We wish to inform you...Stories from Rwanda

Reel Whirled Peas

What does one do when the government allows, or rather encourages, the mass murder of a segment of its population? Where does one turn when the conventional sanctuaries have turned you away, or, even worse, lured you into extermination?

As I read We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families, I caught myself asking those questions, and wondering how human beings can hate deep enough to commit these atrocities. Philip Gourevitch, through extensive first hand accounts, provides readers with real-life stories of Rwandan genocide of Tutsis in 1994. Each page seemed to be more horrible than the page before.

The numbers are staggering: During a 100-day period, at least 800,000 people were murdered, mostly be machete. That was over 10% of the entire population of Rwanda, making the massacres, as Gourevitch points out, a literal decimation of the country. Many attribute the animosities that gave rise to this inhumanity to the remnants of colonialism, which perpetuated pre-colonial roles of Tutsis as herdsmen and Hutus as cultivators. The Europeans favored the lighter-skinned Tutsis, and over time the “Hamitic Myth”, that Africans who physically best resembled Europeans were superior to their darker brethren. The Belgians exploited the myth in order to maintain control over the country, as a way to play each of the other. This was done in spite of the fact that the two groups had interbred so much that many Tutsis assumed physical attributes of the Hutu and vice versa.

Following Rwanda’s official independence in 1962, the Hutu majority ruled, and began its retribution toward Tutsis for decades of social and economic subjugation, retribution that culminated in the 1994 genocide. Once “Hutu Power”, a racist ideology that codified the destruction of Tutsis, took hold in the cities and countryside, the interahamwe death squads set about to kill all the Tutsis. The army and the police were co-sponsors of the genocide. Hospitals, schools, and churches were no longer safe havens for targeted Tutsis. Rescue was not forthcoming. Everyone abandoned the Tutsis: The United Nations, the United States and Europe. The only reason any of them survives was because of army and militias became so pre-occupied with murdering Tutsi civilians that they forgot to fight the rebel forces.

Gourevitch reports the story of Pastor Elizaphan Ntakirutimana, the president of the Seventh-day Adventist church in Rwanda, and his son, Dr. Gerard, who had been trained in the United States. The Pastor, by eyewitness accounts, helped perpetuate the slaughter of Tutsis by assuring their safety in the church and instead turning them over to the militia. Likewise, many Catholic priests and at least one Bishop allowed Tutsis to be massacred on their watch. As I read those accounts, I wondered where Christ was. How can men of God, ordained to relieve the suffering of Christ’s children, allow – even encourage – atrocities perpetrated on the defenseless? Their story was one that I wish had been in the film Hotel Rwanda. In the only country in Africa with a Christian majority, the Church failed Rwanda. I am ashamed of that.

As I read the book, I could not imagine the images. I responded to the discussion board that the film created the images I cold not create on my own: The menacing faces of the army, the jubilance of the interahamwe in the midst of hacking people to death, the calm voice over the radio encouraging Hutus to kill. To some extent, I understand war. I understand anger and action. I even understand isolated occurrences of murder, when passions overwhelm sanity. I cannot understand the murderous collusion of millions of people. I cannot understand how neighbors, in-laws, friends, and business associates can suddenly turn and hack to death people once dear to them.

The book also had a depiction of great humanity. Paul Rusesabaginga, the manager of the Hotel des Milles Collines, showed great resourcefulness and courage in finding a way to save over 1200 people. He was by no means a superhero, but rather an ordinary and pragmatic man who on at least two occasions gave up freedom from the persecution in order to tend to others. I am sure there must have been others who showed compassion and service at great personal risk, but their numbers must have paled compared to the murderers. The book, and the movie, affected me deeply.