In and out of jail
By Andrew Meldrum Posted Oct 1 2002
American-born journalist Andrew Meldrum, who writes for the British newspaper, The Guardian, looks out the gates of the High Court in Harare July 17. Meldrum was arrested for allegedy “publishing a falsehood”, had a deportation order suspended and his case referred to the Supreme Court on constitutional grounds. – Reuters/Howard Burditt
The police arrived at 6:55 a.m. on May 1, a public holiday in Zimbabwe, and told me I was under arrest. I was able to call my lawyer and to dress, and then I was taken away in the police van.
I had become the latest target of President Robert Mugabe’s campaign to intimidate and muzzle the free press. Being jailed under miserable conditions for 33 hours was a frightening experience and having to stand trial for allegedly “publishing a falsehood” was an ordeal, but throughout, I remained convinced that the principle of press freedom was of such vital importance to Zimbabwe that it was all worthwhile.
My arrest did not come as a complete surprise. Several leading Zimbabwean journalists had been arrested in earlier weeks for allegedly breaking the government’s Access to Information and Protection of Privacy Act, which despite the lofty ideals of its title, is a highly repressive piece of legislation designed to stamp out the independent and critical press in Zimbabwe.
After being passed by the rubber-stamp Parliament on Jan. 31, the bill was signed into law on March 15 by Mugabe. In power for 22 years and 78 years old, Mugabe had just been reelected to another six-year term following a campaign that several international election monitors noted was marked by state-sponsored violence against the opposition, blatant vote rigging and frequent intimidation of the press. The United States, Britain and the European Union declared the election fraudulent, as did some African observers. The first action Mugabe took following his disputed victory was to sign the press bill into law. He was announcing a war to silence the free press, which had been so critical of him and had exposed his government’s violence, torture and corruption.
The press law gives the government the authority to close any newspaper and to ban any journalist, local or foreign, from working. Among its many regulations, the law makes the publication of a factual error, in its own words, “publishing a falsehood.” It is a crime punishable by up to two years in jail.
I had inadvertently made a mistake in a story published in April by The Guardian newspaper in London. I had picked up a story used on the front page of the Daily News, Zimbabwe’s largest circulation paper, which has a good track record for accuracy. The story stated that a woman had been beheaded by Mugabe’s supporters in front of her children. The deceased woman’s husband was quoted at length describing her horrific murder. I checked the story with the police, but they declined to comment, as they have done with stories about political violence. I checked with two well-established human-rights groups and they told me they were investigating the case. They confirmed the alleged killing was consistent with a pattern of government-sponsored violence against opposition supporters since the March presidential elections. The organizations confirmed that 18 people had been killed since the elections.
I used the beheading story, with all appropriate attributions and qualifications such as “allegedly,” “accused,” “charged,” etc., to highlight the campaign of violent retribution that Mugabe was inflicting on those suspected of having voted for the opposition. I was not alone. Reuters, Associated Press, Agence France-Presse, The Times and The Daily Telegraph (both of London) all used the same grisly tale.
A few days later, it became clear that the husband of the dead woman had made up the story about her beheading. He had disappeared and police refused to investigate him. The Daily News promptly issued a correction, and so did my paper. But that made no difference. Two Daily News reporters associated with the story were arrested, and then I was, too.
“Take off your shoes and socks, your belt and watch,” barked the gruff jail guard as I was put behind bars. I steeled myself for the worst, looking ahead at the dark, dank, crowded cells that I would enter.
But then my luck changed. “Psst, pssst, Andy! Come over here!” It was Collin Chiwanza and Lloyd Mudiwa, the two reporters from the Daily News who had already spent one night in jail for the same story. They took me under their wing, and we stuck together.
The cell did not have any windows and was cold and clammy. “Look, we have a blanket that can keep us all warm,” said Collin. The big blanket was filthy and reeked of urine. Lloyd showed me bites all over his body that he said came from the blanket. I vowed not to get near it. But it was so cold that within 20 minutes I was sticking my bare feet under that stinky blanket, and by that night I was snuggling under it, pressed next to the two fellow journalists for warmth.
Collin is a chatterbox, and he talked animatedly about his childhood, his schooling, his first girlfriend and his second. He talked about how he became interested in journalism and how he was determined to carry on. Lloyd and I added a few stories of our own. These discussions kept us entertained and kept our spirits up through the night.
The next day, we were elated when we were called out of the cell. Our happiness was short-lived, however, because when we were taken to the courthouse, we were thrown into cells even more crowded and filthy. We were put in handcuffs. After several hours, we appeared before a magistrate to hear the charges against us, and then we were released without paying any bail.
I was the first journalist to stand trial under the new law, and my case began in June. Because of a couple lengthy adjournments, it lasted well into July. Zimbabwe’s judicial system has been under sustained pressure by the Mugabe government. Last year, the Supreme Court’s chief justice resigned, complaining of threats to his life from Mugabe’s justice minister. Several other judges had also resigned. My chances of a fair trial were considered slim. Three days into the trial, the magistrate admitted that he had not even read the Access to Information and Protection of Privacy Act under which I was charged.
In the end, the magistrate found that I had published a falsehood because the woman had died of AIDS and not of decapitation. He ruled that I was liable under Zimbabwean law, even though The Guardian is published in London and is not in circulation in Zimbabwe because my story had a “harmful effect” on the country’s image. But, he ruled, the state had to prove that I intended to publish something untrue. He found that by checking with the police, I had attempted to verify the story and had acted as a “reasonable journalist,” and therefore could not be found guilty.
“Not guilty.” I couldn’t believe my ears. I felt the weight of 10 weeks of worry begin to lift off my brow and my shoulders. Jumping out of the dock, I kissed and hugged my wife and received numerous congratulations.
As I was stepping out of the courtroom, an immigration official took me by the arm and told me to come with him. I called my lawyer, and my wife and the assembled press followed. He served me with deportation orders and gave me 24 hours to leave the country. The deportation orders had been signed two weeks earlier. The government intended to kick me out whether I was guilty or innocent.
My tireless and feisty lawyer, Zimbabwean Beatrice Mtetwa, was determined that we should appeal the order. I am an American citizen who has lived in Zimbabwe for 22 years. I hold a permit of permanent residence which allows me to live in Zimbabwe indefinitely. In an urgent court hearing, my lawyer argued that my rights to stay in Zimbabwe were guaranteed under the constitution. The judge agreed that I had rights, and he decided to refer the matter to the Supreme Court. I won the right to stay in Zimbabwe until my case is heard by the Supreme Court, which could be months away.
It is not an easy time for me. I don’t know how long I can stay in Zimbabwe or continue my work. But this is a hard time for the entire country. Famine is affecting an estimated 6 million of the country’s 13 million people. State-sponsored political violence, including rape and torture, sometimes carried out by the police, is being inflicted on thousands of Zimbabweans, according to human-rights groups. Fifteen Zimbabwean journalists are standing trial on the same charges that I faced.
These are the very issues that a journalist is supposed to cover to hold a government accountable, but these are exactly what the Mugabe government does not want to see reported. Clearly it is going to be a difficult time, but my fellow journalists and I find this situation a challenge that we cannot decline. We are determined to keep reporting to try and keep alive a free press, respect for human rights and Zimbabwe’s threatened democracy.
We are challenging the constitutionality of Access to Information law in the courts. Challenges have been filed by the Foreign Correspondents Association, the Independent Journalists of Zimbabwe and the Zimbabwe National Editors Forum.
This battle for press freedom will carry on and should win considerable international attention. I am delighted that my court victory has given encouragement to so many Zimbabwean journalists. With a few victories to our credit, we are “still ahead of the posse and not looking back.”