SIM Peter Baehr lecture: Human rights: A responsibility for each and everyone of us

What am I striving for? If I strive for anything, then it is impact in society.

This lecture is in honour of Peter Baehr, who was such a giant in human rights. And I have always believed: “because of them we are.” We stand on the shoulders of all these people, and I believe we have the responsibility to try to move everything a little bit further. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights has existed more than 70 years today. And its implications have not really been explored fully. It is up to us to explore it more and more. Because it is us, and our whole world, who will benefit from it. I am very happy and honoured to be here to speak about human rights. I am very honoured as well to see some of you in the audience, like Edward Nazarsky, who is one of my examples – he probably doesn't know it – within human rights and the implementation thereof.

Today, I will talk about responsibility. I believe we all share a responsibility in human rights. I will share with you where my sense of responsibility came from, my journey to act on human rights, and how I did it: in politics, activism, and as a lawyer. Then, I will tell you more about how human rights nowadays are under pressure. I will share with you one example of my life. After that, I will answer your questions and we can share some ideas.

My name is Mpanzu Bamenga. This name was given to me by my mother and father. The name Bamenga was from my father's side and Mpanzu from my mother's side, which means fighter for the people. I was born in Zaire. When I came to Europe, I came with my brother, sister, and mother. My sister stayed in France and was adopted there, and me, my brother, and mother travelled to the Netherlands. When we came here, we arrived in an asylum seeker reception centre. We learned a lot of things there, and after that we got a house. What I remember from that time is that we were living in poverty. We didn't have any papers. Being undocumented meant that you couldn't work. It also meant that you could study only until 18 years old. It also meant that I could not go beyond the country's borders for vacation or excursions like other kids. It felt like I was living in an open prison. There were no bars. We didn't have basic rights. My mother raised me with the idea that no matter how much money you have, you should always act as a king, you should always have dignity for yourself. Even though we slept on one mattress on the ground with the three of us and even though I didn't have new clothing, I never complained at all. But at a certain point there was a time that my sister would come to visit us. She would always talk to me about human rights. She was the first one to talk to me about that. She would tell me: ‘you should care about other people’. She would tell me that I should write letters to people who are in death row. I could do it through Amnesty International. She would tell me that even though these people were in death row, some of them were innocent and all men deserved to be treated as human beings. These were the first things I was hearing when I was very young: I have a responsibility and I have to do something.

When I was eleven, we received our first letter, stating that we needed to leave the country. Our asylum application was rejected. My mother was very sad. Somehow I felt that I had to do something. I started thinking about my life so far. My life was different from that of other kids in the class. How we were excluded from society, how we were living in poverty, how were deprived from certain basic rights… I started thinking, how was that possible? I realised that these things were man-made, because nature tells us we are equal. We are born equal. As Article 1 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states: All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. So, the inequality must be man-made: it is policy, it is laws, which basically deprive people of basic rights.

This is where I started thinking about an alternative world. A world where people are inclusive and where people are treated in a just way. I started dreaming about such a world. This dream was so clear to me, that I said to myself: ‘you know what? I have to do something, I have to take responsibility!’. But, of course, I was young (eleven years old), I didn't have any documentation and there were many, many obstacles. But I knew: it is not a sprint, but a marathon. I started with education. I started learning. For me it was like a puzzle. All my actions should be a piece of that puzzle. For instance, when I was sitting in class, when it was asked who wanted to be representative of the class, I would say: I want to be it. I thought that was how I could learn to represent people and that was also an opportunity for me to acquire the proper skills to represent people.

So, fast forward. I became 20 years old. I was still studying and I still didn't have papers. Suddenly we received a letter, stating that we had to leave the country within 8 weeks, and if we didn't leave, we would be deported. We had to talk to people from the return agency. I remember talking to a man with a moustache and tight jeans. This person told me: ‘listen, you have nothing to contribute to this country, go back to your country of origin. Go back.’ I was so furious; I was so mad. It was clear that he didn't see me. He didn't know who I was, he didn't know my potential. And I told him: ‘listen, I am going to prove to you that I do have something to contribute to this country’. I went back to school. I had a great network due to my representation and debating activities. I learnt about immigration and asylum law. And I figured out that I needed to write a letter to the minister, where I would point out what my vision for the Netherlands would be, what my contribution to the Netherlands would be, and so forth. We found a lawyer in Utrecht, Judith Pieters from Pieters Advocaten. She was willing to support us with the legal procedure. On the last day before the end of the 8-weeks term, we sent the letter and application to the minister.

After some time, I received a phone call from a person working for the minister. She basically said: ‘listen, the minister read your letter, he is convinced and you, your brother, and mother will receive a status’. I was amazed. For me it felt like a liberation. And two feelings surged: I was very happy and angry at the same time. Why? Because I thought many people did not have this opportunity. Because of that, I said to myself: ‘I have to fight for those people who don't have the opportunity to fight for themselves’. I started to fight for marginalised people. But afterwards, those people were telling me: ‘you are always fighting for people, maybe you should start living. It is not your responsibility to always try to change the world or to fight for the implementation of human rights. You should go on and work for a multinational company and make some money for yourself and your family. Use your brains to make a lot of money’. So I started thinking about that: ‘maybe they are right, maybe it is not my responsibility to try to change the world’.

At that moment, I was organising my diploma party, because I had finally finished my education. My sister who inspired me to get into human rights was now living in the United States but was on her way to come to my diploma party. She wrote me a text message stating that she was not going to make it, but that she wanted me to know that she believed in my dream and that she believed it would become reality if I pursued it. When my sister was on her way towards me, she got arrested on the border on her way to the airplane. She had a French passport and wanted to return to Europe, but the border police didn't let her leave the country. They arrested her and put her in detention. They took all her belongings. They also took her medication. A few days later, I received a phone call: ‘your sister has passed away in detention’. When I received that phone call, I remember it was early in the morning. I was full of emotions. I couldn't believe that this had happened. My sister who meant the world to me was no longer with us. I thought to myself: ‘how am I going to tell my mother that her daughter had passed away?’ I felt a tremendous energy, because I was so furious about the injustice that had happened. And I said to myself: ‘I need to do something. I need to go to the United States, confront the people who are responsible and take revenge for the death of my sister’.

Meanwhile, I thought about what the last message would be that my sister had sent me. I took out my phone, an old Nokia I always have it with me, and saw her last message. In this message, she said to me: ‘I am not going to make it, but I want you to know that I believe in your dream, and I want you to pursue it’. And then I said to myself: ‘she would never want me to do any harm in her name. She would want me to pursue my dreams and take responsibility to do my part in applying human rights’. And I remember what Martin Luther King once said: ‘injustice anywhere is a threat to injustice everywhere’. The responsibility to apply human rights is not only your responsibility, or mine, it is our responsibility together. As long as there are people living in injustice anywhere, we have a responsibility to do something. Because tomorrow it could be someone in your family, or it could be you, and who is going to fight for you?

So when that happened, I knew what I had to do. I finished my education, and really started to put human rights into practice. First as a lawyer, later on as a politician, and again later as an activist. As a lawyer, I was working case by case, trying to improve the situation of people; as a politician – a member of the city council – together with others, I came up with the idea to provide everyone in need with shelter and support. This was a proposal that went to the council. Later on, it went through many other city councils, such as those of Utrecht and Amsterdam. Soon it even became national policy. As an activist, I founded the Inclusion Leaders Network, because I believe that change happens from the bottom up. I came up with this idea that we can build more and more inclusive leaders across the world to make sure that we can actually make a difference. Being an inclusive leader means four things to me: to see talent, to give opportunities, to remove obstacles, and to provide a platform for people to shine. After doing all of this, we unfortunately still see that human rights are under pressure. Take a look at what is happening at the Asylum Centre in Ter Apel, for instance. Take a look at what is happening at the EU borders. I just came back from Lampedusa. I believe that Article 1 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights is really under pressure. And I will finish with the following example, related to what has happened to me.

It was April 2018. I was invited to Ventotene, an Island nearby Rome. An Island where 700 political opponents of the fascism of Benito Mussolini were sent to exile and imprisonment. It was the place where Altiero Spinelli and Ernesto Rossi wrote the Ventotene Manifesto, which advocated for the idea of a new Europe, a federal Europe after the Second World War. On this island, I was invited to speak on the liberation day of Italy, about freedom, human rights, fundamental values, and inclusion: about how to welcome new and diverse Europeans.

In the morning of the 30^th of April when I was returning back to the Netherlands, I was sitting on the airplane, all inspired thinking back of my time in Ventotene and looking forward to my next lecture in Zwolle during the Dutch Liberation Day on the 5^th of May. The theme of 2018 was resistance. I was thinking about the concept of resistance. When your freedom is violated you should resist – that's a way to ensure that human rights are applied in practice. When I landed in my hometown Eindhoven, it was a bit rainy. I was also quite in a hurry, as I was on my way to work. I was looking smart and, as always, I was wearing a suit, and I had a small luggage with me. I love to travel light.

It was a Schengen flight, within the European Union, so I assumed there were no border controls. A few people were walking in front of me. I didn't see them being checked by the officials. When the door opened for me, suddenly I saw two border police officers standing before me. They ordered me to step aside, where more than ten border policemen were waiting for me. One officer, a kind-looking man, almost as tall as I am, with short hair, asked me gently for my passport. I gave him my passport and asked why I was being checked. The officer said: ‘we are pro-actively, so without any concrete suspicion, looking for criminals and non-Dutch people’. I looked back to see if I was the only one who was being checked. No, there was another black woman with two children and one black man, who were being checked behind me. I asked the officer: ‘do you see what I see? You are only checking black people, and this is racial profiling, discrimination, racism, a violation of Article one of the Dutch Constitution. Who gave you the power to do this?’ He answered: ‘the law gave us this competence’. The people who had been stopped looked so vulnerable. I thought about what it meant, that a border policeman is telling me that he has the competence to actually stop people based on their skin colour. I thought about how this idea works throughout our society, our education, our taxation, our institutions. When I thought about all these things, I said to myself: ‘I need to do something. I need to resist against this injustice’. I went to sit down at the first table 1 saw and started a social media post:

“My plane has just landed at Eindhoven Airport. I was happy to be home again. Until I was welcomed with rain and much worse ethnic profiling. Of the more than 150 passengers, I only see the black passengers who are being stopped, including me. I addressed the border police that this was no coincidence and he confirmed this. He said: ‘This is indeed no coincidence, we need to apprehend potential criminals and terrorists.’ And I hear him think: ‘and they are mostly black’. ‘This is what the law prescribes us to do’, he indicated.

His colleagues listened while I told him that this week was dominated by freedom, because of the 70^th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the commemoration of the dead and Liberation Day. Why do we commemorate and celebrate freedom if we continue to accept in our daily practice that people are structurally excluded, treated unjustly and humiliated, purely because of their ethnicity? What does freedom mean if we don't act on it in our daily practice? There is a limit to how unfairly you can continue to treat people. There is a limit to fighting in a society to which you belong and contribute. I have been trained to speak about these matters. Another person may lack these skills and express frustration and anger at these degrading practices through violence.

We must understand well that a just and inclusive society does not come by itself. Neither does freedom. Because inclusion and freedom are verbs. They are our fundamental values and they have no meaning if we do not proclaim them daily with pride and without any restraint.”

Before I pressed send, I thought about what potential impact this tweet could have. I asked myself: ‘Is this a message I am ready to stand for? Not only now but in a decade? Am I ready to go all the way and do what is necessary to stop ethnic profiling, whatever the cost may be?’ The answer was: Yes! So I pressed send.

The rest was history. Social media posts went viral. I was called by friends, human rights organisations such as Control Alt Delete, Radar, Amnesty, PILP, de Goede Zaak, and the media. The Dutch Member of Parliament Salima Belhaj asked questions to the minister. Many people, such as the Mayor of Eindhoven, started supporting the cause.

I knew moving forward that I needed to build coalitions. I had seen with previous activists how dangerous it was to be isolated. You become a much easier target for people who want to oppose you. By building coalitions and findings allies you are much stronger.

The border police reacted publicly, and the minister as well, who actually confirmed that ethnicity is used as one of the elements or criteria in selection decisions and risk profiles. I was shocked that the border police were actually admitting that they are practising racial profiling. But according to them, it wasn't racial profiling.

After some days, I was called by the border police. They told me to put a stop to my media performances and invited me to file an official complaint. So I did. At least, I thought I did.

Fast forward to two months later. It is 17 July 2018. In a classic room on the ground floor of the Administration Building of Leiden University, located at Rapenburg 70, where I was working at the Diversity Office, I was in a meeting with my lawyer Jelle Klaas and three high-ranking officials of the border police. This was the second time that we had sat down with employees of the border police in the run-up to the hearing of the independent complaints committee. I recognised the voice of one representative of the border police. He was the one who had called me two months earlier and had told me to stop my media appearances about ethnic profiling. He delivered the same message in this conversation. He spoke deliberately, with precision and without many hand gestures: ‘Research shows that Mr Bamenga's presentation of the facts differs enormously from the presentation of the facts of our people. Ethnic profiling occurs, but that was not the case with you.’ He continued: ‘The border police employees do not want to start a conversation with you, you have done enough damage to them by unjustly showing them in a bad light. Filing an official complaint is of no use and has the opposite effect. We cannot focus on solutions if you file an official complaint.’ In the following sentences, he wanted to put more force behind his words, so he sat down for it: ‘It is better to withdraw the complaint, otherwise your reputation will be damaged. The border police employees are very angry with you, I could not vouch for the consequences if you continued with the complaint.’

I was shocked and confused by this hostile attitude. I looked to my lawyer: did I hear it correctly? Instead of receiving an apology, I was being attacked, intimidated, and threatened. The border police gave me some time to think about it. Shall I stop or continue with my complaint?

I chose to continue. You know why? Because I don't want to live in a society where we judge people by the colour of their skin. I want to live in a society which is just, inclusive, and sustainable, where is doesn't matter who you are, where you from, what your skin colour, religion, nationality, and sexual orientation is. We all enjoy human rights and are entitled to equal opportunities. This can only be possible through us, bearers of fundamental rights and values: dignity, freedom, equality, and solidarity. Respecting these rights and values should be the basis of all human actions. I choose not to escape from this responsibility, I want to dedicate myself to being an agent of change, to reaching for the better and to inspiring our generation and the next, to achieve meaningful acts that will make our world just, inclusive, and sustainable.