No free ride in prison: Adapt or die ... Or pay your way through it

No free ride in prison: Adapt or die ... Or pay your way through it
The Jakarta Post | Tue, 01/05/2010 9:19 AM | Special Report


Behind the shadow: Inmates prepare to leave the hall of the Tanggerang Juvenile Penitentiary in Tanggerang, Banten. Most teenagers convicted of criminal charges are treated similar to adults. JP/R Berto Wedhatama

There’s nothing out of place upon stepping foot in the Salemba Detention Center in Central Jakarta for a visit.

Several large banners decrying illegal fees adorn the entrance hall of the center, playing the management in a positive light.

However, the real story unfolds just steps away in a dark, damp and squalid visiting room.

Here, visitors who want to meet relatives or friends are extorted no end as they go through a series of five checkpoints.

But to keep the extortion under the radar of the public gaze, it is not until they have passed the third post that visitors are required to pay illegal fees ranging from Rp 2,000 for poorer visitors to Rp 20,000 per post until the fifth post.

A visitor calling herself Pipit, 34, says she doesn’t mind giving away Rp 6,000 each time she goes to see her husband Dan, as she considers it a donation to help the low-paid guards.

Although she has to go through the usual checks for prohibited devices such as cell phones, cameras and digital music players, she can easily smuggle one in as she knows one of the guards well.

“They’re used to me as I visit my husband quite often, three times a month,” says Pipit, who brought her baby along.

“If he doesn’t point it out, I just bring my cell phone in.”

She finally meets Dan in a packed, labyrinthine room heavy with cigarette smoke.

The visiting rooms have no private areas, forcing the children to play side by side with adult couples making out.

The standard visiting hour can be extended to several hours, if the inmate can cough up the Rp 10,000 an hour fee.

“My husband pays for the extra visiting hours later on,” Pipit says.

“I usually come at 10 a.m. and leave at 3 or 4 p.m.”

Prisoners and their visitors can also pay Rp 50,000 to rent the toilet for an hour of “free time” — a conjugal visit with their wife or sometimes with a prostitute.

If a visitor doesn’t bring food or drink with them, a canteen near the visiting rooms offers exorbitantly priced snacks. Three soft drinks and two cookies cost Rp 28,000 — pretty much what they would cost at an airport.

Extortion is also rampant at the Pondok Bambu Detention Center for Women and Children in East Jakarta.

Besides the usual show of banners tsk-tsking the giving of kickbacks to the guards, money is still the golden ticket for everything here, but to a lesser degree than at Salemba.

Entering the detention center is more like stepping foot in a school compound than a prison. This is because it was not designed as a maximum security prison.

Visitors must go through a queuing post, three gates and a registration post.

To jump the line, visitors can slip the guards Rp 20,000, but most visitors would rather wait in line.

Visitor then have to pay between Rp 2,000 and Rp 10,000 at the registration post.



The meeting point for visitors and prisoners is located in a hall, an open space in a small mosque.

For those wanting to make out, a corner of the hall, which remains a little more hidden, is the favorite spot.

Dig deeper, though, and Pondok Bambu is quite an expensive place to live.

An unidentified prisoner, who is already close to the warden, complains about the center’s terrible extortion racket.

“Here, money rules,” she says.

“I’m really sick of these ruthless guards, acting like we’re all unforgivable beings. Some of them say harsh words, which hurts our morale.”

She adds new detainees are required to stay in a quarantine room before being sent to a cell — for sale at around Rp 5 million to Rp 10 million, depending on the facilities.

Wealthier prisoners can employ another prisoner as a maid for the nominal fee of Rp 200,000 a cell each week.

Those who can’t afford a cell must stay in the quarantine room, enduring torture and humiliation.

Ujang (not his real name), who did time in Kebon Waru Penitentiary in the West Java capital Bandung between 2005 and 2007, says he had to pay Rp 2 million to get a comfortable room with two friends at the prison.

Ujang was eventually given a big cell designed to house 10 people.

“I bought that cell directly from the guards, so I could share it with just my friends,” he says.

“So the guards kicked out the previous occupants.

“But if a wealthier inmate comes along and bids more for my cell, I could get booted too. The highest bidder wins.”

Ujang says he was free to do crack and other drugs in the room, bought from a dealer for Rp 10,000 a package.

He earned his privileges from his work as an administrative clerk in the penitentiary, managing incoming letters, accounting and cleaning firearms.

“I worked directly for the head of the penitentiary at the time,” he says.

“Besides knowing when the guards would hold raids, I also had free time to scoot around town on the motorbike with the warden.”

Ujang, a university graduate, says he was often asked by students of the Penitentiary State Academy to write their papers, in exchange for privileges in the jail.

Wealthy prisoners, who mostly comprise corruption convicts and drug traffickers, are targeted long before they enter prison.

But those without the requisite cash flow must either bow to the mercy of the guards and fellow inmates, or take the high road to survive the torment by being creative in setting up a business behind the walls.

Nigerian national John, 33, is serving 10 years at Cipinang Penitentiary for a drug-related offenses.

To earn his keep, John works with his Indonesian wife Dini to export children’s clothing produced in Cipinang, Salemba, Pondok Bambu and Subang penitentiaries.

“I coordinate with the other penitentiaries and detention centers,” he says.

“When I’ve collected around 20,000 pieces, my wife arranges to export them to Nigeria.”

John adds such a business benefits inmates.

“The inmates can learn skills from the job, as well as earn money,” he says, adding he began the business two years ago.

“The inmates who sew these products earn half the profit. They use the money not just in prison, but also to restart their lives once they’re released.”