“Only Rights Can Stop the Wrongs”: A Summer Spent Living and Working with the Members of the Kenya Sex Workers Alliance

Nairobi is not for the faint of heart. When I first landed here six weeks ago, I soon realized this summer wasn’t going to be filled with gorgeous sunsets, views of the mountains, and dining at fabulous cafes and restaurants as was my last bit of international travel to the south of France. Nairobi is gritty; the city is busy and crowded, and the streets are dangerous. My host family asked me to be home before dark every night as a matter of safety, and I quickly agreed.

Over the past six weeks, I have indeed found those sunsets (while on safari at Amboseli National Park), views of the mountains (while visiting my host’s family in their small village on the slopes of Mount Kenya), and fine dining (with the help of new friends who have introduced me to hidden restaurants serving fabulous Indian, Ethiopian, and Kenyan cuisine). I have also learned that my summer here in Nairobi will not be defined by the food or the scenery, but rather by the people; the people I am living and working with are kind, funny, brilliant, and brave advocates for sex workers’ rights in Kenya. Experiencing daily life as one of them has already intensified my drive to work in international human rights, as well as deepened my understanding of what it means to be an advocate for truly marginalized populations, such as sex workers.

I spend my days working for the Kenya Sex Workers Alliance, and am generously being hosted by the organization’s co-chair, John Mathenge. The first several weeks of my internship were spent drafting a training manual called “Sex Workers Rights’ Are Human Rights,” focusing on the rights found in international treaties and the Kenyan Constitution which most affect sex workers. This work was familiar to me; after two years in law school, researching laws as applied to a specific population is the norm. The challenging (and most exciting) part began when I started administering the trainings to sex workers in the Nairobi area. I have never met a more motivated, willing-to-learn, and engaged group of people, some with little education, others with paralegal training, all with an ardent desire to learn their rights and apply them to the abuses they face daily from police, clients, soldiers, and healthcare providers.

The trainings have been an emotional and eye-opening experience, as I am realizing that even if a human right is not respected by those in authority, simply owning that right and coming together to fight for protection of that right, has deep meaning for those who are told that they are not deserving of the most basic respect and human decency. The sex worker population in Nairobi is composed of hard-working, intelligent, caring, and respectable people, whose government consistently denies their human rights by allowing abuse and stigma to exist. The work of KESWA has made great headway for the cause: KESWA participates in human rights conferences and events around the world, as well as promotes HIV prevention and positive living for those with HIV/AIDS.

If my experience at KESWA had not been “real” enough so far, an event that took place recently solidified for me the importance of human rights for sex workers, as well as the ongoing struggle that activists in Nairobi must face.  In the middle of the night, John received a call and rushed out of the house. We found out the next day that two of the sex workers and major activists at KESWA, Phelister and Grace, had been spending time at a bar in town, one that is lively and popular with sex workers and clients, when the police raided the bar. Everyone found on the premises was arrested, despite the fact that no illegal activity had taken place: all the patrons, the management, even the wait staff and cooks at work in the kitchen were detained. Sixty-five people in total, including our two friends and colleagues, were carted off to jail for the night. Bail was set at 2,000 Kenyan shillings each (approximately $25).

At that point John arrived with the bail for Phelister and Grace. But rather than go home, while others who could not afford the bail remained, our two friends stayed until everyone was released. They spent the night protesting, leading chants of “Haki Yetu!” (“These are our rights!”), and keeping high the spirits of the sex workers and other bar patrons until around 11am the next morning when all were released with no charges. When I saw Phelister the next day, I was worried and scared about what had happened, but she wasn’t concerned. It had turned into a moment of impromptu activism, she said: “We wanted to show the community that sex workers support each other and we will fight for our rights. We can do good for our community.” 

New Leadership, Old Challenges at the ICC

This summer I am interning with the Open Society Justice Initiative, part of George Soros’ Open Society Foundations, in the far-flung locale of New York City (approximately four blocks from the Leitner Center). Though the Foundations’ main focus is grantmaking—giving away nearly a billion dollars a year to various human rights causes—the Justice Initiative essentially functions as an international public interest law firm, engaging in research, advocacy, and strategic rights-based litigation in national and international courts around the world. In addition to its de facto headquarters in New York, there are sizable Justice Initiative offices in Budapest, London, and DC, as well as a roving pack of lawyers, researchers, and trial monitors elsewhere. I am working specifically with the International Justice Program, doing research and writing on the International Criminal Court.

Now entering its second decade of operation, the International Criminal Court has one conviction and one acquittal. Such a batting average is uninspiring to even the Court’s most ardent supporters, especially as it is estimated that by 2015 it will have cost over $1.6 billion. In addition to its record, civil society commentators and member states alike have criticized the Court for investigatory blunders, insufficient outreach, and a perceived bias against Africa. If the ICC is meant to be the permanent international court of criminal justice it needs to be more efficient and effective. With the recent appointment of its second Chief Prosecutor, Fatou Bensouda of the Gambia, and other high-level Court administrators, the Court and its supporters are taking the opportunity to push for systemic changes to its operations. 

I recently attended a briefing at the offices of the Coalition for the ICC by one of those incoming Court administrators, the new ICC Registrar Herman von Hebel. This is a person under tremendous pressure to secure a budget that will support robust investigations and successful prosecutions, in addition to instituting a reliable witness protection program (time ran out before I could ask about the alleged sexual assault of witnesses by an ICC employee in the DRC) and heading outreach efforts. I had attended a similar briefing (same conference room, many of the same attendees, same Mr. von Hebel) in April in my capacity as an intern with Human Rights Watch, just before he was sworn in. In April he was cautiously optimistic and eager for input from the NGOs assembled, saying that he planned to streamline the Registry, prioritize outreach, and work to strengthen cooperation between the Registry and the Office of the Prosecutor.

Herman von Hebel being sworn in as ICC Registrar, April 18, 2013 © ICC-CPI

Three months later, after having confronted the reality of ICC bureaucracy, I half-expected to encounter a defeated man. However, though besieged from all sides by state donors and frustrated civil society groups, Mr. von Hebel seemed fired up, not beaten down. While acknowledging the Court’s continued shortcomings, he outlined concrete proposals for structural changes within the Registry and field offices, double-digit percent budget increase, and a core focus on outreach. The Registrar’s perspective mirrors that of the most effective civil society participation (the Open Society Justice Initiative’s ICC work surely included): optimistic yet realistic, self-aware, open to criticism, and constructively critical themselves. With the tactful support of civil society, the Court’s new leadership will hopefully be able to translate their vision into successful prosecutions of the world’s worst criminals. 

Change and Challenges in Cambodia

Cambodia in the rainy season is cool(er), verdant, and lush.  Rice paddies swell, cinnamon-hued roads soften to mud, and the jungle creeps in a bit closer.  After the thrashing madness of afternoon storms that stop as suddenly as they start, motodups and tuk tuks cruise around crater-sized puddles in Phnom Penh in the post-deluge quiet.  People emerge from behind doorways and the streets begin fill to with activity again. 

In the same way, thirty-four years after the fall of the Khmer Rouge and the end of a collective national nightmare of genocide and war, Cambodia is getting back on its feet.  This summer I am lucky enough to have the opportunity to play a small role in these reconstruction efforts as a legal intern at the Documentation Center of Cambodia (DC-Cam).  As an organization dedicated to recording the Democratic Kampuchea (Khmer Rouge) era, DC-Cam variously serves as the world’s largest archive on the Khmer Rouge and as a source of research, outreach and education surrounding the genocide.  The organization has been integral to helping Cambodian society cope with the aftermath of the genocide and understand and digest the ongoing trials at the Extraordinary Chambers of the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC). This is critical in a country that is becoming known abroad for its temples rather than its war history, but where there is still obviously both the need and desire for justice —a tension visible in the split personalities of rapidly developing Phnom Penh, my temporary home.

The Lonely Planet Cambodia edition from 1991 (available at the National Library here) suggests a total of two available hotels in Phnom Penh and lists the Central Market as the only reliable place to procure a meal---that is, assuming you could even get a visa to enter the country.   Today, the city bristles with air conditioned coffee shops offering lattes that cost $2.50 and free wifi---popular with expats stopping between yoga class and a swim at a hotel pool. Outside the city, the countryside is a traveller’s dream of good roads connecting temples, jungles and beaches, staffed by tiny old ladies in checkered scarves hawking mangosteens and Vietnamese iced coffee. At the same time, Cambodia remains shackled to its past. Cambodian soil still holds between an estimated 4 and 6 million land mines that were laid during the 1970s.  Trials at the ECCC grind forward, but maybe not in time to offer survivors the full benefits of truth and accountability.  This spring, Ieng Sary, co-founder of the Khmer Rouge and one of the accused in case 002, died at age 87 while awaiting trial at the ECCC.  Ieng’s death dealt a frustrating blow to a tribunal already mired in delays and allegations of political meddling, and increased the sense of urgency in trying the remaining accused who also are largely of advanced age and in failing health.  As a Leitner Center report from 2011 chronicled, the country also faces a tremendous mental illness burden that is the result of poor treatment options and the scars of genocide—fissures that remain hidden from most foreigners visiting the country.

As an outsider and newcomer, trying to decipher Cambodia is as beautifully reflexive as the correct response to sok s’bay (Khmer for “how are you”---literally meaning “healthy, happy?"; the answer also being sok s’bay) and as complicated as giving good directions to tuk tuk drivers (extremely).

  For more information about the Documentation Center of Cambodia, visit www.dccam.org.  

Rugby, Soccer, and Race in South Africa

 My first introduction to race relations in South Africa came in 1995, when I was five. My family had just moved to Swaziland from India, and we were going to South Africa on a family holiday. Apartheid had just ended. My mother tried explaining that white people hadn't treated black people or Indian people well. "They're going to be mean to me!" I wailed. Having been born in New Delhi, having gone to an Indian nursery school, and having mostly Indian friends, I thought I was Indian. Eighteen years later, I've returned to South Africa to intern at the Southern Africa Litigation Centre, and I now understand that I'm actually white.

The last two days in Johannesburg have been an indication of how far race relations have come, but also how much is left to be done. Two days ago, I visited the fantastically-curated Apartheid Museum. It included the famous episode during the 1995 Rugby World Cup, hosted in South Africa. Mandela, ever conscious of symbolism, shocked the mostly-white crowd by appearing on the field before the game, dressed in the South African captain's jersey. Rugby is traditionally a white sport in South Africa, and thus was seen to represent apartheid. The stadium was stunned, but someone started to chant. "Nel-son! Nel-son!" The rest of the stadium joined in, and South Africa Springboks went on to defeat the New Zealand All-Blacks (whose nickname derives from their jersey) 15-12. Clint Eastwood, Morgan Freeman, and Matt Damon liked the story so much that they turned it into a movie.

Last night, my brother's friend Warren and I went to a sports bar to watch the Springboks play Italy. Coincidentally, Bafana Bafana - South Africa's soccer team - was playing against the Central African Republic at the same time, and the bar was screening both games. To the left, where the Springboks game was being screened, the room was almost entirely white. To the right, where the soccer was being screened, the crowd was almost entirely black. Warren and I positioned ourselves in the middle, so that he could watch the rugby and I could watch the soccer. Warren leaned over and told me to notice the different reactions if a goal or a try were scored. Bafana Bafana scored! 3-0! The right side of the bar erupted, with people shouting, whistling in joy, and jumping out of their chairs to celebrate. The left side of the room didn't seem to notice. That game ended shortly after, so all screens now showed rugby. A few people left, but most stayed to watch. Italy started pressing, bringing the game to 20-10, but Bryan Habana, a star South African player, broke away from a crowd of tackles to score a try. At 26-10, the game was beyond Italy's reach. A handful of people on the right side of the bar cheered, but it was nothing like before. To my right, I overheard a lady chastise her friend for not cheering. "Habana is black!", she informed him.

But that sports bar is a sign of progress. Just twenty years ago, such a scene could not even have existed. Warren, a white South African, speaks Zulu, Xhosa, and Sesotho. The scars of apartheid are still evident, but there's hope.