Ten years since Bali Nine executions
The Bali Nine, made up of nine young Australians, were arrested in April 2005 after attempting to smuggle more than eight kilograms of heroin, worth around $4m, into Australia from Indonesia.
A decade later, in the early hours of April 29, 2015, Chan and Sukumaran were executed by firing squad on Nusakambangan Island, Indonesia.
The executions took place after midnight local time, around 3am AEST, and were confirmed by the Indonesian Attorney-General's office shortly afterwards.
In their final hours, both men were surrounded by loved ones.
Chan, having become a committed Christian, married his fiancee in a private ceremony on the eve of his execution. Sukumaran, a prolific artist during his time in prison, continued to paint until the end. Andrew Chan (left) and Myuran Sukumaran watch a game of tennis inside the Kerobokan Prison. Supplied Credit: Supplied
Six months before the Bali Nine arrests, the world's media had already been focused on Bali due to the high-profile case of Schapelle Corby, who was arrested in October 2004 for attempting to smuggle 4.2 kilograms of cannabis into Indonesia.
The media frenzy surrounding Corby's arrest and subsequent trial intensified the global scrutiny on Indonesia's handling of foreign nationals involved in drug-related offences, creating a tense atmosphere for the Bali Nine case.
The operation was led by Chan and Sukumaran, who were the masterminds behind the scheme.
The Australian Federal Police monitored Chan, Sukumaran, Renae Lawrence and Matthew Norman, before alerting Indonesian authorities about the group's movements
Indonesian police then began surveillance on the group, which lasted for a week before their arrests on April 17, 2005. Andrew Chan, second right, Matthew Norman, far right, Myuran Sukumaran, third right, and Michael Czugaj, far left, arrive in the Denpasar court district, Bali, Indonesia, on Dec. 20, 2005. AP / Firdia Lisnawati Credit: Supplied
Six of the group were arrested Denpasar Airport, with others detained at the Maslati Hotel in Kuta where heroin was discovered in the possession of several members.
Among those arrested were ringleaders Chan and Sukumaran, along with Lawrence, the only female member of the group, Norman, Scott Rush, Martin Stephens, Tan Duc Thanh Nguyen, Si Yi Chen and Woo Sze Kwan.
The arrests sent shockwaves through both Australia and Indonesia and the media quickly dubbed them the 'Bali Nine'.
The trials began in October 2005, with all nine members facing drug trafficking charges.
Seven were sentenced to life imprisonment, while Chan and Sukumaran were handed the death penalty.
It was a shocking decision as it marked the first time the Denpasar District Court had imposed the death sentence for drug trafficking.
The decision sparked widespread protests and public outcry, particularly in Australia, with numerous attempts to reduce Chan and Sukumaran's death sentences rejected by Indonesian courts. Myuran Sukumaran pictured on the tarmac at Cilacap airport after his arrest. Supplied Credit: Supplied
The two men spent years in prison, where they gained international attention for their transformation and rehabilitation.
Sukumaran, a skilled painter, and Chan, who converted to Christianity, became symbols of the possibility of redemption, with many advocating for clemency.
Despite all avenues being exhausted, however, there was no leniency.
Following their execution, the families of the two men said the pair 'did all they could to make amends, helping many others'.
'They asked for mercy, but there was none. They were immensely grateful for all the support they received,' a statement read. Bali Nine members Scott Rush, Matthew Norman, Si-Yi Chen, Martin Stephens, and Michael Czugaj. Supplied Credit: NewsWire
Their deaths prompted strong reactions across Australia, with political leaders, including then-Prime Minister Tony Abbott, vocally opposing the death penalty.
'These executions are both cruel and unnecessary; cruel because both Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran spent some decade in jail before being executed, and unnecessary, because both of these young Australians were fully rehabilitated while in prison,' the former prime minister said.
Mr Abbott said that while Australia respected Indonesia's sovereignty, 'this cannot be simply business as usual'.
Australia withdrew its ambassador in protest and ministerial contacts between the two countries were also suspended.
Former Labor leader Bill Shorten and former deputy leader Tanya Plibersek condemned the move 'in the strongest possible terms'.
'Our best hopes have been dashed and our worst fears realised,' they said in a joint statement.
'These two young men made a dreadful mistake. By all accounts they spent every minute since seeking to mend their ways and to steer others on the road to redemption – proof the justice system could reform wrongdoers, not just punish wrongdoing. Yet today, they were made to pay for one stupid decision of 10 years ago with their lives.'
Former New South Wales Premier Mike Baird described the loss as a 'cruel and devastating loss'. Myuran Sukumaran, right and Andrew Chan, left, stand in front of their cell during an Indonesian Independence Day celebration at Kerobokan prison in Bali, Indonesia. AP / Firdia Lisnawati Credit: Supplied
Former AFP Commissioner Andrew Colvin and former Deputy Commissioner Michael Phelan held a press conference following the executions to address the AFP's role in the operation.
Mr Colvin defended the AFP's decision to inform Indonesia about the Bali Nine drug smuggling operation, explaining that at the time, the AFP did not have enough evidence to arrest the Australians before they left for Indonesia.
'At the time we were working with a very incomplete picture,' Mr Colvin said, adding that the AFP had not known all the individuals involved or the full scope of the plans.
He explained that it was 'operationally appropriate' for the AFP to co-operate with Indonesian authorities to gather more information.
However, the decision to co-operate has been met with criticism.
Barrister Bob Myers, a family friend of Bali Nine member Scott Rush, claimed that the AFP was complicit in the operation and should have intervened to stop the group from travelling to Indonesia. Tan Duc Thanh Nguyen, Matthew Norman and Si Yi Chen during their trial on January 11, 2006. Photo. Lukman S Bintoro Credit: News Corp Australia
Mr Myers argued that the AFP had sufficient information to arrest the couriers when they returned to Australia.
Mr Colvin, however, rejected the claims and said the AFP needed more details about the wider drug syndicate to take meaningful action.
Mr Phelan acknowledged the difficulty of the decision, revealing that while he was aware of the potential death penalty facing those arrested, he felt that the information-sharing was necessary to combat the broader drug trade.
'I've agonised over it for 10 years now,' Mr Phelan said.
'But given what I knew at that particular time, and what our officers knew, I would take a lot of convincing to make a different decision.
'I've seen the misery that drugs causes to tens of thousands of families in this country.'
Mr Colvin said the AFP has since strengthened its protocols around dealing with countries that have the death penalty.
'We have to protect all members of the community. This was a very difficult decision,' Mr Colvin said.
'Operationally, it was a sound decision but that doesn't mean there were not human factors in it.' Matthew Norman and Si Yi Chen arrive in Melbourne after spending over 20 years at the infamous Kerobokan Prison in Bali on December 20, 2024. Photo: NewsWire/Luis Enrique Ascui Credit: News Corp Australia
Since the execution of Chan and Sukumaran, the remaining members of the Bali Nine have served lengthy prison sentences.
After years of legal battles and shifting sentences, several members were released or had their sentences reduced.
Renae Lawrence was released in 2018 after serving 13 years in prison, while Tan Duc Thanh Nguyen, who had been sentenced to death, died from cancer in 2018.
In late 2024, the remaining five members, Michael Czugaj, Si Yi Chen, Matthew Norman, Scott Rush, and Martin Stephens, were finally freed after serving nearly 20 years in Indonesian prisons.
This was the result of a deal negotiated between the Australian government and Indonesia, which saw the men return to Australia on humanitarian grounds.
The men, now in their late 30s and early 40s, have expressed their relief at finally being able to reintegrate into Australian society, though all are banned from returning to Indonesia.
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Sydney Morning Herald
4 hours ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘I hear a soft moaning': Inside the chaos of the 2004 Jakarta embassy bombing
Peering through the smoke, I discern a figure on the edge of the garden's small pond. As I get closer, I recognise Johno, my DFAT colleague, fellow Bintang [local AFL club member] and all-round good guy. He is struggling to drag a limp figure from the pond's water. Cautiously navigating my way through the tangled mess of vegetation, I arrive at Johno's side. 'Let me help you, mate.' I place the first aid bags on the ground and grab one arm of the motionless body. Johno turns and looks at me but doesn't say a word. His eyes have a blank stare. Together we pull, dragging the limp body clear of the water. I'm shocked to discover it's the embassy gardener, Suryadi, a gentle soul with whom I often practised my limited Bahasa while my language instructor took a smoko. Suryadi is alive, just. A quick scan of his body doesn't reveal any obvious injuries, but his heavy wheezing indicates he's struggling to breathe. I grab the first aid bag and pull out the face mask and small oxygen tank. Cradling his head, I place the mask on his face and turn on the tank. Suddenly, Suryadi starts convulsing in my arms, his oxygen mask full of foam. I rip off the mask, revealing a steady stream of foamy bubbles flowing from his mouth. He must have severe internal trauma, no doubt caused by the force of the blast. He's in desperate need of proper medical attention. As I cradle Suryadi, the anguished cries of others become clearly audible. I start to panic. What do I do? Do I stay with Suryadi until help arrives? Or do I go to help the other injured victims in front of the embassy? I'm so close, their tortured cries begin to haunt me. A couple of guys from the embassy's defence section arrive. With their own medical kits, they are better prepared to care for Suryadi. (Later, I returned to find Suryadi still alive, barely breathing, and with some embassy colleagues helped lift his limp body onto a steel gurney and carry it to the waiting ambulance.) Picking up the first aid bag containing the bandages, I start running towards the small security post at the front gate. Entering the severely damaged security post via the back door, I find my way blocked by the wreckage of the bag X-ray machine and other debris. I clear a path and scramble through the front entrance onto the embassy driveway. Everywhere I look, I see the dead, the mutilated, the dying. My small bag of bandages is hopelessly inadequate. A short distance in front of me, the mangled torsos of dead Indonesian security officers, some missing arms or legs or both, lie spread across the driveway, their bodies distorted into unnatural arrangements like crumpled rag dolls. On the road itself, a motorcycle is on fire, its rider trapped screaming and burning beneath. To the right of that is what appears to be a large bomb crater, and more charred bodies, some still smouldering. I cover her body with some metal sheeting; dignity in death is the most I can offer. A muffled moan at my feet snaps me out of my state of frightened paralysis. It's a small girl with a large gash bleeding profusely from her side. As I squat down and reach into my bag for a bandage, an Indonesian man appears out of nowhere, scoops her up in his arms and whisks her away, to the medical clinic just down the road, I hope. The girl now gone, I see a woman, her face, naked torso and legs badly disfigured, lying about a foot away. I reach down to check her pulse, more for confirmation than hope. She's dead. I cover her body with some metal sheeting; dignity in death is the most I can offer. I hear someone howling in pain from the direction of a shattered police security post, about 10 metres away. As I get close, I realise the anguished sound is emanating from the open drain behind the post. But before I reach it, another Indonesian man appears. Kneeling down, he lunges into the drain, as if to pick something up. He emerges holding a shorn-off arm, which he places on the ground next to him. He then reaches back in and pulls a critically injured policeman, minus an arm, over the lip of the drain and onto the footpath. Another two men suddenly appear, picking up the injured policeman and carrying him away, trailed by the original rescuer bearing the detached arm. As I watch them go, my vision widens to reveal a large crowd of onlookers gathered on Jalan Rasuna Said about 20 metres away. Just standing there, silently. Turning slowly to my right, I find I'm surrounded by hundreds of these silent, motionless sentinels. Out of the corner of my right eye, I again see the burning motorcycle, its rider still trapped. I grab some shredded tarpaulin from the shattered frame of the police post, hoping to douse the fire and pull the rider clear. But as I get close, the blistered and charred skin of the motionless rider indicates how futile this probably is. Undeterred, I cover the motorcycle with the tarpaulin, successfully smothering the fire, and then start a hopeful search for the rider's pulse. First the neck and then his limp wrist. Nothing. One of the bystanders approaches me, newspaper in hand. He unfolds it, handing me some sheets. Silently, we cover the rider's scorched remains. As we do so, out of nowhere, an Indonesian policeman accosts me. Yelling and waving his arms, he's obviously not happy. But I have no idea what he's saying. Then he starts pointing at the embassy, bellowing, 'Go, go, go,' in staccato English. I'm not sure if he's concerned about my safety or just annoyed with my presence. But the message is clear: Go! Loading And it appears he may not be the only one who wants me to leave. The large and growing crowd of bystanders is starting to get edgy. Once deathly silent, a low rumble is now clearly audible and growing with intensity, interspersed with the odd angry shout. I'm not sure who the anger is directed at, but the tension in the air is palpable. Suddenly, I feel very vulnerable. Who's to say some of the terrorists who perpetrated the bombing, or at least those sympathetic to their cause, are not dotted throughout the large crowd now surrounding me? The mere thought sets my pulse racing, triggering a quick dash back across the road towards the embassy gate. The crowd has now swelled into the hundreds, and the police are struggling to keep them under control. The situation is volatile. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. I'm exhausted. The adrenaline that has sustained me in the aftermath of the blast is ebbing away. And then I cry. First softly, before descending into body-shaking sobs, my face buried deep in my hands. My emotions finally unlocked by the tragedy that surrounds me. Dead. They're all bloody dead. I couldn't save anyone. What was I thinking? Me and a small bag of bandages. What a failure. What a f---ing failure. Eleven dead, including the suicide bomber, and more than 200 injured, some critically, was the bombing's grim tally. Of the victims, two were embassy workers, including, to my great distress, the gardener Suryadi. The other was Sujarwo, a 23-year-old security guard stationed outside the embassy's front gate alongside his Indonesian police counterparts, of whom four died. Of the remaining victims, innocent bystanders all, two were the young Indonesian mother whose body I covered on the embassy driveway, and the Indonesian motorcycle rider whose body I also covered on the road out front. Both had been in the wrong place at the wrong time: the mother waiting in the visa line with her young daughter, and the motorcycle rider unlucky enough to be passing the embassy when the truck bomb detonated. The bombing was a seminal moment in my life's journey. How could it not be? One doesn't experience such trauma without it leaving an indelible scar on one's soul. My life would never be the same again. Unfortunately, the bombing was just one terrible disaster in a series of disastrous events that would consume me, Kristan and our young family in the next few years. The 2004 Boxing Day tsunami that devastated the northern Indonesian province of Aceh, killing, maiming and displacing hundreds of thousands, was the next major catastrophe. This was followed by bomb threats, being caught in an Islamist militant riot and the discovery of a terrorist website detailing the 'best places to assassinate Australian diplomats'. If normality existed in Jakarta, it did so only in the short interludes between the end of one unexpected crisis and the onset of the next. But somehow, we persevered. Personal resilience, the support of friends and colleagues in the expatriate and embassy communities and black humour all played their part. Such antidotes, however, can only sustain one for so long. By early 2007, the grinding pressure of Jakarta's unpredictable and inherently dangerous security environment had taken its toll. Our nerves were shot. The problem was we were in denial and determined to serve out the remaining months of our posting to Jakarta. Given my proximity to the bombing and plane crash, it was hardly surprising that I suffered a severe panic attack. The crash of Garuda Flight 200 in Yogyakarta on March 7, 2007, changed all that. The crash killed 21, including five friends and embassy colleagues. I was supposed to be on the plane. But, in a twist of fate, I made a late decision to change my flight and flew to Yogyakarta the day before. I arrived at the airport shortly after the disaster and went straight to the crash site with the hope that all, or at least some of my friends and colleagues, had survived. It was a forlorn hope. I spent the rest of the morning next to the plane's burning wreck, waiting for their bodies to be recovered and co-ordinating the search for Australian survivors in the nearby hospitals. I'm still haunted by what I heard and witnessed on that longest of days. Given my close proximity to the bombing, plane crash and other traumatic events, it was hardly surprising that I suffered a severe panic attack in October 2019. The strange thing is, when the attack occurred, it was quite unexpected. To be sure, in the immediate aftermath of each of these terrible events I had experienced semi-regular bouts of nightmares. But these had waned over time, to the point where I had convinced myself that, somehow, I had escaped the trauma of Jakarta unscathed. The 2019 panic attack brought that little fallacy crashing down, and I had no choice but to confront the hard reality of my fragile mental state. Writing Bomb Season in Jakarta was a giant cathartic step in my rebuilding process. One question I often get asked is: could the embassy bombing happen again? It would be easy to say yes. Parts of Indonesian society still support radical Islamic conservatism. But the answer is not that simple, and there is ample cause for hope. At the time of the bombing in 2004, Australia's relationship with Indonesia was fractious. Suspicions abounded on both sides due to a series of historical events that had plagued the bilateral relationship. For Australia, the fate of the Balibo Five [five Australian-based journalists who were killed in East Timor in 1975] continued to stir deep passions, while Australia's intervention in East Timor in the late '90s was a major irritant for the Indonesians. Loading The terrible spate of bombings in the early 2000s, particularly the Bali and embassy bombings, and Australia's generosity in the wake of the devastation wrought on Aceh by the Boxing Day tsunami, while tragic, were the circuit-breakers the bilateral relationship sorely needed. On the former, the Australian Federal Police's concerted effort to forge an effective working relationship with their Indonesian counterparts directly resulted in the arrests or deaths of the key radical Islamist leaders behind the bombings and the long-term degradation of their networks. And the Howard government's decision, alongside the outpouring of compassion from the Australian public, to contribute $1 billion for the reconstruction of Aceh was an outstretched hand of friendship that recast the bilateral relationship in an instant. As a result of these terrible events, and Australia and Indonesia's joint efforts in response, the two countries have been able to develop a level of mutual trust that was previously absent. It's a hard-won trust that sustains the mature bilateral relationship we have today and provides important ballast when managing the periodic tensions that invariably arise.
Sydney Morning Herald
4 hours ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
The conman, the jet and the Australian developer who helped bring him down
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The Age
4 hours ago
- The Age
The conman, the jet and the Australian developer who helped bring him down
Ahsan Ali Syed had all the trappings of wealth: a private jet, a luxury Swiss apartment overlooking Lake Lucerne, an opulent office in Bahrain and a top-tier Spanish football team, Racing Santander. But after a decade on the run, the jet-setting fraudster is behind bars in Switzerland, largely due to the efforts of Sydney property developer Keith Johnson and New Zealander Mark Van Leewarden, a former undercover cop turned barrister who specialises in international fraud investigations. From September 2010 to May 2011, Syed scammed close to $50 million from Australian and New Zealand businesspeople who had trouble getting finance in the wake of the 2007-2008 Global Financial Crisis. 'He used an opulent office in Bahrain to lure the victims,' said Van Leewarden, who has spent years in pursuit of Syed. From all accounts, Syed looked the part sitting at his polished desk, wearing a silk cravat, bejewelled fingers and surrounded by busts of horse heads. His company, Western Gulf Advisory (WGA), boasted that 'Mr Ali is a trusted adviser of royal individuals and families, high-profile luminaries and people of public importance'. He also claimed to have a family fortune of $8 billion to invest. The truth was far different. Syed was wanted in India over an immigration racket and, having moved to London, he fled from there in 2005 owing £7800 ($12,520) in rent, along with a string of unpaid bills. Three years later he set up WGA and began his scam, offering loans of up to $US200 million. However, borrowers had to stump up an establishment fee worth 1.6 per cent of the loan. The promised loans to his 23 victims never eventuated.
