Given some of the issues I’ve been learning about and seeing firsthand in Rwanda (as well as Congo and Burundi) which I have discussed on my blog recently, the idea of R2P – the Responsiblity to Protect – raises some interesting questions.  At the UN, the utility of R2P is under examination.  This Economist article provides a nice context and varying perspectives.  What do you think?  Has R2P’s time come, or is its time up?

Last weekend, I traveled with fellow Survivor Corps Africa fellows, Bryan and Laura, to Gisenyi – a beach town in Rwanda on the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo – and then to Goma.  Laura did a nice job summing up our time in Gisenyi, so other than my pictures, I’ll let her words speak for that part of the trip.

Goma, however, was another world.  On Sunday morning, we – Bryan, Laura, my house mate Parker, and I – crossed over the border into the Congo.  The city – if you can really call it that – is covered in dried lava, litter, United Nations vehicles, and poverty.  As we walked through the town, we quickly learned that there was not much to see or do other than avoid being attacked by the guy following us carrying a large rock (he threw the rock at passing UN trucks, but each time retrieved it and continued his stalking of the four muzungus).

Goma

Goma

Soccer Game in Goma

Soccer Game in Goma

I have done policy and advocacy work for the DRC, studied its history and current events in grad school, and have always wanted to visit.  But, perhaps I had not given enough thought to the widespread poverty and the deteriorating security situation.  It wasn’t until I returned that I got an email from Walter, the AP fellow living in Uvira, who told me that “visiting Goma would not be a good idea, especially since there are civilian massacres going on up there.”  Our short time in Goma was not only scary, but depressing.  As Goma is only one small town in a massive country experiencing these symptoms throughout, is there any hope for recovery?

Goma's Beach Front Properties

Goma's Beach Front Properties

There are some organizations doing great work in and on the DRC.  Women for Women, which I visited in Rwanda, is also in Congo (which is where I sponsor a sister).  My old organization, ENOUGH, has a bunch of interesting advocacy campaigns going on (and I have been hanging out with the coordinators of the Congo campaign this weekend, learning more about what they are doing).  I will continue to support these efforts, and I know that they are making a difference, but walking through the wasteland of Goma and seeing its children with the bad fortune of simply being born there, left me feeling quite hopeless.

Children in Goma

Children in Goma

Cirque du Soleil a la Gisenyi

While the shooting at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum made headlines across the world earlier this summer, a grenade attack at the Kigali Memorial Center last night has not had quite the same impact on the international community.  The attack on the memorial has barely made the news in Kigali.  Although no one was killed, the attack – the third in two years – is quite upsetting in a country that claims to be progressing rapidly towards reconciliation and reconstruction.  Read the one article I could find on it here.

Last Friday, I met with Adelite Mukamana, the Coordinator for IBUKA’s Department of Trauma Counseling.  Speaking at Nyanza - a genocide massacre site which today houses IBUKA’s offices and a memorial - Adelite shared her insight on Rwanda’s progress on trauma counseling and the advantages of Survivor Corps’ signature peer support program.  She also imparted some words of wisdom for those suffering from trauma in Rwanda and throughout the world: to help one’s self, one must help others.

Charles tells his story inside Nyamata Church

Charles tells his story inside Nyamata Church

“They cut my brother with a machete.  He was bleeding everywhere.  He came to me, and said, ‘You are so very young,’ – I was eight – ‘I am going to die.  Take my blood and put it on your face and all over your body so they will take you for dead.  Lie underneath my dead body.  Pretend you are dead.’  So I did.”

Charles spoke with little emotion as he stood in the church where all of his family and friends were murdered in the first few days of the 1994 genocide.  When the genocide began, thousands of Tutsis took refuge in the church.  In 1992, during some smaller scale killings, the Tutsis saved themselves by hiding in the church.  They thought they would be safe there again.

Nyamata Church: From the outside looking in

Nyamata Church: From the outside looking in

Pointing to a small hole underneath a pew Charles said,  “I hid my head in here, and the rest of my body under my brother.  I also hid a small baby whose mother had been killed.  Everything was very chaotic.  There was so much killing and screaming and pain, but I remember his mother dying very clearly.  She put the baby with me and when she walked away, an Interhamwe chopped off her head with one whack of his machete.  Her head rolled on the floor.  I have flashbacks to this very often.”

Charles’ story – and the Nyamata Church – was one of the most difficult and graphic stories I have heard since I arrived in Rwanda. While many survivors have shared their stories, none have done so with such vivid imagery, in the exact location where the killings took place.

Nyamata Church

Nyamata Church

Charles’ facial expressions did not change as he calmly explained that the Interhamwe began by killing everyone outside of the church first, and then started on those inside with grenades.  When they blew open the doors, they chopped off arms and used them to wave goodbye to the other Tutsis, telling them that this was their fate as well.  Children were separated from their parents and thrown against walls.  Heads were tossed into the crowd as the Interhamwe instructed their captives to play soccer with their neighbor’s faces.  Babies were ripped from their mother’s stomachs so that the mothers were forced to watch their unborn children be killed before they too met the same fate.

I couldn’t help but reflect on what I learned while working at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum to be the “appropriate way to memorialize victims of genocide.”  The Museum uses privacy walls to ensure that gruesome photos are only seen by those who choose to view them, and these scenes are quite limited in number.  The emphasis is on the individual and his or her story, with the hope that people are remembered for who they were, not as simply another number in a calculated mass killing.

In Nyamata, the church benches are littered with victims’ clothing, decaying from blood and time.   The ceiling is full of holes and bloodstains, remnants of the lives destroyed by the Interhamwe’s grenades.  Below and behind the church, skulls and bones line the walls; coffins of the few identified bodies occupy the remaining space.

Skulls of Nyamata

Skulls of Nyamata

Charles survived because his dying brother shared his blood.  “The blood smelled very bad.  And after four days of hiding, the smell of decaying bodies was unbearable.  But I had no choice.”  He escaped into the swamps where he hid for four weeks until rescued by RPF soldiers.  Five others (out of thousands) from the church survived, one of which is the baby Charles hid; today the two are very close friends.  “While I don’t suffer from trauma, it is very difficult to have no family.  I am most sad when I remember my brothers, my twin brother and my brother who used his blood to save me.  I really miss them.”

I can’t help but wonder how and why Charles gives these tours through his family’s graveyard.  “For me, I have no trauma,” he tells me.  “I am lucky.  I barely even cry.  But I like to tell my story.  I know you have come a long way to hear it and I hope that you will share it with everyone.  Please tell them to visit to hear my story.  This way, if we keep talking, and if we keep telling our story, it will not happen again.”

Charles tells his story

Charles tells his story

“We can’t punish them without thinking about their future and the future of our country,” Jean-Paul Nyirindekwe, the coordinator of Travaux d’Intérêt Général (TIG) – “Works of General Interest” – told me last week when we spoke about the work of TIG, the government-sponsored program through which perpetrators of the genocide in Rwanda atone for their crimes through community service.

Many Rwandans convicted of genocide in the gacaca courts are sentenced to community service, which is led by TIG.  TIG only began its work in 2005, but it hopes – and needs – to move quickly.  As of today, almost 8,000 perpetrators have completed their service through TIG, 26,000 are currently serving their sentences in 60 camps around the country, and 40,000 still wait to be placed into a TIG camp.

Jean-Paul explained the three aspects of TIG’s programs: punishment, social reintegration, and reconstruction of society through development projects.  I wonder if punishment is the correct word to use in this case.

My mind drifts to my walk to work in Nyamirambo, I pass a TIG camp with hundreds of prisoners in pink jump suits milling around the compound, usually carrying some sort of tool to do this service work.  It is a bit disconcerting to start the morning coming face-to-face with murderers and rapists.  I think of Emilienne, of Chantal and Consolee, of all of my friends who have shared their stories from 1994. I cannot imagine what this must be like for them.

Genocidaires in the TIG program

Genocidaires in the TIG program

I’ve asked Albert about this before.  “It is necessary,” he said.  “It is the only way.”

Albert and Survivor Corps are working with TIG on the third element of the TIG program, social reintegration.  Survivor Corps will provide peer support training to TIG staff and perpetrators in TIG’s programs.  In addition to this training, Survivor Corps plans to work with local government to train and deploy community-based peer outreach workers to provide sustained support to perpetrators as they reintegrate into society.  By encouraging survivors and perpetrators to work together on community service projects, Survivor Corps and TIG will work to not only rebuild communities, but to repair relations between survivors and perpetrators.

Jean-Paul stressed the importance of TIG’s partnership with Survivor Corps.  “The social reintegration component is the major output of our program; it is our output into society and it will shape Rwanda’s future.

(Photo credit: THOMAS LOHNES/AFP/Getty Images)

Regular readers of this blog will remember Mussolini’s story.  As a landmine survivor, Mussolini struggles to make ends meet while trying to get his organization, the Association of Landmine Survivors and Amputees (ALSAR) off the ground.

Mussolini Eugene, Founder of the Association of Landmine Survivors and Amputees

Mussolini Eugene, Founder of the Association of Landmine Survivors and Amputees

We have been trying to get together over the past few weeks, but due to problems with hisprosthetic leg, we were were not able to meet up until Friday.  Although he has spent the past week in several hospitals, dealing with expensive and painful medical treatments, Mussolini was nothing but optimistic and upbeat.  He was excited to begin work on his web site and incredibly thankful for Survivor Corps’ help.  ALSAR’s site is brand new, but with Mussolini’s dedication to the organization, I think it will be up and fully running shortly.  Check out what he’s done so far.

Consolée and Chantal at ARCT-Ruhuka

Consolée and Chantal at ARCT-Ruhuka

“Vous êtes un survivant?” I asked Consolée Mukeshimana.  During my time in Rwanda, speaking with Survivor Corps’ partners, I’ve noticed a pattern.  Every trauma counselor I’ve spoken with is a survivor of the genocide.  So, I just assumed that Consolée would fit the mold.

Sitting in ARCT-Ruhuka’s conference room, Consolée hesitated and laughed nervously.  She looked toward Chantal, the other trauma counselor who was part of our joint-interview.  “Quelle est la definition d’un survivant?”  Consolée asked.

What is my definition of a survivor? I was taken off guard, so I turned the question around, “Qu’est-ce que vous pensez?”

No luck, Consolée replied, “I asked you.” I told her – in my broken French – that a survivor is someone who has experienced a traumatic, life altering, mental or physical injury; has faced and accepted his or her injury; and has chosen to continue on with life and give back to the community, in particular those suffering from similar trauma.

Consolée relaxed a bit.  Then she said something I have not heard any other Rwandan say since I have been here, “Je suis Hutu.”  Not only is it inappropriate – and somewhat illegal – to talk about ethnicity in Rwanda today (if you were to cross politically correct lines and ask someone’s identity, you would most likely hear, “I am Rwandan”), but I had yet to meet a Rwandan so open about being a Hutu.

There was a long pause.  Chantal chimed in, “Just because she was Hutu, it does not mean she killed.  She was in opposition to the genocidaires.  She was afraid of them. She does not know if that makes her a survivor.”

Neither do I.  But one thing I learned during our interview is that Consolée has adopted the attitude of many other trauma counselors that survived the genocide.  In true Survivor Corps’ fashion, she has accepted the scars of the genocide, taken back her life, and is now giving back to those who suffer from trauma today.

Following the genocide, Consolée saw that there were many people throughout the country suffering from psychological wounds.  “There was lots of stress, fear, psychological problems,” she told me.  “In 1996, I began my training to become a counselor because I wanted to help those still experiencing trauma.”  She was working as a social worker in a rural health center when Trocaire – the Christian charity that trained many of ARCT-Ruhuka’s counselors – came to her district and asked for volunteers.  It was a no-brainer for Consolée; she joined the Trocaire team, and continues her work today as a counselor with ARCT-Ruhuka.

Chantal – a survivor who lost her husband during the genocide – has a similar post-genocide story.  She too saw the difficulties that many people faced following the genocide and began her studies to be a trauma counselor.  “It is good to talk and commemorate because memory is part of the healing process,” Chantal said.  “I help people express their emotions and overcome their fears.”

Both Chantal and Consolée are optimistic.  There are not nearly enough psychosocial services in the country, but they believe their continued work and the peer support training that Survivor Corps has provided to their counselors will begin to bear fruit.  As more counselors gain training throughout the country, survivors will be able to assist one another in the recovery process.  Chantal and Consolée are looking forward to gaining more training in peer support and helping spread this process to other counselors throughout the country.  “Mutual experience is the best way to help,” Consolée said smiling.