18…..Under Scrutiny

From the first week that I arrived, up until it was time to hand over my case to the Chinese prosecution, Detectives Blue Sky and an associate would come once a week to interrogate me. After the first month, this became less frequent, twice a month on the second month, and once thereafter on the third and fourth month. 

 

The routine was always the same. A hallway guard would open the first locked door, ask for me, and I would then approach the gate, squatting, and place both hands through an opening in the center of the gate, and a guard would handcuff me. I would then be escorted to the end of the hallway which was located beside a check-in desk, behind which was a large wall covered with TV monitors that a guard seated before would be watching, occasionally switching the camera view on various screens. At this main gate, another man, usually the assistant to Detective Blue Sky, would be waiting for me. 

 

Interrogation rooms were located down an adjoining corridor just the other side. Walking by these rooms I saw other prisoners almost always smoking a cigarette while other official types stood nearby them, prodding them with questions. All the rooms were covered in sound proof tiles. Rotating fans were mounted to the walls and the doorways were left open for ventilation.

 

It was within such a room that I would have long discussions with the detectives; Blue Sky seemed contemplative throughout all our sessions together. His assistants rarely if ever engaged me in conversation. Their function seemed to be mainly to transliterate whatever I said into Chinese. Occasionally Blue Sky would confer with them, just to be sure they understood. I had a feeling that more often than not, the assistant’s knowledge of English was that of a middle school student. Detective Blue Sky often asked me to verify some of my testimony before he would look upward toward the ceiling to gather his thoughts, translate what I said into Chinese in his mind the best he could, then speak in Mandarin to his fellow officer on what to write down. Everything was written by hand and near the end of each interrogation, my testimony was given to me to read, just in case there were any errors–and there were always glaring errors, of which Blue Sky would assist in correcting on both the English and the Chinese versions. Any corrections would have to be witnessed by me using my fingerprint on the actual correction. For some odd reason, carbon paper, or duplication paper was never used. For the hand written pages, I assumed copies would be made. For the printed pages, I would sign double copies; one for myself and one for the officers in charge.

 

Near the end of these interrogations, Detective Blue Sky would more often than not ask me specific questions about the USA, or on subjects dealing with of all things, small gyro-copters! He informed me that he was in the process of building one and wanted to know what I knew about shipping something from the USA. I don’t believe I was much help in the matter but I tried my best to give him what little practical advice I knew of. My lasting impression of the detective was that his mind was always elsewhere, perhaps in the very clouds that his English name opitimized, dreaming of flying across the vast countryside of his native lands, something I seriously doubted would be allowed, cosidering how restrictive the whole of China was with its citizens.

 

During all the interrogations, a student would be present to do the actual writing of my testimony. I would sometimes be able to have quick discussions with them, as they would be the ones who would often escort me to the interrogation room. Most of them were either English majors at a local University, or students studying International Law, so they would have to be proficient in English. They were always very polite and interested in my story.

 

The interrogations by the detectives would center on my lack of rememberance of the actual destruction of the ATM. I never detracted from my original statement that I had no memory of actually breaking the machine. I only recalled striking the key pad immediately after I the machine shut down, my card locked up in its metal stomach. The questions would wind around and around that same point–did I recall using a piece of metal to beat the machine? At what point did I become angry and begin to beat the machine? Why did I return a second time and pull on wires that were exposed through the open area where the touch screen had once been? To all these questions I told them, “I don’t have any memory of any destruction applied to the ATM. I only remember beating the keypad and punching buttons with my fingers in frustration when I realized my card and money would not be given to me.” Even though I always maintained that I had no memory of actually breaking the ATM, I did add that I must have done so, since they had photographic evidence of the fact, and that I could pay for the damage as well.

 

All told, I must have sat through at eight interviews with them. When we had our final interview, Blue Sky told me, as he had a few times before that “mine was a simple case” and “it would all be over soon”. One of his cohearts told me in his rather good English that they often had to deal with horrible circumstances such as rape and murder, and that my case was a welcome distraction from the brutality of their work.

~~~

14…..Consulate to the Rescue

    After the fourth day, a guard came to our door in the mid-afternoon. Most of the time the only reason a guard would come during this time was to take someone out for an interrogation by detectives or bringing in a new inmate. My name was called so I came forward to the door. The guard said something in Chinese I didn’t understand and John told me that I had visitors. I got my slippers on and went back to the door. The guard hand cuffed me through a square opening in the barred gate, then opened it and led me away.

 

    Waiting for me on the other side of the control room gate was a young Chinese woman. Once on the other side, she and a policeman walked with me down to the main floor. She told me she worked for the American Consulate! I was so elated! Maybe now I may have refuge or some answers at least. Once downstairs, we walked across the garage area, that now had a large truck parked upon it, deliveries no doubt. In the reception area a tall Caucasian man walked over at once and introduced himself. “Hello Mr. Lovett, I am Richard, the Vice Consulate for the American Consulate in Guangzhou, please to meet you; we don’t have long so let’s go.”

 

    We went outside to the drive that ran between the main building and the prison wall. Along the wall side was a low, long one story building with several doors every fifteen feet or so. We stopped by the third door and Richard opened it, allowing me to enter first, then the policeman, the young Chinese girl and finally Richard himself. The room was air conditioned, which was a pleasant surprise. They also had a bottle of water for me, another plus. A large conference table dominated the small room. Before a single window next to the entry door was a desk and the policeman sat there. Richard and his assistant sat opposite me at the table, and soon Blue Sky’s assistant and another detective I had not seen before came in and sat on a sofa behind Richard. He began speaking to me.

 

    ”We only have about twenty five minutes, thirty if we push it. First sign these papers as I talk with you. These just give me the right to represent you for various reasons. I can’t give you legal advice, but I have a list of lawyers here we can get in touch with for you. Pick out one or two and we’ll do the rest.” I busily signed various forms as he asked me some questions.

 

    ”Are you being treated humanely? Any problems you wish to tell me about?” I told him everything was reasonable, but I had issues concerning a nerve injury that was aggravated by sitting constantly on hard surfaces, and I needed him to relay to the doctor that I needed daily pain reliever for it. He said he would talk with the doctor. Then he continued with some questions. Was there anyone I wanted to contact? I gave him my sister’s name and the city she lived in, but I didn’t have any phone number memorized or address. He said that if they had ever applied for a passport then they would be in the database. I gave him the names of some friends at Hill Bar that he could contact. He took their names down. He asked if I had money there in the prison. I told him no, so he wrote this down. He said he didn’t have any details about why I was there, only that the authorities had contacted him.

 

    He then gave me a booklet, which he had to show the detectives first. It contained a set of rules and laws agreed upon by both China and the United States on right of Americans imprisoned in China. It was written in both Chinese and English. He also gave me two “Time” magazines to read and some blank paper for writing. Before I knew it our time was up and I had to go. We all returned to the reception area and I was about to be taken upstairs when the policeman who had sat behind the desk pointed out the papers and magazines in my hand. A female officer of the prison looked at the papers, returned them to me, but didn’t return the magazines and told Richard in Chinese I couldn’t have them. He talked to her in very good Chinese, which surprised me, and said that yes, by law I was entitled to them. She shook her head. Richard got tough. He at once took out his mobile phone and made a quick call. While it was ringing he said, “They always try to do something like this, but I’ll play hardball. They don’t want to mess with me!” He got through to someone and spoke in Chinese about the situation. Then he handed the phone to the policewoman who listened to it for awhile. Richard said to me quietly, “She is now talking to no.1 police chief in Guangzhou; this shouldn’t take long.” She answered softly a few times on the phone, then handed the phone back to Richard and then handed the magazines to me, but she flipped through them quickly, as if she was going to read something derogatory about China within five seconds. I thanked Richard heartily. He said he would be back within a month at a minimum, perhaps sooner. Then I was led back upstairs.

 

    At the gate to the long hallway, once I was let in, a guard wanted to take my magazines and papers yet again. The young Chinese woman told him in Chinese that that had been cleared already downstairs, but they ignored her. The policeman behind her however must have reiterated, because they looked at him, then handed me the materials somewhat reluctantly. Even so, before I got back into my cell, our guard did take them and told me he would return them shortly; he was required to look them over. This guard had been very curt and kind with me so far, so I didn’t argue. And sure enough, within a few hours I had all my things returned to me. I made a point in thanking him for returning them quickly. Of course everyone in the room didn’t care about my visitors, although they all read the business card Richard had given me. They looked at it like it was a signed photo of Mao himself; it really seemed to impress them all. The magazines were another story. Everyone wanted to look at them. I almost had to fight them off, and then I had an idea. I went to Mr. Li and Mr. Chen and handed each of them a magazine. They  were happy to look at them and with that I established myself even more with them. They were returned directly to me and only a few of the Chinese asked me rather sheepishly later if they could look at them. I gave out only one of them, while I sat and read an article from the other. I also gave the Chinese-American law book to Mr. Li, who was very interested in looking at it, once he saw the Chinese title. I wasn’t very concerned with that for now, so it got passed around for about three days before I ever saw it again. For the first time in the few days I had been there, I felt somewhat more secure.

~~~

ATM Asian Mayhem

A true account of one American’s journey through the Chinese penal system

In 2006 I was inprisoned in China. I was held prisoner for six months. This story details the five days leading up to the arrest, and my escort to “Guangzhou no.3 Detention Center”–a new, experimental prison, that was actually a brain washing facility, or in Chinese parlance, “a center for re-education”.

Author’s Note

“ATM Asian Mayhem” is a condensed version of a much broader story, detailed in the nine chapters that follow. The story covers the time preceeding the robbery, and follows what happens for the next several days, including the ATM incident, the arrest, the initial interrogations, ending with being taken to the prison. The entire story, “Within the Dragon’s Teeth” continues through the six months spent inprisoned. Michael Lovett currently lives in Hawaii, writing and teaching and plans to return to Asia.

ATM Mayhem

Night of Despair April 19, 2006
The gate of thick steel bars clanged shut behind me, followed by a second solid metal door behind it. The collective sound they made reverberated throughout the cavernous prison I had just been led through. I was the only person who had been processed that time of night and it appeared that everyone was sleeping, meaning–my arrival most likely awakened everyone within earshot. I realized only then that I had stopped breathing a moment before. I exhaled my last breath of freedom into my unwelcoming new home; a Chinese prison.

Chapter 1

A Night On The Town

Reflections And Decisions

I was sitting in my favorite bar, located in the center of Guangzhou’s expat area. It was around 9:00 pm and the previous four days’ madness was sweeping over me, causing one of my nearby friends to comment, “you look stoned!”. In fact, I was lethargic, drained from the emotional roller coaster ride of having to spend three days at my bank trying to access my own money, turning in a police report on my stolen goods and finding out what I must do to replace my passport.

Chapter 2

Wiped Out!

Rubbed the Wrong Way

This place was convenient to areas I liked to frequent so I often went there after hours and that is how I found the massage place. It was located on a narrow slit of a street between mouldering dark unlit buildings. The only bit of colour there was the massage place itself. Here among dingy walk-ups, their muted windows encased in rusting iron gratings, stood a beautiful young Chinese girl dressed in a glimmering gold satin ball gown, fit for Cinderella. She stood behind a small wooden podium, a brightly colored neon sign above her head, flashing the parlor’s name. The pseudo-princess escorted me inside and upward, away from the grim alley below.

Chapter 3

The Boys In Black

How Best to Waste Your Time In China

The first thing that occurred to me was to go to my bank and see if I could somehow cajole them into getting my money out of my account, even though I had no I.D. and no bank card. I did however know they had several photo copies of my passport on file. Whenever I received a wire transfer from the USA, they required me to bring them two copies of both my passport photo page and copies of my China visa. At this point they should have had a small bundle of them.

Chapter 4

My Last Four Days

The Calm Before the Storm

The following day I returned to the bank to see the manager, who of course had not come in–when do they ever come in on Sunday?. Frustrated, but polite, I went over my situation again with the same teller from the day before, who seemed to take pity on me. He looked over at his sole associate, who only made a “What can we do?” face to him, then looked back to her calculating so as not to get too involved. He looked down at his desk as if thinking about something, then reached behind him and pulled out his wallet, removed a 50 RMB note and slid it across to me beneath the safety glass.

Chapter 5

Rage and Rancor

Brawl With The Money Machine

Now Wednesday, five days had past since my grueling experience of being laid bare and near defenseless in the urban sprawl of Guangzhou, and I wasn’t going to take it any more. Not exactly sure where I needed to go to acquire my emergency passport, I went to Hill Bar after a breakfast of bao dze and do nai; pork-stuffed bread and soybean milk. I sat in the place most people who frequented there associated me with–a small table perched outside the entryway, where I watched the streaming traffic on Huanshi Dong Lu flash by.

Chapter 6

Taken In

A Drunken Cop; A Distracted PSB Officer; A Dilusional Detective

Back now at Hill Bar and no wiser to the fate of my bank card or the whereabouts of Peter, I decided to Email my sister about money. My laptop was stored there with a small travel bag in a backroom where the bar’s fix-all man, Lao Shen lived. He greeted me with his usual broad smile and “Heyro Miko!”, shaking my hand most genuinely. It was people like him that kept me in China so long. The friendship of one earnest and happy migrant worker was more desirable to ten of the new middle class yuppies anytime.

Chapter 7

Accusations

The Blind Leading The Blind

“We are sorry about your stolen property, but let’s talk about why we are here. Do you, I mean can you, tell me about the ATM you destroyed last night?”

The proverbial “room began to spin” thing happened. I felt the whole of my vision alter out of balance, focus and perception. Destroyed? ATM? Me? How? What? What was she on about? I closed my gaping mouth and spoke to them slowly, carefully, as my brain verged on popping a vessel or just shutting down altogether. The room was still out of kilter, but talking seemed to slow the vertigo feeling. “Last night, I remember attempting to get money from an ATM. When it didn’t give out any money or my card, I remember punching several buttons, then hitting my hand on the keypad, but, destroy?No way!” The woman turned to her partner and made subtle signals between them with their eyes and faces.