Wheels of Justice, Part IV: "Day in Court"

The first day of the criminal court session is one of formality and
administration. The cases to be tried during the session—for this
session that is scheduled to last 30 days there are 29 cases—simply
need to be scheduled at a time convenient for the lawyers who will be
trying each case, and then the cases are placed on the court’s
calendar.

A cursory review of the list of cases reveals troubling statistics:
the charges in thirteen of the 29 cases—almost 45%—to be tried over
the next month are either defilement or aggravated defilement. The
American equivalent of statutory rape, defilement is the most common
crime among the capital offenses of Uganda, which means it carries a
potential death sentence. Aggravated defilement is statutory rape of
a girl under the age of 14 or when the accused is infected with HIV.
My informal survey of the aggravated defilement cases indicates that
the former is more common than the latter.

The first case to be scheduled, a defilement case, revealed more
troublesome patterns in the Ugandan system. Mukiibi Fred, the young
man who had been accused of rape, had been in prison since October 10,
2007. When he finally stood in front of a judge, it was July 1. This
was likely the first time he had been in a courtroom since charges
were brought against him, more than twenty months earlier.

The young man wore jeans and a faded red t-shirt as he walked to the
dock, a judicial penalty box of sorts, where the accused stands
throughout hearings and trial. Wide-eyed, Mukiibi Fred stood silently
as his state appointed attorney, the prosecutor, and Justice Lugayizi
dispensed the formality of introductions for the court record.

As is the case with many defendants, Fred spoke almost no English, and
it wasn’t until the court reporter translated the proceedings into
Luganda that he understood what was being said.

Prior to each case being placed on the court’s calendar, the charges
against the defendant were read. Although for this case, as happened
for several others that followed, the Directorate of Public
Prosecutions (effectively the district attorney’s office) had
determined that something in the original charges had changed.

When the woman representing Fred introduced herself, Justice Lugayizi
asked why she was now on the other side. Evidently, she had been
formerly employed as a prosecutor, but was now in private practice.
There are no public defenders in Uganda. Therefore, defendants who
cannot afford an attorney are appointed private lawyers who are paid a
pittance to litigate on their behalves. As a result, the
representation for defendants is regularly inadequate.

At the conclusion of her exchange with Justice Lugayizi, she said in
English, “I think my friend will be happy that he is going home
today.” This was not translated.

After a few more minutes of administrative formality, the prosecutor
submitted “No prosci” papers, which is Ugandan-influenced Latin that
effectively dismisses the case. Evidently, there were no
witnesses—including the alleged victim—who could testify, and the
evidence against the accused was spotty, at best.

The papers were handed over to the court reporter who then delivered
them to the judge. Justice Lugayizi reviewed them quickly before
asking if defendant’s counsel had any objections. Justice Lugayizi
then signed the document and returned it to his court reporter with
instructions to deliver it to the Registrar of the High Court.

Then, in English, he pronounced that the charges in the case were dropped.

Prossy, the court reporter, slowly translated into Luganda.

The man with the faded red t-shirt in the dock listened intently.
When Prossy concluded, his eyes showed confusion. Sensing this,
Justice Lugayizi said, in English, “You are going home today.”

When Prossy translated, Mukiibi Fred buried his face in his hands.
After spending 628 days at Luzira Prison, a man who would never face
trial due to lack of evidence, was free.

After leaving the dock, he returned to his seat in a pew among the
others accused of crimes. As he sat there, waiting for the next 28
defendants’ cases to be scheduled, he looked around the courtroom,
eyes wide with wonder, slowly embracing the fact that he would sleep
in his own bed that night.