-----Original Message-----
From: Mo Baldeh [mailto:[log in to unmask]]
Sent: Monday, February 21, 2005 1:28 PM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: The Gambia Turns 40 Amidst Protests of Human Rights Violations
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Could you kindly forward this article to Gambia-L? I've already tried, but was unsuccessful. I've also requested to be subscribed and my email address is: [log in to unmask]
The Gambia Turns 40 Amidst Protests of Human Rights Violations
by Momodou Baldeh
February 18, 2005, 8am. Forty years ago since Queen Victoria decided to give her "that dear, little place" its independence. This New York morning was cold, so cold that one of the demonstrators rushed into a nearby store, bought a bunch of gloves, and started distributing them to the crowd. I managed to grab an oversized pair for myself, for my fingers were almost frozen around the placard that read: "Justice for Koro Ceesay."
Yes, justice has indeed been denied to the soul of Koro and to his grieve-stricken family. I still recall his smile that afternoon at The Gambia High School hall as we milled around during the inauguration of the Gambia Computer Society. He had just presented a brilliant paper on information management or something in that domain. That was over ten years ago. When his charred remains were found that morning of 23rd June 1995, I wondered who in his right mind would cut down the life of such a talented and promising Gambian youth. More than a decade later, Koro's death is no less mysterious than it was that June morning. Allegations and counter allegations have been made here and there. However, to date, no one has been arrested. No inquisition has been made. No words on his epitaph. Koro was thus buried in the annals of Gambia history as the first Finance Minister of the Second Republic, murdered by agents of the then-AFPRC, we may hastily add.
"Yaya Jammeh Must Go!" "What do we want?" "Justice!" Several individuals were interviewed by Freegambia.com, an internet based radio service. The government of Yaya Jammeh was unanimously condemned for the appalling human rights situation and the degrading standard of living for ordinary Gambians at home.
The voices echoed down busy Second Avenue of New York as curious motorists slowed down to read some of the placards. "Who Killed Deyda?" "April 10 and 11, We Will Always Remember." Some Pedestrians came by to pick up flyers and others seemed to wonder: Where is Gambia? What government would kill 14 student demonstrators and a Red Cross volunteer who had come to pick up the lifeless little bodies of these Gambian babies? Who in his right mind would aim a kalashnikov at and shoot down an unarmed youth?
"Yaya Jammeh Must Go!" "What do we want?" "Justice!" The refrain tore through the din of the early morning traffic in this city where diplomats hurried to their jobs, and some threw furtive glances at us.
From Connecticut to Maryland, they kept coming; and as the New York crowd grew larger, the slogans got louder. "Yaya Jammeh Must Go!" "Down with the NIA!" "Justice for Deyda Hydara!" From the location of the Gambia Mission to the UN, we marched on to Dag Hammarskjold Plaza; a plaza that has seen the tears of the world's oppressed, from Tibet to The Gambia.
We marched down Second Avenue, perhaps our voices louder than those of the students on 10th April 2000. Some officers from the NYPD followed by closely and sometimes conversed with some of the demonstrators. No shots fired.
At Dag Hammarskjold, we learnt that the Togolese were also protesting in nearby Ralph Bunche Park, with drums and red bandanas! The Togolese whose parliament insulted their intelligence by institutionalizing a monarchy were finally awakened from a stupor caused by three decades of intimidation and abuse. A rubber stamp parliament like the one we have in The Gambia that enacts draconian laws against the press and passes bills that give blanket immunity to murderers of innocent children.
Then I was introduced to someone; someone whose father I knew closely as a dedicated journalist and human rights activist, young Ismaila Hydara. There he was; the same look and calm composure of his father. I almost broke down. "Sigilko waay," I managed to utter. He held my hand in a firm grip and said, "sigil sa waala, we cannot give up this fight."
I thought about Deyda and the subtle stutter that was belied by his incisive and intelligent discussions that ranged from sub-regional politics to human rights. I wondered where his murderers would be hiding right now, maybe drinking attaya and laughing away the crime they committed in depriving The Gambia of yet another talented and patriotic son. I also wondered who their next innocent target would be in their evil schemes.
"What do we want?" "Justice!" "When do we want it?" "Now!" we shouted in unison.
The rays of the midday sun mocked the freezing winds coming from the Atlantic Ocean, blocked from our view by the imposing building of the UN Secretariat. Our allotted time by the NYPD was up. As I walked away from the crowd, a small forgotten verse composed by the late Rev. J. C. Faye came to my mind. Lines that he had submitted in 1965 during the contest for the national anthem of newly independent Gambia:
"The river gently flows,
Palms feath'ry fronds do wave
Small thou art, small they may be.
Bless'd thou art! For from thee
Days gone by greater lands
Bless'd were they through thy toil.
Gambia Good-will land,
O Koras sweetly sing:
Gambia: Gambia: God bless our Fatherland.
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