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FOREWORD

Nyoman, the Laskar gangster and pimp I spent time with, introduced me to his fake drug dealer friend, Wayan. Both of them talked to me about how they didn’t like their jobs, but had no choice. They were poor: the pimp lived in a tiny room called a kos — smaller than most Australian bedrooms — with his wife, toddler son and newborn baby girl. He took me to an illegal cockfight (a daily event in the back streets of Seminyak), where I saw the cops show up and leave — after they got their cut. Nyoman’s wife was employed, spending up to five days sewing tiny little sequins on a dress, for which she would receive about $10. I later went to the Seminyak shop and saw the dress with a price tag of several hundred dollars.

With the average monthly Balinese salary not much over $100, even for those working in the big hotels, it’s not surprising that corruption is endemic. And, for the drug dealers, this makes life easier — with their huge amounts of cash, there are few rules that can’t be broken and money can be spent on land, or villas and restaurants without anyone asking where the cash came from. For those hiding out in Bali — and the dealers told me there are many fugitives — living in luxury villas, spending their proceeds of crime or even running legit businesses is easy.

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Earlier this year I was outside Kerobokan Prison on the second night of rioting by prisoners — they’d taken over the prison, and locked out the guards after they’d fled their posts when the rioting had started. It was an ‘only in Bali’ experience. Across from the jail is a sales yard for huge concrete Buddhas — it was full of soldiers with submachine-guns held ready leaning against the huge Buddhas. It was a perfect visual metaphor for the contrasts that exist on the Island of the Gods.

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