Sunrise. All the fire and diesel fuel catches the sun over the horizon and the edge of everything turns pink. Pink behind the silhouette of thin lined trees. The morning. Heavy. And Venus in the in between line of the sky, a white cross. There are crows here. Bird calls. The radio. A man sweeps the driveway of St. Paul’s – by the Real Tours and Travel sign. He sings along to the radio and the sky glows orange.
One light in the chambers is on. Everyone else is asleep. Waking.…
Today was WTF! International Community day. Tim Gallamore, former PR person for the ICTR (International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda ) spoke. The ICTR is based in Arusha, Tanzania. The United Nations established the court since almost all of the masterminds of genocide fled the country after July 1994, so when governments find someone in their country suspected of genocide, they can arrest them and send them to Arusha for trial. ICTR is instrumental in establishing rape as a crime of genocide (It is a tool for dehumanizing people and often a way of purposely infecting victims with HIV). It has tried 44 cases with 38 convictions – with sentences of 6 years to life imprisonment depending on the degree of cooperation with the court.
Gallamore’s frustrations with the ICTR stems around the following: the ICTR has an operating budget that would run the entire Rwandan government for three years. The ICTR spends a lot of money on the living conditions of its prisoners while the victims of these prisoners have very little. Tim described the amenities of the prisoners as including access to AIDS medication, a new suit every month to appear in trial, dental care, expert medical care, a chef good enough to have a well-off catering business on the side, unlocked cells – with a twin sized mattress, a TV, exercise bicycle, flower garden, gymnasium, library with newspapers from many countries, access to internet, and recently the right to conjugal visits. We met a group of women rape survivors of the genocide who were given AIDs medication from the government but couldn’t take it because they didn’t have food to take it with.
So, that’s the spectacular frustration, but he also expressed concern that the trials didn’t happen in Rwanda – since Justice is not about punishment – it’s also about the community seeing justice be done. Justice is performed and seen to be performed. Since the trials happen in Tanzania, the Rwandan community cannot participate. The ICTR also has not transferred prisoners to Rwanda for sentences. They are afraid of victor’s justice – the government composed of former RPF leaders will not treat the prisoners humanely (although Gallamore points out there is no evidence that they would.) Gallamore is concerned that this removes the perpetrators of genocide from the context of their crimes and that it sets a precedent where the 26 at large suspects of genocide will not be sent to Rwanda for trial – even after the ICTR closes (set for 2012).
He is also concerned that as genocide trials become institutionalized, the International Community money and energy are being poured into a business which does little to deter future genocides or genocidal acts. The International Community does not put enough resources into prevention and deterrence.
Gallamore is angry and his anger is palpable in the little white tiled room with poor ventilation at the Ministry of Culture.
And then there is AfricaBites and posho and japati and coke in a glass bottle with Norman and Jubilith who arrived yesterday from Theater of Yugen in SF. There is going to Ishyo and rehearsing with Darius while the group goes to visit a women survivor’s collective engaged in economic empowerment projects. The meeting is set up by women from WE-ACT – (you can read a little about WE-ACT here ). An Intern at IGSC, Noam – who studies at Brandeis but is from Israel and grew up in a joint Israeli/Palestine settement – introduced us to the collective and our group spent the day hearing testimonies and buying bags in an intimate setting. Meanwhile, I am with Darius in a narrow and long theater on top of a hill. I am looking at different arrangements of candles on the floor. I am marking a floor pattern on worn wood. I am using my whole breath to speak text "As if it were possible to go on living for someone else." I am worrying that I will disappoint Darius. I am worrying that I will disappoint ...
We meet the group for dinner at the Bloom Hotel and they are very quiet. “It was strong testimony,” Erik says. “What does that mean?” I say.
I have a question and it has to do with how studying genocide enters private space, with suffering, with how to hold the suffering of others, suffering that I don't understand, with how to be present to my own, with how to listen, with how to organize memory, with what can be said, with what I can do...some kind of question...
The road outside the Bloom Hotel has no sidewalks.
People walk at night on the edge of the street
The road smells like diesel fuel.
The road has no garbage.
In the night, a man pushes a bicycle with 4 yellow jerry cans of water.
We have moved to Center Christus. This is a Jesuit retreat center near the airport. There are bovine cows, a statue of the Virgin Mary, low brown brick buildings, white florescent tube lights tied to the trees.
We end every day with a circle where we share something we have learned or an image that stays with us from the day. The group is heavy with the stories of the day. I don't know these stories, but I know others. Erik says that how ever dark it may be, the earth turns towards the light. Whether we will it or not, it turns towards the light. But it seems to me that the light is there, and the dark, and the world just turns.
And then there is white misquito nets in a little brown brick room and then there is the power going out and people gathering together and lighting flashlights and booklights and candles and laughing and then there is crawling under nets and covers in the dark and then there is sleep and dreams and dreams which are secret.
Today is made possible by the generous and gracious support from Mara and Brie Radis. Thanks much!
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