16927: (Hermantin) Miami-Herald-Abner Louima, Good Works dominate life of brutality vic (fwd)

[Bob Corbett <corbetre@webster.edu>]

From: leonie hermantin <lhermantin@hotmail.com>

Posted on Sun, Oct. 12, 2003

PROFILE | ABNER LOUIMA
Good works dominate life of brutality victim Abner Louima
Sodomized by police in New York, he lives quietly in Miami-Dade, using money
from a settlement in part to help other Haitians.
BY JACQUELINE CHARLES
jcharles@herald.com



Television cop shows use his name as universally recognized shorthand for
police brutality. So do the media.

It seems as if everyone knows the name: Abner Louima. And those who don't at
least know of the horrifying event that brought him national attention:
being sodomized with a broken broomstick inside a bathroom in Brooklyn's
70th Precinct by a New York City police officer.

But few know the man who has been living quietly and rebuilding his life in
South Florida for the past two years. He left New York to guard his privacy,
protect his family and, in some small way, return to a normal existence.

''There is a time to heal,'' Louima said. ``It's time to start the healing
process. It may be a long one for me.''

During the most in-depth interview he has granted since the assault, Louima
reluctantly spoke about his life since that 1997 assault. It catapulted the
Haitian immigrant into something he never wanted to be: an activist and a
cause célbre.

Louima now spends a good bit of his time quietly campaigning against police
brutality, taking part in a protest two years ago in North Bay Village in
support of a Haitian pastor who died while in police custody, and demanding
that independent civilian councils review such cases.

He also does charity work, mainly on behalf of Haitians. For instance, he is
paying the schooling fees for about two dozen Haitian youngsters living in
his old neighborhood of Tomassin, outside Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

''My first priority is not here. It's Haiti,'' said the 37-year-old former
security guard and car salesman, who travels to Haiti frequently. ``By God
saving my life, I feel I owe something to help others.''

And only God, he said, knows how deeply the attack has affected him. That is
something he refuses to share, saying only, ``I believe in destiny.
Everything that happens in your life is supposed to happen.''

Louima said he has never sought any professional psychological help to deal
with the trauma of the assault.

''For what?'' he said, without hesitation. ``I have to choose my own way to
cope.''

This is what happened: Six years ago on an August night, Louima was
handcuffed and arrested after a scuffle outside a Brooklyn nightclub,
although he maintained he had not been involved in any fight. He was then
sodomized and left in a police station bathroom. He spent two months
hospitalized with internal injuries including a ruptured bladder and colon.

Prosecutors brought criminal charges against several police officers in what
they called a racially motivated attack. But the legal battles dragged on
for years.

In the midst of this, Louima and his wife, Micheline received an $8.75
million settlement from the city of New York and the Police Benevolent
Association. After attorney fees, he walked away with $5.75 million --
enough to finance a new life.

''I am an investor,'' said Louima, giving a rare hint about how he's using
the money, which is being paid in installments.

His investment portfolio consists of houses -- not stocks, he said. A year
ago, Louima went into business. He founded a real estate and property
management firm he named Babou Enterprises, after his Haitian nickname.

INTROSPECTION

It is here in the storefront office space with water-stained ceiling tiles
and worn carpeting -- and not at the four-bedroom, five-bathroom Miami Lakes
house he purchased last year for $475,000 -- that Louima reflects on his
life. Babou Enterprises is in a North Miami Beach shopping center, between
an abortion clinic and a lingerie shop.

''I chose real estate because it is easier and more stable than the stock
market,'' Louima said inside the sparsely furnished room decorated solely
with photographs. They include pictures of his wife and three children, ages
12, 7 and 4, and of him with boxing promoter Don King, civil rights activist
Martin Luther King III and one of his attorneys. ``I do not have one dime on
the stock market.''

Throughout the interview, Louima rarely let his guard down. He is
soft-spoken but on point, seldom elaborating except when the question turns
to Haiti's upcoming bicentennial celebrations and his plans to send some
Haitian-American youngsters to celebrate the event next year in Haiti. He
held a festival fundraiser in Miami last summer for the venture.

MUCH IN DEMAND

Since his financial settlement, Louima has become highly sought-after,
either for his name or his money. He treats all the requests as he does
everything else in his life: He does not dwell. He thinks about it and moves
on.

''I will always remain positive for the rest of my life,'' he said.

Louima, drawing on a biblical proverb, said he prefers to teach someone to
fish rather than to give the person a fish. This principle has led him to
pay the school fees -- between $50 and $100 annually -- for the Haitian
children he supports. The school is run by a local Catholic priest. Louima
is Baptist.

''With the education, there is no way they will go into the streets robbing
people or killing them,'' said Louima, the last of his siblings to come to
the United States in 1990 to join his parents in New York.

He simultaneously jokes that he has no money while declaring that he'll
never be broke. Louima functions like someone with $5,000 and not $5
million, waking up early every morning, driving east on State Road 826 from
his quiet, ungated home to work.

When his children question why he works, he says:

``You may have something now, but if you don't make it work for you, it will
be tough. I have to teach them the reality of life.''

Later he elaborates a little, saying, ``I am not working for me, but to
create something for my children to follow.''

His priorities, he said, are his family -- and Haiti.

''If I have anything, I believe the first dollar has to go to Haiti,'' said
Louima, who concedes he and his family travel with bodyguards around the
U.S. from time to time because he is concerned about their safety.

FOUNDATION

To help him accomplish his goals for Haiti, he has started the nonprofit
Abner Louima Foundation. It has three primary goals: providing financial aid
to needy children in Haiti, constructing senior citizens centers, primarily
for Haitians in Miami and New York, and building several hospitals in Haiti.

Providing medical care in a country where doctors lack even the basics to do
their jobs properly is the most challenging of the goals.

''Wherever there is a need, if I can help, I will do it,'' said Louima, who
is currently looking for a site in Port-au-Prince to build what he hopes
will be the first of several hospitals. His foundation, he said, will help
raise both the private and government donations needed to make the project a
reality.

Until now, many of Louima's philanthropic efforts have been funded out of
his pocket and with little fundraising. His biggest public effort to date
was the Haitian American Day Festival in July.

''He's become a very productive citizen. He is not resting on his laurels,''
said Miami City Commissioner Art Teele, who met Louima through attorney
Johnnie Cochran when Louima was exploring moving to South Florida. ``He
helps people from time to time but doesn't make a spectacle of it. He's very
committed to Haitians and Haitian causes.''

A BIT OF FLASH

Teele, who has made Louima a political ally, described Louima as very
understated. There are exceptions. In addition to his current home -- which
cost twice as much as the first one he bought when he first arrived here --
there are the cars: A black Mercedes-Benz G 500 ($77,000), and a black
Cadillac Escalade EXT ($55,000). Among the three pieces of gold jewelry he
wears is a bracelet on his right arm, with his nickname, Babou, spelled in
diamonds.

Teele and others say Louima recognizes that the attack has changed his life
in both positive and negative ways. One constant reminder: a blown-up photo
inside his house showing New Yorkers demonstrating on his behalf.

''You can't walk in and not see it,'' Teele said.

With that kind of awareness, few were surprised when Louima agreed to be
active in the campaign for an independent citizens review board in the city
of Miami.

''He has a real understanding of where he is [in society],'' said Max
Rameau, a Miami-Dade County activist and an advocate of the board who got
Louima involved.

Comparing Louima to Rodney King, another victim of police brutality, Rameau
said, Louima ``is where Rodney King should be right now: someone who can
come into a city and have a direct and immediate impact on social issues.''

``Rodney King has not been able to deal with what happened to him. Abner
Louima represents in my mind full redemption, not that he did anything
wrong. He took something bad that happened to him and turned it into a
positive.''

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