“Our Fear and Our Hope”

Today we visited the Kigali Genocide Memorial and, needless to say, it was an emotionally straining day. It was an experience unlike any other I have ever had and I’m still struggling on how best to describe it to you all….

The memorial is a combination of a museum, stunning gardens, and mass graves. The self-guided tour began with these mass graves in which over 250,000 victims are buried. Obviously, this number is staggering and, at first, I had a difficult time fully grasping the fact that over a quarter of a million individuals were buried beneath my very feet. At the same time though, I don’t think I have ever felt as connected to the events of 1994 then I did at that moment….standing next to these graves made history a reality.

After wandering among graves and gardens for a while, I headed into the museum section of the memorial. The exhibit sought to trace the history of Rwanda from its earliest times through the genocide. In the first room, I was struck by the following quote: “Rwanda is a country of hills, mountains, forests, lakes, laughing children, markets of busy people, drummers, dancers, artisans, and craftsman. We manage to squeeze thousands of hills and eight million people into our 26,338 square kilometers. Out land is rich and fertile, the climate pleasant. This has been our home for centuries. We are one people. We speak one language. We have one history. In recent times though, genocide has cast a dark shadow over our lives and torn us apart. This chapter is a bitter part of out lives, but we must remember for those lost and for the sake of the future. This is about our past and our future. Our nightmares and dreams. Our fear and our hope. Which is why we begin where we end…with the country we love.”

The museum itself was absolutely amazing. It went throughout Rwanda’s history and emphasized how prior to colonization, Hutu, Tutsi, and Twa were socio-economic classifications within the 18 clans that made up early Rwanda. These classifications could change with personal circumstances and had few ramifications. However, under the Belgian colonial rule, these distinctions were racialized and institutionalized…imposed ethnic identity began to determine an individual’s opportunity. In short, the colonial administration favored the Tutsi due to their belief that the Tutsi was more “western” and “civilized” than the Hutu or Twa. They continued to rule through the existing Tutsi monarchies and gave the Tutsi social and economic opportunities that were not available to the Hutu or the Twa. However, when the Tutsi elite began to talk about independence, the colonial authority almost immediately began to favor the Hutus. Not surprisingly, when Rwanda was finally granted independence, power was left in the hands of a new Hutu government. What followed was a series of massacres between 1959 to 1973 in which thousands of Tutsis were slaughtered and over 700,000 were exiled. Ethnic tension increased after 1990 and again there were several waves of massacres that began in October of that year. By 1993 it had become clear that the Hutu extremists were planning to wipe out the Tutsis, and, following the assassination of the Rwanda’s Hutu president on April 6th, 1994, genocide was unleashed.

The museum than began to document the genocide itself. It had weapons that were used by the Interhamwe, accounts from survivors and perpetrators, and video evidence of some of the killings. I was particularly moved by one exhibit that documented several cases of Hutus that protected and fought alongside with the Tutsis. While it may sound corny, I find myself clinging to such examples of human goodness and hope in an otherwise dark subject matter. While Rwanda is most certainly a case study in the human capacity for evil, it also reminds us of the human capacity for love and altruism.

The exhibit then moved on to the topic of reconciliation and justice. It emphasized that the pursuit of justice is necessary after genocide in order to “end impunity, ascertain who was directly responsible, and to provide survivors with the dignity of seeing and a fair and open trial”. It explained the role of the ICTR as well as Rwanda’s use of a traditional community-based justice system, known as gacaca courts, to try accused genocidaires. In my opinion, the gacaca courts, while certainly not perfect, are vital to continued reconciliation as it allows Rwandan’s themselves to own the process, something that is notably missing in the ICTR. Additionally, the gacaca courts facilitates a much needed dialogue between victims and perpetrators.

The exhibit then concluded with the following: “ Almost ever corner of Rwanda was touched by the genocide in some way. It is impossible for us to forget the past, it is also extremely painful to remember. We remember the victims of the past because they were our family and friends….they should still be here. We also remember the events of the past, it is a terrible and unavoidable warning for our future if we do not take active steps to avoid it all over again”. This particular call to action moved me, it made me realize why I am in Rwanda. In order to make this world a better place and prevent future genocides, we must look history directly in the eye and recognize the horrors that we are indeed capable of. While it is uncomfortable, it is necessary and we have an obligation to do so. Knowledge is power.

As I entered the last room of the exhibit, I found myself in a black circular room. Along the walls hung the pictures of over two thousand victims. I sat down and began scanning the rows of pictures and on one of the first pictures I found a note scribbled on the back, "To my family, there is no begging nor end, just an endless love in life." I found myself looking at pictures of children, adults, and babies. There were young couples on their wedding days, kids celebrating their birthdays, and a grandmother holding her new grandson. There were pictures of families, couples, a man graduating from college. I couldn’t help but cry. These were people. This was me. This was you. This was real.