Excerpts from chapter 2 of “Beyond the Blue Gate”
21 May 1987
Arriving at the prison at Onraet Road, off Whitley Road, known euphemistically as Whitley Road Centre, I was led to a room where I was asked about my personal particulars. I was photographed, finger-printed and palm-printed. I thus experienced what my clients who faced criminal charges went through. When I was being photographed, I reminded myself that I really must look good or The Straits Times would happily publish a grotesque portrait of me. I think I even attempted a smile.
Next, I was taken to a dirty wet toilet to change into prison clothes. The round-neck top looked like mourning clothes worn by Chinese men. I was given a pair of oversized cotton draw-string trousers and told not to use my underwear. I was not allowed to shut the toilet door. I realised that depriving me of underwear and disallowing the shutting of toilet door were ways of humiliating me and decided not to be bothered by that. I knew that to be conscious of such humiliation was to lose my ability to withstand other treatment that was to come. I was then examined by a Sikh doctor, who I later discovered, was the doctor who attended to previous generations of ISA prisoners.
I was led barefoot with the bottom of my trousers touching the floor through a passage painted dark blue or black with coloured light bulbs on each door.
…Standing barefoot beneath the blast of the air-conditioner without having taken breakfast, and with just three hours of sleep, I shivered and thought of how best to keep warm. My teeth chattered involuntarily. There wasn’t much I could do except to hold tightly to the end of my shirt and to step on the edge of the bottom of my pants. Surrounding me were people in thick sweaters, dressed very much like people in winter.
The endless chain of cigarette smoke was unpleasant. I guess the officers had to keep themselves awake.
…I remember one question that was asked repeatedly. “How did you come to act for Tan Wah Piow?” I replied that he instructed me. “Who introduced him to you?” I replied, “Nobody. He wrote to me.”
“Are you telling me that you are such a good lawyer that he should write to you without anyone recommending you to him?”
“Yes,” I replied. I sounded egoistic but I thought I shouldn’t say who, just in case a name would land someone in trouble.
…After several hours of standing, I was told to sit. There were two chairs, one appeared more steady. The other was “three-legged” — one leg was shorter than the other three. The four-legged chair was pushed to me but before I could sit on it, DSP Lim ordered the three-legged chair to be pushed to me instead.
