Painful Dualities

Yesterday, Amir and I donned the press badges we received from the Ministry of Information and Culture, and got up at 5 a.m. to catch the media bus to Nyanza.

Nyanza is the site where over 5,000 people were killed in the genocide after the UN soldiers offering protection abandoned them at a school several kilometers away, leaving them to the mercy of Interhamwe militiamen who were standing around with machetes, just waiting for the peacekeepers to leave.  At the time, Nyanza was a garbage site.  As James, the media coordinator for the event told us on the bus over, "the Tutsis...their value was worth garbage."  Yesterday morning, Nyanza was the site for the opening commemoration ceremonies.

As we arrived and were sending our equipment through the security check, I tried to film one of the workers putting a box of baseball caps through the machine because I found it odd to make t-shirts and souvenir hats for a genocide commemoration.  I felt like a true journalist when an angry security official demanded I stop filming and I continued shooting from the hip anyway.

The site was packed with giant white tents and chairs for many thousands.  Most things were draped in purple, the color for the commemoration.  As we waited for President Kagame to arrive, I filmed other important figures such as Rose Kabuye (the senior official who was arrested in Germany according to a warrant issued by France) and Freddy Mutanguha, the head of the National Memorial Center who helped us get our press badges and our signed letters of permission from the Ministry.  I also met and chatted with correspondents from BBC, Al Jazeera, AP, and other sources from Japan, France, and around the world.

Kagame was somber as he entered and stood beside his wife.  After laying a wreath on the mass grave and lighting the "candle of hope," the president took his seat and spent most of the ceremony leading up to his speech jotting notes on a piece of paper, presumably about what he was experiencing that could be referenced and addressed.

His speech focused primarily on moving forward while remembering the past.  He talked at length about guilt and the international community's failure to fulfill their stated commitment to protecting innocent people, as well as the current lack of political will to bring perpetrators to justice.  

At this event, I began to understand the complexity of Rwanda's remembrance and commemoration.  The genocide became real to me for the first time during this ceremony...not because of the official pomp and circumstance or the sad-faced children choirs who performed, although they were touching.  Not even because I was within reaching distance of President Kagame and filmed a speech that I have now read about in three different international media sources.  For me, the genocide became real in the haunting screams that erupted from the audience every few minutes.

There was a horrible and unsettling contrast between the formality and sterility of the event with its politicians and sweeping purple banners, and the raw suffering of many who were attending.  All of a sudden, a scream would pierce the air and a section of the audience would scramble to help the person to an aisle where others would escort them to an area we could not see.  After a few minutes, Amir took the camera to follow the commotion and I remained to cover the official events before deciding to join him.  The scene that met us was disturbing.  Dozens of people were laid out on the ground and many more were being restrained by friends as they tried to defend themselves from attackers no one else could see.  The Red Cross had set up several large tents where people were being treated and water was being distributed to revive those who had lost consciousness.

As I made my way back to the official ceremony, a woman was passing us walking normally, then I saw something change in her eyes and she suddenly leapt into the audience, shrieking and grasping at something that was not there.  Back at the media pit, I filmed a children's choir perform a slow poetic song wearing spotless white dresses with matching purple sashes.

The two video clips below are meant to show this painful duality.  The first is a montage of the ceremony set to music from the children choir's performance.  The second is the scene that met us at the Red Cross tent, uncut and unedited.  While I know it will be very difficult, I encourage you to watch all of both clips.  Sometimes the best thing we can do for those who suffer is to be a witness.

Finally, I want to make something very clear.  This is not a judgment on the way the ceremony was conducted or the way Rwanda has chosen to remember its past.  I have no place and no interest in criticizing the way anyone deals with remembrance of difficult events, especially when I have no personal connection to them.  I simply think it is important to see both sides and to present the images, sounds, and stories that will most likely be left out of the "official" recollection of this event.