The Rwandan Genocide of the Hutus Against the Tutsi began in April of 19941. In one hundred days, approximately one million Tutsi and their sympathizers were killed. Merely different groups before the colonizers came, what it meant to be a Hutu— to be a Tutsi— was forcibly redefined. The Belgians exerted their power by favoring the minority group of the Tutsi in the forced labor they made them do2. The Tutsi were often put in leadership positions or higher places of power, whereas the Hutu were treated as inferior and untouchable. The Belgians justified their treatment of these groups, by claiming that the Tutsi were genetically more beautiful3 because they shared traditionally Anglo-Saxon features. Resultantly, the Belgians claimed that Tutsi were more intelligent and more capable of human emotion4. Years after colonization in Rwanda ended, the lack of infrastructure and poverty that the Belgians left behind still held a strong effect on Rwanda, but, more than anything, the stark differentiation between these groups led to hate-filled animosity. In 1959, a Hutu Rebellion began against the Tutsis both governmentally and communally. The tension finally reached its peak in April of 1994 lasting until July of 1994, when the President of Rwanda, President Juvénal Habyarimana, was killed. A significant portion of Hutus (85% of the Rwandan population) participated in the killings, and, if they refused, they were killed5.
In the years since the genocide, Rwanda has recovered remarkably well in their reconciliation efforts. The question that is ever prevalent to observers of this tragic history, then, is how have they done this? Through various NGOs, non-profit organizations, and the work of individuals and families, the work of peace-building has occurred. The Prisoner Fellowship of Rwanda is one of these organizations. Specifically, they work to provide rehabilitation and forgiveness to perpetrators of the genocide and support to the survivors. One method with which they have been able to facilitate this work is through Reconciliation Villages, composed of both victims and perpetrators living side by side6. The following passage is my experience at one of them.
Located in a small village on the outskirts of Kigali, you will see something remarkable, something that you will never be able to describe. Holes in the road that make the bus go awry, children staring at you as you pass and then letting a glimpse of a smile shine as they wave back at you. Visiting Rwanda is one of those few moments in life that feels almost sacred. That’s the only way I can describe it. There is a certainty and familiarity with wandering the streets and understanding the way the cities, villages, and towns work. I mentioned it to my mom while talking with her one night, and she revealed that she had felt similarly when visiting Auschwitz and Gettysburg– almost as if there is a sanctity or peace that falls upon the lands that have seen such atrocity.
As we pull up to two houses at the end of the road, there is a group of men and women chatting together and weaving baskets. The women weave in a sequence that highlights their talent and skill, passing the basket one to another for each intricate step. Among the villagers, there is an older woman, with whom I can only assume is her granddaughter draped over her lap in a comfortable sleep. The woman is thin, but she doesn’t look weak. In fact, she looks rather strong– perhaps it’s her posture or her direct stare, or maybe a combination of the two– a sign of what she’s seen in the many years she has lived. She had been a refugee in the late 1950s and early 1960s fleeing the Rwandan Civil War, and to think that she had survived the genocide as well? Words fail in describing the memories she must hold.
We are introduced to the crowd one by one, and each person identifies themselves as either a perpetrator of The Genocide Against the Tutsis or as a survivor. The ineffable sight of seeing these people sit next to each other is something to never forget. It feels unfathomable to try to comprehend the level of forgiveness within this group, and as the sun shines in my eyes over the grass-thatched roof, I feel blinded in more ways than one as I attempt to see how that benignity is possible.
The perpetrators of the genocide had killed these people’s families and friends and many of them had killed their own family members and friends as well. The survivor that we are listening to now is talking about how her father was murdered by the very man to whom he had just gifted a cow. She later mentions that it took her two years before she could even begin to think about forgiveness, and that she hopes she will soon be there. If it were me, I don’t know if I could ever forgive— or even want to forgive— someone for killing my family, especially in such a merciless way as was the genocide.
As I survey the individuals in front of me, I am met with face scars and insightful eyes. They are watching us, as we watch them. I wonder if we are asking too much by having these people relay this information to us. After all, the wickedness of the genocide is unmatched by anything I will ever experience, and I can’t imagine it’s easy to re-live. I will be comforted tomorrow when we hear the President of AVEGA Agahozo talk to us about her gratitude for us coming to take the responsibility of learning the truth. For now, I feel unsettled.
When the perpetrator gets up to speak, I am surprised by his appearance. He looks no different than the people around him, and while I didn’t imagine to look like anything in particular, I am startled. There is nothing distinguishing him from the man sitting a few spots down, a survivor of the killings. As he speaks, I try to imagine what he is saying. Once the interpreter's voice follows, I find myself once again jolted. The man is talking about how it was the government that led him to believe the Tutsis were different from him, no different than cockroaches coming to invade his country. I don’t know if I accept that blame entirely, for it was ultimately a conscious decision on his part to kill. But it’s what he says next that will leave an imprint on me forever. “In fear of these people asking where I buried their families, for five years I could only say hello.”
I’ve thought about the shame that the killers must feel and the grief that the survivors will battle for the rest of their lives. The trauma of the genocide won’t subside either, as children born following the slaughter have, in many cases, inherited the fear of their parents. I wonder, then, how a feeling of sacredness can occur here– how can I feel so calm and peaceful, yet know I’m walking past sites of mass murders and rape.
In a land laden with families who have experienced atrocious loss, evident in the mass graves both memorialized and unmarked, I find it impossible to understand. Yet, I think of the woman who spoke with us, and I think of her gentle tone as she talked about what she had faced; the way she sat back down upon the completion of her testimony, next to a man who very well could have killed someone she loved; the way she worded that she “hopes” to soon forgive. I wonder if that’s where the sanctity comes from then, their forgiveness. I can’t ever know, but I imagine that the answer lies somewhere in this village. For among the basket-weaving and the snuggling of children, the pot-holes and the beaming sun, the community and the honesty, there is peace.
Gourevitch, Philip. We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families: Stories From Rwanda. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1998. Print.
Rutikanga, Bernard. Kigali: Institute of Research and Dialogue for Peace, May 18 2022. Presentation.
*The Belgians believed that the Tutsi people were more genetically beautiful in that they believed that they had originally come from the North. They used eugenic ideals to measure the noses and heads of the Tutsis and Hutus. Using other subjective features, they claimed that the “traditional” characteristics of Tutsi people made them superior in not only appearance but in intelligence and human emotion. — Gourevitch, Philip. We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families: Stories From Rwanda. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1998. Print.
Gourevitch, Philip. We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families: Stories From Rwanda. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1998. Print.
Gourevitch, Philip. We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families: Stories From Rwanda. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1998. Print.
Prisoner Fellowship Rwanda. Kigali: 2022.