A Tutsified Nation
Ethnic Scapegoating and a Masked Continuation of
Social Hierarchical Divisionism in Post-Genocide Rwanda
Hannah C. de Vet 10336125
hannahdevet@live.nl
Cultural and Social Anthropology BA Thesis
Thijs Schut
University of Amsterdam
Word count: 10413 2 July 2018
1 Table of Content
Prologue………...2
Introduction……….4
Post-Genocide Politics………5
The Ethnic Danger……….7
The Formal Success and Informal Continuation………...12
Two Publics: The Civic and the Primordial……….12
The Tabooization of Ethnicity………...14
Rwanda’s Younger Generations………15
Ingando………...16
Ethnic Attitudes……….17
Conclusion………...20
2 Prologue
I remember one day. They came and they killed the people. Their blood I would see it and their people are cutting the necks and the legs … so terrible … they starting to shoot people and they using pangas [machete knives] … I fell down and the blood came on my clothes and covered me … I think the killers they thought I had died. No one came to me and killed me.
Tutsi survivor Placid Enkubit (Rogers 2014)
Rwanda, 7 April 1994. The downing of a government plane carrying Rwandan President Júvenal Habyarimana and other Rwandan government officials was the onset of the atrocious genocidal violence. Though it was unclear who carried out the attack, Theoneste Bagosora, colonel and chief of staff under Habyarimana’s government, was quick to state that the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) was responsible for the assassination of the Rwandan president (McGreal 2008). The RPF was a rebel group formed by Tutsi exiles after the Tutsi monarchy in Rwanda was overthrown by Hutu nationalists in 1959 (Meredith 2011: 507). Bagosora, known for his extreme aversion to Tutsi, ordered the elimination of all Tutsi as he argued that this would be the only plausible solution for Rwanda at that time (ibid.: 507).
The genocide was carried out in a meticulous fashion. At the time, Rwandan identity documents showed a person’s ethnic identity, making it significantly easy for the Hutu perpetrators to target their victims (BBC 2014). List of government opponents were released and Hutu militia were ordered to go out and kill them and all of their families. In an interview with Bill Berkeley, a 47-year old peasant shares how civilians were made to turn on each other:
I knew some of them. They were neighbours… I killed because I was forced to. I either had to do it or I would die myself. Many were killed for refusing to kill … (Meredith 2011: 516)
The killing continued. Tutsis searched for safe havens to hide from the Hutu perpetrators. On many occasions they gathered in churches but their desperate efforts were futile. As Martin Meredith describes, ‘… because of the thousands crowded there [in church], the killing had to be spread over several days. Those awaiting death had their Achilles’ tendons cut to prevent them from escaping’ (2011: 514). Husbands were forced to kill their Tutsi wives; mothers forced to bury their Tutsi children alive (ibid.: 516). Tutsi survivor Immaculee Ilibagiza reveals how she survived the genocide by hiding in a tiny bathroom together with seven other people: ‘I was in the bathroom for three months … a small bathroom … from a neighbour who was from the Hutu tribe. But not everyone was killing … there were many people who were trying to hide the Tutsi … (Al Jazeera 2015).
3 Another Tutsi survivor, name unknown, tells how he survived the genocide because his Hutu neighbour had hidden him under the roof for two months. His Hutu saviour states: ‘Whenever they came looking for him I would swear I did not hide anyone. I put him in any place possible to save his life’ (Lee 2010).
Since the onset of the conflict, the RPF had been able to gradually seize more territory from the Hutu militias, slowly bringing the killings to a stop (BBC 2014). In the first week of July, the RPF was able to take over the Rwandan capital of Kigali from the Hutu militia. Two weeks later the final Hutu stronghold fell (Meredith 2011: 521). On 18 July 1994, de facto President Paul Kagame of the RPF declared the civil war to be over (ibid.: 522).
After the 1994 genocide ended, the nation was left in a deplorable state. More than a million people were displaced, the national economy and social institutions were destroyed and all trust between citizens and between citizens and the government was lost (Blair 2014). The Rwandan government had the arduous task to rebuild the nation from the ground up.
Before the genocide, a long term civil conflict between the government of Rwanda and the RPF had been terminated by the signing of the Arusha Peace Accords (APA) on 4 August 1993 (Peace Accord Matrix 2015). The APA had ordered for the establishment of a power sharing transitional government. The transitional national assembly would be composed of 70 members, including all political parties registered in Rwanda at the time of the signing of the Protocol of Agreement, as well as the RPF, on the condition that they would adhere and abide by the provisions of the Protocol of Agreement (ibid.).1 The transition period was supposed to last 22 months, leading up to democratic elections that would establish an elected government. The genocidal events of 1994 shook the foundations of all political structures and agreements in the nation. On 19-20 July 1994, Kagame installed the so-called ‘Enlarged Transitional Government’, loosely based on the proposed agreements of the APA. The broad-based government included multiple political parties, on the condition that they were not involved in genocidal crimes and did not subscribe to the ideology that had led the nation into the recent disaster and chaos (NURC 2016: 576). Parties that ascribed to ethnic ideology where thus not accepted by the new government.
1
The Protocol of Agreement was part of the extensive Arusha Peace Accords that were signed on 4 August 1993, entailing the specific agreement on power-sharing in the Rwandan government.
4 Introduction
Almost 25 years after the end of the 1994 genocide, the government has made significant progress in their efforts to rebuild the nation. The nation has seen impressive development gains, the economy is thriving (The World Bank 2017) and UNICEF has ranked Rwanda among the top-performing African countries in regard to education as they have achieved an enrolment rate of 97.7% for primary school children.2 The formal post-genocide programs and policies imposed by President Paul Kagame’s government have been a key component in the rebuilding of the nation. Through the ‘Never Again’ campaign, Kagame’s regime propagates the message that their ‘knowledge and expertise’ will allow all Rwandan citizens to live in peace and prosperity (Hintjens 2008). Determined to rid society of ethnicity and ethnic divisionism, the government imposed programs aimed at (re-)educating the Rwandan population (NURC 2007). As part of the (re-)education, Rwandans are taught a specific historic narrative wherein the blame for the social ethnic divisionism is placed on colonialism (NURC 2016). In the words of Helen Hintjens, ‘Rwanda’s present rulers see themselves as steering the country towards an enlightened, progressive future free of colonial and mental maps’ (2008: 10). However, outside observers are less convinced of the regime’s post-genocide demeanour. As Kagame’s government presents itself as a barrier against forces of genocide and ethnic ideology (Rafti 2004), political scientist and social anthropologist Susanne Buckley-Zistel (2004) argues that ethnicity is more important today than it was during preparations for the genocide. Moreover, the criminalization of the ethnic discourse, ethnic ideology, and divisionism is seen as ‘atavistic and backward looking’ as it delegitimizes ethnicity as a means of public political expression or identification (Hintjens 2008). In his work Reimagining Rwanda: Conflict, Survival and Disinformation in the Late-Twentieth Century, social anthropologist Johan Pottier states that ‘Without a vision of the past which acknowledges that different interpretations of history will exist, Rwanda … will remain entrapped in an official discourse which legitimates the use of violence and makes some, leaders and led, génocidaires’ (2002: 207, emphasis in original).
The current academic paradigm on development in post-genocide Rwanda is generally focused on the lingering effects of (the elimination of) ethnicity and ethnic divisionism in contemporary Rwandan society (Eramian 2014; Hintjens 2001, 2008; McLean Hilker 2009, 2014; Newbury & Newbury 1999; Pottier 2002; Wielenga 2014). However, I find that the current academic paradigm often fails to touch upon and/or underexposes the influence of ethnic ideology on the programs and policies developed by the new – majority Tutsi – government. In this thesis, I will therefore attempt to fill in this theoretical gap by answering the following question: How do the formal post-genocide programs and policies shape contemporary Rwandan society? To answer this question, I will elaborate on the regime’s genocide ideology which influences the regime’s post-genocide demeanour. I will argue that the regime’s assumption of ethnicity as danger to the unity of
5 the nation is a way of ethnic scapegoating (Newbury & Newbury 1999), as appeals to ethnicity in Rwanda have often served as a pretext for political actors seeking to gain or obtain power (Newbury 1998).
Furthermore, by building on Peter Ekeh’s notion of the existence of two publics in Africa (1975), I will illustrate the ambiguity of the effects of the formal post-genocide programs and policies on contemporary Rwandan society. As will become clear, the formal post-genocide programs and policies only succeed at achieving their designed purpose of the elimination of ethnicity in the civic (formal) public. In the primordial (informal) public, the ethnic discourse remains omnipresent. Moreover, the discrepancy between the two publics has led to a the tabooization of ethnicity, affecting everyday life for Rwandan citizens. Although ethnicity, ethnic labels, and the ethnic discourse have been criminalized in an attempt to eliminate social categorization, social and ethnic divisionism are still actively present in contemporary Rwandan society. As I will show, the influence of ethnic ideology on the programs and policies aimed at the development of contemporary Rwandan society has created an ethos in which current day stereotypes of what it entails to ‘be Rwandan’, advocated through the governmental Ndi Umunyarwanda (‘I am Rwandan’) campaign (The Rwandan 2013), are permeated by historic ethnic stereotypes. Under the guise of post-genocide reconciliation and unification, Kagame’s regime is able to influence Rwanda’s younger generations through (re-)education in which a ‘rehearsed consensus’ (Ingelaere 2010) is developed. Hereby, the regime is achieving to instil a masked continuation of an ethnic (pro-Tutsi) ideology in Rwandan society.
Post-Genocide Politics
For the new government, a fundamental pillar in the rebuilding of the nation was to reassure another genocide would not occur, mainly through the promotion of efforts of reconciliation and unification. In order to tend to the arduous task of rebuilding the broken nation from the ground up, the newly formed broad-based government, also known as the Government of National Unity (Peace Accord Matrix 2015), outlined an eight-point plan:
1. Reinforce a climate of peace and security.
2. Organize the central, prefectural, communal, sector and cell administration. 3. Restore and strengthen national unity.
4. Repatriate and settle[ment] of refugees.
5. Improve the people’s living conditions and resolve those social problems which were a result of genocide, massacres and war (…).
6. Re-launch the national economy. 7. Redefine the country’s foreign policy. 8. Strengthen democracy in Rwanda. (Peace Accord Matrix 2015)
6 The government availed three key measures in order to stabilize and rebuild the nation. The most profound measure was the establishment of the National Unity and Reconciliation Committee (NURC) by parliamentary law in March 1999 (Hintjens 2008). Its responsibilities encompassed the preparation and coordination of national programs aimed at unification and reconciliation, education, sensitization and mobilization of the Rwandan population in areas of national unity and reconciliation, and to propose measures and actions that would contribute to the eradication of ethnic divisionism among Rwandans.3 The so-called Ndi Umunyarwanda (‘I am Rwandan’) campaign, commissioned by the government and put together by the NURC in 2013, was designed in an attempt to create a pan-Rwandan identity (The pan-Rwandan 2013). The ideological government campaign focused on creating a ‘new’ Rwandan national identity: an identity acquired through citizenship, not through ethnic heritage.4 The primal strategy was to win over the Hutu majority population by focusing on (re-)educating the younger generations (Waldorf 2014). Furthermore, ethnic discourse became largely criminalized by the introduction of the Organic Law in 2003 (Hintjens 2008: 9-10) and. As Helen Hintjens states, “… a new set of thought and speech crimes were introduced into the law including ‘divisionism’, ‘ethnic ideology’ and a ‘genocide mentality’” (ibid.: 10). A second, highly influential measure entailed the (re-)introduction of ingando, as a way to re-educate the Rwandan population. Before the genocide, ingando (or ‘retreat’) encompassed a three-week program aimed at grassroots mobilization for RPF campaigns (Mgbako 2005). However, in 1996, the government introduced a revamped version of ingando, aimed at re-educating, reconciling and unifying the Rwandan population altogether. The solidarity camps were mandatory for the overall majority of the population and would last anywhere from a few days to several months (Mgbako 2005: 209). Although different forms of ingando exist depending on the group of participants (e.g. ex-soldiers and combatants, teachers, or students), the curriculum is somewhat the same for all. Since the government is only accepting one account of Rwandan history, during ingando (and in schools in general) a specific historic framework is taught wherein an emphasis is placed on the detrimental influences of ‘evil forces’ or colonialists on the unity of the Rwandan state:
The current official history underscores the ancient unity and harmony which had characterised the old Rwandan nation and traces the roots of division and conflict in Rwandan society back to the colonial imposition of alien ethnic differences and to their perpetuation by racist post-colonial regimes which since 1959 had presided over three decades of discrimination, persecution and ultimately genocide against the Tutsis. (Bentrovato 2015: 233)
3 See http://www.nurc.gov.rw/index.php?id=83 (15-04-2018) 4
Being Rwandan entails being born in Rwanda, having a Rwandan parent, or being a naturalized Rwandan citizen (Ntayombya 2013).
7 The Belgian Administration is held culpable for the past violence, as are the Hutu regimes and the ‘passive and … complicit’ international community (Bentrovato: 233). Concurrently, praise is awarded to the RPF for the heroic acts of its forces during the 1994 genocide and for their post-genocide achievements in regard to the rebuilding and reconciling of the nation (ibid.: 233).
A third key measure was the introduction of the gacaca courts. In 2001, Rwandans elected approximately 255.000 people to act as judges in the so-called gacaca tribunals which would begin in May of 2002 (Daly 2002: 356). The gacaca hearings, neo-traditional meetings at the local level, allowed for the legal hearing of ‘less serious genocide crimes’ (Hintjens 2008: 17). Since 2005, over 12.000 gacaca courts have existed and close to 1.2 million cases have been tried (Haskell 2011). The success of the gacaca courts proves to be somewhat ambiguous. On the one hand, the courts allowed for a swift execution of justice and an extensive involvement of local communities. On the other hand, however, the gacaca courts have been accused of being a politicized arena, and not all those accused received fair trials with proper defence, resulting in serious miscarriages of justice in some cases (Hintjens 2008: 17; Haskell 2011).
The Ethnic Danger
The aforementioned measures would aid the processes of unification and reconciliation among Rwandan nationals primarily through its focus on the elimination of ethnicity, ethnic division and the ethnic discourse from Rwandan society. However, in Rwanda’s recent history it has shown that ‘appeals to ethnicity have served as a pretext for political actors seeking to gain or obtain power’ (Newbury 1998: 18). Catherine and David Newbury (1999) describe this phenomenon as ‘emergent ethnic scapegoating’. The formal post-genocide programs and policies emanated from the problematization of ethnicity and ethnic divisionism in Rwandan society by the new government (NURC 2007). One of the most prominent formal post-genocide policy measures encompassed the removal of ethnic identity from Rwandese identity cards. Regarding this decision, the following is stated in History of Rwanda, an official government-released document by the NURC on the history of Rwanda in the 20th century: ‘Aware of the danger that these identity cards would cause to Rwandan people, UNAR [Union Nationale Rwandaise] proposed to withdraw them. (…) Without hesitation, the Government of National Unity decided to remove them’ (NURC 2016: 584-585). Instead, the government introduced a new collective identity: Ndi Umuyarwanda (‘I am Rwandan’). The introduction of a new collective identity as a replacement for the ethnic identities that had divided Rwandan society for decades shows that the government perceived ethnicity as a ‘danger’ to the unity of the Rwandan nation. This seems obvious, as the 1994 genocide was driven by ethnic ideology. However, it is instrumental to elaborate on what ‘danger’ actually constitutes, and in relation to this, what is exactly perceived to be a ‘danger’ in this context in order to understand why the assumption of
8 ethnicity as a danger to Rwandan society is ambiguous with regards to the post-genocidal situation in Rwanda.
Danger is not a unilateral phenomenon, and it does not stand on its own. David Campbell notes that ‘danger is an effect of interpretation’ (1992: 2). He states that:
The mere existence of an alternative mode of being, the presence of which exemplifies that different identities are possible and thus denaturalizes the claim of a particular identity to be the true identity, is sometimes enough to produce the understanding of a threat. (Campbell 1992: 3)
Campbell’s definition of what constitutes danger aligns with Mary Douglas’ notion of dirt as ‘matter out of place’ (1966: 36). According to Douglas, our notion of dirt implies two conditions, namely: ‘a set of ordered conditions’, and ‘a contravention of that order’ (ibid.: 36). The presence of dirt denotes the presence of a system (ibid.: 36). Our assumption of something as ‘dirt’ is a reaction to an object or idea that confuses or contradicts our cherished and structured classifications (ibid.: 37). In sum, the perception of something as a ‘danger’ indicates that there is in fact an alternative mode of being, of which its existence confuses or contradicts the structured (social) classifications in the common system, and by doing so possibly creates the understanding of a threat. In the post-genocide governmental discourse, ethnicity, ethnic division, and ethnic discourse are deemed to be ‘dangerous’ for the unity of the Rwandan nation. As a result of this assumption, a multitude of programs and policies have been introduced in an attempt to eliminate this specific threat from national society. From the imposed identity policies, it can be inferred that ‘ethnicity’ is perceived as a pertinent danger to the Rwandan nation by the new government. Hereby, it should be noted that the new government, the Government of National Unity, was a majority RPF-government (NURC 2016; BBC 2014) – i.e – a ‘Tutsi’ government. It is plausible that the new government would likely benefit from a removal of ethnicity and the ethnic discourse from society in order to eliminate the danger that the ‘other’ ethnic group posed with regards to their recaptured position of effective power. In line with Catherine and David Newbury’s notion of emergent ethnic scapegoating, the focus on ethnicity as a pertinent danger seem to reiterate the political narrative in which an appeal to ethnicity is used as a pretext to, in this case, regain power.
Pre-genocide ethnic identities are perceived as a threat to the future social development of the nation and hence need to be eliminated. However, the constitution of a new collective Rwandan identity is presumably a denial of the nation’s ethnic history. By obsessively focusing on ethnicity, questions of power and class are being overlooked (Newbury 1998: 19). The ethnic diversity, ethnic division and ethnic identities present in Rwandan society are not primordial to the state, nor are they rigid (Newbury 2009; Newbury & Newbury 1999; Jefremovas 1997). In societies encompassing multiple ethnic identities, there is a high probability for a social hierarchic structure based on ethnic
9 identity and class membership (ibid.: 59). Cultural anthropologist Jay O’Brien states that new ethnic categorizations do not emerge from cultural differences between tribes, but rather from variations in the way these tribes were integrated in the capitalist system introduced by colonialism (O’Brien 1986). Ethnicity in Rwanda is neither an essential identity category, nor does it constitute a constructed identity category that can be ‘un-constructed’ by government action (Wielenga 2014: 124). The existence of specific ethnic identities has come about through historic social and political developments (ibid.: 124). As Newbury & Newbury state: ‘the consolidation of ethnic categories was shaped by political context’ (1999: 313).
During the development of the state that would ultimately become the Rwandan state as is known in its present form, the state structures came to encompass more ethnic groups (Newbury 2009: 208). These groups varied greatly with regards to their relative social positions and access to power within the Rwandan state (ibid.: 209). It was not until the expansion of the Nyiginya dynasty in the late 19th century, that stratified social categories were introduced in Rwandan society (Newbury 2009; Vansina 2004). The multiple ethnic groups present in Rwanda at that time were categorized by the terms Hutu and Tutsi. These categories were contextually defined and thus, as stated by David Newbury:
…, ethnic labels did not apply to internally homogeneous corporate groups, but to broad collective identities that emerged in a given context, and that were based on concepts drawing on descent, occupation, class and personal characteristics in various combinations. (Newbury 2009: 301)
The introduction of ethnic categories in Rwanda resulted from social organization during the Nygingya dynasty and with the arrival of European colonizers. The expansion of the Nyiginya dynasty led to a significant increase of the population (Vansina 2004). As a result of this increase, there was a need for a new system of exploitation at the hands of provincial chiefs (ibid.: 133-134). In 1870, the so-called uburetwa was introduced. It entailed a traditional feudal land distribution system based on labour in which two out of every four days of work had to be set aside for services to the chief (ibid.: 134). Patron-client ties were not unknown in Rwandan society (Newbury 1988: 73, 82). However, earlier patron-client systems had not discriminated towards a specific group in the way that the uburetwa was effectively going to do. In general, the Hutu were associated with more agriculturalist values and cattle, while the Tutsi shared more pastoralist cultural values (Newbury 2009: 209). And whereas the Hutu were increasingly excluded form positions of power, the Tutsi held practically all positions of effective power within the Rwandan state (ibid.: 209). In the words of Jan Vansina, ‘the imposition of uburetwa on farmers and not on herders was the straw that broke the camel’s back’ (2004: 134). The uburetwa poisoned the relation between the Hutu and the Tutsi, as it was primarily the Hutu that were obligated to relinquish their hard-earned means. It caused a strong rancour among the Hutu as they were being increasingly disadvantaged and exploited by the,
10 primarily Tutsi-run, state. An example of the favouritism at the hands of the Tutsi can be found in the unfair treatment of Hutu combatants during the Nyiginya realm. War was one of the main instruments of power during the Nyiginya realm, and violence was used as a way to force accelerated exploitation of the population (ibid.: 182). The Hutu’s that participated in combat were looked down upon by the Tutsi chiefs and often withheld their rewards (Newbury 2009: 211). Since most non-combatants were comprised of farmers, and farmers being primarily Hutu, the Hutu were primarily seen and treated as ‘foreigners’ to the Rwandan state as it was perceived that they did not make valuable contributions to the consolidation of state power (ibid.: 211).
The ethnic division was rigidified by the Belgian colonial administration, culminating with the introduction of ethnic identity on identity documents in 1933 (Hintjens 2001: 30). The Belgians found the Tutsi to be superior over the Hutu, stating that the Tutsi were ‘born to rule’ (Jefremovas 1997). This ideology was a direct reflection of the European social and racial theories at that time (ibid.). A multitude of new policies and institutions were introduced, meaning that the power of the Tutsi was only increased. No longer were peasants able to escape their patrons as had been possible before the arrival of the colonialists (Hintjens 2001; Jefremovas 1997; Newbury 2009), political discrimination towards the Hutu was sharpened (Hintjens 2001), and Hutu were effectively excluded from any positions of power (ibid.). The introduction of the ethnic identity on identity documents meant that an individual could no longer become a Hutu or a Tutsi but was ascribed its ethnic identity through patrilineal descent (Prunier 1995).5 British social anthropologist and historian Edwin Ardener argues that the ascribed ethnic labels functioned in a recursive way, as the labels used by the state and the colonisers were appropriated by those people in question, essentially fortifying its presence in society (Ardener 1989 [1972]).
The rift between the Hutu and the Tutsi culminated throughout decades with state power shifting from Tutsi to Hutu and back, ultimately leading to the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi (Job 2004). Friedrich Nietzsche presents a fitting conception that allows for an understanding of this process. In the first essay of On the Genealogy of Morality, Nietzsche claims that our modern-day judgements are the result of a ‘slave revolt in morality’ (2007: 16-18, 20-22). The slaves, sickly and weak human beings that constantly suffer from themselves, find themselves filled with ressentiment. Ressentiment can be defined as ‘an emotional response to suffering and frustration’ (Snelson 2017: 17), which characterizes the ‘hate of powerlessness’ (Nietzsche 2007: 16-18). Conjuring feelings of envy and an inherent hate of powerlessness, ‘the slaves’ propagate their assumption of misfortune towards the higher human beings. In this process, the higher human beings, creative geniuses and the more prevalent higher humans, become objectified and disvalued by the slaves as they long for
5 Before the rigidification of ethnic identity through the ethnic categorization by the colonial administration, it was possible for individuals to become a Hutu or a Tutsi based on social status and income (Hintjens 2001; Newbury 2009).
11 power (Snelson 2017: 26); not for power in itself, but for power that will allow them to avenge those who do not suffer as they do:
…; finally he [the slave] exclaims in rage: ‘Then let the whole world perish!’ This revolting feeling is the summit of envy, which argues: because there is something I cannot have, the whole world shall have nothing! The whole world shall be nothing! (Nietzsche 1997: 155-156, emphasis in original)
Suggested that ‘ressentiment becomes most acute in conditions of oppression and … it receives expression in connection to judgements about one’s sinfulness and an expectation of atonement’ (Snelson 2017: 19), the jealous confrontation that flows from the deeply rooted ressentiment and envy is described as the slave revolt; a conflict between two rival groups of nobles, whom both perceive themselves to be ‘good’ as opposed to the other (the ‘evil’).
Nietzsche’s conceptions of ressentiment and slave revolt are fitting in the case of Rwanda’s hierarchical social power structure and contribute to the understanding of the outburst of genocidal violence against the Tutsi in 1994. For the larger part of Rwandan state history, the Tutsi have been in positions of effective power, albeit being a minority ethnic group. Since the introduction of the stratified social categories, the Tutsi have been systematically oppressing the Hutu on multiple levels in society (Jefremovas 1997; Newbury 1988). As a result of the oppression and favouritism, the Hutu gradually developed senses of ressentiment and envy towards the Tutsi.
At the time of the genocide, the nation was reigned by a Hutu regime, led by President Júvenal Habyarimana. Habyarimana became president after a bloodless coup in 1972 (Sullivan 1994). Habyarimana’s government managed the nation and its economy quite well (Waller 1996: 9; Hintjens 2001: 33-34). It was not until the early 1990s that unrest arose, resulting from internationally demanded democratic reforms (Hintjens 2001). The Rwandan press were allowed free expression which instantaneously led to open criticism of government policies, growing corruption, and indiscipline within the army (Newbury 1992: 213-215). State resources were allocated to the militarized and loyal sector of the population which included “the army, members of parties loyal to the President and the growing number of informal ‘Hutu Power’ militias” (Hintjens 2001: 36). The public opinion in Rwanda became increasingly out of touch with Habyarimana’s government, calling for his removal in January 1992 (ibid.: 36). In the meantime, the RPF had invaded Rwanda threatening the government’s position of power through the arrangement of the Arusha Peace Accords which proscribed a 50-50 power sharing of the army – which had thus far been a majority Hutu institution (Hintjens 2001; Jefremovas 1997). As mentioned, President Habyarimana was killed on 7 april 1994 when his plane was shot down, triggering the genocidal violence.
Whether the genocide was the result of a calculated and planned action on the part of a political elite in an effort to hold on to their diminishing power (Reyntjens 1995; Prunier 1995; Joint
12 Evaluation of Emergency Assistance to Rwanda 1996; Ntampaka 1997) –– or if it was the culmination of long term oppression of and favouritism against the Hutu (Jefremovas 1997; Magnarella 2005; Newbury & Newbury 1999), governmental policies aimed towards eliminating ethnicity, the ethnic discourse, and introducing a new collective Rwandan identity will not bring about the desired change in society as it fails to comprehend and touch upon the broader extent of the hierarchical rift between the Hutu and the Tutsi. By perceiving ethnicity as a danger to the unity of the Rwandan nation, the government is able to legitimize their post-genocide ideology. By targeting ethnicity and the ethnic discourse, the government (un)consciously ignores or denies deeper-rooted causes of the grievances among parts of society which led to the genocidal violence in the first place. By doing so, the ‘root of evil’ is only being disguised and not removed. This disguise allows the government to implement a pro-Tutsi ideology under the guise of reconciliation and unification.
The Formal Success and Informal Continuation
The effects of the formal post-genocide programs and policies on contemporary Rwandan society are twofold. At the formal level, the elimination of ethnicity, the ethnic discourse, and ethnic divisionism from society appears to be succeeding. At the informal level, however, ethnicity is still clearly present. This ambiguity can be explained through Peter Ekeh’s notion of the existence of two publics in Africa (1975).
Two Publics: The Civic and the Primordial
Peter Ekeh (1975) proposes the existence of two publics in Africa, as opposed to one public in the West, as a result of colonialism.The emergence of two publics originates from two groups, namely the colonial administrators and the African bourgeois class. Both groups held their own ideological formulations to legitimize their rule over the ordinary African people (ibid.: 93). The colonial ideologies of legitimation included: backwardness of the African past, lack of contributions by Africans to the building of Africa, benefits of European colonial rule, administrative cost of colonization to Europeans and the distinction between ‘native’ and ‘the West’ (ibid.: 97-99). The African bourgeois ideologies of legitimation served more as a weapon against the colonial power and as a means to legitimize their power over the African common man. It entailed African high standards, independence strategies, promises of education as guarantee of success, and ethnic domain-partition ideology (ibid.: 100-105). The colonizers’ condescending attitude towards the African natives generated a distinction between moral- and amoral terms and obligations:
The native sector has become a primordial reservoir of moral obligations, a public entity which one works to preserve and benefit. The Westernized sector has become an amoral civic public from which one seeks to gain, if possible in order to benefit the moral primordial public. (Ekeh 1975: 100; emphasis in original)
13 Both publics presume a different citizenship structure. In the primordial public, ‘the individual sees his duties as moral obligations to benefit and sustain a primordial public of which he is a member’ (ibid.: 106). In return, the individual receives intangible benefits such as identity and psychological security (ibid.: 107). In the civic public, economic value is the main incentive. Entailing primarily material terms, for the individual there is no moral urge to give back to the civic public (ibid.: 107). Ekeh summarizes the dialectic between the two publics as follows:
A good citizen of the primordial public gives out and asks for nothing in return; a lucky citizen of the civic public gains from the civic public but enjoys escaping anything in return whenever he can. But such a lucky man would not be a good man were he to channel all his lucky gains to his private purse. He will only continue to be a good man if he channels part of the largesse from the civic public to the primordial public … it is legitimate to rob the civic public in order to strengthen the primordial public. (Ekeh 1975: 108, emphasis added)
In Rwanda, experiences of colonialism also led to the unique political configuration of the existence of two publics. Using already existing hierarchical power structures, colonial authorities forced the Rwandan elite, predominantly Tutsi, to serve as intermediaries for the colonial administration (Newbury 1988: 53). The indirect rule led to Tutsi chiefs gaining more effective forms of political power and placed them in a position of superiority over the common people (ibid.: 53). The colonial rule also led to the introduction of new policies on political recruitment and the organization of administrative structures (ibid.: 59-60). Efforts to ‘modernize’ the Rwandan polity were not always expeditious. Local chiefs resisted the colonial influences and had an unfazed loyalty towards Rwandan traditional obligations and practices (ibid.: 67). They held a powerful position in local power bases and received support from the local population (ibid.: 67). In 1931, this led the Belgium colonial administration to replace the reigning King, Umwami Musinga, with a younger counterpart; someone who was more receptive and willing to adhere to the colonial power (ibid.: 67). The increased government penetration into Rwandan society, as a result from the colonial rule, led to a ‘profound rearrangement of opportunities for political and social mobility and changes in security of access to basic economic goods …’ (ibid.: 70). Colonialism in Rwanda led to a reinforcement and consolidation of a process of peasantization that had been present for centuries yet was now formally corroborated by the colonial administration.
Ekeh’s argument is relevant with regards to the effects of the formal post-genocide programs and policies on contemporary Rwandan society. The presence of two publics entails the presence of two different ‘levels’ of society, which could be interpreted as a formal sphere and a private (informal) sphere (Ekeh 1974: 91). The formal post-genocide programs and policies were primarily
14 focus at the elimination of ethnicity, ethnic discourse and ethnic divisionism. In the civic public, ethnic discourse was criminalized by the Organic Law of 2003 (Hintjens 2008: 9-10) and as such became officially eliminated from public expression. This shows, as there appears to be little to no ethnic segregation in current day society. There are no specific Hutu or Tutsi neighbourhoods, very few organizations or offices that are exclusive to one group or the other, and Rwandans go about their daily business and social obligations (McLean Hilker 2009: 84). In the primordial public, however, the formal post-genocide programs and policies have, to a certain extent, failed to achieve their destined purpose. Although the verbal expression of the ethnic discourse has been successfully eliminated as a result of the criminalization of ethnic discourse, a non-verbal ethnic discourse constantly lures beneath the surface. Certain workplaces and professions are perceived to be predominantly occupied by Hutu or Tutsi, social relations are saturated by the conscious assumption of categorization, and the unknowingness of other’s ethnicity makes people wary as there is still a great sense of mistrust among the population (ibid.: 84, 92-93). Albeit not verbally spoken of, ethnic stereotypes are still omnipresent in everyday life.
The Tabooization of Ethnicity
A taboo on ethnicity emerged in Rwandan society as a result of the discrepancy between the two publics, affecting social relations in Rwandan society. A taboo, or ritual prohibition, is a ‘rule of behavior which is associated with a belief that an infraction will result in an undesirable change in the ritual status of the person who fails to keep to the rule’ (Radcliffe-Brown 1952: 135). Taboos play a vital role in how a person embodies the social order in which he or she operates:
Following a taboo means both articulating a prohibition in words and shaping one’s daily acts to conform to it. In the most profound cases, one’s very perceptions become organized around the taboo such that the absence feels right and natural, even unmarked, and the violation or possibility of violation causes distress. (Lambek 1992: 23)
As taboos have no agency, they cannot prevent individuals from doing ‘forbidden’ things (Walsh 2002: 465-466). However, through social processes structures of responsibility become established encompassing (ir)responsible behavior as such (ibid.: 466). The status of ethnicity and the ethnic discourse as a taboo is confirmed by the fact that Rwandans avoid the use of ethnic terminology, either out of fear for government repercussions or through social pressure (Eramian 2014: 103). Rwandans refrain from using the direct terms of Hutu and Tutsi as it would cause an infraction of the proposed rule of behaviour, namely the prohibition on ethnic discourse, which would lead to an undesirable change in the status of a person who fails to keep to the social rule. Whereas Radcliffe-Brown speaks of a change in the ‘ritual status’ of a person, in this case, the change of status
15 encompasses how one is perceived in both the civic and primordial public. By breaching the social rules of behavior, one risks damaging their position in the social order in which one operates. In the civic public, a breach of the formalized rules of behaviour leads to criminal charges. In the primordial public, social pressure has created and atmosphere in which Rwandans ought it best to avoid the use of ethnic terms in order to not lose their intangible benefits such as identity and psychological security.
The formal elimination of ethnicity and the ethnic discourse from society did not succeed in eliminating the ethnic discourse from the primordial (informal) public. By ‘simply’ eliminating ethnicity from society in an effort to unify and reconcile the broken nation, the government gravely underestimated the influence of ethnic identity and ethnic stereotypes on the lives and livelihood of Rwandan citizens. The historic entanglement of ethnicity with class, occupational and moral distinctions in Rwandan society allows ethnic stereotypes to be evoked even without ethnic labels (Eramian 2014: 96). The ethnic heritage of individuals is assumed based on ethnic stereotypes and social expectations. Because of the ethnic stereotypes present in Rwandan society, being labelled as one or the other can affect how one is perceived in everyday life. Tutsi’s, in general, are perceived to be arrogant and more cunning than Hutu’s (McLean Hilker 2009: 89). Hutu’s are perceived as more open and sociable (ibid.: 89). However, their heritage is stained by the genocide and the post-genocidal labelling as génocidaires (Broch-Due 2004). An example by Laura Eramian, a social anthropologist focused on personhood and everyday relationships in situations of violent conflicts, affirms the omnipresence of the ethnic discourse in the primordial (informal) public despite the formal post-genocide programs and policies aimed at the elimination of ethnicity and the ethnic discourse from society. A local small business owner, Rose, is accused of being unfriendly, lacking sociality and condescending towards less fortunate people (ibid.: 104). The accusations were at the hand of a younger boy who was asking her for financial assistance. There were no ethnic labels verbally expressed in the small altercation. However, soon after the boy left the place of business, Rose opened up to Eramian about the local resentment against the ‘ethnic Tutsi’ that encompass the majority of the local commercial elite in the area (ibid.: 104). She implied that the boy was a Hutu, either by his dependent composure in asking for financial assistance, or by his physical appearance (ibid.: 104). The boy had unwittingly assumed that Rose must have been a Tutsi by her composure.
Rwanda’s Younger Generations
In the foregoing paragraphs, I have presented an outline of the formal post-genocide programs and policies and discussed some of the consequences for contemporary Rwandan society.6 As mentioned, the government discerns the importance of the younger generations in the development of the Rwandan state. The Rwandan youth has been a fundamental point of focus for the rebuilding of the
6
The effects and consequences that I have presented here are not exhaustive. My selection merely results from the specific anthropological framework I focus on in this thesis.
16 nation. The current definition of youth in Rwanda encompasses people aged between 16 and 30 years.7 In what follows, I will illustrate the effects of the formal post-genocide identity policies on the lives of Rwandan youth to show that the formal post-genocide identity policies have led to an unconscious tutsification of the nation through the development of the Rwandan youth. As with the effects of the formal post-genocide identity policies on contemporary Rwanda, concerning the full population, the effects on Rwanda’s younger generations in specific are also ambiguous. The ambiguity can be ascribed to the existence of two publics, influencing the development of Rwanda’s younger generations. I will first discuss the effects of the formal post-genocide identity policies on the Rwandan youth through the civic public (formal level of society), and subsequently I will show how this development steadily seeps into the primordial public (informal atmospheres) that signifies the lives of Rwanda’s younger generations.
Ingando
The national solidarity camps, or ingando, play an important role in the development of national consciousness of the Rwandan youth. Ingando for Rwandan students is the most prevalent form of ingando in Rwanda (Mgbako 2005). After students finish secondary school, they attend ingando for two months before attending university. During these two months, students are taught a wide variety of nation-related subjects and matters (ibid.: 217). As a result of the specific post-genocide historic discourse that is taught to Rwandan youth both in school as during ingando, it clearly appears that the younger generations have internalized a ‘state-sanctioned’ knowledge (Bentrovato 2015: 245).
In a survey conducted by Denise Bentrovato, in an effort to assess the formal governmental post-genocide policies and its effects on Rwandan youth, it was found that students have an “almost unanimous reproduction of canonical and politically approved representation of the past, and an almost blanket omission or dismissal of alternative versions of ‘the truth’” (ibid.: 245). Additionally, she also found an apparent success in the introduction of a new national identity, parting away from ethnocentric views, and a commitment to the government’ ideology of reconciliation, unity and development (ibid.: 246). For the government, (re-) educating the youth through the regular education curriculum and through ingando is a direct way of creating RPF loyalists as it allows them to influence and shape the opinions of young students, orienting them toward the RPF-ideology, strengthening the position of the current RPF-government (ibid.: 217). In this way, an illusion is created of a unified younger generation that is in full consensus on the nation’s past and its future ideological pathway. However, this so-called ‘rehearsed consensus’ (Ingelaere 2010: 52-53), practically created through political indoctrination, appears to censor elements that are not deemed to fit the official public narratives and which are still existent in the informal spheres of society (Bentrovato 2015: 246). As stated by Bert Ingelaere: “this ‘rehearsed consensus’ is the dominant and
17 dominating discourse in post-genocide Rwanda, but it is not necessarily what Rwandans experience as reality” (2010: 53).
The reality for Rwandan youth, as for the Rwandan population in general, is that ethnicity, ethnic discourse and social divisionism are all too present in everyday life. There is still a persistent desire among Rwandan youth to determine others’ ethnicity, deriving from low levels of trust (McLean Hilker 2009: 81). One of Lyndsay McLean Hilker’s respondents attests to this: ‘We can be friends without problems, but not very intimate. There is always a barrier. I could never have total trust in someone of the other ethnicity …’ (2009: 85). When determining others’ ethnicity, young Rwandans primarily categorize people based on morphological traits, that in turn are based on common stereotypes of Hutu and Tutsi appearances (ibid.: 87). These stereotypes, emphasizing body height, physical build, and shape of the nose, stem from the nineteenth century colonial period (ibid.: 87). Although categorization based on physical traits is the most common way of social categorization among Rwandan youth, they admit that, in practice, it is very unreliable (ibid.: 87). The inaccuracy of morphological stereotypes can be assigned to the large numbers of Rwandans of mixed ethnicity resulting from intermarriages (ibid.: 86). Since ethnicity in Rwanda was passed down through patrilineal decent (Rombouts 2004: 206), a child would receive the ethnicity of its father, regardless of whether the mother had a different ethnic background. The categorization based on physical traits thus often leads to mistaken ethnic assumptions:
With [people of mixed heritage], we often make mistakes … you can find a boy with a Tutsi father and Hutu mother, who is therefore Tutsi, but he has all the traits of his mother and others mistake him. Like the boys that came to visit my brother earlier – their father is Hutu and their mother is Tutsi. Yet, they have the traits of Tutsis – like true Tutsis – and people think they are Tutsi. They know they are Hutus, but they will let others think they are Tutsis. (Consolée, in: McLean Hilker 2009: 87)
This excerpt can be complemented by the following example in which Laura Eramian describes how one of her respondents, Emmanuel, is perceived and treated as a Hutu, even though he is Tutsi by decent. Being a bartender at a local motel restaurant in Butare guests often looked down upon Emmanuel, expecting him to take care of their luggage. He describes the situation as follows: ‘…It’s like when chiefs took poor peasants with them to carry their belongings when they travelled. This is very subservient work in Rwandan tradition’ (2014: 105). His description of the situation directly relates to the ethnic historic tradition of patron-client systems in which the Tutsi were dominant and the Hutu were subservient. Even without actual ethnic labels being present in this situation, the ethnic rhetoric still plays an important, almost dominant, role in the situation.
18 For Rwandan youth, ethnicity does not hold the same value as it does for the older generation Rwandans. During an interview with John, a 28-year-old Rwandan national, I gained more insights into the meaning of ethnicity for the younger generations.8 He states: ‘I would bet that 75% to 80% of the people in my age, between 18 and 29-30, could care less whether somebody is Hutu or Tutsi’. John explains that he would not even know what his ethnicity would be if he was asked to label himself:
Right now, if you’d ask me: John, who are you? Are you Hutu or Tutsi? I honestly would not be able to tell you.
My parents, who lived through all those times, they definitely knew exactly who they were. I mean there’s no question about it. But after the genocide nobody wanted to keep those labels for obvious reasons.
This attitude aligns closely with that observations made by Lyndsay McLean Hilker (2009) during her ethnographic research on the role of ‘ethnic’ categories in the everyday relations and relationships in post-genocide Rwandan society. One of her interviewees states: ‘My best friend is Didier and Didier is Hutu. In fact all my friends are Hutu and I am the only Tutsi, but there are no problems between us’ (2009: 85).
So far, it seemed as if the ethnic discourse indeed had lost its significance in the lives of the younger generation Rwandans. However, through the narratives of my own respondents as by the works of Laura Eramian and Lyndsay McLean Hilker, it evidently shows a presence of the ethnic discourse. When asked directly about the influence of ethnicity on their daily lives, my respondents note that the Rwandan youth experiences the practice of ethnic labelling and its effects on their social relations primarily through the influence of the older generation Rwandans. This is affirmed by both Eramian and McLean Hilker. Despite mixed relationships and mixed families being no new phenomenon to Rwandan society, intimate relations between Hutu and Tutsi are still looked down upon and disapproved of by the older generations:
Shortly after I arrived in Rwanda [in 1995], I had a girlfriend. One day, she introduced me to her family. I thought everything went well with them … But a few days later, she came to tell me that it would be impossible for us to continue. There were too many obstacles and her parents had told her to end the relationship … [It was because]
8 I have conducted multiple interviews with three respondents in order to get a more comprehensive understanding of the meaning of ethnicity for Rwanda’s younger generations in their everyday life. I was introduced to my respondents by an administrator of a Facebook group for Rwandan university students. All three respondents are Rwandan citizens, born right before or right after the genocidal violence commenced. Their names have been anonymized at their request.
19 she was Hutu, but I didn’t care about this. I just loved her. (Jimmy, McLean Hilker 2009: 86)
Another one of my respondents, Joseph (26), affirms this experience by explaining that he as well is not bothered by the desire to figure out someone else’s ethnicity, yet things tend to get far more serious when it comes down to marriage. He notes that people tend to draw a line there because marriage means marrying an entire family, and ‘the history’ is just still too fresh in people’s minds. What this shows is that despite all efforts by the government to reconcile and unify the population through the national programs and policies, ethnicity still has a firm grip on contemporary Rwandan society. John explains that this is likely caused by the fact that the older generations grew up in ‘those’ times when social ethnic divisionism was at an all-time high:
In pre-genocide time, they used to have rules [in schools] for Tutsi and Hutu behaviour in the classroom. They would have three rows of where all the Hutu kids would sit together, and then in another line they have all the Tutsi kids sitting by themselves. So, our parents grew up in those times.
The younger generation Rwandans are growing up in an environment where they are taught a unified history, wherein the blame for the nation’s hardships is placed on colonialism. No longer is there segregation present in schools, teachers have been re-educated through ingando in order to make sure they have no ill-fated favouritism towards certain students, and, since most secondary schools in Rwanda are boarding schools, parental influences (on ethnicity) are largely absent. During the interviews it became clear that the loss of ethnic labels and the ethnic discourse as a result of the formal post-genocide identity policies was not perceived to be problematic. In part, this was due to the fact that ethnic boundaries do not necessarily correspond with cultural boundaries (Eriksen 2010: 41). As John illustrates: ‘In Rwanda to get rid of it [ethnic labelling] was quite easy. We speak the same language, we have the same culture, it’s not like we were another country’.
The only time my respondents mentioned the presence of ethnicity, ethnic labelling, and ethnic discourse was with regards to, as mentioned, relationships and marriages, and – more surprisingly – with people that were regarded as poor. Jack (24) notes that ethnic stereotyping surfaces when concerning poor people. He states: ‘Things happen in our society when you are very poor. You fear for yourself, and you lose confidence. You are being looked down upon by others’. Keeping in mind that the Hutu – Tutsi division originated from a division between respectively farmers and pastoralists, it is thus not unexpected that being poor, which would entail one being regarded as a Hutu, produces a backlash of negative connotations and assumptions. This explains why the Rwandan youth appears to be adamantly focused on personal and economic development. The similarities between current day ambitions of Rwanda’s younger generations and the historical social hierarchical (ethnic) stereotypes are evident. The younger generations are optimistic about creating their own
20 future opportunities and, in the words of Jack, ‘becoming a wealthy man’. No one wants to end up being poor. Furthermore, I found a distinct infatuation with leadership, social status, and attaining positions of effective power in the narratives of my respondents: Jack shares that he aspires to become a professor in irrigation and drainage techniques so he can improve his community through education, and John just recently started to work abroad and enthusiastically emphasizes how his income is able to provide a livelihood for his whole family back in Rwanda. This illustrates the deep rootedness of the social (ethnic) hierarchical division that is still present in contemporary Rwandan society. As the personal and social developments of Rwanda’s younger generations are primarily influenced by the government-propagated education, it is clear that the younger generations unconsciously effectuate a tutsification of the Rwandan nation. In this way, the government is slowly and steadily achieving a masked continuation of social hierarchical divisionism to the advantage of the ‘Tutsi’, through the undiscerned indoctrination of Rwanda’s younger generations.
Conclusion
The Rwandan government has advocated for reconciliation and unification of the Rwandan nation after the horrific genocidal violence of 1994. Through formal post-genocide programs and policies, the government propagates a new collective Rwandan identity in order to eliminate the ‘ethnic danger’ from society. That is, the ethnic discourse and divisionism that is assumed to be the root cause of the genocidal violence by the new government. The elimination of ethnic labels and the ethnic discourse through the national programs and policies was successful and quite easily accepted by the Rwandan population in the civic public. At the primordial level, however, the pre-genocide ethnic discourse and ethnic stereotypes are still present and do indeed still affect people’s daily interactions. Ethnicity remains to be an extremely sensitive subject in Rwanda and Rwandans treat the matter in a don’t ask – don’t tell manner. Moreover, the formal programs and policies have led to a tabooization of ethnicity and the ethnic discourse in Rwandan society, disguising – yet not removing – social and ethnic divisionism.
The younger generations have been a fundamental point of focus for the government in their attempt to reconcile and unify the nation. Rwanda’s younger generations are taught a specific proscribed social historical framework through ingando, under the guise of (re-) education and national unification. Through the narratives of my respondents, it has become clear that the younger generations have internalized a ‘rehearsed consensus’ (Ingelaere 2010). Although the rehearsed consensus, based on a shared communal history, allows for a more unified Rwandan nation, reconciliation will not be achieved as the government has failed to address the historic favouritism that led to the development of deeply rooted ressentiment among part of the population. On the surface, the post-genocide ideology advocated by the government appears to be objective and aimed at elimination social and ethnic divisionism from its nation. It is not surprising, however, to find that
21 approximately 25 years after the genocide, the stereotypical assumptions of what it entails to ‘be Rwandan’ are drenched in what formerly would be described as ‘Tutsi’. Under the guise of reconciliation and unification, the government appears to have succeeded in achieving a masked continuation of the social hierarchical division wherein social status – based on historic ethnic stereotypes – determines one’s current social identity. In this way, the tutsification of the Rwandan nation has been put in motion by Paul Kagame’s government and will likely continue to determine the shaping of what entails ‘being Rwandan’.
Who would want to be labelled as a Nazi today? And nobody likes to be pitied. Now, being Rwandan means to be better than anything, so why not just do that?
(John, 28)
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