Of gods and genocides

[Vera]

So, last night I finished the movie about the Rwandan genocide I was watching (Shooting Dogs) and frankly I am still sickened.

No, not because of the atrocities, this should have been par for the course… but it wasn’t because, once again, it was almost exclusively focused on the “plight” and “heroism” of them white saviours, and clichéd to boot, the kindly old priest (even though there wasn’t much kindness or any depth really to the way he was portrayed) and the idealistic young European teacher. Even this I wouldn’t have minded because a European perspective, if done *well* (or even remotely competently), with *real* characters, not cardboard cutouts, could still be enlightening. *This* movie was not it.

A couple of examples:


A girl, who must be aware that she might very well be brutally killed (and most likely, equally brutally raped before that) comes to talk to our “kindly old priest” and what does she have to say?

“You'll never leave us, papa Christopher?”

His profound reply?

“Terrible things may happen in this world, Marie. But however terrible they are, you are in my heart. And you will be there until I die.”

And she smiles like the good little simple African that she is and leaves, all happy, because who cares that she’s about the be brutalised in every possible way, as long as she’s “in the heart” of the good ole white priest.


Shortly before the peacekeepers are about to withdraw and basically leave about a thousand people to be immediately and brutally massacred, what does our old white saviour say when our young white one says that there’s nothing they can do?

“These children might die without taking Holy Communion. We can do something about that.”



See, I could have taken this as the way one of those characters copes with an unspeakable tragedy if we had been shown the ways the others were coping. But no, it would appear that whole movie was building up to this new low of profundity below. At the moment when the peacekeepers are leaving and the priest – of course! – decides to stay, at what is arguably the most emotionally loaded and heavy moment of the movie, *this* is his message to the younger white saviour:

“You asked me, Joe, where is God in everything that is happening in here, in all this suffering? I know exactly where he is. He is right here with these people, suffering. His love is here. More intense and profound than I have ever felt.”

And *this* when I felt literally sickened. To use one of the greatest tragedies of last century – hell, of history, probably – and reduce it to something so shallow and cheap, to trivialise it into a Deepak-Chopraesque, empty, xtian platitude, is an insult to all those people who died, or survived after unspeakable horrors, or who lost the people they loved.


Add to this that while there certainly have been wonderful priests who have helped their “flock”, to use xtianity as a symbol of hope, of something good, in relation to colonised people is frankly revolting, in this supposedly more enlightened age. (Oh, and don’t forget this “Later, when German forces occupied the area during World War I, the conflict and efforts for Catholic conversion became more pronounced. As the Tutsi resisted conversion, missionaries found success only among the Hutu. In an effort to reward conversion, the colonial government confiscated traditionally Tutsi land and reassigned it to Hutu tribes.”. There's blood on those blessing, saving hands.)

[Vera]

And speaking of rape, of course we can’t have any of this here, no sirree. The only time it was (“tastefully”, of course!) hinted at, was when he went to a convent and all the nuns were murdered and, supposedly raped. Which we knew because their clothes were ever so slightly pulled up and he had to pull them down. And the horror of it was because they were NUNS. Never mind that thousands of African women were getting brutally raped.

I thought this, an article by someone who interviewed and photographed rape victims in 2006 and then in 2018, when their “children of rape” have all grown up, difficult but worth reading.

"When my mother told me about how she was raped, I felt like something was piercing my heart,” said Faustin, whose mother, Bernadette, was hung from a tree and raped multiple times during the genocide. “I felt a lot of pain knowing I was born as a result of my mother being raped and my father was a rapist and killer.”

Some of their mothers have made progress in their healing process in the years since I last visited them. Faustin’s mother, Bernadette, testified against his father in court. After that, she said: “One day he came to my house, knelt before me and pleaded for me to forgive him. I reflected on how many women were raped, and after being raped, killed. But I was raped and he did not kill me, so I found it was good for me to forgive him.” But today, she says, her son faces unfair discrimination because of what his father did: “I was so traumatized and disturbed by the fact that my son was referred to as ‘child of the killers’ in my community.”"



“I used to feel bad knowing that my father is a killer and rapist, and I used to feel stigma about being born from a person that killed people. We all want to be identified as good people, and being identified as the son of a bad person used to hurt me very much, but most recently I decided that I consider him as never having existed, like he is not my father.”
— Thomas




“When growing up, my stepfather treated me differently; he refused to pay my school fees, so I was working as a house girl doing all the housework while my sister and brothers that were his kids were at school. My stepfather would punish me like he wanted to kill me. He would call me ‘good-for-nothing child.’ Whenever I was told those bad words, I would go and sit somewhere. I would write sad things about my life, I would write songs, but songs of sadness. I preferred to be alone, in isolation, and write in my book.”
— Elizabeth

“I told my daughter that during the genocide, I was raped by a Hutu militia, and as a result she was born. My daughter seemed to be traumatized for a few minutes, then she was quiet for a while and then she stood up, hugged me and said, ‘I forgive you for not telling me before,’ and I hugged her and we cried together. She just kept saying, ‘I forgive you, I forgive you.’ I felt a sense of relief, because not telling her the truth was always a burden to me, and now this burden was gone.”
— Clare



“One day I called my daughter in to my bedroom, and I told her: ‘You know that during the genocide many people were killed, and many women were raped, and you may have heard that there are many children that were born as a result of the genocide. I wanted to tell you that during the genocide I was raped and as a result I gave birth to you, and I don’t know who your father is because there are many men that raped me.’ After I told her this, she kept quiet, so I didn’t want to continue because she was shocked about what I had told her. My relationship with my daughter improved after I disclosed to her. Before I disclosed to her, I did not feel much love for her, but after I told her the circumstances of how she was born, I felt more love for her.”
— Justine

“The fact is, my father was among the killers and did things worse than animals can do. I would not want to identify with him, I don’t think he is a normal human being. … The effects on me are that I feel that my father contributed to the horrible things that happened in Rwanda, and I don’t feel good about having been born from someone like that. Life has improved and is still getting better. I have completed secondary school and started university, and I am a strong young woman. I used to be so sad. Now I feel free.”
— Alice






“My mother called me to the house and we sat down, and then she started telling me how I was born as a child of a killer and the man who raped her was a Hutu, and that she had no role in having me with this man but it was forced and that this man was not good, he killed many people, but my mother loved me as who I am, as her child. I broke down after she told me this and I cried and was traumatized. After she disclosed to me, I hated that man that was my father. I don't think I would ever forgive him. One of the effects of knowing I was born from genocide rape is psychological. I felt I was unwanted. Another effect is that I have no family, I only have my mother. The fact that my mother disclosed to me that I was born from genocide rape made me increase my love for her. I know what she went through was not her fault.”
— Robert

“I told my son, I am his mother, I am his everything and I am committed to living with him for as long as I can. After I told him all this, he was very sad. He then asked me: ‘Did people really take machetes and cut people and kill people and rape women? I can’t believe what really happened.’ I told him it was true, that Hutu people killed Tutsi people.”
— Valerie






My message to the world today is: “I wish genocide not to happen anywhere, that it is the worst thing that can happen to an individual, to lose all your family, and the effects go on and on for generations. … Rape was the greatest weapon during the genocide, because the people that were killed died, but us that were raped, we live with the consequences, and then we pass those consequences to the next generation.”
— Stella

“When she told me this I felt bad, but I got courage to realize that I will not be defined by the way I was born, as a young person born from rape, but I want to build a good future and be a responsible person in my life, and not be looked at as a child born from rape. The effects of how I was born on my life are having shame and stigma. It makes me feel shame that my father had a role in killing people, and raping my mother, but I wish I had an opportunity to ask him what made him do all these things. He died before I had a chance to meet him.”
— Claude

[Thumpalumpacus]

One of the weaknesses of any art is that it allows a culture to tell itself what it wants to hear ... and usually, only brave artists will speak up against that.

We Americans have our own version of the "White Man's Burden" written into our fiction and cinema which allows those who wish to tell themselves just-so stories. We're seeing one expression of opposition to it now in the drive to remove statues honoring men who fought and died defending the right to own another human being.

Regarding cinema specifically, Gone with the Wind was a prime example of America glorifying a shitty past by the choice of narrative perspective, and thus coloring the national myth.

[Minimalist]

Oddly enough, I was watching about half of GWTW tonight.  (It's back on HBO Max with a 4 minute promo which I skipped.  I could give HBO a history lesson on the Civil War - I don't need their bullshit.)

While it is a cloying, over-acted, and sickeningly sweet depiction of the southern planter class I really paid attention to the portrayal of the "slaves."  Several were portrayed as the people who could get things done and be relied on to show some actual wisdom - or at least a sense of propriety.  One was flighty and silly but the same could be said of a lot of the whites and with less excuse.  It brought to mind the scene in Woody Allen's Love and Death where one fellow soldier says to him "if you don't like Napoleon and you don't like the Tsar, who do you think should be running the country?"

Woody answers "The serfs.  They're the only ones who know how to do anything."

[M.Linoge]

Sounds like the future society in Time Machine by H. G. Wells.

[Vera]

So, I’m watching another (much better) movie about the genocide, Shake Hands with the Devil, based on the memoirs of General Romeo Dallaire. It’s a slow viewing, again, not because of the atrocities, but because it is so infuriating. The whole of the West is complicit in the genocide for failing to do anything (even though, for example, apparently “classified documents released in 2004 revealed that the Clinton administration knew of a "final solution to eliminate all Tutsis" well in advance of the genocide”. But apparently some dubious foundation is enough to absolve him of any guilt he might have felt. Which is highly doubtful. This whole family is rotten. No wonder so many people refused to vote for Hilary even in the face of something as vile as Trump).



Even leaving aside the failure of the UN to send any troops (and the withdrawal the ones who were already there), as early as JANUARY 1994 (the genocide started in April), General Dallaire learnt about weapons caches being gathered by the Hutus, together with lists of the names and addressed of all Tutsis. When he informed the UN that they intended to raid several of the caches, they UN refused and told them to give the information to the RULING HUTUS. The ones who were about to commit genocide!

“On 11 January 1994, General Roméo Dallaire, commander of UNAMIR, sent his "Genocide Fax" to UN Headquarters. The fax stated that Dallaire was in contact with "a top level trainer in the cadre of Interhamwe-armed [sic] militia of MRND." The informant claimed to have been ordered to register all Tutsi in Kigali. According to the memo, the informant suspected that a genocide against the Tutsis was being planned, and he said that "in 20 minutes his personnel could kill up to 1000 Tutsis". Dallaire's request to protect the informant and his family and to raid the weapons caches he revealed was denied by the UN.”

Oh, and the French government has been implicated in actually assisting with the genocide.

Show ContentSpoiler:

The report claims that French officials supplied weapons to government forces and militias implicated in massacres of Tutsis, despite having knowledge of these atrocities.
French officials are also alleged to have provided support and shelter for Rwanda's interim government, whose leaders were subsequently convicted of genocide charges.
The report further accuses the French government of obstructing justice after the genocide by failing to release vital documents, and failing to extradite or prosecute suspected war criminals living in France.
"Senior French officials were aware of and aided the actions and goals of both the Habyarimana government (before the genocide) and the génocidaires who seized power," the report concludes.
"A complete investigation into the full extent of the knowledge, conduct and complicity of French officials is warranted...There is no doubt that French archives are filled with documents and materials without which the full history of this era will never be known."

The Rwandan genocide has also been called “The Preventable Genocide”… and yet, with the possible slight exception of Kofi Annan (though nowhere near enough), those whose hands are as near covered with blood as can be without literally murdering anyone, apparently led and are continuing to lead perfectly contented lives. Whereas general Dallaire reportedly try to commit suicide in 2000 (not to mention than there were attempts to blame HIM for this whole shameful debacle of indifference).

[Vera]

Oh, and the first movie I mentioned? It is based on a real story (obviously with some "poetic licence" in the mediocre, Xtianity-poisoned movie version):

“The segment came from a camera crew following a small contingent of Belgian U.N. soldiers peacekeepers overseeing a small camp at Dom Bosco School.  When the killing in Rwanda started in earnest on April 7th, approximately 2,000 Tutsis fled to the school, believing that the Belgians would protect them  from the Hutu militias rampaging through the countryside, massacring anyone even remotely suspected of being Tutsi or a moderate Hutu.

And then, suddenly, the Belgians were packing up and leaving. Pulling out.  Why?  Ten Belgian peacekeepers protecting the Prime Minister had been murdered (along with the Prime Minister) by Hutu extremists.  This was enough for the government of Belgium and they pulled out of the UNAMIR peacekeeping mission (UNAMIR  is an acronym for United Nations Assistance Mission For Rwanda).

The Tutsis were horrified.

One scene in particular stands out:

A woman in a business suit, flanked by other Tutsis is begging the Belgians not to abandon them.  In the background Hutu thugs can be seen drinking beer and taunting the Tutsis, chanting “Hutu Power”, clashing their machetes together and even calling out to specific women they say they will rape and kill as soon as the Belgians are out of the way.

Seeing the determination of the Belgians to leave, the refugees make a remarkable request of them.  They say, “If you have to leave, please, we ask you to be shot down by your machine gun.”  Sooner a United Nations bullet than a machete…  The Belgians ignore the request.

The refugees panic as the U.N. vehicles start to pull away, and they crowd around the last of the departing trucks, running in front of it to try and prevent the Belgians from leaving.

A girl is hanging on to a UNAMIR truck and asking the soldier, “Are you really abandoning us? We’ll all be killed. Why are you leaving?”

A Belgian soldier fires his rifle in the air to open a path for the vehicles (As the documentary later revealed, that was the first and only time the soldier fired his weapon in Rwanda).

And then, indeed, the last of the Belgians is gone – in a swirl of dust and diesel exhaust, abandoning the 2,000 Tutsis and condemning them to a horrible death.

Some time later – several hours or even a day – the camera crew returns to the scene.  It is completely silent.

Everyone is dead, including hundreds of children.  The woman seen before in the business suit is plainly visible. She is still where she was, along with those that flanked her, when she was pleading with the Belgians.  All of those around her were tortured before being killed.  Many had their arms and legs cut off before being put out of their misery.

The women across the camp, young and old alike, had been gang raped before being murdered.  And frequently the rapes included the use of objects such as sticks or weapons, as well as the cutting off of breasts or buttocks.”

[Vera]

Well, now that I accidentally made a double post, I might just mention that the title of the memoir and the movie come from this quote of General Dallaire:

"I know there is a God because in Rwanda I shook hands with the devil. I have seen him, I have smelled him and I have touched him. I know the devil exists and therefore I know there is a God."

See, this is much more religious than the first movie but unlike it, it's not cheap or offensive (and not just because this person actually *was* there). While I vehemently disagree with the idea of calling people like the man he's talking about (Théoneste Bagosora, may he rot in prison) devils and demons as this kinda excuses (and diminishes the horror of) what is, sadly, a perfectly human capacity for cruelty and, dare I say, evil, I am quite positive that this is a metaphor and it actually evokes a feeling (as opposed to that moral repugnancy in the other movie, about god "suffering" together with the women and children who were being raped with sticks and weapons).

Plus, whatever helps this person make some semblance of peace with the horrors he'd had to witness and unable to stop.