Needless to say, when a date for the verdict had still not been announced by the end of January, I was growing impatient. I had yet to schedule any vacation time, certain that the minute I made plans to leave Sierra Leone, they'd call everyone together and announce the verdict behind my back. It was becoming all too clear that this was a well-orchestrated scheme to cheat me out of my opportunity to witness history.
But in the midst of my increasing despair, while at the bar a few weeks back, a friend who may or may not work at the Court may or may not have tipped me off that it was coming soon. Like, soon soon. And though another week went by after that assertion, word finally came that the date was set: February 25, 2009, 10:30 a.m. Come hell or high water, I was going to be sitting in that courtroom.
And Wednesday morning, I was doing just that, more than an hour before the summary of the verdict was set to begin at 10:30 a.m. That is, until Binta Mansaray, the Deputy Registrar for the Special Court, arrived to inform us all that there had been a delay.
Yes. More than three months. I was aware. As a journalist, I pride myself on keen observation skills that take note of things like the passage of 100 days.
Water under the bridge, I thought to myself. It was a sore spot for a while, but we're all here now and that's what matters. The apology is appreciated and all, but I'm sure it wasn't your fault anyway, kind lady, and -- What? You mean there's been another delay?
From there on, my thought process deteriorated into a string of profanities not fit to publish. We were told to return at 2 p.m.
Alongside Sheik, Bryna, Kevin and ABJ, I decided not to leave. We instead wandered down to the Special Court restaurant (cleverly and/or lamely named the "Special Forks") to grab some breakfast and indulge in a little unproductive grumbling. I went on record that, if the verdict was again delayed at 2, I was cutting all ties with this thoroughly inconsiderate tribunal and carrying on with my life.
As we waited, I realized that we were sharing a table with the family of Issa Sesay, a senior commander in the RUF and one of the three men waiting an extra agonizing 3.5 hours to learn his fate. This struck me as quite odd.
The man was charged with 18 counts of war crimes and crimes against humanity. Extermination. Rape. Sexual slavery. Forced marriage. Pillage. Murder. Conscription of child soldiers. Enslavement.... Let's just say he wasn't likely looking at a plea bargain and six months of house arrest. So where did he get off having family that cared whether he ever saw the outside of a cell again?
As we returned to the courtroom and, in a novel turn of events, the proceedings actually got underway sharply at 2:00, this theme would continue to evolve in my mind. The three accused were escorted into the courtroom, each flanked by a guard on either side. Throughout the hour and a half verdict that followed, I was made uncomfortable by the range of emotions I experienced.
Of course, all three were inevitably found guilty of the majority of charges - no surprise there. The good betting is on how much time they'll be sentenced to, with my money saying at least 50 years. It should be more. But therein lies the rub.
Before setting foot in that courtroom Wednesday, the names Issa Sesay, Morris Kallon and Augustine Gbao were empty shells upon which I could transpose the Satantic visages I deemed fitting for the men behind the abhorrent indecencies I've already outlined in quite sufficient detail on this blog.
Studying their faces as the presiding judge - a Canadian, actually, named Justice Pierre G. Boutet - pronounced "Guilty" a whopping 46 times for the collective, I was forced to see them as humans, albeit ones of a tremendously inhumane ilk.
During my post-verdict interview with Gbao's British lawyer, John Cammegh, he said, "My client is an extraordinary character. He's somebody who I have a great deal of respect for ... I think the way in which he's behaved [during the trial] is a credit to him, and it's been a pleasure to represent him."
Come again? I would've preferred, "Sure, he's the sickest motherfucker I've ever had the misfortune to meet, but everyone is entitled to a defence, right?" That would have been more acceptable to me. That would have given me grounds to deny, at least on a subconscious level, the capability for sadism and cruelty among my fellow homo sapiens.
In speaking with Cammegh and Wayne Jordash, Sesay's lead defence counsel, it became abundantly clear that I wasn't the only one miffed by the lengthy delay in the presentation of the verdict. The reasons have been widely speculated over, but I think the simple explanation that the written verdict was expected to be several hundred pages long, owing in part to the fact that the Canadian judge dissented on every conviction against Gbao except for one, is probably the most reasonable.
For more on the verdict, you can check out this piece that I wrote for IRIN. I was very pleased to finally freelance something to someone that might actually pay me, as my previous two efforts have been for The Cord (Don't worry, Heather, I wasn't expecting payment!) and The Record (who has still yet to pay me for my Obama editorial).
More importantly, though, this wasn't an editorial, and I like to think that reporting for an internationally reputable news service on an historic verdict will act as something of a feather in my cap as a journalist. Given the continual cuts to reporting jobs back home, I'll need all the help I can get.
In addition, I now have a foot in the door with IRIN. At the same time I met with the editor who gave me this gig, I pitched two other story ideas that they're interested in.
However, with many competing demands on my time for the duration of my stay, I might end up accepting that this is the last piece I freelance while I'm here. Though the thought of having an open daily schedule that would allow me to freelance at will leaves me salivating, that's simply not my reality or priority, and while many trainers freelance substantially more than I have, many more still don't find time to do it at all.
As for this story, it didn't really turn out quite as I'd hoped. Oddly, IRIN had agreed to have me cover the event, but also have Bryna write something focusing on the charge of forced marriages. In the end, they decided they wanted only one, and so her piece was incorporated as the lead in my piece. (Bryna also submitted a gut-wrenching interview for IRIN's 'Hear our voices' feature, which you can check out here.) The final product is that the first third of the article is Bryna and the remainder is me.
As a result of this editing process, I felt as though some of my stronger segments were lost and the ending now makes the Special Court's outreach efforts seem more successful than I think they've actually been. These final two paragraphs were cut completely:
Unfortunately, more than six years after the Court was established, there is still much work to do in combating ignorance about its functioning and, in many cases, its mere existence.
"I don't know about that [the Special Court]," says Abissea Gbessman, emptying her lone cooler of excess water as she packs up from selling cold drinks in one of Freetown's busy downtown markets. "When I wake up in the morning, all I worry about is how I will feed my kids."
One of the reasons I found this story compelling was the stark juxtaposition of the meaning of the Special Court for the Western world vs. Sierra Leone. It has seen landmark verdicts, including the first ever convictions under international law for forced marriage, the intentional targeting of humanitarian and peacekeeping workers, and the conscription of child soldiers.
Such verdicts mark one of the few times people back home would give SL even a cursory glance, yet attitudes among locals towards the Court are more commonly those of mild indifference or outright hostility than of staunch support.
While interviewing for local reaction, more than half of the 30 or so people I spoke to had no idea what the Special Court was. The local newspapers gave the verdicts front-page coverage, but so few people read them that it still wasn't a major point of neighbourhood conversation.
It was interesting to witness this first-hand, after reading a document brought to my attention by my buddy Brandon, which stated the following about a 2007 survey of Sierra Leonean attitudes towards the Court:
79 percent of all respondents indicated that they understood the role of the Court and 91 percent indicated that they strongly agreed that the Court contributed to the building of peace after intense violence. 85 percent of respondents indicated that they can speak adequately on the activities of the Court and 88 percent affirmed that the outreach program was doing its job well.
I'd love to know the methodology that produced those results, as I suspect that either it was a written survey that thereby reflects the views of only the literate, educated minority most likely to know about the Court, or that Sierra Leoneans are simply giving the answers they think those operating the survey want. 'Cause those numbers sure as hell don't reflect the reality.
Even among Sierra Leoneans that know about the Court, many understandably view it as a Western imposition that gives a bunch of foreigners high-paying jobs, but does little for the victims of the war. They view it as money that the international community can afford to spend on their country, yet chooses quizzically to put towards the perpetrators (even if it is their conviction) instead of making a tangible difference in the lives of the war's myriad victims.
All that being said, I'm by no means against the Special Court, or its outreach program. I believe what I've read about outreach efforts here being vastly better than they were in Rwanda or the former Yugoslavia, and I merely think the task they undertook was immense.
As for the Court more generally, I do think it will have a lasting positive legacy on the judiciary in Sierra Leone. They've initiated a witness protection program in the country and improved the capacity of its lawyers and judges by employing them directly at the Court, as well as more broadly operating as an example of how a fair judicial system should work.
Still, I sympathize with average Sierra Leoneans whose lives are such a struggle in the here and now that taking solace in lasting implications is a hard pill to swallow. It is just another example of how life in Sierra Leone is firmly grounded in shades of gray.
Anyway, this probably won't be my last interaction with the Special Court. Sentencing for Sesay, Kallon and Gbao is expected sometime in March, with the appeals process beginning in April. Given the level of respect for timelines I've seen so far, it seems safe to say the Court's work will continue until well after I've left.
3 comments:
Excellent piece...thanks for keeping us in the loop!!
Mike, this is well written (as usual) but the thing that struck me the most about this post was when you questioned the fact that Sesay's family was there to support him.
First of all, did you talk to them and find out why they were there that day? Maybe they wanted to see the guy get locked up just as much as you did. If not and they were there just to support him, I don't think it's fair to question them or Sesay because as you showed by stating only the facts about those convicted, we don't know what's going on in their personal lives - which brings me to my second of all.
... Something that's been bothering me lately is the support we so easily give to people like Emmanuel Jal and Ishmael Beah. Both of them are children of war and killed countless people yet, we all read their books, sing and dance along to Jal's music and excuse their past because they've found a way to glorify their crimes through socially acceptable outlets.
So I guess my question (directed toward everyone, myself included) is why do we justify the past of people like Jal and Beah? I personally think it's because someone gave them a chance by showing that they forgive them and love them no matter what they did.
I don't want to excuse the actions of those three guys you talked about but maybe the family that was there, seemingly supporting Sesay, are there to do the same thing for them. If that's so wrong, we should not be so accepting of Jal, Beah and anyone else that has committed such awful crimes. Just a thought...
Heather, great comment. Allow me to elaborate on a few things.
First, no, I did not speak to Sesay's family. They had nothing to do with my IRIN story, so I didn't want to trouble them, but their body language (heads in hands, tears, etc.) made it pretty clear they were there in support. And I wasn't really trying to question that support - more to use the incident and the fact that I hadn't previously considered these men as being family men as a vehicle to convey the emotions I experienced in reacting to the situation in the courtroom.
It's interesting, actually. In interviewing Wayne Jordash, the British lawyer representing Sesay, he explained that his client was having great difficulty understanding how he could be convicted of these war crimes without evidence that he himself committed them. Without getting into that too deeply, it can be fairly stated, I think, that those deemed 'most responsible' may not have been the ones actually committing the horrible atrocities. Charles Taylor, to my knowledge, never even set foot in Sierra Leone. And one of the people I interviewed in the street said they thought Sesay was something of a hero for helping end the war. But the mandate of the Court is only to try the top-level people, the theory being that their spreading of the ideology behind the atrocities can be traced as a root of the violence. Other 'lower-level' offenders are left to be dealt with through the Sierra Leone judiciary, in theory.
Which I suppose brings me to your larger point about the likes of Jal and Beah. It's certainly possible they both physically did much worse things than Sesay and yet, as you rightly point out, have their pasts so quickly excused. I don't know much about Jal, but it is interesting to note the local reaction I've seen to Beah. In discussing his book with my colleagues Sheik and Muctar after Sheik finished reading the copy of A Long Way Gone I'd lent him, they agreed on two things: One, the book was too well written to be by a child soldier and, two, he was almost certainly a member of the RUF and guilty of much worse acts than he admitted to.
This is an interesting microcosm of their reactions to almost any international work on the country, I've found. They assume memoirs like Beah's are ghost-written or heavily cleaned up and don't present an accurate picture of the country. Even Cry Freetown, which was directed by Sierra Leonean journalist Sorious Samura using live footage of the Freetown attack, they decried as a watered down version deemed safe for Western audiences, which thereby skews the perception of what the country's gone through. Sheik was quick to cite an example of having witnessed an ECOMOG soldier beheaded by RUF/AFRC forces who proceeded to play football (soccer) with his head.
For me, this leaves one very difficult question: If even Sierra Leoneans themselves can't present the conflict to an international audience in a way that does justice to what the country has suffered, who can? The answer, I fear, is no one, and the only way around it is the recognition that we can never understand, but merely empathize and try to help in spite of that divide, particularly where Sierra Leoneans themselves want help.
Ultimately, Heather, though I've strayed from your comment in my typically rambling style, I don't know the answer to the question you raise about who we can excuse and when, but I think the question is an important one to ask ourselves. Thanks for your thoughts.
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