Life Shrinks for a Former Liberian Leader Now on Trial
THE HAGUE — Sixteen months after his life of power and luxury ended in an abrupt arrest, Charles G. Taylor, warlord and former president of Liberia, is living in a new cellblock on the grounds of the Men’s Penitentiary near The Hague.
Mr. Taylor lives in a cell that looks much like this one at a penitentiary at The Hague. He is allowed to use another cell for his legal paperwork.
Once known for his fine white suits, a swaggering style and plentiful weapons financed by trading timber and diamonds, Mr. Taylor now cooks his own food, does his dishes, reads newspapers and receives prison-issued pocket money. He is allowed to spend two hours in the yard and to work out in a gym.
He is the first African head of state to stand trial on charges of war crimes and crimes against humanity. If he is convicted, human rights groups say they hope that his fate could signal an end to impunity for violent dictators in Africa.
Since his trial began in June, prosecutors of the Special Court for Sierra Leone have produced about 40,000 pages to document what they call Mr. Taylor’s drive for power and its accompanying atrocities, orchestrated from Liberia while he was backing forces in Sierra Leone’s civil war. An estimated 200,000 people were killed or maimed in the fighting in Sierra Leone from 1991 to 2002.
Other crimes he is accused of in Liberia — where several hundred thousand more people died while he led a rebel army, and after he became president in 1997 — are not within the mandate of this court.
Mr. Taylor theatrically fired his lawyer on the opening day of his trial. Since then he has been interviewing several replacement candidates and working on his defense. Herman von Hebel, the court administrator, said Mr. Taylor had two cells, “one where he sleeps and one where he keeps his paperwork.” He has access to a computer, a television and a DVD player.
But after a life of mixing with presidents, rebels, diplomats, smugglers and a permanent coterie of aides, Mr. Taylor is feeling very isolated, said Karim Khan, his former lawyer.
Set within the high-security compound of the largest prison in the Netherlands, with close to 800 inmates, a cellblock for international prisoners was recently built for the International Criminal Court. There, Mr. Taylor has only one fellow inmate: a Congolese militia commander, Thomas Lubanga. “They eat together, they share the common sitting room,” said Marc Dubuisson, who oversees the prison administration.
The two inmates are also accused of carrying out a particular type of horror. According to prosecutors, both men have used thousands of child soldiers as their henchmen and indoctrinated and drugged pubescent boys to become killers and warrior-butchers who were ordered to chop off civilians’ hands, arms or other body parts. Girls were kept in the boys’ camps as cooks and sex slaves, prosecutors say.
Court officials said they did not know if the two inmates discussed such topics. Mr. Lubanga, who will be tried by the International Criminal Court here for commandeering child soldiers in the Congo, speaks French, while Mr. Taylor speaks English. “We’re arranging for some language courses, and also for computer lessons,” Mr. Dubuisson said. “They are not convicted; we have to treat them with dignity.”
The Sierra Leone court pays $700 a day for Mr. Taylor’s confinement. Nearby, in the same compound but out of reach, is the older detention center with close to 50 Serbian, Bosnian and Croatian inmates of the United Nations war crimes tribunal for the former Yugoslavia.
Mr. Taylor, a man used to the powers of a wealthy warlord, has been successful at promoting his interests even in captivity. He has complained about the size and budget of his defense team, paid for by the court. Although a report by investigators for the court has put his fortune, amassed through legal and illegal activities from timber and diamond trading and other business interests, at around $450 million, he has said he has no money to pay for an adequate defense and requested legal aid. After he boycotted several court sessions, the court raised his defense budget to $70,000 a month from $45,000, Mr. von Hebel said.
Mr. Taylor’s complaints in court about the Dutch meals he was provided — his former lawyer called it “Eurocentric food” — have also paid off. Prison employees have searched for items perhaps more suitable for the African palate and now provide plantains, yams, corn flour, cassava, smoked fish and spices like ginger and peanut sauce to Mr. Taylor and Mr. Lubanga, who have learned to cook with the help of a guard.
They can buy extras with their official pocket money of 10 euros, or $13.70, a week.
An official of the special court based in Sierra Leone observed that amenities in The Hague may seem spartan to Mr. Taylor, but will seem luxurious to many poor West Africans. Pressed for a photograph of Mr. Taylor’s quarters, the court provided one of a cell it said was like Mr. Taylor’s. It shows a neat private space with a sink, a toilet, shelves and a worktable.
Mr. Dubuisson conceded that “it’s not a secret that we do have high standards.” While the jail already has cable television, he said he was now arranging for a satellite dish, because Mr. Taylor and Mr. Lubanga wanted news from Africa.
The prison has set aside a private space for conjugal visits. Mr. Taylor’s wife has been to see him. And then there is the sitting room equipped with games, a cooking range and a microwave oven. Answering further questions about prison life, Mr. Dubuisson replied with certain emphasis: “Yes, yes, the men do wash their own dishes. It’s not a hotel here.”
And by 8 p.m., he said, their cell doors are locked.
Life Shrinks for a Former Liberian Leader Now on Trial - New York Times
