Martin Stephens: ‘Just take me out back and shoot me’

IF there is no hope of release, says Bali Nine drug cou­rier Martin Stephens, maybe it would be better if he, too, faced ­execution.

Martin Stephens, inside Kerobokan, says the pending executions of Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran ends all hope. Picture: Lukman S. Bintoro

IF there is no hope of release or ­redemption, says Bali Nine drug cou­rier Martin Stephens, maybe it would be better if he, too, faced ­execution.

In a letter to The Australian about the impending deaths of ­fellow drug-smugglers Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran, Stephens says the Indonesian President’s refusal to grant the pair clemency has removed any hope or chance of  freedom.  

“It is more humane to just take me out the back and shoot me like Andrew and Myuran,’’ he says.

The 39-year-old, serving a life term in an East Java jail, says Joko Widodo’s decision to reject clemency for all drug-traffickers means there is no point in rehabilitation.

 “What frightens me now is that the new policy of Jokowi has des­troyed hope,” Stephens says.

“He says there is no hope for drug-traffickers ... can you imagine what it’s like to be given no hope?

“Isn’t 20 years a bad-enough penalty? But life means no hope. It means I will die in prison. Can you imagine having to live like that?

“When I think about waking up like that every day, I think it would be better if they took me out the back and put a bullet in the back of my head.’’

The pending executions of ringleaders Chan, 31, and Suku­maran, 33, have not only sent shock waves through others in the ­infamous group, but also triggered a deep sense of despair over the ­future.

Nearly a decade after the Bali Nine were arrested, a despondent Stephens, from Wollongong, south of Sydney, fears being forgotten and left to rot in an Indonesian jail.

It is clear, he says, that Chan and Suku­maran’s successful rehabilitation and skills training of Indonesian inmates was in vain.

What’s the use in being a better prisoner and helping Indonesian inmates if the President dismisses any chance of drug prisoners redeeming themselves or being free, he asks. “What about the rest of us still on life sentences after 10 years? Are we to stay in an Indonesian prison for the rest of our lives?’’

In a message to the President, Stephens begs: “Please Mr Jokowi, please give us hope. I don’t want to be forgotten. I don’t want to rot in prison. I did wrong and I am sorry. I ask forgiveness and beg for mercy.”

The nine Australians were arrested on April 17, 2005, attempt­ing to smuggle 8.3kg of heroin from Bali to Australia. Seven are on life sentences, while Newcastle woman Renae Lawrence had her sentence reduced to 20 years. She plans to apply for parole this year.

Stephens, a former bartender whose appeals for a fixed term have been refused, was arrested at Bali’s airport with 3.3kg of heroin taped to his chest beneath his clothing. Last year, he was transferred from Kerobokan jail with Brisbane man Tan Duc Thanh Ngu­yen, 31, also serving life, to an East Java jail in Malang, for violating prison rules.

“I am sad Myu and Andrew will be shot,’’ says Stephens. “It could be me being taken to Nusakambangan and being shot in the heart. It’s a terrifying thought. Can you imagine what it would be like to stand out there with 12 people aiming a rifle at your heart?’’

Peering back into his past, ­Stephens admits that a seemingly futile existence was the catalyst for his drugs folly.

“From the time I was recruited, I was looking for something in life. I had nothing and just existed …. So I thought, ‘why not?’. I just wanted a good time.’’

He says he fell out with Chan when, in Bali about 10 days before their arrests, “Andrew was taking the others out for a good time, but I was left out.’’

Hearing police were on their trail, Stephens says he tried to pull out, but claims Chan threatened him and his family, an allegation that he made during his trial.

Stephens appears to be a cauldron of conflicting emotions.

While he forgives Chan, and admits he must also take responsibility for his actions — “I cannot forget that he (Chan) is the one that got me into this mess.

“I made the decision to go to Bali. I was greedy and an idiot. I tried to get out, but I was in a trap because I was so stupid.

“I was terrified. I hated Andrew for that. He really was an ugly person. But I have forgiven him, even though it’s not easy. He’s changed a lot. At first I thought he was just acting to try and get out of the death penalty.

“Before we were caught, I once asked him about God and he mocked me, saying it was a load of bullshit. I still struggle with him even though he changed a lot, and lots of people love him and say what a wonderful person he is.

“Yes, he has changed, but in my heart I cannot forget that he’s the one that got me into this mess.’’

Now running English-language and HIV/AIDS programs at the prison, Stephens says he is grateful for support from the prison warden and the Australian consulate.

He says it’s worthwhile, but that “Mr Jokowi has given up on us’’. Married to Javanese woman Christine Puspayanti, who he met when she visited Kerobokan, Stephens says his marriage — the glue that holds him together — is also problematic because he cannot support a family.

He fears he will never experience a normal married life. “I feel like a kid, not a man.’’

Puspayanti, who moved to Java when Stephens was transferred, says she too feels trapped and imprisoned. “I am lonely. My daughter (from another relationship) and I would at least like to know when Martin might come home,” she says.

“Renae (Lawrence) was given 20 years and with remissions she can apply for parole next year. She has hope. She can see the end is getting close, but what about my husband and the other five in Bali on life sentence?’’