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Rwanda: Healing a nation

By Sheenah Kaliisa

About a thousand people gathered on a grassy hillside in Rwanda on June 19, ready to hear accounts of how their families and neighbors were raped and butchered, but also ready sometimes even to forgive those responsible for the crimes.

Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo signed a treaty last week to end what has been termed Africa's world war. Sheenah Kaliisa More than 2 1/2 million people died in the conflict, which pitted nation against nation and ethnic group against ethnic group. The current round of fighting traces back to 1995, when Congo dictator Mobutu Sese Seko was overthrown by Laurent Kabila with the support of neighboring Rwanda and Uganda. In 1998, Kabila sought to end his dependence on Rwanda and Uganda and began cutting ties. In turn, both Rwanda and Uganda invaded Congo in an effort to overthrow Kabila. They said they acted because Kabila had failed to stop attacks on Rwanda by Hutu based in eastern Congo. These were, in many cases, the Hutu who had carried out a genocide in Rwanda against the Tutsi in 1994. Eventually, the war deteriorated into near chaos, with Angola, Nambia, Chad and Zimbabwe sending forces to Congo in support of Kabila. In this article, journalist Sheenah Kaliisa, who attended the peace-treaty signing, describes the unique process by which Tutsis and Hutus are attempting to resolve years of hatred, fear and neighbor-against-neighbor violence.

"This country will heal if we get to know the truth of what happened during the genocide, and it is only this process that will get us to the truth," said one of the judges, Mustafa Mbonyibwabo, 39, whose trade is otherwise shoe repair.

The government of the central African nation has given ordinary people like Mbonyibwabo the opportunity to dispense justice and to heal the still-raw wounds of the genocide that left more than 1 million men, women and children dead from April to July 1994.

Rwandans call the process gacaca — pronounced "ga-cha-cha" and meaning grass. It is modeled after a traditional Rwandan practice in which people gather at the invitation of village elders to resolve disputes within the community.

I have been told a lot of stories by elders about gacaca and how successful it was in solving disputes before the colonialists came in the 1930s. Now it may be the only hope for Rwanda's future. But it has its critics.

"Gacaca was used to solve small family and community disputes, but not serious crimes of genocide. I think the government just wants to release suspects of genocide," said taxi driver Janvier Mbarushimana, who told me he lost his parents, two brothers, a sister and many other relatives.

The crimes of the genocide were mostly committed in broad daylight and by ordinary people. My fear, shared by some, was that old wounds would be opened, and justice not dispensed.

"It is going to be sad for us survivors, because we are going to see some of those people walk free because there is no one left to testify against them. But we have no alternative other than to participate," Mbarushimana said.

I traveled to Rwanda for the gacaca from Arusha, Tanzania, where I work for Internews Network, covering trials at the United Nations International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, the court that prosecutes the major crimes of the genocide.

Like that of almost everyone in Rwanda, my life has been affected by the age-old conflict between the majority Hutu and minority Tutsi ethnicities.

I am Tutsi and was born a refugee in 1978 in neighboring Uganda. My paternal grandmother told me that my grandfather was killed in 1959, with his son, by their neighbors in a very bad way. Many uncles died during the failed struggle launched by my grandfather's generation in the early 1960s.

During the war that followed the 1994 genocide, I lost two brothers, four cousins and friends as soldiers. Four families of my relatives were wiped out during the massacres. I never got a chance to see some of those relatives, and I never buried my two brothers and don't even know how they died.

Since I returned to Rwanda at age 17, I have yearned for an end to this ethnic conflict and for justice to be dispensed. Justice to anybody would mean justice to my family and me.

Driving from Kigali, Rwanda's capital, to the countryside of Kibuye province west of the capital to cover the first gacaca sitting, I noticed several groups of people by the road and wondered what they were discussing.

Judge Janette Mukakimenyi presides at a gacaca, a traditional process that brings forgiveness and sometimes healing to genocide-ravaged Rwanda. Without justice, this country may have no future. Sheenah Kaliisa • Internews

Dozens of people were making their way down from the hills to the Cyambogo gacaca as I arrived.

"Everyone has a story to tell," I thought.

I saw two women seated on grass talking, one breast-feeding a child.

"I met my husband in the refugee camp in the Democratic Republic of Congo after the war in Rwanda and we had a child. When we came back in 1996, he got arrested for having taken part in killing people. I don't think he is innocent — but I am not sure, because he says he is innocent — so I am waiting for the truth when gacaca begins. If he is guilty I won't sympathize with him because what happened is unbelievable," said 30-year-old Verediana Mukamegemana.

"I am sure gacaca is going to give back my son," said her friend, 60-year-old Rose Ayinkamiye. "He has been in prison for five years, and I know he is innocent. His two children are hoping that gacaca is going to bring their father home."

"To tell you the truth, I sometimes never understand what happened in this country. Like now, I can see you are Tutsi, but I feel like I am talking to my daughter," Mukamegemana said, her eyes filling with tears as she removed a piece of grass from my hair.

As the session began, an old man stood up and asked for forgiveness from the public for having looted property, including his neighbor's cows: "I will pay back the property, and I have also personally talked to him (the robbed neighbor) and gave him a cow in return."

In Rwanda, giving someone a cow is a symbol of love.

Theoneste Biboneka asked for forgiveness for looting: "I burned my neighbor's house and took his property. I am now asking for forgiveness."

That wasn't good enough for one woman in the audience.

"Biboneka is talking of looting property, but people died in that house. Can he tell us who killed those people?" she asked.

Biboneka then gave the names of people who died in the house and the names of five people he claimed are responsible for the killing. A number of the alleged killers were among those gathered; others are in prison.

A woman named Oliver Mukagasana accused a man named Masekurume of being responsible for her husband's disappearance. "He took my husband. I never saw him again," she said.

Masekurume is being held in Kibuye prison. His wife was one of the 19 judges in this court.

Gacaca proceedings — recriminations, confessions, efforts to explain one's lapses — in Rwanda's countryside. Many participants found catharsis; others ended up on a list for further court scrutiny. Sheenah Kaliisa • Internews

"They took my children away from me. I tried to take one (the youngest) to hide and when I came back to collect the others, I saw them (her neighbors) take them away. That was the last time I saw my children. I lost my children in the hands of people I loved and trusted," she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

Later, a woman named Mukamihigo stood up to accuse Martin Hitimana, one of the 19 judges, of having expelled his wife and forcefully marrying a 17-year-old girl who had sought refuge in his house.

Hitimana, dressed in a white shirt and a blue coat, remained seated in front of the people, writing on a piece of paper as Mukamihigo made the accusation against him. He did not look up. All the judges sat on wooden chairs, while the rest of the people sat on the grass.

The accusations did not shake Hitimana's faith in the process.

"I am so optimistic about gacaca because people are saying the truth. What they said about me is true, but she agreed to live with me. And the court should look for her in order to get her to testify," Hitimana told me after the court proceedings.

One man drew laughter from the public when he stood up and started telling them about the story of his life during the 1994 genocide. He mentioned all the places he moved to, all the refugee camps he lived in and the people he met, and asked the public if they knew of any crime that he committed then.

A woman seated next to me said, "I am suspicious about that man: Why doesn't he wait for his turn? After all, from the look of things, nobody is escaping the law here."

Throughout the proceedings, the judges encouraged confessions and refused any explanations. They said they were only making lists of people who might require further court action.

People looked so disappointed when the president of the court announced the adjournment. I was one of them. I did not want to leave; I felt like we should go on and on forever until nobody is hurting anymore.

"Although we are doing justice, you also have to continue your day-to-day activities to find food for your children," the lead judge said after a five-hour session.

Afterward, I felt like a dream that had come true. Lies and conflicts vanished during the process. The sadness and trauma I expected to see among the people vanished, too, washed away by tears of joy.

Every time I'd flown out of Rwanda in recent years, I had tears of sadness in my eyes not only because I was leaving my country but because I didn't see any future for a country without justice.

I can't count how many times I have gone down on my knees to ask God to help the thousands of orphans, widows and the emotionally wounded 8 million people in Rwanda. Everyone in Rwanda needs something, but the majority need justice.

This time, I did not shed a tear at the airport, and although I still pray for the children, the next generation won't need to, at least for the same reasons, thanks to the traditional justice system of gacaca that was last used more than three generations ago.

Sheenah Kaliisa, a journalist for Internews Network, is mentored by Advertiser News Editor Brad Lendon, who traveled to Africa this year to teach editing to journalists covering the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda in Arusha, Tanzania.

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