Graphic design by zerotwostudio
In 2023, the Ratsadonprasong Fund provided monetary support to 48 detainees in 9 prisons and correctional institutions. The first slide “Detention Timelines” divides the 48 into three classes: the upper class for those denied bail before or during trial; the middle class, most numerous, for those denied bail during appeals, twenty of whom appealed to overturn their guilty verdict whereas eight appealed to reduce their punishment after confession during trial; and the lower class for those serving time after their judgments became final.
On the image, it can be seen that over the course of the year, six people fell from the upper to the middle class. Meaning, they are defendants who were detained during trial as well as during appeals. Of the six, five were temporarily granted bail after a period of detention—note the grey portion of their timelines—and then were detained again after judgment when the Court of Appeals denied them bail.
Note, too, the one person who dropped from the upper to the lower class in one fell swoop. This person was also the only defendant under our care who went through pretrial detention this past year. He was later released for only a month before being detained without bail again when trial began. On a court date where no lawyer showed, the detainee decided to confess, and when he received a prison sentence he did not appeal, wanting to get the “justice process” over with as soon as possible.
While the above image only peeks into the issue of the right to bail, it should be noted that in order to better understand the multifaceted issues affecting political detainees today, the 48 can be divided into the following types of offense and methods of defense:
- 25 detainees in cases resulting from incidents of violence or property destruction related to political rallies, 16 of whom fought their allegations, while 9 confessed during trial.
- 15 detainees in cases involving Article 112, 9 of whom fought their allegations (including both the “I didn’t do it” and the “I did it, but what I did was not a violation” lines of defense), while 5 confessed during trial, and 1 fought then confessed during trial then attempted to reverse their confession but was not allowed to do so.
- 2 detainees in cases exclusively involving the Computer Crimes Act, 1 of whom fought their allegation to the end, while 1 confessed during trial.
- 6 detainees in cases involving other security-related charges, all of whom fought their allegations.
At present, in July 2024 when this report is written, there are no longer any political detainees who are denied bail during trial. (The latest group of defendants detained during trial in 2024 was granted bail in May.) All the depicted upper-class detainees have received judgments from Courts of the First Instance. Only those making appeals continue to lack access to their right to bail. As for those whose cases have concluded, the Fund will continue supporting them until they complete their sentence or receive a royal pardon.
The Fund’s support for detainees comes in the form of direct deposits on their books with the flat rate of 3,000 baht per month. Payments cycle in accordance with the Fund’s own calendar; we do not reimburse a detainee’s family member for their commissary spending, nor make purchases in detainees’ stead. This straightforward approach ought to flow smoothly along pre-established prison rules, but the reality is more complicated.
The complications can be traced back to the aftermath of the 2014 coup d’etat, which entailed not only the closure of Lak Si Prison which housed convicts in cases related to political rallies, but also the strict implementation of the “10-Visitor Quota” policy originally issued as an option in the 2012 Regulation of the Royal Department of Corrections Regarding Visits and Contact by Outside Persons to Detainees. (The regulation reads “Detainees may be required to provide in advance a list of outside persons who would visit or contact them inside the prison”—meaning, they may or may not be required to do so depending on the case.) Not only is it now a rule applying to each and every detainee, political or not, the policy has also been construed by some prisons to mean that a money sender must be on the ten-person list.
This roadblock was somewhat mitigated in 2020 when the Royal Department of Corrections issued a new policy enabling prisons to set up an e-payment system for electronic money deposits. The new policy not only facilitated the government clerical work and reduced crowding at in-person deposit spots, but it was also a boon to the people who sent money to their friends and family in prison by eliminating the travel expenses and the pandemic-related health risks. A transfer by e-payment can instantly put money in an inmate’s account, provided that a Deposit Card has been made by their family, friend, or bailor. The Fund can also simply wire money to them via QR Code on the card. Such is our expectation, displayed as a flowchart on the next slide, “How to Send Money to a Detainee: Expectation.”
In practice, however, we have encountered further complications on multiple levels, as summarized in the following maze of a flowchart in the slide “How to Send Money to a Detainee: Reality.”
Starting at the most basic level: the e-payment system is not actually a compulsory standard that every prison is expected to have. Some places, like Chonburi Women’s Correctional Institution, still do not have it as an option today. Once we reread the 2020 Rule of the Royal Department of Corrections Regarding the Receiving of Deposits for Detainees in Prisons at the passage “prisons can deputize a commercial bank to run [the system] instead,” we realize—can = may = don’t have to.
Having the e-payment system set up doesn’t guarantee speedy efficiency and no discrimination, however, when everything is still up to discretion. That is to say, prison officials have the discretionary power to reject an application to make a Deposit Card for a multitude of reasons, from the applicant not being on the approved visitor list, the applicant who’s on the list not being related to the detainee by blood, the applicant who’s on the list not having a marriage certificate as proof of relation, to detainee-related reasons like the detainee not having been in prison for a full month, the detainee’s case not having concluded, et cetera. This way, many a trip to prison were for naught. The sender had to deposit cash in prison for that installment and fill out documents to send to the Fund who would reimburse the deposit plus travel expenses. Or on occasion, while waiting for a Deposit Card application to be approved, we had to fall back on the detainee’s lawyer to make cash deposits for us.
If one cannot make online deposits nor travel to make cash deposits, the only option left is to send a money order to prison via the post office. The same document from the Royal Department of Corrections specifies, “Upon receiving a money order, an official shall register its receipt and then go collect the money without delay within 7 business days.” However, in practice the sender still had to keep making phone calls to prison to check if the money has reached its destination. Prison clerks usually explained that they had to wait for money orders to “collect” before going to the post office to cash them all at once. Each waiting cycle may take two weeks or however much the case may be. In one case we encountered, it took 20 days from the sending date for the money to finally be put on the detainee’s books.
Now, the most astonishing of setbacks: all the proofs of identity and relation, all the copies of house registration books, national IDs, bank account passbooks, all the contact information the prison required for the sake of you becoming eligible for visiting or sending money to a detainee, will mean absolutely nothing the moment the detainee is moved to another prison. The entire maze resets. What’s most incomprehensible is that the contact information provided was never actually used to notify the detainee’s family of the move. Post-move deposits (and even commissary food or commodity purchases made by family via prison website) were still processed even though the recipient’s body was no longer there. Getting “lost” deposits back depends on the case. If the transfer was made before the detainee’s old account closed, the original prison may have already transferred it to the new prison. But if the old account had shut down by the time of transfer, the sender must investigate where the money is. The answer from prison varied from returned to the sender, returned to the bank account of the Deposit Card holder, forwarded to the new prison, to stuck in the bank branch where the original prison has an account, please contact the bank branch yourself.
The only official rationale we can find for these clerical convolutions that stem from political conditions after the coup ten years ago is a clause the 2012 regulation that says “for the benefit of prison security or control.” It is unclear what the clause means, but it clearly hints at the lack of awareness of the reality of most Thai citizens, same as the vast majority of detainees and their families: most have low income, don’t have stable jobs, don’t have perfect families whether in papers or in pictures, hail from out of town, et cetera. It is unclear also how this regulation benefits the rehabilitation of detainees for their successful return to society, but it clearly subjects their families to an obstacle course that feels like a trial by fire as if they were also objects of punishment on the other side of the bars.
Stay tuned for the next installment, “Drives in the Maze.”
Previously: