Above: Two security guards escort a prisoner to his trial at Forum, the civil and criminal courthouse in Divinopolis, Brazil. He is accompanied by Alessandro Garcia Silva (last photo, second left), a criminal prosecutor at Forum. Prisoners at Forum usually come from Presidio Floramar, an adult prison depicted here. (Photos by Michelle Ferng) 

“There are no romantic crimes anymore, no more crimes of passion. Crime is now about drugs.”

Lawyer Antonio Ailton Rosa explained the changes taking place related to crime in Brazil.

“Over the past two months there has been a crime wave,” he nodded, which has resulted “in more homicides at this point than all of last year.” According to his knowledge, “all this new crime is related to drugs.” Ms. Cecilia Neves Silveira, IBJ’s in-country contact, showed us a book of Brazil’s criminal code at Antonio’s office that defines 24 ways to be a drug dealer. Drug trafficking is not actually a ‘permanent crime,’ such as kidnapping where a criminal is committing an on-going offense that permits police officers to search a house whenever they choose. Under Brazilian law, arrests for non-permanent crimes can only be made during daylight hours with a warrant from a judge.  However, Antonio taught us that the police behave as if drug trafficking was a ‘permanent crime’ and they invade houses in the middle of the night without judicial permission.

“This behavior,” he told us, “results in many innocents being arrested.”

What is most interesting to Antonio, amidst all this crime, is “witnessing the beginnings of a criminal mind.”

To explain what he meant, Antonio told us the story of a truck driver for CEASA, a fruit distributor. This man had been married. His wife left him. He came to Divinopolis to find her but instead found another woman addicted to drugs. He fell in love. Sold his truck. Bought drugs and became a dealer. Then, the woman left him for a man who recently got out of jail. When the other man got out of prison he found out about the former fruit truck driver who had since taken over his territory. Killed the truck driver. Now, the fruit truck driver’s son is accused of killing 13 other king pins in the area.

Switching gears, Antonio also explained the factors that make his job as a lawyer in Brazil difficult. First, he noted

“judges do not concede provisional measures.” What this means is that when a person asks for habeas corpus, for example, they are under Brazilian law supposed to be granted habeas corpus immediately. However, there are many cases where an accused man serves out his penalty before even being tried.

Antonio lamented the population doesn’t have the first idea on where they can go for more information regarding their legal rights such as habeas corpus. 2008 JusticeMaker Dr. Aziz Saliba is currently creating an educational DVD meant for the general public to instruct any individual how to write a habeas corpus and avoid illegal imprisonment in Brazil’s already overcrowded jails. Antonio noted that Aziz’s project was important and was sad to say that,

“stories I used to hear about a man writing his habeas corpus in blood and being released are Cinderella stories, they just don’t happen.”

He continued speaking about his desire to see “courses that teach judges about the problems lawyers have, to teach police about the problems judges have” and for all professions related to the justice system to be better integrated. Particularly, Antonio pointed out the problems of SETARIN, a database for arrest warrants that stops working after 5pm and is supposed to be integrating the justice centers of urban centers in and around Divinopolis. In addition to this problem Antonio noted that the Forum, a civil and criminal court here in Divinopolis, is only open from 12-5pm with all the lawyers and judges taking coffee breaks together in between.

Antonio looked to the future wishing for more “external judicial controls” such as a stronger Conselho Nacional de Justiça, which is a state organ to audit police and judiciary action. In the meantime, he is dealing with a crime wave and a slowdown in the economy which he said is often correlated with higher instances of sexual crime.

At the end of the day, Antonio puts his faith in family. He emphasized the fact that families teach children their morals and this has the biggest impact on limiting the potential for criminal behavior. In his opinion, the community must have common stories and myths to reinforce those morals.

“Decadence is related to a lack of myths,” he concluded. He held his head high and smiled, looking as if dignity itself were a myth worth posturing for.

– Bembem

(Photo by Michelle Ferng)

The police officers were too preoccupied with the dogs. They did not find the drugs. Bembem was allowed to walk out of the house with his life. Bembem is an older man who has been incarcerated so many times he lost count. He told his story of growing up in Brazil’s prison system:

“It doesn’t matter if you are in prison for one day, one week or one month, you are there one moment and you are part of the system for life.

Bembem was first arrested at age ten. His story began with his father leaving him in the trash at 6 months. Years later, he watched the same man beat his mother to death in front of him. His father sold everything in his house for drugs and alcohol. His daughter, who had frequented prisons to visit friends, was shot four times in the face in São Paulo.

Bembem described the prison environment by saying

“Rape in the cells is a big problem. Back in the military regime drugs were not a big problem. Now, do you know why more than 50% return to prison after their first offense? It is drugs. They can’t get drugs as good as they can in jail.”

For those looking for an introduction to the drug problem in Brazil’s jails, Ms. Cecilia Neves Silveira, IBJ’s in-country contact, recommended the popular film Carandiru which tells the story of drugs, sex and prisoner revolts in Brazil’s most infamous jail.

Bembem noted that young kids in the prisons come from a culture where “they kill at will.” He continued,  “Violence is scandalous. The kids come out of jail and must kill 3 in the street or be killed.”

Bembem revealed that in the jails he had to deal with sexual abuse from the other prisoners and the guards during the military regime. The guards could do anything they wanted. They were the law. Now only people who disrespect someone’s honor, or commit crimes against women and children are violated by the other prisoners.

In prison cleaning the jail cells was a daily chore. But Bembem noted,

“For some reason I never had to clean. People respected me. Wherever I walked in that prison I was respected. To this day I still don’t know why.”

Bembem now lives in Divinopolis and described his community as “very emotional. We are very attached to other people. We are very loyal.”

He now works a steady job training dogs in middle class neighborhoods. He thanks God for music saying “music was my redemption, if music didn’t enter my life I would have put a bullet in my head.”

Bembem left us with these words to describe how he felt about his community and his life:

“I hate the disloyal (…). I am a man with a heart, I don’t have time for this…You won’t understand. You’ll stay this way and never know my people. I know both sides of this city and I prefer them, my people on the street.”

(Photo by Michelle Ferng)

Above: Street scenes in Sao Paulo, Brazil, depicting the various ways in which those struggling at the margins of society cope with their realities. Sao Paulo, one of the densely populated cities in the world, suffers from high poverty and unemployment rates, registering 12,000 homeless in 2008 according to census data.

“Brazil is a country of contradictions…If I have any advice for an organization that is about to expand into legal advocacy in Brazil it would be to talk. Talk a lot. You might think you understand Brazil but this is not easy.” — Roberto Tardelli

Last week, we visited Roberto Tardelli, a prominent prosecutor for homicides in Brazil at the First Jury Tribunal of São Paulo. Tardelli spoke about the difficulty of trying to explain legal rights, such as habeas corpus, to people who have no sense of rights at all. His comments explained the context behind the enormous challenges facing 2008 JusticeMaker Dr. Aziz Saliba and his project to educate the public about their rights to habeas corpus.

Tardelli noted that difficulties of legal advocacy in Brazil are related to the fact that “there are many different realities in our country.” For example, “there are groups in Brazilian society that believe they are still slaves.” These groups continue to avoid eating red mangoes and milk because they believe this causes death — a myth created centuries ago by slave owners who were protective of their fruit and dairy. These myths are related to a culture leftover from the military regimes, Tardelli interjected. Most prosecutors the IBJ team has spoken with in Brazil agree the legacy of the military regime is a major cause for the gaps they face in the fair application of Brazil’s legal code.

Other communities on the margins of society believe Brazil is currently under a military dictatorship because of the frequent harassment and illegal imprisonment they experience when dealing with the military police.  These ‘different realities’ have important consequences for how ordinary citizens view their legal rights. Tardelli gave an example;

“I go to see soccer games with my friends, many of whom are of African descent. Last time we went to a game together I said to them why do you carry all of your I.D. cards? They  respond ‘Because of the military regime. They stop us in the street. They arrest us. They ask for our I.D. and say this is not enough’”

Dr. Aziz Saliba faces a tough challenge in educating people who have very different views of Brazil’s legal system. However, before Tardelli would discuss themes or trends in Brazil’s legal system he noted that poverty, population pressures, and overcrowded jails must first be understood.

“Millions live below $2/day. How can you think about the future living like this. When you have no future you have no responsibility. When you have no responsibility what is a crime to you?”

Tardelli spoke about Alphaville, a community of elite in Brazil that do not believe that the majority of Brazilians are not white or that millions live in poverty. To help us understand how this is possible Tardelli said,

“When the Pope visited the favelas of Brazil the insane, suspected criminals and the diseased were rounded up, arrested, shot or shuffled to other locations so that the conditions of the favelas did not appear so bad.” Tardelli explained that during the Holy See’s visit, favelas like City of God, in a sense, became inhabited by God alone. He concluded,

“If different segments of Brazilian society cannot see eye to eye then they will not share the same vocabulary to resolve their differences. And so, the only language left is the language of violence.”

The next day after Tardelli’s interiew, Ms. Neves gave us a tour of the Pinapoteca museum which was hosting a special display on repression and activism in Brazil’s history. Outside the museum we saw a man being arrested by five police officers. His clothes lay on the ground. Crowds kicked his jeans and t-shirt down the street creating an illusion of the same man crawling away from the scene on his knees. Afterwards, Ms. Neves walked with me and tried to help me understand the contradictions of Brazil’s legal system. We passed a high end shoe store. In the same neighborhood we passed by a leper colony. Tardelli’s word’s came to mind: “Brazil is a country of contradictions,” but it is also a country with a lot of opportunity. As Tardelli said, “Latinos know this tradition of contradictions, of different realities, we can understand what this means for our future,” as he encouraged others to do the same.

Peter Otieno Asienyo speaks at his family home in Kanyapir, Kenya – Photos by Ian MacLellan

On Tuesday, CLEAR staff visited Kanyapir, a rural settlement outside of Oyugis town. Staff interviewed Peter Otieno Asienyo, one of many Kenyans displaced by the post election violence of December last year. Asienyo described the politics of the election, the violence which followed, and the situation of IDP’s – internally displaced persons.

An estimated 350,000 people are said to have been displaced and 1,200 were killed in the violence which broke out in response to the announcement of election results which named Mwai Kibaki president. Provisions set aside by the government to support and compensate those who lost their homes and livelihoods in the post-election period have not been adequately distributed. Over a year later, many Kenyans continue to languish as the effects of the violence remain unresolved.

Remains of a building destroyed during the post-election period located outside Kisumu, Kenya 

Interview with IDP- Peter Otieno Asienyo, Kanyapir – July 07, 2009. Edited by Humera Jabir.

Where were you located at the time of the election?

I was in Naivasha during the post election violence. I went to Navaisha in February 1988. I was blessed to find a job and was able to start my own business. I used to provide scrap metals and construction building materials. I was also the chief campaigner officer for the party supporting ODM (Orange Democratic Party led by Raila Odinga) in Naivasha. Before the election, I was at our party base in Salama. I was then moved to government barracks. I was safe there, but blood is thicker then water and I needed to look for my children.

How did the violence unfold in Naivasha?

On the 27th of December, I was in Navaisha town. It was the day people started to cut off people’s necks. They were looking for Raila’s strong supporters. At around 10 PM, thirty people came to my house with pangas (machetes) and told us to lie down. I ran to save my life. I went to the house of a counselor and contacted a Major to take us to the prison camp. I traced my children and they were safe at school. One of my friends, a white man, went to the school and brought my son. My daughter remained safe at school.

I went to a prison camp at Navaisha where we were safe for a few days. We suffered a lot there. We didn’t have water. For 3 days we did not eat, drink, we could not do anything. There were a lot of people, 8-10 thousands staying at that prison camp. I have many friends that were killed. They were walking in the town and a group came and stabbed them using pangas.

Did you try to return to your home?

We went back to our homes later with prison wardens and found that everything was stolen and burnt.  I had a bicycle, a gas cooker, two sofas, a Sony radio, and a TV. My house, plot, everything was lost.  From my earnings, I bought two plots of land at 340,000 KSH in 1998. They burned everything, I have nothing now. I lost all my belongings.

Where did you go for help?

Sony Sugar, who are very good company and very good Samaritans, sent a lorry to Navaisha going back to Kisumu stadium. It was a difficult journey. There were 70 to 80 of us in the lorry. It rained heavily for most of the journey and our lorry did not have a canvass. But we were safe; we had a police officer in the lorry who escorted us.

We got home by the blessing of good Samaritans who gave us food and tea, and helped us to collect some money. We didn’t have a single cent. Those people collected us and helped us to reach home.

What assistance did you receive from the government?

I was told that I would be given 10,000 KSH in compensation but I never did. We didn’t even receive any food from the government, all the food that was brought was given to family and friends of the chief and counselors. The only food we received was from the Kenyan Red Cross, we got food from them once. I know that there was money set aside for IDP’s but the chiefs and counselors were writing the names of their relatives and friends, and the true IDP’s did not get this money.

I am an IDP, I owned land in Navaisha. We gave our report, and were promised that we would be assisted by the government with some cash and property. We never saw those things, never. I am feeling very bad because before I was not begging, but now I am begging. Before I didn’t sleep without food, and now I am sleeping without food. My children never went to a public school but now we can not afford school fees. I am feeling very bad about the government.

What action do you want the government to take now?

I want so many things. First, my property, my plots. Second, benefits for all that we have suffered. Third, I want a job – any job. I can never go back to work in Navaisha. When I think of going there it seems like I am looking into the darkness, my friends, most of them were killed.

I want the people who perpetuated the violence to be taken to The Hague. They are responsible for the death of innocent people. Kibaki himself should be taken to The Hague. I can’t take them to court because I don’t have the money. Court is money. Those who have money in court can do anything. But we did not get what we were promised, and we are still going to try.

]]> http://www.ibj.org/2009/07/barrister-shahida-jamil-guides-tour-of-judicial-complex-and-jail/ Tue, 07 Jul 2009 08:15:48 +0000 http://www.ibj.org/wp_main/2009/07/07/barrister-shahida-jamil-guides-tour-of-judicial-complex-and-jail/ Tahir arranged an appointment for us to meet with Shahida Jamil, a well-respected lady barrister who (among several other current titles) was the former Federal Minister for Law, Justice and Human Rights in Pakistan.  Ms. Jamil would give us a tour of the “judicial complex” near the jail I’d visited the day before.The judicial complex is a small courthouse that Ms. Jamil donated as part of her own project to improve the justice process.  On the way there, she explained to me that she’d established this courthouse to help with the back-log of cases.  It was a small and somewhat temporary establishment (minimal computers, incomplete roofing design) that would work as a pilot project.  She selected the location near the jail because a huge reason for the backlog of cases, according to Ms. Jamil, is due to the expense of transporting the prisoners from the jail to the courthouse in the center of town. If successful, the government would hopefully throw its own funds into it and make it a larger complete establishment.  Unfortunately, the courthouse is not currently running ideally, and it has many problems.  Ms. Jamil and the LRF team, however, see hope.

Ms. Jamil wears an all white embroidered linen skirt and shirt set, her hair neatly arranged into a thick netted bun-like display, and a white matching scarf drapes and flows all over the place.  She gets out of the car with pride and faces the sign at the entrance: “FOUNDATION STONE LAID BY SHAHIDA JAMIL.” Tahir and I get out of the car, and Safi and Seema (two other LRF members) join as we walk through.  Ms. Jamil is greeted with respect and interest.  As we continue, Ms. Jamil points to a gate on the wall separating the courtroom grounds from the jail yards.  “The prisoners can enter through there, directly, without more than a 500 meter travel distance from the jail.” We follow her to the side yard of the courthouse, which was meant to be a visitation area.  She said the gates never held, and after some testing and investigation, large amounts of ammonia in the dirt hinted that the sewage from the entire jail had been backing up and released right in that yard.  It was supposed to make the connection to the city’s main sewage lines but plumbing problems prevailed.  I imagine that was the start of the problem: the initial costs suddenly got too high which deterred government efforts in the area.  Ms. Jamil said with some dedicated effort by attorneys and cooperation from the government, the sewage problem could be fixed and give way to a helpful establishment.

Barrister Shahida Jamil, IBJ intern and LRF members stand at the entrance to the judicial complex as Ms. Jamil explains the greenery is a result of a sewage back-up.

We then visit the women’s jail next door.  Ms. Jamil is to my side telling me that the sewage back-up has led to rats in the women’s prison “attacking the babies that reside with the women.”  Ms. Jamil’s tone is strictly business each time she opens her mouth.  I don’t know how much of a problem the rats actually are – It’s hard to imagine a rat the size of her arm (which she gestures to me is the size of them) in a place that looks so serene.

We head to the juvenile prison.  Classes are in session, and we visit a whole row of them.  Each time we enter a room, the group of boys stands and greets us in unison.  The superintendent follows us around, while Ms. Jamil goes and looks at the kids’ assignments and asks a few question.  Tahir a couple times steps forward with pride and announces, “Who doesn’t have a lawyer?!” and then hands several kids each a business card.

As Ms. Jamil continues to oversee the classes, Seema (LRF member) comes to me with a mischievous secrecy and says, “You know, we are checking, and each of the students only has one assignment in his book.  There was no work from any time before today.  They just set up the classes for when we are coming.  They got the kids in there and the teachers came, but they really don’t have classes going on regularly.”  Hopefully this is a sign that the officials understand the importance of education in the lives of youthful offenders, particularly while in custody.  Ms. Jamil and the LRF team certainly have their hands full, but they seem to have the sprit to make things happen.

Barrister Jamil, LRF members and juvenile jail superintendent say farewell after the jail visit.

Above: Female prisoners work with donated library resources at the at Floramar Prison. (Photo by Michelle Ferng)

Paul Aussaresses was born in Saint-Paul-Cap-de-Joux of Tarn. In the prison libraries of Floramar, Brazilian prisoners may read his biography beginning with the Free French Forces, his role as the main executioner for Jaques Massu in the Battle of Algiers, and end with his legacy of death squads in Brazil that suspended the right to Habeus Corpus, also known as “The Great Writ.”

Aussaresses’ legacy continues to influence what Prosecutor Alessandro Garcia Silva calls a Brazilian culture that “perceives prisoners as enemies of the State.” Encouraging this culture was integral to Aussaresses’ program that normalized the suspension of rights such as Habeus Corpus in Brazil.  Habeus Corpus is a legal action that allows a person to seek relief from unlawful detention of themselves or another person. Habeus Corpus was suspended under the military dictatorships, especially under Aussaresses, and was not re-instated until 1978 under General Geisal.

Captain Eduardo, Director of Security at Presidio Floramar, a prison for adult offenders, said that prisoners in their libraries read Ausseresses’ biography which continues to influence their circumstances with the cynicism that because of him they have little influence over their own history. And so prisoners enlist in art class, they tell stories, they write fictions that narrate their own circumstances.

Prosecutor Alessandro Garcia Silva noted there is a lack of political will to improve conditions in the prisons. The art classes continue.

Prisoners tell the same fictions as before with the same re-used material until in Bairro Niteroi, or in Rio, a man so influenced by Aussaresses has begun an autobiography as if he was Aussaresses. According to General Manuel Contreras, Aussaresses maintains close links with the Brazilian military though he has been stripped of his Légion d´honneur and lost much credibility and respect in the international community. Aussaresses’ story is not too disimillar from that of the lost characters in Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s novel, Autumn of the Patriarch, a story described in the author´s words as “a poem on the solitude of power.” For those in prison who read Ausseresses they might understand solitude, though they know no poetry, only the deficits of power.

Informing the public about their rights to Habeus Corpus is especially important as Brazil is just beginning to officially recognize human rights violations. Republic Presidency Special Commission of Human Rights released in 2007 a groundbreaking work entitled ‘The Right to Truth and Memory.’ As one of International Bridges to Justice’s 2008 JusticeMakers Fellows, Dr. Aziz Saliba will soon begin production of a DVD that educates Brazilians about their right to Habeus Corpus. Michelle and I have only spent two days in Brazil but have already seen so much and are excited to begin working with Aziz on his project.

Part One:

Part Two:

Part Three: