It was about seven in the evening on the day of Bersih 3. I had just came back from buying some light food from an eatery at Masjid Jalan India, near the hotel where I was staying. I was about to enjoy my food when suddenly I heard some commotion outside. I rushed to the window to see what it was all about. What I saw make me sick in the stomach. A gang of policemen, numbering more than ten, were beating up a man, using every force they can. They kicked him and punched him until he fell to the ground. Even then, they still kicked and beat him with a rotan. The poor guy must be in terrible pain yet the police continued raining blows on him. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The police were behaving like thugs and hooligans. They were also shouting at the top of their voice, warning those who were watching not to get involved. I was shocked and scarred at the same time. I felt helpless, wanting to help the guy but not daring to.
Later in the evening, I had dinner just beside my hotel. I dare not venture far, for fear, not of the Bersih supporters, but of the roaming gang of policemen who were running riot. More than three hours after Bersih 3, the police were forming gangs to roam around KL looking for victims. Later, as I read some of the personal accounts of Bersih 3, I can't help but remember what I had seen.
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