By: Isabel Taylor Escoda

I went to jail last Sunday. An Englishwoman I know sent me there. Hong Kong’s Victoria Prison is not far from my small flat, u p a hill in the colony’s Central District. Around the prison block are art galleries, antique and furniture shops and on the same street as the jail entrance, down the hill a bit, is a cozy French restaurant.

Special Permission
I stood in line outside the prison gate, with a group of Chinese waiting to visit the inmates. Once inside the prison I handed my ID card and told the officer I wanted to see Clara Cruz (not the real name). I was told to go back the next room where a young stern-faced woman officer asked if I made an appointment. I asked no but that my friend Ann Smyth had told me I could go any time. I’m sorry,” the officer said flatly. “You cannot see her.” “Oh please,” I begged (Ann had told me to act object-“kiss their boots, if need be, they enjoy that”). “I’m going to Manila tomorrow and I want to tell her mother I’ve seen her.” I was lying, of course.
After consulting with another officer, she told me, I had special permission this once and I wait 20 minutes after writing down my name, address and ID number. Then I was ushered into the “Open Visiting Room” and told I had 15 minutes (everyone gets only the amount of time). There were about a dozen square tables in the room, with people sitting and talking to inmates.

The Story
I recognized Clara at once. She was small and pretty but looked worn out, sitting at one of the tables. She did not know me, of course. I sat down across her and asked. “Natandaan mo ba ako?” she shook her head. I noticed she had lipstick on and some eye liner.
I refreshed her memory. Three weeks ago I had been walking along Des Voeux Road to go an eye doctor. I suddenly came across a crowd of people on the sidewalk, all are staring at two tall Europeans. I went closer and saw a European man talking into his mobile phone, “Please send the police to the corner of Des Voeux Road and Pedder Street immediately.”
Next to him was a tall woman. I edged closer and saw that in between of them was a small dark woman, with her arm firmly in the grip of the man speaking into his mobile phone. I asked a Chinese man in the crowed what it is all about. “Filipanyan pickpocket.” He smirked as he walked away.
I went up to the European woman and asked, what’s going on?”
“This woman snatch my wallet,” she replied. She sounded American but she could have been Canadian. The man sound British.
Like and idiot, I addressed the poor frightened girl, “Kinuha mo ba talaga ang wallet niya?”
“Hindi po,” she replied and hung her head.
I have done some dumb things in my life, but this must have been the dumbest. It would been like asking Imelda Marcos if she’d indeed stolen the nation’s wealth and she’d deny it as surely as night follows day.
I hung around the crowd to see what would happen, and the police arrived soon after and took the girl away, with the couple following. I rushed off to my doctor’s appointment.

My Friend Ann
Ann Smyth is, like myself, as long time Hong Kong resident. I meet her because she rang me up one day after someone who had read my letters from Hong Kong told her about me. Ann has been trying   to help Filipino domestic in trouble I n Hong Kong and she is looking for other women to help with a project she has initiated.
Ever since she first called me up, we have chatted regularly and I have been amazed at her energy and resourcefulness. She is a mover and a shaker in the truest sense of the word, and she knows many people in the colony who can help her.
She made me somewhat ashamed of the fact that it has taken an Englishwoman to do something to help disadvantaged Filipino women when there are number of Filipinos in the colony, well-off and comfortable, who should be the ones helping their unprivileged compatriots, But, Sadly, that small percentage of well off Pinays in Hong Kong hate the fact that most of their compatriots are servants and like to pretend they don’t exist. A number of these rich women regularly attend religious meetings, and they seems to think attending to spiritual matters is more important than caring for the material needs of their compatriots.

No Name!
After witnessing the arrest of that pickpocket, I mentioned it in passing to Ann when we next spoke, “Oh please, Isabel” she said, “tell me where this happened and at what time. Did you get the girl’s name?”
I said I hadn’t. Like a dolt, it didn’t occur to me to asked I’d only asked if she guilty.
“I must find that poor girl,” Ann said and rang off hurriedly.
At that point I shook my head. I knew Ann was a do-gooder possesses of a great bi bleeding heart (she worked among Ethiopian refugees and other philanthropic projects), but I thought she was going off the deep end when she said she’d track down pickpocket without even knowing her name.

Ann Gets to work
The next day she rang up to say she’d found the girl, learned her name, and was on her way to visit her at a remand center in the New Territories. This is where they detain people before they are charged and sentenced.
“How on earth did you find her?” I asked.
“I just rang up Western Police Station and asked if they‘d picked up a woman pickpocket at the time and place you told me, that’s how I got the information. And I’ve asked my lawyer to help me out,” said Ann.
Just like that. During the following weeks I received reports from Ann about Clara, whom she’d visited. Ann said she was guilty as hell, having admitted to the pickpocketing, but Ann said she would do all she could to see that she was not deported or jailed (three months is the minimum sentence.) If need be, Ann said she’d hire Clara as her maid.
“Good grief,” I said “the woman admitted she’d stolen and you’re willing to have her work in your home?”
“She’s destitute,” Ann said, “she had six children back in the Philippines she needs to feed them. If I were in the shoes, I’d pick pockets too- I’d probably robbed a bank as well.”
I saw her point. She went on. “Don’t forget Isabel, you should always tell yourself, when you think of thieves and prostitute. ‘There but for the grace of God go I.”

Court Hearing
During the next few days Ann Attended the court hearing, saw Clara charged, spoke to her lawyer who put in a good word with the judge and sat in court next to a woman who had been robbed by Clara. Ann appealed to all these people for compassion; she asked them to see that Clara had been driven to desperate measures. The result was the judge passed a suspended sentence.
Ann described the scene that followed. “As soon as Clara and I heard the judge saying she free to go, and he retired to his chamber, I started to walk up to her and she came toward me. A couple of police officer suddenly grabbed Clara and dragged her away. I screamed at them that she was free to go, but they told me they’d found she had a forged passport and was using a false name, Rita Velez. They were going to lock her up to be tried again in a few weeks! I could’nt believe the inhumanity of those people. It’s so maddening, I felt like resigning from the human race!
When I related all this to some Filipino friends the next day, starting with my having witnessed the arrest, all agreed that Clara should be deported. It’s people like that who give us Pinoys a bad name.” said Maria. “Why do they come here to steal, for God’s sake?”
If Ann head been around, I could have guessed what she’d say to Maria- “Hungry people will steal. Where’s your Christianity?”
When I said to Ann that the business of the forged passport was bad news. I asked. I asked if she’d still want to hire Clara to work for her. “My dear,” she replied, Mary Magdalene was a prostitute and yet Jesus forgave her. Who am I to judge Clara?”

Not Words but Deeds
I found out Ann is a Catholic after she sent me a note in which she mentioned Purgatory. She is definitely one of those practice their faith, not just mouth it.
So now, just before Clara/Rita is taken to court again in a few days Ann has been visiting her and consulting with the lawyer. She suggested I visit Clara too, so that was how I got into Victoria Prison.
The jai occupies a whole block on the corner of Wyndham Street and Hollywood; it is neat and well kept but its’ keeper all seem to have hard looking eyes. Perhaps one gets this way when dealing with criminals, but pickpockets and women with infants on their breast cannot possibly be hardened criminals. I found myself getting a bet like Ann-though I will never match her guts and determination. I haven’t the stamina to be a do gooder, I fear. I knew from the books that Englishwomen can be formidable in their strength, and I’ve been finding this out and now.
Clara’s Story
Talking to Clara/Rita during those 15 minutes allotted to us, I found her lapsing into Cebuano, so I made it easier for her by also speaking in hat language. She told me she was from Davao, is 30 years old, had married at age 14 and had six children. She said her mother, who looks after five of her children, is going blind. They all live in a hovel in a Davao slum (her father is dead) She said she left her husband because he was palikero and he does not support the children.
Clara/Rita said that last year she was hired by a man to come and work In Hong Kong. When I asked what kind of man and what sort of work, she said he was a ‘bugaw’. I was intrigue by the word because in Cebuano it means the act of shooting away, while in Tagalog it means pimp. She admitted she worked as a prostitute and then was caught and deported.
Before she first came to Hong Kong, Clara/Rita said a friend of hers in Manila offered to look after one of her Children. But when she got back from Manila after being deported from Hong Kong, the friend demanded 10,000 pesos before giving the child back. At this point Clara/Rita began to weep quietly.

Became a Prostitute
I asked her about the bugaw, what his name was, if she was among many women he brought over, but she said she would rather not to talk about him. She told me frankly that this time, when she arrived in the colony in February, she was installed at the hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui in Kowloon but she hated the work. “I didn’t like being treated like a baboy with all those men mauling me, so I ran away.” She said she had no money and wanted to find a job as a housemaid, so he begun to look at advertisements in supermarkets. But after two days she was so hungry, she decided to pickpockets.
The police officer in the room begun to tell everyone our time was up. All I could tell Clara/Rita was to have faith in Ann, and that perhaps she’d be able to save her again. I quickly asked her if her cell was comfortable and she shared dormitory cell with 20 other women, all Chinese some with children. She said she couldn’t eat well, often had headaches and hardly slept.

What is the Answer?
What will become of this miserable Filipina, one among many who has fled the poverty of our country? As things stands now, there is a glimmer hope. She may not get suspended sentence again, she maybe deported the second time. But what will she be returning to- hungry children, a sick mother, a lost child, penury? Will she fall back into the clutches of her bugaw? Will she make another attempt to earn a living on her back in Hong Kong, much as she hates being treated like a pig?
I wish I had the answer, Perhaps people like the formidable Ann Smyth do.

I recognized Clara at Once. She was small and pretty but looked worn –out, sitting at one of the tables.

Next to him was a tall European woman with her arm firmly grip of the man speaking into his mobile phone
...They’re going to lock her up to try her again in a few weeks! I can’t believe the inhumanity of those people.