Chapter Six (2): The Long Wait in the Detention Center

The days that followed in the detention center could be considered a time free from worry over food and clothing. Perhaps many people don't really understand what it's like here, but in truth, it's a miniature version of society. Each Monday, we are allowed to order food and daily necessities—items known as "foreign goods," because they are not available here and are not provided by the detention center. Not long after we arrive, the police notify our families of our arrest, and our relatives can deposit money for us, which goes onto our individual shopping cards in the detention center. At that stage, our families are not permitted to see us; they can only send money or, after inspection, bring in some clothes. Visitation is only allowed after sentencing.

We have just one opportunity each month: at the beginning of the month, on a Monday, we are taken by the guard to the office, where we squat beside the computer and hand over a note listing the things we need. If an item isn't in the computer system, we can swap it for something else, ensuring that our purchases remain open, transparent, fair, and just. The things we order are delivered to each cell about a week later and are distributed and managed by the "boss" of the cell. Whether or not you actually get what you ordered depends on the boss's disposition. Some bosses are harsh, and in such cells, detainees often don't receive their own things, nor do they dare to complain, as life could become much harder if they do.

If we fall ill or feel unwell, we press the bell and report to the guard, who takes us to the medical room. There, the doctors are usually police officers. Most illnesses receive prompt treatment; if the condition is more serious, we are taken to an outside hospital for care, with police assigned to guard us around the clock. Female prisoners who are pregnant or detainees with major illnesses or mental health issues can apply for medical parole or bail pending trial, but only if they are pregnant or serving light sentences—not for serious offenders. Once recovered, we are returned to custody, but all this requires official approval from the prosecutor’s office and the court. In general, it is very difficult to obtain medical parole or bail pending trial.

Any irregular behavior results in strict supervision. Death row inmates, those serving long sentences, the mentally unstable, perverse, extremely unruly, or those who seriously disobey regulations and discipline, or attempt to escape, may even face additional charges—such as prison break, intentional injury, or assaulting a police officer. If someone does not confess to crimes unknown to the police, or if they know of others' crimes, reporting them can lead to sentence reductions or increases. Whistleblowers are rewarded, while those exposed face harsher punishment. Thus, every new detainee is closely watched by both the boss and the guards. Our own boss once learned of an unconfessed murder from a newcomer, reported it, and received a five-year sentence reduction, officially recognized by the court. Guards who help solve cases unknown to the police are also commended and promoted. As a result, countless stories unfold here every day.

There are different arrangements for minors, the elderly, the infirm, and the disabled. The detention center is divided into special cells for the disabled, minors, transitional cells, strict supervision cells, cells for serious offenders, interrogation rooms, visitation rooms, medical rooms, transit rooms, isolation rooms, police offices, detention zones, strict supervision zones, living quarters, exercise yards, teaching buildings, infirmaries, entry and exit passages, high walls topped with electric wire, and many other facilities. The place where we are held has landscaping, a cafeteria, medical care, classrooms, and an abundance of rules and regulations. The very character for "prisoner" depicts people within a frame: what exists outside also exists inside—it's just that we are the ones locked inside. It's truly two worlds divided by a wall. In my view, it's not an exaggeration to say this world is split between those within and those without, between light and shadow.

But just because we're imprisoned, does that make us all bad people? Not necessarily. Each of us has our own burdens and helplessness. Some have no parents, some no children, some acted out of vengeance for their family, others risked everything and hurt society to provide for themselves and their loved ones. I have found that, no matter how wicked someone may seem, they rarely betray their own family; on the contrary, within two or three months of being locked up, most face a universal truth: divorce.

There's a saying among us: "You wait for her, but she doesn't wait; she waits for him, but he doesn't wait. Once you come to serve time, your child will take another's name."

This reveals just how real and brutal things are.

Are there love stories that endure? Yes, absolutely. Some families are wealthy and influential, some women simply have nowhere else to go, and some truly wait for their husbands or the father of their children to be released. There are also detainees who, from the moment of arrest to their release, never receive a single visit. Others, upon entering, immediately file for divorce to avoid holding their wives back, making a painful choice. In short—

We are labeled as scum, villains, beyond redemption...

Yet, if you knew our stories and heartbreak, the paths we've taken, the suffering we've endured, you would see how helpless and pitiful we truly are. If one did not carry an unbearable weight, who would gamble their life on tomorrow?