Justice in the Congo, Part 3

The Chief Judge

Five or ten years older than the prosecutor, the Chief Judge dresses like a man who doesn’t need to impress.  Fit but carrying a large belly, he looks wizened.  His natural expression is stoic calm, occasionally broken by a huge, captivating grin.

The Chief Judge uses the same type of official desk the prosecutor banished to a corner of his office.  It is covered by yet another plastic food-themed tablecloth.  The papers on his desk and the shelves behind him are carefully arranged.

Two cords hang from the ceiling.  One dangles above the desk, terminating in an empty light socket.  The other is covered in cobwebs and debris, its intended use unclear.  There is no source of artificial light in the Chief Judge’s office; indeed, nothing in the office operates on electricity.
 
Compared to the prosecutor, the Chief Judge is a wealthy man, earning $600 per month.  He chuckles when I mention the prosecutor’s salary, wryly observing that the prosecutor has his own car.  (No one I ask, including the Chief Judge, can explain exactly how he can afford it.)  Officially, prosecutors are not allowed to accept money from parties and cannot run businesses, but they often participate in and benefit from businesses owned by spouses and family members.  Whatever means the prosecutor has to earn some extra money, they are unavailable to the Chief Judge, who cannot afford his own car.

I mention the Palais’ lack of resources, and the Chief Judge nods.  “If you want to get a computer,” I ask, “how would you go about getting one?”  Officially, he explains, there was once an office for that in Kinshasa, the capital of the DRC, nearly 2000 kilometers away.  But it has not existed for 10 years, so there is no official way to procure a computer.  “Unofficially?” I ask.  You buy it with your own money.  

The Palais de Justice has seven “official” employees -- that is, employees paid by the state.  I ask how the Chief Judge would one go about getting another paid position.  The Chief Judge laughs.  The short answer is that it’s basically impossible.  The longer answer:  The candidate must have numerous documents in order.  (In the Congo, nearly everything requires myriad official papers.)  The Chief Judge must submit an application for the position to the provincial officer; then to the general secretary of justice; then to a state officer.  Approval is unlikely at any step, but delay is guaranteed.

I ask to see a judgment -- a court document explaining the facts of the case, the court’s decision, and the reasoning behind that decision.  The Chief Judge opens a ragged folder and pulls out a few pieces of paper.

The judgment is handwritten.  The uneven blue writing could be a child’s.  The paper doesn’t even have lines; the words slant northward as they wander across the page.  There are no computers at the Palais de Justice -- and apparently no typewriters either.