Skip to main content

Ganja Queen

HBO's Ganja Queen is a documentary about incarceration of Schapelle Corby, an Australian woman at Bali, Indonesia on a charge of smuggling 4.2 kilos of marijuana inside her boogie-board bag. Her protestations of innocence fail to impress the Balinese authorities, commute or even reduce her life sentence. The efforts of her sizable legal team and supporters are likewise in vain.

But the story of Schapelle Corby is not nearly black and white as that summary might suggest. The viewer is left with a host of unanswered questions until the end. Is she guilty as the Balinese prosecution team claims (even without having established their case beyond reasonable doubt - the defense team accuses them of tampering and then destroying key evidence), was she set up by a family member (she has a jailed brother, a father who had drug problem and a family friend who was arrested for growing marijuana), is she a very smooth and clever drug ring operative, veteran of many smuggling forays into Indonesia or is she completely innocent - a helpless creature of circumstance, victim of a random event in which she played no part.

Schapelle's case unfolds like a well-written whodunit story. Every character appears suspect when viewed through the lens of the prosecution team. However, if you put yourself in the shoes of an average visitor to Bali who finds herself on the wrong side of law just because someone stuffed marijuana into their unlocked bag, a terrifying picture emerges. Schapelle's is a nerve-wracking tale of how such a person would be considered guilty until proven innocent, to how the system would change the rules of engagement at will to make it impossible for them to establish their innocence.

There is something Kafkaesque about the whole situation if you believe that Schapelle is not guilty as she claims. The Australian government is not able to successfully intercede on her behalf even though an overwhelming majority of her countrymen believe her version of the events. At some point even her most ardent supporters begin to question her story, they wonder if she is not really who she claims to be - just another regular tourist to Bali. The film leaves you with disturbing questions about standards of jurisprudence and the legal rights of a individual in a foreign country.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques