The day I cried in the office

It is generally considered a very bad career move to cry at work. Which is, I suppose, why I rarely do it. But when I learned that Sheraz Shah had died of heart failure in Pakistani custody, I did cry. In front of all my colleagues. 

Sheraz’s case is tragic. He died on December 31st 2010, now almost a year ago, after spending three years in custody awaiting trial for a capital crime he could not possibly have committed.

Sadly, it is quite normal for prisoners in Pakistan, and the semi-independent state of Azad Jammu and Kashmir (“AJK”, where Sheraz was imprisoned) to spend years awaiting trial in death penalty cases, even if there is virtually no evidence against them. For example, Naheem and Rehan have now been in pre-trial detention in AJK for over seven years, on the basis solely of confessions extracted under torture, which Reprieve has conclusively proven were false.

Sometimes, innocent prisoners facing the death penalty in Pakistan and AJK do eventually get justice, although it always takes a very long time. For example, Muhammad Hanif and Shabbir Zaib were eventually acquitted after many years in prison, and are now safely back in the UK.

But Sheraz’s tragic story proves the maxim that “justice delayed is justice denied”. I think it is fair to say that, if Sheraz had been at home in the UK, he would have been able to receive proper medical treatment for his heart condition, and he would still be with us. Which means that Sheraz was effectively given a death sentence by the Pakistani justice system – even though he was never tried or found guilty.

When I learned of Sheraz’s death, I cried – out of sadness for Sheraz and his wonderful family, out of anger and frustration at the injustice of it all, and out of the sheer powerlessness of knowing that, despite our hard work on the case, we at Reprieve had been unable to help Sheraz. Although our investigations had conclusively established Sheraz’s innocence, the dearth of competent capital defence lawyers in AJK meant that this evidence was never presented to the court.

But of course I know that my tears will not change anything. Which is why Reprieve continues to fight to change the justice system in Pakistan and AJK. We work closely with Sarah Belal and her incredible but overworked team of young lawyers at the Justice Project Pakistan, to provide effective representation to vulnerable prisoners facing the death penalty in Pakistan. But the JPP is so far the only dedicated capital defence office in the whole of Pakistan – which is astonishing, considering that Pakistan has the world’s largest death row with an estimated 8,000 prisoners awaiting execution, and many more simply charged with capital offences but never tried.

The need can feel overwhelming and the odds in a place like Pakistan or AJK are very much against us. I admit that, on bad days, I wonder why we bother to continue the fight. But I also know that what makes for a great human rights lawyer or investigator is not ultimately someone’s intellect or compassion or experience (though those things are certainly important), but the sheer determination not to give up, and the character trait of treating every obstacle, every defeat, as fuel to try even harder the next time. So, after I had a good cry over Sheraz, I got a tissue, dried my tears, and got on with my work with renewed determination. What else could I do?