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various state-building projects that successive regimes have undertaken, demonstrating that the policy

of national unity and reconciliation is a product of this historical legacy of administrative domination

and regime authority. The policies and actions of the Belgian colonizers and missionaries had a

negative impact on the lives of ordinary Rwandans, just as the policy of national unity and

reconciliation claims. But ordinary Rwandans also suffered at the hands of their Rwandan overlords

under land and clientship arrangements that started under the royal court and that were fully

consolidated as oppressive practices of socioeconomic stratification by the end of the colonial period,

in 1962. The failure of the Belgians to understand the complexity of Rwanda’s political and social

organization allowed the king and his chiefs and subchiefs to shape power relations between ordinary

Rwandans and the state in strategic ways that consolidated state power at the expense of individual

political agency and participation. The intersection of Belgian policy and the practices of local

Rwandan authorities transformed power relations, notably through land tenure and distribution

patterns. Some individuals, mostly Tutsi but some Hutu, benefited under these changes; others, mostly

Hutu but some Tutsi, did not. As state power became more centralized and hierarchical, ordinary

people lost their ability to actively shape their everyday realities to suit their daily lived realities.

Instead, the relationship of ordinary people to their local authority, not their ethnicity, came to

determine their life chances, just as it does today under the policy of national unity and reconciliation.

Ethnicity mattered most during periods of acute violence, such as those at the beginning and end of

the period of Belgian colonization and again during the 1959–62 Social Revolution. The tactics and

practices of control that both Tutsi and Hutu leaders used to justify policies of sociopolitical exclusion

to control the state apparatus actually varied little over the years. The supposed historical unity that

the policy of national unity and reconciliation of the current government relies upon to justify its

policies is not grounded in empirical fact. Instead, it is another example of a strategic version of

history designed to protect the grip of political elites on state power.

The historical record also shows that ethnic violence is not an innate aspect of Rwandan society.

Quite the opposite; analysis of the historical record illustrates how the manipulation of ethnicity is a

tactic used by the elite—whether Hutu or Tutsi—to justify resorting to violence, something in which

ordinary peasants are regularly caught. Violence is an everyday part of Rwandans’ past and present

lives. It is not, however, rooted in ethnic hatred or, as the current government would have us believe,

pent-up feelings of genocide ideology among a poor rural population. Violence in Rwanda has been

consistently dressed up as ethnic when in fact its organizers and sponsors have merely invoked age-

old ethnic animosity to seize, gain, or consolidate power. In this way, the policy of national unity and

reconciliation is hardly a new interpretation of history, nor is it representative of an enlightened

political elite that claims to “undo the infrastructure and ideology of the past to ensure that genocide

never again happens in Rwanda” (Office of the President 1999, 22). Instead, it is a tool that the current

government uses to deemphasize the actual causes and consequences of the 1994 genocide while

masking its own efforts to mold Rwandan society according to its singular vision of precolonial ethnic

unity, a theme that I examine in the next chapter.

3

A Continuum of Violence, 1990–2000


I wanted to go to ingando [reeducation camp] but was told I couldn’t because I

was a Twa in 1994. [The official] said, “You don’t need reeducation because you

are not part of the genocide. Your people did not kill or get killed.” I was so

angry with him. I lost my [Twa] mother and sister, and I even hid some Tutsi in

my home. I asked my wife to go out during the killing and get food for us. I

couldn’t go myself. I was too scared. But I knew they wouldn’t even look at an

old Twa woman. Those Tutsi we saved don’t even speak to me when they see me

now. And I saved their lives! As soon as he [the official] said that [I don’t need

reeducation], I slammed my fist on the table like this [gestures]. He looked at

me, and I knew I had done a wrong thing. He called some people, and I spent the

next week in prison. Now I just keep to myself and try not to cause any trouble.

(Interview with Théogène, a destitute Twa man, 2006)

new government shames us by saying that we [Hutu] did that. Some of us did. I

killed, too. I killed my Tutsi neighbor because we ran when the events started,

and we soon understood that only his kind [Tutsi] were getting killed. He said to

me over there [points to the location], “If the Interahamwe comes, kill me so I

can die with respect. I don’t want to be thrown away. You can kill me and bury

me on my land so my ancestors will know me.”

He said this! Imagine how I felt! But I also understood because it was a very

difficult time for us. Our [community] was unsettled. Homes were being burned,

cows were slaughtered, and many of our women got violenced [raped], although

those women don’t talk about it, I saw it myself. So when the time came to kill

my friend, I did. That is the only Tutsi I killed. For the rest, I just went along in

the group. I joined some of the killers so they would think that I supported them.

So eventually my government lost, and the Tutsi one came in. I fear a lot now

because I know how they [the government] hate Hutu. (Interview with Félicien,

an imprisoned Hutu man, 2006)

intellectual and taught at the university. He was amongst the first to be killed

when the Interahamwe and the other killers got to Butare. My mother died with

him, as did my three sisters and my young brother. They killed them all at the

home I grew up in. My father told us when things started in Kigali that the

genocide would not reach here [Butare] because of the good relations between

Hutu and Tutsi. But he underestimated his colleagues; his Hutu colleagues killed

my family. My other brother got killed at a roadblock not far from here. I was

alone after that; I am the only survivor in my [immediate] family. The one that

killed my brother was a famous Hutu—very powerful since he owned land and

had many people working for him. But before things happened [the genocide] he

was known to be a moderate.1 My father was his friend, and he and his wife used

Since my family had been killed, I thought it would be smart to go home and

hide there until the killing stopped. When I got there, the Hutu that killed my

brother was there. So I panicked. I panicked so badly that I just stood there when

I saw him in our kitchen. He saw me and ran out of the house. I knew I was

going to die at that moment so I didn’t run. I was so tired of hiding and running.

...

When he came, I hid my face and hoped he would kill me quickly. But

my understanding. He said, “It is war. And we are killing all Tutsi. I am doing

my duty. I killed many of my friends. You can’t stay here. It’s not safe because

the [death] squads are on their way to loot and then burn this home.” I couldn’t

believe my ears. This Hutu who killed my people was trying to protect me. I told

him I was so tired and didn’t know what to do to save myself. He said he was

tired too. We sat on the ground and rested together for a minute. Then he said,

“This is what you will do. You will go to my house. There are other Tutsi there.

You cannot stay in the house because we [the killers] are looking for you. The

higher-ups have told us to kill you because of your father. You are the only one

left in your family, and your name is on our list of people who must be killed. If

you go to my home, you will put other Tutsi there in danger. I want you to go to

my chicken coop. Hide in there until we can figure out how to care for you.

There are too many roadblocks, and the militias are on their way.”

I went to stay under his chickens and stayed there for three weeks until the

war ended. He brought me food and water. He really saved me. He fled into the

[internally displaced persons] camps after the French [protection force] came

here, and I never saw him again. He has never been charged with genocide that I

know of. All I know is he saved me; maybe he saved some others because there

were about twenty Tutsi at his house when I got there. But he also killed. I don’t

know what was wrong with his mind, but maybe some people do evil things for

reasons I don’t understand. I know that he saved me, but I also know that he

killed my brother. (Interview with Didier, a salaried poor Tutsi man, 2006)


Each of these individual narratives reveals more than simply different lived experiences during the

1994 genocide. They also show the nature of local ties in determining who lived, who died, and how.

Individual personal actions and lived realities are “embedded in local histories, specific

circumstances, and immediate biography” (Nordstrom 2004, 183). Didier, the Tutsi man who hid in

the chicken coop of his Hutu friend, survived because of a known and perhaps even enthusiastic

killer.2 Félicien, the Hutu man who killed his Tutsi friend, did so as a favor and then joined the killing

squads as a survival strategy to appear to support the execution of Tutsi in his community. Théogène’s

narrative shows how Twa individuals also experienced the genocide through his description of how he

rescued some Tutsi while losing his family members in the genocide. Implicit in these three excerpts

is an appreciation of local power relations. Those with power, like the killer who spared Didier’s life,

had different options available to them (cf. Fujii 2009). Those not in positions of power had more

limited options available to them, but this does not mean that they lacked individual agency. Instead,

it was an agency shaped by the complex and shifting nature of the situation. Didier struggles to





understand how an individual respected in the community could kill some Tutsi while saving the lives

of others. Félicien killed as an act of friendship—both he and his Tutsi friend seemed to understand

that options for survival were limited. Théogène understands that his existence, both during the

genocide and now, is shaped by broader historical patterns that result in his continued sociopolitical

marginality as an ethnic Twa.

In order to interpret the ways in which a cross-section of ordinary peasant Rwandans from different

backgrounds understand their own lived experiences of the 1994 genocide, it is necessary to have an

understanding of the broader social and political context in which the violence occurred. The purpose

of this chapter is to analyze the continuum of violence in Rwanda from 1990, when the then rebel RPF

first invaded Rwanda from Uganda, through 2000, when the RPF government first began to “talk

seriously about national reconciliation” following the defeat of Hutu Power forces in the northwest of

the country and the subsequent consolidation of its political power and territorial control of the

country (Waldorf 2006, 38). This exercise is critical since the RPF’s near-hegemonic interpretation of

the causes and consequences of the 1994 genocide has shaped Rwandans’ opportunities to rebuild their

lives since. This chapter continues the historical analysis begun in chapter 2 to further situate the

broader context of routine physical and structural violence that ordinary peasants experienced before,

during, and after the genocide. Before doing so, I first analyze the RPF’s official version of the

genocide and how it is represented as part of the policy of national unity and reconciliation.

The second section of the chapter analyzes patterns of violence in Rwanda during three distinct

periods—the civil war of 1990–94, the 1994 genocide from April to July of that year, and the

emergency period from July 1994 to 2000—when the RPF government began to implement the policy

of national unity and reconciliation. The emphasis is on the role of the state in fomenting violence to

show how the official representation of the genocide is well outside the lived experiences of everyday

violence of most Rwandans. This is an important step, as it situates the ways in which Rwandans of

different backgrounds experienced violence in the recent past; in particular, the analysis shows that

violence was a regular and normal part of everyday life throughout the 1990s. It also shows that the

1994 genocide was not an instance of atavistic ethnic hatred or a spontaneous outburst of tribal

violence, as asserted by the version of events found in the policy of national unity and reconciliation.

Specifically, the way in which the policy represents the genocide as something that happened only to

Tutsi victims whom the RPF eventually saved by taking military control of Rwanda in July 1994 has

two main effects: first, it negates the everyday lived experiences of violence that Rwandans of all

ethnicities experienced before and after the genocide; second, it privileges the genocide as the only

source of violence in the lives of ordinary Rwandans. The remainder of this chapter demonstrates that,

in addition to the violence of the 1994 genocide, Rwandans of all ethnicities experienced, to varying

degrees of intensity, a continuum of everyday violence before, during, and after the genocide. Instead

of acknowledging these differences, the RPF is promoting a policy of national unity and reconciliation

that feeds into deep-rooted fear, anger, and despair that many ordinary peasants have felt both before

and since the 1994 genocide.

1994 Rwandan sociopolitical order. The first is “history,” and the second is “genocide.” In this

section, I analyze the official representation of “genocide” to show how the policy of national unity





and reconciliation collapses the different forms of killing (and the attendant motivations) into a

singular representation of genocide as something that happened only to Tutsi. Eltringham and Van

Hoyweghen (2000, 106) explain the importance of unpacking the official representation of

“genocide”: “Official discourse on the 1994 genocide maintains in practice the ethnic division which

the RPF-led government denounces in theory: only Tutsi are victims of genocide; moderate Hutu are

victims of politicide who died in massacres.” Pottier (2002, 126) calls the distinction between Tutsi-

survivor and Hutu-perpetrator a “moral hierarchy.” Before analyzing the reductionism of the official

representation of the 1994 genocide, I first situate the actors and actions of the genocide (April–July

1994) to illustrate the extent to which its official representation does not correspond to individual

lived realities.

churches and homes, at bus stops and roadblocks, on narrow footpaths and in banana groves, in

stadiums and schools, killers slaughtered at least five hundred thousand people, mainly ethnic Tutsi

(Des Forges 1999, 15). The genocide was carefully planned by a small elite group of powerful ethnic

Hutu extremists who refused to share power under the conditions of the Arusha Accords (discussed

later). Through an orchestrated strategy to liquidate Tutsi and any politically moderate Hutu perceived

as opposed to the Habyarimana regime, the extremists had one goal in mind: to maintain their

monopoly on state power.

The killing started in the capital during the night of April 6–7, 1994, as unknown assailants shot

down the plane carrying President Habyarimana as it approached Kigali airport. Militias—the

Interahamwe3 and the Impuzamugambi4—led the killing with the help of the Presidential Guard, the

army, and local government officials (African Rights 1994; Des Forges 1999; Prunier 1997). Outside

Kigali, ordinary Hutu men, often under the direction of militia or government soldiers, committed acts

of genocide under the threat of loss of their own life or those of loved ones if they were unwilling to

participate (Straus 2006, 122–52). Genocidal violence occurred at different times in different regions

of the country (Des Forges 1999, 303–594; Straus 2006, 53–60). In many instances, local political and

business elites colluded to enlist ordinary Rwandans to commit genocide (Longman 1995; Wagner

1998). Social ties and local power dynamics often compelled ordinary peasant Hutu to kill. Others

resisted participation. Some stood by, while a few rescued instead of killing intended victims (Fujii

2009, 140–47; Straus 2006, 65–94). Not all Hutu participated, and not all participated to the same

degree. Some killed enthusiastically; others killed a few (Prunier 1997, 242–50). Some Tutsi men

joined in the killing as a means to save themselves and their families (field notes 2006).

The RPF also committed widespread reprisal killings—between ten thousand and fifty thousand

Hutu died—while countless others of all ethnicities died as the RPF gave greater priority to military

victory than to protecting Tutsi civilians (Des Forges 1999, 16; Kuperman 2004). An estimated ten

thousand ethnic Twa were killed during the genocide (IRIN 2001). At least 250,000 women—mostly

Tutsi but some Hutu—were raped (Burnet 2012, 16–17; HRW 2004, 7). Some men also admit to

having been raped (field notes 2006). Countless others, men and women, young and old, healthy and

infirm, were tortured or maimed.

The 1994 genocide is much more than a series of facts and figures about who killed, who died, and

who survived. Irrespective of ethnic category, ordinary Rwandans were caught up in the maelstrom.





There are countless stories of survival, of friends and family who took extraordinary risks in

protecting their Tutsi kith and kin (African Rights 2003f, 2003g; Umutesi 2004). There are stories of

Tutsi who put their own lives on the line to protect Hutu family and friends from the coercion and

intimidation tactics that the killing squads used to goad ordinary Hutu into killing (African Rights

2003b, 2003c; field notes 2006). Notorious killers protected Tutsi they knew personally, ushering

them safely through roadblocks, warning them of the whereabouts of marauding groups, and even

hiding them at their homes. Some individuals killed during the day, only to shelter Tutsi friends and

relatives at night (field notes 2006). Many Tutsi survived because of the aid and succor of a Hutu

family member, friend, colleague, neighbor, or stranger (Jefremovas 1995). There are stories about

ethnic Twa and ethnic Hutu who were killed in the genocide because of their stereotypical Tutsi

features (field notes 2006).


INSTRUMENTALIZING THE GENOCIDE


Despite its complexity and reach into the lives of Rwandans, the RPF-led government presents the

genocide as a clear-cut affair: Hutu killed Tutsi because of ethnic divisions that were introduced

during the colonial period (1890–1962) and hardened to the point of individual action during the

postcolonial period (1962–94). According to the policy of national unity and reconciliation, ethnicity

is a fiction created by colonial divide-and-rule policies. Ultimate blame for the 1994 genocide

therefore lies with Rwanda’s colonial powers, which instituted policies that made the Hutu population

hate Tutsi. In this telling, divisive politics grounded in decades of bad governance resulted in deep-

rooted ethnic hatred of all Tutsi by all Hutu, causing the 1994 genocide (NURC 2004; Office of the

President 1999). This simplistic interpretation of events forms the backbone of the policy of national

unity and reconciliation.