BIG STORY
How the abuse of police (or judicial) power undermines the presumption of innocence
Let me tell you a story about the abuse of power. More than twenty years ago, two young men were out having drinks at a pub in Kampala. At around 10pm they decided to retire home. They paid their bill but as they neared the exit a reveller sitting at a table near the exit jumped at one of the two men, call him Yanga A, and demanded that he return his mobile phone.
Yanga A was taken aback. ‘What mobile phone,’ he asked? “The mobile phone that was here on the table,” the reveller belched. The table was almost two metres away from the pathway; Yanga A would have had to walk to the table and pick up the mobile phone, which onlookers, including Yanga B, agreed he definitely hadn’t.
Anywho, to avoid causing a commotion inside the pub, the party headed outside to solve the matter. As fate would have it, as soon as they burst out into the street outside, they came upon a police patrol pickup that happened to be driving by. Smelling blood, the police officers on the pickup brought it to a screeching halt.
Without asking too many questions, Yanga A was thrown onto the back of the pick-up (Mr Reveller, now in his privileged position of complainant sat in the cab), which sped off to Jinja Road Police Station about half a kilometre away. Yanga B followed in his car to aid his friend.
By the time he arrived at the station less than five minutes later, Yanga A had been unshod and unshirted, and was already sitting on the floor behind the police counter being told to produce the mobile phone. Mr Reveller was bent over on the police counter, his efforts to remain upright constantly undermined by a bewigged female companion who hang onto his shoulder as she took turns demanding for “their phone” and taking giant swigs from a beer bottle.
Yanga B asked if the police officers had tried to call the mobile phone number. They hadn’t, citing the insufficiency of their airtime. He offered his own mobile phone; the number was called; the phone rang; it was answered.
A male voice on the other end announced that he was the head of security at the pub and he was happy to come over and provide details to solve the mystery. He turned up a few minutes later and revealed that the mobile phone had slipped off the table or out of Mr Reveller’s pockets and fallen between two seats. A passing waiter had seen it light up and, as was custom, brought it to him for safekeeping.
There were sighs of relief. Mr Reveller confirmed that it was his mobile phone and sheepishly wondered how he had failed to see it. He mouthed something about his eyesight and, dragging Miss Beer Bottle behind him, disappeared into the darkness. Yanga A got to his feet, shaking his head at the silliness of it all.
He was waiting for his clothes and other property to be returned to him when a tall dark fellow in civilian clothes stumbled into the police station reception. Whatever alcoholic beverages he had imbibed seemed to halve the opening capacity of his eyes and required him to feel his way against the wall for support.
The room fell silent. “Who are zeeez people?” the drunk spat out, spinning on one-and-a-half legs. ‘We thought he was a suspect Afande,’ the police officer behind the counter said respectfully pointing to Yanga A, ‘but the matter has been resolved; they are just leaving.’
Afande, who happened to be the officer in charge, swayed for a few moments. Then with his free hand he pointed to Yanga A, Yanga B, and the head of security at the pub, and said: “arreshhhht them!” With that, he pulled himself through a door and disappeared into the back of the police station to try and find his uniport.
That is how three innocent young men – one falsely accused, another only there to aid his friend, and the third there in good faith to return a misplaced mobile phone – spent a night and a considerable part of the next day in filthy police cells.
The OC was nowhere to be seen when they were finally released. There was no apology and no accountability. A police officer, his judgment impaired by drink, had abused his office and his power. Just because he could.
We should speak out when innocent people are arrested, hauled to court with defective charge sheets, denied a chance to apply for bail, or condemned to pre-trial detention on flimsy charges. The presumption of innocence is as close to an inherent right as one can think of. We must never stop fighting for it.
Mr Kalinaki is a journalist and poor man’s freedom fighter.