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At corrupt, overflowing penitentiaries, money rules
All cleared: Prison guards check on an inmate after a clash at a penitentiary in Bondowoso, East Java, last year
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All cleared: Prison guards check on an inmate after a clash at a penitentiary in Bondowoso, East Java, last year.(Antara)
Corruption, drugs, extortion and bullying at penitentiaries are an open secret, and the chronic ills persist even as governments come and go. The Jakarta Post’s Nani Afrida and Arya Dipa report on the appalling conditions in prisons in Bali, Jakarta and Bandung through visits and interviews with ex-prisoners.
“If you get a peek inside a prison cell and you see a socket on the wall, that means the occupants spends a lot of money on amenities, which are supposed to be provided by the state free of charge,” says Andreas, a former recidivist.
The 38-year-old has served time in the top-security prisons of Cipinang and Salemba in Jakarta and Kerobokan in Bali for drug crimes and assault. The six years he has spent behind bars have made him a penitentiary “expert”.
Before his incarceration, he innocently believed that everything would be available for free. In an interview with The Jakarta Post, he vividly recalled the extravagant sums of money a detainee has to shell out just to survive in a typically overcrowded facility riddled with corrupt practices.
Prisoners have to fork out money from their own pockets from the very moment they arrive and are placed in an overcrowded hall that functions as temporary accommodation before they are issued a permanent cell.
If speedy transfer to a reasonably unmalodorous cell is what they want, they have to grease the palm of the tough guy who acts as the cell chief; otherwise, they may be there much longer and put their destiny in the warden’s hands. But, again, a cell comes at a price.
Zen, a drug convict released in May after spending a year and a half in the Bandung narcotics penitentiary, says the transfer “fee” is at least Rp 2 million (US$153) payable to the cell chief, but is unsure of the ultimate destination of the money. “The fee can reach a whopping Rp 10 million, depending on the newcomer’s financial wealth,” he adds.
Once the prisoner is in his cell, he is still subject to charges, as prisoners have to pay monthly fees for electricity and water. Zen recalls that his monthly fee was Rp 25,000.
Just like different rooms in a hotel, cells in a penitentiary are available in different categories based on the number of occupants. The fewer the occupants, the higher the price tag, Andreas says.
Usually, the least crowded cell falls under “type 1” and costs between Rp 15 million and Rp 20 million, while the most populated is branded “type 7” and sets the new criminal guest back between Rp 1.5 million and Rp 3 million.
Aside from the millions in cell entry fees, new convicts are liable to pay for a whole host of services and amenities once they have settled in. One of the various dues is a weekly fee of about Rp 300,000 for water, sanitation and a private assistant.
A first-time prisoner is subject to a charge of Rp 1 million in “introduction” money that he must pay to the cell chief. “Failure to pay would result in you being treated as an outsider. Nobody would talk to you. They would make you squat for hours and wouldn’t allow you to take a shower,” Andreas says.
In the facility where the state is not fully in control, money reigns. If prisoners don’t like the food, they can go to the canteen, which is in reality intended for employees and guests. The cheapest lunch costs them Rp 5,000.
“If you are a prisoner, make sure you don’t get a serious illness, otherwise you will have to spend a lot of money to hire an ambulance to take you to the hospital and pay the accompanying guards.”
Every penitentiary does have its own clinic, but it is scarcely fit for purpose. “They only have CTM [Chlorfeniramin Maleat] for all ailments,” Andreas says, laughing.
Visitors, too, have to shoulder the burden of rampant illegal charges. If they refuse to pay Rp 5,000–
Rp 10,000 per visit, penitentiary guards will find the detainees and collect the cash. At the narcotics penitentiary in Bandung, a detainee has to pay at least Rp 150,000 after receiving a family visit. During Idul Fitri holidays, that fee could rise to Rp 500,000.
Too steamy inside the cell? No problem, as long as convicts in every room pay an additional Rp 150,000 a month for an electric fan.
Need a cell phone to communicate with the outside world? Easy. Many prisoners have cell phones and can easily buy phone credit through debit machines in the prison.
“You can bribe the guard to smuggle in a cell phone for you. The cost depends on the type and model of your phone, usually between Rp 100,000 to Rp 300,000,” Andreas says.
The substantial sum of money that convicts need to pay their dues has been blamed for the rife crime within penitentiaries, such as drug dealing and gambling. In an extreme display of lax security that seems singular to Indonesia, police busted a drug production facility owned by Freddy Budiman, who was executed on Nusakambangan Island this week, at Cipinang Penitentiary in 2013.
The chronic corruption and crime within penitentiaries are an open public secret, but while the government has acknowledged the problem, it has taken little action to reform the system.
Akbar Hadi, a spokesperson from the Law and Human Rights Ministry’s Directorate General of Penitentiaries, says the government has been doing its best to reform the bureaucracy and bring an end to corrupt practices in penitentiaries.
Among important measures that the government has been taking is to cut bureaucratic procedures and to introduce technology for detainees to check the remaining time they have to serve. In the past, convicts had to pay and carry out complicated procedures to find out when they would be freed.
“We’re combating illegal practices and improving the system in penitentiaries. I think it is better now,” Akbar says.
The government has also been struggling with a shortage of prison guards and overcapacity. Currently, Indonesia runs 477 prisons designed to accommodate 119,000 detainees, but in reality they house 199,000 people.
“Currently we just have 11,000 officers to guard 199,000 prisoners. To reach an ideal proportion, we need an additional 17,000 new officers,” Akbar said.
