Think Up | 06/09/2008 4:03 pm
Ashley Judd's Rwanda Diaries Part Two: Skulls, Femurs and Flowers

Courtesy of Ashley Judd
Rwanda is like this flower, a thing that is blooming out of the detritus and wreckage of the absolute worst humanity has to offer. All day I dialogued with myself about balancing the current reality, which is largely positive within the context of one of the poorest countries in the entire world, with the reality of 1994 (and before), which is indescribably bad. Both sides of this story need to be told and it would be irresponsible to short change either part.
I managed my grueling experience at the Kigali Genocide Memorial by dividing it into two parts: the intellectual and the emotional. Intellectually, the site is incredibly well done. It shows how the Germans, then the Belgians, followed by the unconscionable inaction of the rest of the world, set Rwanda up for the genocide. In the historical background of the clans, distinctions like Hutu and Tutsi were socio-economic and not ethnic at all. Yet the white people’s obnoxious, flagrant, unrepentant racism distorted and perverted everything about this beautiful, ancient people into an “us versus ourselves” mentality. Of the most enraging images was a priest, for God’s sake, a priest measuring Rwandan heads and categorizing them ethnically for the registration cards of 1935 as deemed necessary by the church and King Leopold, one of the great nutters of all time. These registration cards were doomed to become one of the worst props in the history of humankind. As these ethnic differences were spurious to begin with, the church had trouble distinguishing Hutu from Tutsi, so they would ask random questions like, “How many cows do you have?” and decide for the people what they were. Once the massacres began in 1994, these cards were the delivery system of death for more than one million people.
The memorial, in a balancing act of the highest order, does not stoop to blame the outside world, but rather in a straightforward way simply tells the story of how over decades the West’s racism, abuses and extraordinary sins of commission let 500 thousand women be raped, a million people be butchered and for hundreds of thousands of secondary deaths to occur — for there to be complete civic destruction and a cascade of ancillary tragedies and upheavals (refugees, for example). There are photographs of Hutus preparing to kill with French soldiers supervising the gruesome proceedings, examples of major media (The New York Times, Times of London) newspaper stories reporting killing sprees that were rehearsals for mass murder, and the requests of the U.N. peacekeeper lead in Rwanda begging for assistance, predicting what was coming, and saying how very little he needed to avert it. And, finally there is the stonewalling silence of Kofi Annan, heads of state around the world and us, normal citizens who should have stopped our everyday lives to prevent this doom.
I could go on and on about the exhibit’s educational strength and its mission of prevention of future genocide anywhere in the world as well as healing by telling the truth, but that simply delays for me phase two, the feelings. The feelings are harder, aren’t they?
I managed my grueling experience at the Kigali Genocide Memorial by dividing it into two parts: the intellectual and the emotional. Intellectually, the site is incredibly well done. It shows how the Germans, then the Belgians, followed by the unconscionable inaction of the rest of the world, set Rwanda up for the genocide. In the historical background of the clans, distinctions like Hutu and Tutsi were socio-economic and not ethnic at all. Yet the white people’s obnoxious, flagrant, unrepentant racism distorted and perverted everything about this beautiful, ancient people into an “us versus ourselves” mentality. Of the most enraging images was a priest, for God’s sake, a priest measuring Rwandan heads and categorizing them ethnically for the registration cards of 1935 as deemed necessary by the church and King Leopold, one of the great nutters of all time. These registration cards were doomed to become one of the worst props in the history of humankind. As these ethnic differences were spurious to begin with, the church had trouble distinguishing Hutu from Tutsi, so they would ask random questions like, “How many cows do you have?” and decide for the people what they were. Once the massacres began in 1994, these cards were the delivery system of death for more than one million people.
The memorial, in a balancing act of the highest order, does not stoop to blame the outside world, but rather in a straightforward way simply tells the story of how over decades the West’s racism, abuses and extraordinary sins of commission let 500 thousand women be raped, a million people be butchered and for hundreds of thousands of secondary deaths to occur — for there to be complete civic destruction and a cascade of ancillary tragedies and upheavals (refugees, for example). There are photographs of Hutus preparing to kill with French soldiers supervising the gruesome proceedings, examples of major media (The New York Times, Times of London) newspaper stories reporting killing sprees that were rehearsals for mass murder, and the requests of the U.N. peacekeeper lead in Rwanda begging for assistance, predicting what was coming, and saying how very little he needed to avert it. And, finally there is the stonewalling silence of Kofi Annan, heads of state around the world and us, normal citizens who should have stopped our everyday lives to prevent this doom.
I could go on and on about the exhibit’s educational strength and its mission of prevention of future genocide anywhere in the world as well as healing by telling the truth, but that simply delays for me phase two, the feelings. The feelings are harder, aren’t they?
Read more about: A Friend Stopped By, Ashley Judd, Change the World, International, PSI, Rwanda, YouthAids























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