Exerpts from an article by Geoff Thompson for the ABC...
Last week the island prison home of the Bali bombers was thrown open to the media. Along the way, I mused with other journalists that, because foreign journalists had recently been denied access to the prison, there was no guarantee that the bombers would even appear when we arrived. Part of me even hoped that, with their executions approaching, the prison authorities, under some stern order from above, would have locked Amrozi, Mukhlas and Imam Samudra away some where we couldn’t see them. That would have killed our story, but it also felt somehow more appropriate.
When the ferry arrived a media bus was waiting with prison guards doubling as tour guides ushered us aboard while asking us not to film until we were inside the prison. Soon enough we were led into a sort of viewing room, behind thick glass looking out on to a courtyard where about 100 men were praying. “I hope it gets better than this”, was a common refrain from the Australian reporters. The reporter in me had to agree, while I secretly hoped too that some sort of decorum would prevail.
Of course, that was not to be. Sure enough, we were soon shown into the yard, and there sitting up front and dressed for attention were the three Bali bombers. Amrozi was quick to flash his easy grin, framed in head-gear and robes of a fetching light blue. His brother Mukhlas sat next to him similarly dressed for the cameras in a dark-blue get up. Not far away was Imam Samudra dramatically draped in black and white.
It was then that it struck me. Had we gained rare access to these mass murdering terrorists or was it they who had just flogged us cheap tickets to their show? Just who was using who, to get on the news?
And so the ugly game began. Excruciatingly aware of our presence, all three of them were jumping out of their skins to talk to us, or more accurately, to use us as their springboard to the world. We were the lifelines to their notorious celebrity and not a moment was to be wasted.
Do you have any regrets about killing Australians I asked Amrozi? “No”, he said laughing. “If I have a chance I will kill more”. Imam Samudra said he only felt sorry for the Muslims who were killed in the Bali attacks, while Mukhlas turned threatening saying his holy warrior mates would hunt down every one who executed him from Indonesia ’s President, down to the guards who open his prison doors.
All along, the bombers joked and cajoled with the prison officers. At one point, when Mukhlas was in overdrive, a senior guard grabbed his arm to lead him away. Muklhas slapped his hand down with “who do you think you are” glare, before continuing his frenzied gesturing rant.
Whether we like it or not, the Bali bombers are celebrities in Indonesia and within their island prison, they are powerful and influential figures. An image only enhanced of course, when the international media turns up to listen and re-broadcast every word they say. We are the oxygen of their notoriety.
If we didn’t broadcast them, they would be rendered impotent. So why do we do it? The only justification I can come up with, is that the outrageousness of the situation is such that it has to be seen to be believed, and hopefully one day, corrected. That, eventually, the embarrassment the bomber’s rants and their canoodling with prison guards surely brings Indonesia’s Government will somehow lead to it being stopped. Alas, that never seems to happen.
But there was one small pleasure to be taken away from this prison open-day, and this first meeting with the bombers. I couldn’t help sensing they were scared. I’m not a believer in capital punishment, but the knowledge, that perhaps, for the first time the bombers’ homicidal bluster was sounding a little desperate, did inspire the guiltiest of thrills.
