Silence in the courtroom

(Baonghean) - The image of young children, too young to understand the complexities of life, accompanying their relatives to the courthouse to reunite with their parents, moved many in the courtroom to tears and sorrow...

Illustration photo: An Vinh

1.In late May 2014, at the courtroom of the Provincial People's Court, the Supreme Court of Appeal was hearing the case of the illegal trafficking of 255 blocks of heroin. I paid particular attention to a boy, about 10 years old, with a handsome but somewhat sad face. Occasionally, he would peek through the door, trying to see into the courtroom where the defendants were waiting for their turn. Upon inquiry, I learned that he was the son of defendant Nguyen Hoai Thu (born in 1980, residing in Que Phong district). Along with her accomplices, Thu participated in and became a crucial link in the illegal trafficking of 255 blocks of heroin from Laos to Vietnam. Thu directly participated in the buying, selling, and transporting of 70 blocks of heroin. With this "enormous" quantity of drugs, the teacher from the border region received the death penalty.

Thu once had a warm and loving family, but they went their separate ways, and her son was left to her ex-husband's care. Later, he remarried, and the boy went to live with his paternal grandparents. “My mother used to visit occasionally, always bringing me gifts, but it’s been a long time since she came back or bought me anything. My grandparents let me visit her once a month. Every 20 days, I get to see her. She told me to be good and study hard. She said she would come back after being away for a while,” the boy told me, his eyes never leaving his mother. He then mentioned that he had achieved excellent grades last school year. “Mom promised that if I studied hard, she would come back to me. But I’ve been waiting and still haven’t seen her,” his voice trailed off as he heard about his mother’s crimes over the courthouse loudspeaker. The trial was postponed for several reasons. As Nguyen Hoai Thu was being escorted to the vehicle to return to prison, the boy was led by his family to the courtroom entrance so he could see his mother more clearly. He stood on tiptoe, trying to show his mother, "I got excellent grades!" Thu glanced back at her son, then lowered her head and silently followed the escorting officers, as if trying to escape the child's bewildered gaze. The boy held a relative's hand, saying proudly, "My mother said she'll be home in a few days." No one wanted to shatter the boy's hope, so they forced a smile, and although they didn't say it out loud, everyone understood that with 70 blocks of heroin, his mother's path home seemed closed…

At the end of July, when the Supreme Court of Appeal reopened at the People's Court of Cua Lo Town, Thu withdrew her appeal, accepting the death penalty of the previous first-instance verdict. I also didn't have the chance to see the boy again, but I still believe he's trying his best to study hard and wait for his mother to return!

2.The trial of Nguyen Ngoc Hoan (born in 1980, residing in Dien Chau town) did not attract many attendees. Hoan was prosecuted for illegally trafficking narcotics. When his accomplices were arrested, he quickly escaped. But justice prevailed, and after six months on the run, Hoan was apprehended. His wife and two daughters traveled by bus to Vinh City to attend the trial. Despite the incriminating evidence presented by the prosecution, Ms. Thai Thi T. – Hoan's wife – insisted that Hoan was innocent because he loved his wife and children very much (in this trial, Hoan did not admit to his crime, but in the subsequent appeal trial, he changed his testimony and pleaded guilty, resulting in a reduced sentence from 20 years to 17 years in prison – PV).

Hoan's eldest daughter, now eight years old, acted like the "big sister" by looking after her younger sibling while her mother went into the courtroom. Looking up with her clear eyes and long eyelashes, she said, "My mom said my dad was away on a long business trip, but we waited and waited and he never came back. Now that he's back, I'm sure he'll be home with us soon, right, Uncle? When Dad goes on business trips, Mom works the night shift, so my sister and I lock the door and sit inside. At first, we were scared, but now we're used to it and not afraid anymore. When Dad comes home, he'll work in Mom's place, and Mom will stay home with us at night." Her younger sister, just over five years old, ran around the courthouse hallway, prompting her older sister to pull her back and keep her still beside her on a chair outside the courtroom. "Last year, Dad Hoan bought me a really big birthday cake. Mom said that for my next birthday, when Dad comes back from his business trip, he'll buy me an even bigger cake, a two-tiered one!" the little girl happily boasted.

The trial ended, Hoan was escorted to the car, and Ms. Thuy, holding her two children's hands, walked home with a sorrowful expression on her face. The younger daughter shook her mother's hand and asked, "Why hasn't Dad come home yet? Is he on another business trip, Mom? Will he come home for my birthday? Will he buy me a birthday cake?" Ms. Thuy smiled at her daughter, but it was a tearful smile, "Dad's on this last trip, then he'll be back." Hearing her mother's answer, the little girl skipped happily down the street. Little did she know that this "trip" of her father's would be very long, and by the time he could give her another birthday cake, she would have become a young woman, no longer as innocent as she was now.

To the law, those standing before the dock are defendants facing legal judgment, but to these innocent children, they are their fathers and mothers, their support, their hope, and the source of their love. They are too young to understand that their father(s) are paying the price for their crimes. They come to court simply to see their parents, even if those encounters can only be seen from afar, their innocent, clear eyes searching for the warmth of maternal love… That silence in the courtroom filled me with sorrow and bitterness.

Khang Hoa