Nov 9, 1996: Catherine McGrath, Singapore-based correspondent for Australia's ABC radio, was reporting live via a mobile phone when the order of arrest was given.

"Wait a minute," she told her colleague at the other end of the line. Turning to Dang Wangi police chief Zainal Abidin Ali, she asked, "Are we also being arrested?"

She was referring to other journalists who were with her. "Arrest all," was Zainal's terse reply.

Roger Mitton, the Malaysian correspondent for (the now defunct regional magazine) Asiaweek , rolled his eyes. Bangkok-based The Nation's Sonny Inbaraj shook his head in disbelief.

The mass arrests came without warning.

Five hours had elapsed since a Umno Youth-led mob of 400 men - calling themselves the Malaysian Peoples' Action Front - had stormed Kuala Lumpur's Asia Hotel and went on a rampage in the bid to stop the Second Asia-Pacific Conference on East Timor, also known as Apcet II.

The government had earlier told the organisers not to hold the meeting. But hiring a mob to physically stop a private meeting on private premises is a clear transgression of the rule of law.

The mob destroyed hotel property, hurled verbal abuses and manhandled participants. Tension was high - just about any response to the mob's provocation could have easily resulted in a free-for-all. To their credit, the participants kept their cool.

It wasn't till an hour later that the police trudged in to restore order. The participants thought their nightmare was over. They were dead wrong. It was only beginning.

'Arrest him'

While the foreign participants were immediately deported, the rest were detained in the conference hall for some three hours. Then came the arrests order. As we were escorted out of the hotel, Inbaraj spotted a journalist friend and quickly shoved him his card.

"Please contact my office in Bangkok," he pleaded.

Zainal saw the exchange. Pointing at Inbaraj's friend, he barked: "Arrest him." The hapless friend was immediately dragged out from a group of dozen or so journalists. The others quickly scrambled to a safer distance.

However, much to his relief, the befuddled journalist was released after surrendering the name card. But no such reprieve for the rest of us.

The 20 women arrested were packed into the first police truck. McGrath continued her live report even as she clambered in. It must have been her scoop of the year.

The 39 men were herded into two other trucks. It was 3.15pm. Ten minutes later, the trucks arrived at Dang Wangi police station near the Merdeka Stadium. Shortly after, the women were transferred to the Wangsa Maju police station.

The men remained at Dang Wangi. After one hour of being cooped up inside the hot and windowless trucks, we were very much relieved when we were prodded into the lock-up inside the station.

There were 10 cells in a horseshoe formation - four on each side and two at one end, while at the open end was a guard post. In the middle was a caged courtyard where the detainees waited while they were being 'processed'. One by one, our names were called. Soon it was to be my turn.

Cell No 8

I was asked to remove my shoes and place them in a plastic bag. Then all my belongings - wallet, keys, cash, pen, notebook and rucksack - were taken away. I was left with only clothes I had on. After a quick body search, I was assigned to cell number 8.

The cell was about four by three metres, with an 'open-concept' toilet on one side. On the other side was a raised concrete slab which was supposed to double-up as a bed. A metre-high cement partition separated the two areas, a poor barrier against the stench from the toilet which invaded the rest of the cell.

There were already five inmates. There were in for drugs, they said. All of them were extremely curious about this unlikely group of 'criminals' joining them. With the addition of another five Apcet II detainees, our number swelled to 11. The cell was only meant for four.

The other cells, too, were overcrowded. There were more than 90 inmates in a lock-up built for a maximum of 38 people. Conditions were made worse by a sudden cut in water supply. Water was later piped in through a rubber hose to be shared by all inmates.

The harsh conditions of the lock-up resulted in five NGO detainees - as we were referred to by the police - being sent to the hospital during their incarceration.

Dinner was a packet of rice with a sliver of fish and some vegetables. Later that night, grimy blankets were issued. I had wanted to use one as a pillow. That was not advisable, warned a veteran inmate. So I took off my shirt and pants and rolled them into a makeshift headrest.

The 11 of us slept on the concrete floor - packed like sardines - with the more unfortunate ones beside the toilet.

Festival of lights

Nov 10: The next day was Deepavali, the festival of lights. It was also my birthday.

After 'feasting' on a breakfast of a bread roll washed down with tea served in plastic bags, we were drawn by shouts from outside the lock-up. I climbed up the wall to reach the tiny barricaded window high up at the back of the cell.

Outside the police station, about 30 metres away, I saw friends and relatives of we NGO detainees. We exchanged news. But the shouting between us infuriated the police.

Immediately, all the NGO detainees in my cell were moved to an opposite cell where communication with the outside world was nigh impossible. The police also took the opportunity to do some re-organisation - the NGO detainees were now grouped together in four adjoining cells.

At about 4pm, we were marched out of our cells in groups of five to meet a magistrate, who was called in specially to hear police applications for our remand. They had asked for a seven-day extension to our initial 24-hour remand. They needed time to do their investigations, they said. The magistrate gave them four days with only two days for those who had health problems.

Soon after, some of the detainees were interrogated and their statements taken. By 7pm, all the women and eight men were freed. There was hope that most, if not all, of us would be released the next day.

After dinner, we heard faint voices belting out a rendition of the folk song, Gelang Sipaku Gelang . I climbed up the wall to take a peek. The view wasn't as good as my previous cell, but in the darkness, I could see flickering lights.

Soon the street outside the police station was bathed with a warm, yellow glow. It was a candlelight vigil.

We detainees went wild with excitement, clapping and singing in unison with those outside. That was how we celebrated Deepavali. It was my best birthday present ever.

Freedom

The next day, to our disappointment, only a handful were released. On the fourth day, those who were remanded for two days were freed. Later, as a punishment for our raucous Deepavali night behaviour, there was more reshuffling.

This time my cellmates were three Indonesian gangsters and two drug addicts. One had come out of drug rehabilitation only four days ago. He was cursing his luck.

Early in the morning of the fifth day, names were called out. But my name wasn't among them. "We are being sent to court," shouted one of the detainees as the group of 10 filed into two police Black Marias.

An hour later, the police called my name and two others - the only remaining NGO detainees in the lock-up. "Go and collect your belongings," said the officer on duty. We knew then we were to be freed.

It was 11.20am. The three of us were escorted by three officers to another building and were unceremoniously abandoned in an interrogation room. We were told to wait for our investigating officer.

Hours passed. No lunch was served. I figured that having waited for days, a few more hours wouldn't hurt.

While we were waiting, we were treated to the spectacle of two suspected robbers being questioned. A police officer brandished a thick plastic hose and threatened to whip them. Another two men were interrogated over a fight in a disco.

We also learnt that the 10 who were sent to court had had their remand extended another three days - the police had originally wanted 10. However, the next day the High Court found flaws in the police's case against them and the 10 were set free.

It wasn't until 4.40pm that I walked out of the Dang Wangi police station a free man. Outside, about 50 friends and well-wishers clapped and cheered. In the midst of the hugging and back-slapping, I felt someone grip my hand and furiously shake it.

It was an elderly woman. Her son, a student, was among those arrested and released earlier. She had kept a daily vigil at the police station and had vowed to continue until everyone was released.

Across the road, I was greeted by a pink manila cardboard hung around a lamp post. Someone has scribbled a message in bold red ink.

It said: Day 5.

Editor's note: Two months later, four Umno Youth leaders (including a state assemblyman), who were arrested for rioting at the Apcet II conference venue, pleaded guilty in court and were slapped with a fine. They were not detained by the police.

No charges, however, were laid against the NGO detainees. A year later, 36 of them filed a lawsuit against the government and the police for wrongful imprisonment. Having waited for seven years, their suit is to heard soon by the High Court. Among the plaintiffs are malaysiakini co-founders, Steven Gan and Premesh Chandran, who were then journalists at The Sun .

In 2001, Keadilan's Saifuddin Nasution told a public forum that he (when he was Umno Youth secretary) was ordered by the then deputy home minister Megat Junid Megat Ayob to lead a mob and stop the Apcet II conference 'by hook or by crook'. Saifuddin said senior police officers were present at his meeting with Megat Junid.

Early this year, Women's Aid Organisation executive director Ivy Josiah, an NGO detainee, requested her name to be struck off from the lawsuit. She had been selected to sit on the Police Royal Commission to probe, among others, police brutality.

The above article was Gan's last weekly column for The Sun . It was never published. He quit soon after.