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A Few Words on the Tekaia’torehthà:ke Kaianerenhsera (Akwesasne Court Law) to Commemorate the “Birthday” of the Akwesasne Mohawk Court

2016 Philpott AmeliaBy Amelia Philpott

Over the past months of my placement with the Mohawk Council of Akwesasne Justice Department, there have been some exciting legislative developments in the community. In June a referendum was held on the Akwesasne Oién:kwa Kaianerénhsera (Akwesasne Tobacco Law) regulating the manufacturing and distribution of tobacco on the territory,[1]  and this month the community’s Tekaiatorehthà:ke Kaianerenhsera (Akwesasne Court Law) came into force.

The cover page of the Akwesasne Court Law. This is a picture of the crumpled paper copy I carried around with me all summer. A full (less crumpled) version is available on the Akwesasne Law Registry (link at the bottom of the blog post).

The cover page of the Akwesasne Court Law. This is a picture of the crumpled paper copy I carried around with me all summer. A full (less crumpled) version is available on the Akwesasne Law Registry (link at the bottom of the blog post).

I have decided to focus this blog post to the latter. The Akwesasne Court Law coming into force is an event worthy of celebration not only for the Mohawks of Akwesasne, but also for First Nations across Canada, because it marks  the “birthday”[2] of the first ever independent court established by a First Nation.

Background

The Mohawks of Akwesasne have been administering their own justice since well before Jacques Cartier first arrived on Mohawk territory in 1535.[3] As members of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, The Mohawks were united with the Cayuga, Onondaga, Oneida, Seneca, and later the Tuscarora, under the Kaianerekowa (Great Law of Peace); bringing together the previously warring nations. This law enforced the matrilineal clan system across the Confederacy, based on hereditary leadership.[4]

With Canadian Confederation, however, came a number of obstacles preventing the community from being able to effectively exercise their traditional Haudenosaunee government. Section 91(24) of the Constitution Act 1867 assigning “Indians and Lands Reserved for Indians”[5] to federal jurisdiction was used to justify a number of assimilative policies which had, and continue to have, severe repercussions for all First Nation communities, including Akwesasne.

In Akwesasne, elections were imposed by the Canadian government in 1899 in an attempt to disempower the traditional Mohawk council of chiefs.[6] This imposition, along with the larger assimilative scheme of the Canadian government, ultimately prevented the community from being able to administer their own traditional justice effectively.

Perhaps the greatest obstacle Akwesasne faced in this regard was the drawing of a Canadian-American international border squarely through their territory, and the further quartering of their land into the Canadian provinces of Ontario and Quebec. These borders alone have made it virtually impossible for the community to administer one cohesive justice system, since the Mohawk Territory of Akwesasne, and the larger Haudenesaunee Confederacy, now have to contend with multiple imposed colonial jurisdictions.

The Akwesasne Mohawk Court

Despite efforts to dispossess the Mohawks of their traditional institutions, the community has never stopped asserting their right to govern themselves and their traditional territory.[7] The Akwesasne Mohawk Court is an example of this.

The court itself, established by the Mohawk Council of Akwesasne (MCA), has existed since the 1970s, but its character has evolved substantially since then. For the first twenty or so years of existence, the court operated under the Indian Act, with Minster of Indian Affairs approved justices of the peace adjudicating by-laws passed under section 81 of the Act.[8] The court was therefore under tight control of the Canadian government.[9]

Over the past few decades, a number of interrelated factors made it easier for the community to effectively assert their right to make their own decisions about their judicial institutions.

Firstly, the Constitution Act 1982 entrenched this right by  “recognizing and affirming existing Aboriginal […] rights”[10] under section 35(1) of the Act. This effectively gave the assertion of this right a Constitutional backbone. Furthermore, towards the end of the 1980s the Minister of Indian affairs began rejecting a greater number of by-laws proposed by the MCA. The band council ratified some of the rejected by-laws anyway, marking the beginning of the community passing legislation themselves under their inherent right, as opposed to under the authority of the Indian Act.[11]

An important factor leading to the establishment of an independent court at Akwesasne was a report produced by Bruno Steinke in 1995 (the Steinke Report). The findings of the report indicated that overwhelmingly Mohawks of Akwesasne were in favor of establishing their own independent Mohawk court on their territory. The survey indicated that the community wanted a court to be structured like a Canadian court, with the incorporation of traditional restorative Haudenosaunee principles, presided over by justices from their own community.[12]

A reading of the Akwesasne Court Law clearly demonstrates that the Akwesasne Mohawk Court as it stands today has been modelled directly from the Steinke Report recommendations. The law represents a significant shift from the Court’s earlier days of operation in one very important way:  its source of authority is the community itself, and their inherent right to self-govern, as opposed to the Canadian government via the Indian Act.[13]

The Akwesasne Court Law

This Akwesasne Tekaiarorehthà:ke Kaianerénhsera (Akwesasne Court Law) reflects the values of the Mohawks of Akwesasne and the principles of Sken:en (peace), Kasatstensera (strength) and Kanikonri:io (a good mind), respect, fairness as well as natural justice.[14]

The coming into force of the Akwesasne Court Law on August 12 laid a framework enabling the Mohawk Council of Akwesasne to adjudicate their community laws. The law sets out the principles, powers and authorities of the Akwesasne Mohawk Court and governs the conduct of the institution’s justices. It also outlines the Court’s jurisdiction, which spans across a broad range of civil matters, including contract disputes, matrimonial property, and the regulation of untaxed tobacco products on the territory.[15]

Aside from the symbolic significance of Akwesasne Court Law for Akwesasronon[16] in terms of what it means for the MCA’s assertion of self-government, the law also places the community at the forefront of indigenous self determination efforts in Canada by laying the foundation for the first independent court established by a First Nation.[17]

The mix of legal traditions informing the Court Law is also unique: In accordance with the expressed will of the community,[18] the court is set up to be adversarial; operating in accordance with fundamental principles of Canadian justice.[19] What sets it apart from Canadian courts is the incorporation of traditional restorative Mohawk principles into the institution’s judicial framework.

The distinct blend of traditions in the Akwesasne Court Law is particularly present in its sections pertaining to remedies. While some are in line with what one might expect a provincial or Federal judge to order, others are unique to the Mohawk Court. Illustrating the former, section 9.3  states the payment of fines or ordering injunctions are both within the scope of remedies a Mohawk judge might order.[20] On the other hand, the requirement under section  3.4 that a judge consider “the talents of the [offending party]”;[21] and use these for the benefit of the community to remedy their infraction; is a consideration one would certainly not encounter in a Canadian Court.

The inclusion of Mohawk principles in the Akwesasne Court Law  is important for two reasons: Firstly, it is an affirmation of the community’s cultural identity. Secondly, by employing restorative mechanisms focussed on healing for offenders, the law illustrates an approach to justice which promotes the long term wellbeing of the community.

On a practical level, the Akwesasne Court Law guarantees members of the First Nation that their cases will be heard by a Mohawk Judge from their own community, and that they can choose to have court proceedings conducted in either English or Mohawk.[22] The law will also lessen congestion in nearby provincial courts, as it gives Mohawks of Akwesasne the possibility of referring to their own court to adjudicate community matters.

Concluding Thoughts

At the Akwesasne Justice Department I have been fortunate to work with some of the amazing trail-blazing minds behind the Akwesasne Court Law. I feel being an intern here during the first “birthday” of the Akwesasne Mohawk Court essentially gives me a backstage pass to history-in-the-making. Expressing how much this has meant to me is difficult, but suffice to say I consider myself to be one incredibly lucky law student (and human being).

You can find a digital copy of the Akwesasne Court Law, along with other community legislation on the Kaiahnehronsehra iehiontakwa (Akwesasne Law Registry):

http://www.akwesasne.ca/lawregistry

 


[1] Akwesasne Oién:kwa Kaianerénhsera (Akwesasne Tobacco Law), MCR 2016-2017-#075, Purpose para 2.

[2] Credit to Gilbert Terrance, Court Administrator, who called August 12th “the Birthday of the [Akwesasne Mohawk] Court.”

[3]  Frey, S.L., The Mohawks : An Inquiry Into their Origin, Migrations and Influence Upon the White Settlers, (Utica: Oneida Historical Society, 1898) at p 6.

[4] Joyce Tekahnawiiaks King, “The Value of Water and the Meaning of Water for the Native Americans Known as the Haudenesaunee” (2007) 16:3 Cornell Journal of Law and Public Policy 1.

[5] Constitution Act, 1867 (UK), 30 & 31 Vict, c 3, s 91(24) , reprinted in RSC 1985, Appendix II, No. 5.

[6] Rarihokwats, How democracy came to St. Regis & the thunderwater movement, (Rooseveltown, NY: Akwesasne Notes, 1974) at p 8.

[7] Ibid at p 3.

[8] Indian Act, RSC 1985 c I-5.

[9] Anna Gilmer in conjunction with the Akwesasne Justice Department, History of the Akwesasne Mohawk Court (2015) at p 6 [unpublished, archived at the Mohawk Council of Akwesasne Justice Department].

[10] Constitution Act, 1982, being Schedule B to the Canada Act 1982 (UK), 1982, c 11.

[11] Ibid note 6 at pp 8-9..

[12]   Bruno Steinke, “Justice Needs in a Mohawk Community: Akwesasne” August 1995  at pp 65-70.

[13]  Akwesasne Tekaia’torehthà:ke Kaianerénhsera (Akwesasne Court Law), MCR 332 2016, Preamble para. 10.

[14] Ibid at Purpose para 2.

[15] Ibid at ss 5.1-5.4

[16] “Akwesasronon” is the Mohawk term for community members of Akwesasne.

[17] While other First Nations have established courts (see the Nisga’a Treaty), the Akwesasne Mohawk Court is the first institution of its kind established under the inherent Aboriginal right to self-government, recognized and affirmed by section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982.

[18] Ibid note 9.

[19] For example, section 7 of the law helps to ensure the principle of judicial independence is upheld by holding the Akwesasne ratiianerenhserakweniénhstha (justices) and teshatiia’toréhtha (appeal justices) accountable to the Akwesasne Review Commission for their conduct. The Akwesasne Review Commission can also be called upon to rule on an alleged conflicts of interest of justices or appeal justices.

[20] Ibid note 13.

[21]  Ibid.

[22] Ibid at s 4.2.

 

 

Additional Hurdles in Accessing Justice

2016 Moreau AndreBy André Moreau

Over the course of my internship at the Centre for Health, Human Rights and Development (CEHURD) in Kampala, I’ve witnessed some challenges with some of the cases and petitions we brought forward to the courts.

In particular, one difficulty was caused by the influx of election petitions triggered by the recent Ugandan general election, which was held on February 18, 2016. This was the 6th general election since the Uganda Bush War (1979-1986) where the National Resistance Army, led by current president Yoweri Museveni, overthrew the autocratic and militaristic regime.

February’s election saw Museveni’s controversial re-election ­–his sixth consecutive term as the President of Uganda. The election results sparked protest, arrests and a series of formal election petitions. These election petitions have put much strain on the Ugandan judicial system, which has resulted in an even longer wait before Ugandans and Ugandan organizations can access justice before the court.

This is a photo of the Ugandan Constitutional Court's Registrars Office

This is a photo of the Ugandan Constitutional Court’s Registrars Office– files upon files

Last week, Justice David Batema came to speak to the CEHURD’s staff about his experience working as a judge at the High Court of Uganda. He spoke about the courts’ challenge to process cases in a timely manner, especially during the post-election period.

When I asked him how the High Court prepares for the flood of election petitions, Justice Batema explained that the High Court developed a new strategy to minimize backlog. The High Court’s new strategy consisted of selecting 26 judges (almost two thirds of the High Court Judges in Uganda) and training them on best practices when dealing with the petitions.

To ensure nonpartisan decisions, the judges would then be relocated to a different district where they’d hear the petitions. This process, Batema explained, is designed to address all the submitted election petitions ­–hearing, trial, and judgement– within 60 days. This ambitious plan, however, is expected to exceed that timeframe. Further, if petitions are appealed, the process will take even longer.

Despite the Court’s effort to limit the backlog of cases, law firms, organizations such as CEHURD, and all the others parties involved are left with even more delays in their attempts to access justice.

Furthermore, Justice Batema has been vocal about the Courts being short-staffed: “we have very many cases, but we are few, we don’t want our people’s cases to delay here,” he said to one of the national newspapers, New Vision.

As CEHURD continues to fight for health and human rights in Uganda, this unfortunate influx of election petitions has created an additional hurdle in bringing forward cases and seeing them resolved.

Broadening my Perspectives

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Me and my first kürtőskalács

By Jacinthe Dion

Szeretlek Magy. Cette phrase, qui se traduit à “j’aime la Hongrie,” fait partie des dix mots que j’ai appris de la langue hongroise depuis mon arrivée à Budapest au début de mai. Depuis mon arrivée, la ville me pousse à me poser pleins de questions : pourquoi de la crème sûre sur tout? Comment peut-il y avoir au tant de sortes de paprika? La goulash, le salami, le kürtőskalács, pogácsa, ce n’est pas pour rien qu’on dit que la Hongrie est une “capitale de bouffe.” Je me pose pleins de questions aussi sur l’histoire complexe de ce pays et sur leur culture de bains thermiques.

Parmi tous ces questionnements se trouve un autre genre de réflexion, une plutôt contraire à ce que je viens de mentionner, qui se fait dans un petit bureau sur la rue Hercegprímás au centre de la ville. De l’extérieur, la bâtisse reflète l’architecture riche de cette ville, juste à quelques pas de la fameuse Szent István Bazilika. De l’extérieur, personne ne pourrait imaginer ce qui se passe à l’intérieur, au troisième étage de cet édifice. Nul part n’est-il annoncé qu’une petite équipe passionnée au Mental Disability Advocacy Centre (MDAC) travaille ardument pour les droits des personnes ayant une déficience intellectuelle ou psychosociale.

The work that is done at MDAC cannot be summed up simply. This NGO currently has around 50 pending cases in 7 different countries. It is very interesting for me to cooperate in a different kind of activism for the rights of people with intellectual or psychosocial disabilities. I usually work directly with children with mental disabilities: teaching them swimming, playing games, or attending to medical appointments with them, all in the context of different organizations with which I am involved at home. However, what I do here at MDAC is different. MDAC uses law as a means of change; as a way to make a difference in the lives of people with mental disabilities.

Right before entering MDAC for the first time

Generally speaking, the way this is done can be summed up in two words: proactive law. Law serves more purpose than the set of rules it outlines for our society; it has the power to promote or limit equality, justice, and fairness. Having laws in place is not the end point, but only the starting point. How can people know about these laws if they are not promoted? How can they be implemented if nobody sees to their enforcement? How can they be respected if no one is given the tools to apply them and ensure they are being respected? It is necessary to proactively work to create an environment in which everyone has the same chances to live a prosperous life. That is what I feel I am a part of this summer. What I do might be little in the big picture, but every single case that MDAC advocates is contributing to provide this prosperous environment for people with intellectual or psychosocial disabilities. But it is very difficult.

Every day, I read atrocities. Every week, I am responsible for producing a newsletter that reports all the recent relevant jurisprudence and news items that are relevant to our work. I read and I summarise. I read about children being placed in institutions when they are not even a year old. I read about teens confined in solitary wards and I read about people being confined in institutions against their will. Then, I read further about these individuals in institutions that are also having their rights infringed. I read, I read, I read and every day, as I cringe a little more, I become less surprised by the treatment people with mental disabilities are receiving, as it is so frequent. Is this how people become blind to atrocities, by setting standards based on what the norm has become? It is horrifying how our brain works, how it captures information, and how it remembers things. People’s stories become cases and cases become application numbers; people’s belongings become confiscated and they become evidence for trial; personal memories become testimonies and can then be used against you; similar cases are regrouped together and statistics are created. These processes are long, tedious, challenging, and exhausting and it is hard to conceive sometimes that all this started with a story, somebody’s horrible story.

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United Nations Peace One Day at American International School of Budapest, where I was a panelist for student presentations and representing MDAC

When I read, I replace the word ‘applicant’ with a name, where there are pictures, I capture faces, I think of cases as stories; I do everything I can to make everything as human as possible and less bureaucratic. Although that makes the read harder, it also makes it more real. These are people’s lives I am reading about and it is very easy to lose sight of that when you are working in an office 9:00 to 5:00 every day. I want to make sure with the case summaries I do, the research I conduct, the newsletters I create, and the meetings I take part in that I don’t lose my human touch with the work I do.

En fait, j’ai récemment réalisé à quel point j’étais influencée par mes lectures et mon travail. Je suis allée au cinéma avec une autre stagiaire de MDAC. Nous voulions aller voir un film léger après une longue journée de travail. Malheureusement, le film que nous voulions voir n’était qu’en Hongrois.  Nous avons donc opté pour une version anglophone du film Me Before You. Pour ceux qui n’ont pas encore vu ce film, je vous averti que je pourrais vous gâcher la fin. En quelques lignes, ce film parle d’un tétraplégique qui souhaite mettre fin à ses jours. Dans ses derniers six mois de vie, sa mère engage une jeune femme pour lui tenir compagnie et bien sûr, ces deux derniers deviennent amoureux. En surface, ce film est peut-être qu’une histoire d’amour et une leçon sur le soutien inconditionnel d’un être un cher. À la fin, l’homme décide tout de même de mettre fin à sa vie afin d’arrêter de souffrir. Certes, pour moi ce film crée tout d’abord une énorme controverse pour les gens en situation d’handicape.

13599620_994527830642381_1396374541_nAt first, I was enraged. How could a movie so bluntly send a message that people with disabilities should consider suicide? No one’s suicide should be viewed as noble and inspirational, which is what I felt the movie was conveying. By doing such, it devalues the lives of people with disabilities whereas the message should really be that their lives are as precious as anyone else’s. I felt like romanticism was influencing our notion of human rights, rights MDAC fights to protect. However, while processing this information, I recalled a sentence that was said by a character in the movie that bothered me. Unsure of the exact words, I decided to retrieve the quote from the book the movie was based on: “[p]eople who are vulnerable should not be given the chance to do something that they’ll…”. Those words reflect the idea that other people should take decisions for people with disabilities, suggesting they lack the judgment to take decisions for themselves. However, the young woman who is in love with him understands the importance of giving him his choice and allowing him to decide for himself: “I’d sleep at night because I trust [him] to know what is right for him, and because what has been the worst thing for him has been losing the ability to make a single decision, to do a single thing for himself.” Then what is the right thing to do in this case? Do you let him take his own decision or not?  13639425_10210133754285059_157356367_o

I do not have a right answer to these difficult questions. I just realized then, when walking out of the movie, how much perspective my work at MDAC has brought me. One of the questions I was asked when applying for this internship inquired on what I hoped to take away from this experience. My answer could be summarised with my aspiration to broaden my knowledge and expertise in the field of human rights. Prior to this internship, seeing this movie would have rather left me mesmerized with the love story. In my application for this internship, I wrote “to best understand human rights, we cannot look only at an individual problem, within one social context, through the eyes of one legal tradition, but rather by looking at the bigger picture.” I acknowledged that often I failed to do that and I had hoped to reverse that this summer, and I think I just did.

 

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Fellow interns and I in the Buda hills during our Staff Away Day

Alternative Lawyering at AHRC

2016 Agnello AlexanderBy Alexander Agnello

“Those who have less in life should have more in law” – former President of the Philippines, the late Ramon Magsaysay.

It’s a quote that was first introduced to me by my mentor Attorney Anne Manigbas, and it stuck. What it means to provide “more in law” is not evident, although at first glance it seems to propose a transformative or redistributive project. I have spent these two months at Ateneo Human Rights Center (AHRC) grappling with how alternative lawyers set out to provide “more in law” for those who have “less in life”.

The term “alternative” in alternative lawyering is often taken to describe a difference in career choice (corporate law vs. public interest law). This is an erroneous and superficial interpretation, since “alternative” is meant to describe an ethos that can and should be implemented in various sectors, be they commercial or public interest. Alternative lawyers do often take on careers outside of the mainstream, but what differentiates their work is its commitment to a different route to, and conception of, justice. As I’m writing to you, I realize that I cannot give a developed picture of alternative lawyering without delving into my ongoing projects and recent experiences.

I had the fortune of being the first McGill/foreign intern to attend the Orientation Seminar of Ateneo Human Rights Center’s flagship program: The Human Rights Internship. The purpose of the Orientation Seminar is to provide training on human rights advocacy, focusing on the practice of alternative lawyering for marginalized groups. The conference presentations on Statelessness, Agrarian Form, and the Migrant Worker Sector were amazingly detailed crash courses by alternative lawyers. It gave students a glimpse of the way alternative lawyers practice law: they work with clients, and this commitment to a client can go as far as marching over 2000 kilometers from Mindanao to Malacañang Palace with the Sumilao farmers to rightfully reclaim their land. The practice-based workshops on Popular Education, Paralegalism, and Legal Aid were a test of a student’s ability to empathize with a client’s position, master the legal and rhetorical tools at their disposal, and give a client a genuine opportunity to be active participants in justice.

AHRC Interns taking part in a Boodle Fight

AHRC Interns taking part in a Boodle Fight

After orientation, the students move onto their placements across the country to begin carrying out the work of an AHRC intern, captured by the motto: “Learn the Law, Serve the People”. I remain in Manila to work on the ongoing projects of the Women’s and Children’s Rights desks. We are pressuring the government to raise the age of sexual consent, currently set at 12 years of age. We are assisting the European Union with their human rights and democratization strategy in the Philippines. We are part of a consultation group that will propose a Sex Offender Registration and Notification Bill to Senate and Congress. We are one of the alternative law groups monitoring the judiciary. But at the same time, the lawyers here devote a great deal of their time to community service. I participated in their annual campaign to renovate classrooms for the start of the school year. I helped organize a workshop on legal literacy and cyberspace safety for vulnerable youth, with the aim of preparing the students to teach a lesson plan on these topics to their peers.

In all of this, I saw that the alternative lawyer is not part of the isolated technocrat class or a paternalistic figure who sees it as his/her duty to hold a client’s hand all the way to a court victory. An alternative lawyer provides “more in law” by collaborating with other members of society to build a more accessible, inclusive and dynamic justice system. Ideally, this system will recognize that reconciliation, civic education & involvement, indigenous dispute resolution and other alternatives are valuable ways to bring more individuals into the conversation for aims that are far more fruitful to global justice than a day in court.

A fire in Manila Bay

A fire in Manila Bay

Because I have only begun to familiarize myself with the AHRC’s alternate lawyer ethos, I will rely on the words of Sir Marlon Manuel, National Coordinator of the Alternative Law Group and a former AHRC intern:

“Alternative lawyers are swimmers against the tide. They test the water, they dip into the water, and they swim. And while swimming, they call others to join them, even those who cannot swim. They continue to swim, they continue to call others, and they feverently hope (dream) that, with enough swimmers in the water, they can turn the tide… “The objective… is not really to teach swimming, but to simply encourage dipping into the water”[1]


[1] Training Manual for Paralegals, A publication of the Ateneo Human Rights Center (2010), p. 9.

Lives on “stand-by”

 Par Nour Saadi

 

Assise sur ma chaise, les yeux cloués sur mon écran.

They ripped off my pants with a knife and three violated me, one after the other. They pointed their guns at me, saying they were going to kill me, and beat me with their rifles. They beat me in my sex after they had finished. As this was happening, I saw a girl about five meters from where I was being raped. After they got off of her, one of them shot her in the abdomen as she was lying there. They shot her with one of their long guns. I saw the blood running down her body…. I saw this just after they had finished with me, but it wasn’t the same group.

C’est frappant, malaisant, de se retrouver dans une position où, du haut du 35e étage de l’Empire State Building, je lis sur des massacres ayant lieu chez moi, puis, à l’indication de l’aiguille passant les 18 heures, je sors du bâtiment et marche dans les rues, presque comme si de rien n’était. Mettant les cris de ces personnes sur “mute”, la vie de ces personnes en “stand-by”, alors que je rentre, prends une douche, mange et dors, puis retourne à mon écran le lendemain matin.

Voici déjà un mois de ceci.

View from the top of the Empire State Buiding

View from the top of the Empire State Building

Travailler pour Human Rights Watch reste toutefois enrichissant. Entourée de 4 avocat-e-s, aussi occupé-e-s les un-e-s que les autres, j’ai eu l’opportunité de faire de la recherche sur le Moyen-Orient, la Guinée et la Corée du Nord. La présence de 2 autres stagiaires au sein du bureau apporte son propre lot d’apprentissage. J’apprends qu’en voulant être compatissante avec l’expérience négative d’une stagiaire, justifiée ou non, je risque la mienne. Par ailleurs, je développe une certaine conscience de l’impact associé au travail que je produis, et à l’importance de lui donner une couleur qui est mienne.

L’approche de Human Rights Watch en termes de défense de droits humains repose sur l’utilisation stratégique de son influence sur des acteurs clés de la communauté internationale. Le rôle de la Cour pénale internationale ainsi que les défis auxquelles elle fait face commencent à prendre forme, ce qui génère en moi de nombreux repositionnements.

The more I understand how the ICC works, the more I am shocked to see the difference with Canadian domestic courts, the Supreme Court for instance, which writes decision with an air of “the Court has spoken”, while the International Criminal Court, with the mandate to investigate and prosecute crimes against humanity, war crimes etc. –the most serious international crimes – needs permission to speak.

 

In the middle of this organized mess, I ask myself: where do I stand? Where do I start?

 

As I sat there, no more than three meters away, I saw them shoot an old man dressed as an imam in the head while he was praying. The old man was in the process of praying, because in the Muslim faith, if you are going to die, it is necessary to pray before dying. He was in the process of praying and a red beret walked up to him and shot him in the head with a pistol. Nearby, there was another man who wanted to pray. As he kneeled there, one of the ones wearing gris-gris said, “Don’t say another prayer,” and came up behind him and slit his throat.

 

On these last nights of Ramadan,

I pray with all my heart. I pray for the people I might not know, for the people I might not see, but for the people I can feel. I pray, because I am confused. What is my role, as a jurist? What can I do as a lawyer, really? What has law ever done for humanity, other than providing a sophisticated knife to deep-pocketed opportunists, other than providing rules conveniently drafted to relieve the anxiety of complicit observers, other than manufacturing hope?

 

On these last nights of Ramadan,

I pray for a night of peace.

Only one.

 

Nour Saadi

 

Air Train

Air Train, New York City

 

First testimony: A 26-year-old housecleaner who was gang raped by three members of the Presidential Guard on the September 28, 2009 massacre and rapes in the Conakry Stadium.

Second testimony: A 19-year-old student who was beaten by security forces and hid in an area under construction behind the stadium.

Stifling Heat & A Government That Stifles Dissent

Par André Capretti

Je trouve ça difficile à croire que ça fait juste deux semaines que je suis au Cambodge. Avec toute l’action qu’il y a en ce moment au pays j’ai l’impression d’avoir passé des mois ici !

Depuis que je suis ici je n’ai pas besoin de mettre de réveil les matins. La chaleur est tellement intense que je me réveille tout seul peu après que le soleil se soit levé. À Montréal je ne suis pas matinal du tout, mais ici à Phnom Penh j’ai dû développer une nouvelle routine pour m’habituer au climat. On me dit que la période sèche vient de se terminer, et que maintenant c’est la saison de pluie qui commence. Je ne peux pas imaginer comment il pourrait faire plus chaud qu’il fait ces jours-ci. Déjà le mercure a frôlé le 50 degrés Celsius à plusieurs reprises, et la température moyenne varie de 35 à 40 degrés, 45 avec l’humidité. C’est une chaleur que je qualifierais de suffocante ou d’étouffante. En conséquence je dois ralentir mon rythme de vie, boire autant d’eau que possible pour étancher ma soif, et m’enduire de crème solaire (SPF 80!) à chaque sortie.

Pendant que moi j’ai du mal à endurer cette canicule constante, je constate que les gens du Cambodge, qu’on appelle aussi les Khmers, ne semblent pas autant perturbés par la chaleur. J’ai du mal à m’imaginer comment ils peuvent supporter cette température lorsque la grande majorité d’entre eux portent seulement des pantalons et des chandails à manches longues. Un collègue cambodgien me dit que pour lui, ce qui est plus impressionnant c’est le fait qu’au Canada on puisse supporter des hivers glaciaux ! La comparaison est apte. Dans les deux cas on n’a qu’à changer notre mode de vie un peu pour s’adapter. On sort moins, on réduit nos activités et lorsqu’on sort on a hâte de retourner à un abri intérieur, soit pour l’air climatisé, soit pour le chauffage. Et donc finalement nos luttes quotidiennes contre le climat ne sont pas si différentes que ça !

Sunrise at Angkor Wat.

Sunrise at Angkor Wat.

Le palais royal de Phnom Penh.

Le palais royal de Phnom Penh.

*****************

While I may be able to relate with the weather-related struggles faced by Cambodians, there is a different, far more important source of oppression that Cambodians face on a daily basis which is harder to relate with. It’s the reason why I’m here.

Every morning I hop on the back of a motodop (basically a motorcycle-taxi) and make my way to work. While my motorcycle driver darts and weaves through the crazy traffic-filled streets of Phnom Penh, I always try and take in the surrounding sights: merchants selling their wares, families of 3, 4 (or even 5!) on the back of a single motorbike, food stalls with vendors selling coffee, spring rolls, or a variety of hearty meat dishes, smiling kids making their way to school, street dogs ambling about, tuk-tuks full of foreigners (tourists or “ex-pats”). The list goes on. Once I arrive at LICADHO, I’m greeted by calls of suesdai (“hello” in Khmer) from the local staffers, and a refreshing blast of cool air from the air-conditioning, which provides a welcome respite from the extreme heat outdoors.

While the “oppressive” Cambodian heat may cause me some temporary discomfort, it is nothing compared to the real problems and human rights abuses faced by so many Cambodians. The stifling temperatures here go hand in hand with a political climate in which dissent is stifled at every turn.

My first few work assignments at LICADHO have been related to a recent political scandal involving Kem Sokha, the acting leader of the opposition party, the CNRP. At first glance the case appears to be a run-of-the-mill sex scandal involving a respected politician. However, on further inspection the case is far from ordinary. The case has snowballed and taken on many tangents, entangling other opposition party politicians, respected human rights advocates and NGO officials, prominent elections officials, a political analyst, a social media celebrity, and even a UN employee.

LICADHO itself has been caught in the fray on two occasions. Once on May 9th, when three of its staffers were arrested (later released) while trying to protest the unjustified detention of five human rights defenders, who were arrested on highly questionable charges. The demonstration was part of a campaign that has been coined #BlackMonday, in which the public is called on to wear black every Monday, and protest against the group’s detention. This popular movement has triggered paranoia in the government, as they have labeled these peaceful protests an “act of rebellion” and an attempt to start a “colour revolution” (a term that refers to non-violent protest movements which led to regime change in many Eastern European countries in the early 2000s).

The second incident occurred after the Ministry of Justice threatened LICADHO for having published a list on its website of 29 political prisoners currently being detained or jailed in Cambodia on politically motivated charges.

It is widely alleged and believed that the ruling party, the CPP, has manufactured the whole legal conundrum enveloping the Kem Sokha affair in order to undermine the opposition party in anticipation of regional elections in 2017 and national elections in 2018. The current government has a track record of using the judicial system to crack down on political opposition, civil society and human rights groups. As noted by UN Envoy Rhona Smith, the Cambodian government appears far too comfortable abusing the rule of law to accomplish their political goals: “There is certainly concern of the use of law as a political tool rather than a legal tool for securing justice”.

There is so much going on here at the moment related to human rights abuses, that I find myself a bit overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of issues. That being said, I am reassured by the amazing work being done by organizations like LICADHO, and by the indomitable spirit of the Cambodian people, who are fighting for a long list of causes, including among others, freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, labour rights, and land rights. My time here has only added to the admiration that I have for the sacrifices that LICADHO and other Cambodian rights groups and grassroots activists are willing to make in the name of civil resistance and human rights advocacy.

For more information about LICADHO, check out their website – http://www.licadho-cambodia.org/ – & Facebook page – https://www.facebook.com/licadho/?fref=ts

Re-Conceptualizing the “Enemy”

2015 Blashko Michael By Michael Blashko

In my time here at the First Nations Child and Family Caring Society of Canada, I feel as though I have learned a lot. I have learned not only from reading articles by academics, reports from various organizations, and legislation from the federal, provincial and international levels, but also more generally by getting some experience working in this field. I have had the opportunity to meet and interact with the people involved in the activities of this organization and members of others, to attend events and conferences to hear about a broad range of subjects, and to research and write about Aboriginal history and rights. It has been quite the experience and it is hard to understand how it will already soon be coming to an end.

Although we are still waiting for the Canadian Human Rights Tribunal decision to come down on Canada’s inequitable and discriminatory funding of First Nations child welfare services (and hope is quickly fading that this will happen while I am here), last month we did have one decision come down from the Tribunal. Dr. Cindy Blackstock, the Executive Director of the Caring Society, who filed the original complaint with the Human Right Commission, amended it in December of 2009 to include allegations of retaliation by the federal government against for having filed that initial complaint. The CHRT found that the Government of Canada (the special assistant to the Honourable Chuck Strahl, former Minister of Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada, then known as Indian and Northern Affairs Canada) had in fact retaliated against her for filing the complaint. They awarded $20,000 under two separate heads of damages, including what are essentially punitive damages because they found their actions to be of a willful and reckless nature. Dr. Blackstock intends to donate the financial award to children’s charities.

Of course I was not working at the Caring Society while any part of the case before the Tribunal was ongoing. What I can say is that it has been extremely interesting to have come in and read documents such as this decision and to also hear some thoughts and reactions to the tactics and approach of the government, through their representatives from the Attorney General’s office. All of it has made me reflect not only on what it is that we are fighting for in this organization, but also who and what we are fighting against.

Perhaps it was always a little naïve, but throughout the majority of my life I can generally say that I have trusted that the government genuinely had everyone’s best interests in mind as it went about the business of governing this country. In fact, over the last couple of years I have strongly considered exploring potential opportunities to eventually work for the government as I venture in search of a career post-law school. I can’t say I have that same level of interest now. This experience has granted a new perspective and while I acknowledge that it has been limited and brief, I like to think that this new view is informed by more than a simple “us vs them” or some kind of perceived “right vs wrong” mentality that seems as though it could be so easy to slip into in this field. I remain convinced that the government remains likely the biggest potential source of social change. It just seems to me, from this experience, as though the justice department may not be the best breeding ground for that kind of thing.

Once the retaliation decision came down, the government then had 30 days in which to file an appeal. Largely, the assumption was that they would indeed appeal it. Not only that, but it was also a popular prediction that they would wait until the last possible moment in the 30 day time limit to file, in order to delay the process as much as possible. I found that this kind of cynicism towards their tactics speaks volumes in relation to the legal process involved in fighting to enforce people’s human rights here in Canada. It is particularly jarring when contrasted against what is generally a very positive and hopeful work environment. I have seen this kind of cynicism towards the government’s approach (particularly of late) to protecting and ensuring the enjoyment of all civil and human rights extend to some of the events I have attended this summer as well.

This type of approach also seems evident in the legal strategy employed in their submissions to the Tribunal. Having read the AG’s factum containing their closing arguments, I found them rather uninspiring. There was very little engagement with the actual issues of the case, instead the focus was largely on using legal technicalities to undermine the complaint and simply have it dismissed. Threshold arguments, statutory interpretation and evidentiary burdens took centre stage. Perhaps it really was all they could do, after all how do you begin to justify what the government is doing (or rather, failing to do) for First Nations children on reserve? Not to mention how making those arguments would look. The lack of such arguments almost seems like a tacit acknowledgement of the legitimacy of the claims being made against them.

I recognize that the lawyers who work for the AG likely have very little say in the process, although an area of interest for me would be to learn more about the relationship between the government and their legal team, to see how seriously their legal advice is taken or how much policy drives their strategy. I’ve heard the argument that those who work for the government can justify their roles in advocating against these kinds of cases by seeing themselves essentially as the crucible through which arguments for substantial change must pass to gain their legitimacy. I can see the truth in that perspective, but in this case there has been no actual arguing of its merits, only attempts to ensure that this complaint would never have the opportunity to prove the legitimacy of its claims. I have difficulty understanding how playing a role in doing essentially everything possible to delay and deny the rights of children, how to seemingly be so clearly in jeopardy of being on the wrong side of history (as our country has been all too often on Aboriginal issues), can be justified. It is also important to note that it can be argued that the government is simply exercising its legal rights, just as we all have the right to do. However, somehow this argument rings hollow to me in cases such as these.

As it turned out, surprisingly enough, the government did not appeal the retaliation decision. I found this surprising not only because it seems to run counter to their normal tactics, but because in my opinion there may have actually been a potential argument to be made in regards to the damages that were awarded, specifically in relation to the punitive damages.

So to conclude this lengthy post, perhaps referring to the government as the “enemy” is a bit hyperbolic, but it is clear that their approach is meant to frustrate, and it appears to be working. I feel as though to say that I find these tactics frustrating after only being here for three months would be borderline insulting to those who have been working on these kinds of cases for years. It would also likely be of greater insult to those who are actually having their rights denied, or their enjoyment of them delayed, often with dire consequences. As of now, I can only describe my feelings as those of disappointment in the approach that my government is taking on these issues. Instead of accepting their responsibility, they are paying millions of dollars of tax payer money to fight these cases, figures which I am sure are being inflated by the delay tactics being employed. Last year, AANDC spent almost $60 million more on legal fees than they did only 6 years prior, which if this trend continues, will likely ensure plenty of frustration and disappointment to come.

Retaliation decision:

http://www.fncaringsociety.com/sites/default/files/2015%20CHRT%2014.pdf

Article on Government spending on legal fees by department:

http://www.lawtimesnews.com/201311113587/headline-news/feds-pouring-big-money-into-aboriginal-litigation

Government summary of AANDC legal fees:

https://www.aadnc-aandc.gc.ca/eng/1359569904612/1359569939970

Closing arguments of the AG in child welfare CHRT case:

http://www.fncaringsociety.com/sites/default/files/Federal%20Government%20Closing%20Statements.pdf

Asile A et B

2014-Navarrete-InakiIñaki Navarrete

Je pris une profonde inspiration avant d’entrer dans l’arrière-cour de l’asile B. C’était le second établissement que nous visitions ce jour-là. Des patients assommés par la chaleur et les psychotropes gisaient à moitié nus dans leurs excréments au centre d’un cercle formé par d’autres patients. Un garçon de mon âge touchait son membre d’un air absent.

L’asile B était pire que l’asile A.

L’asile A, visité en matinée, en était un réservé aux femmes de tout âge. S’il prêtait largement flanc à la critique, il avait au moins le mérite d’être relativement propre : les murs n’étaient pas couverts de zut, le sol n’était pas couvert de fluides, et on pouvait y marcher sans avoir à se boucher le nez. L’affaire était tout autre ici.

Disability Rights International, l’organisme avec lequel je travaille cet été, effectue régulièrement des visites dans les hôpitaux psychiatriques locaux afin de documenter les conditions inhumaines et dégradantes dans lesquelles vivent les personnes handicapées. Lors de ces visites – toujours guidées –, la stratégie est simple. Certains suivent le guide tandis que d’autres trainent le pas à l’arrière pour voir ce qu’on ne veut manifestement pas qu’on voit.

Après un moment à l’arrière, je m’éclipsais donc dans une chambre isolée. Un jeune homme, appelons-le Victor, s’y trouvait, complètement nu et emmitouflé dans un nuage de draps sales d’où dépassaient des bras convulsifs. Notre guide, le directeur-neurologue, me rattrapa rapidement. C’est à grand renfort de termes techniques qu’il m’expliqua que Victor était un “cas perdu”. Plusieurs psychotropes étaient “nécessaires” pour apaiser son ”trouble”. Bref, Victor était une machine qu’il n’arriverait jamais à réparer.

(Photo de Victor, prise avant l’arrivée du directeur)

En regardant Victor planer dans une sorte d’apathie, sans ressort et aisément influençable, et en pensant à la facilité avec laquelle il avait été laissé à son sort dans cette chambre, je n’aurais su dire si ces psychotropes  étaient “nécessaires” ou s’ils s’inscrivaient plutôt dans un schéma de contrôle visant à faciliter la prise en charge de patients trop nombreux par un personnel trop réduit. Il s’agit d’une pratique courante.

J’insistais pour en savoir plus. Victor est un abandonado. Il fait partie de ce groupe de personnes dont les familles, souvent par manque de moyens, parfois par manque de soutien dans leur communauté, se sont résignées à les abandonner dans un hôpital psychiatrique. Parfois aussi, l’abandon découle de la honte et du stigma attaché au handicap. Victor ne reçoit jamais de visites.

En droit, la conséquence immédiate de cet abandon est la mise en place d’un régime de prise de décisions substitutive. Le directeur devient le tuteur et représentant légal des abandonados, ce qui lui donne un chèque blanc gros comme la lune sur leurs vies. Victor, objet de protection et non sujet de droit. Mais c’est compréhensible:

“Voyez-vous, il est comme un enfant qui ne sait pas ce qui est bon pour lui”.

Ce genre de discours du “meilleur intérêt”, on l’accepte d’autant mieux qu’il peut se justifier d’un côté, par des fonctions de protection et de sécurité, de l’autre, par un statut technique et scientifique.  Mais il ne faut pas se méprendre. Le meilleur intérêt dérape souvent. C’est pourquoi le paradigme social du handicap, présent dans la nouvelle Convention relative aux droits des personnes handicapées, demande que l’on congédie ce discours médical dépassé, ces régimes de prise de décisions substitutive ainsi que toute forme d’internement. Il faut plutôt laisser place à l’autonomie des personnes handicapées. Victor, comme sujet de droit.

Dans cette optique, l’asile A et l’asile B sont tous deux condamnables pour leur seule existence. Cela dit, comprendre ce changement de paradigme n’est pas toujours simple et on peut se demander : qu’est-ce que cela signifie concrètement pour ce jeune homme complètement nu et emmitouflé dans un nuage de draps sales? Une comparaison entre l’asile A et l’asile B rendra la chose plus claire.

Avec la question du travail.

Les femmes de l’asile A sont invitées à suivre plusieurs modèles de carrière. Elles peuvent fabriquer des vêtements, des jouets ou cuisiner des plats. Ce qu’elles font avec leur argent ne regarde qu’elles. En m’offrant des biscuits, l’une d’elles m’expliqua dans un Anglais impeccable qu’avec son salaire elle aimait aller au restaurant chaque vendredi. Je souriais. Les biscuits étaient bons. Sur l’emballage, l’inscription “Le travail rend digne”.

IMG_0691

(À l’heure du dîner, cette femme est restée étendue sans recevoir aucune aide)

Et les patients de l’asile B? Regardez cette dame dans la photo. Au mieux, certains participent aux corvées quotidiennes en échange de “cadeaux”, comme des petits gâteaux. Mais l’autonomie et la dignité ne se nourissent pas de petits gâteaux.

Au pire, les patients de l’asile B se trouvent dans un isolement sensoriel dégradant.  La télé, une thérapie musicale une fois par mois ainsi que des sorties sporadiques dans le jardin (plutôt une cage avec des barbelés) résument l’essentiel des activités disponibles. Alors, ils déambulent. D’autres sont attachés à leurs fauteuils roulants toute la journée. Depuis combien de temps? 60 ans. J’imagine que c’est aussi dans leur “meilleur intérêt”.

Faut-il insister plus encore sur la différence entre A et B?

Je voulais visiter ces établissements pour savoir pourquoi je travaille avec DRI. Aujourd’hui, la raison est on ne peut plus claire. Avec ses yeux bleus sévères et son sourire bienveillant de Big Brother, le directeur aux tempes grisonnantes de l’asile B restera pour moi le visage de l’institution totale.

An uncertain future for Rwandese refugees in Uganda

kelly_mcmillanBy Kelly McMillan

Last Wednesday afternoon, cell phones started ringing throughout RLP. In hushed, urgent tones, reports began circulating among refugees and staff: Rwandese asylum seekers were being forcibly repatriated from Nakivale refugee settlement in Western Uganda. Interpreters were quickly reassigned from consultations and testimony taking, as RLP staff and volunteers scrambled to figure out what was going on in Uganda’s largest refugee settlement, located several hours from Kampala.

Within hours, reports were confirmed: dozens of Rwandese asylum seekers (whose claims for refugee status had been rejected in a recent sitting of Uganda’s Refugee Eligibility Committee (REC)) were lured to basecamp with promises of food, and claims that their status rejection would be reconsidered. There, rejected asylum seekers were herded onto lorries by Ugandan soldiers. As reality began to set in and chaos erupted (people running in all directions), soldiers fired shots into the air, people were injured, and families separated. At least five lorries filled with asylum seekers left Nakivale settlement for the Ugandan-Rwandan border. [See RLP/IRRI joint press release].

As in Canada, Uganda’s Citizenship and Immigration Act provides for a review process for rejections of asylum seekers’ claims. The Act also provides for procedural safeguards for the deportation of those who have exhausted all avenues for appeal. These forcible removals thus violate Uganda’s own refugee law, not to mention the principle of non-refoulement in international law.

The removals are also part of a troubling political landscape that Rwandese asylum seekers and refugees in Uganda are currently facing… On which more later!

*Internship undertaken with the financial support of the Government of Canada provided through the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA)

The Filipino Culture of Impunity

chris_maughnBy Christopher Maughan

Today I was finally going to publish my introductory post, the one that says “here I am in the Philippines and this is what I’ve been doing over the last few weeks. Working at the Ateneo Human Rights Center has been an enriching experience, I’m learning a lot, and I think I’m finally adapting to the culture…”

All of that is true. But today I want to write about something else: three local journalists killed in less than a week, just for speaking their minds.

Gunned down in public. Even though such killings have happened many times before, I can’t believe the news.

I didn’t know what to say after the first two journalists were killed, hence the absence of a blog post on the subject. I was shocked. I still am, especially now that a third journalist has died, but I feel an obligation to write something on the subject to draw people’s attention to the news since it hasn’t been making headlines in Canada.

The first killing happened five days ago. Desidario Camangyan, a radio reporter who had criticized the government for turning a blind eye to illegal logging practices, was shot while hosting an amateur singing contest. His wife and son were in the audience.

Less than 24 hours later, Joselito Agustin, another radio broadcaster, was shot and killed while on his way home from work. Like Camangyan, Agustin had spoken out against government corruption.

This weekend, Nestor Bedolido, a newspaper reporter, was shot and killed as he was buying cigarettes from a street vendor. Belodido was supposedly behind a number of scathing exposes written about an allegedly corrupt politician in Davao del Sur.

So far no one has been arrested and all but one of the suspects are unidentified.

The killings bring the number of journalists killed in the Philippines to 107 – and that’s just in the last nine years, since President Gloria Arroyo took power in 2001. Since the inception of democracy in 1986, 140 have been killed in total.

Before posting some news links and a few thoughts, I should mention that all of this comes only seven months after the Maguindanao Massacre, in which 32 journalists lost their lives for taking political action, for merely deigning to defy a local “politician-warlord” who had maintained a stranglehold on power through corruption and intimidation.

News links are below (links are posted first; my thoughts are underneath), with a Wikipedia entry on the Massacre that links to stories published in late 2009. About a week and a half ago, an activist came into our office with pictures of the victims of Maguindanao – they were by far the most shocking images I have ever seen.

http://newsinfo.inquirer.net/inquirerheadlines/nation/view/20100621-276729/Another-journalist-killed
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/21/world/asia/21iht-phils.html
http://cpj.org/2010/06/another-radio-journalist-killed-in-the-philippines.php
http://newsinfo.inquirer.net/topstories/topstories/view/20100615-275715/Radioman-shot-dead-in-Davao-Oriental
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maguindanao_massacre

So that’s the news. Here are some of my thoughts.

First of all, given the circumstances, there’s little doubt that these killings are politically motivated. The two most recent ones meet the profile of the typical Filipino political killing: a gunman walks up to the victim in the middle of the street, fires, and rides away on the back of a motorcycle that’s waiting nearby. Too many journalists, lawyers and activists have been killed this way, usually after expressing criticism of the government or left-wing political views. Too few of the men and women behind these killings have been brought to justice – there have only been a handful of convictions.

Second, it’s disheartening that even after a UN Special Rapporteur report on extrajudicial (that is, illegal and political) killings in the Philippines, a local commission-of-inquiry report on the matter, the creation of a national Commission on Human Rights, and the creation of a national police task force, extrajudicial killings continue to take place – and the perpetrators seem as bold as ever. Some of the gunmen don’t even hide their faces – a telling sign that they know they can count on a culture of impunity.

Like the Maguindanao Massacre, I guess this series of killings reflects what is often the reality of human rights legal work – you can set up all the commissions and send all the rapporteurs you want, you can write reports, you can call people out in the press, but things will not change overnight. That said, there are signs that extrajudicial killings generally are tapering off – there are fewer per year now than there were in 2006, when there were 209 in total. Perhaps the best that can be hoped for is slow and incremental change.

This week, though, it feels like change cannot come soon enough.

I want to end on a positive note. The Ateneo Human Rights Center is doing a lot to help prevent extrajudicial killings and give prosecutors and investigators the tools they need to obtain convictions. In addition to the academic research I’m doing for the Center, I’m involved in two really interesting projects to this end. First, I’m involved in the planning of a national public awareness campaign; staff from the Center will be holding public forums on extrajudicial killings at over 60 locations all across the country. Second, I’m helping with the creation of Multi-Sectoral Quick Reaction Teams, which are locally-based collectives of legal and human rights experts who come together to provide support to victims when an extralegal killing takes place.

I feel extremely privileged to be able to help out with these initiatives. Hopefully, along with this week’s bad news, they’ll get people thinking about how to dismantle the infrastructure of impunity that allows violations of rights to life and free expression to keep happening.

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