Mark could see every beloved feature of his son’s face as though Martin was sitting in the chair across from him.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, Mark became transfixed by the vision of the blue eyes that mirrored his own. He lost track of time and of his surroundings and did not notice when the eye color gradually changed to a deep brown.
The face now in his vision was younger, darker, thinner, and sadder.
***
Abdi had been driven from his village by hunger after a band of warlords murdered his parents and all three of his brothers. They had taken his sister with them. He was more dead than alive when he stumbled upon a group of men from his own clan. Creeping along the beds of dry sand left behind by the shallow creeks of the rainy season, the starving and parched boy had suddenly smelled food and heard men’s voices.
If they had been from a rival clan, Abdi’s young body would have been splattered over the scrub land, another victim of the AK-47. The underbrush provided only scant cover, even at the shadowy time of day and, lacking the strength even to crawl through it, Abdi decided to wait.
The midday sun spotlighted the movements of reptiles, birds and desperate boys. The man on the other end of the gun looked only three or four years older than Abdi and had similar features.
Even though Abdi’s eyes and emaciated limbs revealed his suffering and deprivation, he showed no sign of fear or loathing. The armed youth could not force himself to shoot one so courageous. Instead, he took Abdi to the camp where the others were eating their meal of dried camel meat, mangoes and bananas.
They made a place for him by the fire and shared their food with him. Through that meager act of kindness they secured Abdi’s loyalty.
***
“Abdi, get my dinner now. I must leave soon to take my place as lookout. A Saudi tanker, a real prize, is due to pass through the Gulf of Aden this evening.”
After weeks of living with the pirates, Abdi had, in essence, become their slave but he didn’t mind. They never asked him to do anything detestable except maybe the time they had obliged him to help skin and cut up a goat spotted wandering near their camp.
He was beginning to feel part of a family again. Even though his parents and siblings could never be replaced, living with people of the same clan was comforting. He rarely let himself think of his mother’s bottomless hugs or his brothers’ playful punches.
His sense of belonging was greatest while seated around an evening fire listening to the stories. Abdi’s favorites were the poetry readings. He kept in his heart the words of a Somali national poet he remembered from childhood, poems often repeated by the older men.
Tonight, their confiscated radio entertained them as they kept watch over their cache of weapons. Keeping watch included sleeping and eating since the weapons were stored in makeshift benches which alternated as beds and tables. The subject of the broadcast was a rather lewd love poem, but it reminded Abdi of nights long past when his extended family had enjoyed the poetry of Salaan Arrabay.
In common with his favorite uncle, he loved one poem especially, and had tried to memorize “O Kinsman, Stop the War.”
With these words, Arrabay had appealed for an end to the long-standing feud between two rival sections of the Isaaq clan in northern Somalia. According to accepted oral history:
‘The poet on his horse stood between the massed opposing forces and, with a voice charged with drama and emotion, chanted the better part of the day until the men, smitten with the force of his delivery, dropped their arms and embraced one another.’
During a lull in the conversation among members of his new family, Abdi asked quietly.
“Do you know the poems of Salaan Arrabay?”
“Is your question ‘do we know of his words’ or ‘do we approve of his message’?”
The response from the group’s leader sounded threatening to Abdi. The man continued without waiting for an answer.
“There was a time when it was a sad thing to fight against our brothers in other clans but we have no more brothers, only enemies. We fought together to rid our country of its most cruel dictator but once that fight was over, our brothers turned on us. They call themselves the new leaders but they have no skill for leading, only for shedding blood.”
Abdi had not expected to hear this. He had never before been spoken to by the leader, except to be ordered to work or to listen. He didn’t need to be ordered to listen to these words; they had immediately found a hiding place in his heart.
The leader continued, still facing Abdi.
“Now that our country is destroyed, the enemies from across the water take advantage of our misery. They poach our fish. They don’t leave enough to keep us from starving. They take from us the only work we know.
“They also dump their garbage in our water, making our people sick and destroying fish habitats. What can we do but rob to take back what they steal from us?
“Abdi, you reminded us of ‘O Kinsman, Stop the War’. Now I ask you to make a poem. Maybe you could call it ‘O Pirates, Save the Poor’.
***
Save the poor. Save the poor. The words echoed inside his head as Mark looked around, bewildered. The strange boy’s face was still hauntingly with him but so was the face of his own son. ‘God, I appeal to you for justice! Please give me some assurance that my son and his colleagues will be treated justly. What must I do? Whatever it is, I’ll do it!’
24
MARK’S DEFENSE
Mark became aware of a platform with a desk on it, in the center of the room. To the right of the desk he could see a chair fenced in by wood paneling and facing rows of wooden seats. Zachri was present, standing in front of someone wearing the traditional robes of a judge.
“Zachri.” he whispered. “Why have you brought me here? This looks like a courtroom. If it is, who’s on trial?”
“This is an administrative hearing, called in response to your appeal to God for justice, Mark.” Zachri replied. “I am willing to help you defend your position. The young Somalian standing to the right of the Judge is Salaan Arrabay, the prosecuting attorney assigned to represent the pirates holding the Oceanora. You may have read some of his poetry.
“At the conclusion of this investigation, the Administrative Law Judge will prepare a final decision. If He decides that either you and your company or the pirates acted outside fundamental justice, He has the authority to impose an irreversible sentence. There is no right of appeal.”
Mark was too stunned to make a sound. Zachri went on.
“You have the right to present evidence through documentation, witnesses or personal testimony. You must prove beyond doubt that the corporation you lead has acted justly in all international transactions and, therefore, merits divine intercession to secure justice.
“You may, if you wish, have your own way and forfeit this hearing. I observed you with your subordinates and have seen that they respect you enough to defer to your decision. Even so, I would advocate for the hearing, especially since during your recent team meeting you told your colleagues that their input was critical to the company’s response. Will you retract that statement?”
“No, I am a man of my word, but why am I the defendant when, as you have pointed out, this decision is not mine alone to make?”
“You are the one who uttered the appeal for justice and you are their leader.” Zachri replied, continuing:
“If you have been a principled leader, the majority of your team will have subscribed to the tenets of corporate social responsibility.”
Mark responded without having to ponder the implications of Zachri’s remark.
“My people have reviewed the stories of Somali piracy but they would not condone acts of violence on human beings for any reason.
“I concede that starvation and the murder of loved ones might lead to piracy as an act of desperation but it could have as much, if not more, to do with an archetypal human flaw: being covetous and willing to do almost anything to get what we cra
ve.
“This Judge preaches justice, doesn’t he? Wasn’t there something written about loving mercy and acting justly?”
Mark had expected unequivocal agreement. Instead, Zachri quoted one of Mark’s own generation to him, a philosophy professor at Yale.
“Assess what Nicholas Wolterstorff wrote:
‘Justice is a condition of society: a society is just insofar as people enjoy what is due them - enjoy what they have a legitimate claim to.’
Mark replied, “Yes, ‘a legitimate claim to’. Isn’t that consistent with divine justice?”
“The affluent and the destitute interpret ‘a legitimate claim’ differently, Mark. I should tell you that the Judge has received a complaint against international shipping companies, including yours, filed by indigent Somalis. If you agree to participate, we are ready to hear your opening statement.”
“I… I don’t know what to say. I do not believe that I am guilty of gross injustice or that my company is either, certainly not against these pirates.
“We’ve never cheated them out of what is rightfully theirs. If this is the only way to assure my son’s return, I will certainly plead my case! Just give me a few minutes to prepare my statements.”
Mark wrote as fast as he could on a pad that he had found on his chair. All too soon, Zachri nudged him to stand up and led him to the chair surrounded by wood paneling. Mark began with a preview of his defense.
“First, I will testify to our socially responsible agenda, bearing in mind that our raison d’être is to make a profit.
“There seems to be a widespread perception that all large companies put their bottom line ahead of treating customers and employees fairly.
“I will try to prove that we do not exploit our human resources. I will do that by calling a witness, one of our employees.
“Second, I will try to point out that I have not allowed greed to rule my life or my company. I will do that by disclosing generous contributions of time and money.
“I would like to call upon a Filipino crew member to witness that our multinational employees are treated fairly and that their human rights are not violated. Since all crew members are accorded the nationality of the flag flying on our ships, the regulations we adhere to are much more stringent than those of many of our competitors.
“Is it possible to bring Mr. Ilaban to this hearing, Zachri?”
“As I knew you’d ask, I am prepared to fulfill your request immediately. Mr. Ilaban was on the crew of a ship that has just returned to port. He’s between assignments, and he willingly agreed to join us today. Mr. Ilaban, will you come to the witness stand, please?”
Mark waited to start his questioning until his witness was seated.
“I don’t believe we have met, Mr. Ilaban, but you have been employed by Swiss Oceanic Transport. Is that correct?”
“Yes Mr. Kennecott. I know who you are and I am happy to work for you. You don’t run slave ships as some other Masters do.”
“Mr. Ilaban, are you paid what you were promised for your work and do you get paid extra for overtime?”
“Yes, I go to your manning agency in the Philippines. They don’t ask for fees and don’t tell me I will be blacklisted if I complain of bad treatment. My pay is fair, no different from Poles or Indians or men from farther countries.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ilaban. Now will you please describe how you are treated at sea?”
“Food is good. Most days we have full belly. If sickness comes to me, I can rest and take medicine. Some people I know who worked for bad companies had to stay working when in terrible pain.
“If they stop, they were blacklisted. Pain is more bearable than blacklist. When on blacklist, a man cannot find work, cannot pay bills; family leaves. Happened to me once but your company still took me. I very grateful; never want to leave this Master.”
Mark said reassuringly, “I hope you never will, Mr. Ilaban. We need loyal employees who know the job. I have no more questions for you.”
Salaan took Mark’s place, facing Mr. Ilaban.
“You have said you never want to leave Mr. Kennecott’s company. Have you been given a contract that extends beyond a single voyage? If not, is it likely you will be given more permanent employment in the future?”
“No, Mr. Arrabay. We sign papers for one trip only. Many times I am lucky and get more work within one, maybe two weeks; sometimes not so lucky. Then I go home. When that happens, I go to the manning agency every day. This is only way I know to make money, so I wait.”
Glancing at Mark, Salaan saw him stiffen and his eyes clamp shut. Turning his full attention back to the witness, he continued.
“I have one more question for you, Mr. Ilaban. How do the senior officers speak to you and the other crew members when giving instructions? Are they respectful or abusive?”
“Some seamen know the English better and get more respect.”
The Filipino expressed himself quietly but clearly.
“Some Masters willing to hear questions. Others say: ‘Ask your friends. I have no time for teaching children.’
“We all have ways taught from families. Some Masters understand and some angry when we using words and signs they not know.
“Their ways good, too; we try learning so we make Masters happy but little time for study. Only few hit us when we no understand. Mostly we learn with open eyes.”
As Zachri looked from the witness to Mark, he could tell that the Filipino’s testimony had aroused more fear than faith in the outcome of this hearing.
It was Mark’s turn again.
“Maybe we could do more for crew members, but I will show that we are not profiteers. I think Eugene Debs addresses clearly the question of the proper amount of giving.
“May I quote him as my expert witness?”
“You may.”
“Thank you. Here’s what he said:
‘We were taught under the old ethic that man's business on this earth was to look out for himself. That was the ethic of the jungle; the ethic of the wild beast. Take care of yourself, no matter what may become of your fellow man. Thousands of years ago the question was asked: Am I my brother's keeper? That question has never yet been answered in a way that is satisfactory to civilized society.’
“Now I ask the prosecuting attorney to tell me if I am to be judged by the standard of an unanswered question?”
Following Mark’s example, Salaan produced another expert witness by quoting from Frederick Douglass, a former slave, writer and statesman.
“‘Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.’
“Who is your brother, Mr. Kennecott? Can you justify being indifferent to the plight of the people of countries such as Somalia? If so, you may also believe you will be exempted from acts of terror when they unite.”
Mark just stared, wide-eyed. Salaan then called Mark as his witness.
“Tell me if you can: why should human beings not fight to get what they don’t have, if there is a legitimate claim, and how will they get it, if not by fighting for it?”
Since this was something Mark had thought about a lot, he fired back an answer.
“By fighting for what belongs to other people they are putting themselves in danger, along with threatening the lives and livelihoods of others who have done them no wrong.”
Salaan continued his interrogation.
“Why should those living in abject poverty care about people they don’t know and may never meet?”
“I would understand the agony of the father of one of the pirates if his own son was murdered. That same father would understand my feelings if my son died at the hand of his child.”
“That is truth, Mark. What if your son was starving to death because there was no money to buy food? Do you think the pirates and their families should feel your terror?”
&
nbsp; “If they knew this was happening to me; yes.”
Mark looked as though someone had just doused him with cold water.
“I have heard of the hellish living conditions in Somalia, but I don’t know how I, or my company for that matter, could change their situation.”
Salaan continued the questioning.
“Mark, if you had known years ago that a band of desperate Somalis would capture your company’s tanker with your son aboard, would you have found a way?”
Mark countered.
“How could an individual or group of individuals make a noticeable difference? Food or money is rarely delivered to the neediest. Somalia is so dangerous that even international aid agencies are afraid to enter.”
“If you were an indigent Somali, would you accept that answer as justification for the lack of aid to your starving family?”
“I don’t know how to respond to that, Salaan. Your questions cut deep, but why am I guilty of their poverty?
“I didn’t choose to be born in a prosperous country and to a family who could afford my university education.
“I didn’t plead or pander for this lifestyle. I did my duty to my country and I have neither abused nor ignored those who depended on me.
“I admit that I have sometimes been guilty of using people—staff members, colleagues, female friends—but these people didn’t really mind as long as they got something in return. We were mostly using each other. Very few of us could plead ‘Not guilty’ if it was a punishable offense to share a tip, drop a name, goad the gullible or promise the world, but I never did anything that was illegal.
“And yes, I got paid very well, but I earned it with long hours and new ideas, some that even helped turn the company around.
“Nor was I selfish with my success. Many years I donated at least ten percent of my income to good causes. I served on non-profit boards and even mentored troubled youth and floundering businesses. I just don’t see how I deserve the horror I am going through. Why should I pity people who don’t even value human life and are motivated primarily by greed?”
Pieces of You Page 13