Alleged gang rape and suppression of press freedom in Somalia

As Somalia’s President visits London to meet with David Cameron, a woman who alleges she was raped by state security forces goes on trial for “insulting the dignity of a national institution”, alongside her husband and a journalist who interviewed her.

Somalia’s recently elected president Hassan Sheikh Mohamud today continues his diplomatic tour of Western capitals with his arrival in London, which is expected to include a meeting with Prime Minister David Cameron on Monday. His visit could however be a bumpy one.

Back in Somalia’s capital Mogadishu, a young mother who claimed that she was gang-raped by state security forces – supported in part by UK funding – is about to go on trial charged with making a false accusation and “insulting the dignity of a national institution”.

In a move condemned by the United Nations and rights groups, the Somali authorities have also charged several others associated with the 27-year-old woman, including her husband and a journalist who interviewed her in early January.

The case weaves together concerns about the rule of law, the safety of women and freedom of expression in a potentially embarrassing cocktail for the fledgling government.

The Somali authorities have accused the alleged victim of fabricating her account of sexual abuse and the journalist of seeking “economic gain” through distributing a false story, amongst other charges. Both could face up to six years in prison.

The woman’s husband was charged for supporting his wife in her allegations, while two other people were charged, including for their roles in setting up the interview. The trial is set to begin tomorrow.

US-based Human Rights Watch (HRW) has called on the government to drop the charges, describing the police investigation as “a politically motivated attempt to blame and silence those who report on the pervasive problem of sexual violence by Somali security forces.”

Human rights groups are also urging British officials to raise the issues directly with President Mohamud. “The UK is a major contributor to Somalia, including in terms of security costs,” Tom Rhodes, East Africa consultant for the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ), told the New Statesman. “The fact that this case is currently ongoing means it is a golden opportunity for the Prime Minister or Foreign Secretary to raise this issue, as the behaviour of Somali security forces is a concern for UK taxpayers.”

The accused journalist – 25-year-old Abdiaziz Abdinur Ibrahim, who has reported for outlets including the Daily Telegraph – had not published any of the information gathered in the interview.

But Somali police claimed that he had contributed to an article published online by Al Jazeera in which a woman living in a displaced persons camp described a brutal gang-rape by government soldiers similar to the alleged victim’s testimony. Al Jazeera wrote to the Ministry of Interior to deny Ibrahim’s involvement in the story.

Until Somalia’s Attorney-General brought the charges earlier this week, Ibrahim, the woman’s husband and two others had been detained without charge, and according to HRW with limited access to a lawyer, for over two weeks. While the authorities said that the woman had retracted her allegations of rape, she reportedly told local media in Mogadishu that she had done so under pressure from police.

The UN Special Representative of the Secretary-General on Sexual Violence in Conflict, Zainab Hawa Bangura, has also criticised the case, saying it “only serves to criminalise victims and undermine freedom of expression for the press.”

The case has brought Somalia’s first permanent government in more than 20 years under particular scrutiny. When the new president and government took office last August, following the approval of a new constitution, they were widely celebrated for ushering in a more hopeful era for the war-torn country. They replaced an interim government accused in a leaked UN report of “pervasive corruption”, following a political process that was largely sponsored by international donors, including Britain.

But observers warn that the case is becoming a touchstone for concerns about the young government, or at least elements within it.

“We all expected the government to arrest the people accused of raping the woman, rather than arrest the victim and the journalist who interviewed her,” a Somali journalist based in Mogadishu, who asked to remain anonymous, told the New Statesman.

“The government is not properly investigating the allegations against the security forces,” he added. “Western countries provide much of the funding for the Somali security forces and the leadership is scared that if human rights abuses by the security forces are reported, then that funding will be cut off.”

Representatives of the Somali government could not be reached for comment, although the president recently stressed the government’s commitment to security and judiciary reform.

Aid agencies had warned of a dramatic rise in sexual violence in Somalia, including by Islamist militants al-Shabaab, official security forces and civilians, although very limited data is available on the incidence of abuse. The situation worsened during the famine of 2011, which saw many women displaced to lawless camps. The alleged rape victim at the centre of the case lives in one of the capital’s overcrowded camps for displaced persons.

Soon after taking office, President Mohamud made a public commitment to combat sexual violence and recently reiterated his government’s “zero tolerance” of rape.

But the authorities’ handling of this case has caused a set-back to efforts to address widespread sexual violence, say human rights activists.

“Women often hide the issue because of the stigma involved – we have been pushing for so long to get women to come out and talk about it,” Fartuun Adan, who runs a programme for survivors of rape in Mogadishu, told the New Statesman.

“We don’t know what the truth is in this case, but the woman’s arrest scares other women, who think ‘What is going to happen to me if I talk?’”

“Both al-Shabaab and uniformed forces have perpetrated sexual violations,” added Katherine Grant, co-founder of the organisation Sister Somalia, which works with survivors of rape in Somalia. “If this is going to be the reaction of the government, it sends out a message to others that they can commit sexual violence with complete impunity.”

Press freedom watchdogs have also expressed concern about the case, which highlights further pressures on the media in a country that is already the most dangerous in Africa for journalists, where twelve were murdered last year according to the CPJ. Recent comments by the president that it would be unacceptable for anyone to taint “negatively…the image of the government” have intensified unease. 

“The president has from the beginning supported freedom of expression and a transparent government but these comments are very worrying,” said the CPJ’s Rhodes. “The arrest of Abdiaziz itself sends a chilling message to other local journalists that you cannot criticise security organs and that some sensitive subjects are off-limits.”

President Mohamud has defended the police’s handling of the case, saying that the government would not intervene as it was a test of “the rule of law” in Somalia.

But as he prepares to meet senior British officials – the latest appointments in a high-level agenda that has seen him meet with US president Barack Obama and address the European Union and Davos – rights groups reiterated the need for government representatives to raise the case with the Somali president.

Leslie Lefkow, deputy director for HRW’s Africa Division, told the New Statesman: “This is a really important opportunity for the British government to get across that this kind of response to sexual violence and media reporting needs to be reversed and addressed very urgently.”

UPDATE 5 February 14:00 The day after the Somali president's meeting with David Cameron, a Mogadishu court sentenced the alleged rape victim and the journalist Abdiaziz Abdinur Ibrahim to a year in prison each for insulting state institutions. The court cited medical evidence that she had not been raped, a decision that has been criticised by Human Rights Watch as a "terrible miscarriage of justice".

 

Somali journalists protesting the arrest and trial of their collegaue, Abdiaziz Abdinur Ibrahim. Photograph: Getty Images
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France is changing: an army stalks the streets and Boris Johnson wanders the Tuileries

Will Self on the militarisation of France, and Boris Johnson at the Foreign Office.

At the corner of the rue D’Hauteville and the rue de Paradis in the tenth arrondissement of Paris is a retro-video-games-themed bar, Le Fantôme, which is frequented by some not-so-jeunes gens – the kind of thirtysomethings nostalgic for an era when you had to go to an actual place if you wanted to enter virtual space. They sit placidly behind the plate-glass windows zapping Pac-Men and Space Invaders, while outside another – and rather more lethal – sort of phantom stalks the sunlit streets.

I often go to Paris for work, and so have been able to register the incremental militarisation of its streets since President Hollande first declared a state of emergency after last November’s terrorist attacks. In general the French seem more comfortable about this prêt-à-porter khaki than we’d probably be; the army-nation concept is, after all, encrypted deep in their collective psyche. The army was constituted as a revolutionary instrument. France was the first modern nation to introduce universal male conscription – and it continued in one form or another right up until the mid-1990s.

Even so, it was surprising to witness the sang-froid with which Parisians regarded the camouflaged phantoms wandering among them: a patrol numbering eight ­infantrymen and women moved up the roadway, scoping out doorways, nosing into passages – but when one peered into Le Fantôme, his assault rifle levelled, none of the boozing gamers paid the least attention. I witnessed this scene the Saturday after Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel ran amok on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice – it was a little preview of the new state of emergency.

On Monday 18 July the French premier, Manuel Valls, was booed at a memorial service for the victims of the Nice attacks – while Marine Le Pen has been making all the populist running, whipping up anxieties about the enemy within. For many French, the events of the past week – including the failed Turkish coup – are steps along the way limned by Michel Houellebecq in his bestselling novel Submission; a via dolorosa that ends with La Marianne wearing the hijab and France itself annexed by a new caliphate.

Into this febrile drama comes a new player: Boris Johnson, the British Foreign Secretary. What can we expect from this freshly minted statesman when it comes to our relations with our closest neighbour? There is no doubt that Johnson is a Francophile – I’ve run into him and his family at the Tuileries, and he made much of his own francophone status during the referendum campaign. In Paris last winter to launch the French edition of his Churchill biography, Johnson wowed a publication dinner by speaking French for the entire evening. He was sufficiently fluent to bumble, waffle and generally avoid saying anything serious at all.

Last Sunday I attended the Lambeth Country Show, an oxymoronic event for which the diverse inhabitants of my home borough gather in Brockwell Park, south London, for jerked and halal chicken, funfair rides, Quidditch-watching, and “country-style” activities, such as looking at farm animals and buying their products. Wandering among ancient Rastafarians with huge shocks of dreadlocks, British Muslims wearing immaculate white kurtas blazoned with “ASK ME ABOUT ISLAM” and crusty old Brixton punks, I found it quite impossible to rid my mind of the Nice carnage – or stop wondering how they would react if armed soldiers were patrolling, instead of tit-helmeted, emphatically unarmed police.

I stepped into the Royal Horticultural Society marquee, and there they were: the entire cast of our end-of-the-pier-show politics, in vegetable-sculpture form and arrayed for judging. There was Jeremy Corbyn (or “Cornbin”) made out of corncobs – and Boris Johnson in the form of a beetroot, being stabbed in the back by a beetroot Michael Gove. And over there was Johnson again, this time rendered in cabbage. The veggie politicians were the big draw, Brixtonians standing six-deep around them, iPhones aloft.

The animal (as opposed to the vegetable) Johnson has begun his diplomatic rounds this week, his first démarches as tasteless and anodyne as cucumber. No British abandonment of friends after Brexit . . . Coordinated response to terror threat . . . Call for Erdogan to be restrained in response to failed coup . . . Blah-blah, whiff-whaff-waffle . . . Even someone as gaffe-prone as he can manage these simple lines, but I very much doubt he will be able to produce rhetorical flourishes as powerful as his hero’s. In The Churchill Factor: How One Man Made History, Johnson writes of Winnie overcoming “his stammer and his depression and his ­appalling father to become the greatest living Englishman”. Well, I’ve no idea if Bojo suffers from depression now but he soon will if he cleaves to this role model. His Churchill-worship (like so many others’) hinges on his belief that, without Churchill as war leader, Britain would have been ground beneath the Nazi jackboot. It may well be that, with his contribution to the Brexit campaign, Johnson now feels he, too, has wrested our national destiny from the slavering jaws of contingency.

Of course the differences between the two politicians are far more significant: Johnson’s genius – such as it is – lies in his intuitive understanding that politics, in our intensely mediatised and entirely commoditised era, is best conceived of as a series of spectacles or stunts: nowadays you can fool most of the people, most of the time. This is not a view you can imagine associating with Churchill, who, when his Gallipoli stratagem went disastrously wrong, exiled himself, rifle in hand, to the trenches. No, the French people Johnson both resembles and has an affinity for are the ones caught up in the virtual reality of Le Fantôme – rather than those patrolling the real and increasingly mean streets without. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt