee was being moved too.

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For the first few months, apart from the Arabic Qur’an, there was no book to read. After 3 months, I was given one comic book a week. I would finish reading the comic book within a couple of hours and have nothing else to do for the whole week in the cell. I would spend time looking at the drawings.

I was finally given 2 books a week in January 2017, 6 months after I was detained. In May 2017, after repeated requests, they increased that to 3 books a week.

The cells were bare. Every cell was painted light green. Four fluorescent light tubes were kept turned on 24 hours a day.

It was fully bright even while I slept.

Continued in the next article.

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Article #18

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Around 16th August, I was taken out for what I thought was another round of interrogations. But this time, I was told to put on the brown pyjama pants rather than the blue shorts. I was taken to a room with grey curtains. After a few minutes wait, a bespectacled Malay man in his early 30s came in. He introduced himself as Hafiz, the psychologist.

According to Hafiz, he was going to help me cope with detention. The first few times that I met him, Hafiz told me that he knew how it feels to be in detention.

“It is the same as me sitting in my bedroom, lock the door and windows” he declared.

I thought that was amazing and totally lacking in empathy and logic.

“Hafiz, that is like me closing my eyes and telling a blind man I know how he feels. You have the option of opening the door.”

I told Hafiz that I was worried for my family.

“What if something happens while I am in detention. I don’t know when I will be with them again. What if something happens before I am released?”

Hafiz replied matter-of-factly, without any trace of compassion. “I am sure your children will be alive. Your mother maybe not.”

I met Hafiz and his manager, Roslinda the next couple of days. I had read about Roslinda before my detention. She completed her PhD at Monash University.

I was put through some tests and word association exercises. We discussed the coming Advisory Board meeting. I did not know when it would be and how I would represent myself.

Roslinda said that it was possible for me to engage a lawyer. I was surprised.

Could I?

When I met with Ong and Larsson a few days later, I asked them about the possibility of engaging a lawyer.

“Am I allowed?” I asked them.

“Who told you, you can get a lawyer?” Ong asked me, looking uncomfortable.

“Roslinda” I told them.

Ong said he would check. A few days later, I met with Tim and asked him the same question. He told me he would get back to me.

I realised that it would be difficult to arrange for a lawyer. My mother did not have the resources and my wife was back in Melbourne. I did not want to trouble my brother especially since he was flying and helping his wife’s bakery on his off days.

“I would like to meet with the Australian consulate” I told Tim.

I hoped that the consulate could help me engage a lawyer. The ISD controlled all my communications. Everyone and everything had to go through the department. The consulate would be a channel independent of ISD’s control.

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A few days later, around 31st August, Tim told me that I was not allowed to meet with the Australian consulate because I was a Singaporean.

I asked him about arranging a lawyer. He told me that was not his job and I would need to arrange it with “the prison side”, meaning the ISD officers who oversaw the detention centre.

Gilbert was the Detention centre’s Superintendent.

Throughout the interrogation period and the next few months, even though Tim did not answer my questions whether I was allowed to engage a lawyer, he and Chang were clear that my family should not meet with one.

Tim referred to lawyers as “clowns” and told me not to allow them to use my “case and make it a circus.”

When they heard my mother or my wife mention lawyers, they became upset. After the family visits, I would be interrogated about it. I was aware that it would not be easy.

On 6th of September, I was taken to one of the interrogation rooms. Gilbert, the superintendent and another officer, Leong, were there. I was given a notice to meet with the Advisory Board (AB). It was scheduled for 19th September.

According to the notice, I was allowed to engage a lawyer. And yet the last few weeks, whenever I asked them about it Ong, Tim and Larsson pretended not to know.

I told Gilbert that I would like a lawyer. He told me to go through Tim. I told him that according to Tim, his department was responsible for it.

“No, we have nothing to do with lawyer” Gilbert replied.

“I was told it’s from the prison side.”

“No, that will be your case officer’s side.” Tim was my case officer.

How was I supposed to get a lawyer? Both Gilbert and Tim said it was the other’s responsibility.

“Write down your lawyer’s name.”

“I don’t have one yet. I was told to go through you” I pleaded.

“I don’t have time to deal with you. Do you have a lawyer?”

“No, but I would like to get one. I need to ask my family.”

Gilbert turned to Leong “We can give him until Thursday right?” he checked. It was Tuesday. I had 2 days to get a lawyer and inform the ISD.

Leong nodded.

After the meeting, I requested to meet with Tim. I needed to make arrangements. My mother was going to visit me the next day but I could not request for her to arrange for a lawyer and get the name immediately.

I wanted to ask if the ISD could inform my family to arrange for a lawyer and to tell me the next day, when my mother met with me. Otherwise, I would not be able to have one.

My mother’s next visit would be the next week, after the due date that Gilbert gave me.

Tim did not meet with me.

The next day, when he came to listen to my conversation with my mother, Tim barked at me “What do you want? You called me yesterday!”

“I wanted to engage a lawyer. Gilbert told me to go through you” I explained.

“Tell your mother. Tell her to arrange” he replied.

“I need to know the name of the lawyer by tomorrow.”

“Nevermind, they can give you more time.”

The next day, I waited for a message from my family about a lawyer.

There was none.

I was brought to meet with Gilbert again and was told that there would be no more time. I had to declare that I would not have a lawyer.

After meeting Gilbert, I was brought to meet with Chang again. As usual, he criticised my wife.

“She asked the aftercare officer for information. I told them no. Don’t give. Who does she think she is? She asked when is the AB and what time. No, I told them don’t give her!”

I did not know what he was on. My wife asked for the Advisory Board date and time? Why and why not tell her?

The next week when I met with my mother, I found out what happened.

Shireen had asked about the AB meeting so she could arrange for a lawyer for me.

The ISD refused to tell her, even after she asked them repeatedly. My mother was upset and I was told Shireen was distressed.

When I met Ong after the visit, I could not control myself anymore. I had been polite with them the whole time. Even when they shouted and screamed and threatened my family, I spoke with them respectfully. This one time, I blew up.

“You have me here. You chain me. You have my head on the ground and you are pressing and pressing on it. And I take it. But don’t you dare do that to my wife!” I shouted.

Ong was shocked. “If you feel upset, then I am sorry that you are upset.”

“You can become a politician. You apologise without apologising” I told him.

“No, I am not apologising.”

“Yea. You can be a politician.”

The next day, Chang came to see me. I knew that he had been informed that I was angry. He began with some inconsequential small talk.

I told him that I was angry the day before when I found out his decision.

“You know, it is difficult to tell your wife. She live in Australia. That’s why I don’t want to tell her. Because you know ah, the message have to go through satellite and then don’t know if she will get it. So better don’t tell her.”

Right.

I was amazed at how ISD officers believed their own lies.

Continued in the next article.

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Article #17

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Shireen visited me a few days later. Charlton, Chang and Tim had told me repeatedly to tell Shireen to return to Australia. They did not want her in Singapore. They knew that with Shireen in Singapore, she would fight for my release and be able to meet with lawyers and arrange support.

In Australia, it would be much more difficult for her to organise my release. She would be totally dependent on the ISD to supply her with information.

I did not take it seriously at first. Shireen and I needed to discuss it. It was not for them to tell us what to do. And it was not for us to protect their abuse of power.

But after Chang’s threat, I could not take the risk. During her visit, I told Shireen to return to Australia.'

She was shocked. “No, I will stay. I will fight for you.”

“No sayang. Go home. Don’t stay.” I could not tell her why.

“Abang no. If this happened to me or the kids you would stay and fight. I want to stay.”

I insisted that she leave. Shireen was distraught. She did not understand why I changed so much, so suddenly. I was passive and compliant. I acted as though everything was going well. I pretended that it was necessary that I was detained. I even told her that they needed to detain me. I had to pay for it.

I could not tell her that the ISD had threatened to arrest our children and her. After my release, I read Dr Poh Soo Kai’s account of his own 16 years ISA detention. The ISD detained his wife for months to put pressure on him.

A few weeks later, I asked Chang if his threat to arrest my wife and children were just police tactics to get me to do what they wanted.

“No, I would have arrested them” he said, as though that was the most natural thing.

In one of our discussions, Tim explained Chang’s targeting of families was because “he is an old timer.” But Tim did not explain his own threats on my family.

According to Tim, he joined the ISD in the late 1990s. He admitted that the ISA has been used politically “but that was more than 20 years ago”, meaning the supposed “Marxist conspiracy” arrests were politically motivated. But it was before his time.

Amazingly, DSP Iqbal Abdul Rahim who would be my rehabilitation officer (RTO) and said he joined the ISD in the 1980s also admitted that the ISA has been used against political opponents. But for him, that was in the 1960s. Both admitted that the PAP government had used the ISA for political gain, but it was before their time.

Quite a convenient way to ease their guilt.

In my conversations with ISD officers, I realised that they were driven by their cause.

They believed that protecting the PAP was the same as protecting the government which equated to protecting Singapore. To criticise the PAP was to criticise Singapore. They tolerated people who made minor criticisms or discussed policies. But I criticised the system and the PAP’s legitimacy.

And I criticised the PAP’s control of the Muslim community. That was a threat.

A common phrase, which some officers use for their badge lanyard was “A Cause Greater than Ourselves.” I told them “You can sacrifice yourself for your cause. You don’t have the right to sacrifice others.”

The problem, however, is that their cause demanded the sacrifice of others. And they believed in it with absolute conviction.

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When she was back in Melbourne, I sent a message to Shireen through my mother. I requested that she speak with Renuka Subramaniam, my Malaysian lawyer friend at La Trobe University to get her advice. Renuka was a human rights lawyer.

After my meeting with my mother, Tim asked me about my message to Shireen (this happened regularly. They listened, took notes and would interrogate me about what I said to my family).

Tim pointed out that Malaysia had repealed the ISA and replaced it with another law.

“Yes” I replied. “Because the Malaysians lobbied for it and that was how it changed.”

He looked alarmed. “That sounds like a veiled threat.”

At that time, I did not understand why they would think campaigning to change a law would be considered a threat. It was only after the second year that I realised that their intention was to make me quiet, docile, and apolitical. I was not supposed to think about campaigning for change.

What was worse, was that I discussed abolishing the ISA, the law that granted them absolute power.

Continued in the next article.

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Article #16

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A few days later, I was brought to meet Chang.

“You know, I told my boss that you are good. I told him you are honest. See” he gestured as though showing a piece of paper to his boss, “he is telling the truth. He admit everything.”

I waited for his punchline.

“My boss said, if he is so good, get him to sign a statutory declaration” Chang delivered. So that was what he wanted.

I figured that he wanted a statutory declaration so that they could release it to the media. From what I understand, they were not allowed to release ISD statements to the public without political clearance.

“I am trying to help you. You know, this is good for you. Next time, I teach you something better. You go to a magistrate and tell him you are guilty and open for whatever punishment. That will help you.”

Right. It did not matter anyway.

“Ok” I deadpanned

As Chang was selling his story, Tim entered the room with a thick brown folder. He threw the folder on the metal desk.

“You are going to sign a statutory declaration. Everyone sign it. You will sign it” he ordered.

So, I thought, it was not because he wanted to help me. Everyone was supposed to sign it.

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Tim told me to go through the statements that I would affirm in front of a Commissioner of Oaths. These were the police statements, including the false confessions.

I detested those statements.

Then I noticed that Tim had tried to slip in one crucial paragraph. It was the statement that he forced me to sign that said I supported ISIS and AlQaeda and their vision for a global caliphate. (Read here)

I remembered how I hated being forced to sign that statement and how Tim finally allowed a compromise that said I disagreed with their actions but supported their vision. For the statutory declaration, even the compromise was removed.

They said I supported ISIS and AlQaeda and their vision of a global Caliphate.

I pointed it out to Tim and said it did not reflect the statement I signed. Tim became angry again.

“You are a liar! You are lying!” he shouted. He accused me of trying to change the statements.

“Check the original statement.”

Tim refused. He kept shouting that I was lying. Around 20-30 minutes later, he finally retrieved the original statement that proved that I was right.

He retyped the statutory declaration paragraph. But even as he did, he kept shouting that I was lying.

“The original statement showed what I said is true” I told him. It did not matter. He kept going that I was trying to change what I signed.

It did not make sense. The only explanation, was that the ISD wanted to have a statement where I said unequivocally that I supported ISIS and AlQaeda. They probably hoped I did not catch on.

I was brought to the court.

When I was told that I would be going to court, I had hoped to see the outside world. Maybe travel in a car or a van. I would get to see Singapore. During the trip from the Tuas checkpoint to Onraet Rd, I did not really get to enjoy seeing Singapore since Tim was speaking the whole time. And the last month, I had either been enclosed in small rooms or blindfolded. I looked forward to the trip.

About an hour before I was supposed to leave, an ISD warden came to my cell and gave me a purple jumpsuit.

“Take everything off. Don’t wear shorts inside. Put this on.”

It was a bright purple, thick Teletubby-like jumpsuit with the word “Detainee” printed in large bold letters on several places.

A few minutes later, I was handcuffed behind my back and with the ankle cuffs, chain and beanie, was escorted by the Gurkha officers to the medical officer’s room. Anderson, the nurse, took my blood pressure and Oximeter readings. I was then taken to the ground floor. Instead of turning left after coming out from the lift to go to the family visit room, we went straight, past two more heavy doors.

All the doors in the detention centre were centrally controlled. For each section, only one door could open at a time. If any door was not properly closed, the system did not allow for another to be opened.

I was brought to a covered carpark (I found out it was a covered carpark 4 years later). Right before stepping on to the carpark, I was stopped and a heavy GPS tracker was fixed around my ankle. I was then told to move forward again.

The moment I took that one step down onto the carpark, I felt the change in atmosphere. It was heated and smokey.

Other Gurkha officers (that I later discovered were plainclothes) took over. Both sets of officers did a hand off with the new group telling me to rest my forehead against the wall and patted me down again. I was then turned around and made to take a few steps forward.

Then it was up a set of mobile metal steps. At the top, I was told to lower my head and step into a truck. The officers made me move sideways and finally sat me at a long bench before fixing the seat belt around my waist.

It was totally dark. I lifted my head to catch a peak from below the hood.

There I was, in a bright purple jumpsuit, with a GPS tracker, ankle and handcuffed, a chain running between both sets of cuffs, blindfolded and even sounds were muffled, surrounded by Gurkha officers in a truck.

And even the windows were blacked out.

It was total dehumanization. Total domination.

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I felt nauseous during the trip. When I arrived at the court, I was brought along passageways and finally allowed to sit in a quiet room. I was then brought to a conference room where a Chinese man and Malay woman sat opposite me. Before entering the room, I met with Tim who told me he would be waiting for me and to make sure I signed the declaration.

The man asked me if the declaration was mine. Of course, it was not. It was the ISD’s statement. All I was supposed to do was sign it.

“Yes, it is” I replied.

The commissioner affirmed it and I was sent back to the detention centre.

A couple of days later, I was brought to the interrogation room with Chang and the other officers. I had expected the PAP government to publicise my arrest although I expected it to have happened earlier.

Chang told me that the government sent out statements about my detention.

“But your wife, she go and send a press statement, you know. She sent late at night. After 10. We cannot stop her. If she say she sent earlier she is a liar!”

I did not understand where this line was coming from. Chang had insulted Shireen in front of me repeatedly the last few weeks. What did sending a response early or late have anything to do with it? (Read report on my family’s statement here)

But he went on.

“We have no time to stop her. You know, she is a radical. Now there is talk to arrest her.”

My heart pounded fast. Arrest Shireen? For sending a press statement? I felt utterly helpless.

I yanked my left hand away from the chair arm that I was cuffed to and held onto the chain. “This is the problem” I said to Chang.

I was powerless to protect my wife and my family.

I was desperate.

“Sir, if my wife did something wrong, please don’t take it out on her. Take it out on me” I begged.

Continued in next article.

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