“He saw the city and wept over it, saying, If you had known the things that make for your peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. For the days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment around you, surround you and close you in on every side, and level you, and your children within you, to the ground…”(Luke 19:41)

On an Easter weekend almost two millennia later, Jesus must have looked over Kigali, the bustling capital of Rwanda, and wept. It was April 7, 1994, when the borders of this forsaken country were sealed and its people locked into a nightmare of machete-wielding horror. It was unimaginable savagery: kill or be killed. A handful of Hutu extremists had somehow managed to erase any sense of humanity and turned neighbors into axe murderers. Any Tutsi or moderate Hutu were hunted down and butchered. No man, woman, or child could escape. Terrified victims ran to supposed stanchions of safety, like churches, only to be followed by angry mobs of killers; pastors fled, handed over their keys, or even joined in the slaughter.

Massacre by machete is hard work; sometimes it took all day, as pews were stacked with thousands of dismembered bodies ten high. One hundred blood-stained days later, over one million people were dead. Genocide. What were they thinking? And what were we thinking, as we watched, or closed our eyes, and denied?

Last month, my wife Wilma and I traveled to Rwanda with a small delegation from our community. We were invited to a conference on forgiveness and reconciliation—God’s gifts to us, the only real antidotes to violence, pathways to healing for broken lives, hearts, minds, and communities. But here in Rwanda, what can you say to a people who have suffered so terribly?

From the air, you can see why the Belgians called Rwanda the jewel of Africa: a gentle tropical climate with rolling hills and fertile valleys. But as the plane descended, our stomachs tightened. Our minds churned with images of a genocide waged most brutally on women and children. We felt surprisingly safe as we negotiated the chaos of customs, airport, and bus ride through a teeming but well-kept city, but the eyes of the people on the streets all had a story to tell; you could see the pain.

One of these stories came from a twenty-year-old woman who was six when the genocide happened. She told how she and her mother and sister ran to the stadium along with some friends. After that she remembers only noise, confusion and blood; then darkness; when she awoke there was a sickening weight on her, piles of bodies and parts of bodies, blood, and silence. As she struggled her way out of the mayhem, she saw a tiny but very alive baby, trying desperately to suckle on the breast of its dead mother.

The night after hearing this story we woke in a cold, terrified sweat. How can such a thing happen? And now there are 500,000 widows, along with 300,000 orphans. Many of these are dying from AIDS as a result of the systematic rape of women, from eight-year-olds to grandmothers. Of all the cruel tools of torture and death, this must be the cruelest. I can’t fathom how husbands and families were forced to watch, and sometimes even commit, this horrible violence to their wives and children.

We visited an orphanage with 180 boisterously happy, mostly well-nourished children. They flocked to us, grasping our hands as they clung to the pictures and letters we had brought from our children here in New York. Our hearts melted; all of a sudden, it seemed as though we could have adopted twelve more babies. But their caretakers seemed dedicated and devoted to making a future for these children, and the Rwandan government seems to be providing their basic needs. All the same, it was hard to leave.

At the conference we heard stories from people who had forgiven the killers of their own children, spouses and parents. Victims and perpetrators told their stories side by side, and ended their presentations with genuine embraces. We could hardly believe that such reconciliation was possible. The Rwandans in the audience were also visibly shaken, listening to the hell they had lived through with sobs and trembling. All we could do cry with them. But as remarkable as these tributes were, there is another reality to Rwanda as well.

On our last day we attended an assembly at Kigali University hosted by our team on the importance of reconciliation as a means to overcoming conflict and violence. The 1500 young, educated, and upwardly-mobile young people gathered there seemed hard and cynical, and sitting among the students we were immediately asked what we thought Americans could possibly teach them about forgiveness.

Our father—the author Christoph Arnold, who has spoken on forgiveness and reconciliation in New York, London, Israel and Northern Ireland—answered this difficult question by reminding the students that we had come not to teach but to learn, and to ask their forgiveness for our country’s lack of action during the genocide. He continued by pointing out the power of forgiveness to arrest the cycle of violence and hatred, citing as examples and role models Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Robert Kennedy, Mother Theresa, and Nelson Mandela. The crowd was quiet, almost stony. They weren’t buying it. When a faculty member stood up to ask about the role of punishment and retribution – which he felt was needed to counteract our message of “softness and weakness” – he was greeted with a clamor of applause and cheering.

All of us in the delegation were stunned by this sudden rant. In a way it was easy to understand, but no less tragic. The hurt of these people is immense. The normalcy of life and business has only put a superficial cover on it. But here we sensed bitterness, hatred, and resentment, barely sheathed by success and education. A new generation will inherit this simmering anger. And what will it take to prevent the next genocide?

Just across the border in the Congo, the same atrocities are happening again right now. How can such suffering ever be reconciled? Can good intentions or a UN intervention really help? A few weeks of reflection and soul-searching confirm that the Easter story – the story of Christ’s suffering, death, and resurrection – can point us to the answer. There has always been, and always will be, suffering on this earth. We can only understand this if we embrace the redemption of Christ’s suffering on the cross. Only his death, and his way, can give meaning – and healing – to the suffering of humanity. It is a hard way, but it is the only way: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.”

 

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Your Turn. Tell us what you thought about this article:

Responses

Wow! What an experience that must have been! I enjoyed your account of your travels to Rwanda. I know that all of your intentions were ones of goodwill and bringing the message of forgiveness. After reading one woman's account amidst the genocides, it made me realize how that type of trauma is one that all of us hope to never know. The people that you visited want to see some sort of justice served. That is understandable. They had their loved ones slayed before their eyes. That type of response is not only normal, it's to be expected. I think that the paths to forgiveness are very personal and ones that cannot be ordered or suggested or expected. The spark must come from within. Though your reception was not too warm, your trip was not wasted. While there may have been some cynicism or even mockery of your message, I'm sure that amidst it all, it did spark some interest among some of the people. Being served food for thought is sometimes enough to spark an appetite for starting on the path to healing and eventually even forgiveness. I would like to suggest a book to your communities. You may have already heard of this woman, but I know that she has been an inspiration to me, and I recommend her when I can: http://www.lefttotell.com/ When you read Immaculee's story, you'll see that peace and reconciliation of the heart and soul is possible amidst these ills of humanity. I think she even speaks to audiences upon invitation. It may be a way to bring a piece of the Rwandan experience to the communities.

All the best and warm wishes for a beautiful spring

Peace to you and yours,

Nicole Maendel

 

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