By Fatimah Zainal
It’s extremely cold here. Why didnt I know enough to bring a jacket? I didn’t know the first thing about the legal proceedings. Will the police notice that Im not a family person?
It was my first day at Mahkamah Rayuan Putrajaya, an appeal court for heavy crime cases. As I stepped into one of the rooms inside the enormous court, I discovered a world unlike one I had ever seen before where prisoners sit on the benches sobbing, their shackled wrists gripping tear-stained handkerchiefs. Their slumped shoulders heaved with each violent sob and in intervals they muttered incomprehensively to the police officers accompanying them.
Nothing in life has ever prepared me for this sight, with prisoners handcuffed to the policemen, the busy lawyers and their respective luggage bags, and the three stern-looking judges up front. This is nothing like the TV shows. œOrange Is the New Black is never this somber.
I sat on a bench at the back of the room, close enough to get a good view of the proceedings. A few family members or relatives of the prisoners on trial today sat on my left. Their faces were ripe with apprehension and grief. The older woman clad in a baju kurung and scarf noticed me come in and nodded at me while the two teenage girls glanced at me, then back to the proceedings. I wondered if may be their father was the one on trial. My train of thought came to a halt when the blonde lady sitting alone in front of me suddenly cried out, œNo, please dont postpone that!
Each head in the room turned to look at her, their eyes aghast. This lady had spoken out against the judges though it was clearly not her right. What was worse, she had followed none of the protocols!
œWho are you? the honourable lady judge thundered.
She had come from America to see her brothers trial and had been waiting for three weeks, she explained.
œStand up! the other judges ordered. All the heads inside the court turned left and right then back again as if they were watching an intense tennis match.
Hysterical blonde lady versus three solemn judges. Yes, that would give Maria Sharapova a run for her money.
The lady steadily stood up on her high wedges heels and started her appeal again.
œPlease, I have to go back to the US. I cannot stay anymore, Ive been here three weeks and waiting every day. So please dont postpone the case, she paused, letting her words sink in.
œJust… dont, she begged, her Iranian accent piquant, before sitting down again.
The cadence of the court room was windswept and the air, much too cold for my liking. The judges told her that they were in no position to accept the opinion of the public, be it a family member. Her brothers case was being postponed due to the police failing to bring him to the court on time.
The blonde lady slinked back in her seat, calico shoulders slumping with disappointment. I looked at her, then towards the family on my left, where one of the teenage girls was talking to her niqab-clad sister and I wondered how many lives were put on hold as their loved ones were sent away where rarely any light of acknowledgement is shed on the dim recesses of their prison lives.
The next case was brought up and to my utter surprise, the prisoner looked like the least harmful person on Earth. I saw a flash of orange jumpsuit, and then as the policeman pushed his wheelchair to the front of the court, I saw him. All shrivelled up to no more than the size of a small child, his head was the only part that could move and it was shaking continuously.
Why is he here? Shouldnt he be receiving medical attention? Surely he is not fit for trial, even I could see that!
The whole time of his trial, he looked down at his narrow lap, head shaking, not saying a word. I was not sure that he was able to, or was even aware of what was happening. When the policeman wheeled him out of the room, the family on my left casted dolorous looks at each other then stood up to leave too.
By my following visits, I had already figured out where to sit, how to appear inconspicuous and to always bring jackets because court rooms are extremely cold for some reason. Initially, it is difficult to loosen the fetters binding me to my normal life and to expose myself to this marginalised part of the society. After all, prisoners are all criminals and deserve their time in prison, as they pose threats to the society. Or do they really?
Prisoners are normal people too, who prior to their arrests, have led a normal life just like you and me. Many of them were students and held jobs until something happened that subsequently lead to their arrest. In some cases, strong proofs for the crimes never surfaced yet the accused were left to rot in the dwindling Malaysian prison system nevertheless. It is frightening to think that in just one split second, your relatively normal life could change into a nightmare by just making one bad choice or by being framed by a stranger, or worse, someone you trusted, as is the case for many drug mules.
The popular opinion that prisoners are all bereft of moral conduct and are just hazards to the society is also somehow misaligned.
œHe listens well to what they tell him to do in prison. He is not stubborn or anything, so they are not as strict on him, said the court interpreter, as we looked at his Iranian client who was having a lengthy, barely supervised talk with his uncle who had come to see his trial. The court room was empty and the police officer sat on a nearby bench, head bent in concentration on the smartphone in his hand.
In such a drab setting, it was incredible to witness a little show of compassion. It gave the court life a more humanistic edge. It was refreshing after everything that I have seen so far. It was the first but not the only incident that managed to inject some light into the court life. I remember a particular motherly security guard at Mahkamah Ampang who smiled softly when I asked her name.
Adiffah, she said. It was a boys name. She had been working at the court for more than a year now. Usually, she guards the corridors, occasionally joking around with the policemen who liked to tease her and the cleaners. Sometimes, she goes in to watch the court proceedings.
œThe most frightening case Ive seen is a child abuse case. A woman poured hot water on her child and pulled her hair, said the security guard, eyes sadly downcast as she stared at the cement floor of the underfunded court.
œWhats worse is that she was pregnant again at the time. But her siblings bailed her out after paying 30K for her release, she paused. œShes our Malay people, her small voice was tinged with sadness.
The corridor echoed with the sound of the approaching footsteps of an 18 year old defendant and his accompanying policeman. Earlier during the day, his case was cited whereby he had been charged with rape of a 15 year old girl.
Adiffah glanced at the passing duo then said, œRape, robbery, drugs- these are all usual cases. But drugs, theyre usually due to peers influence.
I could tell she felt bad for all the men wasting their youths in prison. I know I did.
Our conversation was suddenly interrupted by a loud bout of cursing. It came from a very petite, middle-aged cleaner lady. Adiffah and I turned to look at her and the two police officers to our left.
Knowing that the lady was very prone to cursing when she was startled, which is often, the men liked to tease her. So whenever she passed by, they would extend a leg or make a loud sound so as to startle her.
She unleashed another bout of cursing before ambling towards one of the police officers, crying out threats then proceeding to punch him. The air turned still.
Oh no! Would she be charged with assault of a police officer? Would she soon be shuffling along underfunded court corridors that she used to clean?
I was stricken with mild panic, until the split-second tension broke as the men collapsed in spells of hysterical laughter. The lady walked off muttering to herself. Adiffah smiled warmly at me, as if to say, œSee? Life in court is not all drab you know.
I couldnt help but smile too. How could I not? That was the first time I ever heard laughter in court.***
Photo taken from Haaretz