It is one thing to read about genocide. To study it. To teach it.
(See my reflections from back when I was teaching about genocide last year HERE)
But it is something entirely different to sit across from someone and hear their story.
In 1994, Rwanda experienced a genocide that left almost a million dead within the span of three months.
Rwanda had been a German colony until their defeat in WWI when Belgium took over control of Rwanda. Prior to its colonization, Rwanda consisted of eighteen clans or tribes that spanned three social classes based on the number of cows a family owned. Upon it’s colonization, these social classes became determined by physical appearance with the Tutsi (or upper class) being identified by more ‘European’ features such as lighter skin and narrower noses. This discriminatory system built up resentment among the lower class majority of Hutu people.
After years of hate crimes and smaller scale massacres, the genocide of the Tutsi people began on April 6, 1994 when the Hutu president was assassinated and the blame was placed on the Tutsis.
The genocide left behind 300,000 orphans, and 85,000 children as the heads of households.
Two-thirds of the country’s population was displaced and two million people had become refugees.
80% of Rwandan children had lost a family member. 70% of them had witnessed murder. And, 90% believed they would die.
Over the past month, I’ve seen the incredible steps that Rwanda has taken toward reconciliation and forgiveness in the past twenty-four years. Yet, the scars still remain.
As I walked through the Kigali Genocide Memorial last week, my blood boiled and I clenched my fists as I read about the fates of young children. The place cards listed their hopes and dreams alongside the brutal details of their deaths. As I walked through the exhibits, I pictured the young children I fell in love with over the past few weeks. I thought of Josiane, who helped cook our food this month, and the horrors she faced at only seven years old (read about her story HERE). I envisioned my seven year old cousin, and I felt my heart constrict in my chest and tears flood my eyes as I placed familiar faces in the shoes of the victims.
And, as I sat in that pain, a challenge rose to the surface:
How can I make a difference? How can I keep this from happening again?
The answer is simple: I must stand up. I must speak up.
I cannot stop merely at changing my own world view, I need to speak out against injustice and discrimination.
Silence is an action.
To be silent would be to accept injustice, to condone it.
As Edmund Burke said, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
During the Rwandan genocide, pastors allowed those who sought refuge in their churches to be massacred—even encouraged it. And, foreigners pulled themselves out of the country, knowing full well the extent of what was happening.
The world stood by in silence.
Scholars say that if the forces employed to evacuate foreigners had gotten involved, the genocide could have been stopped in its early stages.
While in the face of such overwhelming circumstances, it is easy to feel like we can’t make a difference. It is easy to feel like our voice won’t have an impact, and to grow discouraged.
But, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak up.
Collectively our voices carry power.
And, we don’t know who’s ears our voices will reach.
God has used ordinary individuals to change the course of history in the past.
God used a Jewish man named Mordecai and his orphaned cousin, Esther, to save all the Jews within the Persian Empire—which spread from Cush (the upper Nile region in Africa) to India. They simply had to have the courage to stand up and speak.
Mordecai pleaded with Esther to speak to King Xerxes—to save their people.
Esther had the choice to remain silent, but she chose to speak.
What if we are someone’s Mordecai? What if our words cause someone to take action—to stand up for justice and mercy?
Is that not what the Lord requires of us in Micah 6:8? To act justly and love mercy and to walk humbly with God?
Our words matter. Will we use them?
“At what point do you and I become members of the world community and stand up and speak?” – Charles Beach
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” – Dr. Martin Luther King Jr
