By Imran Darboe
Introduction
“I once spoke to someone who had survived the genocide in Rwanda, and she said to me that there was now nobody left on the face of the earth, either friend or relative, who knew who she was. No one who remembered her girlhood and her early mischief and family lore; no sibling or boon companion who could tease her about that first romance; no lover or pal with whom to reminisce. All her birthdays, exam results, illnesses, friendships, kinships—gone. She went on living but with a tabula rasa as her diary and calendar and notebook. I think of this every time I hear of the callow ambition to ‘make a new start’ or to be ‘born again’: Do those who talk this way truly wish for the slate to be wiped? Genocide means not just mass killing, to the level of extermination, but mass obliteration to the verge of extinction.” – Christopher Hitchens, Hitch 22: A Memoir
Human history is a chronicle of remarkable ingenuity, heroism, creativity and advancement, yet it is also riddled with dark episodes that tell of man’s capacity for unthinkable violence and brutality to his fellow men. Throughout history, we have shown a great propensity for organised violence, including genocidal acts – systematic, organized violence aimed at eradicating populations based on ethnicity, religion, or political ideology. One of these dark chapters of history is the genocide that unfolded in Rwanda on the 7th of April, 1994, which has left an indelible scar on the conscience of humanity that will linger for perpetuity.
Even for a continent that has seen its share of violence, the Rwandan genocide stands out as a calamity for all of Africa due to its nature and circumstances. Within 100 days, between 800,000 and 1 million people were massacred in a gruesome manner, in a spate of killings that wiped out, according to some reports, almost 75% of the Tutsi ethnic group living in Rwanda at the time. In its aftermath, it left 75,000 orphaned children and displaced over 2 million people.
Internally Rwanda has shown remarkable resilience in reckoning with this terrible legacy, rebuilding a reconciled and progressive society from the ashes of the genocide. As we commemorate the 30th anniversary of the genocide this 7th April 2024, it behoves all of humanity to reflect on the genocide. For us Africans in particular, a long look in the mirror is necessary. Among the bitter realisations of the genocide was the international community’s inaction and failure to prevent it despite all the signs leading to it. The impotence exhibited by the United Nations to prevent the massacre, coupled with the Western powers’ reluctance to intervene, highlighted a disturbing yet apparent reality – their interventions depend on strategic interests rather than humanitarian imperatives. This bitter lesson must therefore be the first lesson for Africa from the genocide and should reinforce the urgency for Africa to seek and formulate its own resolutions to internal conflicts.
The second lesson to be learned is that a critical aspect of these self-driven solutions will lie in understanding the root causes of such conflicts, which are often deeply embedded in the colonial legacy of our past. The arbitrary partitioning of the continent, coupled with the colonial administrative strategies that forced conflicting identities to coexist under tension-filled circumstances, has left a lasting impact on the socio-political landscape of Africa. In addition to these, the genocide also showed how artificially constructed identities and hierarchies constructed by the colonizers, have had devastating effects on the African socio-political landscape. Western epistemic tradition, with its inclination for categorizing and labelling African societies in ways that fit their understanding or serve their interests, has left a legacy that contributes to division and conflict. Simplistic terms such as “tribal,” “animists,” “primitive” and many others, have been used not just to describe us, but as tools of oppression that ignored the complexity of African social, political, and knowledge systems. Scholars like Edward Said and Michael Foucault have commented on the power dynamics inherent in such labelling, which seeks to marginalize and control.
In his book “When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism, and the Genocide in Rwanda,” Mahmood Mamdani discussed how colonial practices contributed to the ethnic divisions that fuelled the Rwandan genocide. He argued that the Belgians, through arbitrary criteria like height and other physical markers, exacerbated distinctions between Hutu and Tutsi, embedding a sense of difference that laid the groundwork for conflict. This manipulation of social identities shows the destructive power of colonial categorizations, which imposed rigid hierarchies and sowed the seeds of resentment in African societies. Mamdani argued that traditionally, Rwandan society was more fluid, with social mobility based more on cattle ownership and socioeconomic factors than on ethnic differences. By favouring one group of Rwandans from another based on ethnic categorizations, with differences in perks and privileges, a rigid social hierarchy was established that inevitably bred resentment.
In the post-colonial era in Rwanda, as in much of Africa, these colonial legacies remained. The newly independent African states failed to dismantle the structures of division and inequality left by their former colonizers. In light of the hierarchies and inequalities left by the colonizers, African leadership seems to have been based on the perception that securing power exclusively, was the sole means to ensure the wellbeing of one’s group. This set the stage for zero-sum power struggles, where one group believes its advancement hinges the domination and marginalization of another. Identity thus became a potent political tool, with leaders creating narratives that mobilize and agitate support toward the achievement or retention of power only for those perceived to be in their group. From my experience in transitional justice, this dynamic is evident in the truth-telling processes, where different conflicting groups often express narratives that depict the other as a foreign presence seeking to take away what is rightfully theirs.
For Africa generally, the result of all this has been power struggles over land and resources which meanwhile, continue to be looted by the same forces that created the dynamics which fuel conflict. Upon reflection, therefore, to move beyond this cycle of violence, requires a process of decolonization, challenging the inherited colonial and neo-colonial frameworks that shape our identities and interactions. This entails looking back at our colonial past, challenging the external definitions and categorizations that have historically been imposed on African societies, and pursuing equitable resource redistribution and socio-economic development for all.
In the realm of transitional justice, it means in the African context, embarking on a process of truth-seeking and reconciliation that addresses the historic violence of colonialism and its aftermath. Thus, as we remember what happened in Rwanda therefore, this urgent and critical imperative – to confront and dismantle the remnants of colonial impositions that have sown seeds of discord and inequality in our society, is key. Only by acknowledging and addressing these deep-seated divisions can Africa hope to build a future that reflects the cultures, values, and aspirations of its people. It is a task that must be assumed by all stakeholders on the continent, from the AU, subregional bodies, states, and non-state actors.
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About the Author: Imran Darboe is a Gambian Lawyer and Transitional Justice practitioner. He has previously worked at the Gambian Truth, Reconciliation and Reparations Commission, The Attorney General’s Chambers and the Ministry of Justice and is currently an Advocacy Specialist working for the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation (CSVR).
1 Comment
Imran, a truly fitting reflection; wonderfully argued and written. It gives Gambians much food for thought. We are not as “exceptional” as we once believed. Remember the 1994 coup, we had thought it could never happen in Gambia.
Abdoulaye Saine
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