Australian filmmaker James Ricketson gestures as he is escorted by prison guards at the Cambodian Supreme Court in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

Photo: AP

My life in a Cambodian hell: accused 'spy' Ricketson pleads for help

Sydney filmmaker James Ricketson has been held in Cambodia’s notorious Prey Sar jail for nine months on what diplomats say are trumped-up and politically motivated spying charges. This is his personal account of a living hell without hope or meaningful help from the Australian authorities.

The Age | 5 March 2018

Friends of 69-year-old James Ricketson say allegations the veteran filmmaker is a spy are 'ludicrous' and demand his release from a Cambodian prison.

It is 5.30am. I am sitting on an upturned bucket in a cell bathroom – the only place at this time of day where there is any light.

My 146 cell mates are mostly asleep, though an occasional early riser wanders in every few minutes to pee in the narrow trench that has been cut into the tiled floor behind me.

There is no water in the tank to flush the three squat toilets 147 men must share.

The smell of urine is overpowering.

At least 50 per cent of the time there is no water in the tank between around 8.30 pm and 6.30 am.

The bathroom is four metres by two metres.

There are two thin, mouldy, mildewed cloth curtains designed, in theory, to provide some privacy to those using the squat toilets but one has to hold the cloth in place while squatting – not, in itself, an easy thing to do.

My “living space” is a section of the floor that leads to the cell door.

It is about 12 feet from the bathroom so the smell of urine assails me most of the night.

There are two towels and a thin cotton blanket between my body and the concrete pathway.

Another folded cotton blanket serves as my pillow.

The cell door is just inches from my head.

It is only “mine” between around 6 pm and 6.30 am.

When I was sick with the flu during the week I just wanted to lie down and sleep to recuperate but there was nowhere for me to lie.

Inmates are packed into the cell like sardines, if you can imagine three people sleeping in a single bed you will get some idea of what it is like.

Men must sleep with their arms around each other like lovers, legs over torsos, heads within inches of each other.

I have had to endure such living conditions for nine months now.

How long can this nonsense go on before the Australian government has the gumption to say, in public, “this is not acceptable. You cannot treat an Australian citizen in this way, an Australian who has been found guilty of no crime and yet has been in detention for nine months?”

Thanks to you all for keeping my predicament alive for the Australian public.

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Without the media putting pressure on the government and helping to share public opinion I suspect that the (Australian) government would do nothing.

Prior to my illegal arrest on June 3 I was involved in a long-term effort to raise $140,000 to buy 18 houses for 18 families whose members are from eight or so upwards, and work in the rubbish dump.

My incarceration has cost me and my family this amount, money wasted.

Given the ongoing nature of my imprisonment, with no end in sight, I have no choice but to abandon my house buying venture, with the exception of one family.

I must now stop helping the various impoverished Cambodians who have been part of my life for some years now.

My son Jesse and his girlfriend Alex’s lives have been thrown into chaos as a result of their coming to Cambodia to help me at this difficult time – financial chaos and emotional chaos.

On an emotional level the same applies to many of my family members.

The damage done by my imprisonment is not limited to myself alone.

Far from it.

Indeed I think there are others, on the other side of the prison wall, whose suffering is greater than my own.

Despite the multiple problems arising from my imprisonment I am very lucky compared with my cell mates.

They are, for the most part, very poor and do not have family (as I do) who can afford to visit with fresh fruit twice a week, who do not have a network of friends (also) poor who can raise money to help them, who do not have barristers who can write to the (Australian) Minister of Foreign Affairs and who do not have the media clamouring for their release.

I am very lucky indeed.