"These are privileges. We can take it back anytime." Life in ISD detention.

Aerial view of the ISD detention centre in Changi. Top left is the “A” wing. The green rectangle at the end of every wing is the yard room.

Article #8

Within a couple of days of my arrest, Tim tried to sell me the idea of getting a different cell. “It is substantially bigger” he said, like a real estate agent offering a prime deal. It was sold to me as a privilege.

Over the years, ISD officers would speak of “privileges” as though it was something I could get out of their kindness.

Tim would, however, regularly remind me that they “can take it back anytime.”

Everytime they reminded me of the supposed privileges, my immediate thought would be, “no these are not privileges. You do not rob me of my rights and tell me what little I get to enjoy is a privilege. It is about rights denied, not privilege given.”

I knew that the “privileges” were meant to keep us in check. Soon after I was given the Detention Order, Ong told me that he saw the list of privileges.

“Some of the privileges are amazing” he enthused. I wondered if he would want it for himself.

A few days after my arrest, after an interrogation session, I was sent to a different cell, D2. It was slightly wider (around 2m x 3m) and instead of sleeping on the floor, I get to sleep on a stone bench.

All the cells were on the third level. The top floor. Five wings, like tentacles, stretched out from a semi-circular central area. The first wing, on the left as I exited the lift space was the “A” wing. Next to the “A” wing entrance was the Duty Officer room, with tables, chairs and a whiteboard. It’s large glass window looked out to the central area. Next were several more rooms, including one for detainees to have videoconferencing calls when their family members were not allowed to come physically to the detention centre.

The next four wings spread out in a semi-circle. The central area was the airconditioned command room. Glass windows covered the top half of the command room, looking out to all the five entrances.

Every wing entrance was barred with centrally controlled metal gates. Beside the gate, inside each wing sat a lone sentry. To his left were the lockers where they kept each detainees’ items such as toothbrush and uniforms.

I was not supposed to know any of these details.

But 4 years and 4 months gave me enough time to find out.

Every time the officers opened the small food delivery door, I would take a peek outside the cell. There is a 2m high partition that runs in the middle of the wing, blocking our view of the opposite cell. But I could view the end of the wing and see the sentry and beyond them (outside the wing gate) the control room.

My main information however, were from the times I was brought for haircut. Hair cuts were on the last Tuesday of the month. We would be brought to a small room on the second level to a Chinese barber in his late 50s or early 60s. The barber wore a Visitor pass and was instructed to not speak with us.

During those walks to and from the haircut (our hair was shaved down), instead of wearing a beanie over my head and face, I would be given blackened out swimming goggles.

I would adjust the blackened goggles to make it look as though they covered my eyes but leave a tiny space beside my nose exposed. I could close one eye and squint out of the other to see my surroundings. I get headaches after these walks from having to squint out of one eye.

But in that way, I could see the layout of the centre, which cell was occupied (empty cells did not have a number) or which wing was empty (the metal gate would be left open).

On most days for the first month (the interrogation period), I would be brought out of the cell to the interrogation room (IR 20), a floor below. As terrible as these interrogations were, I looked forward to them. Time moved in the interrogation room. Even with the screams, it was not as bad as being in solitary confinement.

A few days after my arrest, there was a delay in the interrogation session. I had woken up for the Ramadhan dawn meal and took a nap after my prayers. After the doctor’s visit, I showered and got ready for interrogation.

I waited for hours and was not called down. I did my noon prayers (Zuhr) and the afternoon prayers (Asr). In Singapore, Asr was around 4:30pm. I sat down and waited.

There was nothing to do. Sometimes I would get up, pretend I was playing soccer or tennis, just to move my body and past the time. I would sit down on the floor and chant prayers (zikr) and recite the Qur’an that I memorised.

And waited. And waited. And waited.

Nothing moved.

At around what felt like 5pm, the Gurkha officers came to the cell with the cuffs and wool beanie. I was taken to IR 20 for interrogation.

When I saw Ong, I took a peek at his watch.

It was only 10am.

In solitary confinement, time expanded and crawled. 30 minutes felt like a couple of days. Sometimes, after family visits, I would be taken to the yard (also solitary) to exercise. If my family visit ended at 2:30pm and I was taken to the yard at 3pm, when the Gurkha officers came to take me to the yard, I would feel that I met my family 2-3 days earlier. There would be a long empty space in those 30 minutes.

It was 30 minutes of emptiness. Where nothing moves your mind. It was 30 minutes of staring at the wall.

I once told the officers to imagine how it felt.

Sit and stare at the wall for 10 minutes. Just stare. Do not do anything else. Do not think. 10 minutes. That’s it. Just sit and stare. Now imagine staring at the wall with nothing at all to do for an hour. Just sit and stare.

Imagine doing that for 8 hours. Nothing to do or think.

Imagine staring at the wall for a whole day. Nothing to do, nothing to think, no one to see or talk to.

Imagine doing that for a week. A month. A year.

Imagine those who go through solitary confinement, who sit in their cells, no one to talk to, to see, nothing to do, nothing to think, no hope, no more dreams for years and years and years.

That was life in detention.

That was what the ISD put us through.

I was given a couple of reprieves a few days later. Since most if not all detainees, were Muslims, ISD allowed us to be told the prayer times. I was not told at first. A few days later, the sentry knocked on the cell door, opened the small food delivery door (which after the first cell was waist high) and told me “prayer time.”

That knowledge of prayer time helped me manage the days. Even though I was not allowed to know the time, day, or date, I could at least tell time in blocks.

The other reprieve was the Qur’an. About a week after my arrest, I was given a copy of the Qur’an. I would read pages of the Qur’an daily. For more than 2 years, I requested for an English translation so that I could understand it better. Tim told me to request it from the RRG Counsellor, Ustadz Mohamed (son of RRG Chairman, Ustadz Ali). There was no action.

After two years of non-response, I asked Ustadz Feisal a disciple of Ustadz Ali, who took over counselling me from Ustadz Mohamed. He rejected my request.

He said it was dangerous to read the Qur’an with translation because it may make someone a terrorist. “When Allah mention the birds as His soldiers, you may think it is about jihad” he claimed.

When even the Islamic religious teachers claimed the Qur’an can be a source of violence, what hope is there for those who accuse Islam of terrorism?

Continued in the next article.

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