Book Review: No More Tomorrows, by Schapelle Corby and Kathryn Bonella

Phill, Garth - thanks for the book, friends.

I have been young and now am not too old
and I have seen the righteous man forsaken
his health, his honour and his quality taken.
That is not what we were formerly told.
--Edmund Blunden

He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock
that shadows a dry thirsty land
He hideth my life in the depths of his love
and covers me there with his hand
and covers me there with his hand.
--traditional hymn

I am determined to keep mind, body and soul healthy. I don't know how long I'll be waiting for my day in court but I will not cause more anxiety, stress and pain to the people who love me and are doing everything they can to help me. I will never be able to repay or thank them enough, so I'll start with respect. RESPECT." -- Schapelle Corby, diary entry 4 November 2004

I'll start there, too. With RESPECT. Respect for a support community begun in Schapelle's homeland and still distnctively Australian but which has expanded to welcome foreigners like me, illuminating Schapelle's 'bloody long tunnel' for as long as it takes. Respect for Schapelle's incredible family, standing by her through the storm, enduring with equal graciousness the trickle of government support and the cataract of media sensationalism. Respect for her co-author, journalist Kathryn Bonella, who does her job only too well - keeping her own personality in the background and leaving no barrier between us and Schapelle, experiencing her story in linear time as if we are staring out through the bars of Kerobokan Prison with her. Respect most of all for the gallant and gentle one herself, daring all to tell her story before it is finished, allowing us to see her vulnerability while seemingly unaware of her strength.

Different people have different reactions to a book like this of course; I have had supporters tell me they read it almost in one sitting and others who said they had to put it down for days at a time, both of which I completely understand. For a book so unavoidably harrowing in parts that before two Aussie friends sent it as a gift I had tried to avoid reading it at all, my own first impression was how understated it seemed. The endless catalog of horrors is treated unflinchingly but with with no more detail than is needed to make it clear; there is no sensationalism for its own sake. There are some awful descriptions of the unhygienic conditions everywhere at Kerobokan, from baby rats in her shoes to carelessness with sanitary napkins by her cellmates to the toxic mosquito infested pool she was sometimes made to clean as punishment, but she describes her reactions honestly and matter-of-factly and moves on. The book is not a long argument for her ( obvious) innocence. You could fill several pages outlining the many UN criminal code violations in Schapelle's show trial and some intrepid supporters have done so, but Schapelle spends a few paragraphs highlighting the obvious idiocies in the prosecution's case, and the failure to do the most elementary tests, and leaves it at that.

Schapelle's story is her own and people who wish to cast her as Nelson Mandela or Joan of Arc will be disappointed. She is not the poster girl for Australia, or injustice, or Christianity. You can sense her exasperation at attempts to idealize her in her caption to one photo showing her crying in a holding cell - "I'm not praying. I really don't have anywhere else to put my hands - they're cuffed." Her reticence concerning her faith is explained partly by the people who attended church with her only for the opportunity to get a covert cell phone camera shot which they could sell, or of the prison pastor who baptized her in jail and then rushed to sell the story to the newspapers. Her real and deep commitment however is shown by her diary entry describing the "bashing" by the guards of an American prisoner caught trying to escape and her attempts to help " ...they won't let Gabriel go to a hospital...I went back to my section and paid the guard to use her mobile - with a friendly smile I told her I was calling my sister. I quickly told Merc what was happening and to call the Australian consulate and the Red Cross...couldn't sleep at all, spent the night crying and praying. The next morning I found out that Gabriel had stitches. He's now in isolation - the tower of the bombers. I went to church . Walking past the tower I yelled out, 'Thinking about you and praying for you." She describes the endless betrayals and apparent friendships of those who wished to profit from her misery with less bitterness than we would believe possible, even with a sort of desperate humor. Her chapter on her self-described "white knight" celebrity supporters ( cell-phone businessmen from Australia who invited themselves into her life, supposedly to help) reads like a poorly written and abandoned script for Twilight Zone. The reader stares in stark incredulity as Schapelle describes the endless pressure and the ridiculous demands - she had to explain to them that (1)she did not wish to write a song about her experiences (2)she was not amused by letters to the Australian Prime Minister and Indonesian President, published in the newspaper as being from her, which she did not write but suspected them of writing, for more publicity, and (3) she did not wish to sign an agreement giving them half the royalties from the presumed eventual book/movie about her life. With "friends" like that, you can't blame Schapelle for being reluctant to trust people. You wonder, rather, why she talks to anyone outside her family at all.

Schapelle throughout does not pretend to be strong when she isn't or to understand when she doesn't. Her description of one act of kindness at the interim holding prison at Polda, beautiful in its simplicity, shows her quiet courage and unassuming character as well as anything can. I'll quote it in full because once we leave the quick summary of her happy childhood in the early chapters, this is the only soft oasis for the reader to land in a book that is otherwise almost all nightmare, all inferno.

"Very early one morning a guard came and unlocked my cell door. I warily jumped up and stood in the middle of my cell, confused, wondering what he wanted. I let out a wary hello. Then he said, 'Come, Come look at the sky.' He was pointing to the cage door that led to the outside world. I jumped at the chance and rushed over with a huge smile on my face. It gave me such a calm feeeling to look up at the vast blue sky. How nice of the guard to offer me this. It was beautiful. As I walked back to my cell, tears were streaming down my face. I hadn't seen the stars and moon for so long, but it was amazing to see the early morning sky. Little things had become so precious."

photo by jhuff6 at flickr.com,

used with her kind permission

We are left with the image not of a saint or a symbol but an individual, precious in God's sight and loved for who she is. In our instant gratification , "this-is-boring -let's -change-the-channel culture, the book strikes an awkward note. We are waiting for the happy ending, the neat little wrap-up at the end. But this monstrous injustice is still going on, and we serious supporters are in a constant struggle against the bitterness like that in the top quote in this post ( Blunden was describing World War One, in which he had fought at the front) , and in a continuous effort to keep our energy focused, our anger controlled, our tears silent. Those of us who have followed this case online from the beginning ( Oct. 8, 2004) lor like me from the first verdict ( May 27, 2005) are in awe of Schapelle's own faith and courage, and the dedication of her stronger supporters, like the strongest one pictured below. Some new Americans on the support forum have said they have had trouble following this case in the news ( unsurprising in this the most provincial country on earth, with the world's shortest attention span) and were unpleasantly surprised to learn how little has changed in four years. For them and for all other men of goodwill who have never heard of Schapelle, there is no better introduction than her book.

Schapelle Corby, Innocent Australian in Indonesia

In late May 2005 I was standing in a bank line idly watching a cable news station I don't get at home. The featured story was a strange criminal case in Indonesia and showed a young lady crying in court. I was moved in a way I cannot explain or entirely recall although I did not catch her name, only her nationality. I went home and googled on "Australian drug charge Indonesia" which brought up the name Schapelle Corby. A bit of slinking and scurrying around the internet over the next week or two brought me up to date on the story, which began in October 2004. Schapelle Leigh Corby is an attractive and articulate but ( it then seemed) perfectly ordinary 27 year old taking a break from caring for her termially ill father with a quick holiday in Bali, a common beach resort destination for Australians. She traveled with her brother James and two friends, planning to celebrate her sister Mercedes' ( who had married a Balinese man and often spent time there with their children) 30th birthday. Schapelle flew from Brisbane to Denpasar with a stopover in Sydney, checking her baggage through all the way. She had a suitcase and a "boogie board" ( small surfboard) bag, all unlocked but clearly labelled with her name. At customs she was told to check the boogie board bag through at the oversize counter, noticing on the way that the zippers were in a different position than she had left them and the carrying strap had been cut. Her brother helped carry it to the counter where they asked if it was his. "No, it's mine," said Schapelle and lifted it up fopr inspection, noticing far too late that it was heavier than it should have been. The bag contained 4.2 kg of marijuana.

The world's stupidest smuggling gang poses bravely for an airport photo just before going over the top. Do all people risking the death penalty look this happy?

The marijuana was in a transparent plastic "space bag" which was inside a second identical space bag, both unconcealed at the top of the boogie board bag which contained nothing else but a pair of flippers. The inner bag had been cut allowing the smell to escape. Customs officials would later deny cutting it and the cut has never been satisfactorily explained. There was no need for officials either to cut the ( already transparent) bag or to deny doing so if they thought it necessary, but surely no real drug courier would cut his own bag increasing his chance of being caught! Nor would any accused smuggler whether guilty or not, admit that the drugs were his - as officials would claim that Schapelle admitted. What she said, of course was that the boogie board bag was hers. Officials did not detain her brother for long, did not search her other traveling companions, and DID NOT SEARCH HER SUITCASE. There is no previous cse on record of anyone smuggling marijuana FROM Australia TO Indonesia, that is like taking cocaine to Colombia or smuggling heroin into Afghanistan. Marijuana grows wild in Indonesia and has a street value in Bali far less than it can be bought for in Australia. There is a rumor ( based on a single news article with no identified sources) that a high grade of marijuana called "Aussie Gold" is smuggled by Australian tourists to sell to other Australian tourists on Bali's beaches ( to avoid local dealers who may be undercover cops) but the failure of those who believe this to show even ONE such case ( names, dates, trial results ) identifies this as an utrban myth. Indonesia's drug penalties ( including death) are well known and the risks of such an operation would be insane - if it is unsafe to buy drugs from possible undercover cops, how is it safe to sell drugs in competition with them? An "Aussie Gold" dealer (if there were any such thing) would be arrested within the hour. Even if someone were crazy enough to try it he would hardly walk through customs whistling with the drugs unconcealed ( having cleverly cut the bag beforehand to give customs agents an extra chance). The only kind of drug courier I can think of who might try this is one who was using his own product at the time ( Schapelle's blood and urine tests were clear). Other obvious tests common to all modern law enforcement were not done - there was no fingerprinting of either bag ( officials claimed too many police had handled them) and no DNA-testing for the origin of the marijuana, although Schapelle requested both tests repeatedly. Officials also refused to weigh the luggage and compare it with the original claim ticket from Australia. Closed circuit TV footage from all three airports was mysteriously unavailable, with varying explanations given.

Authorities refused to DNA-test the marijuana for point of origin or even to fingerprint the inner bag, claiming too many people had already handled it. Like the presiding judge, for instance.

Schapelle was taken to a holding cell at Polda while Mercedes frantically tried to find lawyers they could trust, arrange consular visits, and deal with the mounting press attention paid to the "celebrity prisoner." Schapelle goes into bitter detail about all this in her book My Story, based on interviews given to Kathryn Bonella from Kerobokan Prison to which she was eventually transferred. The book is very difficult to get through with its uncompromising description of Schapelle's unfolding nightmare - the numbing sense of unreality in the first court apearances, the horrible sanitary conditions in her holding cell, wondering whom to trust. Realizing after hiring her first legal team that one of the lawyers was not on the conulate's approved list and another was not a lawyer at all. Dealing with self-styled "representatives" who wanted a signed contract with a percentage of profits from Schapelle's presumed eventual book/movie deal. Endlessly traveling back and forth from prison to court in a crowded bus in handcuffs. Seeing demonstrtors carrying signs she could not read except for her own name and wondering if they were supporters. "No, Schapelle, they're here to support the DEATH SENTENCE" her translator gently explained. "The signs say KILL you ." Being often unable to sleep or keep food down until she was briefly hospitalized after collapsing in court. Then, finally, the appearance in May 2005 for the final verdict. There was a surreal Twilight Zone quality to that day, with Schapelle desperately trying to believe that presumption of innocence and requirements of evidence meant the same in Bali in Australia, that her innocence would be clear to the judges and she could go home that day. Unbeknownst to her the presiding judge ( Linton Sirait) openly boasted of never finding anyone innocent in over 500 previous drug trials. In her book Schapelle describes trying to learn enough Indonesian to understand the verdict but was unable to concentrate when it came to the point and looked to her translator for the meaning of "Tahun dua pulu tahun" - "Two. Two years?"..."No. Eka said, shaking her head. "Ten years?" "No, not ten years..." Then Eka said, "Twenty. Twenty years." I froze. A tremor ripped through my soul. I was in shock, motionless, stunned, disbelieving. My heart stopped. Time stopped. The room went hazy. Nothing felt real. I wasn't there..." But it is real, and nearly three years later Schapelle is still in Kerobokan Prison sharing a cell with between 6 and 12 other women, locked in for over 15 hours a day. Two appeals failed to exonerate her and she is presently awaiting the results of a "judicial review." Sentence remissions will probably reduce the sentence to 11 years or so , but few in Indonesian prisons survive that long. A Prisoner Transfer Agreement ( PTA) could allow her to serve part of her time in Australia, but no such agreement has been finalized between the two countries. To qualify for a PTA she might have to admit guilt, which she steadfastly refuses to do.

It was Schapelle sniffling through her last statement before the court that I saw standing in that bank line in 2005. The judges do not speak English and had no English translator for the time she was speaking. This story has moved me more than any news story I can think of except Sept. 11. If it can happen to Schapelle it can happen to anyone. While I have a sister her age I don't look at Schapelle and see her - I see myself, caught up in a nightmare through mo fault of my own and with no end in sight. Except that I could not remotely do what she has done - remain strong and continually proclaim her innocence, through the failed appeals and the endless waiting. In her place I would long since have told the authorities to shoot me and be done with it. I am in awe of her courage and her Christian testimony, repeatedly saying she still loves the people of Bali and bears no ill will toward them, praying for her lawyers and judges and fellow prisoners as if "love your enemies" were a serious command. And dictating her book in secret interviews from her cell, knowing that might anger authorities enough to get her transferred somewhere even worse. I could not do it, not in a million years.

Miss Schapelle is enormously comforted by the letters she gets, though she cannot answer them all. Care packages also get through and are gratefully received by her and the others she shares the contents with. The address for letters and care packages is

Miss Schapelle Corby

C/-LPM Kerobokan JI
Tangkuban Perahu Kerobokan

Denpasar 80117

Bali, INDONESIA

"But I refuse to let this place break my spirit. I use all my energy and willpower to pull myself back together. I forcibly replace negative thoughts with positive ones. Staying sane really does take a lot of energy, but I have to, out of respect for those who love me."

- Schapelle Corby, MY STORY

May God grant her peace until He brings her home.