LOUISE CHEER: I watched Indonesia make a sickening example of Myuran Sukumaran and Andrew Chan. I’ll never forget the harrowing scenes I saw on ‘Execution Island’ – and the Bali Nine couple’s noble final minutes
The heartbreaking wails of the relatives of Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran rang through the air as loved ones of the Bali Nine leaders crowded onto a boat to ‘Execution Island’.
I was outside the port gate of Cilacap, Central Java, on April 28, 2015, when the families of Chan, 31, and Sukumaran, 34, made the journey to say their final goodbyes to the Australian couple on the island of Nusa Kambangan, known for their his grim nickname.
It was chaos – Chan and Sukumaran’s family were distraught, the barking of police dogs filled the air and sweaty members of an international media battle crowded under the hot sun to capture the moment.
Hours later, just after midnight, the men – both in their early 20s when arrested by Indonesian authorities – were executed by firing squad for trying to smuggle heroin out of the country.
The memory of the harrowing cries of the Chan and Sukumaran families that day are seared into my memory. They were some of the most moving scenes I have witnessed in my thirteen years as a journalist.
Even thinking about it now, the same stomach-churning and overwhelming sadness I felt at that moment washes over me. You could hear their raw grief in the voices of family members.
Now the five remaining convicted members of the infamous group – Matthew Norman, Martin Stephens, Si Yi Chen, Scott Rush and Michael Czugaj – will be sent to Australia from Indonesia next month.
But Chan and Sukumaran were not so lucky.
Even when I think about that day now, the same stomach-churning and overwhelming sadness I felt in that moment washes over me. Above, Myuran Sukumaran’s sister Brintha arrives at Wijaya Pura port in Cilacap, Central Java region of Indonesia
Myuran Sukumaran (left) was only 24 and Andrew Chan (right) was 21 when they were arrested in Indonesia. Above the pair after they were sentenced to death by a court in Denpasar on February 14, 2006. It took nine years for them to die by firing squad
The disturbing cries of relatives of the Bali Nine leaders who have been sentenced to death will always remain with me. Above, scenes in the harbor the afternoon before they were killed by a firing squad
That day, the group of reporters outside the Cilacap harbor gate were not allowed to enter the island.
But we were able to observe who or what was walking on and off the island under the watchful eye of police officers.
As we stood in the humid heat on the tarmac road leading to the guarded harbor gate, we watched the family members pay their last visits to Chan and Sukumaran.
Their empty coffins arrived and were loaded onto the boats – as were their last meal: buckets of KFC.
After saying her final goodbyes, Sukumaran’s mother, Raji, stood before the cameras and begged Indonesian President Joko Widodo for leniency.
“I’m not going to see my son again and they’re going to take him tonight and shoot him and he’s healthy and he’s beautiful and he has a lot of compassion for other people,” she pleaded.
“I ask the government not to kill him, please President, please don’t kill him today. Please don’t. Call off the execution.
‘Please don’t kill my son. Please don’t.’
Chan’s brother Michael said: ‘To walk out of there and say goodbye for the last time – it’s torture. No family should have to go through that.”
Van number ‘1’ carried Myuran Sukumaran’s coffin from Cilacap port after it arrived by boat in the middle of the night
Ambulances transported the coffins of the dead, on full display for the world’s media. One of the coffins was covered with a white satin cloth
Indonesia’s then president, Joko Widodo, was thought to have made an example of the pair
The pair died just after midnight, along with six others, singing Wonderful grace before the fatal shots were fired.
The deaths of Chan and Sukumaran were a heartbreaking moment that alarmed Australians.
The pair, from Enfield and Auburn in Sydney’s west respectively, were believed to have been rehabilitated at Bali’s infamous Kerobokan prison.
An Australian clemency campaign – in which then-Prime Minister Tony Abbott clumsily reminded Indonesia of the $1 billion in aid given after the Boxing Day tsunami – fell on deaf ears.
After their deaths, the scenes in Cilacap were quieter and macabre.
A column of ambulances transported the bodies of the executed prisoners in white satin-covered coffins after they reached the mainland.
Each vehicle was numbered: ‘1’ carried Sukumaran’s body, followed by ‘2’ carrying Chan’s body.
The windows of the ambulances were unobstructed, allowing cameras to clearly see what was inside.
It was a morbid scene. And it was an Indonesian official who wanted to see the world as a deterrent for others, so they dared to commit the same crimes as Chan and Sukumaran.
