LAST RITES
Cindy Wockner’s new book reveals the final moments of the Bali 9’s Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran.
trapped to wooden crosses on a field, eight men convicted of drug crimes in Indonesia, including Australians Myuran Sukumaran, 34, and Andrew Chan, 31, sang hymns to a starry sky as they awaited their fate. The sombre midnight scene on Indonesia’s Nusakambangan prison island on April 29, 2015, was the culmination of a 2006 death sentence despite years of appeals, months of legal wrangling and, in the end, last-minute mercy pleas. But there was no reprieve, only a volley of gunfire that could be heard at 12.35 AM by hysterical loved ones holding vigil in a marquee on the field. On the third anniversary of the executions of the Bali 9 ringleaders, in her new book, The Pastor and the Painter, journalist Cindy Wockner reveals Chan and Sukumaran’s final moments as they waited for their deaths with their spiritual advisers: Melbourne’s Bayside Church senior pastor Christie Buckingham for Sukumaran, and for Chan, Salvation Army minister David Soper. This is an exclusive extract.
A tiny tear trickled over Christie’s hand. She had reached up to Myuran’s face, cupping his cheek protectively with her right hand. “You are a good man,” she said softly. “You are a courageous man. You are a reformed man.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Myuran mouthed back.
His tear ran delicately down the outside of her hand, a feeling that instantly embedded itself in her memory. Her three minutes with Myuran were almost up. The guard’s instructions to Christie had been clear: “You talk to the prisoner, you calm him for three minutes, and then we will touch you on the shoulder and you must go.”
She knew she couldn’t stay with Myuran but there was no way she was leaving until she was sure he was ready.
When Christie was escorted to Myuran a few minutes earlier, he was already strapped to a wooden cross that was mounted on a platform. His arms were bound to the cross at the elbows; he could move his hands up and down. His feet were tied.
The night was still and dark. Aside from the small lanterns carried by guards, it was pitch-black. Andrew was strapped to the cross next to Myuran. Raheem [a Nigerian prisoner] was next. Each of the condemned prisoners wore a white T-shirt. That was mandatory—so that their chests, and specifically their hearts, were visible
“You are a good man ... a reformed man” —Christie Buckingham
in the darkness. Christie sensed what Myuran needed. “Let’s close your eyes,” she said to him. Her voice was gentle, ministering. A police officer tapped her on the shoulder: the three minutes were up. She would have to leave soon.
She made every second count. They were all singing now—myuran, Christie and the other prisoners and their advisers. The policeman moved forward and took Christie’s elbow, urging her to leave. Christie put her hand on Myuran’s heart. “Myu, remember what we did back in the cells. What did Jesus say to you, and what did you say to him?” “I trust you, I trust you,” he replied. Through his white T-shirt she felt Myuran’s heart beating rhythmically. There was no panic or angst, just the pump, pump, pump of the heart of a young man in his prime. There was no fear. “Myu, I am just going to take a step back,” Christie said, easing backwards, ever so slowly. “Can you still hear me?” “Yes,” Myuran called. Earlier, as Christie, David and the other spiritual advisers waited solemnly out of sight in the marquee, the silence was pierced by a loud clunk, clunk, clunk. None of them immediately registered what it was. Then they realised: it was the sound of the prisoners walking with their legs shackled [to] the waist by chains.
Then Andrew’s nasal voice bellowed out. He wasn’t much of a singer but that had never stopped him before. “My saviour, He can move the mountains. My God is mighty to save, He is mighty to save . . . Forever, author of salvation, He rose and conquered the grave . . . Jesus conquered the grave.” Soon all the prisoners were singing as they were strapped to the wooden crosses.
“Mighty to Save” ended, and Christie began singing “Hallelujah”. But it wasn’t the original—it was the version from the movie Shrek. Through the darkness, Andrew realised it was the wrong version and got them all back on track. As “Hallelujah” came to an end, there was a lull. Then came the haunting strains of “Amazing Grace”. It was at this moment that the guards came for Christie, David and the other advisers. They now had three minutes.
“Hello, Big Dave! Hello, Mrs B,” Andrew said as the spiritual advisers were escorted to their prisoners. Christie saw Andrew and Myuran next to each other, almost within touching distance.
Myuran smiled at Christie. “I just want to say that I am truly sorry that I have asked you to do this,” he said, “but I am really thankful that you are here and I know that you will speak out,” he said. Now he needed a favour. “I’ve been bitten by a mosquito—can you scratch my feet?” he asked.
Christie moved quickly to scratch his feet—too quickly. A guard, sensing her sudden movement, and on alert for any trouble or
departure from the rules, came up behind her. It was not menacing but officious. As she scratched Myuran’s foot, he looked directly at the guard. “I forgive you for what you are going to do. Please, bless Indonesia, please.” He asked Christie to make sure she looked after his mother. She promised him she would. They talked about his family.
Beside them, David ministered to Andrew. The Salvation Army minister had known Andrew since he was a little boy. He was like family. “Sing up! We can do better than that,” Andrew called as the singing lulled.
As Christie eased backwards and away from Myuran, behind her the firing squads were preparing. Each of the prisoners had a firing squad of 12. They lay on their stomachs on the ground, their rifles on small tripods. Christie had seen their red laser beams piercing the black night, seeking out their victims’ chests. At one stage, she had raised her arm to ensure that Myuran did not see this. Now the laser beams were turning from red to green. As Christie passed Andrew, he called out to her. She knew her time on the field that night was up, but the spiritual advisers had been told that if another prisoner called them they could respond. She approached Andrew and put her hand on his heart. “I love you and I’ll see you on the other side,” she said.
“I will be on the other side,” Andrew replied.
As the spiritual advisers moved away, the prisoners continued singing. Now they started singing “Bless the Lord”. They had made a pact that this was the song they would sing as they were executed. As Christie retreated, the song in her ears, she hoped the firing squad’s dreadful task would be completed quickly. All eight prisoners died quickly, according to witnesses, though a spokesman for Indonesia’s Attorney-general stated that the official time of death for all was 1.02 AM— 27 minutes after the shots rang out. Ten years after Chan and Sukumaran conspired with seven other Australians to smuggle 8.3kg of heroin into Australia from Bali, they returned home on a Qantas flight on May 2 in cheap wooden coffins.
■
“I forgive you for what you are going to do ” —Myuran Sukumaran