When I arrived at the main gate the first thing the guards asked me for was my identification. They also asked if I was a lawyer. Later, I spoke with one of the lawyers who had come to visit a prisoner, and she told me that all lawyers are allowed to enter freely into the prison except on Fridays.

I often see prisoners doing community work around town in pink and orange uniforms but I was amazed to find out what each colour meant. Prisoners in orange are already serving their sentence. Those in pink are either waiting to be given a trial date or waiting for the judgment. This was insightful to learn.

Some prisoners were playing but some looked devastated and sick, with no medical attention.

There were a lot of activities going on in the prison. Some prisoners were digging and building things. I asked some prisoners how they eat and who cooks for them, and I learned that they have regular meals such as breakfast, lunch and supper. Fellow prisoners take turns cooking in shifts. It was quite impressive to see them working together.

I learned that many of the prisoners are deeply religious. One of the prisoners who I was able to talk to told me that many detainees have become “saved” since they have been in prison. There is a Mosque and a church in the prison; and from time to time Sheik and Pastors come in to preach.

As I walked around the prison, I learned that some prisoners don’t live together. There are blocks for young children under 18 years and another block for adults. When it comes to women who were imprisoned when they were pregnant, they give birth in the prison and live with their new born baby until the child is around 5 years old. Then the child is taken to the mothers’ relatives; and if she does not have a family the kid is taken to an orphanage.

From this quick visit it seems like prisoners get regular meals, some prisoners are employed, but it is true that some facilities are being under looked like medication for prisoners and women who live with their kids until they are 5 years old.

The task force was challenged to address three critical questions; and broke into three separate groups to come up with answers. The first session involved defining the role of a volunteer lawyer. Patrick Pratt, an intern with IBJ in Rwanda, initiated the discussion of volunteerism with an account of his volunteer experiences throughout life. “To be a volunteer means to serve a cause higher than oneself; with the expectation that there will be little or no material benefit in return. Volunteerism means personal sacrifice for the public good.”

A Criminal Defense Task Force Focus Group discusses how the lawyer community in Rwanda can promote systemic change

Keeping with this theme, the first group addressed he challenges of volunteerism in the legal aid community in Rwanda. Though there is a sense of need, the fact remains that resources are needed to carry out the sometimes expensive process of representing clients. They concluded that advocacy and cooperation among lawyers is the best way to mobilize funds to carry this out. This also includes making visits to prisons and police stations to educate penal officials about the need for legal representation for the criminally-accused. All agreed that in order to facilitate volunteer activities, IBJ could help by providing support facilities such as research center and office equipment.

The second group of lawyers tackled the conceptual problem of defining an ideal legal aid system in Rwanda. The group seemed to reveal more problems than concrete solutions. They pointed to the lack of an overarching legal aid policy, and the corresponding lack of financial allocations in the national budget, to be the biggest obstacles towards systematizing legal aid in Rwanda. For example, the Rwandan Criminal Procedure provides that all Juveniles shall be represented by counsel at trial, and they cannot undergo trial in court without legal representation. However, there are no funds to enforce the law. The discussion group also pointed to the tendency of legal aid to be viewed as charity, rather than a legal right supported by public resources. They also acknowledged the need for public awareness about fundamental legal rights; as well as a more thorough understanding among “among local authorities, police, opinion leaders, community members, and [even] paralegals” of the right to legal representation. Though the problems confronting the establishment of a legal aid system in Rwanda are many, the discussion initiated by the task force signals a promising start.

The third group discussed the issue of each lawyer’s personal contribution, as well as that of the community of lawyers, to realizing solutions to the legal aid deficit in Rwanda. Suggestions for possible personal contributions include a commitment to rendering pro-bono legal services at least once a month or according to availability. This includes offering legal services at the prosecution level in prisons. There is also a need to personally advocate for the right to legal aid when interacting with other justice sector actors. This advocacy also extends to the national level; wherein a community of lawyers must collectively advocate for policy change; as well as engage the public to inform citizens of their legal rights. The ever-present issue of resources to support legal aid may be addressed in part by advocating for public funding, and for contributions of nongovernment entities and individuals. This includes personal financial contributions of lawyers themselves in some cases.

IBJ Fellow John Bosco Bugingo reviews the recommendations of the Criminal Defense Task Force

The common thread that bound all of these discussions was the issue of capacity. Resources are needed to affect any significant change in the legal aid system in Rwanda. Suggestions for capacity-building initiatives included an increased number and frequency of criminal defense training for lawyers, and a better-equipped Defender Resource Center at the IBJ office. Also, lawyers expressed the need to visit many locations in Rwanda, including prisons and detention centers, to gain a more accurate picture of the scope of problems facing the legal aid community. Without this information, it would be difficult to formulate an appropriate response to such pressing issues.

The issues which were discussed - and the corresponding problems and solutions - are the very things which IBJ is working to resolve. IBJ hopes to continue to address these concerns with public awareness campaigns, support for legal aid, and close cooperation with the Ministry of Justice to create a national policy framework for legal aid. Of course it will take the sustained cooperation of dedicated lawyers in the legal aid community, as well as the governing institutions of Rwanda.

As the lawyers finished their morning tea, and concluded the discussion, there was a residual sense of optimism. Many of them stayed long after the meeting to collaborate with fellow lawyers on workable solutions. Though the work confronting the legal aid community seems daunting, articulating such concerns creates a more accurate picture of the problem. This of course will require the continued engagement of the Task Force. Hard work now means that one day such serious conversation will not interfere with a good breakfast.

 Farmers of Sigogon Island with their Families.

Farmer Amelia is one of the inhabitants of Sicogon Island in Iloilo, Philippines—an island of miraculous beauty complete with pristine beaches and transparent turquoise waters. A few months ago, Justicemaker Jae invited Amelia to attend a paralegal workshop for women farmers. Eager to acquire legal skills and knowledge, she did not hesitate a minute to accept the invitation. To improve the plight of the farmers of Sicogon Island, Amelia, more than anyone, was aware of the importance of legal proficiency. Because, beyond the island’s deceiving beauties hides a hideous reality.

For years now, Amelia and the other farmers of the island have been fighting a truly Sisyphean battle. They have argued, petitioned, and even walked for their land, but despite these efforts they are at imminent risk of losing not only their land, but also their livelihoods and communities.

Amelia angrily pointing at her land, which is not left uncultivated.

The trouble for the farmers began in the 70s, when Sicogon Development Cooperation (SIDECO) bought part of Sicogon Island and turned it into a high-end international tourist resort.  Local farmers were evicted, protected timberland trees cut down, and livelihoods irrevocably changed.

In a temporarily reverse of fortune, the resort went bankrupt in the 80s due to Marcos’ unstable political regime. The evicted farmers could return to their island and reestablish their lost communities.

Tranquility once again reigned over the island—but, alas, not for long. With Marcos overthrown, SIDECO saw a second chance to amass a fortune. In 1994, the company submitted a billion dollar proposal to turn the island into an exclusive resort, “worthy only of the very rich and/or famous world personalities.” They planned to apply the same modus operandi as before: look for investors, kick out the farmers, and build the resort.

But this was no longer possible. While SIDECO had been busy drafting its new business proposal, Congress had signed into law an agrarian overhaul program known as CARP, obliging landowners to redistribute agricultural land to the tenants. From the approximately 1200 hectares comprising the island, SIDECO, who owned 819, was required by law to make the farmers official beneficiaries of 333 hectares of agricultural land.

Considering this new regulation an unnecessary obstacle, SIDECO decided to ignore it and proceed with its original plans. But the company underestimated the farmers’ strength. Having waited for landownership for decades, the farmers were not going to let this opportunity pass that easily. Under leadership of Amelia, they launched a massive protest against SIDECO’s unlawful actions. They made it clear to the company that they would be unrelentingly in claiming the land to which they were legally entitled.

SIDECO was enraged.  In an attempt to silence Amelia and the farmers, the company trained a private army of 30 “blue guards” and ordered them to intimidate and physically harass the farmers. In addition, SIDECO filed a case for unlawful detainer against Amelia who, as farmer leader, the company considered particularly undesirably. The company also applied to exempt its land from CARP coverage, claiming that rather than agricultural, the land in question should be categorized as touristic.

Upon receiving SIDECO’s application, the Department of Agrarian Reform (DAR) ordered a temporary suspension of the compulsory acquisition of private land.  Just as quickly as the farmers’ newly acquired land rights had come, they were  taken away. The farmers were left in great uncertainty—not only regarding the land, but also regarding their livelihoods. If SIDECO’s request was granted and the land would indeed be exempted from CARP coverage, SIDECO could apply for a tourist permit soon after, making the farmers’ eviction from the island only a matter of time. Meanwhile, harassments continued, doubling the anxiety and insecurity of the already struggling farmers.

Facing a corrupt judicial system— SIDECO had formed a well-known “unholy alliance” with an attorney running for municipal councilor—and an absence of financial and legal resources, the farmers had to resort to their creativity to save their livelihoods from the ruins.

On February 20, 2009, Amelia and 300 other farmers from Sicogon Island set off on a 6-day walking journey to the capital of IloIlo Province. Covering an average of 32 kilometers daily, they walked to highlight governmental failure in stopping the harassments, to request a military presence and reestablish tranquility on the island, and to remove the temporary suspension of CARP.

The walk proved a success. The farmers gained much media attention and reached their minimum objective: the establishment of a military detachment. Months later, the DAR decided that the 333 hectares initially reallocated to the farmers were not exempt from CARP coverage, but that for the remaining 819 hectares belonging to SIDECO exemption was granted.  For the farmers, this order fulfilled their main goal: to be recognized as official beneficiaries of the land they cultivated. It was their first real victory, and, as expressed by Ilorio Cordoba, executive director of Progreso, “probably the first time the farmers have been happy in their life.”

Like Sisyphus, however, just when the farmers thought they had rolled this stone on the hill, it came back down. SIDECO, outraged at the farmers’ victory, doubled the presence of blue guards and intensified harassments, making it impossible for the farmers to cultivate their lands.  By then, the military detachment had long gone. According to Amelia, whose house was destroyed in addition to her land, “marital law under Marcos’ regime was not that bad in comparison to living in the constant presence of the blue guards. With Marcos, there was chaos, but at least we could go to our lands. Now we cannot do anything. We are afraid every day because the guards fire their guns.”

A watchtower built by SIDECO to further constrain the farmers.

Despite the DAR’s order rejecting SIDECO’s exemption request regarding the agricultural land cultivated by the farmers, until this day the farmers of Sicogon have been unable to tend their lands. The blue guards have reaped the benefits of last years’ harvest and, consequently, the farmers have gone out searching for new sources of income to feed their often irresponsibly large families. With rapidly depleting fish stocks as a result of wide-scale commercial fishing, finding new ways to make ends meet has become yet another impossible challenge. Meanwhile, their fertile fields lie idle, unnecessarily wasting away.

Although SIDECO currently seems to have the upper hand in the struggle for land, the disputes have, ironically, led to huge obstacles for the company in setting up its proposed tourist resort—the reason that led to the land disputes in the first place. When hearing about SIDECO’s battles with the farmers, three investors who had already expressed interest in financing the company’s billion dollar project, withdrew their offers.

Unfortunately, the land battles, which are currently preventing SIDECO from materializing its plans, won’t be a strong enough deterrent to keep the tourist resort away from the island indefinitely. When we visited the farmers in July, local authorities had been ordered by SIDECO to map each house in the different barangays and label them 1,2 or 3 according to size and estimated worth. There is speculation that these measures are being taken in preparation of the farmers ‘eviction which SIDECO is in the process of planning.

Since eviction has become an imminent possibility for Sicogon’s farmers, Jae’s WARRIOR class came at a perfect time for Amelia. With the paralegal skills she acquired at Jae’s workshop, Amelia is planning to file a petition against SIDECO if the company continues to prepare the farmers’ eviction. Having participated in the WARRIOR class, Amelia expressed to feel more confident than before, and is convinced she will be more effective in bringing this case to court than she would if she had not attended the workshop. Yet she still has doubts. Living on a remote island that can only be reached by a two hour boat-trip, Amelia is worried she won’t be able to afford transportation costs to go to court.  In addition, she worries about the treatment she and the farmers will receive from the Philippine’s judicial system, more known for its corruption than for its justice.

Regardless of what happens, however, Amelia and the farmers of Sicogon Island are prepared to fight for their livelihoods at all costs: “if they want to kill us, they can kill us. But we are staying right here.”

According to Taufik Basari, chairman of the board of LBH Masyarakat, the Judicial Mafia is”a culture in the judicial process, one that recognizes that money and power can talk. If a person doesn’t have money or power, they believe the process will be longer and more difficult.” Basari is a respected lawyer in Jakarta and a lecturer of human rights philosophy at the University of Indonesia. He says corruption “is in the whole system, from the investigation process, to the trial, to the prisons.” Every Indonesian recognizes the culture and sees it as involving perpetrators from all levels of society, from the lowest of law enforcement officials, to the highest ranks of governmental bodies, a stratification reflected in the name “Judicial Mafia.”

Corruption takes many forms including bribery, blackmail, the fixing of lawsuits, the intimidation of witnesses, and all of the exceptions to regulations that money can buy. Bribery is far too common. “The accused persons can bribe prosecutors to drop a case against them,” or on the other side of the situation, “those who reported a crime can bribe the police to take the investigation more seriously, or bribe judges or court officials to lean a certain way.” Even without money incentives, powerful individuals can use their standing to influence the state, prosecutors, even witnesses to act a certain way. An accused person without resources, money, or the desire to participate in corruption is heavily disadvantaged in the trial process before it even begins.

The problems of the accused aren’t limited to the courtrooms. In order to extend a detained person’s stay in prison in many common law systems, the officer and detainee must appear before a court with a valid request for the extension. Here, Basari explains, the police officer merely needs to write a letter to the judge requesting a stay. This leads to situations where a police officer can extort money out of detainees in exchange for not writing a request of extension to the judge. Likewise, prison corruption has reached a level where money, it is said, can buy a prisoner anything but his freedom. A recent scandal emerged when a prominent businesswoman, Artalyta Suryani, went to prison for attempting to bribe the judiciary. Instead of being treated like other prisoners, Suryani was serving her jail sentence in a luxurious prison cell (if you can call it a cell). At 64 square meters, it was over twelve times bigger than a standard cell of 5 square meters and was equipped with a large bed, flat screen TV, air conditioner and more. By contrast, prison officials force other prisoners, living in squalor, to pay money simply to allow their families to come to visitation sessions that, legally, are free.

Basari believes that the corruption in the system comes from several causes. Sociologically, people understand corruption to be so prevalent that many innocent parties feel they must comply with it in order to stay on an even level. In addition, the professionalism in the law enforcement fields must change. Officers need to be involved in the field out of a sincere belief in fighting for integrity and against crime, not as a job where they can make money by dubious means. Systematically, the state must change the laws in order to close doors that act as opportunities for corruption. This includes situations like the loophole that allows police officers to extort money from detainees in exchange for not extending their stay. Currently, NGOs and the civil society of Jakarta are collaborating with the courts in Jakarta to identify these legal loopholes and close them.

In one of the most famous recent corruption cases, Urip Tri Gunawan, a highly prominent prosecutor famous for being the lead prosecutor in the Bali Bombings trial, received $660,000 US Dollars as bribery money to drop a case. His defense? He claimed he made the money “from the jewelry business.” Whenever cases of outrageous corruption are discovered such as Gunawan or Suryani in her lavish jail cell, the public is united in the vehement disdain. This has led President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono to declare the eradication of corruption as one of his top priorities. He has since formed an “Anti-Judicial Mafia Task Force” of 6 members who are in charge of investigating and reporting on cases of corruption and has been supportive of the independent government organization known as the Corruption Eradication Commission (KPK). The KPK investigates and prosecutes cases of lost state finances valued at over 1 billion Rupiah ($110,000 US). For smaller corruption cases, they pass them onto law enforcement and occasionally watch over cases to their completion. The KPK, being separate from the government, is popular among the public because they are not afraid to go after and clean up the Judicial Mafia.

The Judicial Mafia, corruption so vast that it often seems more of a sentient entity than epidemic problem, has been understandably displeased with the KPK’s prosecutions. In what is allegedly retaliation, the authorities brought a corruption case against two leading officers of the Corruption Eradication Commission, a former police officer named Bibit and an advocate named Chandra. The initial news reaction was staggering: anti-corruption officials who are, themselves, corrupt. Basari, the attorney for the accused officers of the KPK, maintains his clients’ innocence. They were accused of receiving money to drop a prosecution against a wealthy executive. However, evidence now shows that not only is there no record of them ever seeing the money, but also that the man who originally testified that he paid them has changed his statement to say he never gave them the money in the first place. In addition, investigators proved that the supposed police recordings of conversations between the parties never existed. By now, the general public believes that the evidence brought against Bibit and Chandra was fabricated, and that the anti-corruption officers are victims of the corruption they fight, rather than participants. The case had been dismissed due to a lack of evidence, though there is a chance it may still resume.

The fact that the case against KPK appears to be fabricated has restored great faith in the organization, as well as further disdain for the corrupt system. However, Basari believes that there needs to be fundamental changes as well as shifts in public opinion. The culture must change. The law enforcement system operates on the principle of “reward and punishment.” This means that the corrupt officials must be punished for their actions, but also that the clean officers must be rewarded for their integrity. Currently, officers of integrity often feels the system lacks the ability to reward them. Furthermore, the apparatus for recruiting future officers must be more selective and “provide good training and education to encourage a spirit of integrity.”

Systematically, the government is not transparent. A recent study by Transparency International ranked Indonesia, the world’s third largest democracy, 111th in a ranking of national transparency and integrity. The score of 2.6 out of 10 places them in a tie with countries such as Algeria, Egypt, and Mali. (source) “We must reform the law on criminal procedure,” Basari says, “to close doors for opportunities for corruption. We try to learn from other countries’ examples.” Critics of the government maintain that it’s not enough for NGO’s to be vigilant, the higher levels of government must do something in the legal and policy aspects.

The first step in solving any issue is to identify the problem, and for the majority of the 230 million people in Indonesia, this has been done. The name Judicial Mafia carries the ugliest of connotations and has been successful in conveying the size of the issue to the public, and public demands for change have been made. Perhaps it won’t happen quickly, and certainly corruption still plagues the system. However, because the President has appointed a task-force and because independent commissions such as the KPK are revered in the public view for their courage to clean the system, there is hope for brighter days. Hope for days of justice and equality, for even playing fields for citizens of all social status and financial backgrounds, for a culture of reward and punishment to reward integrity and eventually punish corruption to nonexistence.

A Yes rally in Kisumu last month drew a crowd of supporters wearing green to show their approval of the new Constitution.

The new Constitution could represent a shift for the justice system in two ways – first, it would re-organize the structure of the judiciary and the way in which judges are appointed, and second, and more importantly, in the new and much more extensive bill of rights, the rights of the accused and the imprisoned are addressed in a much more detail. In terms of restructuring the judiciary, the new Constitution provides for the establishment of a Supreme Court, which for those already convicted opens up a new avenue for possible future appeals. In terms of the appointment process, the new Constitution provides for the approval of presidential appointments to the judiciary by the National Assembly, placing at least some semblance of a check on the president’s power of appointment. Previous administrations have been accused of giving out government positions as political favors, so with approval from the National Assembly necessary as well as a committee in place to recommend appointments to the president, the appointment process will be much more transparent.

Though this box was spotted at the post office, the new appointment procedures could help curb corruption.

More important than the structure of the judiciary are the provisions in the bill of rights for those accused and those convicted and subsequently detained. For those arrested, some of the most important clauses in section 49 are that they have the right to communicate with an advocate, the right to be held separately from those already convicted, the right to be brought before a court within 24 hours, the right to be released on bond or bail pending a charge or trial unless there are compelling reasons for them to be held, and the right to remain free from remand custody if their offence carries only a fine or a maximum sentence of six months or less. Section fifty continues by elaborating the rights contained under the heading “fair hearing,” which include the right to have adequate time and facilities to prepare a defense, the right to be represented by an advocate, the right to be informed of and to have access to the evidence being used against them, and the right to have the trial begin and end without “unreasonable” delay. Finally, section 51 provides for the rights of the detained, stating that they retain all fundamental rights outlined in the Constitution except those that are incompatible with detainment, that each person has the right to petition for an order of habeas corpus, and that Parliament shall enact legislation providing for “humane treatment of those detained that takes into account relevant international human rights instruments.”

All of these clauses speak to current problems with the Kenyan justice system, particularly those that concern the timeframe within which an accused person should have an initial appearance in court and within which a trial should begin and end. One of the primary problems under the current Constitution is that trials and appeals tend to drag on for very long periods of time for a variety of reasons including the unavailability of witnesses or the lack of proper paperwork. Meanwhile, the accused languishes in remand custody for months or years, time that is sometimes not even taken into consideration during sentencing. Section 51 could be very important in improving prison conditions, addressing the major problem of prison overcrowding in its mandate of humane treatment that comports with international standards.

Peter Daniel Onyango, an attorney with CLEAR (Christian Legal Education Aid and Research) in Kisumu, addresses prisoners at Kibos Prison about what the new Constitution could mean for them. CLEAR was among the recipients of the 2008 JusticeMaker awards.

While the new Constitution could be an important step for the Kenyan justice system, some questions remain and some obvious ambiguities arise. For example, what constitutes “unreasonable delay” under section 50? Parliament may choose to further define the term “unreasonable” in a revised penal code, but it may also leave it undefined and leave the door open for long delays before and during trials. In addition, some implementation problems may arise. If accused persons are not to be held with those serving sentences and overcrowding needs to be relieved, much of the prison system would have to be reorganized and new prisons possibly constructed. These could prove daunting tasks, even with the four year allowance for implementation that the Constitution provides.

Even with these possible pitfalls and ambiguities, the proposed Constitution undoubtedly represents an improvement from the current regime. In restructuring the judiciary, along with other branches, and in providing a much more detailed bill of rights, the new Constitution is at least a step in the direction of much needed reform. Next week, Kenyan voters will determine whether they’re ready for that reform or not.

Mary has been practicing law for less than two years. She has attended two Legal Defense and Human Rights training events hosted by the IBJ Rwanda Program. She has been outspoken in both, never fearing to initiate a debate when judicial expediency is valued over human rights concerns. She has agreed to volunteer with IBJ, and has already taken many cases. It is the dedication of people like Mary that make the work of IBJ possible.

Above: Mary Katushabe - IBJ Rwanda Legal Defender (Photo by Patrick Pratt)

In July, Mary took the case of a young lady, an orphan, who has been accused of infanticide. The young girl, whom we will refer to as Hope, had been taken in by a family after both of her parents died. She fled the household after repeated mistreatment by the adoptive father. After leaving, Hope learned that she was pregnant. She had few people to whom she could turn. Upon approaching the boy whom she claims impregnated her, he denied his involvement in the conception. Prenatal or maternal care for most young girls in such dire situations is widely unavailable in Rwanda. Coupled with poor living conditions and insufficient nutrition, the incidence of miscarriage or premature birth among young girls is high. Young, uneducated, and destitute, Hope had few good options.

To secure a livelihood and stable housing, many young girls in Rwanda undertake domestic work. Hope took employment with another household, yet over time became too weak to perform her duties. She describes the mistreatment she received from the father of the household as worse than she received at her previous residence.

One day, Hope went to the toilet room thinking that she was experiencing digestive pains. As soon as she positioned over the toilet basin, the baby began to come out. Hope claims that when she realized this, she tried to stand up and go outside. In the process, the baby somehow exited and fell into a bucket of water in the toilet room. The baby died, and Hope was arrested shortly thereafter.

The initial charge levied against Hope was abortion. This was later changed to infanticide. Hope has been imprisoned since April, 2008; and made her first court appearance in June, 2010. Mary has taken the case as an IBJ volunteer.

The story of Hope is one of choice and circumstance. She was in one of the most desperate situations in which any young girl can find herself: She has no family, no means, and was then in a situation which would have brought another life into the same circumstances. Hope could depend on no one, and then found herself in the position of having another life dependent upon her. The story of Hope represents the difficult choices people must make and the difficult circumstances with which they must deal.

Above: Mary and her peers at the 2009 IBJ/KBA legal defense training in Kigali. (Photo by Jesse Blaisdell)

Whether the death of the newborn was accidental or intentional, there is no justice as long as Hope is kept behind bars, voiceless, without a trial for two years. Mary is committed to ensuring that people such as Hope are afforded due process under Rwandan Law. And as long as such cases keep justice out of reach of the vulnerable and destitute IBJ will offer its unconditional support to dedicated defenders such as Mary Katushabe.

The discussion was started by Ajay Verma, Fellow of IBJ & Chairman IBJ INDIA by introducing International Bridges to Justice and its works in India. He also focused the  importance of understanding moral responsibility of Lawyers in effective Justice. He also urges the Lawyers of Kotputli to team up to improve the Legal Aid System in Kotputli.

 

Ajay Verma, Advocate Introducing IBJ and Appealing to all to team up to improve the Kotputli’s Legal Aid Work

 

.                         Former President of Kotputli Bar Association Addressing the Participants

Shri V.K. Gaud, Additional Superintendant of Police, Kotputli provided insight to the participants on importance to examine the police witness and urged the need of district investigation centers equipped with the Cameras and Modern facilities for for examination of suspects. This way transparency and allegation of police torture can be reduced.

                                           Shri V.K. Gaud, Additional Superintendent of Police, Kotputli

Mr. V.K. Gupta, ADJ said that because an accused may be a victim, legal aid is necessary for them as well and the common person can also stand for his case but has more emotions and less knowledge of the law so they need the help of a responsible advocate. In addition, it is the duty of an advocate to treat his client properly.

                      Shri V.K. Gupta, Additional District & Sessions Judge, Delhi  Addressing the Participants

                Mr. V.K. Gupta, AD & SJ, Delhi and Shri V.K. Gaud Additional Superintendent  of Police, Kotputli

Shri Sher Singh, Principal of Tagore Law College focusing the Role of Law Students in Legal Aid

Many advocates also spoke on how they felt about the legal system in their Jurisdiction. They suggested that while advocacy is a noble profession, there should be counseling on how to deal with clients. They also encouraged that advocates should push for mediation and compromises in criminal cases instead of jumping right into court. In addition, they said that each advocate should have one legal aid case a month and the legal aid committee should provide facilities for legal aid lawyers so there can be more lawyers doing legal aid work. These advocates said that when they come across a poor person, they do what they can to guide him whether or not he is their client. Participants found the discussion to be helpful and encouraging and requested another panel discussion be held with the Bar Association in the near future. Professor Sher Singh also wants to do a campaign coordinating his students in villages with IBJ India.

                                           Print Media Journalists in the Event

At the end of the sessions it was requested by the Bar Leaders to organize another panel discussion at the court complex. Ajay Verma, Advocate & Fellow IBJ urged and got assurances from the Law college Principal to team up with the Kotputli Bar Association to improve the Criminal Justice System and Legal Aid work in Kotputli. Bar. Law college offered its willingness to conduct legal Aid clinic, Right awareness in Rural area with the supervision of IBJ INDIA and Bar Association. Soon IBJ India would be organizing a right awareness camp in the rural areal of Kotputli.Rajasthan

Blog by Anisha SIngh, IBJ India Intern

Kids participate in rights training exercises/Photo by Jasmine Van Deventer

“Tavisuplebas!” (emphasis on the uplebas), Nino repeated fervidly. Interspersed with slight, spirited eruptions of laughter and bounties of enthused engagement, this lesson brought together five children, who gathered around a table, now overflowing with markers and blank papers, upon which Nino asked them to inscribe their names and record those of their rights that they held most dear.

It is not surprising that throughout the lesson, the word I was most able to discern was “tavisuplebas,” which means freedom. It is a Georgian term I learned just weeks ago at a Tblisi subway station, where the term turns eponymous, marking the name of the city’s most central stop. “Uplebas,” in particular, signifies “rights,” underscoring the importance Georgians ascribe to the protection formal rights guarantee to freedom, both personal and political. Thus, “tavis,” one’s self, equipped with “uplebas,” or “rights,” epitomizes freedom. It constitutes the individual as sacrosanct and inviolable, protected from the abuses that shatter the worlds of those who suffer injustice, in its array of forms.

Photo by Jasmine Van Deventer

Children participate in rights training/Photo by Jasmine Van Deventer

We were at a family-type house in Kutaisi, where Georgian children enduring the most critical of unstable family conditions have begun to find at least a semblance of refuge since 2008, when the central government began to remove them from state-run shelters, infamous for their deplorable conditions. The inauguration of such family-type houses was initially propelled by Georgia’s subscription to the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, which codifies the right of every child to a stable and nurturing home, among myriad other assurances, demanding its signatories to uphold its tenets. Though the government has maintained a role in these homes’ establishment, it seems as though civil society organizations and undertakings such as Nana’s provide the predominant impetus for their maintenance.

Nana discusses how to proceed with the training with her Senior Assistant, Nino Khukhua.

Family-style houses are one of the newer collaborative endeavors incorporating both the federal government and local and international civil society organizations, as the former struggles to repair the pitfalls that compel Georgia to continuously fall far short of the norms and standards to which it has made itself accountable in recent years. Again, this organization serves as a testament to the power of Georgian civil society, which has worked adamantly to fill the voids that have yet to be tenably addressed by official governmental bodies.

The kids’ faces lit up, as their “mother” and “father” observed their vehement participation in the lesson Nino delivered. Nino spoke at length about the rights detailed in the Convention- the right to a good education, to freedom of expression, to the protection of family. It was obvious that Nana had prepared this lesson in detail with Nino. Nino unraveled and posted upon the wall a number of lists, upon which were printed the most elemental rights to which children lay claim. They played a game, assessing the relative importance of each one of the series written before them, and they reflected on the reasons for each of their rights’ significance.

Photo by Jasmine Van Deventer

She scrutinizes a list of children’s rights from up close/Photo by Jasmine Van Deventer

Everyone began participating, and I couldn’t help but sense yet again how vital Nana’s project remains for Georgia. Working with kids who might have even less of a chance of receiving an education in their rights, not to mention detailed accounts of the conditions to which they can legitimately demand access, testifies to the importance of measures that seek to protect them from deleterious situations. Nana’s project cannot and will not just stop with developing a set of coherent understandings regarding juveniles’ rights in pre and post-trial detention. Her work has already begun to incorporate a framework to address the discrepancies that persist between those children who rightfully enjoy circumstances promising them fruitful futures and those who will likely remain at risk if there endures  a lack of tangible interventions that deal substantially with the dire circumstances they have been made to confront.

Senior Assistant of Supporting Juvenile Justice Reforms teaches kids about their rights/Photo by Jasmine Van  Deventer

Nana’s project will undoubtedly prove vital to protecting the rights and thus freedoms of those whose worlds remain at stake due to the inoperativeness of certain facets of government. The frailties of local government, coupled with still infant central institutions, render projects like Nana’s indispensable to society, and especially to its most vulnerable members.