“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.”
Kigali, 1994: UN Force Commander Romeo Dallaire met several times with the men who planned the Rwandan genocide in an attempt to negotiate refugee transfers. Before entering these meetings, he would deliberately remove and unload his pistol, in fear that he would lose control of himself and kill the Interahamwe leaders. He struggled with these meetings, wondering if it was ethical to deal with “the devil” for people’s lives. But he had little choice; he was struggling with insufficient men and resources against one of the darkest chapters of human history and the accompanying global indifference. He was a man who, to quote Stephen Lewis, screamed into the void. But no one listened, no one cared, no one heard.
Ultimately, the men and children who performed the massacres will carry the blame for their actions. The Interahamwe and the militia, the Presidential guard and the civilians who systematically tried to wipe out an entire people group will be judged for the blood they spilt. Yet while 800,000 Rwandans stumbled to the slaughter, the rest of the world did nothing to hold them back. They were too concerned with their money, politics and their own safety. Quoting from Dallaire’s book, Shake Hands with the Devil: “Ultimately, led by the United States, France and the United Kingdom, this world body [the UN], aided and abetted the genocide in Rwanda. No amount of cash or aid will ever wash its hands of Rwandan blood”. The world saw it happening, but because there no benefit for them in interfering, they sat back and watched. The list of countries that directly advanced the killings or remained simply apathetic is a long one. But it is neither in my knowledge nor my right to label a scapegoat for this travesty. I am writing this because I now live in the West, and I lead a cloyingly easy life. I did nothing to deserve it, and I should never be so base as to deny through inaction the rights that I enjoy to another.
Dallaire’s conclusion is not that we should continue to point fingers, but that we should become accountable so that this will never be allowed to happen again. The priorities of governments need to change: our basis for involvement in anything needs to derive from the belief that all men, women and especially children were created equal by God. The American officer who told Dallaire that 800,000 Rwandan lives were only worth the lives of 10 American soldiers was wrong. We cannot allow our cocoon of blessings to blind us to the fact that some things in this world must be protected, and that to protect them, we must be ready to sacrifice time, money, and yes, blood.
It took me two months to finish Dallaire’s book, because each time I picked it up, it ruined my evening. And I already knew the Rwandan story. Dallaire did not cheapen the account by sensationalizing it, but as I turned each page, my heart was pulled and my stomach revolted at the utter savagery of the genocidaires and the indifference of the world. I hope that you, too, read this book, and I hope that it ruins two months of your life when you read about the children who died, the children who killed and those who were left behind. I hope that it makes you cry, lose your appetite and rail pointlessly against an event in the past. I hope this, because we, as humans, cannot afford to be caught on the sidelines again.
