Last time I had a brush with the Law and Order section of the CID I wrote glowingly about how I had been treated by the CID operatives who dealt with me, but not this time. I am not going into the merits and demerits of the case which is being handled by our learned friends in the legal fraternity. They say in Latin parlance the case is sub judice so it cannot be discussed in the press.
But do I have any gripes with the way I was treated this time? Yes, I do.
I was picked up round mid-morning together with Loud Ramakgapola (he is now notorious at the CID and the magistrate courts for his unpronounceable surname) our human resources manager. We voluntarily walked to the detectives’ car; I was not handcuffed or bundled into the car. (One day I will fundraise for the CID so operatives can drive decent cars.) What struck me as I was driven to Harare Central was the bon-homey atmosphere in the car. Everyone greeted me by my first name as if I was their long-lost friend.
But tellingly one of them said he hoped his name was not on the BBC already; they were aware of the power of the media and the long arm of the international justice system in which, when the endgame comes, they will have to account for their deeds.
It was a cold mid-morning when Rama and I were asked to join our colleague Patience Nyangove who had been picked up earlier. The room where we were to spend the rest of the day was as cold as a mogue; soon we were freezing. We discussed with a bit of wry humour what it would be like in the cells if it was so cold in a mere room.
So far so good.
When I was growing up I was notorious for my dribbling wizardly at soccer; all the defenders dreaded me. So it was surprising that the reason for my misery at Law and Order was the unfortunate use of the word “notorious” in reference to a senior member of the police force. My reporter, who had written the story in question, surely had not affixed that prefix to the name of the senior detective; I had!
In my previous encounter with Law and Order I was not subjected to the ordeal I had to suffer that afternoon. One of the police details brought immaculate white forms into the room which had to be filled in; they called it profiling.
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They asked me everything about myself; I jumped out of my seat when they asked my father’s first name. I told them my father was long dead but they didn’t care. I told them my father’s first name was 14224 thinking that number might ring a bell. The officer was too young to have recognised that that was my father’s force number when he was still alive and serving in police force.
They asked me about my best friends and where I hang out with them. My lawyer protested saying that was too intrusive. I asked if I could call my friends and tell them I was giving their names to Law and Order but I was denied this favour. So I reluctantly gave them the names. Later when I was released and told my friends about it, I lost them.
Could it be sheer coincidence then that when I went to have a haircut on the Sunday after my release at my favourite hangout one of them was there? The profiling was scary to put it mildly and I hope my erstwhile friends will not be watched as they have their own haircuts!
At sunset it was clear one of us was not going home for the night; obviously it was me for having let the word “notorious” go to print! But detaining me did not make sense unless it was a vindictive way to exact revenge. In my previous encounter with Law and Order it had been established beyond any shadow of doubt that I wasn’t the kind of “musungwa” who would abscond.
Very interestingly, the chapter I was being charged under had been the same I had been arraigned for last December and as everyone knows by now that clause in our constitution has been challenged as unconstitutional and is being reviewed at the Supreme Court.
So, there was no way I was going to take the bolt when I knew with a great degree of certainty that no conviction would be secured. I was not going to run away over a case I knew was a definite dud. But I was locked up anyway. Luckily my colleagues Patience and (what’s-his-name–again?) Ramakgapola were let go to enjoy the comfort of their homes.
But why was this made a criminal case when it is clearly a civil matter? When an individual in a state organ is defamed or slandered he should consult his lawyers who would ably advise him on the way forward; it is his legitimate right to seek recourse. He or she shouldn’t use state machinery to fight back or to exact vengeance; that is illegal. It was plain this is what was at play here.
I have now been criminalised and my profile painstakingly recorded in a similar manner the “axe killer” of the 1980s was profiled. Now I am being stalked wherever I go and my poor former friends have also been criminalised for a crime they never committed.
Everyone earns their notoriety; for me it was because of my dribbling wizardry. But others may earn theirs by abusing state organs for personal revenge. Tragically when this happens the notoriety does not stick only on the individual concerned but on the whole state organ whose name is brought into disrepute by such acts.
What CID Law and Order needs to do is to clean its act by reaching out to the community, especially to journalists in a well-thought out public relations campaign so it can shed its “notorious” tug. Arresting and throwing journalist into filthy cells doesn’t make it less notorious but instead reinforces its stigma.
