When my brother and I first started discussing going to Africa, one of the things that he brought up first was going to visit the Rwanda genocide sites. We both share the passion for human rights and in our own small way we work to to right injustices in the world. That includes having to do our own personal work around our own implicit biases, unconscious racism and conscious racism.
In our much younger lives, when we were still children, we both experienced targeted hatred that left permanent scars. Perhaps it is those scares that left us wanting to do better in the world as we moved into adulthood. Growing up in a Jewish home antisemitism was rampant and I was the direct victim on many occasions. Going to Hebrew school for years, I was not shielded from the atrocities of the holocaust. And still it wasn’t until I visited Yad Vhshem at age 13 did the stark dark reality of genocide fully hit home. I knew that going to Rwanda meant that I had to go to that memorial site and pay respect. I had to face the horrors of this genocide with eyes wide open. I knew it would be painful and still nothing could prepare me for what I saw.
I knew the numbers, the casualties, and the death, rape torture mutilation but to listen to the stories of survivors in their own words (through video), to see their photos, to see their clothing hanging in display, and to see the skulls and bones of those a few bodies of the over one million that died was overwhelming and life altering.
One of the things I read was about a little girl whose parents were killed, and at four years old, she was orphaned and had to sleep under a banana tree. And she was one of hundreds of thousands of orphaned children. At that point in the museum, I had to find a quiet bench, and just allow myself to shed tears of deep horror and pain. Hundreds of thousands of people were left with no families. Hundreds of thousands of people are orphaned. It was beyond devastating to see the reality in front of my eyes to pictures and to hear their voices. What stood out the most is that the world stood by allowed this and even more horrifying, even encouraged it with the help of foreign support.
We always ask ourselves, "how could this happen?" once it is all over. Yet, we see this type of atrocity repeated again and again. The museum did a great job explaining about the propaganda that went on to split people amongst each other. The imperialist-colonists started it and after a barrage of media campaigns, over an extended period of time, the people turned against each out in a way that brought mass destruction. While I stood there looking at photos and reading the history, I could not help but reflect on the propaganda that is going on in in the United States of America right now. What happened in Rwanda is happening in other places of the world. It is happening in the land I call home. The propaganda that is being spread a dangerous seed.
At the heart of much of the propaganda was racism and entitlement. The wreckage of colonialism and imperialism in Africa, and other pieces in the world, have led to some of the most horrific catastrophes. Here in Rwanda millions of people died because a European country decided that they had the right to the riches of the land and wanted to separate and split the people into hating each other so that they would prosper in the end. There was no separation of ethnic groups until the colonizers made it so. Then, once there were two groups, they were pitted against each other until we were left we a genocide so horrible that there are no words to fully describe it. We saw on display some of the clubs, hoes, and other tools that were used to mutilate children, women and men; people whose only crime was that they were labeled a different ethnic group by the Europeans. The end result was genocide and trauma for those who lived. There are thousands and thousands of people who grew up without parents and their siblings, and I’ve had to make their way in the world, Karen, such deep, brutalizing trauma.
We were fortunate to meet a lovely fellow, who helped with transportation during our time in the city, and he felt comfortable enough to share with us that he was 3 years old Genocide happen. And that’s about all he said. I don’t ask anymore questions and I did not want to pry to pray. And, I didn’t really want to know. I had already seen enough to break my heart over and over.
We left rocks on the mass grave site, a Jewish custom. There are about one hundred thousand people buried at the museum site but so many more were left on the sides of the roads, in ditches, or in their own homes. I also read a prayer written about forgiveness for the world. We must be aware of the past, and we must do what we can to help promote healing in the present so that the future does not repeat itself. It is the least we can do if we are to ever walk in balance with each other on this earth.
When I go home, I will share these things with my two small gems and with those who ask my travels. We must keep the truth alive.
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