Not on Our Watch (23 page)

In 2005, a joint International Crisis Group and Zogby poll of likely voters in the US found that the majority believe that ending the killing in Sudan is a US responsibility. Most say more can be done diplomatically, and seven out of ten would back the creation of a US-enforced no-fly zone to prevent Sudanese planes from bombing civilians. However, most politicians in Washington are probably unaware of these voters’ personal opinions and are thus less likely to vote for or introduce what might be considered politically risky legislation without constituent pressure.

‘I remember one instance, in Smith Centre, Kansas, which has about 5,000 people and is in the centre-west of my state, during a town hall meeting, a lady came up to me after my speech, passionately asking about what are we doing about Sudan. There is a real grassroots movement of people who care about what we are doing,’ notes Senator Sam Brownback. Now imagine, if one woman in a small town can make an impression on a senator in Washington, what kind of impact could hundreds of thousands of citizens united in their outrage make on policy makers?

An independent filmmaker and photographer, Mark Brecke, has documented events in Cambodia, Rwanda, Kosovo, and Iraq, as well as Sudan. He spent five weeks with the Sudanese Liberation Army (SLA) in Darfur. In 2004, Senator Brownback invited Mark to give a presentation to members of Congress. Rather than fly from his home in San Francisco to Washington, Brecke took the train and spent the three-day trip showing his photos of Darfur to other passengers. ‘Out of 24 interviews, only one person knew about what was going on in Darfur,’ Brecke told us. Many people wanted to know what the US government and the UN were doing to stop the genocide. They wanted to know why the media wasn’t covering such a massive human tragedy.

Brecke shot footage of the interviews and created a feature-length documentary called
They Turned Our Desert into Fire
. Senator Brownback asked to hang Brecke’s photographs on the walls of the Senate. Brecke, who continues to show his photographs around the country, explains, ‘These shows leave a greater impact and influence people to contact their member of Congress. I come from an experimental fine arts culture, and I’m an artist who has become a witness to history.’

Richard Cizik is the vice president for public policy for the National Association of Evangelicals, which represents 52 denominations and 45,000 churches in the United States. In 2004, the NAE called on President Bush to authorise massive humanitarian aid to Darfur and ‘active exploration of all available intervention options—including sending troops to Darfur.’ While the current administration has yet to make all these moves, senior officials are concerned about the opinion expressed by evangelicals who represent a key segment of Bush’s Christian support base. Previously, evangelicals’ activism efforts have pushed the president to support efforts to fight AIDS and the trafficking of women, as well as to lead peace talks with southern Sudanese rebels. Evangelicals have come together with other faith-based groups and human rights organisations. This diverse coalition has brought important pressure on the Bush administration, though not yet enough to secure meaningful policy change.

Beth Riley is a stay-at-home mom with three kids in Fort Wayne, Indiana. She first heard about Darfur through news reports. She thought the situation was horrible but ‘didn’t know what to do.’ Then, when talking with her friends in her mothers of pre-schoolers group about how to help victims of the tsunami, she brought up Darfur. She typed up a couple of information sheets and brought them, along with a letter that she found on the Internet, from a Darfurian refugee who questioned how the world could respond to the tragedy of the tsunami and not the tragedy in Sudan, and she met with her pastor, asking what the church could do. She then developed a bulletin insert and a petition for people to sign at Sunday services. Riley made copies of the signed petition and sent them to her representative and two senators, as well as Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. She also faxed the petition to members of the House International Relations and Senate Foreign Relations Committees. Her pastor mailed the bulletin inserts to congressional representatives and other Methodist churches in Fort Wayne to encourage a similar effort. Since then, she has begun writing op-eds, calling the local news outlets, and circulating more petitions through additional churches, one of which she hand-delivered to Senator Richard Lugar’s office.

You have the power to affect real change—change that can save and improve thousands of lives. Through seemingly simple gestures, and large coordinated efforts, you can use the strategies discussed to demand a better, more secure future for those suffering in Darfur and beyond.

Few public officials have spoken as forcefully about the need for greater citizen action to end the genocide than Mukesh Kapila, the upstanding former UN humanitarian coordinator for Sudan we told you about in Chapter 4. In July 2006 he offered these inspiring words:

People can show solidarity by not forgetting. One of the most terrible and depressing things when you are a refugee or an internally displaced person from a war like this is you feel completely forgotten. You feel that you are stuck there somewhere in a camp in the middle of nowhere and the world has simply passed you by. And that, more than anything else, takes everything away from you. So help; don’t forget; and bring pressure on the authorities to do what must be done.

Lobby the Government: Actions You Can Take

1. Find out your representative’s record on Darfur, if they have one at all. Visit www.darfurscores.org to learn about each member of the US Congress’ individual voting record, and see how it can be applied to your own government.

2. Make an appointment to see your national representatives when they are in your area, or get a group together and travel to parliament for a lobby day. Making an appointment to meet with parliamentary members isn’t as tough as it sounds. You voted for them and you have a right to tell them exactly how you feel about the issues that matter to you.

3. Visit city council members and state representatives and encourage them to divest and pass a resolution urging stronger action to end genocide in Darfur and atrocities wherever they occur.

4. Urge your elected officials to speak publicly about Darfur.

5. Keep sending those personal letters to your parliament, your prime minister and/or president, and key officials like ministers for state, defence, etc.

DON:

‘You knew Petey Green, huh?’ This cabbie is 60-plus at least, old enough to remember Petey Green well. His next statement is icing on the cake.

‘Knew his daddy too. My daddy and him used to run together,’ he adds, turning left on K Street. ‘He was a bad mother too, man. Dangerous.’

I wish I could drive around with him all day, but I’m late for my meeting with John, the crew, and Minni Minnawi, the SLA rebel leader from Darfur.

The cabbie pulls up at the hotel and drops me off. I thank him for the history lesson and turn right into the lens of a camera.

‘Oh, right, we’re making a documentary.’ I step off to the right so Sus can mike me while I scan the general area looking for my partner in crime. Ted (director Theodore Braun) reads my mind.

‘He’s not here yet.’

‘Good thing I rushed.’

‘But there’s Minni over there.’

Ted points across the walk to a little table just off to the side that is surrounded by many African men in suits. They are very animated, each man interrupting the other, speech in high gear, gestures sharp, cutting through the air and whatever last argument was just brought up. Ted’s quick on the uptake.

‘Dark grey suit.’

‘Got it.’

I sit down at the little table on our side of the walkway staring at this rebel leader. He’s a rebel leader? Minni Minnawi looks very statesmanlike. They all do. Sitting at the table under the umbrella sipping coffee, these men don’t remotely conjure images of freedom fighters storming through the desert sands firing automatic weapons at an invading army. They look more like a delegation of politicians or group of lawyers debating some contentious ruling.

Ted catches Minni’s eye and he comes over, cell phone pressed to his ear.

‘I’m going up,’ he reports and turns on his heel, several of the men following him. I see the soldiers in them now, men dutifully guarding their leader’s flank as he advances, five or so hanging back to secure the rear, all flowing like clockwork. As I sit staring, trying to guess each of their ranks, John comes casually strolling up the sidewalk believing he’s the first one here. I tell the cameras to swing around, wanting to document the moment, a safeguard against future ‘tardiness’ denials.

‘Buddy.’ It’s his regular salutation.

‘You’re late,’ is becoming mine. ‘I’m going to get you a watch.’

‘Got one. See?’ He shows me his BlackBerry.

‘Do you know how the clock thingy works?’

This goes back and forth for a couple of beats while John gets miked up, and then we’re headed upstairs with our crew to interview Minni.

I’m slightly nervous about this one. From everything I’ve learned about the situation in Darfur as of late, it is a crumbling house of cards. Minni is in a particularly difficult position, having signed a peace agreement with the Sudanese government that none of the other rebel parties have agreed to, citing its lack of enforceable protections. The treaty has been largely criticised for leaving the responsibility for disarming the Janjaweed up to the government of Sudan—the same government that armed the militia in the first place. Without the oversight of an independent UN peacekeeping force, few people believe the agreement could have real teeth. This inexorable division has resulted in such intense in-fighting between the rebel factions and has become so widespread that thousands more Darfurians are being displaced, and the zones where people felt even a remote sense of security are shrinking rapidly. What we’re seeing is the employment of a classic tactic of those in power, one it seems that almost never fails: divide and conquer. With the rebels splintered and Minni’s faction of the SLA potentially co-opted, the Khartoum regime can more easily suffocate the insurrection, much of its dirty work handled by the very people originally opposing the government for its violent and unlawful practices. How do you broach such touchy subject matter? Are we about to be interviewing a man caught desperately between a rock and a hard place, a freedom fighter only doing what he believes to be right, facing down incredible odds for the betterment of his people? Or is this man a turncoat aligning himself with those who promised to fill his coffers in payment for terrible deeds exacted on defenceless Darfurians? Only two things I am sure of: (1) I do not know the answer, and (2) I am anxious, apprehensive even, to hear his reply.

We ride up in the elevator strategising. We want to ask questions that we can get answers to. However, we are well aware that if our fears of Minni’s about-face are true, this may be a go-nowhere, learn-nothing conversation filled with doublespeak and subterfuge. John is particularly keen to ask Minni about reports from his own field staff and from Amnesty International about various human rights violations in the displaced camps, perpetrated by Minni’s faction of fighters, the most egregious being the rape of several indigenous aid workers. I hope this soldier ain’t packing today.

When we enter Minni’s hotel room, it is immediately evident that if the Khartoum government is paying him, it is a paltry sum. The cramped room can barely fit the two double beds and armoire, let alone the two of us, our small camera, sound guy, and Ted. As our interview begins, Ted in fact has to retreat to the closet to give us sufficient room.

We ask softball questions at first: ‘How are things in the region now?’ ‘What is the condition of your fighters?’ etc. We get the expected softball answers, then slowly segue to more substantive matters. When asked about the peace accord, Minni takes pains to tell us that we must remember that his is not the only signature that appears on the agreement, citing the AU, EU, Germany, Great Britain, and the Arab League as signatories as well, demanding of us that we hold all parties accountable for the success or failure of the peace.

‘Speaking of accountability ...’

Uh-oh, here we go. John sits forward in his chair.

‘What do you have to say about reports coming out of Darfur of your men colluding with the Sudanese army and committing human rights violations, rape specifically?’

For the first time, Minni’s voice rises, strenuously denying the accusations, calling them ‘lies and propaganda’ fabricated by those who oppose him. I’m an all right poker player but can no more tell if he’s speaking honestly or lying through his teeth. Minni definitely appears upset, but that could be the result either of being caught or of his rank and file being wrongly accused. But the door has been thrown open, so I venture in and ask:

‘Given the fact that you are basically under siege, fighting on two fronts at once, what do you believe the future holds?’

There’s a pause as he considers it; his answer is as universal a truth as any stated today.

‘I don’t know.’

There’s little else to add, so John and I wrap it up and say our good-byes.

John is mumbling to himself as we walk down the hall.

‘You don’t believe a word he said, do you?’ I ask him.

‘That report isn’t wrong. He’s on the other side now. He’s becoming a government lackey, which will end up just killing more Darfurians.’

We walk in silence as the true depth of the instability sinks in.

Months later, after John returns from Sudan for a
60 Minutes
piece on the crisis in Darfur, he leaves me a voice mail.