Speak Truth To Power Series in KI-Media - Fauziya Kassindja (Togo) “Female Genital Mutilation and...

8/6/2019 Speak Truth To Power Series in KI-Media - Fauziya Kassindja (Togo) Female Genital Mutilation and Immigratio n Abu

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in association with

Speak Truth To Power

(Courage without Borders) Series

in KI Media

. . . . .

Fauziya Kassindja (Togo) Female Genital Mutilation and Immigration

Abuse

Biography

Fauziya Kassindja narrowly escaped female genitalmutilation by fleeing from her remote village in Togo undercover of night and making her way to the United States where, inDecember 1994, she sought political a sylum .Instead of receivingthis seventeen-year-old orphan with understanding and humanity, U.S.

officials proceeded to strip her naked, put her in chains, imprison her, andsend her through the Kafkaesque nightmare known as the U.S.immigration system . After extensive advocacy bya law student atAmerican Universityand an appearance on the front page ofThe New YorkTimes, Kassindja became the first person to receive political asylum from the UnitedStates based on the threat of female genital mutilation.

Up to 130 million wom en w orldwide, the vast majority concentrated in twenty-six African nations, have been subjected to female genital mutilation, and 2 million

annually confront it. The procedure involves cutting off the clitoris. Noanesthesia is used. Often other parts of the external genitals are also excised, and theentrance to the vagina is commonly sewn almost completely shut.Infection, scarring, infertility, excruciating intercourse, complexchildbirth, and almost unbearable pain are common side effects. Manywomen die in the aftermath of the procedure, which is performed with razorblades, sharp rocks, knives, and in some instances, scalpels. Despite

the trauma she suffered, Kassindja has spoken actively against the practice and about


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the difficulties she faced in the U.S. immigration system. She is currently on theadvisory board for the Center for Gender and Refugee Studies based in California.

She is the co-author ofDo They Hear You When You Cry, a memoir of herexperiences in Togo and her struggle to gain asylum in the United States.

Interview

I have four sisters and two brothers; I was the sixth child, the last girl. I was amischievous one, very close with my fatherhe was my best friend. All my sisters wereencouraged by him to do whatever we wanted with our lives. Our parents didnt decidefor us. They always said, "Its your decision. If its a positive one were going to help youmake it come true. If its negative, were going to advise you not to do it, but if youthink thats what you want, go ahead. Later on you have yourself to blame. You cantsay your parents forced you." My father sent all of us to school, so that we could learnEnglish and help with his business. This was unusual for girls in Togo.

When I was sixteen my father died and everything changed. My auntand my uncle, my fathers siblings, hated my mom right from the beginning because

Mom was from Benin and they thought she didnt fit inshes not from theirtribe. They tried to force my father to divorce her, but he didnt listen. They said mymother was behind all of us going to school. They thought she poisoned my fathersmind.

After Fathers death, Aunt moved into our house. She told us that my mother had

decided to go live with her family in Benin, which was untrue. She and my unclemade my mother leave, and my aunt became my new guardian. Iwas allowed to go to school until the end of that year. When I turned seventeen she told

me that I wasnt going back to school because there was no need to wastemoney and time, and besides, all my sisters had gone to school and had just ended upmarried. I had lost my father, I had lost my mom, and now school. I thought, "Oh myGod, what is going to happen next?"

Shortly after a gentleman started coming to the house. I thought maybe my aunt wantedto get remarried, so whenever he left I said, "Oh I think hes a great guy." She kept goingon, praising him, how rich he was, how famous, how nice he can be. I thought she was inlove. I didnt know that she was really saying that to get me interested. She didnt tell methat she wanted me to marry him until one time she mentioned, "I told him that youwerent going back to school." I was surprised. "Why would you have to tell him Im not


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going back?" So she said, "Remember how you always say hes a nice person? Hewants to marry you."

I thought she was kidding. She told me that he was forty-five years old. I said, "Forty-

five!!!" And she kept going, "Dont worry. He has three wives and they will

help take care of you." I said, "I dont want to do this." So after that it was ahuge fight in the house all the time. Then one day she said, "I know you dont love him

now but once you get k a k i y a [ g en i t a l m u t i la t i o n ], you will learn to lovehim."

Soon after I woke up and she called me into her room and I saw all this beautiful

clothing on the beddresses, jewelry, shoesand she said, "This is all from yourhusband. He wants you today. So tomorrow will be the day ofkakiya." I said, "What! I am going to get married today?" I had noidea what to do. The marriage proceeded and, after, they gave me the marriage licenseto sign, but I refused. My older sisters and brothers came, and we talked about it. Theyapologized for not doing anything to prevent things so far. My older sister was so upset.She told me not to cryeverything would be okay. She would make sure that nobodywould do kakiya to me. But I didnt believe her because there was nothing that she could

do. I was somebody elses wife now. She says, "Dont worry. Amaray and Iwill disguise you."Amaray is what we call my mom; it means "bright."

She told me not to sign the marriage license, told me not to worry. Everything would be

fine. She came back in the middle of the night and we left the houseand crossed the border to Ghana. The next available plane was to Germany.My sister gave me three thousand dollars, all the money she had. I got on the plane fromGermany to the United States by purchasing a passport. When the immigration

officer at Newark Airport said, "Do you have any money?" I showed herthe little money I had left and then told her that I wanted asylum. She said go sit overthere, and she would be with me shortly. So I sat waiting until she checked everybody

and came to me. She said, "Okay, tell me what you want from theUnited States." I told her I wanted asylum. She told me I had to tell her what is theproblem. So I told her everything. Well, not everything, because it is so embarrassing.

How could she understand? I didnt know the words even to say it inEnglish.

I didnt know what it was called. I told her my father was dead and my mother had

vanished, and my aunt wanted me to marry somebody I dont want to marry and that I wanted to go back to school. That basically summarized everythingI didntmention kakiya because I knew she probably couldnt understandand she would also think I was crazy. Whether I got asylum was up to thejudge, she said, so I would go to prison, then see the consular official from my country,and then I could go home and be with my family.

I started crying and screamingtelling her that I was only seventeen, and I didnt doanything wrong, I didnt want to go to prison. Then they brought the cops to the waiting

area where I was sitting. Her supervisor said if I didnt want to stay, then


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I either had to go back to Togo or to Germany. I didnt know anyone inGermany, and Togo was the last place I wanted to go. They took my fingerprints andeverything. A woman in uniform called me into her room, where she asked me to takeoff my clothes. I said, "Please, I am menstruating, can I keep my underwear on?"Andshe said to take it off. It was the most humiliating moment in my life. I took it off and

just wished I could disappear into the wall. She gave me back my pants andmy sweater and then she started putting the handcuffs on me. I felt

just like the criminals I had seen in movies. I started crying. I said, "Please, dont takeme to prison." She ignored me and she put the chain around my waist. I couldnt walkvery fast with the chains, but she kept pushing my back, saying,"Lets go. Lets go." So I

was taken to this detention center in Elizabeth, New Jersey.

Thats where the nightmares really began. I was strip-searched again, andleft in this huge cold room and this man came in and stared at me,as I was standing there naked. Then I was taken to this prison inHackensack where I was sexually harassed by an inmate. I think

she was a drug addict. They put me in the maximum security part ,with a cellmate convicted for I dont know what. She smoked, and I had terrible asthma.I told the doctor that I couldnt stay in that room and he just said,"I am sorry, maam, Icant help you." I started coughing and throwing up blood. But I was denied anymedicine because of my immigration status.

Then I had to go to Lehigh County Prison in Pennsylvania. A girl fromTanzania and I were handcuffed together. During all this process of transferring fromone prison to another, we were chained, like criminals. First they sent us for a medical

evaluation, where they thought I had tuberculosis. As a result, I was put in isolation.

They kept me in this room for eighteen days, and I lost thirty pounds.Before I could talk to anybody I had to put on a face mask, like the one doctors use foroperations. When I needed something I had to stand in the other corner of the room,turn to the wall, and yell for a guard. The door had this small window in the middle where they passed my food. I couldnt come near the door. They treated me like ananimal. I needed soap. I needed a toothbrush. I called and calledmost of the time,nobody would come.

I met Cecelia Jeffrey, another prisoner, in a detention center inNew Jersey. She treated me like a daughter. When Id go to bed, shewould come and tuck me in. She has always been there for me ever since we met. When

I started feeling sick againstomach, heartburnthey ignored me and wouldnt give meany medicine. So I thought, "If Im going to die, why dont I go back." I wrote therequest form to the INS [Immigration and Naturalization Service], and wrote Cecelia aletter, telling her how much I really appreciated the way she took care of me and that Iwould never forget her.

She got really upset, because she knew about my situation back home. She got furious.She wrote to the counselor that I was her daughter and that they should please transferme to minimum security, because she could persuade me not to go back. They were soovercrowded they put a bunch of us in the maximum security part of the prison. Theprison guards asked me, "Is Cecelia your mom?" and I said, "Yes." So I was transferred

to minimum security, where she was, and she was so upset with me. She said, "Are you


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crazy? Do you know what youre going back for?" And I said, "I just cant take itanymore." Next day she was in the shower and called, "Sweetheart, come here." (Shealways called me sweetheart.) I went to the bathroom and she was standing in there, and

she opened her legs apart and said, "Look. Is this what you wantto go back to?" I didnt know what I was seeing.

It was so scaryterribleI didnt know how to explain it. I just saw it and

ran away from the bathroom. And she screamed, "Come back here! You want to bestupid? Come back here! Come and look!" So I went back and she said, "Do youknow what this is?" I didnt know. It didnt look anything like femalegenitalia. Nothing. It was just like a really plain thing like thepalm of my hand. And the only thing you could see was a scar, like a stitch. Andjust a little hole. Thats it, no lips, nothing. I said, "You live with this?" And shesaid, "All my life. I cry all the time when I see it. I cry inside. I feelweak, I feel defeated all the time."

I look at her and I see the strongest woman on earth. Outside you cantreally tell that shes suffering or in pain. I know shes not happy, but you couldnt tell

from her appearance or the way she treated others. Shes the most lovingperson Ive ever met. After she said, "Well, if you want to go back, Ill help you write the request form. Its your stupidity. Fine." I introduced her to Karen [Masalo],my lawyer, and together they made me stay.

At my first hearing, thejudge was so rude, so mean to both Layli and me. LayliMiller Bashir was a law student from American University Law

Clinic who had taken my case. Layli asked me a question and before I could answerthe judge said, "Its not necessary, the court doesnt want to knowthis." And he asked me a question and before I answered, he answered for me. Icouldnt talk at all in the courtroom. He didnt believe that my mother couldnt protectme from the genital mutilation. And he didnt believe that my father protected my other

four sisters, but not me. It was so scary. He yelled a lot and he said myname and my countrys name wrong and when I corrected him, hegot so upset. And he said something, and I spoke out, "No, thats not what Isaid." And he yelled, "This will be the last time you interrupt the court." From

the way the hearing was going, I knew he wasnt going to grant my asylum. Even beforehe came into the court, he had made up his mind not to grant it. Layli told me that Ishouldnt worry, that no matter what happened, she would make sure that justice was

done. She begged me not to go back.

I was in prison when I met with the reporter from The New York Times. At first Ididnt want to do the interview. I had already done several, but none helped me get outof prison. So I said, "Whats the use? I feel like Im exposing my family. And whoknows, I might be sent back to my country and that is going to be really terrible for

me." They sent a list of the congressmen who signed a petition to

the district attorney to have me paroledit was denied. If twenty-


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five congressmen couldnt get me out of prison, could an interviewhelp?

But I finally agreed to talk to the Times, and to our surprise the story appearedon the front page. It was the eleventh and I got out the twenty-fourth. They saidthat the media was very powerful here in this country. More

powerful than the Congress? It was scary, and I couldnt understand it.

Everything happens for a purpose and whatever happens is destined. So I got outbecause it is God that made this possible. At that time I was going throughall this suffering, I couldnt see it that way. I thought, "Why me, why doesnt ithappen to somebody else?" But now when I look back I know that if I hadntbeen through all these things, the case wouldnt have reached the many people that it

has today. This is the work of God. And it is truly unbelievable.

- Kerry Kennedy, Speak Truth To Power, 2000President of Robert F. Kennedy Center for Justice and Human Rights

* With my emphasis. - Theary C. Seng, CIVICUS Cambodia founding president

** Please contact us at CIVICUS Cambodia if your newspaper, website, Facebook etc. cancarry this series.

The RFK Centers S p e a k T r u t h T o Po w e r (Courage Without Borders)

project in Cambodia is funded by The Charitable Foundation (Australia).For more information, please visit: www.civicus-cam.org and

www.rfkcenter.org/sttp.

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