Frida Mpalla was tried in a law court in Los Angeles metropolitan area in California. The presiding judge knew the press was good at fanning flames of public anger in cases involving underdogs. Fearing a replica of the looting, assault, arson and murder attached to the Rodney King Riots of 1992, he banned all media from the courtroom.
Frida Mpalla was seeking asylum, on grounds that if she returned to her home town, Mwanza, in Lake Victoria region in Tanzania, she would be hunted and killed.
Arguing for the defendant, Jack opened by exposing the risks of being an albino in parts of East Africa.
He described to the jury how people with albinism have been mistreated, killed and their bodies cut to pieces. Graves of albinos have been exhumed and tainted. All these, based on the belief (fueled by witch doctors) that the victims’ body parts can be used in rituals to bring success.
The prosecuting lawyer, a beefy, neck-less man, standing up to respond, took two minutes to sympathize with the defendant’s plight before reminding the judge that every case is about upholding the laws of the United States of America.
If Frida Mpalla remained in this country, other illegal immigrants would make similar demands for asylum.
Noticing with dismay that most members of the jury were bobbing their heads at the prosecution’s argument, Jack jumped to his feet and spoke again.
His voice was harsh as he asked if they were aware that as a female, Frida would not only be killed for her body parts, she may also be killed because some people see albinism as a curse.
“They see albinos as witches,” cried Jack.
The prosecuting attorney sprang to his feet.
“Objection!” he yelled.
“On what grounds, counselor?” The judge’s deep voice carried a note of boredom; it was already past lunch time.
The lawyer lowered his voice and said, “I request permission to approach the defendant, your honor.”
The judge glanced at his fat wrist watch.
“Permission granted, make it brief,” he barked.
The old lawyer smiled and strode up to the defendant.
“I’m sorry for asking, but will you please tell the court the color of your eyes?”
“Objection!” roared Jack.
The judge overruled and Frida had to answer.
The words were barely out of the defendant’s mouth when the prosecutor started speaking excitedly.
“Let the records show that the defendant’s eyes are gray,” he cried. “Albinos accused of witchcraft are those with red eyes!”
“Objection!” yelled Jack. “A murderer will not walk up to an albino and say ‘let me see your eyes… sorry, I won’t kill you because they are not red.’”
The few people allowed inside the court room started to murmur.
“Oh my God-s” and “What the heck-s” were repeated.
The Judge banged his gavel to restore order, but it was his angry threat to clear the courtroom that did the trick. When silence returned, he ordered a brief recess and asked the two lawyers to meet him in chambers.
When court reconvened, Jack called two witnesses.
The first was an albino, Mr. Albert Mbali, a representative for the Tanzania Albino Society (TAS), a clean-looking man who said albinos have the right to flee to safe locations. And yes, of the over one hundred and fifty thousand albinos estimated to live in Tanzania, about eight thousand are registered with the TAS, while the rest have fled to Dar es Salaam where they feel more secure in an urban location. Frida, he argued, adjusting his red tie, was better off in the USA and should be allowed to stay.
“Sir,” cried the prosecuting attorney as soon as he was invited to cross-examine. “What’s your current status in America?”
“I’m a permanent resident.”
The lawyer looked up with closed eyes, raised both hands and cried with deep feeling, “God bless America!”
Then he stared directly at the members of the jury in silence for almost ten seconds.
He suddenly pointed at the defendant.
“Frida is an illegal immigrant.” He laid particular stress on the last two words. “She has violated the law by entering this country with fake documents. That’s what this case is about.”
Jack’s second witness didn’t have albinism. He wasn’t even from Tanzania or East Africa.
Mr. Jude Fonkwa was a Cameroonian who swore that albinos are the greatest gift God gave the world.
“They bring good luck,” he said. “Burying a dead person in my country requires a lot of traditional rites, sacrifices and entertainment. My mother’s funeral cost so much money that my father’s struggling furniture business went bankrupt.”
Mr. Fonkwa paused to wipe his face with a handkerchief, his eyes glittering. Jack guided him with pre-rehearsed questions.
“My father remarried two years later, to an albino,” Mr. Fonkwa said animatedly. “Within five months, the same bank that refused him a loan changed its mind. Within one year, his furniture business was flourishing. It’s been five years and my father is one of the richest men in my city, that’s how he could afford to send me to study in this country.”
The prosecution was asked to cross-examine but the lawyer simply stood up, waved his thick fingers, saying he had no questions.
Mr. Fonkwa suddenly jumped to his feet and blurted, “Albinos bring good luck, but it’s sad to see people rushing to marry them simply because they need luck and then divorcing them after. Thank God, my father is not…”
The Judge banged his gavel in warning and Jack pulled the witness away.
In his closing argument, the prosecutor mentioned this witness, dismissing his testimony as superstition.
The second and third day of the trial went down the same path. Jack called witnesses. The prosecution discredited or ignored them.
By the time the jury retired to deliberate, the courtroom could feel the direction of victory. It was present in their eyes when the members of the jury exchanged glances, in the way they hurried to rise from their seats and in the satisfied smile on the beefy prosecutor’s face. His closing remarks about upholding the law, no matter how painful, were like fresh wounds, bleeding with truth.
Find out what happened next by going to the beginning
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Subscribe
Flag Writing
