R. v. Aziz

by

Tristan Marajh

TORONTO POLICE, 23 DIVISION. 2:23 P.M.

"Arrest me! I am a rapist!" She clattered through the door, knocking over the waste-bin next to it. Her eyes blazed fierce sorrow. Hair, disheveled.

Hamid, Louis and Marla all looked up from their paperwork, mouths open. Marla sat stunned, her Tim Hortons coffee cup held in midair, not reaching her lips. The woman pounded on the countertop.

"I am a rapist, arrest me now! Please, now!"

"Stop shouting." Hamid was the first one to approach her and stood directly in front of her. "What is your name? When did you commit rape?" The woman hunched over the countertop, stamping her right leg restlessly, her face buried in her crossed arms. Civilians and other officers in the station stared, riveted to what was happening mere meters from them.

The woman looked up, lost in her own thoughts. Her face was wet with perspiration and tears. "He was so trusting...so giving. He did not question me. I took advantage. I cannot bear it." Her words were directed to no one in the office.

Hamid, six years on the force, scowled. There had not been any rapists, far less female ones, or warnings about them for a very long time. "Constable Woods, assist me in taking this woman into Room 234," he told Marla. To Louis he said: "Constable Tam. Look at the number of people here staring, not filing their reports. Let's get them processed and out." Marla approached the woman, hand on her baton. Her steel-toed boots upon the floor was the only sound Louis was aware of. She and Hamid accosted the woman, took her by both arms and led her past the cluttered work desks, through the doors into the hallway leading to Room 234. Her back hunched in surrender, the woman let herself be escorted by the two officers.

Louis was new on the job, wading through mandatory hours of desk work. He did not yet have that stoic persona of the many officers, paramedics and firemen that passed through his Division office. Killers, thieves, gang members, drug pushers - they all made their way through his workspace. Work is work - that was the attitude of most of his colleagues. How could disgust, or outrage and desire for justice ever become contained with this stoicism? He both feared and admired this. The woman's words loomed and lingered in his thoughts - trusting...took advantage. Louis wondered about the state of the unknown victim. How old was he? What was he doing before he was raped?

Some minutes over two hours passed. Hamid and Marla came out with the woman. Her face was contorted with anxious sadness. Marla tossed a cassette toward Louis that landed on his desk. She leaned on her own desk, picked up the cup of coffee she was working on earlier. "That was kind of bizarre," she remarked, pointing her thumb toward Hamid and the woman.

"What's her lawyer saying?" Louis asked, looking over at the downcast woman as Hamid spoke to her.

"She doesn't think she needs a lawyer."

"Haha, right. She's probably gonna scour the defense ads now. Impulsive confessions and guilt only last until they hear somethin' like 'twenty years'."

"She still feels guilty, all right," Marla spoke, her eyes concentrating on the woman, examining her. The woman still looked barely able to keep herself together since confessing two hours ago, let alone overpower someone. Marla started as if she was going to say more, then paused. Louis waited for her to continue. Instead, she turned to him, gesturing her chin toward the cassette that she tossed upon his papers. "Have a look when you can. I gotta run. Incident on Dovercourt." She threw her cup into the waste bin they shared, grabbed her hat and left.

***

TORONTO POLICE, 23 DIVISION. 11 P.M.

11 P.M. Another long shift over, Louis smoothened out the papers on his desk, finally realizing he had to urinate. He flicked off light switches and a couple fans around the office that were whirring for no one and walked to the toilet. After finishing, he re-entered the work area, giving his own desk a once-over and saw the video cassette that Marla had earlier tossed upon his desk. Just two hours, he reasoned to himself. He pushed a toonie into the vending machine, pulling out a packet of Cheetos and a Canada Dry ginger ale. Louis liked hanging back at the station after most people had gone. It was then that he felt an organic sense of appreciation for the building he worked in: its long hallways with witness rooms, offices and holding cells on either side; the library containing massive file cabinets and encyclopaedic law books, both old and new. The law was embedded in here.

He thought about the woman who came in earlier. A real shame. Looks young - the good years of her life going to be spent in jail. She could have been an old MacMaster University friend, graduating merely four years ago like him, meeting up on the occasional summer weekend for a BBQ or after work for some late night Chinese food. Real shame, he thought, punching in his ID digits to enter the video room. Inside, he pushed the cassette into the player, opened the bag of Cheetos and sat back, propping his feet on the table. He fast-forwarded the scenes where Marla and Hamid formally introduced themselves to the camera and where they went through routine explanations to the woman about her rights, where to sign and Criminal Code of Canada reminders - a process that reminded Louis of his first days on the force, job-shadowing. He stopped fast-forwarding, pressed PLAY.

"Are you sure you do not want a lawyer present, Ms. Aziz?" asked Hamid.

"I do not. And I would not hire any lawyer willing to represent me after what I have done."

"There are hundreds of criminal defence attorneys in the city. The office here can even provide you with one if you cannot afford it."

"Please." Ms. Aziz wrung her knuckles against her forehead. "Please do not be so accepting. Let us talk so that I can be sent away quickly."

Marla and Hamid looked at each other. "Okay then Ms. Aziz." Marla continued, edging a cup of Tim Hortons coffee nearer. This girl must go through five cups an hour, Louis thought, watching. "The video is recording. Remember, you are under oath. Please run through the entire incident for us, truthfully and to the best of your recollection."

"Where to begin, where to begin, how to start?" her eyes searched the ceiling. "I have been a rapist for the past seven years. Frequent incidents."

"How many victims?" Marla asked. Hamid held his breath.

"One young individual on numerous occasions." Ms. Aziz said. She paused for a while, closed her eyes and went on, "and three of his sons." Louis stopped chewing. Shock gripped the inside of his body. He knew Hamid and Marla felt it too - there was distinct silence on video. No amount of time on the force would make someone immune to that kind of evil.

"Where are they all now?" Hamid, more of a demand than a question.

"They seem to have moved on. Of course I have set them back psychologically. Yet they have never pressed charges toward me."

Marla took a gulp of her coffee - that's a swig, thought Louis - to ease her twitching face muscles. "Ms. Aziz. You are clearly not an old person. You realize the magnitude of what you have done. If you want any hope of having a few years of your life left to rebuild yourself and give back to society in some meaningful way, you will need a lawyer to ensure that you do not spend the entire remainder of your life in prison."

"This is kind. I do not deserve this..."

"I won't tell you what you deserve." Hamid uttered, glaring at her in what looked to Louis like almost uncontrollable angry disbelief. He did not buy her remorse.

"...I do not deserve this, a lawyer. I was so confident. I was so sure of myself, that I could live easily like that for a long time. There is too much acceptance directed to me." Ms. Aziz leaned her arms in on the desk bowed her head, propping it with her arm on the desk. "He paid for all my medical bills. All of them, no questions asked. He paid for my graduate school tuition. He...He..." she began to stammer.

"Get it together." Hamid demanded.

"He helped me to get married."

Marla closed her eyes and shook her head abruptly. She leaned in on the table, looking directly at Ms. Aziz. "Tell me if I am clear. You say you raped this person numerous times, over seven years. You also raped three of his sons over that time. Correct?"

Ms. Aziz nodded slowly, looking at Marla's coffee cup.

"Now, this same person - aware of what you did to his sons - paid for your medical bills. He also put you through school and 'helped' you get married, as you worded it. Correct?"

Ms. Aziz nodded, even more slowly, closing her eyes and internalizing her guilt. "I do not know if his sons told him. Or each other. They were that attached to me. I believed I was so much in control. I thought it was so easy. I lived without even caring as to what I was doing..." Louis shook his head. Who is this victim?

Hamid and Marla leaned in to each other, exchanging words low-key, indecipherable to Louis. The distress on Hamid's face was evident. Marla faced the camera and spoke. "Officer Atouba and I were discussing the length of recording time that has passed. We will now step outside to discuss with each other, while Ms. Aziz will remain seated until we re-enter." Marla turned to Ms. Aziz. "Ms. Aziz, do you understand?"

She nodded.

Marla and Hamid left the room. Louis watched as Ms. Aziz crossed her arms on the table and dropped her head into them. The video was silent. A few minutes passed - maybe more than six, when Marla and Hamid re-entered and sat down.

"Okay. Ms. Aziz. We think it best not to continue until you have an attorney - "Hamid put his hand up, stopping Ms. Aziz from objecting, then went on: "- present. Obviously this will need to go to trial."

Marla spoke, continuing. "We will need to see if the first victim and the next three victims will come forward as well. They will need to provide victim impact statements, which they may either read in court or each by their own particular representative. These statements will contribute to the jury's decision. You will be interviewed by both a prosecutor and your attorney, and those two lawyers will also interview the victims. Understood? Until then, we will need you to remain at the station."

Ms. Aziz nodded, slightly more self-collected. "Not a problem. Keep me here as long as you must. I expect nothing more. I want nothing more."

"Alright." Hamid looked at the camera. "This has been the first taped in-station discussion of R. v. Aziz, dated the seventh of August, two thousand and ten. Location is the twenty-third division. Trial date to be determined." He got up, reached toward the player next to him and pressed a button. The screen turned blue, then shut off.

Louis exhaled loudly, got up and returned the cassette to Marla's desk. Gonna try to sit in on this one, he thought to himself. He shut the office door behind him and headed home.

***

TORONTO ONTARIO COURT OF JUSTICE, ROOM 230, 10:30 A.M.

On trial day, Louis organized his schedule so that he would attend for a couple of hours. CityTV cameras were set up outside the courthouse and members of the public had come. Some individuals were interviewed live at the courthouse. Louis overheard fragments as he walked by:

"...always showed a responsible and dedicated front to our community. We were proud how she lived according to its principles..."

"The victim's future has been hurt. He has developed isolation complexes..."

"The double-life is shocking to us. Deeply troubling..."

After trial came to order and progressed, it was understood that the first victim did not show up. No one expected him to. He sent a written victim impact statement that was read over microphone by the judge:

"Day by day I try to put the incidents behind me. Suppression and denial are the best coping mechanisms I have. I have been enjoying a time of economic strength and promise after a very difficult time and I hope it lasts. In the wintertime, I stifle my emotions. In the summer, I feel full of promise. Spring and autumn, it varies, but I am overall calm and I keep positive.

Ms. Aziz, by her actions, has destabilized my very sense of self. My identity. I feel as if I do not know who I am and this is a very unsettling and at times depressing sense of being. There is much of her influence in me, more and more planted with each incident that had passed, making me undone. So much, that I feel stifled and that I cannot truly grow psychologically - something I have been trying to do for a long time, since 1971. Sometimes I think of returning to the North, where I feel strong and free.

I am aware that this is partly my own doing. We teach others how to treat us. This is a universal truth. Who knows the right lesson? I have been extremely accommodating and tolerant of Ms. Aziz's actions. I let her be her full self, her entire self without challenge and allowed him to express her full capacity for barbarity, ignorance, selfishness and remorselessness. I was conveniently used. I have only kept myself back from my full potential.

It is true that I paid for her medical bills. It is a principle of mine that I will do my best for anyone who professes devotion to me. It is also true that I paid for her graduate school tuition fees. Her academic work ethic was excellent and I rewarded her in our relationship by ensuring she went to one of the best universities.

I am aware that she said that I helped her to get married. Given that I have taken care of her health and academic finances for so long, it is no surprise that she can do this easily. I do not wish to express any words of contempt toward Ms. Aziz. I only hope that her children will not learn from her and instead more so from their own innate kindness.

There are no physical wounds, only mental ones. I continue onward to discover who I can truly be."

Ms. Aziz hung her head. Her eyes were tightly shut, as if trying to squeeze from her mind the awareness that the courtroom was looking at her. Her lawyer stared ahead in deep contemplation. The courtroom was hushed for some time, then broke out into subtle whispers of comments and discussion. The judge rapped her gavel. A quietness returned.

"We will now have our first in-court victim impact statement read. His name is Vincent Malcolm."

Vincent got up from his seat and strode toward the witness box with a sheet of paper in hand, dress shoes clopping on the floor. He sat down, passed his gaze over Ms. Aziz and her attorney and waited.

"Vincent is a resident neurologist at Mount Sinai. He was gracious enough to take the time off to read his piece. Mr. Malcolm." The judge looked at him, nodded.

"I met Ms. Aziz in graduate school. She was very charming, attentive and enjoyable to be with socially and academically. We became closer - or so I thought - and became intimate. A relationship, to me, ensued. I became very attached to her and started envisioning my life around her. However, even though we frequently spent time together as an intimate couple, she never introduced me as her companion to her family. On occasion I dropped her off blocks from her house upon her insistence so that people would not see her with me." Vincent shook his head, surveying memory. "It made me feel like she had another life. I had made it clear that I wanted a meaningful relationship; however before long I realized it was mostly physical for her. Her abandon accepted, her demands for her needs met."

Vincent paused, swallowed a lump in his throat, jaw muscles fighting against rising memories that had been buried.

"There is not much to say. I had felt diminished and discarded. Every day I wonder if simply being human alone is not enough to be respected and to be treated with a sense of dignity. I looked for the human in her, the one where she could step back and look at her actions from a human perspective. A compassionate perspective. I do not know if it can be found."

Vincent stopped reading, looked up at the people in the courtroom.

"This country is my home. A place where I try to establish a sense of self. Ms. Aziz's actions have destabilized that place for me. I do not know it. I see it differently, not for what I thought it can be, but what she makes me think that it is. I have obviously felt the death of something hopeful in me." Vincent's lips trembled. "Not anymore." He shook his head, scattering thoughts he did not want. He looked down at Ms. Aziz's downcast figure. "I have been reclaiming that place now."

"Thank you, Mr. Malcolm." He arose and walked out of the courtroom. Louis watched him as he went.

The court recessed and Louis joined Hamid and Marla in the hallway. They simply looked at one another and gave deep exhalations, each individually processing the trial so far. Looking out the courthouse windows, they watched CityTV reporters mulling around outside, bearing the hot temperature. Even inside the courthouse, Louis could feel his shirt sticking to his back with perspiration. He remembered the first victim's words: 'I think of returning North, where I feel strong and free.' Marla sipped an Iced Cappuccino and asked Louis if he managed to view the initial Aziz interview video.

"Yeah. Stayed back the same evening and took it in."

The bailiff notified the crowd that the proceedings were to continue and everyone walked in. A woman with long, greying curls, wearing glasses and a knit sweater sat in the witness box. Looks like a librarian, Louis thought. She was introduced to court as Ms. Aziz's assigned psychiatrist. Jhumpa Huhnj was her name. Louis looked at his watch. 1:30 P.M. He took out his pen and wrote on his notepad, peeled off the page and handed it to Hamid, who sat next to him. Hamid read it, then passed it to Marla: Have to go now. Desk work. See if you can get a transcript copy from the court reporter for me so I'll catch up later. Or a video, if you can. Thanks.

***

TORONTO POLICE, 23 DIVISION. 11:43 P.M.

Ms. Aziz feels tremendous guilt and depression over her actions. While otherwise healthy, her medical history shows frequent visits to her private doctor and the hospital for common human ailments such as the flu, chest pains, fatigue problems, colitis, OCD, bowel issues, and insomnia. Important checkups such as blood tests, physical examinations, ECG's and x-rays all provided and endorsed as well. Of course these were all covered by our Health Care Program, free of charge for citizens.

Such problems did not impede her academic performance. Having studied diligently, she was awarded an Ontario Scholarship that covered her tuition, paid for by the government.

Having migrated from Pakistan, she came with her family, along with expectations and her own personal belief that she work very hard academically and accept the guiding principles of that country's culture which stipulate that she raise a family with a man of Pakistani background, drawing the both families together and keeping the economic strength within that union. Economic strength is an important consideration in marriage, she admits, and attributes her education as the basis of it. The opportunities afforded her here ultimately gives her the ease to serve the strength and perpetuation of Pakistan's culture, since she can give her own potential children the stability and comfort to learn the language, social and ceremonial traditions of Pakistan. Ms. Aziz never intended to become involved with the first victim on an intimate psychological level and contribute to the future well-being of his life.

During her time at school and the early work years, she had these involvements with the young men, all citizens of Canada, but knowing fully well that her long-term future - for her own personal desire and for her family - was with a man of Pakistani background. As a result, as time and attachments faded, these men realized that their involvements with her were merely avenues for her personal lust and sexual experience. She has never intended to become involved with them psychologically, or show them to her community. She has led a double-life, where she is the model member of her community in their company - respectful, revering and obedient. Then, outside of it, another side of her takes over, where she has numerous sexual partners and lives a careless life. These two lives never intersect.

Louis put down the transcript papers of the first court date of R. v. Aziz. Internally, he felt something coming together. An understanding. A realization. He dialed Marla's number, hoping she wouldn't be busy or asleep. The phone rang five times. C'mon Marla, he thought. Drop your coffee and pick up. Louis was expecting to reach her voicemail when the line opened.

"Hello." A tired-sounding voice sounded.

"Hey Marla, Louis. Listen, you and Hamid also interviewed the first victim right?"

"What?"

"The Aziz case."

"Oh. Uh, no. All I know about him was through my conversations with the prosecution and defense lawyers."

"What's his name? The first victim."

"We really shouldn't be talking about this, Louis."

"No one said we can't."

"All we know about him was read in court. None of us know who he truly is."