I participated in the Genocide and its Aftermath in Rwanda, which was a 3-week education abroad program through Ohio State. We stayed at the SIT center (School for International Training) in Kigali, the capital city of Rwanda. This experiential learning involved wide-ranging, in-depth lectures about the social, legal, economic history of Rwanda leading up to the 1994 genocide given by both Hollie and numerous guest speakers and lecturers who agreed to educate us about their experiences during the genocide. While there, I gained in-depth, first-hand knowledge about Rwandan culture, Rwandan language, and most importantly, the Rwandan Genocide. We coupled the lectures with visits to genocide memorials around the country, organizations dedicated to post-genocide female empowerment efforts, and reconciliation villages. We also learned about its institutional, social, and economic responses after such a genocide, including rebuilding efforts and transitional justice through the gacaca courts. I wanted to join this trip because I am extremely passionate about law as a potential vehicle for social change in the criminal justice system, and wanted to learn more about Rwanda’s approach to transitional justice after enduring such a horrific tragedy in 1994. As such, I particularly focused on the genocide memorials, lectures, and guest speakers we heard from.
One of the most impactful aspects of this trip was hearing from both genocide survivors and genocidaires about their experiences before, during, and after the genocide. Coming from the United States, where the idea of a criminal justice system based on restorative justice is all but a far-fetched idea, and a punitive system remains the norm, it is jarring yet inspiring to see that Rwanda is largely able to achieve such a system through the gacaca courts. Those who committed violence speak of repenting for their wrongs, government-mandated community service (TIG), and apologizing to their victims’ families. Victims, meanwhile, speak of understanding and forgiveness. They speak of the importance of contextualizing their neighbors’ actions from a systemic and colonial perspective. Many of the perpetrators were welcomed back into their communities after having gone through the gacaca courts and served their times, often by the very same people they had targeted just a decade ago.
From their stories, I realized that creating a society dedicated to reconciliation, restorative justice, and forgiveness, where we can be judged by our potential and capacity for good, rather than be solely defined by the worst of what we have done, is possible. Equally important is the role of governments in creating a system conducive to such ideas, as well as fostering a civil atmosphere where stakeholders feel empowered and safe to engage in, advocate, and buy-in to such difficult ideas.
During week two, we heard from genocidaires and survivors alike. What especially struck me was hearing from three genocidaires who all went through the gacaca court process and were either finishing their community service work or already back in their communities.
I deeply empathized with their turmoil and struggle. I was struck by their humility, the depth of their repentance, their willingness to confront their shameful past and live with it. As they said, they also risked retaliation from their fellow Hutus during the gacaca process, as they had to not only detail how they murdered others in detail, but point out those who also committed violence with them. I think that living with that guilt for the rest of their life is perhaps more difficult than committing suicide. Didas notably said he asks himself everyday “why we were born during that era; why we were there at that moment that made us join the [killing squads].” I realized, through their pain and tears, that they were simply products of their larger socioeconomic environments. Had we been born in that era, we, too, would have likely also been perpetrators ourselves. To resist in the face of such social pressure to conform required immense courage, courage that many humans simply do not have.
I was also deeply touched by Clavier Irakoze, who noted that the heavy task of forgiving and reconciliation is a solemn sacrifice the government asked of them, but one that he (along with many, many other genocide survivors) was willing to endure for the sake of his country’s continued existence. Otherwise, how could one work side-by-side and live peacefully in a country that still has killers who attempted to exterminate his people? His passion to share with his fellow people how to communicate their traumas to their posterity also struck me as a selfless way to turn his pain into his greatest strength for the greater good.
When they asked us about what we aim to do with their story, I became imbued to not let their horrible past, suffering, and trauma pass away in vain. I aim to take their story with me in my journey to represent and alleviate the suffering of people like them – people who were primarily products of their socioeconomic circumstances, but in my own country. I told them that I want to go to law school and become a public defender to defend those who, like them, are primarily products of their socioeconomic circumstances, even if they did commit crimes. Going forward, I will be carrying their stories with me wherever I go. I want to recontextualize their stories to let others know that they should not be relegated to the worst of their actions; rather, that systems of power should understand their socioeconomic circumstances, believe in their rehabilitative potential, and recognize their capacity to change, just like Rwanda did.