Back to Hoima

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On Sunday morning, I was up early and excited about my first time back to Hoima since we surprised Henry’s family with the delivery of nine cows, replacing those they lost while Henry, his brother, and their dad were in prison awaiting trial for a crime it was later proven they had nothing to do with.  One of the primary reasons I was excited to reunite with Henry’s family was finally getting to meet his little brother, who surprised everyone with his arrival just over one year ago.  After his birth, there was a minor crisis regarding his name – the family refused to name him, insisting that Joline and I do the honors.  Not wanting the boy to be left with only a symbol for a name (a la Prince), Joline and I ultimately chose to name him after a King.  He goes by Josiah, but his full name is James Josiah.

What I wasn’t looking forward to was the nearly four-hour drive on an undivided thin strip of asphalt that masquerades as a two-lane highway.  With scores of pedestrians, swarms of bicycles, herds of goats, and barreling semi-trucks, the ride is never, well, dull.  When I lived here in 2012, I guess I grew accustomed to the greatly diminished distance between and among cars and other moving objects.  On the bright side of things, I got an aerobic workout on the way because my (massive, rippling) muscles flexed every minute or two as my NASCAR-ain’t-got-nothing-on-me driver deftly maneuvered in and out of harm’s way like it was his job.  I guess it was.

We arrived just after noon and had a hug-filled reunion.  At least most of us did.  Josiah, who had just started walking, though fairly unsteadily, broke into a dead sprint in the other direction when he saw me.  While my baby-frightening cold sore (finally starting to abate) could have, in and of itself, done the trick, all agreed it was the entire package that made him shriek and wail like he had seen a ghost.  Indeed, he had.  I am the first mzungu (white person) Josiah has ever seen.  And it scared the living dung out of him for all but a few moments of the 90 minutes I was there.

My wonderful wife planned ahead and bought Josiah a Children’s Bible and inscribed a blessing inside.  Before I left home, she had wrapped it in birthday paper, another object Josiah had never seen.  During the brief moments while he tore it open and examined the contents, he forgot he hated me.

Josiah temporarily distracted by his Bible

A short while later, he vividly remembered.

Eager for his release

Before leaving Hoima, Henry and I revisited the location of the shallow grave in their garden formerly occupied by the families’ herdsman that catalyzed our unlikely friendship.  It reminded me just how creative God can be as he interweaves the tapestry of our lives with those near, and not so near, to us.

Henry, his younger brother Joseph, and I said our goodbyes and hopped into the car and headed back to Kampala.  But not before I learned that Henry’s father was experiencing what seemed to be some potentially serious health problems, likely emanating from his liver.  Fortunately, an appointment Henry and I had the next day proved to be divinely scheduled.

Back in Kampala, Henry and I took Joseph to his first-ever mall and showed him a plethora of modern appliances he had never seen before.  “What does this one do?” played on a seemingly never-ending loop.  We Skyped with Joline and the kids before turning in.

The day before, I had weaned myself off of ambien as I finally adjusted to the eleven-hour time difference.  But Joseph was fighting a losing battle with a deep chest cough that I knew would keep me up all night.  At least that is how I rationalized my resumption of my heaven-in-a-bottle (non)addiction.  Next thing I knew, it was Monday morning, which meant a day full of visitations to Henry’s and Joseph’s dream schools.

More on that tomorrow.

Reuniting

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Just under a year ago, Pepperdine hosted an international conference focusing on the ethics and advisability of Inter-Country Adoption (ICA).  This topic had hit my radar screen in late 2011, just before my family moved to Uganda in January of 2012 for six months.  A close friend introduced me to an American family who had been denied legal guardianship over an orphan girl badly in need of a family.  After meeting with the family and learning their plight, I became involved in the appeal in the case through consulting with the Ugandan attorney representing them.  This involvement, in turn, crossed my paths with a British man living in Uganda who, along with his lovely wife, poured their heart and soul into securing Ugandan families for Ugandan kids in orphanages, mostly through reuniting the kids with their extended families and economically empowering the families to take care of these kids.

While the appeal was ultimately successful, my numerous conversations with the American family, the Ugandan attorney, and the Brit opened my eyes to the deep complexity of ICA I had never realized lurked beneath the surface.  The intensity of commitment of the American families, usuaully driven by an abiding conviction that God was directing their efforts to provide a home to institutionalized kids, was humbling an inspirational.  No less humbling and inspirational, however, was the intense commitment, driven by an abiding, faith-filled conviction that the availability of ICA directly led to documentable horrible decisions by Ugandans, including the falsification of death certificates, the coercion of young mothers to abandon their babies to orphanages involved in ICA so the children could have a better (Western) life, and the outright sale of children to those who could get the kids adopted to Western families.

No one on either side of this heart-breaking debate seems to dispute that both really good and really bad things are happening in the ICA realm.  The quibble is with percentages of each outcome.  This debate led me to suggest and assist in organizing the ICA conference in February of 2012.  Among the dozens of participants in this conference were (i) the Ugandan attorney representing the American family in the appeal, and (ii) the Brit with whom I had become quite friendly.  Both stayed with us in Malibu during the conference.

On Friday, I had a chance to reunite with each of them, though separately.  I had breakfast with the Brit and his lovely wife and so admire the dedication they have to intra-country solutions to the orphan challenges faced in Uganda.  They receive intense and personal criticism from all quarters, some of whom see them as a roadblock to ICA, while others complain about their openness to ICA in appropriate cases.  Yet they are here working tirelessly, day and night, on behalf of the lonely children of Uganda.

My visit with the Ugandan attorney was mostly social, but he also offered some words of advice for me to pass along about a family’s situation I became aware of just recently.

I also had a chance to meet up with one of the judges who recently visited Pepperdine, who has recently been reassigned from the Anti-Corruption Division of the High Court to the Family Division.  Several of our students have interned for her in the past, and she expressed a desire to have a student intern with her at the Family court this summer.

Following my meeting with her, Susan Vincent (Pepperdine Nootbaar Fellow) and I met with representatives of the Uganda Christian Lawyers’ Fraternity, Uganda Christian University, and Aaron (Sixty Feet legal intern) to discuss the next iterations of J-FASTER – the juvenile justice program that is moving kids through the judicial system at much more palatable rates than in the recent past.  Pepperdine is blessed to work with such dedicated and competent partners in our quest to serve the imprisoned juveniles of Uganda.

On Friday evening, Susan, Aaron, and I had dinner to with two Americans working for the U.S. State Department.  One of them lives here in Uganda and spends his days training Ugandan police officers in investigative techniques, and the other oversees from Washington, D.C. numerous projects around the world designed to promote the rule of law.  I had met a couple times before with the one living in Uganda, and they were eager to receive an update on our work on juvenile justice and plea bargaining.  We also sketched out some tentative plans to work a little more collaboratively in the future.

I spent a good portion of Saturday with Sixty Feet folks.  As I have written about previously, Sixty Feet is an Atlanta-based non-profit doing transformative work on behalf of imprisoned juveniles and abandoned children in Uganda, providing medical aid, counseling, material needs, and whatever else is needed.  They also have generously funded the financial costs associated with J-FASTER.  Each time I meet with them, I learn of additional projects they have undertaken to improve the lives of these kids who are so needy in so many ways.  A team from North Dakota had just landed the night before and was gearing up to spend the week doing much-needed repairs and construction projects in the remand home and prison in the Kampala area.  It is inspiring to see working people dedicate their own hard-earned money and God-given talents half-way around the world to assist those in need.

Saturday evening was spent with my closest friend in Uganda, Justice K, and his family.  I learn so much about Ugandan culture and life from Justice K each time we are together.  He is great man among great men and women in Uganda’s judiciary and is an excellent liaison for the Pepperdine program.  We had the chance to dream bigger dreams about the assistance Pepperdine can provide to the judiciary in the short- and long-term future.

Justice K and his law professor wife, Winnie, are expecting #3 in just over a month
Justice K, Susan, and I at Justice K’s House

Sunday morning, I am heading north to spend a few hours with Henry and his family before returning to Kampala with Henry for a tour of Makerere Medical School and a meeting with admissions officials to discuss the possibility of Henry enrolling there in August.

Obliterating Protocol

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Though Uganda is still a “developing country” by comparative world standards, its protocols and formalities are quite complex and exacting.  There is a particularized and expected method and order of introductions, of seating arrangements (even when riding in a car), and a manner high-ranking officials should be addressed and greeted.  This can be a minefield for the uninitiated.  On Thursday, I lost both of my legs, one arm, and an eye when I executed a cannon-ball dive onto a protocol mine.

This, of course, comes as no surprise to those who know me well.  I can be as dense as a pressurized slab of granite.  Fortunately, I was given the chance to demonstrate the depth of my obliviousness on Thursday to a packed ballroom of judges and lawyers.  And boy did I deliver.  The center fielder didn’t even take a step back as he watched my home run ball exit the stadium over his head.

The morning had started off promising enough, though about four hours earlier than I was hoping.  I am playing a losing game of hide and seek with Mr. Sandman.  Since I was already up, I got in a mini-marathon on a treadmill in my hotel.  I was drenched in sweat and breathing like a pneumonia-stricken asthmatic with only one lung, but I soldiered on and completed the entire mile, shattering the ten-minute barrier like it was merely a suggestion.

On my way to the conference hotel for the plea bargaining presentation I was to make, I stopped off at the High Court and delivered some American chocolates to the Criminal Division staff.  I have worked hard to cultivate the Pavlovian response I trigger when I walk in to the Registry.  Professor Jim = sweets.  There are many ways to engender loyalty in those around you.  Strength of character, fulfillment of promises, magnetism of personality, chiseled physique, chocolate.  Only the latter travels well in a suitcase.

While at the Registry, I also met with the current Registrar – the person who schedules the court sessions (including for juveniles).  He has proven to be a reliable advocate for the kids, but I learned he is being transferred early next month to a different division.  Back to square one.  This is one of the most frustrating parts of operating within the judicial structure here.  Personnel, including judges, are often shifted from one division to another just as soon as they become settled and efficient in their responsibilities.

At the conference hotel, Susan Vincent (Pepperdine alumnus and Nootbaar Fellow here in Uganda for a year) and I had lunch with the DPP Director Chibita (lead prosecutor for the country) and Justice Mukasa (head of the Criminal Division of the High Court).

Wisely, Director Chibita scheduled the conference to kick off with a 12:30 lunch.  In Uganda, start times of conferences are too often seen as opening offers in an arrival-time negotiation process.  But if one is incentivized with a spectacular buffet to arrive on time . . . things are different.  As Dean Ken Starr used to say, “While it may be true that you can’t herd cats, you can move the food.”  So true.

Accordingly, by the actual start time of 2:00 p.m., all sixty attendees were in place in the ballroom.  All but one, that is.  Protocol dictated that a head table was placed in the front of the horseshoe-shaped seating configuration where protocol also dictated that Director Chibita, Principal Judge Bamwine (in charge of entire High Court), and I, the main presenter, would be seated.  Protocol further dictated that Director Chibita would welcome everyone and introduce the Principal Judge who, according to Protocol, would deliver an initial address and then welcome me to the podium.

Unfortunately, official business detained the Principal Judge back at the court, so at 2:00 p.m., we had a problem.  Director Chibita brings a trains-run-on-time breath of fresh air to his position, so he decided we should get started and that I would simply pause when the Principal Judge arrived.  Perfectly reasonable and sensible.  The problem is that this put the microphone in my hands when he walked in, which meant that I would need to observe the proper protocol in the transition to his opening speech.  The block of granite resting on my shoulders failed to register this as a potential problem.

Things kicked off with the microphone being passed from person to person around the room for individual introductions.  In the audience were about thirty seasoned prosecutors, ten High Court judges, several top officials in the Uganda Law Society (governing body for lawyers), and a smattering of other governmental officials and lawyers.  Following a warm introduction of me by Director Chibita (which briefly traced my history with the judiciary, including mentioning my appearance in the Ugandan court of appeals as an advocate in Henry’s case (more on that here)), I was off and running.  Susan Vincent and I had been allotted two hours, the first of which was to be a presentation on the nature and benefits of plea bargaining in the criminal justice realm, and the second was slated for a guided discussion of the topic.

Untethered to the podium

 

With Director Chibita at the head table

I began by sharing my love for Uganda and its culture, and by tracing the development and depth of the relationship between Pepperdine and the Judiciary.  About halfway through this opening ten-minute segment, I spied with my little eye the Principal Judge enter the back of the room with his bodyguard.  Now, he has literally just stepped into a crowded ballroom not knowing exactly who was there, not knowing what protocols had already been observed, not knowing where we were in the scheduled agenda, and not knowing what had been decided with respect to when he would present his opening address.  With all the sense of a developmentally delayed toddler, I simply finished my sentence and declared, “looks like the guest of honor has arrived.  Welcome Principal Judge Bamwine” and then proceeded to offer him the microphone.

Even as I write this I am shaking my head.  What was I thinking?  Justice Bamwine would have been well within his rights to take the microphone and club me with it like I was the proverbial baby seal.  (Wait, was that not politically correct?)  Instead, he just raised his eyebrows and gave me an ever-so-slight shake of the head.  Fortunately, Director Chibita came to the rescue and gently suggested that I finish my overview of the relationship between Pepperdine and the Judiciary before I formally introduced Justice Bamwine.  Hmm, good idea.  Why didn’t I think of that?

From that point (just south of the Mariana Trench), things took a decided turn for the better.  I recovered from my protocol obliteration and even managed to improv a reasonably good introduction of the Principal Judge, which included a PowerPoint slide picturing him at my house taken a couple years back.  By the time he took the stage, he had been briefed by Director Chibita on where things stood and who was in the room (important, because protocol demands welcoming them in the proper order and with proper titles).

After his speech about the judiciary’s commitment to adopting plea bargaining, he kindly welcomed me back to the podium.  We then transitioned to Susan’s portion of the presentation, during which she gave an excellent overview of the nature and prevalence of plea bargaining around the world, including its obvious benefits.  I then received back the microphone, but promptly ditched it.  I am used to speaking to large crowds (of students) in larger rooms without a microphone, and they confirmed they could hear me just fine.  Though I didn’t seek confirmation, I am confident they could all also see what appeared to be a small animal burrowing into my lower lip.  As mentioned in yesterday’s post, I am nursing a baby-frightening cold sore to adulthood at just the right time to draw attention away from the substance of my talk.

Fortunately, the rest of the presentation went entirely according to plan.  The audience was engaged and embraced the ideas we conveyed.  The question and answer session was vibrant and probing, full of energy and enthusiasm to take this important step in the delivery of justice to the incarcerated in Uganda.  Director Chibita closed the gathering with a rousing and persuasive call to action.  It was all smiles when the curtain fell.

Afterward, they presented me with a beautiful framed painting entitled “The Pearl of Africa,” named after the moniker Winston Churchill bestowed on this majestic country.

Before I had begun my speech, I had noticed a familiar face in the crowd.  It took me a moment to place it, but when I did, the memories flooded back to last March when I argued Henry’s case in the court of appeals.  In the audience was the prosecutor against whom I had argued the case.  She had done an excellent job, but we really hadn’t had the opportunity to talk either before or after the argument.  So I tracked her down after the conference and discovered how delightful and kind she is.  We had a wonderful chat about plea bargaining and about Henry’s appeal.  Incidentally, we are still awaiting the ruling.  She shared with me her prediction on the eventual outcome of the appeal, but that moment will remain private.

I fought hard to stay awake until 10:00 p.m. so I could get a normal night of sleep, but it wasn’t to be.  3:20 a.m. beckoned to me like we had a long-scheduled appointment.

Friday is packed with meetings with old and new friends, both Ugandan and American.  More tomorrow.  Thanks for following along.

Getting Revenge in Uganda

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In Uganda, when someone extends to you warm hospitality, you are obliged to “get revenge” by reciprocating.  During the late October visit of six members of the Ugandan Judiciary to Pepperdine, they spoke often of “getting revenge” when I returned to Uganda.  Over the next seven days that I will be here in Uganda, I look forward to reconnecting with old and new friends.

October’s visit included the Acting Chief Justice of Uganda, the Director of Public Prosecutions (head prosecutor for the country), and several other judicial leaders.  Over the course of their jam-packed week, they met with professors, federal and state judges (both trial and appellate), federal and state prosecutors, the FBI, the LAPD, and lots and lots of students.  Highlights included insightful visits with Los Angeles District Attorney Lacy and US Attorney Birotte.

Group photo with LA DA Jackie Lacey
Conferring with US Attorney Andre Birotte

The judges capped off their intensive week of plea bargaining study with a trip to Disneyland and the celebration of Herb Nootbaar’s 105th birthday party.  Herb is the benefactor for the Nootbaar Institute for Law, Religion, and Ethics under which our Global Justice Program operates.

Following this visit, DPP Director Chibita invited me to come and give a talk to his deputies and others about the implementation/expansion of plea bargaining into the adult realm in Uganda, following on the heels of the successful roll out in the juvenile realm while I was living in Uganda in 2012.  That presentation takes place later today (Thursday), and should involve a vibrant and productive discussion.  They truly want to deliver top-quality justice to the imprisoned and it is an honor to be asked to offer them encouragement.

As usual, the flight over was exhausting, especially since the night before was so short.  For the second time in my twelve trips to Uganda, my recalcitrant computer decided to pin the needle on my blood pressure the day before I boarded the plane.  On Sunday, I acquired some sort of computer virus immediately after visiting a Uganda news site.  This left me playing a losing game of whack-a-mole with my computer screen.  Every few seconds, my virus software would tell me that it detected an intruder.  The software then sheepishly confessed its impotence to repel the threat.  Then, ten seconds later, the software would heroically proclaim it had cleaned my computer of the virus.  Rinse and repeat ad infinitum.

In response to my pleas for help, the Pepperdine IT guys rallied in support, configuring a replacement laptop for me late into the wee hours of Monday morning while I sat on hold with the Dell support line for three and half hours before finally giving up.  On the plus side, I learned a few new catchy (East) Indian songs Dell was kind enough to loop for me while I waited.   On the minus side, we only had time to transfer a small portion of my computer files to the new laptop before I boarded the plane, and there was no extra battery for this new computer, drastically limiting my productivity on the long flights.

My itinerary took me through Amsterdam again, but with only a one-hour layover, I didn’t have a chance to re-charge my battery.  I prayed to the baggage gods that my luggage would make the transition.  Fortunately, the real God took it upon himself to intercept – and grant – my prayer request.  I am now 8 for 12 in the baggage-arrival-with-me department on my trips to Uganda.

I made it to my hotel just before midnight, gobbled a handful of ambien (just kidding mom, I only took the recommended dose (at least as far as you know)), and tried to get adjusted to the eleven-hour time difference.  Didn’t work.  At 4:50 a.m. Wednesday morning, I was wide awake.

Wednesday was a day of meetings and preparation for Thursday’s presentation.  Along the way, I made sure to visit the two malls about which multiple terrorist warnings were issued late last year following the massacre in Kenya.  This was not intentional, but necessary.  Private security was in full force, though it only took my usual smart-aleck comment while in the passenger seat of a taxi to get us waved through.  The security guard, however, got her revenge when she noticed the cold sore I am carefully incubating on my lower lip.

Me: No weapons today, ma’am.  And we did not bring any bombs either.

Guard: (Smiling) That is good, sir.  What happened to your mouth?  Did you try to eat your lip while chewing your food?

Good thing I learned the Luganda translation of the B-word while I was living here.  I let her have it.  That is, if she can read minds.  I suspect she can’t because she allowed us to pass.

While at the mall, I had a chance to get my internet stick (wireless internet via the cell phone lines) connected to the replacement laptop, and had coffee (diet coke) with an American who is encountering some difficulty in a worthy project she is trying to accomplish here in Uganda.  She and her family are an inspiration – following all of the rules and trusting that God’s plans are better than their own.  I offered her some encouragement and shared with her some of my experiences, but I fear my contribution to her cause will be limited to prayers on her family’s behalf.

Wednesday night’s sleep was rather like trying to do a layup over LaBron James.   He knocked my stuff into the bleachers.  I went to bed at 11:00 p.m. and was wide awake at 2:50 a.m.  There is something about Africa and sleep that eludes me.

This next week holds the promise of more progress on lots of fronts.  I will endeavor to provide daily updates, and will try to keep them reasonably brief and informative, sprinkled with some humor, if possible.

Jim Awarded International Lawyer of Year

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Please allow me to announce the good news that Jim was awarded the 2013 Warren Christopher International Lawyer of the Year Award by the California State Bar for his work in Uganda with the judiciary to help juvenile and adult prisoners receive access to justice in a timely manner.  The award ceremony, on October 12, was held in San Jose and was attended by many California lawyers interested in international law.  We were pleased to be joined in the celebration by some of our family, by Pepperdine School of Law Dean Deanell Tacha, and by a couple of law alumni.

Jim receiving International Lawyer of Year Award

 

Joline's parents Mike and Trellys and Jim's parents Rosella and John

Julie, Joline, and Jessica

Jim's brothers John & Jerry

Pepperdine School of Law Dean Tacha & Jim with award

 

Jim was able to share with the audience the story of how he got involved in Uganda in 2010 and how the justice system has changed in Uganda since then because of the work that he has done with the help of Pepperdine students, professors, and alumni.  It was an emotional speech which affected many in the room, as Jim talked about how lives are changed, not only of the prisoners who receive help, but also of those who go to help.  Others who spoke that night about Jim’s service to Uganda and offered congratulations were law school alumni Brent Caslin and Eric Hagen, who nominated Jim for this award after accompanying Jim on a juvenile justice trip to Uganda in 2011 and observing first-hand the good work Jim is doing, and Dean Tacha, who plans to make a trip with Jim to Uganda next year.

Jim sharing his story

Brent congratulates Jim

Jim, Joline, & Eric

The International Lawyer of Year Award

Jim was very surprised when he was told that he would be given the award.  His work in Uganda has never been about recognition, but simply about answering the call to serve.  It was a great honor for him to receive this award and to be able to share his story with others.  It was a great night for us, for Pepperdine, and for encouraging others to go out and serve.

Trusting God in the Storm

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Hey, guys! I haven’t posted anything in while, so I thought that I might as well blog now. This school year has been pretty good so far. I’ve had a lot more homework than I expected, but I’ve been able to get it all done. Near the end of the summer, I started having some doubts. At first, I just wasn’t feeling God’s presence, but then it got worse.

In the beginning of the school year, I was trying to pretend like nothing had happened. I was trying to live like everything was normal so that no one knew anything was wrong. I didn’t want to admit it, because that would make it real. For me, telling someone didn’t seem like an option.

Then, it got pretty bad. I was upset and confused because I had no idea what God was doing. I didn’t feel like he was real. That was REALLY scary for me because I had only doubted God once before, and that doubt dissolved within a few days. I was scared because I had always felt God was right there beside me. I felt alone like I never had been before.

At my school, I’m the Community Service Prefect. The people on the Prefect Board are known for being Christian role models and kids that “have it all together”. I felt like since I didn’t know what I was doing, faith wise, I wasn’t suited to be in a leadership position at school. I was afraid of what people were going to think, because the prefects are supposed to encourage people in their faith and help them out.

Also, I was taking a class called Bible Discipleship, which is a class for disciples of Jesus that want to learn how to live and love like Jesus did. At that point, I felt really empty, and not at all like a disciple of God. I decided to talk to one of my best friends about it. Even though I didn’t feel God, I kept praying. I tried to be patient, but it was really hard. My friend helped me feel a little bit better, but the connection I used to have with God still wasn’t there.

My school’s spiritual life retreat could not have come at a better time. That whole week, I was fervently praying for God to come back. I know he would never leave me, but at the time, I didn’t feel him. We looked at the stars and just listened to the sounds of nature one night. That week, I started to gain my faith back, and was almost restored to the way I was. However, I still didn’t feel God’s presence. It’s hard to be a Christian when you don’t feel like God is there with you.

On the last night, we do something we dubbed “Cry Night”, as mentioned in How_He_Loves. I wish I could say that I felt God place it on my heart, but I wasn’t feeling God at that time. I just kind of decided that I would share what was going on in my spiritual life at the time. I was really nervous, but I felt like I had to share. I think a lot of people were surprised by what was going on in my life. I was just honest in saying that at the beginning of the week, I didn’t really feel God. I went on to say that everyone doubts, including parents and teachers. I told them that going on the retreat had helped me a little bit. I ended by saying that when you doubt, you can’t give up, because God will never give up on you.

When I got back, a few people asked me about it. Out of the blue, a guy asked me if I was an Atheist. I was completely taken aback. To be honest, I got a little scared! I said, “No, why?” He told me that he thought so because of what I said at the retreat. Then I remembered! “No, no, I’m not.” A little later, some things happened. I always find myself going to God when trials surface. I spent a lot of time praying, and, gradually, I started to feel better. I would read a Bible verse and be like, “God, that’s exactly what I needed to read!” I knew he was there with me, and it felt like he was holding my hand again.

Last week, the quarter ended. So many storms occurred in the first quarter of the year. Spiritually, it was the most difficult time in my life. During the first quarter, I learned that being open and honest about your problems is the best thing to do. I learned to trust God in the hard times, and to know that He will never leave your side. For 1st quarter, a song and a verse have really applied to my life. They’re what has helped me to get through the quarter, in fact.

When most people think Jeremiah, they think of Jeremiah 29:11. Unknown, at least to me, was a verse really close to that one. Jeremiah 29:13 says, “And you shall seek me and find me when you search for me with all your heart.” I was searching so intensely, and God revealed himself to me. I put my whole heart into it, and he appeared to me.

The song “Oceans” by Hillsong spoke to me and to what I was going through. More specifically, two parts felt like exactly what I was going through. The first is “And I will call upon your name. And keep my eyes above the waves. When oceans rise My soul will rest in your embrace. For I am yours and you are mine.” When I started to feel like I was drowning, I would just sing that to God. Also, one of the verses near the end applied to me whenever I felt like God was asking me to do something I didn’t want to do.  “Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders. Let me walk upon the waters wherever you would call me. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander. And my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my Savior.”

I’m somewhat hesitant to post this, as almost none of you knew this about me. It’s like I’m sharing a part of my soul with you.

I hope this encourages you guys to keep your eyes above the waves and trust God!

 

Love,

Jennifer Gash

Giant Goff Gathering at Casa Gash

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We are so blessed to host the Pepperdine Law weekly Wednesday Bible Study at our house.  This gathering has a long lineage that started with F. LaGard Smith and met along the way at the home of Dean Ron Phillips, Dean Dean Martin, and most recently at the home of Tim and Lucy Perrin.  It appears that this past week set an attendance record, as we had between 120 and 130 and to hear an inspiring message from Love Does author, Bob Goff.

A good time of praise, worship, and laughter was had by all.

Bob delivering his message

Luke leading worship as the guests arrive

Love Does book signing

Holding Pattern

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I am told patience is an acquired virtue.  If so, I still have loads to acquire.  I feel like I am in a jumbo jet circling an airport, waiting for permission to land.  The pilot keeps announcing on the intercom that we should be given the all-clear any moment now, but the all-clear never comes.  I am stuck in a holding pattern.

Nearly three months ago, I posted that Uganda was facing a looming Constitutional Crisis.  The Chief Justice of the Ugandan Supreme Court had just reached (on June 23rd) the mandatory retirement age (70), and yet no successor had been named.  Adding further urgency to the situation, the Deputy Chief Justice had termed out over a year earlier, and still hadn’t been replaced.  Because the Deputy Chief Justice is head of the Court of Appeals, these vacancies left the top two judicial posts in the country empty, and left the top two judicial courts (Supreme Court and Court of Appeals) without an appointed leader.

Fast forwarding nearly three months to the present reveals nothing new.  The Constitutional Crisis has, if anything, deepened.  Every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is read the two daily Ugandan newspapers on line.  About every third day, there is another story about this Crisis.  What follows is a thumbnail sketch of how the situation has evolved, or perhaps more accurately, how it has devolved.  (I am only using public sources for this description, and those are the only sources I have, at least as far as you know).

Shortly before the Chief Justice reached the constitutionally mandated retirement date, an internal memorandum circulated within the government that floated the idea of the Chief Justice being appointed to serve a two-year term as an Acting Judge on the Supreme Court.  Uganda’s Constitution provides for limited-term appointments of judges to serve when there are vacancies on the court and judges are needed.  This provision allows for retired judges to fill these short-term slots.  This internal memorandum also suggested that perhaps an acting judge appointed in accordance with this provision could then serve as the Chief Justice.  This, in turn, could allow the retired Chief Justice to be reappointed as Chief Justice, thus skirting the Constitution’s mandatory retirement.

The media reported that the Judicial Services Commission (JSC) – the body responsible for recommending names to the President of Uganda for judicial appointments – rejected this idea as impermissible under Uganda’s Constitution.  The head of the JSC is the former Principal Judge of Uganda (third in command) and is widely respected in Uganda.  Instead, the JSC sent three names to the President from which he was asked to choose.  After seeking advice from his Attorney General, the President declined to accept the advice of the JSC and instead announced he was reappointing the retired Chief Justice.

This news was not well received by the Uganda Law Society (ULS), which is Uganda’s legal bar association.  The ULS then filed a petition in the Constitutional Court (which is the Court of Appeals) seeking to block this reappointment as unconstitutional.  The ULS also made hay of the fact that the retired Chief Justice was the lead drafter of the Constitution and would be, in essence, violating his own rules if he accepted a reappointment.  To his credit, the Chief Justice has declined to engage with the media on the constitutionality of his reappointment.

The President’s nomination then went to Parliament, which held closed hearings on the nomination.  But someone leaked.  It was reported that the head of JSC, in response to a direct question, stated his opinion that the reappointment of the Chief Justice would be unconstitutional.  Meanwhile, the Attorney General consented to interviews both on and off camera and stated that the reappointment is constitutional under the short-term Acting Judge provision.

Well, this pronouncement went over like a pregnant pole vaulter with the ULS.  They held a public meeting and voted to expel the Attorney General from the bar.  Quite naturally, this move was met with utter contempt from the Attorney General and other governmental officials.  Unsurprisingly, the government newspaper (New Vision) is highly supportive of the reappointment of the Chief Justice, while the private newspaper (Daily Monitor) is opposed.

So where are we now?  We are still in Parliament, which must ratify the appointment for it to become effective.  So Parliament can ratify, decline, delay, or . . . they could take another approach that is looming in the background.  They could amend the Constitution.  I have a sneaking suspicion that things are headed in that direction.

When Uganda’s Constitution was enacted in 1995, it explicitly limited the President to two five-year terms.  After the current President served two terms, he decided he wanted a third.  So his ruling party amended the Constitution to remove the two-term limit.  In 2011, he was elected for his fourth term in office.  While his actual age is disputed and/or unknown, he now claims to be 69 years old.  This means that if he were re-elected in 2016, he would bump up against the 75-year maximum for the Presidency.  And all indications are that he would like to continue serving as President for the indefinite future.

So . . ., don’t be surprised if Parliament re-evaluates the Constitutional provision forcing the Chief Justice to retire at age 70.  This would make it quite a bit easier to then lift the age limit on the President a few years down the road.  After all, if Parliament thought the age limits for the judiciary were no longer needed, then why would they be needed for the President?

So what does all of this have to do with me being in a holding pattern?  Thanks for asking.

When I argued Henry’s appeal in March, I did so before a three-judge panel on the Court of Appeals.  The most senior judge on the panel was a last-minute replacement because the Acting Deputy Chief Justice (serving in an Acting role because of the vacancy created a year earlier when the Deputy Chief Justice reached retirement age) was quite ill.  Shortly thereafter, the Acting Deputy Chief Justice died.  This made the senior judge on my panel the Acting Deputy Chief Justice.  This leadership role carries with it significant administrative responsibilities.  And when the Chief Justice reached retirement age in June and no replacement was appointed, the Acting Deputy Chief Justice automatically also became the Acting Chief Justice under Uganda’s Constitution.  Accordingly, shortly after my argument, the senior judge on my panel became the Acting Deputy Chief Justice, then three months later also inherited the additional role of Acting Chief Justice.

So, where does that leave the judicial opinion in Henry’s case?  Likely somewhere near the bottom of the to-do list.  Further complicating things, another of the three judges on my panel was elevated to the Supreme Court in July.  What this means for the ruling, I don’t have any idea.  But what I do know is that the Acting Chief Justice/Acting Deputy Chief Justice/Senior Judge on my panel is scheduled to come to Malibu next month for a week, along with five or six other Ugandan judges.  While I do not intend to bring up the ruling in Henry’s case, it will be the proverbial elephant in the room.

Meanwhile, I still talk to Henry every week and he is doing great.  He begins his final term of Secondary School on Monday and is feverishly studying for the national exams in November.  He is hoping to do well enough on those exams to be admitted to medical school next August.

Our Life in Uganda: Part 2

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Here is part two of the video series I made. Enjoy!

Have a happy Fourth of July!!

Love Always,
Jennifer Gash

105 Reasons to Dissemble

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Every so often, I fail miserably in my effort to be a good example for my children.  One such occasion was on the way home from Uganda last week.

An inspirational figure in my life is 104 year-old Herb Nootbaar.  Herb and his dearly departed wife Elinor have generously endowed the law school’s Nootbaar Institute, which is the home of Pepperdine’s Global Justice Program under which my work in Uganda operates.  Each year, we have a birthday party for Herb in the fall to celebrate and honor his longevity and generosity.

Just before I left Uganda last July, I purchased an ornate walking stick to add to Herb’s collection from around the world.  It was a few inches too long to fit into any of our bags, so we paid to have it shipped home along with the checked luggage.  Unsurprisingly, the baggage jockeys rode it hard and broke its spirit, not to mention its handle.

Cane Transport Fail

Fortunately, I returned to Uganda in advance of the actual party and returned with a replacement gift – a personalized ornate bowl for the occasion of his 104th.

Undeterred by my previous failure, I decided to renew my efforts to add to Herb’s colorful cane collection.  Joline picked out another winner a couple days before our trip home.  At the airport, I tried to reason with the ticket agent and explained to her that I needed to carry it with me because it was a gift for a friend’s 105th birthday and last time I tried to bring one home, it broke in transit.  Her scowl signaled the length of my odds.  Fortunately, a supervisor walked by and inquired as to the problem.

I once again regaled my tale of surprise-birthday woe, to which he responded, “Unless you have an injury that requires you to use a cane, we cannot allow you to carry it on.”

Thinking quickly, I reached down and pulled up my pant leg to reveal the after effects of my knife dual with Tyrion Lannister.  Somehow I knew my nine left knee surgeries would come in handy someday.  I pointed at the carnage and asked with a devious grin, “Is this good enough?”

He grinned back and said, “You had better be convincing.”

Oh, so it’s a challenge?  Game on.

The problem, of course, was that the walking stick’s craftsmanship focused more on form than function.  While the handle was comfortable enough, the polished and rounded butt of the stick skated on the tile floor whenever I placed more than a modicum of weight on it.  But I hobbled on like a good soldier.

My oldest daughter Jessica could barely contain her stares and giggles, which threatened to blow my cover.  Her comment that “this is something Bob Goff would do” strengthened my resolve to do Bob proper honor.  (She wasn’t too far off – Bob managed to convince the airlines to allow him to transport a prison door back to the United States during a prior visit).

But my acting debut was not destined to be an easy one.  When we arrived at the gate, we discovered we were on the same flight home as two mission teams – one from Jessica’s school Oaks Christian, and another Joline and Jessica had encountered out on the road on one of their mobile clinic days.  Fortunately, the waiting area was carpeted, so the cane was behaving under me, but the area was teeming with airline rep’s, including the gate agent who had initially tried to poop on my party plans.

After three weeks of being stared and pointed at because I am white, one would think I would be used to the glare of strangers.  I wasn’t.  At one point, it got so awkward that Jessica felt like she had to tell her classmates that I was faking an injury to get the cane home.  It only got more awkward from there.

Playing my Part

I am used to boarding planes early.  Each round trip to Uganda earns me 20,000 Delta Sky Miles, so I am Elite Plus.  We, the privileged class, get to board the plane before all of the common folk.  That is, of course, except those traveling with children and those who need special assistance in boarding.

As the first boarding announcement rang out, I happened to be in the general vicinity of a seventy year-old lady with a bona fide cane – polished alloy with a holster gripped handle beveled for each finger and tipped with a rubber snout that suctioned to even the iciest of surfaces.  So when she hobbled to the front along with the handful of parents towing behind their grouchy little ankle-biters dragging their teddy bears and blankies for the red-eye flight, all eyes turned to me.

So I ducked my head and played my part.  Appropriately, the party-pooper was the agent assigned to escort the first wave onto the plane.  She didn’t blow my cover and even gave me a crooked smile of quiet respect.  As I ambled, the oldster with the Ninja cane chatted me up a bit.

“Sports injury?”

“Um, what?”

“Did you injure yourself playing sports?”

“Oh, that.  Yeah.  Football.  And you?”

“I was dancer.”

“About a million years and a hundred pounds ago?” I barely kept myself from asking as we traveled at a lapped-by-a-tortoise-with-a-bum-flipper pace.  By the time we reached the plane, I needed to shave again and had learned she was a nurse/nun who had been out of communication with the developing world for almost four months.  I caught her up on the world’s events and still had time to spare.

Just as I finally (and mercifully) reached my seat, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and heard a deep voice say, “Excuse me, Sir.”

Gulp.  I turned and looked into the face of the supervisor who had given me the green light to dissemble.

“Good show,” he said and gave me a wink.

I slid my cane to the back of the luggage compartment with a sense of pride and gingerly took my seat.  Midway through the flight, I limped down the aisle (just in case anyone remembered my entry) to the water closet.

Leg one of the trip.  Check.

Upon landing in Amsterdam, I nearly forgot the cane.  A smile and a wave from the dancing nun jogged my memory.  The stewardess had stowed her cane in the closet, but mine was at the back of the angled luggage compartment out of immediate reach.  I stole a glance around before hopping up on the seat to retrieve it.

I maintained the charade the entire way through the Amsterdam airport until we got to the storage lockers.  We stowed our backpacks and my walking stick and ventured into town.

My typical layover in Amsterdam is three hours, but we had six this time through.  On my first trip to Uganda back in 2010, my layover had also been long enough to see the Amsterdam sites, but Joline and Jessica had not been with me then.  On that prior trip, I had taken a tour of the Anne Frank house and wanted to give Jessica the sobering chance to see first-hand the devastation and tragedy of Hitler’s holocaust through the courageous eyes of this young girl.

It was every bit as emotional the second time through as was the first.  While we were pressed for time due to some of our wandering and snacking on the way to the house-turned-museum, it was well worth the one-hour wait in line to get in.

Joline and Jessica at Anne Frank House

Determined not to miss our connection home, we jogged about half of the way back to the train station where we caught a ride back to the airport.  Still pressed for time, I got impatient with a group of loafers who were just entering one of two side-by-side upwardly sloped moving walkways that connected the train station to the airport.  The one of the right was steadily gaining altitude while its passengers stood clutching the rail.  The one on the left, however, was both still and empty all the way to the top.  As further evidence of my miraculous healing, I darted left and bounded upward with Joline and Jessica on my heels.

It turns out that the Dutch are rather technologically advanced.  They have actually invented (and perfected) motion detecting moving walkways.  As we ran north, the heretofore motionless walkway hummed to life and transformed itself into a southbound treadmill.  This unexpected development brought a grin to my face, but it brought uproarious laughter to Joline and Jessica.  My surgically repaired wheels were more than up to the challenge and I raced to the top against the current in a matter of a few seconds.  It took the two ladies in my life at that moment, however, closer to a minute.  When they finally reached the apex, a crowd of disapproving onlookers scoffed their disapproval in guttural Dutch, while Joline and Jessica wiped away their tears of hysteria.

We jogged the rest of the way to the lockers, whereupon I retrieved my cane and resumed my palsy.

Twelve hours later, I limped out of LAX onto the sidewalk, stowed the cane in my sister’s waiting mini-van, and declared victory over the airline industry.

Herb will get his intact cane three months from now, and I will have a fun story to tell at the party.

Cane Transport Success