More views from our house

Got up early, went to Special Court for Sierra Leone. Big huge cement compound with lots of facilities… first running water I’ve seen, air conditioning, functioning library, internet, media production facility. Was with Rob who was filing pictures for AP. Didn’t surrender my phone or passport as they asked, which was wise. Shot a bit, went to the main court. The three men were surrounded by bulletproof glass and security guards. They were in glasses, suits, in their early 30s, looked like African businessmen. Lots written on the banality of evil of course but I did see it there. No emotion, no remorse. One man’s defense strategy was simply to claim that it was a case of mistaken identity. One bent over a couple of times, but not overcome with the weight of his crimes, just upset that he finally got caught. Creepy. It was like sitting near Hitler. Hard to comprehend that they had done so many evil deeds; killing nuns, showing up with a bag of hands. They were the ones referred to in the movies and books about giving their victims the option of “short sleeves and long sleeves.” I just wanted to ask them ‘why’, and was reminded of the lady selling vegetables at our car window on the road who, when I said ‘no,’ yelled ‘why?’ It seemed so existential at the time. So heart-wrenching. But for her, that was the real tragedy… she didn’t care about those men. She needed money, that is the only issue she cares about. The trial is for us, for the west that didn’t react, so that we can feel good… that justice is done. But justice is far from done. There were family members there, no reaction when the guilty verdict was read. Of course it won’t bring dead ones back, won’t re-grow arms, as everyone is fond of pointing out. However I had a grim satisfaction as the judge read out the verdicts, of marking a big G on every count. It all seems so unreal. Maybe it’s the Blood Diamond effect. I re-watched the movie the other night while I was here. I was the bar where Leo meets the journalist—but the bar isn’t real, it was shot in South Africa. The only thing that resonated was that Leo was using the same notebook as I do. An odd piece of trivia—hardly the soul-searching truth the movie is meant to expose. Rather than bring the horror home, the movie has a strange distancing effect, as though the whole thing isn’t real. Being here, though, makes it real. As the men stand to hear their verdict, my hair stands on end. Evil can be felt through bulletproof glass.

When it was over, we went to library and waited for Rob to log footage. It took him forever, I was hot, I phoned CBC as it was the first time a charge of recruiting child soldiers had been prosecuted, left messages in case they wanted me to file and wrote a story in case they needed it. Problems because Rob shot in NTSC format and the court cameras shot PAL. Hours and hours later, cut the footage, then thanks to Peter the press officer (interesting story: white guy from Minnesota speaks Kreo, married a local, and bitter that they’re getting rid of him in favour of a cheaper but less able local) let us FTP it to Associated Press in Dakar. Rob bought us beers but I did not feel my day’s work (totally volunteer) was appreciated. Certainly he didn’t credited with any help at AP, and he wouldn’t have been able to file a thing without me editing all of his footage. Went back home and tried to be positive but I think they sensed my resentment. Was also worried earlier because Elvis cancelled our meeting. Again.