FOCUS One woman's sorrows There is something stifling about courtrooms (the solemnity or
coldness) that paralyses one's brains, enabling one to feel anything but
detachment. Her ex-employer was sitting right behind her.
If he had leaned a little forward, he would have brushed against her
hair. Through the three-hour session, he had remained expressionless. He
sat there looking very distant, as if reminding himself that this was
merely a dream, a nightmare from which he would certainly wake up from
unaffected.
He was dressed smartly in a blue shirt with a matching tie. My initial
prejudice was shattered like a piece of glass thrown against a wall. I
almost made the mistake many a starry-eyed woman would do and that is
to deny the possibility that such a handsome-looking man was capable of
violent acts.
I held her hand in mine. "Are you still afraid of him?" I asked,
uncertain of my reaction if she were to say yes. "No" she answered,
confidently. "I am not afraid of him."
Sitting in the magistrate's courtroom that day, I realised that the
only element that separates me from my subject is my duty. As a
journalist, I strive to stay away from my subjects so that I can tell
my stories objectively. But there are times when my instincts would fail
me.
This is not because my judgement had been clouded by emotions. At
times, even the most heartless of journalists will be driven to passion
or anger. In such situations, by the time I finish studying my subject,
I am a part of him (or her) as much as he (or she) is a part of me.
I read the piece of paper and pondered over photos which summarise the
woman's entire sorrows. My first instinct was to condemn the
perpetrator of her wounds and pain. What kind of human being was this,
what kind of man would be capable of such atrocities? And yet, given the
present circumstances, was I in a position to judge this man?
There is something extremely vulnerable about Indonesian maids,
Bangladeshi workers or foreign wives that makes them susceptible to
accidents, violence or crime. I cursed the system, the structures that
divide humanity into the haves and have-nots, as I discovered how
similar all their stories were, and how in the final analysis, their
only triumph lay in the fact that they had managed to escape a violent
situation.
Story of woes
She told me that she had started working for her employer since January
this year. She claimed that she worked 18 hours a day. She was given no
time to pray and no food for the whole day except a packet of instant
noodles or plain rice, without even gravy, at nights. After only two
weeks, she became the scapegoat for every problem that took place in
that home.
The husband and wife started beating her for minor incidents such as
the baby having mosquito bites on the legs. She became a punching bag,
a cushion, the silent object where one would release one's frustration
on. She was often caught in the midst of frequent fights between the
couple. They burnt her with cigarette butts and would use rotan sticks,
mop sticks, slippers and walking sticks to whack the hell out of her.
How she lasted several months, for the life of me, I could not fathom.
But one day she couldn't stand the ordeal anymore. She pleaded to be sent
back to her agent. But her pleas fell on deaf ears. Like a prisoner, she
wasn't allowed to leave the house even in the day time.
But life has a way of liberating its own victims, of driving them to the
edge of the cliff where there is only one thing left to do: you either
fling yourself into the depths of eternity or learn how to fly. If such
dilemmas did not occur, the status quo of the bad remains intact, the
victims continue to suffer in silence and there is no question of
empowerment or victory against the enemy.
So it was destined that one "fateful" day became the darkest day - and
turning point - of her life. For reasons only known to the family, she
was beaten viciously from evening till the wee hours of the morning. She
fled when she was warned that she would be taken to task for causing
the family hurt if she reported the incident. She managed to go to the
nearest police station and was then sent to a shelter.
Judgment day
There are no similarities between a journalist and a victim of abuse
but we were united that day by the anticipation of waiting for the man
to be charged in court. She had waited for months for this special
moment. I had waited four hours. So how can the magnitude of my anxiety
match with hers?
She sat there wondering: what if he pleaded not guilty? What if the
court decides to go ahead with the trial? What if they found him not
guilty? What if he were acquitted and discharged?
"All I want is for the case to be over. I have to take control of my
life again. I want to work again," she told me.
"Or else how am I to feed my husband and two children back home?" she
asked.
She reckoned that truth and justice would eventually prevail. But the
sceptic in me responded: would it really?
My scepticism did not arise so much as a result of my general
perception of the state of the country's justice system as much as the
fact that this woman was jobless, dependent on kindred spirits of a
woman's organisation, therefore she could not afford a lawyer. Her only
consolation was that a social worker and a volunteer were kind enough
to accompany her to court.
Negotiations
When the charge was read, he pleaded guilty. His lawyer applied for the
charge to be compounded by a mutually-agreed settlement between the
two. The application was important for the charge carries a maximum fine
of RM2,000, a year's jail term or both. If the charge was compounded,
it would also mean that he will be acquitted and discharged by the
court of law.
The lawyer approached the social worker and said that his client had a
"settlement" to offer.
She was requested to go to the magistrate's chambers, accompanied by
the social worker. The prosecuting officer (PO) asked her to state how
much money she wanted. She asked for RM50,000 and a public apology which
the lawyer refused. His client could only offer RM10,000 and a private
apology in chambers. His client's reputation was at stake, he could
lose his job, the lawyer reasoned.
"I was treated like an animal, I was beaten up like a dog," she told
the PO. This analogy of her tragedy she seemed not to forget. She
repeated it whenever she could. And she told the PO she wanted nothing
less than a public apology.
They left the chambers after 15 minutes. Several discussions took place
between his lawyers and her social worker outside the courtroom. He had
engaged four lawyers to plead his case. Except for the social worker and
the silent volunteer, she had no one.
Public apology
It must be nauseating to look at a face that had done nothing but
caused you misery. It must be so sickening to talk about your pain when
all you want is to get it over with. It must be these frustrations, the
helplessness that finally compelled her to make a decision.
She was asked for the second time to enter the chambers. His lawyer
came to her and told her that his client's apology would read like
this: "I am sorry for what has happened to you".
I reached for the social worker beside her and whispered: "That
statement means nothing, it does not say that he has wronged her, what
use would that be? Ask him to say instead: My wife and I are very sorry
for having done all this to you".
Unfortunately, her social worker was not allowed to accompany her. I
later learnt that it was the court clerk who made a fuss. Again, my
mind reeled with questions. How could this be allowed to happen? How
could a victim be allowed to be alone in the presence of the abuser,
his lawyers, police officers and a magistrate without her own support
system? In this case, the victim had no legal representation, how was
she to negotiate in the presence of those intimidating figures?
I could foretell the outcome of the negotiations, I have had the
benefit of having witnessed too many episodes of injustice and
intimidation under similar scenarios. True enough, when the team came
out, the magistrate ordered the man to make his apology public but
worded carefully.
"I am sorry for what has happened to you," he said, not even looking at
her. And that was that. For that, he was acquitted and discharged. He
was free, unscathed, untainted, unrepentant. There was no need to
repent for he was as good as having not committed a crime.
A heavy heart
The self-assurance that if one were not punished by the laws of men,
the harsher laws of karma would someday apply did nothing to comfort
me. I left the courtroom with a heavy heart. I had a good story but
that wasn't enough.
I caught up with the woman outside the courtroom. She seemed pleased.
"He deserves it," she said with a smile. "He deserves it."
"He gave me a sum of cash and now I can get on with my life," she
whispered, touching the bulk of hard, comforting cash in the pocket of
her jeans.
With that I finally left, there was nothing more to say. I wished her
well as her social worker carted her away to a nearby bank to open a
savings account.
On my way back to the office to file my story, I appealed to my better
sense. What choice did this woman have, I ask myself? The man had won.
He had the funds to engage the right kind of lawyers to fight his case.
Whereas she had nothing.
Earlier, I had also learnt from the social worker that the police had no
evidence of the instruments used to burn and beat her. The police had
arrived too late at the scene of the crime and only managed to recover
one side of a slipper that was used to hit her. Hence, the reason for
such a lenient charge (which is compoundable), not a more serious charge
carrying a heavier penalty.
"If you had seen her wounds, her injuries, on the day she arrived at
the shelter, it was not so easy as simple assault," said the social
worker.
"The charge is too lenient, it is disappointing," she added, showing me
photos of the woman's black eye, cigarette burns all over her fingers,
chest and back, the scratched face and blue-black hands.
The sad realisation that the world is divided by a chasm of knowledge,
power and wealth, where the ones who came from the brighter side of
life could get away with almost anything only served to convince me
that no matter what some of us say, how strongly some of us would oppose
the lure of materialism in defence of our dignity, our principles and
ideology, in the face of temptation, others have no choice, others
would have to weigh the burden of having to feed a few other mouths, to
clothe a few other bodies, to educate a few other brains.
That there is sometimes no better choice than to forego justice and
allow personal honour and sufferings to be negotiated, compromised and
compensated with the luxury of money.
Copyright: Malaysiakini.com. Used with permission.
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