I’ve been in Rwanda for a year now. While I can always
update people on our projects, it seemed better to use this opportunity to
write an honest account of what I’ve learned working with survivors. This is
necessary because when people ask me how I deal, most of the time I throw them
a thumbs up and say something like “it’s actually not that sad and very
uplifting!” – which is usually received with eye rolling and confusion (because
they know it’s part bullshit).
If you’d like a more thorough update on the projects I work
on, I suggest you go here: http://survivors-fund.org.uk/news/.
I write a lot of the updates for the entrepreneurship and Widows projects. So,
in addition to general learning about managing projects, making budgets,
writing grants and working with local partners (and having to pray at the end
of meetings), designing micro finance programs and monitoring loan repayments,
I’ve learned quite a bit. More specifically…
I learned that time doesn’t heal all wounds, that sometimes
memories that manifest can come back and feel like yesterday. But I also
learned that even the most soul crushing, mind melding and catastrophic wounds
can be mended in order to move forward. That no matter what happens to you, it
can always be possible to grow, and be happy again.
However, I’ve learned that very few can heal on their own,
in isolation and despair. Every one of the individuals we work with that have
been able to thrive and move forward, have been able to do so not because they
had entrepreneurship training, or access to a loan, or proper health care. It
was because that person was able to lean on someone else’s shoulders. It was
because they got to talk to someone, someone with mutual experiences. It
becomes obvious that a sense of community isn’t just vital to economic
development, it’s vital to who we are. And in scenarios where trauma is an
issue – step one needs to be getting people into a group. It can be a group
intended for counseling, for general life discussions, to plan a business or to
kick dirt around – it doesn’t matter. Step one, get them in a group.
I have learned that no matter how many times you hear someone
tell you about being raped, it will always sting. At the same time, I’ve
realized that I’m no longer surprised by these stories. When confronted with
genocide, unimaginable horrors become imaginable. Slowly, you find that you learn
to accept the cruel realities of the world. In this way, you will always hope
for the good in people, but probably expect the worst.
Setting aside this shock makes things easier. Questioning
things take time –questioning the rationale and reasoning behind terrible acts
– when you realize that you can never know the answer. Move on from these
questions, because none of it will ever make sense. Move on from these
questions and take action instead.
Even so, you find that you will be far more disappointed by
the silence and indifference of those you know, in comparison to the actual
crimes of those you don’t. You expect strangers to be different. On the contrary, your friends and family
are loving and caring and intelligent people, they should want to know about
these things. They should want to stand up for change when it’s so clearly
possible. Don’t they know how easy it would be?
But many won’t even read a news article, or make a 10 dollar
donation. When I talk about genocide or poverty, it makes them uncomfortable. They won’t believe that they can help things, but in maintaining this belief
they are perpetuating the problem. These issues are lightyears away from their reality, whereas for me it is in the center. Because of this, we have a hard time meeting in the middle.
I know I can’t expect every one of them to dedicate their lives to helping survivors or orphans or prompting development in general, but I wish they cared a little more. I wish they cared a lot.
In the last year, I continue to be surprised by the
dedication and tirelessness of my coworkers. It doesn’t matter how many people
come into our office, how many students need scholarships or how many people
need counseling, and how little money we have. It doesn’t matter that the need
overwhelms the capacity. They will always try.
I’ve learned how incredibly important the concept of justice
is in post-conflict countries. And how unbearably complicated it becomes when
victims end up being next door neighbors with the people that killed their
family members, burned their house, and raped their daughters. I’ve seen how
empty promises for justice and unenforced laws can prompt even more
disappointment than no laws at all. That without reparation and compensation
for victims, there will always be loose ends. And nearly twenty years later, many
in Rwanda are still waiting.
While much of the world wants to move on and stop being
reminded of what happened in ‘94, we’re still here. Then again, I realize the
world will always want to stop being reminded of a genocide. This would be fine
if the consequences had evaporated with time, but they haven’t. For example,
the children that were born as a result of rape are now starting their
adolescence, and remain an entirely separate, often ignored, vulnerable group. They
grow up being punished for something they didn’t have a part in. People call
them “children of bad memories.”
One of my saddest moments was after I realized one of my
close friends was one of these victims. She had been kidnapped by the militia
and raped at 13. She had a son as a result; a son she outwardly admits she has
difficulty loving. Every day for half of a year, I talked and joked and laughed
with her, not knowing. I didn’t know until I opened one of our books of
testimonies and saw her picture on the first page.
In the last year, and especially when I was visiting home, I
have worried that I carry around a darkness. That the realities I’ve come to
know (but seek to change), hang over my head in a cloud – one which most people
would prefer to avoid. I wonder who and how many will be willing to sit under
the cloud with me.
A few months back, I watched a documentary where a man said,
“Anyone who comes in contact with a genocide, either during or after, is
forever lessened as a human being” – I wonder and worry if he is right.
And yet, I have never been so fulfilled, so genuinely
interested, fascinated, and in love with my life before. I am far more
optimistic, determined and calculated in the projects we do, because I know
they work.
When people hear I work with genocide survivors, they assume
it’s all full of grayness, of dim and despair. They don’t know the other end of
it. In actuality, most of the work we do is positive. Most of my job actually
centers around sustainable income generation and economic development, an area
in which Rwanda is thriving. The histories of the people we help may be sad,
but the present isn’t. This is an important distinction.
With all of its heaviness and lightness, I am able to find a
way to be balanced. So you’re
right, it’s not all rainbows and heartwarming stories, but it’s not all doom either.
And after a year of doing this work, I can safely say that I’m a lost cause. No
cubicle in New York or office space in DC will ever suffice. Can you blame me?
