Two minutes into the first interview, my tears gently begged to be let loose.  I took a breath and gave them a look to kill.  No.

I was kneeling on the floor of the American Bar Association Rule of Law Initiative’s legal clinic on the compound of HEAL Africa’s medical center in Goma, DRC.  The rape victim seated before me – the first of three I interviewed today – was 9 years old.  Her mother, seated on a small couch to my left, wiped away tears and shook her head as Sophie, the young rape victim, told me her story.

She was taken by  a relative to a field where he raped her.  When he was through, she asked him to carry her back to her home.  Instead he beat her, then covered her with banana leaves and left.  A cousin of hers came to the field to tend crops, discovered her there, and took her home.

Prior to conducting the interview, the mother had asked me not to show her daughter’s face.  After doing the interview, I knelt before the mother, and in the best broken French I could muster, explained the importance of viewers in the U.S. being able to see the faces of victims to help make sure these atrocities stop.  She put her hand to her heart, said she understood, and gave me permission.  Again my tears asked.  Again I had to say no, this time because of Rochelle, the 16-year-old seated next to Sophie.  She was drugged by  a police officer, raped, and became pregnant.  And then there was the third and final interview of the day with a victim who was 12.  Not understanding what had happened to her, she had come home to her mother and asked her, “Mother, the neighbor took me into his bed, laid on top of me, and I bled from between my legs.  Then he washed me.  What does this mean?”

What does this mean?  It would be so easy to become overwhelmed, overtaken by the horror.  Lost in asking “Why?”  What does this mean?  It means there’s a lot of work to be done.  And thank goodness for the lawyers.

At the HEAL Africa compound where I conducted the interviews today, ABA ROLI has a legal counseling clinic which receives victims of sexual violence from the medical center.  These individuals can receive a holistic range of services, including psychological counseling, legal advice and representation to prosecute, financial assistance for transportation and other case-related costs, and additional resources from partner NGO’s (e.g., making sure a victim’s education is able to continue).

ABA ROLI’s work here in the Congo is truly remarkable – they have already been making initial progress into tackling the recent mass rape of more than 200 women (from under age 10 to over age 60) in the Walikale region of northeastern Congo (see a brief article in the NY Times here:  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/03/world/africa/03congo.html).  After the incident, ABA ROLI went to the villages of the victims and were able to find 52 individuals who have agreed to prosecute their perpetrators.

The challenges they face here are immense, and range from a “culture of impunity” to the way that women who have been raped are perceived as unfit to marry.  In fact, I was horrified to learn that in many cases, rather than go to prison, a perpetrator will agree to and be allowed to marry – yes, marry – the victim.  The perpetrator is seen as the only person who can, after the rape, marry her.  To me, this is unimaginable.  Where is the logic in this, where even the emotional ‘reasoning’?

Tomorrow I’ll have the chance to interview several members of the ABA ROLI staff here in Goma, in addition to returning to the legal clinic at the HEAL Africa compound.  The plan is to interview doctors, psychologists, attorneys, and possibly some police and judges.

Last thought – give an attorney a hug (or phone call) today.  You never know what good they’re up to.  It may just be bringing justice to those in desperate need.