Last week was Genocide Memorial Week in Rwanda, commemorating the nearly one million people killed here in 1994. Normally when I think about the genocide it is in terms of how it affects life here today, like how a child with no parents has a poor chance at going to school, or how the government uses the genocide for political means. Genocide is part of history, and a fact of life that one can become callous to, if not careful. Occasionally, however, I am reminded of the personal tragedy of genocide, meeting a boy who has seen his parents killed, or talking with a friend who has literally, no family. Another such instance is when I visit a genocide memorial. There is a particularly strong memorial outside Kigali where thousands were killed in a church. They have the bones on display and the clothing of all the victims is hung from the rafters, giving genocide a very personal touch. Another such memorial is in Murambi, in the southern part of Rwanda. I visited this memorial in February and have decided to share my journal entry for that day. I’ve debated whether or not to do this, but I feel I can share some of my most private thoughts and emotions for the sake of demonstrating the horrors of genocide. Be warned, this post was written in a time of strong emotion and contains some vulgar subject matter and some of my most pessimistic thoughts. It is titled:
“I Have Seen the Bodies”
February 21, 2010
The only thing I want to write is the phrase that keeps running through my head “we’re all fucked up, we’re all fucked up…” Today I visited the Murambi Memorial Site. This is where the French Army set up a base in 1994 and where 50,000 Rwandans fled to for protection. Then the French Army left, leaving sitting targets of 50,000 people to die.
FIFTY THOUSAND PEOPLE
The particularly unique part of this memorial is that they have calcified some of the bodies to preserve them. Today I actually saw the bodies.
I have read stories, talked with survivors, seen the graves and even bones on display… but the bodies. This was new. Seeing small children’s bodies, I could see the small children who I greet on the walk to school every morning. I could also identify the elderly women I sit behind in church every Sunday. Literally putting faces on the victims, as expected, evoked strong emotions: sadness, pity, guilt… Mostly though, I am angry. Angry at the individual who could kill an infant, angry at the French and the rest of the world who bailed out, angry at a social-political system that could allow this situation to develop, angry at humanity. What kind of fucking animals are we?
I like to believe that human beings are good, but today may have totally fucked my view on humanity. I got queasy killing a cow last week and they have the stomach (and the balls) to kill 50,000 people? I understand killing in a moment of rage, killing an individual who has wronged you or killing in defense. But killing a race? Killing for days? What’s it like to take a lunch break from killing people with machetes? Killing babies? Killing elderly women?
I’m absolutely mortified that a member of my own race, someone with a similar DNA pattern to mine, can hack off the head of a small child that they have never seen before. Does this ability exist in the darkest depths of my own self and every human?
Politics, sociology or psychology aside, I’m afraid for humanity.
We’re all fucked up.
