Fallujans' Faith in Local Justice Renewed
Residents pleased to see restoration of local court after putting up with years of so-called tribal justice.
Fallujans' Faith in Local Justice Renewed
Residents pleased to see restoration of local court after putting up with years of so-called tribal justice.
Haifa Ahmad’s painful journey began two years ago, when her husband was shot and killed in the crossfire of a battle between United States forces and insurgents in Fallujah.
One year later, she suffered a second blow when a tribal chief chose to grant her late husband’s in-laws custody of her one-year-old son because she had remarried. Government courts in Anbar province were not operating at the time, giving her no option but to accept the chief’s decision.
Determined to win back her son, Ahmad recently turned to Fallujah’s court after it re-opened. When the judge granted her custody, guards had to stop Ahmad from trying to throw a bouquet of flowers his way.
Handing out sweets to those who attended the hearing, Ahmad told IWPR, “When a mother gets her son back after losing hope of seeing him again, it is something that can't be described. The sense of injustice can't be forgotten. I'm going to celebrate with my boy because everything has been made right again."
The restoration of Fallujah’s court has renewed public confidence in the rule of law in this city, where, in the absence of a judiciary, clan leaders settled legal disputes for years. Eschewing Iraqi law for “tribal justice”, they angered many who claimed their decisions were unjust and illegal.
Anbar province’s years of unrest shut down courthouses and lawyers’ offices – along with most other institutions and businesses – until early 2008. Judges in Fallujah began hearing cases sporadically then, and are now processing about 40 cases a day.
Abdullah Jasim, one of seven judges in Fallujah’s court, said it is addressing both new cases and reviewing disputes where verdicts were handed down by tribal leaders. Judges do not recognise tribal law or decisions.
The cases are mounting daily, Jasim said, an indication that the public’s confidence in the judicial system is growing. Lawyers fees are soaring to upwards of 1,000 US dollars per case due to increased demand.
Critics say the tribal chiefs’ based their judgements on tribal codes and sometimes would only listen to one side of a dispute before delivering a decision.
“People respect the court and judges, that’s for sure,” said Kamal al-Ani, an advisor to Anbar’s governor. “They got fed up with tribal laws and the unclear decisions that were made based on the tribe’s authority, power and fortune.”
Tribal code procedures and punishments vary widely. A burglar, for example, may have his hand cut off if he is found guilty by a chief who abides by strict interpretations of Islamic law. Another tribal leader may choose to run him out of his house if he does not return the stolen items or force him to return double the amount he stole.
Tribal chiefs – who still dispense justice in some of Anbar’s towns and villages – mostly deal with disputes between two individuals from the same tribe, said Sheikh Malik al-Zaubai, a tribal chief who oversaw dozens of cases including feuds over water and property rights, murders and divorces between 2006 and 2007.
He sees far fewer today. Zaubai’s last case was one month ago, when he mediated a dispute involving parents and a school headmaster who wanted to expel their son for misbehaving.
Some tribal leaders bristle at criticism that their decisions have been unfair. “I don’t see any reason for people’s allegations,” said Sheikh Raed al-Dulaimi. “We didn’t call anyone – it was they who came to us because they know that we enjoy power and authority.”
Dulaimi maintained that tribal justice filled a void when law and order was non-existent in Anbar.
“I really didn’t mean to hurt anyone – clan decisions of course differ from official [judicial] verdicts,” he said. “[But] some of the [these] decisions are not valid such as one that imprisoned a man for killing a dog. Is it possible to imprison a human being for killing an animal?”
The so-called dog case, which went before the court in June, is the talk of Fallujah. A policeman was sentenced to three months in prison for killing a dog while on duty.
Qamees Mothi, who owned the dog, said powerful tribal chiefs offered him money and six well-bred dogs to drop the case. He refused, saying he wanted justice for his pet.
"This dog was my favourite,” he said. “But I always remember that dozens of people in this city have been killed for no good reason, and their murderers went free in the past, which makes me think that justice has been applied to a dog but not a human being.”
Fallujah’s sole court is burdened by heavy caseloads, with seven judges overseeing cases ranging from property disputes to murders. It serves about 750,000 people, and judges and lawyers – who were targeted when violence wracked this city – are in short supply.
The court building was used as barracks during fighting between US forces and insurgents and had snipers stationed on the roof. It is badly in need of repair.
Judicial corruption is not an issue in Fallujah, local legal experts say, but judges need training on human rights and democratic principles to apply the country’s new constitution.
Sill, the court is enjoying a honeymoon among residents who say its decisions seem more just than those laid down by tribal leaders.
Khalil Nasir, a carpenter, sued a doctor after his 33-year-old wife died following surgery. The doctor, who was operating on the woman’s uterus, forgot to remove a pair of scissors, causing Nasir’s wife to bleed to death.
The judge stripped the doctor of his medical license, shut down his clinic and ordered him to pay hefty fines.
The doctor, he said, belonged to a prominent tribe, but the court treated the case fairly, “I don’t think that I would have gotten anything had I gone to the tribal court. They would have simply said that it was her destiny and a doctor couldn’t be convicted under their codes.”
Uthman al-Mukhtar is an IWPR-trainee in Fallujah.
One year later, she suffered a second blow when a tribal chief chose to grant her late husband’s in-laws custody of her one-year-old son because she had remarried. Government courts in Anbar province were not operating at the time, giving her no option but to accept the chief’s decision.
Determined to win back her son, Ahmad recently turned to Fallujah’s court after it re-opened. When the judge granted her custody, guards had to stop Ahmad from trying to throw a bouquet of flowers his way.
Handing out sweets to those who attended the hearing, Ahmad told IWPR, “When a mother gets her son back after losing hope of seeing him again, it is something that can't be described. The sense of injustice can't be forgotten. I'm going to celebrate with my boy because everything has been made right again."
The restoration of Fallujah’s court has renewed public confidence in the rule of law in this city, where, in the absence of a judiciary, clan leaders settled legal disputes for years. Eschewing Iraqi law for “tribal justice”, they angered many who claimed their decisions were unjust and illegal.
Anbar province’s years of unrest shut down courthouses and lawyers’ offices – along with most other institutions and businesses – until early 2008. Judges in Fallujah began hearing cases sporadically then, and are now processing about 40 cases a day.
Abdullah Jasim, one of seven judges in Fallujah’s court, said it is addressing both new cases and reviewing disputes where verdicts were handed down by tribal leaders. Judges do not recognise tribal law or decisions.
The cases are mounting daily, Jasim said, an indication that the public’s confidence in the judicial system is growing. Lawyers fees are soaring to upwards of 1,000 US dollars per case due to increased demand.
Critics say the tribal chiefs’ based their judgements on tribal codes and sometimes would only listen to one side of a dispute before delivering a decision.
“People respect the court and judges, that’s for sure,” said Kamal al-Ani, an advisor to Anbar’s governor. “They got fed up with tribal laws and the unclear decisions that were made based on the tribe’s authority, power and fortune.”
Tribal code procedures and punishments vary widely. A burglar, for example, may have his hand cut off if he is found guilty by a chief who abides by strict interpretations of Islamic law. Another tribal leader may choose to run him out of his house if he does not return the stolen items or force him to return double the amount he stole.
Tribal chiefs – who still dispense justice in some of Anbar’s towns and villages – mostly deal with disputes between two individuals from the same tribe, said Sheikh Malik al-Zaubai, a tribal chief who oversaw dozens of cases including feuds over water and property rights, murders and divorces between 2006 and 2007.
He sees far fewer today. Zaubai’s last case was one month ago, when he mediated a dispute involving parents and a school headmaster who wanted to expel their son for misbehaving.
Some tribal leaders bristle at criticism that their decisions have been unfair. “I don’t see any reason for people’s allegations,” said Sheikh Raed al-Dulaimi. “We didn’t call anyone – it was they who came to us because they know that we enjoy power and authority.”
Dulaimi maintained that tribal justice filled a void when law and order was non-existent in Anbar.
“I really didn’t mean to hurt anyone – clan decisions of course differ from official [judicial] verdicts,” he said. “[But] some of the [these] decisions are not valid such as one that imprisoned a man for killing a dog. Is it possible to imprison a human being for killing an animal?”
The so-called dog case, which went before the court in June, is the talk of Fallujah. A policeman was sentenced to three months in prison for killing a dog while on duty.
Qamees Mothi, who owned the dog, said powerful tribal chiefs offered him money and six well-bred dogs to drop the case. He refused, saying he wanted justice for his pet.
"This dog was my favourite,” he said. “But I always remember that dozens of people in this city have been killed for no good reason, and their murderers went free in the past, which makes me think that justice has been applied to a dog but not a human being.”
Fallujah’s sole court is burdened by heavy caseloads, with seven judges overseeing cases ranging from property disputes to murders. It serves about 750,000 people, and judges and lawyers – who were targeted when violence wracked this city – are in short supply.
The court building was used as barracks during fighting between US forces and insurgents and had snipers stationed on the roof. It is badly in need of repair.
Judicial corruption is not an issue in Fallujah, local legal experts say, but judges need training on human rights and democratic principles to apply the country’s new constitution.
Sill, the court is enjoying a honeymoon among residents who say its decisions seem more just than those laid down by tribal leaders.
Khalil Nasir, a carpenter, sued a doctor after his 33-year-old wife died following surgery. The doctor, who was operating on the woman’s uterus, forgot to remove a pair of scissors, causing Nasir’s wife to bleed to death.
The judge stripped the doctor of his medical license, shut down his clinic and ordered him to pay hefty fines.
The doctor, he said, belonged to a prominent tribe, but the court treated the case fairly, “I don’t think that I would have gotten anything had I gone to the tribal court. They would have simply said that it was her destiny and a doctor couldn’t be convicted under their codes.”
Uthman al-Mukhtar is an IWPR-trainee in Fallujah.
