Khizar Hayat did not know how close he came to death earlier this month. It’s not as if nobody told him. He just cannot understand what an execution is.

In fact, even though he has been on death row since 2003, he does not know why he is in jail. The anti-psychotic medication he has been on has proven to be less and less effective with each passing year. Solitary confinement has only made his condition worse.

On Friday, Jan 11, the government of Pakistan issued Khizar’s execution warrant. He would be executed before sunrise on Jan 15. His mother, Iqbal Bano, was inconsolable. This is, unfortunately, not the first time Iqbal Bano has been dragged through this ordeal. Khizar was issued two execution warrants in 2015, one in 2017, and was about to earn the macabre status of being Pakistan’s first execution of 2019.

Every single one of those execution orders directly contravenes Pakistan’s international human rights obligations, domestic laws and expert medical opinion.

So why do they keep getting issued?

In April 2016, before he was chief justice, Justice Saqib Nisar told a room full of psychiatrists that the laws must be tightened to protect the mentally ill.

But in the same year, the Supreme Court dismissed the appeal of Imdad Ali, another death-row prisoner with a severe mental disability on the premise that schizophrenia is “not a mental illness”. Criticism stemming from the public’s more straightforward conception of mental illness saved Imdad’s life at the eleventh hour.

In May 2017, Justice Umar Ata Bandial also stated at a conference that it would “be unfair to punish the mentally ill”.

These were encouraging indicators that perhaps, finally, it was being recognised that mentally ill defendants lack the criminal intent to warrant the same punishment as the mentally able.

In April 2018, Chief Justice Saqib Nisar, while hearing the cases of Kanizan Bibi and Imdad Ali, made headlines across Pakistan by categorically ruling out execution for prisoners with mental disabilities. “Beyond sense or reason,” he rightly declared in open court, “that we hang the mentally ill.” He immediately ordered that Kanizan be transferred to a secure mental health facility to get the treatment she needs. Fresh medical reviews have been ordered for both, and the case has been dubbed “precedent-setting” for the rights of the mentally disabled.

While these two cases remain pending before the Supreme Court, in December 2018, the Lahore High Court dismissed a petition seeking Khizar’s transfer to a mental health facility. It stated that “emotional disorders of like nature were not viewed as factors sufficient enough to impede execution”. Not only did this clear the pathway to Khizar’s execution but also exposed demonstrably mentally ill prisoners like Kanizan, Imdad and Saleem to the same fate.

Luckily, the National Commission on Human Rights was quick to act. It issued an order restraining the relevant authorities from scheduling Khizar’s hanging until the matter is decided by the Supreme Court. Jail authorities were not only copied in the order that was issued, they were also present at the hearing. They were party to the statements. They cannot claim ignorance.

The government of Pakistan should use this case as an opportunity for introspection. When the jury was, quite literally, still out on the matter of mentally ill prisoners — how could the lower courts so openly disregard the Supreme Court? How were the orders of the Pakistani government’s foremost human rights body defied so blatantly by jail authorities?

This breakdown of communications can prove to be deadly. Had the campaign mobilised by Justice Project Pakistan not caught the attention of the chief justice, had voices of influence not been moved enough to amplify their platforms and privilege, had the deluge of appeals to the president to accept his appeal for clemency stemmed, Khizar would have been a dead man by now.

Every prisoner with a history of mental illness should have their sentences commuted without delay. This is the very least that Pakistan’s obligations under the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights demand.

President Arif Alvi has Khizar’s mercy petition before him. It contains details of his mental illness, the laws that confirm that his execution would be wrongful, as well as a reminder of Pakistan’s international commitments. It makes for a useful and life-saving document.

The right to seek pardon belongs to the people. It is not just a private act of grace but a meaningful safeguard against any mistakes that might have been made during sentencing. And in Khizar’s case, it is exactly what justice looks like.

Rimmel Mohydin is regional campaigner for Amnesty International South Asia.

Twitter: @Rimmel_Mohydin

Originally published by Dawn, January 17th, 2019.

By Natalia Prilutskaya, Russia Researcher at Amnesty International

For the second time in less than two years, a violent homophobic crackdown has left LGBTI people in Chechnya fearing for their lives. Earlier this week the Russian LGBT Network confirmed reports that the Chechen authorities have resumed large-scale arrests of individuals believed to be gay or lesbian, imprisoning and torturing them.

According to the organization’s protected sources, around 40 people have been arrested since December and at least two people have died under torture. Police have also reportedly demanded that families of gay and lesbian people commit “honor” killings against their relatives and provide evidence of their murders.

These appalling reports follow a previous “gay purge” in 2017, which saw hundreds of men detained and tortured and put Chechnya’s dismal human rights record back in the global spotlight.

I visited the Chechen capital Grozny several times last year. Each time I was struck by the contrast between the shining glass skyscrapers, luxury boutiques and fashionable cafes which line the streets of the city and the almost palpable fear in the air. People choose their words carefully when they speak.

I was struck by the contrast between the shining glass skyscrapers, luxury boutiques and fashionable cafes which line the streets of the city and the almost palpable fear in the air.

Arranging meetings with human rights activists requires intricate planning to ensure their anonymity and safety are preserved. The stakes could not be higher: Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov has presided over a years-long campaign of harassment, intimidation and violence against human rights activists, which has seen several prominent figures killed for their work and several others imprisoned.

The people who have documented the attacks on LGBTI people have acted with unimaginable courage, risking arrest, torture, ill treatment and even death if they are identified.

Behind the glossy facades of the new buildings which keep springing up around Grozny, the walls of homes, shops and offices are crowded with portraits of Kadyrov. It is almost impossible to watch TV or listen to the radio without hearing his name.

This is a good metaphor for how fear of Kadyrov permeates every aspect of life in Chechnya, and how his system of absolute rule has broken down law and order inside the republic. Anyone who dares to complain about officials or their policies faces public humiliation or worse. Typical punishments for dissent include being forced to make a televised apology, having your house burnt down or having fabricated criminal charges slapped on you.

Typical punishments for dissent include being forced to make a televised apology, having your house burnt down or having fabricated criminal charges slapped on you.

With Kadyrov’s face everywhere, it is easy to forget whilst you are in Grozny that Chechnya remains a part of the Russian Federation, which is a signatory to many international human rights treaties. When news of the 2017 crackdown broke, Russian human rights activists and journalists appealed to the federal authorities, demanding an investigation and immediate action to protect the lives of LGBTI people in Chechnya.

Maxim Lapunov, so far the only victim to speak publicly about his ordeal, filed a formal complaint with the Russian authorities in September 2017. In harrowing detail Maxim described being held for 12 days in a blood-soaked cell, beaten with sticks and having a plastic bag placed over his head.

In November 2018, after months of denials and obfuscation, the Russian authorities said they were unable to confirm Maxim’s claim and refused to open a criminal investigation into the allegations.

This crushing blow for justice rang alarm bells for many activists in Chechnya, who knew that without accountability it was only a matter of time before the Chechen authorities resumed their atrocities. Sadly, they have already been proved right.

In December 2018, the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe published a report in which it accused Russia of shielding Chechen officials from scrutiny. Kadyrov knows he has carte blanche when it comes to human rights abuses.

Nevertheless, following the 2017 crackdown sustained international attention did succeed in temporarily halting the arrests. This shows that Chechen and Russian authorities are not immune to criticism. The international community, therefore, can play an important role in pressurising political elites into acknowledging their crimes and taking meaningful steps to bring those responsible to justice.

In 2017 the Russian LGBT Network, supported by other NGOs, helped evacuate hundreds of people from Chechnya and in some cases relocated them elsewhere.

In 2017 the Russian LGBT Network, supported by other NGOs, helped evacuate hundreds of people from Chechnya and in some cases relocated them elsewhere. Several countries, including Canada, France, Germany and Lithuania granted asylum to dozens, though sadly they stand out for their generosity, and other governments were reluctant or too slow to offer protection.

This time, governments should be prepared to expedite the asylum process so that anyone who wants to leave Chechnya can do so promptly and safely. Above all, they should make it clear to the Chechen authorities that they are watching, and that these horrendous crimes do not happen in darkness.

This article originally appeared here in The Moscow Times.

How many Indigenous languages are spoken in Australia? How many are in danger of disappearing? And why are so many Indigenous kids – some as young as 10 – being locked up? Here is your chance to find out.

1. Who are the world’s Indigenous Peoples?

Hundreds of millions of people across 90 countries worldwide identify as Indigenous. We belong to more than 5,000 different groups and speak more than 7,000 languages. Of those languages, 2,680 are in danger of disappearing – leading the United Nations to declare 2019 the International Year of Indigenous Languages. ‘Indigenous Peoples’ is the most commonly accepted way of referring to us as a collective group – it’s the equivalent of saying ‘the British’ or ‘Australians’.

In international law, ‘Indigenous’ acknowledges that a person’s ancestors lived on particular lands, before other people arrived and became dominant. As Indigenous Peoples we have our own unique customs and cultures, and often face difficult realities such as having land taken away, and being treated as second-class citizens.

2. Who are the Indigenous Peoples of Australia?

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples are the proud keepers of arguably the oldest continuous culture on the planet. Our heritage spans many different communities, each with its own unique mixture of cultures, customs and languages. Before the European invasion in 1788 there were more than 250 Indigenous nations, each with several clans.

Torres Strait Islanders, from the islands between north-eastern Queensland and Papua New Guinea, originate from Melanesia in the western Pacific, and have their own distinct cultures.

3. Is it OK to call Indigenous people in Australia ‘Aborigines’?

‘Aborigine’ is generally perceived as insensitive, because it has racist connotations from Australia’s colonial past, and lumps people with diverse backgrounds into a single group. You’re more likely to make friends by saying ‘Aboriginal person’, ‘Aboriginal’ or ‘Torres Strait Islander’.

If you can, try using the person’s clan or tribe name. My mob are Nigena from the Kimberley of Western Australia, but some spell it Nyikina. There are no correct spellings, although there are commonly accepted spellings. And if you are talking about both Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, it’s best to say either ‘Indigenous peoples’ or Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples.

Without a capital ‘a’, ‘aboriginal’ can refer to an Indigenous person from anywhere in the world. The word means ‘original inhabitant’ in Latin.

4. How did Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples live before Europeans arrived?

Our people were great storytellers, passing on their cultures through songlines – an animist belief system expressed through songs, stories, paintings and dance. We were also expert hunters and gatherers and had sophisticated ways of taking care of the land.

As semi-nomadic people, we moved around with the seasons, returning every season to permanent homes where we grew crops. In his groundbreaking book Dark Emu Aboriginal author Bruce Pascoe describes this way of life and challenges the common perception of Aboriginal Peoples leading a ‘hunter-gatherer’ lifestyle before British colonization.

5. What happened when the Europeans came?

British colonization of Australia in 1788 was devastating for Indigenous communities around the country. Our numbers fell from around 750,000 to just 93,000 by 1900.

Thousands died as British settlers drove people off their lands, and brought killer diseases such as measles, smallpox and tuberculosis. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people were segregated from the rest of society, forced to adopt British customs and abandon their own culture. Many even had their children taken away.

The population began to recover in the early 1900s and according to the 2016 Census there were an estimated 649,200 Indigenous people living in Australia and making up around 2.8 per cent of the country’s population.

6. What’s the situation like now?

Racial discrimination became illegal in Australia in 1976 but our people continue to be worse off, including in terms of social indicators like health, wealth, education and unemployment. Many end up trapped by poverty and an unfair justice system. Today, Indigenous kids in Australia are 24 times more likely to be locked up than their non-Indigenous classmates.

New generations have inherited our relatives’ deep trauma, sadness and anger from losing our lands, cultures and families. To make things worse, the Australian Government has put in place policies that effectively take away Indigenous Peoples’ basic rights – such as the Northern Territory Intervention – and forced Indigenous people to abandon their homes and communities.

7. How do Indigenous people in Australia respond to this discrimination?

Indigenous people in Australia continue to protest relentlessly and push for things to change – including on every Australia Day, 26 January. In 1938, while most other Australians were celebrating, Aboriginal protesters in New South Wales declared it a Day of Mourning to mark 150 years since colonization.

On the same day in 1972, activists set up the Aboriginal Tent Embassy outside Australia’s Parliament House in Canberra, using slogans like “We want land rights, not handouts”. It attracted unprecedented national support and still stands today.

In 2000, more than 300,000 people – from all kinds of backgrounds – walked across Sydney Harbour Bridge calling for national reconciliation. And in 2015, huge rallies were held all across Australia to support remote Aboriginal communities’ right to live on their traditional lands.

8. What can I do?

Amnesty continues to campaign for Indigenous rights in Australia. Right now, we want to stop disproportionate numbers of Indigenous kids being locked up in Australia’s criminal justice system, through our Community is Everything campaign.

We want to make sure that our children – some as young as 10 – can grow up in environments that nurture their potential. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples know what’s best for their own communities and kids; now they need our support to make it happen.

As we continue to fight the good fight in 2019 Amnesty Campaigner Belinda Lowe remembers a cheery moment for human rights for every month of 2018.

January

The councils of Flinders Island, Fremantle, Yarra, Darebin and Moreland showed respect for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people by holding Australia Day events on a date other than 26 January. 26 January marks the invasion of Australia and signifies mourning and survival for Indigenous people, not a date to party. Triple J also moved the date of its Hottest 100, and tens of thousands of Indigenous and non-Indigenous people attended rallies and protests in solidarity.

February

Teodora del Carmen Vasquez was finally freed from jail in El Salvador, when a court reduced her outrageous 30-year sentence. She had already spent a decade behind bars after having a stillbirth, which led to her being accused and convicted for having an abortion – an illegal act in El Salvador.

March

Australians joined people from 100+ countries, from Afghanistan to Venezuela, to send over 34,000 tweets to Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey. We demanded he do more to stop women and girls receiving rape and death threats, racist and homophobic insults on his platform, which bullies them into silence and restricts their freedom of speech.

In December, Twitter shares plummeted following an Amnesty report finding widespread abuse of women on the platform.

April

In Myanmar, 8,000 people were released in a prisoner amnesty. Two of those were pastors Dumdaw Nawng Lat and Langjaw Gam Seng, who were political prisoners, detained for 16 months only for helping to organise a visit by journalists to Shan State, to show the destruction allegedly caused by Myanmar Army airstrikes.

May

The amazing result of the Irish referendum, which overturned the constitutional ban on abortions, marked a massive victory for women’s rights. The result was testament to people power, with thousands of men and women travelling back to Ireland from overseas to vote and make their voices heard.

June

The US-led Coalition finally announced its re-evaluation of previously closed cases regarding accusations of civilian casualties in Syria. The coalition had initially denied and condemned Amnesty’s findings on the civilian casualties in Raqqa, before further new evidence from Amnesty investigations came to light.

July

Artist Liu Xia was allowed to leave China for Germany in July, after almost eight years of illegal house arrest, where she’d been held ever since her husband Liu Xiaobo was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2010. During that time, she was closely monitored by state security agents and could only be reached by phone in limited circumstances.

August

After 735 days behind bars for carrying out peaceful protests, prominent land and human rights activist Tep Vanny was finally released. She was part of a large group of human rights activists and protesters in Cambodia to receive a royal pardon, six months before the end of her sentence.

September

In a huge win for the LGBTQI community, India’s Supreme Court decriminalised consensual same-sex relations between adults. The court said that discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation is a violation of fundamental rights, guaranteed by India’s Constitution.

October

On World Day Against the Death Penalty, the new Malaysian government announced its plans to fully abolish the death penalty, and halt the executions of the more than 1,000 people on death row. In the days that followed, the death penalty was also found to be unconstitutional in the state of Washington, making it the 20th abolitionist State in the US.

November

In South Africa a court ruled the government could not issue a license for proposed titanium mining on Indigenous ancestral land in Xolobeni without the consent of Indigenous communities. “We live in a peaceful, beautiful area where we share everything – food, land and love. The elites have discovered what we have and want to take it away from us,” said Nonhle Mbuthuma, a human rights activist from the Amadiba community. “Some of my colleagues have been killed, and I know I could be too. But I am not scared.”

December

The City of Kingston in Victoria became the 23rd local government in Australia to support the My New Neighbour campaign, calling for a fairer and more accessible refugee community sponsorship program. Community sponsorship is a model where ordinary members of the community sponsor visas for refugees, so they can begin rebuilding their lives in safety in Australia.