Driving home this week I heard on NPR that the Obama administration is moving towards supporting legislation codifying indefinite detention of suspected terrorists. I am disappointed beyond words that the United States government is attempting to legitimize the suspension of habeas corpus as a response to the “war on terror”. The principal of habeas corpus is fundamental to our democracy. It provides that detained persons have the right to brought before a judge and to know of the charges against them. It ensures that the government does not unlawfully detain persons. This week the Obama administration was responding to the near acquittal in Federal District Court of a Tanzanian defendant, Ahmed Ghailani, who was charged in connection with the 1998 bombing of the U.S. Embassies in Africa. Mr. Ghailani was acquitted on all but one conspiracy charge and was nearly a free man, however Attorney General Eric Holder’s position was that no matter the result of the verdict in the criminal trial the U.S. government would continue holding Mr. Ghailani as an enemy combatant. So why have a trial? Isn’t this just mocking the judiciary?
My perspective of this comes from living in Zimbabwe from 1998-2005, during which time President Robert Mugabe was sanctioned by the International Community for violating human rights. His administration, feeling under threat by the West and internal opposition, routinely ignored the judiciary and codified detention without charge all in the name of public order.
In 2004 I was running a backpacker’s lodge in the capitol city Harare when on a normal workday four men came through the front gate and approached the front reception. The men informed me they were from the Zimbabwe Republic Police and were there to inspect my books and that I needed to account for the foreign currency I had been receiving from my guests. They were not in uniform and my instinct told me they were not police and I was in the midst of a robbery. I told them I was happy to cooperate and asked for identification and to see the search warrant. One of the men produced a Zimbabwe Republic Police ID card with his photo, but it didn’t look right. The other three had no ID.
Aside from the guests and my staff, I also had my two children with me at the lodge that day, and my thoughts turned to them as I quickly assessed the situation. I asked the four men if they would mind going with me to the local police station where I could confirm their identity and they could show me the search warrant. After much tense debate, they agreed to accompany me and they got into the back of my pickup truck. Once out of the lodge’s gates I thought they were either going to rob me of my truck, or they would jump out of the back and run off. To my surprise and horror the men remained in the truck until we reached the Avondale police station. Now I was thinking maybe they really were police and I was in deep trouble.
We all walked into the run down colonial building and up to the front counter where we met the officer on duty. One of the four men confidently addressed the officer at the front desk in their native Shona language. I explained to the officer that I was exercising precaution on behalf of my guests and merely wanted to confirm they were police and to see the search warrant. The commanding officer came out and led the four men into the back rooms of the station. I was told to sit on the bench in the front and wait. I sat there for more than an hour unsure how this was going to unfold. Zimbabwe was politically unstable and the police corrupt. I was a white foreign woman sitting there at the mercy of the Zimbabwe Republic Police, not a situation I wanted to find myself in. To make matters worse, I was about 6 months pregnant at the time.
As I sat there wondering my fate, I recalled a recent visit from a friend that had just been released from jail. He was a white Zimbabwean, a real man of Africa and as tough as nails. He had been held for four months without charge after being arrested for having US $40 in his pocket. He was never formally charged with a crime, did not have an attorney and never saw a judge. This was also not too long after President Mugabe’s government had enacted the Public Order and Security Act (POSA) which allowed the police to detain persons without charge up to four months.The international community was in uproar as foreigners and opposition members were being detained regularly without charge in prison conditions that I was sure I would not survive, especially being pregnant. My friend told me the cell was so crowded there was no room to lay down. There was nothing to sit on or lie on anyhow, only a concrete floor. He had lice on his head and genitals and open wounds on his buttocks from sitting on the concrete floor. He was fed sporadically a corn mash and had gastrointestinal problems for which he was refused medical care. As I sat in the front of the station wondering what was about to happen to me I thought of my friend’s story of survival.
After about an hour I saw the four men coming out from the back room in handcuffs with their shoes and belts in their hands. The officer in charge came to tell me that they were not police and that the one man with the police identification was a gardener at one of the local stations which explained his semi-official identification. The officer told me they confessed they had been sent to rob me of my foreign currency by an employee I had recently fired because of theft. I assumed upon hearing this good news it would be the end of the ordeal. But far from it. The officer brought me to the back room where he questioned me about the foreign currency I accepted at my lodge. Dissatisfied with my answers I was told to report to the Harare’s Central police station immediately for further questioning. I was worried because Zimbabwean law mandated all foreigners to pay for lodging in foreign currency, so I was unsure why the police were making the foreign currency an issue. I sensed there was something else at play.
As I left the suburban Avondale police Station I thought to myself, maybe I should just go back to the lodge, maybe I should get my kids and leave Zimbabwe. (For those reading this thinking go the the U.S. embassy I had previously learned that the U.S. consulate is of absolutly no help to any expatriate living abroad facing trouble with corrupt local police.) I weighed those plans with the thought that I could be arrested for not reporting as told. I found myself driving downtown and walking into the Harare central police station. Back in colonial times it was probably well kept, stately government building but it had long since fallen into total disrepair. and smelled horribly. It was a maze of dark, filthy corridors lined with closed doors without windows. Coupled with a corrupt government, waging a propaganda war against the “West” I was in the midst of a every foreigners worst nightmare.
I reported to the front desk and a female officer led me through a maze of foul smelling hallways into a small room where she told me to to wait. The room was bare except for a table, a typewriter, a chair, a wooden bench and the mandatory picture of Robert Mugabe hung on the wall. A young policeman came in and arranged four pieces of paper on the table and slid carbon copy sheets in between each piece of paper. As he fed them through the typewriter he began asking me questions about my business, my immigration status and of most interest my foreign currency. Why did I have foreign currency? What was I going to do with it? What were my political views? As I spoke he recorded my answers on the sheets of paper. I really wasn’t sure why I was there. Was I free to go? Was I going to be detained? Was this just harassment to get a bribe?
Finally, after being asked the same questions and providing the same answers countless times I asked the officer if I could leave. I told him I was pregnant and tired and I had to go home because I had two children ages 1 and 3 who needed my attention. I thought to myself, he isn’t going to let me leave, I’m going to the cells. But after a few hours he did let me go because I promised I would return the next morning to answer more questions. As I left the station I knew I was not going to be returning the next day. Instead I flew to South Africa, I did not want to end up detained without charge because of the color of my skin or because I was an American.
I always think that day could have ended very differently for me. During my time in Zimbabwe I had so many close calls with the authorities because of my race and being an American. I would hear of other whites or foreigners who were detained, some beaten, some killed. I thought it was just luck that in my encounters with police, the military or war veterans did not get out of control and I ended up as one of persons who we read about in the papers. I always thought its a fine line for those whose lives end in tragedy and those who end up being able to recount a story like mine, what “almost” happened to them.
I recently attended a seminar presented by attorneys who represent men detained at the naval base in Guantanamo Bay Cuba. The attorneys explained that many of the detainees were normal people who were innocent and just at the wrong place and the wrong time. Victims of circumstances, not terrorists. Many were let free after being detained for more than 7 years without ever being charged. I thought to myself as I heard this, in Zimbabwe I was terrified I was going to be detained without charge, just because these guys tried to rob me and the police’s learned I was a westerner with foreign currency.
When I left Zimbabwe to return to the United States I thought I was returning to a country that respected human rights and the rule of law. This belief is coming into question now because my government is about to codify its own version POSA by suspending habeas corpus and trying to legitimize detention without charge. I know that even a suspected terrorist has the right to habeas corpus otherwise the U.S. government is no more legitimate than Robert Mugabe’s regime.
