The heartbreaking cries of the relatives of Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran pierced the air as the loved ones of the Bali Nine ringleaders boarded a boat to ‘Execution Island’.
He was outside the port gates of Cilacap, Central Java, on April 28, 2015, as the families of Chan, 31, and Sukumaran, 34, made the trip to say goodbye to the Australian couple on Nusa Kambangan island. , known by its 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 group jostled under the scorching sun to record the moment.
Hours later, shortly after midnight, the men, both in their early 20s when they were arrested by Indonesian authorities, were executed by firing squad for attempting to smuggle heroin out of the country.
The memory of the anguished screams of the Chan and Sukumaran families that day has remained etched in my brain. They were some of the most heartbreaking scenes I have experienced in my 13 years as a journalist.
Even when I think about it now, the same overwhelming, stomach-clenching sadness I felt at the time washes over me. You could hear their raw sadness 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 overwhelming, stomach-clenching sadness I felt at that moment washes over me. Above, Myuran Sukumaran’s sister Brintha arrives at Wijaya Pura port in Cilacap, in the Central Java region of Indonesia.
Myuran Sukumaran (left) was just 24 years old and Andrew Chan (right) 21 when they were arrested in Indonesia. Above, the couple after being sentenced to death by a Denpasar court on February 14, 2006. Nine years passed before they were shot to death.
The heartbreaking screams of the relatives of the nine Bali ringleaders sentenced to death will always remain with me. Above, scenes in the port the afternoon before his execution.
That day, the group of journalists outside the gates of Cilacap port were not allowed to enter the island.
But we were able to watch who or what came and went off the island under the watchful eye of the police officers.
As we stood on the bitumen road leading to the guarded port gates in the humid heat, we saw family members making their last visits to Chan and Sukumaran.
Their empty coffins arrived and were loaded onto the ships, as was their last meal: buckets of KFC.
After saying her final goodbye, Sukumaran’s mother Raji faced the cameras and asked Indonesian President Joko Widodo for clemency.
“I will never see my son again and they are going to take him away tonight and shoot him. He is healthy, he is beautiful and he has a lot of compassion for other people,” she pleaded.
‘I ask the government not to kill him, please president, please do not kill him today. Please don’t do it. Cancel the execution.
‘Please don’t kill my son. Please don’t do it.
Chan’s brother Michael said: “Getting out of there and saying goodbye for the last time is torture.” No family should have to go through that.’
Van number ‘1’ transported Myuran Sukumaran’s coffin from Cilacap port after it arrived by boat in the middle of the night.
Ambulances carried the coffins of the dead and displayed them to the media around the world. One of the coffins was covered with a white satin cloth.
Indonesia’s then-president Joko Widodo was thought to have set an example for the couple.
The couple, along with six other people, died shortly after midnight, singing amazing grace before the fatal shots were fired.
The deaths of Chan and Sukumaran were a heartbreaking moment that unsettled Australians.
The couple, from Enfield and Auburn in Sydney’s west respectively, were deemed to have been rehabilitated at Bali’s infamous Kerobokan prison.
An Australian campaign seeking clemency (which included then-Prime Minister Tony Abbott clumsily reminding 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 more macabre.
A caravan of ambulances transported the bodies of executed prisoners in white satin-covered coffins after they arrived on the mainland.
Each vehicle was numbered: ‘1’ carried Sukumaran’s body, followed by ‘2’ carrying Chan’s body.
The ambulance windows were clear, allowing the cameras to clearly see what was inside.
It was a morbid scene. And it was one that Indonesian officials wanted the world to see, as a deterrent to others, so they dared to commit the same crimes as Chan and Sukumaran.