My sons, no doubt,
will tell you that I am frustratingly
insistent about the precise use and meaning of words. That character trait came
in quite handy when I was a reference publisher. Words, of course, can have
multiple meanings, as can events. Events shape the words we use, the words we
use shape events, and our choice of words can determine how history records
events. I read a newspaper article last week in which very different words were
used to describe a single event.
The article concerned
a 48-year old Nigerian lady in Yarl’s Wood immigration removal centre, an institution
run by a government contractor, in which people who are not British nationals
are “detained” before being deported. The period of detention can sometimes be longer
than a sentence for criminal activity. Yarl's Wood is not a nice place to spend
time.
The Nigerian lady was
raped in Nigeria when she was 7 years old, and again aged 17. The second rape
resulted in a pregnancy. Her baby died aged six months. She has been diagnosed
with PTSD and is asthmatic. She was under constant supervision to prevent her
harming herself. She is on trial for biting three guards at Yarl's Wood and for
kicking a fourth. On the day in question (as a lawyer would say) she had been
scheduled for deportation. However, she insists that she had been informed by
her lawyer that her deportation had been “cancelled”. It seems that, indeed,
her removal had been deferred, but that the information had not reached the guards
at Yarl's Wood.
The Yarl's Wood staff
spent three hours trying to persuade her to leave voluntarily. She refused. The
manager then authorized the staff to use force. Her removal was filmed, and when
the Nigerian lady saw staff approaching with a camera she responded by removing
all her clothes. She was then wrestled to the ground by the staff and held face
down, covered with a blanket. She was heard on the film to cry “Leave my neck,
leave my neck, please leave my neck.” She is claiming self-defence, saying that
she was “thrown like a bag of cement” to the floor.
The defence lawyer
asked the detention operations manager at Yarl's Wood if the use of force was
disproportionate. He replied that it was not because the Nigerian lady was “extremely
resistant and aggressive”, and because a financial penalty would have been
incurred for failure to deliver her to the flight. Asked whether the woman’s
removal of her clothes was a sign of distress, he replied “It’s a sign of showing
non-compliance.” I suspect that it was both. My dictionary provides two
definitions of compliant. The first is: “tending to be excessively obedient or
acquiescent”. I would agree with the manager that the Nigerian lady was not excessively
obedient nor acquiescent, but if I were the lawyer I would also have argued
that it is perfectly possible to be both distressed and non-compliant. Removing
one’s clothes in front of strangers while being filmed suggests at the very
least apprehension. The guards also testified that she was very resistant and
aggressive, which again does not preclude her being distressed.
It is easy to consider
the Yarl’s Wood manager and guards cruel and indifferent to the Nigerian lady’s
fate, but they are employed by a company contracted by our elected government
ro detain and deport people. Perhaps the responsibility for her treatment lies
elsewhere. The newspaper reports reminded me of reading the text of the South
African Truth and Reconciliation Commission Report. I published the
international edition in the 1990s. The report detailed appalling acts of
cruelty and suffering. However, I was struck by a discussion of the effects of
the murders, torture and other violations of human rights committed in the name
of the South African state. This section of the report addressed the dehumanizing
harm done to the murderers and torturers. The politicians who instructed them
to carry out these acts suffered no such consequences. Nor did those members of
the white community who elected the government. Those who carried out appalling
acts on the instructions of the state, on the other hand, were severely
damaged. This does not exempt them from responsibility, but it does set eh
events in context.
The Report was the
only book I had read for libel in my 40 years as a publisher. Macmillan’s libel
lawyer called me to tell me that he recommended I not publish the report
because it was full of libels. I replied that I failed to understand how I could
libel men who had confessed to such crimes. The lawyer told me that the
accusations in the book could damage the reputations of those named in the book
and that they would be entitled to sue for reputational damage. My boss and I agreed
that this was quite absurd and that se whould publish, but we did decide that
it was prudent to obscure two brief mentions of the involvement of Prime
Minister F. W. de Klerk, who had taken the Commission to court in South Africa.
We ostentatiously blacked out the relevant text and added a note referring the
reader to the uncensored South African edition. I later saw Mr de Klerk at a
launch in Hatchards bookshop of his memoirs. During the speeches I stood behind
Margaret and Dennis Thatcher, friends of F. W. I was tempted to mention the
report to Mrs. T., but suspected that her guards might intervene, although
probably less forcefully that the guards at Yarl’s Wood.
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