From AJR, September 1999
issue
A Ticket To Hell
Continued from page
one.
By Unknown IN SOME COUNTRIES physical assaults, such
as those Choto and Chavunduka experienced, have given way to more subtle
means of silencing "troublesome" free press advocates. In May, the state
brought murder and conspiracy charges against Lanre Arogundade, a leader
in the Nigerian Union of Journalists. It was, supporters say, an
attempt to railroad him into a prison system known for its brutality and
take him out of running for re-election as head of the powerful
journalists' organization. He was forced to pay $2,500 bail, a large sum
by Nigerian standards, while he awaits the outcome of a police
investigation. In protest, the International Federation of Journalists
charged that Arogundade, 37, was arrested solely on the word of known
political opponents, some of whom work for the federal government, and
that he was being persecuted for union activities and his stalwart defense
of an unfettered press system. Under his leadership, the local arm of
the NUJ in Lagos, formerly the Nigerian capital, aggressively campaigned
against government repression and raised funds for journalists languishing
in Nigeria's prisons during the brutal regime of Sani Abacha, who died in
June 1998. At that time, state-controlled newspapers labeled
Arogundade a CIA agent and claimed the United States was using the
journalists' union to destabilize Nigeria. Among evidence cited: a seminar
on media and democracy sponsored by the U.S. Embassy in Lagos and attended
by NUJ members. In 1999, with a new government in place, the
harassment has continued. Earlier this year, police charged Arogundade
with stealing union vehicles. They arrested him at his home around 7 a.m.
and impounded a bus and a van. He was cleared and released by 9 p.m.
In March, a female member of the journalists' union was found shot to
death in a town 150 kilometers from Lagos. Around the same time,
Arogundade was speaking at an executive meeting of the NUJ in Lagos. A few
weeks later, he was charged with the murder. Four security police pounded
on his door one morning and drove him to the town where the body was
found. He was locked in a holding pen with 70 other inmates and subjected
to interrogations for 20 days. Upon his release, he was ordered to check
in at the police station twice a month. It was his fourth arrest since
1985, when he served as president of the National Association of Nigerian
Students. "They feel I have to be punished for what I am doing," says
Arogundade, who was presented a press freedom award at the West African
Journalists Association conference. After the police investigation,
the Ministry of Justice will decide if there is enough evidence to go to
trial. If he is tried and found guilty, he could face death by hanging.
Under Abacha's iron rule, dozens of journalists languished in
Nigeria's prisons, and many more were terrorized. Two of them, Bagauda
Kaltho of the News and Chinedu Offoaro of the Guardian, disappeared in
1996 after detention by state security agents. Both are rumored to be
dead. In February 1998, masked gunmen smashed into the home of Tunde
Oladepo, senior correspondent with the Guardian, and shot him in front of
his wife and children. Nothing was taken; police ruled out robbery as a
motive. A CPJ report noted that Abacha's death did little to expunge
one of his despotic legacies--a wide array of onerous decrees, such as
allowing the government to seize publications deemed likely to "disturb
the peace and public order of Nigeria," which can be used to punish
journalists.
DESPITE THE BLEAK outlook and unhappy litanies of abuse
in certain countries, experts on African media point to hopeful signs:
More journalists and media organizations are aggressively fighting to
establish independent press operations, expand and diversify news
coverage, and obtain training to boost professionalism, build credibility
and gain public respect. In places like Ghana, Ivory Coast and South
Africa, publications post editions on the Internet, providing a global
audience for their news agenda. Some media outlets have won significant
court battles, signaling increased support from judiciaries in parts of
the continent. Among the breakthroughs: In Niger, thousands took
to the streets in 1998 to protest after the military vandalized Radio
Anfani and arrested its staff--another sign, Africa watchers say, that the
public vigorously supports independent media. Similarly, in February, riot
police were forced to use tear gas to disperse demonstrators protesting
the torture of Zimbabwe's Choto and Chavunduka.
In Uganda, the independent press has become "the bulwark of pluralism
and civil society" and provides the country's primary forum for political
debate, even in the face of government interference, according to a CPJ
report.
In South Africa, the Supreme Court ruled that journalists are not
liable in defamation suits, even if the reports turn out to be untrue, as
long as reporters can show that they were reasonably careful in their
work.
In Liberia, a country recovering from a devastating civil war, the
press union waged a successful campaign against passage of strict
guidelines that would have muzzled independent media. Bettina Peters,
project director of the International Federation of Journalists, expresses
guarded optimism. "In the last 10 years, African journalists have made
enormous steps forward. It remains extremely difficult; a lot of people
have to suffer horribly. But the situation is not hopeless, and that's
what keeps them going," Peters says. She cites the example of Sierra
Leone, where "the press is embroiled in a mess" but continues to play a
key role in fostering political development. Journalists in Africa, she
says, are driven by a mission to further the cause of democracy, human
rights, civil society. "They are deeply dedicated" despite volatile
relationships with government, adds the IFJ project director. Chudi
Ukpabi agrees. A media consultant in Africa for the past decade, Ukpabi
has watched the African press corps move into what he views as a role
similar to that of journalists in America a century ago, with news outlets
functioning as instruments of dissent, providing diverse opinions and
pushing political leaders to fulfill promises. It has been an uphill
battle, he says, because in many African countries, dissent has not been
part of the culture. Government has no concept of the Fourth Estate.
Journalists often are simply viewed as nuisances who create conflict.
Another snag for the fledgling independent press has been the
breakdown of postcolonial order in Africa, giving way to the phenomenon of
"warlord politics" that continues to ignite regional conflicts.
Journalists often find themselves assigned to some aspect of that volatile
beat where almost anything they produce offends one faction or the other,
creating a constant state of vulnerability. In the Democratic Republic
of Congo, for instance, seven factions are involved in the fighting. In
Sierra Leone, some editors and reporters have hired bodyguards after
publishing accounts of atrocities by rebel armies. Somalia continues to be
plagued by clan warfare, creating a perilous environment for editors
struggling to produce small newsletters that attempt to shed light on the
conflict. Still, many of those on the scene agree that, overall,
conditions for the growth of independent media have improved. Experts like
Peters caution that freedom is a relative term. "Some of the problems we
are talking about [at this conference] exist because there is a more
independent press. If there was strict government control, as in the past,
journalists wouldn't be getting into these issues," she says. Within
the continent's history lie clues to how the media have evolved. A
publication titled "Reporting on Ethnic Diversity in Africa" cites fallout
from colonial rule, which imposed "fault lines" on the ethnic map and
prevented local populations from solving their own problems. The British
favored some ethnic groups over others, laying groundwork for future
conflicts. The French pattern of direct rule allowed no room for political
development. After liberation, which often followed civil war, most
African countries experienced one-party rule, with political leaders
viewing any opposition as dangerous to their cause. Print and broadcast
outlets were highly controlled and strict laws were passed forbidding
reporting that might cause "public anxiety" or "threaten the integrity of
the state." Journalists who strayed simply disappeared or were imprisoned.
For many, the threat of disappearing into hellish surroundings
remains. Across the board, those attending the WAJA conference
described prison conditions in Africa as horrendous: damp dungeons full of
mosquitoes, disease and filth. "When governments decide to teach
journalists a lesson, they put them in the worst of these places," Ukpabi
says. In some countries, fear is used to encourage self-censorship.
Conference participants told of instances where journalists have been
threatened with injections of slow-acting poison or the AIDS virus if they
continue covering certain topics. In one case, a reporter in Zambia was
told she would be gang-raped while in detention. Contact with the
outside may be the African journalists' best safety net. Publicity from
the international press corps when abuses occur, pressure from Western
governments tied to loss of economic aid and protests from media watchdog
groups--all send a message that the world is watching. "Visibility is
extremely important," Peters says. "The campaigns local journalists wage
in these cases can't be overestimated." Often media organizations, such as
the Nigerian Union of Journalists, become the first line of defense.
More than anything else, outsiders tend to be struck by the individual
acts of courage and staying power of African journalists against seemingly
insurmountable odds. Joan Mower, the Freedom Forum's program manager for
Africa, echoed a popular sentiment when she noted their "amazing attitude
and spirit." "There is a resourcefulness, a feeling that nothing can
get them down," Mower says. "You see good journalism despite the major
poverty and repression, and there is a thirst for it that we don't find in
many places." Mower might have been describing Yorro Jallow, 31, a
freelance writer from The Gambia and a former BBC correspondent, who,
during a tour of the capital city, asked the driver to stop in front of a
sprawling building. "That is our hotel," he said, grinning widely at his
own joke. "It is where they take us when we are arrested." The last
time a story landed him in a jail cell, his 75-year-old father, a retired
farmer, sold two cows, his prized possessions, to pay his son's bail. "He
never wanted me to be a journalist," Jallow says. "But it is my passion. I
have no choice. It is our only hope if we are to change Africa." As
AJR went to press, Abdulai Bayraytay remained undecided about whether to
go into hiding in Sierra Leone, leave in self-imposed exile or continue
his radio call-in show and freelance writing while he gauges the danger in
Freetown. Ray Choto and Mark Chavunduka have challenged the law under
which they were arrested and await a Supreme Court hearing. They are
attempting to press criminal charges against their torturers. Lanre
Arogundade remains an accused murderer, awaiting a decision by the
Ministry of Justice on whether his case will be dropped or if he must go
on trial, with his life on the line.
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