The Incident
A terribly bizarre week, one that seems to mark a turning point in our time in Ghana.
We had a very productive meeting with Nana Aba, who seems open to changing the way things are done with JHR, seems interested in hearing what we have to say and working with it. It’s a switch, one that is very welcome. I finally feel like maybe – now that we’re half-way through – we might be able to actually accomplish some things and get things up so they continue on into the next group. We’re talking about making links with UNHCR and the journalism school, although when we went to the school for a meeting about working with them, none of us was particularly impressed with the director and I left thinking that it may not happen – ever. I am very interested in partnering with the UNHCR, though, especially now that Joanna’s here.
Joanna is JHR’s new researcher, courtesy of Amnesty International. She just spent the past year living in Costa Rica going to the UN Peace University, which is a pretty flaky name, but sounds very impressive. I really like her. She’s very interested and interesting and I think she’ll make an excellent addition to the group. Best of all, she’s up to speed on human rights in a way that we’re not. I’m up to speed on health issues and journalism issues, but human rights is new to me, new to all of us, and we often find ourselves questioning whether there is a particular skill required in human rights reporting or whether it’s just like the same thing you do every day, but with some sensitivity.
On Wednesday night, it started raining buckets and buckets, the kind of rain that comes down so fast and hard, it’s deafening. Anita got caught out in the rain and started running home. About a block and a half from the house, a man called out to her and started running behind her. She yelled back that she was running because she didn’t want to get wet and didn’t have time to talk. He continued to run with her, running faster to catch up. As she turned left to run onto our street, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder. She brushed him off and told him not to touch her, that she had to get home. He continued to follow her. When they got to the driveway she stopped and confronted him. She told him to go away, that she didn’t know him. He kept saying, yes you do. It’s Jerry. I just want to talk to you. Then he grabbed her arm and told her to give him a hug. She looked down and realized his penis was hanging out of his pants and that he was masturbating. She yanked her arm away, told him to fuck off and then called him a few obscenities before running into the house. He just turned around and walked away quickly.
When she got in the house, she was breathless, but okay. She said she never really felt like he was going to harm her, she just felt violated by what he was doing and how he wouldn’t leave her alone.
After much discussion, she decided to take it to the police. We were all divided on what she should do. Some were in favour of going to the police. Some were in favour of going to his family and confronting him. I was in favour of having our landlord, the gun-toting, pot-farming Uncle D, go over and scare the bejeesus out of him. Anita, in a very mature manner, decided that because we’re a human rights organization committed to doing the right thing, she would take it to WAJU, the women’s and juvenile unit of the Ghanaian police, who are tasked with protecting women from physical and sexual violence.
First, she and Tony, the guy who acts as security at our place, tracked Jerry down to make sure Anita had the right guy. Then she went to WAJU and filled out a report. It was a pretty disappointing experience overall. She said the woman who made the report that all cops see neglected to put in the report that his penis was hanging out and he was masturbating. In her own report, which went to the investigating officer, Anita made sure to mention that. The woman said she didn’t consider this case to be very serious, which Anita was prepared for, but she still found it a bit insensitive.
The cops told her they couldn’t go and arrest the guy right then, but if Anita saw him again, she should phone and they would come around and pick him up. She and Tony devoted themselves to it for two days, which was the length of time it took the cops to come out. The first time they phoned the guy said he was heading out of town, but would be back the following morning. When she phoned the next morning, he said he couldn’t come because he had to punch in at work and didn’t have the cab fare to make it all the way out to Osu. That afternoon they called again and two plain-clothes detectives arrived and arrested him at the bar around the corner. The entire community seemed to be there. They put him in the back of a cab, then asked Anita to hop in and pay the fare. She was a bit shocked, but figured that was the only way they were going to get him. They all went down to the Osu police station, where three of his “brothers” appeared. They all went into a room together where Jerry was questioned. They asked if he knew Anita and he said yes, this is Anita. They asked how we knew her and he told them that he had once followed her home until she got angry. Then they asked when was the last time he’d seen her and he proceeded to repeat the story virtually word-for-word, until he got to the last bit, which he left out. Anita said to him: Jerry, I think you’re forgetting something important. He said, oh yes, after she left, I took out my penis and started to urinate. She said, nice try, but I think you were actually masturbating, weren’t you? And he said, Oh yes. Now that he thought about it, he was still holding onto her arm when he took his penis out and that, maybe he had been aroused.
The cops turned to Anita and told her it was up to her to decide whether he spent the rest of his life in jail. Anita was totally bewildered. She said that it’s the courts decision, that it’s the cops decision, that it’s anyone’s decision beyond her own. Her only decision is whether to press charges and she’d already made that decision – especially after hearing around the community that Jerry does this often. Anyway, she broke down in tears and explained to the cops, to Jerry and his family that she was upset and hurt by what he had done, that she wanted to do the right thing, that she wanted him to be punished, but she also wanted him to be helped. In the end, the cops agreed he could spend the weekend in jail and see a judge on Monday.
In front of Anita, the brothers asked how much they would have to pay the police in order to get their brother released. Anita spoke up and said no one is bribing their way out of this situation, which made the police look sheepish. When it was all over, Tony turned to Anita and said, okay, now you give something small-small to the police. She was like, what? And he said, they helped you today, so you give them something small. The cops were standing right there waiting. So Anita gave them a lecture on how victims shouldn’t have to pay to receive justice, that that’s why Ghana is plagued by vigilante justice, that this kind of bribery and paying small costs like cab fare is why poor women don’t get any help when they’re hurt or abused. They told her they were sorry, but she’s now worried that the next time we need help from the police they won’t be so willing.
Anita came home and flaked out for a while and then went to the Internet café. While she was gone, the brothers dropped by for a visit, which made us all very nervous. We finally brought Uncle D into things, and he came by and impressed us all. He said that if what happened was true – and was surprised to hear that the guy had confessed – that he should go to jail. He said this is what’s wrong with Ghana, that young men think they can get away with things like that and no one ever tells them it’s wrong. Women can’t get ahead in a culture like that, he said, and who wants leaders who act like that? He also told us not to worry about the brothers or anyone else harming us. “No one can fuck with you here,” he said. “If anyone comes here and makes noise, I’ll go out and blast them.”
Anita still has a lot on her mind. She has to figure out what she wants to do, where she wants to see this guy end up. The news editor from Metro, who was at our house on Saturday when Uncle D came by, said men accused of sexual crimes don’t get bail, so most of them spend years and years in prison waiting for their case to go to trial. Ghanaian prisons are rumoured to be terrible, terrible places, overcrowded and poorly funded. There’s no food, in fact, the family is responsible for feeding the inmate. And if you want anything done – kind treatment, even – you have to pay and pay and pay. I felt like maybe a weekend behind bars would be enough. Anita is adamant that he get mental help, but no one is sure how available that is in Ghana.
This morning a few community members were back talking to Uncle D, hoping to convince him to drop the case and let the community take care of him. Anita and I talked about it and we both agreed that the community has done a terrible job so far of keeping him away from women – he’s done this to four other women, including an American woman heading home from the embassy – and they seem to think that it’s not big deal, it’s not like he raped her or dragged her into a corner to show her his penis. We’ve all said that Ghana’s true chauvinism is starting to rear its ugly head – we’ve all been told not to go anywhere without an escort or a man, all while the men talk about how it’s perfectly safe for them to roam the streets. It’s infuriating to think we have to be home by 6:30 p.m. and can’t go out unless someone is willing to go with us. But that’s our new reality.
We had a very productive meeting with Nana Aba, who seems open to changing the way things are done with JHR, seems interested in hearing what we have to say and working with it. It’s a switch, one that is very welcome. I finally feel like maybe – now that we’re half-way through – we might be able to actually accomplish some things and get things up so they continue on into the next group. We’re talking about making links with UNHCR and the journalism school, although when we went to the school for a meeting about working with them, none of us was particularly impressed with the director and I left thinking that it may not happen – ever. I am very interested in partnering with the UNHCR, though, especially now that Joanna’s here.
Joanna is JHR’s new researcher, courtesy of Amnesty International. She just spent the past year living in Costa Rica going to the UN Peace University, which is a pretty flaky name, but sounds very impressive. I really like her. She’s very interested and interesting and I think she’ll make an excellent addition to the group. Best of all, she’s up to speed on human rights in a way that we’re not. I’m up to speed on health issues and journalism issues, but human rights is new to me, new to all of us, and we often find ourselves questioning whether there is a particular skill required in human rights reporting or whether it’s just like the same thing you do every day, but with some sensitivity.
On Wednesday night, it started raining buckets and buckets, the kind of rain that comes down so fast and hard, it’s deafening. Anita got caught out in the rain and started running home. About a block and a half from the house, a man called out to her and started running behind her. She yelled back that she was running because she didn’t want to get wet and didn’t have time to talk. He continued to run with her, running faster to catch up. As she turned left to run onto our street, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder. She brushed him off and told him not to touch her, that she had to get home. He continued to follow her. When they got to the driveway she stopped and confronted him. She told him to go away, that she didn’t know him. He kept saying, yes you do. It’s Jerry. I just want to talk to you. Then he grabbed her arm and told her to give him a hug. She looked down and realized his penis was hanging out of his pants and that he was masturbating. She yanked her arm away, told him to fuck off and then called him a few obscenities before running into the house. He just turned around and walked away quickly.
When she got in the house, she was breathless, but okay. She said she never really felt like he was going to harm her, she just felt violated by what he was doing and how he wouldn’t leave her alone.
After much discussion, she decided to take it to the police. We were all divided on what she should do. Some were in favour of going to the police. Some were in favour of going to his family and confronting him. I was in favour of having our landlord, the gun-toting, pot-farming Uncle D, go over and scare the bejeesus out of him. Anita, in a very mature manner, decided that because we’re a human rights organization committed to doing the right thing, she would take it to WAJU, the women’s and juvenile unit of the Ghanaian police, who are tasked with protecting women from physical and sexual violence.
First, she and Tony, the guy who acts as security at our place, tracked Jerry down to make sure Anita had the right guy. Then she went to WAJU and filled out a report. It was a pretty disappointing experience overall. She said the woman who made the report that all cops see neglected to put in the report that his penis was hanging out and he was masturbating. In her own report, which went to the investigating officer, Anita made sure to mention that. The woman said she didn’t consider this case to be very serious, which Anita was prepared for, but she still found it a bit insensitive.
The cops told her they couldn’t go and arrest the guy right then, but if Anita saw him again, she should phone and they would come around and pick him up. She and Tony devoted themselves to it for two days, which was the length of time it took the cops to come out. The first time they phoned the guy said he was heading out of town, but would be back the following morning. When she phoned the next morning, he said he couldn’t come because he had to punch in at work and didn’t have the cab fare to make it all the way out to Osu. That afternoon they called again and two plain-clothes detectives arrived and arrested him at the bar around the corner. The entire community seemed to be there. They put him in the back of a cab, then asked Anita to hop in and pay the fare. She was a bit shocked, but figured that was the only way they were going to get him. They all went down to the Osu police station, where three of his “brothers” appeared. They all went into a room together where Jerry was questioned. They asked if he knew Anita and he said yes, this is Anita. They asked how we knew her and he told them that he had once followed her home until she got angry. Then they asked when was the last time he’d seen her and he proceeded to repeat the story virtually word-for-word, until he got to the last bit, which he left out. Anita said to him: Jerry, I think you’re forgetting something important. He said, oh yes, after she left, I took out my penis and started to urinate. She said, nice try, but I think you were actually masturbating, weren’t you? And he said, Oh yes. Now that he thought about it, he was still holding onto her arm when he took his penis out and that, maybe he had been aroused.
The cops turned to Anita and told her it was up to her to decide whether he spent the rest of his life in jail. Anita was totally bewildered. She said that it’s the courts decision, that it’s the cops decision, that it’s anyone’s decision beyond her own. Her only decision is whether to press charges and she’d already made that decision – especially after hearing around the community that Jerry does this often. Anyway, she broke down in tears and explained to the cops, to Jerry and his family that she was upset and hurt by what he had done, that she wanted to do the right thing, that she wanted him to be punished, but she also wanted him to be helped. In the end, the cops agreed he could spend the weekend in jail and see a judge on Monday.
In front of Anita, the brothers asked how much they would have to pay the police in order to get their brother released. Anita spoke up and said no one is bribing their way out of this situation, which made the police look sheepish. When it was all over, Tony turned to Anita and said, okay, now you give something small-small to the police. She was like, what? And he said, they helped you today, so you give them something small. The cops were standing right there waiting. So Anita gave them a lecture on how victims shouldn’t have to pay to receive justice, that that’s why Ghana is plagued by vigilante justice, that this kind of bribery and paying small costs like cab fare is why poor women don’t get any help when they’re hurt or abused. They told her they were sorry, but she’s now worried that the next time we need help from the police they won’t be so willing.
Anita came home and flaked out for a while and then went to the Internet café. While she was gone, the brothers dropped by for a visit, which made us all very nervous. We finally brought Uncle D into things, and he came by and impressed us all. He said that if what happened was true – and was surprised to hear that the guy had confessed – that he should go to jail. He said this is what’s wrong with Ghana, that young men think they can get away with things like that and no one ever tells them it’s wrong. Women can’t get ahead in a culture like that, he said, and who wants leaders who act like that? He also told us not to worry about the brothers or anyone else harming us. “No one can fuck with you here,” he said. “If anyone comes here and makes noise, I’ll go out and blast them.”
Anita still has a lot on her mind. She has to figure out what she wants to do, where she wants to see this guy end up. The news editor from Metro, who was at our house on Saturday when Uncle D came by, said men accused of sexual crimes don’t get bail, so most of them spend years and years in prison waiting for their case to go to trial. Ghanaian prisons are rumoured to be terrible, terrible places, overcrowded and poorly funded. There’s no food, in fact, the family is responsible for feeding the inmate. And if you want anything done – kind treatment, even – you have to pay and pay and pay. I felt like maybe a weekend behind bars would be enough. Anita is adamant that he get mental help, but no one is sure how available that is in Ghana.
This morning a few community members were back talking to Uncle D, hoping to convince him to drop the case and let the community take care of him. Anita and I talked about it and we both agreed that the community has done a terrible job so far of keeping him away from women – he’s done this to four other women, including an American woman heading home from the embassy – and they seem to think that it’s not big deal, it’s not like he raped her or dragged her into a corner to show her his penis. We’ve all said that Ghana’s true chauvinism is starting to rear its ugly head – we’ve all been told not to go anywhere without an escort or a man, all while the men talk about how it’s perfectly safe for them to roam the streets. It’s infuriating to think we have to be home by 6:30 p.m. and can’t go out unless someone is willing to go with us. But that’s our new reality.
posted by Palmer in Africa at 6:32 AM
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