“PIO: We no longer saw a human being when we turned up a Tutsi in the swamps. I mean a person like us, sharing similar thoughts and feelings. The hunt was savage, the hunters were savage, the prey was savage-savagery took over the mind.”158

In the 19th century present-day Rwanda and Burundi, predominantly Christian countries, became Germany colonies, and the new powers founded a feudal society in the countries.

Made up of two dominant tribes, the Hutu and the Tutsi, the Tutsi nobility descended from cattle ranchers. After Germany lost the First World War, the League of Nations entrusted the East African mandate of Rwanda and Burundi (Ruanda-Urundi) to Belgium, and thus French became the language of the government.

From the 1930s, the Belgian government made it mandatory for all Africans to carry identity cards displaying their ethnicity, language and religion. The Rwandans were divided into three ethnic groups, 80 to 85% Hutu, 14 to 19% Tutsi and 1% Twa. As colonisers do, practising a divide and rule policy, the Belgian separated and marginalised the groups along racial lines determining that the Tutsi were a superior race who had lighter skin, were taller and had thin noses – a more European type look. The Hutu on the other hand were held to be inferior, with darker skin and shorter statures. The Belgium government thus granted more power, status, economic and educational privileges to the Tutsis.

Muslims in Rwanda only represented a very small proportion of the country’s inhabitants and had long suffered the brunt of a negative propaganda, which had led to many cases of discrimination. Muslims were referred to by the disparaging terms “Umuswahili” derived from the fact that many Muslims in earlier generations had spoken Swahili. There were also attempts by teachers to convert Muslim children to Christianity, and if any resisted they faced preventions and restrictions in furthering their education. Many Muslim parents who feared such conversion attempts opted to not send their children to school and to enrol them instead into madrasas. This had long term effects since Muslims would remain as a marginal group with little influence in political life.

On April 6, 1994, a plane carrying home the late Presidents Habyarimana of Rwanda and Ntaryamira of Burundi was shot down above the Kanombe International Airport in Kigali.

The crash was blamed by Hutus on Tutsi rebels and what transpired was a sporadic festering of hate and revenge. This culminated in a savage campaign of murder and violence which spread from the capital to the rest of the country.

Due to a very intense program of dehumanisation of the Tutsi population, much of the violence was carried out between neighbour and neighbour, husband and wife, clergy and congregation, teacher and students. Hutu militia, the interhamwe, resorted to hacking to death men and women they had grown up with, who attended the same churches, the same schools, spoke the same language and even intermarried.

The campaign of Otherising the Tutsis was fermented and disseminated through schools, media and in political rhetoric, inspiring armed youth to kill openly. The murderers would force others to do the same, evoking slogans of “do or die”, meaning kill or get killed, enticing them with promises of food, money and an inheritance of land belonging to the Tutsis they kill.

Many who did not physically kill others, colluded with murderers to reveal Tutsi hiding places. Though some of the violent outbursts were sporadic events, many high-level Tutsi politicians and businessmen were also implicated in the festering of virulent anti-Hutu propaganda. The country, without national or effective community leadership, degenerated into a horrendous killing field, travel restrictions prevented free movement and insecurity was rife.

What transpired in Rwanda in 1994 was man’s inhumanity to man wherein all morality was suspended. Dehumanisation occurs when some human beings exclude other human beings from the moral order of humanity. In the eyes of perpetrators such human beings lose the status that holds them together with the human race. The Tutsi were castigated with a “spoiled identity”, a state of nothingness, as “things”, “cockroaches”, as “animals” and the country descended into a savage outbreak of murder. This same process of dehumanisation existed in the rape of Nanking in 1937. The Holocaust began the same way – through an elaborate series of propaganda which featured in media and schools. The lynchings of black people in America was precipitated by a culture of stigmatising blacks as “niggers”. Similarly, the label of “gooks” was used to Otherise the Vietnamese in the My Lai massacre in which hundreds of Vietnamese civilians were killed by American soldiers. About this, Mark Baker offers us a haunting perspective: “I enjoyed the shooting and the killing. I was literally turned on when I saw a gook get shot. When a GI got shot, even if I didn’t know him…that would bother me. A GI was real. But if a gook got killed, it was like me going out here and stepping on a roach.”159 Glenn Gray recounts an incident from World War II:

“When a Japanese soldier was “flushed” from his hiding place well behind the lines of combat, “the unit, made up of relatively green troops, was resting and joking. But they seized their rifles and began using him as a live target while he dashed frantically around the clearing in search of safety. The soldiers found his movements uproariously funny and were prevented by their laughter from making early end of the unfortunate man. Finally, however, they succeeded in killing him, and the incident cheered the whole platoon, giving them something to talk and joke about for days afterward. In relating this story...the veteran emphasized the similarity of the enemy soldier to an animal. None of the American soldiers apparently ever considered that he may have had human feelings of fear and the wish to be spared.”160

Limbardo writes that “Yesterday’s “gooks” have become today’s “hajis and “towel heads” in the Iraq War as a new corps of soldiers derogates these different-looking citizens and soldiers. He cites Sergeant Mejla: “You just sort of try to block out the act that they’re human beings and see them as enemies…You call them ‘hajis. you know. You do all the things that make it easier to deal with killing them and mistreating them.”161

The famous Stanford experiments and those conducted by Albert Bandura sought to demonstrate the power of dehumanising labels to generate a culture of Otherness which would lead to harming of others. The researchers showed that dehumanising others with caricatures and labels divested others of human qualities. Conversely, their research also showed that positive labelling had the effect of enhancing a greater respect towards people.

The archetypes of terrorist or untrustworthy enemy created by visual propaganda in Nazi Germany of Jews or the media portrayals of Arabs that Shaheen and others point out generates an idea of a dangerous “them”, as “outsiders” and “hostile”. The repeated use of such images together with negative media narratives creates a societal paranoia about the burqa attired woman or the heavily bearded man.

In Jean Hatzfeld’s very harrowing account of the Rwandan genocide, made up largely of testimonials by perpetrators we come to read grizzly accounts of human beings who describe in graphic detail the events of the genocide in which the processes of Othering and dehumanisation are made plain:

“JOSEPH-DESIRE: The one who rushed off machete in hand, he listened to nothing anymore. He forgot everything, first of all his level of intelligence. Doing the same thing every day meant we didn’t have to think about what we were doing. We went out and came back without having a single thought. We hunted because it was the order of the day, until the day was over. Our arms ruled our heads; in any case our heads no longer had their say.” “FULGENCE: We became more and more cruel, more and more calm, more and more bloody. But we did not see that we were becoming more and more killers. The more we cut, the more cutting became child’s play if I may say so. In the evening you might meet a colleague. For a few, it turned into a treat, would call out, “You, my friend, buy me a Primus or I’ll cut open your skull, because I have a taste for that now!” But for many, it was simply that a long day had just come to an end. We stopped thinking about obligations or advantages – we thought only about continuing what we had started. In any case, it held us so tight, we could not think about its effect on us”.

“ADALBERT: At the start of the killings, we worked fast and skimmed along because we were eager. In the middle of the killings, we killed casually. Time and triumph encouraged us to loaf around. At first, we could feel more patriotic or more deserving when we managed to catch some fugitives. Later on, those kinds of feelings deserted us. We stopped listening to fine words on the radio and from the authorities. We killed to keep the job going. Some were tired of these blood assignments.”162

Jean-Baptiste Munyankore, a survivor of the killings in the marshes of Rwanda describes how the ordinary man, associates, friends and colleagues each betrayed an unspoken human oath of trust between them, and moreover betrayed the human conscience that recoils at the taking of an innocent life. In the accounts of rescuers, it is remarkable that what is often said is, “I did what anybody else would do”, or we only did what seemed normal to do.

Jean-Baptiste Munyankore explains:

“The principal and the inspector of schools in my district participated in the killings with nail-studded clubs. Two teachers, colleagues with whom we used to share beers and student evaluations, set their shoulders to the wheel, so to speak. A priest, the burgomaster, the sub prefect, a doctor - they all killed with their own hands... They wore pressed cotton trousers, they had no trouble sleeping, they travelled around in vehicles or on light motorcycles...

These well-educated people were calm, and they rolled up their sleeves to get a good grip on their machetes. For someone who has spent his life teaching the humanities, as I have, such criminals are a fearful mystery.”163

What transpired in the weeks, months and years following the genocide, and most particularly in the initial period was a deep interest in Islam among the Christian people of Rwanda. As the stories unfolded of the integrity and bravery of the Muslims who refused to take part in the killings and instead resorted to saving the lives of Tutsi victims, many wanted to learn about the faith that inspired such conduct. A Washington Post article from September 23, 2002, entitled ‘Islam Attracting Many Survivors of Rwanda Genocide’ by Emily Wax describes:

“Since the genocide, Rwandans have converted to Islam in huge numbers. Muslims now make up 14 percent of the 8.2 million people here in Africa’s most Catholic nation, twice as many as before the killings began.”169

The article describes the experience of Rwandan Christians with the minority Muslims and the way the positive responses following the genocide opened up new spaces of understanding between the people of that country:

“Sagahutu said his father had worked at a hospital where he was friendly with a Muslim family. They took Sagahutu in, even though they were Hutus. “I watched them pray five times a day. I ate with them and I saw how they lived,” he said. “When they pray, Hutu and Tutsi are in the same mosque. There is no difference. I needed to see that.”170

Another article by Marc Lacey published on April 7, 2004 in the New York Post entitled ‘Since ‘94 Horror, Rwandans Turn Toward Islam’ described the responses of the people of Rwanda:

“Nobody died in a mosque,’’ said Ramadhani Rugema, executive secretaryof the Muslim Association of Rwanda. ‘’No Muslim wanted any other Muslim to die. We stood up to the militias. And we helped many non-Muslims get away.’’ Muslim leaders credit the gains to their ability during the 1994 massacres to shield most Muslims, and many other Rwandans, from certain death. ‘’The Muslims handled themselves well in ‘94, and I wanted to be like them,’’ said Alex Rutiririza, explaining why he converted to Islam last year. With killing all around, he said, the safest place to be back then was in a Muslim neighborhood.”171

The last words here should be those of the Mufti of Rwanda, Saleh Habimana. When asked about what transpired in those haunting days, and what spirit drove the Muslims to behave as they did, he began by citing the following verses:

41:35 but only those who are steadfast in patience, only those who are blessed with great righteousness, will attain to such goodness.

Citing the example of the Prophet’s (peace be upon him) return to Makkah, Mufti Saleh emphasised how patience and forbearance are always the hallmark of a Muslim’s character wherever he is, and that, as Allāh mentions in the Qur’ān, it is these qualities that will inspire goodwill and reconciliation between people:

41:34 - Good and evil cannot be equal. [Prophet], repel evil with what is better and your enemy will become as close as an old and valued friend.

The rate of conversion to Islam in Rwanda from 1994 onward was a phenomenal testament to the promotion of life propagated by the country’s Mufti, countless Imams and preachers throughout the country and in the actions of the ordinary man. We might say that, as Muslims were pulling out, in their canoes, the bodies of Tutsi victims from the lakes of Kigali, they were indeed pulling out the thorn of Othering which had torn the fabric of that country. Pain and trauma indeed leave a lasting mark on a person. Ideals of forbearance, forgiveness and mercy are what foster reconciliation and what enable a relationship to regrow and endure.