After
they finished eating, the four Americans got into the SUV and Thura drove them a short distance through the jungle until
they came to a compound surrounded by a high double fence topped with some
vicious-looking barbed wire. They pulled
up at the gate. The sign, in English and
Trabbian said “Department of Justice: Mongha Female
Correctional Facility.” A female guard
came out and exchanged a few words with Thura. “She says we must turn over any cellphones,
tablets, cameras and such, as no photography or recording is permitted Everything will be returned as we leave.” The women all got out of the vehicle, as did Thura. The visitors
dug in their pockets, producing their phones, which they deposited in the
basket proffered by the guard. That task
accomplished, they got back into the SUV.
The guard opened the gate and instructed Thura
on how to find the Warden’s office. The
route proceeded through a complex filled with a number of huts similar to the
ones at their camp until they arrived at a larger modern building. Standing in front to greet them was a woman
of medium height and build, close in age to Susan, dressed in a police-style
uniform with numerous highly polished brass buttons and ribbons.
“Welcome
to Mongha Female Punishment Center,” she said in
fluent, barely-accented English as they exited the car, “I am Noba, Warden of this facility. I understand that you have questions about
the administration of justice in our country.
I hope we can make clear to you the fairness and wisdom of our
system. Please come inside.”
She
led the party into the air-conditioned building and into a small conference
room with a table and some chairs. “Be
seated, please,” the Warden said.
Gesturing towards a pitcher of ice water with some lemon slices floating
in it and some glasses she said, “Please have something to drink. The procedure takes place outside and it is
quite hot, isn’t it?” The guests all
happily helped themselves, as the Warden continued, “Since you are not familiar
with our country, I will explain what you are about to witness. The two offenders who will be punished today
are females aged 20 and 21. They are
students at the local university who decided that it would be fun to smoke some
marijuana. Unfortunately for them, they
set off the smoke alarms and the administration discovered them and called the
police. They were charged with
possession of drugs, which is a serious offense in Trabbia. They were entitled to a full trial if they
wanted one, but, since the evidence against them was very clear, they pled
guilty. They were sentenced to receive 8
strokes of the cane and were brought here from court yesterday. Upon arrival, they were strip-searched and
given uniforms and spent last night in one of the huts in our camp. The night here allows for any pain medication
that they might have taken on the outside to pass from their bodies. Right now, they are being examined by the
doctor to ensure that they are fit to receive their punishment. Once he pronounces them fit, they will be
taken to the caning area and their court-ordered punishment will be administered. I would be happy to answer any questions you
might have.”
For
a moment, there was an awkward silence.
Although the Americans had felt free to express their outrage at the
brutality of Trabbian justice in the confines of
their camp, they felt a bit intimidated to do so in front of this commanding
woman inside a prison facility. Finally,
Priya summoned the courage to ask a question. “Isn’t a caning rather a severe punishment
for smoking a joint?”
Warden
Noba, thought a moment before replying. “I have been educated in the West. I have a degree from the University of
California at Irvine. I understand that
sort of behavior is tolerated there, even though it might be illegal. But we have found that tolerating small
violations of the law produces a climate where more serious crimes can
flourish. I believe that some in the
West share this opinion-the ‘broken window’ theory as it is called.”
“But
why caning? Why not a fine or community
service or even a short prison sentence?” Jennifer asked.
“Fines
don’t hit the rich and the poor equally.
With students such as these, their parents would probably pay it anyway,
so they would not learn anything. In Trabbia, we believe that community service is everyone’s
obligation, so we do not consider it a punishment for criminals. As for prison, I think it is quite
inappropriate for young non-violent offenders to spend time locked up with
violent career criminals. All that does
is teach them the wrong ways. Besides,
prison is expensive and, while we are making progress, we are still not a rich
country. The great advantage of corporal
punishment is that the offenders are returned to society after a few days and
can get on with their lives.”
Susan,
always the professor, wanted some hard data.
“What is the rate at which those who receive a caning sentence
re-offend?” she asked.
“I’m
glad you asked,” Noba responded. “We believe that is the most important factor
in any criminal punishment. Does it
prevent re-offending? And for caning,
the answer is most assuredly that it does.
The rate of re-offense in the following 5 years for those who are caned
is below 10%.” Noba
looked at Jennifer. “The rates for those
who get fines or prison or community service are over 50%.”
“I
know that some other countries have caning, but only for men. Yet in Trabbia you
also cane women. Why is that?” Sarah
asked.
“Another
excellent question,” responded the Warden. “This was much debated when the laws
were passed to institute corporal punishment.
Some argued that women were less able to bear the pain. That is simply not so; after all, it is women
who give birth, not men. We have several
staff members who have also worked at male institutions and they find much
individual variation in how people react to pain, but no difference between the
sexes. Some argued that it is unseemly
for women to be naked in front of men; perhaps, but there are women present
sometimes when men are caned. Anyway,
embarrassment and shame are a vital component of the punishment. For me, it comes down to a simple question of
fairness. If I commit a crime that a man
would be caned for, then I should be caned too.”
At
that point there was a knock at the door.
A guard entered and said a few words to the Warden in Trabbian.
The
Warden turned to us and said, “The doctor has cleared the offenders for
punishment, so if you would please follow me, we can perhaps see why caning is
such an effective deterrent to crime.”
She led the way out of the building and through the camp to a covered
breezeway running parallel to a whitewashed wall. Noba guided the
visitors along the breezeway and through a door in the wall. On the other side was a dirt-floored parade
ground about the size and shape of a tennis court, surrounded by high walls on
all four sides. Several guards, both
male and female, were moving busily through the area. Towards one end, was a most curious
apparatus, to which the Warden led the visiting party.
“This
is our caning stand,” she explained, pointing at the four solid wood posts,
about as tall as a person, forming a square about two feet on each side. The Warden grasped one of the posts and shook
it to show how firmly it was anchored in the ground. She continued, “On the two front posts, you
will notice, down near ground level, leather straps with buckles firmly
attached to the posts. These are used to
secure the offender’s ankles to the structure.
Up here at waist level is a padded bar, with a padded belt that is attached
around their hips to protect their kidneys and hold their torso in place. The offender bends over the bar and reaches
their hands over to the bar across the far side which has two straps used to
secure the offender’s wrists. It is
important that the offender be secured very firmly, because the cane causes
severe pain and the natural bodily reaction is to try to move to avoid the next
stroke, which cannot be permitted.”
The
Warden motioned to a very muscular looking man, wearing a black T-shirt and
dark-blue sweat pants, who came over to the visitors carrying a stick. The Warden continued, “This is the cane used
to administer the strokes. It is made of
rattan, which grows in this area and is approximately four feet long and about
as thick as my index finger, wrapped with cloth at the thicker end where the
caner holds it. Prior to use, the bottom
third is soaked overnight in water so that it is very supple, almost like a
leather whip. That makes it very
effective at transferring the power from the caner’s arm to the offender’s
flesh.” Priya
shuddered at the off-hand way the Warden described the brutal torture that
would soon be inflicted on students much like her.
Noba exchanged some words with the
caner. He bent the cane and showed how
supple it was. “Go ahead; you can hold
it.” He passed it to Jennifer, who
grasped the cloth covered end. “See for
yourself how it bends.” Jennifer bent it
until it made a letter C. “Would you
like to try swinging it?” Warden Noba asked. Jennifer looked reluctant. “Go ahead, there is a practice target.” She pointed at a pillow tied to one of the
uprights at waist height, which had what looked like human buttocks drawn on it
in marker. Jennifer walked over to it
and took a swing, hitting the target rather softly. Each of the other visitors took a turn, with
similar indifferent results.
The
Warden took the rattan and handed it back to the muscular man. “Now let’s stand back and see how a
professional, highly trained for power and accuracy, performs.” The caner wound up like a tennis pro serving
at Wimbledon and smashed the cane dead center into the fake buttocks on the
pillow, with a full follow through. The
blow sent feathers flying everywhere.
The visitors stood, staring in shock at the pillow.
“He
doesn’t hit a real person that hard, I hope,” Susan said. “I mean, no one could survive that, could
they?”
“Yes,
of course, that is exactly how he delivers every stroke,” Warden Noba replied. “If
each caner gave strokes as he felt like, then judges would have no idea how
many to award for a given crime. It is
essential that each stroke be given at full force. As for survival, no one has died yet under
the cane, though some might have wished for it.”
“Now
if you will please accompany me to the administrative gallery, the first
offender will be brought out shortly and you will see how the caning is carried
out,” speaking of it as though it was a minor medical procedure, rather than a
horrible torture.
The
Warden directed the visitors to an area a few meters to the side and behind the
frame, shaded with a canopy and equipped with a number of chairs facing the
frame. Seated there was a middle-aged
man, who stood to greet the guests and was introduced to them by the Warden as
Dr. Fong.
As
the party was sitting down, the door in the wall opened and a female guard
entered the parade ground, followed by a very frightened-looking young woman
with a male guard behind her, urging her forward, despite her obvious
reluctance to meet her fate. The
prisoner was tall, at least for a Trabbian, and thin,
with the coffee-colored skin and straight black hair typical of the
country. She wore a green T shirt, blue
shorts and flip flops. The Trabbian student cast a
furtive glance at the sturdy caning stand and the muscular caner as the party
came to stand in front of the Warden and her guests. She looked over at the
American visitors, but, when her eyes met theirs, she blushed in shame and
turned away to stare at the ground.
The
Warden picked up one of the folders on the table in front of her and began
reading from it. The prisoner answered
briefly, her voice hoarse with fear. Thura explained that the Warden was confirming her name and
sentence so that there could be no possibility of a mistake. A female guard came over with a basket like
one would use for laundry and the Warden called out something. “She is ordering her to strip for her
punishment, which is always administered in the nude,” Thura
explained. The young woman looked quite
mortified, as one might imagine, by the prospect of being naked in front of a
mixed party including foreign guests.
The Warden repeated the order, this time louder and the prisoner began
by kicking off her sandals and placing them in the basket. Then, she pulled her T shirt over her head, which,
since the uniform lacked a bra, exposed her pert breasts, with dark areolae and
nipples standing up with fear and shame.
Casting her eyes down to avoid the gaze of the onlookers, the young
prisoner pulled her shorts down to her feet and stepped out of them, placing
them carefully in the basket. She paused
for a moment, and then, under the stern glare of the Warden and guards, pulled
down her underpants and placed them in the basket with the rest of her
uniform. Now she stood before the entire
group, naked as the day she was born.