WHO GAVE THE ORDER? WHO CARRIED IT OUT? WHO WILL BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE?

Adeladius Makwega – MBAGALA

Every human life has value. This is something that every society that claims to uphold civilization, law, and humanity should remember every day.

When a person loses their life because of crime, the unlawful use of force, or arbitrary killings, it is not only one person who is lost. A family loses a parent, a child, a sibling, or a caregiver; a community loses one of its members; and a nation loses part of its humanity.

There is a Swahili saying: “Mtu ni watu” — “A person is people.” Its meaning is that the life of one person is connected to the lives of others. When justice is violated against one person, the consequences can spread throughout a family and the wider community.

Human beings depend on one another.

As another Swahili saying reminds us, our blood relatives may help us in many ways, but when it comes to choosing a husband or wife, we must look beyond our immediate family. We depend on others outside our own families to build families and communities.

This is why Swahili people say: “Mtu ni watu” — a person is people.

We must learn to resolve conflicts through dialogue, respect the law, and ensure that allegations of wrongdoing are investigated fairly. Where evidence establishes wrongdoing, those responsible should be held accountable in accordance with the law. And where domestic systems have failed to fulfil their responsibilities, international law provides mechanisms that may apply under the appropriate circumstances.

“Peace is not the silence of fear.”

True peace exists when people can live, speak, ask questions, criticize, seek justice, and protect their dignity without fearing that doing so will cost them their lives.

This is Mwanakwetu.

But this is where the difficult question begins.

If certain people are used to carry out killings or other crimes on the orders of someone else, and years later the time comes for accountability, what happens then?

The answer should not be sought through anger or revenge. It should be sought through evidence and the law.

A person who carries out a crime may be investigated and prosecuted according to the available evidence. Saying, “I was following orders,” does not necessarily remove that person's legal responsibility.

At the same time, if a person was forced, threatened, or had no genuine freedom of choice, those circumstances may be relevant when determining responsibility and punishment, depending on the applicable law.

And this gives rise to another question: What about the person who gave the order? Should that person also be investigated?

Yes—where the evidence shows that the person gave the order, planned the crime, assisted in it, or had a legal responsibility to prevent the crime but failed to take appropriate action under circumstances recognized by law.

In other words, a proper investigation should not stop with the person at the end of the chain.

We must ask:

Who carried it out?Who gave the order?
Who planned it?Who assisted?
Who knew?And who had the authority to prevent it but failed to take the required action?

Mwanakwetu, this is where we remember another Swahili proverb:

“Ukweli hauozi” — “The truth does not rot.”

History has given us examples of people who served in military and security institutions and were later held accountable before courts for serious crimes.

In Argentina, after the end of military rule from 1976 to 1983, investigations were conducted into disappearances, killings, torture, and unlawful imprisonment. In 1985, several senior military leaders were brought before the courts. Jorge Rafael Videla, Roberto Viola, Emilio Massera, Armando Lambruschini, and Orlando Agosti were convicted of various offences connected to serious human rights violations.

That history teaches us that an event may appear to have passed, but that does not necessarily mean that all the questions surrounding it have disappeared.

In the former Yugoslavia, particularly in cases concerning Kosovo, several senior police officials were also brought before the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. Sreten Lukić was convicted of crimes against humanity and war crimes, while Vlastimir Đorđević was sentenced to 27 years in prison for crimes against humanity and war crimes against civilians in Kosovo.

Rwanda, our neighbour, has also left a profound lesson in history.

Samuel Imanishimwe, who was the commander of the Karambo military camp, was convicted by the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda in connection with acts committed under his authority, including failures relating to preventing or punishing those involved in crimes. Lieutenant Colonel Ephrem Setako was also sentenced to 25 years in prison, and his conviction was upheld on appeal.

These examples are not presented to suggest that every leader of a security institution should be considered guilty simply because they hold such a position.

Far from it. Rank is not proof of guilt.

A court requires evidence connecting an individual to the crime in question. It must consider the authority the person possessed, what they knew or should have known, the orders they gave, the actions they took or failed to take, and other relevant evidence presented in the case.

This is where we must be especially careful.

Justice is not revenge.

Justice is not condemning a person because of rumours.

Justice is a process through which the truth is established and the person responsible is held accountable according to the law.

There is another Swahili proverb:

“Haraka haraka haina baraka” — “Haste makes waste.”

When human life and justice are at stake, this proverb carries great weight. A rushed investigation without sufficient evidence can wrongfully harm an innocent person; but delaying justice without legitimate reason can cause even greater suffering to victims and their families.

That is why a nation seeking lasting peace needs institutions capable of conducting independent investigations, courts capable of hearing evidence fairly, and systems capable of holding people accountable regardless of their rank or authority.

Because, in the end:

“A tree does not fall with a great crash without a reason.”

When we see a society living in fear, families grieving, and citizens losing trust in their institutions, we must ask why this has happened and what can be done to prevent it from happening again.

The fundamental question is not:

Who will take revenge?

The question is:

Who will seek the truth?
Who will protect the victims?
Who will ensure that evidence is not lost?
Who will ensure that the law applies to everyone?

And if someone gave an order to commit a crime, will that person one day be asked to answer for that order?

History has taught us another Swahili proverb:

“Mwenye pupa hadiriki kula tamu” — “One who is impatient does not get to enjoy the sweetness.”

Power may be strong today, but power itself must never stand above the law.

A strong nation is not one in which people are afraid to ask questions. It is one in which people can ask difficult questions and seek answers through lawful means.

Therefore, let us not wait for blood to be shed again and again before we remember the value of human life.

Let us not wait until many families are grieving before we remember the importance of justice.

Let us not wait for history to record our failures in pain before we begin asking ourselves what we should have done.

“Let us respect life. Let us respect justice. Let us protect peace.”

And if we truly want peace, let us never accept a peace built upon fear.