Let us dive into the heart of a daily tragedy, where the bars hide much more than prisoners. From Antanimora, Tsiafahy to Vatomandry, each day reveals a scene of corruption worthy of a play. The authorities seem to orchestrate this tragedy without caring for the detainees, allowing them to suffer injustices and inhumane conditions.
Rakoto, a pseudonym, a brave witness, former inmate of the Vatomandry prison, guides us through the darkest corners around the city’s cemetery. Wandering between the old graves and recent burials, one can observe a fascinating mix of Asian and Malagasy names, reflecting the diverse cultural heritage of the region. Located right in the middle of the Ampandranety market, it is the common place where the remains of deceased prisoners unclaimed by their families are buried. “102 prisoners died, most from starvation, between August and September 2022. They are buried in the cemetery of the fokontany Antanandro, sometimes with two bodies in a single pit due to lack of space.” A scene comparable to a macabre theater. Families learn of the death of their loved ones at the moment they request a visit, with no possibility to recover the remains. “I haven’t visited my father in prison for a long time, I live in Moramanga and I can’t afford to travel often to Vatomandry. But during my visit, I was informed that he had passed away and was buried in the cemetery without them informing us or even giving us a chance to recover his body,” Nirisoa added, a victim of this injustice. When questioned about these facts, the head of the penitentiary institution, controller Rodolphe Rabenertin, explained: “Until now, the food is sufficient. The inmates may not be used to alternating meals of cassava, rice, corn, and sweet potatoes. The state supplies us in sufficient quantities and moreover, we also contribute to it.”
External aid as stage props
External donations, such as rice, corn, sweet potatoes, and social reintegration projects, are ephemeral props on the stage of Malagasy prisons. “There are various activities in this place, including sports and cultural activities, as well as literacy programs. All residents benefit from these programs, including those with literacy needs,” the head of the establishment, Rodolphe Rabenertin says. “Only the catholic chaplaincy of prisons (Aumônerie Catholique des Prisons – ACP) and the Malagasy Lutheran Church (FLM) provide rice. Anyone who wants to obtain food from the ACP must be a member of the cooperative and regularly contribute to rice production. As for the FLM, only those in need, particularly those suffering from malnutrition, are allowed to receive rice, and sick individuals are given priority,” he added.
These inmates claim to receive almost none of these donations, once the donors have left: “The donations received by the Raitra association and the Adventist community have all disappeared: five bags of rice, five cartons of soap, 20 liters of oil, and a bag of sugar! Only the soap has been distributed,” Rakoto still states. The head of the establishment justifies: “A healthy person may have difficulty obtaining rice from these organizations because they are more inclined to help sick people rather than those in good health.”
Monetization of prison conditions and financial pressure on the families of inmates
In a disturbing revelation, an inmate in Vatomandry denounces the unscrupulous practices surrounding the entry into prison. The penitentiaries would directly contact family members as soon as the inmate arrives, asking them if they wish to take care of their loved ones behind bars. If families want to visit outside the authorized days, the fee starts at MGA 5,000. According to an inmate, the prison cells can accommodate between 75 and 100 people. To have less overcrowding, financial arrangements are possible. “If you pay MGA 100,000, you get a less crowded cell,” he states. The inmate accuses the chief of the post of taking money without even transferring the prisoner to the promised cell, “I had to pay MGA 3 million to get out of prison for a week for family reasons,” Rakoto reaffirms. These revelations raise concerns about transparency and ethics in the Vatomandry prison system.
“He releases prisoners, including women, by paying for their freedom. It’s like a play: he calls them during visits in a secret corner of the prison, like an illegal basketball court,” he added. When confronted with these questions, the Head of Establishment denies these facts and claims that the Vatomandry prison is protected from corruption: “Currently, people tend to constantly refer to generalities, considering that all prison situations are similar. We do not release women either, as no legal provision allows it, and all individuals share the same status. Here, there is no distinction between a better cell or a worse cell.”
Figaro Adelaide, the Regional Director of the Penitentiary Administration (DRAP) adds: “There are no fees to be paid for the relatives of inmates who visit them, they simply need a notebook and the communication permit issued by the court.”
Tsiafahy, an untried aggressor granted clemency
In Antananarivo, the Tsiafahy prison, in the rural commune of Antananarivo Atsimondrano: the place where the worst criminals are held. It is at Tsiafahy that the assailant of Meva (pseudonym) is supposed to be located, who attacked the young woman in the middle of the street in Mahamasina while she was holding her one-year-old son in her arms. The assailant, already facing similar charges in the past, was charged with attempted murder and placed in pre-trial detention at Tsiafahy pending his trial. However, on the day of the hearing, he shone by his absence twice, leading to successive delays of the trial. The victim’s family, dismayed by this situation, conducted their own investigation to discover that the attacker had benefited from presidential grace, offered at the beginning of 2022, allowing him to leave his cell in Tsiafahy. The official reason for his release states that he was charged with ‘voluntary assault and battery.’ This case highlights the shortcomings of the judicial system and raises questions about the protection of victims against repeat offenders.
Corruption suspicions
The presidential grace is normally reserved for inmates who have already been judged and definitively sentenced, which is not the case for an individual in pre-trial detention. Meva’s family discovers that the perpetrator was released with a mention of an indictment for “voluntary assault and battery” carrying a sentence of 5 to 10 years according to Article 309 of the Malagasy Penal Code, a less serious crime than attempted murder which has a penalty of life hard labor according to Article 302 of the same code.
The Presidential pardon is meant to be a humanitarian measure. But in this case, it raises troubling questions. The President of the Republic has the power to grant pardons according to Article 58 of the Constitution of the Republic; the prisoner must have been tried beforehand. However, the perpetrator of the attack against Meva seems to have escaped this rule.
A presidential decree No. 2022-1700 granting a gracious remission of sentences for prisoners on the occasion of the New Year 2023 released hundreds of prisoners across the country, but not all were eligible. Crimes such as corruption, embezzlement of public funds, and acts of serious violence were not supposed to be involved, but in this case, the failures of the system seem to have allowed for unjustified releases.
Meva’s family discovers that the culprit was tried in the absence of the complainants, raising doubts about the fairness of the trial. The summons procedure seems unclear, and the victim’s appeals for a new trial or an appeal are on the table.
Through this complex story, a disturbing picture of prison corruption, judicial failures, and the potential impact of presidential pardon emerges. The Meva case reveals the flaws in a system that must be closely scrutinized to ensure justice and safety for all. Aside from her case, in the Antanimora prison, other scenes of corruption occur almost every day.
A paying visit to the Antanimora prison
It is 11 a.m. in Antananarivo, in the Antanimora neighborhood. Voahangy, a courageous mother, is faced with prison corruption: Every visit to her husband behind bars is marked by dark financial mishaps. Despite her modest means, Voahangy is forced to pay about MGA 15,000 to corrupt members of the prison staff. These payments, required for a visit of only five minutes, leave Voahangy in distress. The absence of invoices or receipts prevents her from justifying these expenses to his family, adding an extra layer of distress to her precarious situation.
At the heart of these heartbreaking stories, posters are visible around the prison, announcing that all activities inside are free. A striking contrast to the cruel reality experienced by the families of the inmates.
Another heartbreaking story emerges from the prison walls, that of a 67-year-old elderly woman. Despite her advanced age and the physical difficulties she endures, she fights to visit her son behind bars. However, she is forced to pay MGA 10,000 for a visit that is as brief as it is crucial.
Prison social workers, victims and accomplices
The penitentiaries, silent actors and witnesses of these corruption practices, find themselves unable to respond to the accusations. “We, the penitentiaries, are unable to react to the accusations,” Landry (pseudonym) laments. A shroud of silence seems to weigh on their shoulders, creating an environment where reprehensible acts can thrive unchecked. This institution adds a troubling dimension to the situation, highlighting the extent of the corruption problem that prevails in the prison system.
Testimony from Albert (pseudonym), a guard at the Antanimora prison: “We, the prison guards, are often victims of internal pressures or of failing hierarchical structures.” These guards say they are trapped in this culture of silence, powerless in the face of the abuses that continue. The fear of reprisals, the lack of effective reporting mechanisms, or even tacit complacency contribute to maintaining this silence, thereby giving a free pass to unacceptable behavior within the prison institution.
These poignant testimonies are unfortunately not exceptions at Antanimora. Corruption has become omnipresent, cruelly affecting the relatives of the prisoners who, already facing the pain of separation, are victims of regular extortion by corrupt members of the prison staff.
“I had to pay MGA 800,000 to be able to work as a social worker, yet I have already served a third of my sentence,” Joseph (a pseudonym) says, a social worker who is in charge of connecting inmates with their families. According to Figaro Adelaide, Regional Director of the Penitentiary Administration of the Antsinanana Region: “Social workers are inmates who have already served more than half of their sentence and perform community service by helping with the operation of the prison.” They are responsible for distributing the belongings of inmates brought by their relatives. “I can go through the gate and earn a little money from people who need their notebooks or who want to deliver food to their loved ones in prison,” Joseph explains.
In June 2023, in the dark environment of Antanimora prison, other inmates shared with us almost similar testimonies about the possibility of performing social worker functions in exchange for payments to prison officials. Their accounts reveal a corrupt system where access to beneficial social roles within the prison is conditioned by illicit financial transactions. Hervé and Daniel describe the financial pressure exerted by the authorities, forcing them to pay substantial sums to obtain the privilege of working as social workers within the correctional facility.
The shaky banking protection measures for detainees in Madagascar
Law No. 95-010 of July 10, 1995 concerning the status of personnel in the penitentiary administration places the protection of detainees at the heart of the reform, but the reality on the ground suggests that the fundamental rights of detainees are rarely preserved. This is particularly true regarding the elimination of gender discrimination. Discipline, responsibility, and punctuality are proclaimed as the new norm, but the actual effectiveness and ethics of these principles remain questionable.
The crucial role of the CNIDH
In this dynamic, the National Independent Commission on Human Rights (CNIDH) plays a pivotal role. Since its creation, it has inspected around fifty places of deprivation of liberty across the island.
Seth Andriamarohasina, president of the CNIDH, emphasizes the opacity that prevails in the prison environment, fostering acts of corruption. “Very few people know the steps to follow. There are people who come from the countryside. There is also fear and a lack of familiarity with the administration,” he explains. In the face of these challenges, the CNIDH is committed to curbing acts of corruption, with a particular emphasis on the responsibility of state agents. The aim is to develop the spirit of denouncing acts of corruption. Seth Andriamarohasina adds that the guide includes not only the laws and texts that protect detained individuals but also whistleblowers, victims of these acts of corruption.
The CNIDH identifies corruption as being fostered by administrative burdens and overcrowding in prisons. “There is corruption in both directions. There are acts committed by state agents and there are also citizens who find themselves caught up in the machinery of corruption,” Seth Andriamarohasina explains. Prison overcrowding has increased by nearly 1000% according to the United Nations High Commissioner: “The extreme overcrowding we have observed in prisons, nearly 1000% in some of them, requires immediate action from the Malagasy authorities,” Juan Pablo Vegas declared, when he led the delegation during a visit to Madagascar in 2023. This is a major problem in most Malagasy prisons, leading to cumbersome procedures and prompting some prisoners to resort to corruption to facilitate the processing of files.
In Antanimora, Tsiafahy, and Vatomandry, the revelation of corruption practices and flaws in the judicial system highlights the urgency for substantial reform. In the face of a situation where corruption, presidential pardons, and legal traps deprive detainees of their most fundamental rights, it is essential to rethink the functioning of these institutions and to restore integrity and human dignity at the heart of the prison system.
By Cynthia Rahelindisa and Ismaël Mihaja
