Ana’s Retirement Party

Painter Emily By Emily Ann Painter

It was late Thursday afternoon when Aji, Muzhgan and I, “the IJ interns” as they refer to us around the office, were signalled to join the large crowd that had already formed on the 35th floor. Having spent most of the day glued to my computer, researching the latest updates on the Special Criminal Court in Central African Republic or on Laurent Gbagbo’s trial at the International Criminal Court – whichever it was –  I welcomed the distraction and walked the short distance between my desk and the party. And as I did, it became clear that this would be no ordinary Human Rights Watch celebration: platters of cheese and crackers, champagne flutes and a large cake iced in the true “Human Rights Watch blue” covered the tables around which fifty smiling employees gathered. At the centre of it all stood Ana, one of HRW’s oldest and most beloved family member. Holding a flute and smiling wide, on this Thursday afternoon Ana was celebrating her well-earned retirement.

View from the 35th floor of the Empire State Building where the International Justice Program’s offices are located.

Of course, I recognized Ana. Every day around 5:50 pm, as I signed off and packed my bag for the commute home, she arrived on “our floor” of the Empire State Building, grey cart in hand, and began cleaning the office. Until today, this had been her daily routine for nearly twenty years.

For many like myself, Ana’s arrival signalled the end of the day and our brief interactions – courteous hellos, goodbyes, nods and smiles – reflected this. But as others noted in heartfelt speeches, the office’s night owls – few of which had worked at Human Rights Watch for as long as Ana had cleaned its halls – had often exchanged much more with the beloved custodian. She had offered them words of support during particularly arduous assignments and had shared her motherly wisdom with expecting mothers and parents throughout multiple pregnancies. Most notably, she had encouraged all to promptly adjourn their workday and return home to their loved ones.

I say notably because, as the night owls fondly recounted memories of long nights and early mornings worked alongside Ana, the eyes of a younger Ana began to fill, with soft tears pearling down her cheeks. Explaining her emotions, Ana’s daughter told us that though she was happy to witness the office’s love and appreciation for her mother, she couldn’t help but shed a tear for all the times she and her sisters had returned from school to an empty house, or had left in the morning without the warm greetings and encouragements her mother routinely offered us.

Moments later, as Ana bid us adieu in her own heart-wrenching speech, she confirmed the now teary-eyed crowd’s suspicions: Ana was retiring early so that she could finally spend time with her family.

The celebration I witnessed on this otherwise ordinary Thursday afternoon was heartfelt, beautiful and one I will remember for a long time. I will remember the stories, the tears and the smiles as Ana excitedly shared news about her family’s upcoming move to warmer climates “to be together again.” I will remember how I struggled to hold back my own tears, how I inevitably failed to do so and proceeded to awkwardly fan and cover my flushed face for minutes after the toasts ended.

I will also remember the feeling in my stomach as I recalled all the other women in this gender-biased profession whose tireless work would not be celebrated, whose sacrifices would not be recognized.

I have yet to shake this feeling.

As I sit here, sipping my second coffee and penning this story from the comforts of a far-too-trendy New York City café, I realize I am neither prepared nor willing to do so. After all, I recognize this feeling – a mix of shocked awareness, appalled recognition of social injustices, determination and yes, guilt – the same feeling that motivated me to apply to law school, to enrol in every possible human rights course at the faculty, and that led me to this truly incredible summer at Human Rights Watch.

This post is dedicated to Ana and her family. May you enjoy many mornings and evenings together in your new sunny abode.

Stop planning, Start trusting, but keep asking

By Nour Saadi

As human rights interns, we might go to a certain country with the objective of empowering a community, and most importantly, with a preconceived idea of what this entails. These communities are, often times, the victims of extreme violence. Working at Human Rights Watch, in an environment so remote from the victims I wanted to work for, I started asking:

How much do we know of the needs of the victims?

Do the victims really want accountability for the perpetrators? Would a court judgment really change their lives, especially if it comes from some far away court they have never heard of, in the Western world?

I sometimes found myself thinking that victims might not want accountability. This looked more like what Western countries want. It looked like an imposed mentality.

My desk at HRW

Mon stage à New York a été très enrichissant professionnellement. Les avocat-e-s et la coordonnatrice du Programme de Justice Internationale sont des perles. Les discussions sont enrichissantes, les stratégies ingénieuses, le travail exigent, le soutien sincère, et les commentaires des stagiaires toujours bienvenus. Travailler au sein d’une organisation aussi large que Human Rights Watch m’a aussi permis d’explorer nombreux de mes intérêts par la rencontre avec des professionnel-le-s travaillant pour d’autres divisions : discussions sur le droit fiscal international, la corruption en Afrique et ailleurs, la règle de droit au Moyen-Orient et son application en temps de guerre, double-standards et stratégies employées avec l’ONU; et plus encore.

The Brooklyn Bridge Park

The Brooklyn Bridge Park

 

 

Vivre à New York pendant trois mois a été particulièrement enrichissant personnellement. Le chaos humain qui pèse sur la ville a lentement généré un repli sur moi-même. Ceci m’a permis de faire des découvertes où ma belle Montréal n’aurait su me guider.

 

 

 

 

Nour Saadi

Lessons learned?

Today, I am going back to Montreal with this in mind.

 

Humanity is doomed.

Beauty and happiness lies in the little things.

How can you work, with no hope of seeing change happening?

Without, in your eyes, any light sparkling?

I, dear, cannot work without a purpose.

I, dear, will not work without a purpose.

 

I will keep asking,

Without forgetting,

To stop planning, and start trusting.

 

New York City, you have been good

Oh how many times have you changed my mood

How many times have you hit my shoulder?

Walking too fast, to not miss the light?

If only you knew, if only I knew,

That time is eternal, it will not disappear,

Only you will

 

So walk, run! If you will

But make sure to stop and

Look around

Ask the sky and

Ask your heart

If the direction you’re running towards

If that light, burning your jaded eyes

Without you blinking

Oh how can you?

You need to cross, you need to run,

Hit a few shoulders under the sun,

 

But make sure to stop and

Look around

Ask the sky and

Ask your heart

If that light across the street

The one attracting your frantic feet

The light burning inside it can meet

Or is it,

stealing it from you.

 

Uptown

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.

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