Today is International Human Rights Day, an annual event established to commemorate the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the U.N. General Assembly in 1948. For many human rights advocates across the world, this day presents an opportunity, albeit brief, to reflect on the year that was, as well as our role and our place in it.

It is an irony of course that in this occupation our daily toil can bind us together and, at times, separate us when the next crisis or series of human rights violations emerge. I often struggle with this challenge, torn between maintaining campaigns on still important, ongoing issues while also helping to provide due attention to outbursts of political violence, for example, or deadly crackdowns on peaceful protests.

In light of this dilemma I have found it important to remind myself – and others – that speaking out against and highlighting injustices, regardless of where or when they may occur, form part of a broader effort to confront one of humanity’s enduring certainties: that those with power, and the means with which to inflict pain and suffering on their fellow human beings, do so because they calculate that the outside world will not notice or otherwise care to take action.

Defying this corrosive logic has been, and will continue to be, what drives my work, especially as it pertains to countries that do not often register on the international radar— the likes of Angola, Gambia, Eritrea, Swaziland, and Zimbabwe are a few examples. And I know I am not alone.  The belief that we can make a profoundly positive difference in the lives of ordinary people simply by highlighting what is going on there, consistently and steadfastly, is rooted not only in private conviction, but also in facts.

Take the case of Thulani Maseko and Bheki Makhubu in Swaziland, for example, two prisoners of conscience who were put on trial and jailed for exposing rampant injustice in their country— many will agree that these two men would remain behind bars today if it were not for an international campaign that focused attention on their ordeal. The same could also be said for Rafael Marques, a fearlessly resolute journalist and anti-corruption crusader in Angola. While these brave men will undoubtedly continue to face harassment and persecution due to their legitimate (and desperately needed) work, the fact that they will spend today with their families – and not behind bars – is testament to the influence of public advocacy, as well as the power of naming and shaming repressive regimes and the perpetrators that are given license to abuse human rights, often with brazen impunity.

In this line of work we are all too familiar with tragedy and hardship. At the same time, however, we have the privilege of standing alongside the best people on Earth— the humble and altogether inspiring individuals like Thulani, Bheki and Rafael, who continue to strive, often at great personal peril, for principles bigger than all of us. If these at-risk individuals manage to uphold the strength and courage to press on, in spite of the myriad odds and threats routinely stacked against them, then we have no excuse to not follow their lead.

I look forward to seeing all of you out there, on this Human Rights Day, the dates in between, and all of those that will come hereafter. As my Swazi friends would say: Amandla!

Dear Editor,

With a heavy heart, I would like to share this recollection of mine on your prestigious platform. It’s December again. I thank Allah that it is 2015 and I am privileged to recount the December of 2012.

It was Monday 3rd December 2012. I had an appointment to keep. I was to report, for the third time, at the headquarters of the National Intelligence Agency, Banjul. I had spent the weekend with my family, playing indoor games with my wife and daughter just to assure them that everything was going normal.

Deep inside me though, I felt a disturbing fear that prevented me from sleeping soundly, neither eating nor reciprocating my little daughter’s giggles. She would mumble-jumble something between Mandarin and Russian and finish the incomprehensible phrases with sweet giggles in expectation of the usual fatherly hug that tells a child that its father was the best in the whole world.

It was always like that prior to this Sunday preceding my faithful Monday. On this Sunday, my daughter did what she never did. Whenever she had issues with her mother, I was the best sanctuary and protector for her. She would report that her mother had smacked her, denied her the TV remote set, gave her serious sponging at the bathroom, refused her to wear the boots I bought her from Addis Ababa which rewarded her with beeps and multi-colour blips etc. That was normally the first thing for me to settle upon arrival from work. Together, we will set the penalties for her mother, ranging from denying her the fruits I always came home with, to promises of revenging on her behalf.

This kid could be accused of loving me more than she does her mother. She was my best friend in the house.  My wife, on her part, would excitedly help translate our daughter’s daily complains and accusations although most of them were levelled against her. 
On Sunday 2nd December 2012, I jumped from a shallow slumber after getting back to sleep after Fajr. My daughter had woken up a few minutes before but not hearing the usual reveille from my Galaxy tablet which she used to locate from its rings and screen light and on which wallpaper was her innocent face, she had busied herself with her doll.

My snores might have fascinated her because, according to her mother who was watching her quietly from above the blanket, the kid first listened to the heaves from my smoke-ridden chest, put away the Arab doll and went straight for my nostrils. She thrusted her soft little index into one of my nostrils. I can’t remember what I thought it was but all I could recall was sitting upright at the centre of the bed, gnawing hard at my nose.  Seeing that I was stupefied, my wife mocked at me from under the blanket. She was bursting of laughter. “Don’t you know that your dad is a coward? You frighten him again and he may hit you before knowing! ”

I turned to face my wife and met my daughter’s intrigued eyes, triumphant but bewildered at my sudden jump. I never knew what actually transpired until it was all explained to me by my wife later that afternoon, but only one thing was certain: there was no longer any chance of getting back to sleep that morning again. Neneh was up and so must everyone else.

I staggered to the ante-room where I boiled water for the morning bath. Usually, my daughter would be musing with my Galaxy tablet while I am at the bathroom but today, upon entering the dressing room, she was standing patiently at the mirror waiting for me. “Neneh, may I boil water for you too to take a bath? I will not use the sponge”, I persuaded.

She didn’t seem to hear me for she didn’t even look my way. “Or do you want us to go and buy chips and wonjo from the shop?” I ventured again. This time, to my horror, she turned to me with a grimace. With that wail of a terrified child, she cried till I thought she must have been stung by an insect or something for I inspected her all round to see any sign of pain but saw nothing on her body. Her mother came in a rush and enquired. Nothing.

The next minute, our neighbour knocked and greeted at the door. “Ami, what is going on here, hope it is not boiling water or the still hot gas stove?” She too had recognized the terror in the kid’s shrill wails. No one, except God, knew what caused this kid to cry so uncontrollably that early Sunday morning. What was wrong? How come I was unable to calm her, not even by my usual tricks: kneeling before her and telling her that she was now taller than me, or clapping my palms noisily together to say I have beaten her adversary, or giving her an all-five gesture and saying ‘take five’ which she normally cherished by surrendering her hands into mine?

None of these hitherto successful tricks worked out that Sunday morning. After watching us speechless and almost motionless, her mother took her from my arms and offered her a motherly hug that, I must admit, transformed my helplessness into tenderness. I could feel their hearts beating in unison and I wondered what a monster a man would have been without that love from a mother.

The cries subsided and presently she swallowed a bile and was soon heard trying to say something amid her sobs. We thought she wanted milk which she was habitual of taking at that time of morning. We agreed she should get her usual. My wife turned to leave the room and as she faced me from the top of her mother’s retreating figure, the little girl mumbled something I never understood till it was too late.

This kid of just nineteen months had sensed what not me, neither her mother nor our parents had sensed. Or so I thought.  Was she already in the picture and just didn’t have the words to say it? Or were we insensitive of her moods? She actually sent us signals because my wife confessed that at one occasion, late in the night, she woke up and found her sitting quietly and staring fixedly at my sleeping figure.

On another occasion, she scrambled some Fula sentence which even my wife, who used to be my expert translator couldn’t make out. That was when I kissed them goodbye on my departure to Dakar where I was to catch my flight to Addis Ababa in advance for an AU Summit. Both me and her mother misinterpreted her. We thought she wanted me to buy her something hence the Arab doll and noisy Disney boots that I brought back with me.

I later knew what all these signals were. But it was rather too late. My daughter had sensed that some inevitable danger was looming. She was going to miss her dad. She would have no one to expect in the evenings to listen to her usual reports. No one to play with on the floor of the living room, who would give her access to the T.V., DVD remotes and moreover, a mobile phone to watch her own pictures and identify others she knows but couldn’t name.

There may not be the usual fruits she liked sharing with Musu, her friend. Who would offer her his finger for her to hold and run with to the shop and ask her to point at anything, anything at all, and would buy it for her? Who will call at least once in the afternoon and say “Neneh, what did your mother cook today? Or tell me who shouted at you today?” Who would now promise her to take the nurses to police if they inject her or insist that her mother gives her those not-nice syrups a number of times a day?

To what I later fathomed of her strange behavior, she might have had these questions but did not know how or what to do or say. Weakened by these big worries too heavy for an infant, she had resorted to the only available option to her….crying her heart out. I should have known this earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to avert predestined but I would have died trying. At least I would have attempted to flee before going to bed that Sunday night.

We had spent the day under the mango tree brewing attaya, smoking cigarettes and playing crazy eight with almost all the girls at home that Sunday. I had not left the compound the whole day, not even for the mosque or the shop till eleven in the evening when I had lulled my daughter to sleep and could take a walk before retiring to bed.

It took me almost half an hour before I decided it was best not to go far in that cool night. I wish I had. I wish I had just kept on going till I find myself in another country on that night. 
Little did I know that to be out in the open night sky decorated with brightly sparkling stars and a gracious moonlight was something I will miss! And for a long time. I remembered I had an appointment to keep so I retreated and headed home.

I went to bed but could hardly sleep. I tossed around from one side to the other almost all night, caressing my daughter’s hair whenever I faced her. My wife too was awake because she used her left foot to search for mine under the blanket. When she found it, she groaned emotionally. “Why are you awake still?” She whispered. I expected the question but did not brace up well for it for it took me unawares. Not certain what to say, I returned her the question.

Whether she was reading my mind or me reading hers I can’t tell but she answered exactly as I thought was my best bet. “You see”, she began, “for some reason I don’t understand, I am very worried. Be honest, I know you have always been but this has nothing to do with what you regard as confidential. Are you sure you are not in any danger? I have lately been feeling awfully afraid and having sleepless nights since you came back from NIA. I don’t actually know what I am feeling. It is between paranoia and frightening feeling. Sometimes I get the feeling that something terrible has either happened or about to. Is there anything you don’t want to tell me?” She was right. I couldn’t just tell her so. The situation will only worsen if I confessed what I too was feeling.

So I went on the defensive. I was feeling the same awful thing in me but could not decipher what it was. I shifted my left hand which, from the time my wife’s foot found mine, I noticed, had stopped caressing my daughter’s hair and was laying heavily on her forehead. I searched and found my wife’s arm. I held it tightly and cleared my coarse throat. “You know I would never hide anything from you, right? You know I would confide in you where my life is kept if I can. I am not aware of any danger at all”, I lied. “I think you are just into those hysterics again. Don’t you think we plan you a visit to the village?”

I wanted to change the subject but she brought me straight back. “No. This has nothing to do with nausea. Yes, you have been smart and attentive enough this time to know I am expecting. It is not about that. It is about your job and your report to NIA tomorrow. If things are OK as you put it, then why going to that place again?” She was right again. “I think you are just imagining things but to be honest with you, I have done nothing to warrant me to worry. I am very innocent of what they say I did. The NIA have even confirmed that to me. They know the wrong person was arrested. If it was thought that I was The Soldier and I am arrested and yet The Soldier is still writing, I cannot imagine a better vindication. What else should I fear? I am innocent my dear, you know I cannot be a criminal even if I want to”.

I waited for that to sink in. None of us spoke again till dawn when she woke me up and said the bathroom was all mine. My daughter was still asleep when I was leaving for Banjul but when she woke up, she cried till she went back to sleep.

I got to Banjul at around 08:30 am. The NIA front gate was full of terror as usual. I booked in for Invest Unit and the usual protocol was carried out. Phones, wallets, bags etc were registered and left behind. “OC good morning”, I greeted Mr. Sukuta Jammeh, head of the Investigations unit. “Good morning Mr. Sowe, how is the family? I hope you rested well with the family”.

Minutes later I was escorted to the Office of the Director of Operations, Mr. Louis Gomez who beckoned me to a seat opposite his expansive desk. “Just give these boys a few minutes” he politely said after dismissing my escort. I waited with much confusion. Which boys and for what? I hoped to get some clue from his solid face but he avoided mine throughout my brief encounter with him. I was deep in thought about what next.

A sharp knock at the door brought me back into the present. Two gentleman-looking guys walked in and announced that they were ready. My heart wanted to jump out but I managed to swallow it back. “Mr. Sowe, you may go with these boys”, Mr. Gomez said from behind the desktop monitor which prevented me from seeing his face. “OK then thanks and have a good day”, I managed to compose.

We descended down the narrow and steep staircase leading to the facade of the complex. There was a Mitsubishi Pajero revving idly just outside the foot of the stairs. “Did you leave anything at the main gate, Mr. Sowe?” “Umm yes, my phones and wallet”, I answered as we headed for the security room where my phones and wallet were handed back to me. “This way please”, Mr. Suso ushered me towards the waiting darkly tainted Pajero. I complied and soon we were out of the GPMB gates signalling a right turn.

I wondered what importance I had amassed overnight to be driven in the Director’s official car and most horrifyingly, where. We passed the cemeteries at a steady speed and all of a sudden, Mr. Suso, who was seated at the front passenger seat, turned to face me. “Mr. Sowe, we are being directed to transfer you to Mile Two for detention. I am sorry about that”. The words came like spikes into my heart. At a certain degree of fear, there is a zone of bravery. I feared no longer.

I was certain that death could be inflicted from man to man but Heaven or hell was entirely God’s discretion. “It’s alright, you don’t need to be sorry for that. You are merely doing your job. It’s okay with me “, I relieved him from fixing his eyes on me. We entered the gates of Mile Two on this 3rd December and never went out through them again till twenty six months later.

When the regime of The Gambian dictator, Yaya Jammeh, embraced biometrics technology in 2009, neither he nor his Interior Minister, Ousman Sonko, understood the technology the Touray brothers, Hassan and Abdou Draman were introducing in their country of birth.

The brothers are Gambians who studied and worked in the United States, returning to their native country to invest their own funds in what became known as the GAMBIS (Biometrics) project which, with the expected cooperation of a willing partner, would have placed The Gambia in an enviable position by ushering in transparency in future elections.

The financial sector and particularly the banking and insurance sub-sectors, would have benefited in more ways than one. The country would have been – although in a sense, it still is somewhat – the first country in the ECOWAS region to have embraced the new technology had the regime not broke the conditions of the contract with Pristine Consulting headed by Hassan Touray.

Biometrics technology allows one to measure and analyze the physical attributes of a subject’s facial and voice features. It can also scan retinal features, all of which can be stored in the chip and once stored the data cannot be altered or manipulated in any form. It is this high degree of transparency that biometrics technology provides that troubled a notoriously opaque regime.

The project introduced a centralized accounting platform making it possible for revenue data collected by the Gambia Revenue Agency to be easily accessible to authorized personnel. It eliminated the need for government departments to collect cash for issuance and renewal of passports, driver’s licenses, national IDs or similar official documents.

The effect was instantaneous. But so was the reaction of the Inspector General of Police Ensa Badjie who stormed the Pristine Consulting offices to register his displeasure at the new system because revenue is not being collected by his officers. IGP Badjie may have been expressing the sentiments shared by many of his colleagues in the government.

After the IGP Ensa Badjie’s incident, it became increasingly evident that buyer’s remorse was beginning to set in, resulting in the regime framing charges against the company which resulted in counter suit that ended up with the government dropping the charges.

The financial and legal implications of the regime’s decision to discontinue the biometrics project are grave in the midst of an economic crisis that is of the doing of Yaya Jammeh who continues to ignore advice of the IMF and other donors to be prudent in his spending.

Legal liabilities resulting from the breach of contract which led to Pristine Consulting suing government may result in additional financial cost to the public treasury. The regime’s reaction to the company’s legal action was to frame the Touray brothers. Even though the false charges were eventually dropped with the promise to financially settle, the regime failed to fulfill in its promise.

Abandoning the biometrics project that was being 100% pre-financed by private investors were to recover their investment costs over 5 years means additional financial burden of the public treasury resulting from litigation.

It also means that the country is returning to the old system of laminated national ID and driver’s license that are susceptible to forgery and manipulation. 2016 is presidential election year which is an inopportune time to abandon a system which would have made voter registration more fraud-proof and thus a more transparent electoral process.

It should be noted that while the Jammeh regime has abandoned the biometrics system, ECOWAS’s protocol requiring all of its 16 Members State to adopt the biometrics ID cards effective this month, January 2016. The Gambia thus has the dubious honor of being the first to have adopted the system, the first to abandon it and will be the last to adopt it. It is not surprising because this is a regime that is confused and lacks both direction and resolve.

By Sidi Sanneh

Mr President,

First and foremost, I would like to congratulate you for taking the initiative of  banning and denouncing this horrible practice of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) and for promoting female rights, especially the rights of our young girls.  I would also like to congratulate you taking your time to research and discover a lot about FGM which postulates that FGM’s practice is solely based on cultural tradition and is not found in the Holy Quran or any authentic hadith of Prophet Muhammed (Sallah Laahu Alaihii Wasallam).

Mr President,

I hereby bear witness that Allah (SWT) is always with  the righteous  and the truth shall always prevail no matter how long it takes.  I would also like to reiterate  that there is no Gambian in The Gambia or in the diaspora who dislike you, the only difference that separates you from some of us is our different way of thinking.  Therefore you being  a person who claims to be democratically elected by the people, I wonder if there is any need for you to be reminded that every individual is entitled to think in his own capacity. Just so you also know that, anytime you differ in ideas and opinions from any human, it should not result in you insulting, torturing, jailing, killing or exiling  that person. Indeed the leader of a nation should strive to be loved by his people, instead of creating a  hostile environment and enemity between its people.

Mr President,

I pray to Allah (SWT) to guide, bless and protect our nation and its people.  I utter these words not to disrespect or to praise you, but solely because it’s coming from my heart. You should try by all means to bring peace and togetherness between you and your fellow Gambians, your neighbors as well as the outside world for the benefit of the nation as a whole. Since you are the leader of The Gambia you have to get along with your people as well as neighboring countries.  All said and done, you live in this world and have to get along with the people living inside The Gambia and other societies so that Allah will be pleased with you and spread his mercy on you and the people you are leading.

Mr President,

I pray to Allah (SWT) to bring peace to all mankind throughout the world.  I equally pray for all organizations that worked tirelessly for the past thirty years to bring the horrible practice of FGM to an end. Such organizations include The Gambia Committee on Traditional Practices the Health of Women and Children (GAMCOTRAP), the Foundation for Research on Women’s Health Productivity and the Environment (BAFROW) and others.

Again, I hereby asked in the name of Allah (SWT), the most merciful for you to unconditional release all illegally detained personnel, political prisoners, religious leaders such as Imam Sawaneh, Gassama’ Colley and any others. I would like to conclude with this, as a Muslim and Religious Leader, I hereby advise you to work on a transition to hand over power before it is too late. Everything on earth must come to an end. Before leaving you as a brother I advise you to think about what great thinker call an EXIT ROUTE because most leaders who remain icons of history knew when it was time for them to leave through the big gate.

Mr President,

You are still young and able, there are more benefits in life to yearn for.  Their is life after the presidency.

As-Salaamu Alaikum Wa Rahmatu-llaahi Wa Barakaatuh,

Imam Baba M. Leigh

Washington DC, U.S.A.