Once a Jolly Hangman by Alan Shadrake Page A

They could not pull the lever. According to Darshan Singh, the young Chinese prison officer actually ran from the execution chamber in horror and never came back. He resigned from
    the prison service the next day. The Malay prison officer returned to his normal duties. He refused to go anywhere near the scaffold again, however, and Singh was obliged to stick at the job while more futile attempts were made to find his successor.
    At one time the prison authorities considered abandoning hanging and replace it with the lethal injection method used in some American states. Two arguments quickly put paid to that idea. It has always been a tradition in Changi Prison for the condemned to be given the opportunity to agree to organ donation. Singh always told them that if they agreed to 'make good' it would ensure reincarnation. Then it was discovered that if they died by lethal injection their vital organs would be destroyed. But more importantly, that proposal was shelved because it removed key elements to being executed on the gallows: the stark fear and horror that it presents and the utter ignominy of being hanged, say human rights activists. Lethal injection to the Singaporean way of thinking is too humane, too painless and too dignified. It would be more like lying on a gurney ready for surgery and never waking up from the anaesthetic. It is the very dread of being hanged by your country and the awful spectre of the gallows, death penalty advocates maintain, that is so important. It is the ultimate degradation.

7
    Man In Transit
     
     
    The neatly-dressed young man strolled nonchalantly through terminal ones transit lounge at Changi airport trying to look every bit a typical student traveller without a care in the world. He was returning from a trip to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and looking forward to being home with his family in Melbourne for the Christmas holiday. But his cool look belied what was really going on behind that inscrutable face. It was 12 December 2002, a date he would come to remember until the end of his days. There would not be many more of them. In fact, although he didn't know it then, there were only another 1,085 days left. The countdown had just begun. This is the story of the very short life and violent death of Australian citizen, Nguyen Van Tuong.
    Completely in the dark as to the nature of his trip his mother, Kim Nguyen, a devout Catholic, was at home busily preparing for the Christmas celebrations and a welcome meal for Van. It would be breakfast time when she expected him to walk through the door. But it was a meal he would never eat and a welcome he would never receive. The 22 year-old was also looking forward to seeing his young friends Kelly Ng and Bronwyn Lew again - and especially twin brother, Khoa. He had a very special Christmas present for him. It was strapped to his back and hidden in his luggage. Silk Air Flight MI622 from Phnom Penh touched down at terminal one at precisely 3.06 p.m. The connecting flight that would take him home on the final leg of the journey was Qantas Airways QF10. He had quite a long wait. Take-off time was not until 8.15 p.m. Nguyen tried to remain composed and as inscrutable as possible, anxious not to make eye contact with anyone.
    He held on tightly to his canvas bag. The haversack slung over his left shoulder was trapped securely by his arm. He looked around for a quiet spot to spend the next five hours. He wanted to look natural but his stomach was churning and deep down he was feeling extremely nervous. He purchased a magazine and many cups of coffee and tried to take a nagging fear off his mind. Nguyen kept glancing at his brand new $1,150 Rado wristwatch he had bought for his 21st birthday, hoping his nervousness was not being noticed by anyone. He knew hidden CCTV cameras were quietly whirring away with men and women trained in reading body language sitting at batteries of screens looking for tell tale signs of trouble or anxious people with something to