Intimidation, harassment

| Friday December 17, 2010 00:00

 

This week Mmegi staff writer, MARANYANE NGWANAAMOTHO, encountered her first session of abuse from the men in uniform

When I was about to complete my Cambridge, I would often sit with my girlfriends and fantasise about the future we wanted to pursue after Cambridge; getting our degrees; and the fancy jobs that women are likely to think of. 

On one hand, our male classmates would tell us how they are lucky to be men because it would be easy for them to find a job. 

They all fantasised about joining the Botswana Defence Force (BDF) because as they argued, they could enlist straight out of secondary school without having to go for further studies. 'You only need to be physically fit and you are fine,' they would say. 

I never had a problem with the defence force hiring on the merits  of physical fitness - after all their job is largely a physical one.  However yesterday, I realised the folly of hiring brawn over brain, when my colleague, photographer Kagiso Onkatswitse, and I, had an encounter with the BDF soldiers and the police officers.  I realised that they needed more training on how to relate, especially with the media and the public.

We had stopped at the main Gamodubu turn-off along the Molepolole-Gaborone main road as we tried to find a way past a 'pond' that had formed in the road.  We were on our way to talking to farmers - really to find a story on how the ploughing season was progressing.  A BDF Land-Rover and a government Land Cruiser suddenly came speeding from the direction of Gamodubu towards where we had stopped.  We made way for the vehicles first for our safety and secondly thinking that they may be having a more important matter to attend to.

The vehicles then suddenly stopped at the bus stop close to where our vehicle had parked. 

The vehicles were full of policemen, soldiers and non-uniformed people who we later learnt were from the Immigration Department.  A group of adolescent boys suddenly jumped out of the military van, running for freedom across the road into the neighbouring homesteads.  Something that grabbed our attention is that the officers were slapping the boys before they jumped off the truck and got instructed to run as fast as possible, 'Siana monna, o a iketla he! [Run boy, why are you slowing down!]  Each of the boys took to his heels.

Ever the story hunter I then alerted Onkatswitse to the possibility of torture right under our noses.  After all these are strange times where the protectors of the public seem to have turned into abusers.  Onkatsitwe aimed for a few shots making sure the men in uniform do not realise they under our watch.  While Onkatswitse was still capturing the men in action, an aggravated police officer - a sergeant we were told later and whose nametag read KS Tlhakanelo - approached our car and demanded that I give him the camera.  Since he was talking directly to me, I told him I did not have a camera, but he insisted that he saw me taking pictures.

'Get out of the car, I want to search you!' he said.  I refused to oblige.  As far as I was concerned I had done nothing wrong and I told him exactly that.  'I do not have a camera, I did not take any pictures and I am not getting out of this car,' I insisted because I had basically done nothing wrong. 

Then he started telling us about how we did not have the right to take pictures of him and his colleagues, without first seeking permission to do so.  Before we knew it all his colleagues marched towards us and surrounded our car.  This was close to 15 men with half of them carrying guns and pushing their heads in to our car.   All this time we remained in the car and insisted we are not handing over the camera, nor were we going to get out of the car.

Then a BDF Warrant Officer, a certain Tsoebebe crystallised the threats  'I am now arresting you and this car for taking pictures of us while we are in our uniform.  You know that you are not supposed photograph us without asking for permission.  Hey sergeant bring those handcuffs and arrest this man, I have given him enough time and he is not listening,' he said to one of his colleagues.

Still we were not moved by his threats. We had not taken the pictures in a military camp or an operational area. 

These officials were on a public road, and appeared to be committing a crime.  They insisted that we go to police station for a proper arrest if at all we wanted a written document. The next thing I was forced out of the Mmegi car, which they said had being confiscated since pictures were taken while we were inside it.  Two police officers boarded our vehicle one of them taking my seat. I was instructed to go into the BDF truck, and sit at the back, next to a crying, handcuffed suspect.  I told the officers that I was neither a suspect, nor a criminal.  As a woman it was impossible for me to jump in to the truck.

'You have to find a way up this truck!' Tlhakanelo and three soldiers mocked.  Yes, I was humiliated. 

Embarrassed.  And that was obviously the men's intention.

As the truck sped off in the direction of Mogoditshane I kept asking myself what, the handcuffed sobbing young man next to me had done. 

Furthermore, I wondered if he was not a dangerous person.  I was horrified at the thought that he could simply lean over and rip my ear off, or kick and harm me.  And so we were led to the Mogoditshane Police Station where after stating our case we made it clear to the Deputy Station Commander, Assistant Superintendent Molobe and the army officer responsible for the soldiers, Major Dintwe that we would be lodging an official complaint against the men.  This was intimidation, harassment and a waste of our time.