oppressive political and economic structures before independence (Lemarchand 1970, 112). Belgium
was under pressure from the United Nations to decolonize. In July 1952, it issued a decree setting out
the procedures for the formation of elective councils from the level of the subchief up to the highest
positions in the state (Lemarchand 1970, 79–81; Linden and Linden 1977, 230–31). Elections were
held in 1952 and 1956; both times, Hutu candidates were virtually shut out as Tutsi authorities rigged
the vote to ensure that their incumbents held onto their positions (Linden and Linden 1977, 231;
Lemarchand 1970, 83).
Defeat had a significant impact on the corps of Hutu local leaders as neither the Belgians nor the
Tutsi authorities introduced reforms that could pave the way for elite Hutu participation in the
structures of power (C. Newbury 1988, 190). For example, the High Council (Conseil supérieur)
included only three Hutu members, who constituted less than 6 percent of its members. The HC was
the highest advisory body of the state and “was expected to assume legislative functions when Rwanda
was granted self-government by Belgium” (C. Newbury 1988, 191). In response, Hutu leaders issued
the “Manifesto of the Bahutu.”9 This manifesto “vociferously asserted the centrality of the ‘Hutu-
Tutsi problem,’ ” which lay directly in the “political, socioeconomic, and cultural monopoly” of the
Tutsi elite and its continued oppression of ordinary people (C. Newbury 1988, 191). The manifesto
identified the source of rural grievances, noting the disaffection of rural Hutu and impoverished Tutsi
youth and their inability to continue to accept the coercive practices of the Tutsi authorities. The only
plausible solution was the implementation of changes to Rwanda’s entrenched political and social
system that would allow for the inclusion of rural issues. In contrast to the interpretation of the radical
roots of the manifesto found in the policy of national unity and reconciliation, Hutu leaders did not
call for revolution or overthrow of the colonial political system. Instead, their primary request was
inclusion in the existing system, not its overthrow. 10 Calls for change fell on deaf ears among both
Belgian and Tutsi authorities (Lemarchand 1970, 114). Instead, the High Council blamed Hutu
oppression on Belgian colonizers (d’Hertefelt 1964, 229).
Hutu leaders responded by creating organizations that could defend Hutu interests in anticipation of
the first national elections. Grégoire Kayibanda formed the Mouvement social muhutu (MSM), which
later became a political party, Le parti du mouvement de l’émancipation hutu (PARMEHUTU), with
the purpose of promoting the objectives articulated in the Hutu manifesto (C. Newbury 1988, 192).
Another prominent Hutu leader, Joseph Gitera, formed L’Association pour la promotion sociale de la
masse (APROSOMA), whose stated objectives were not framed in ethnic terms. Instead, it sought “to
represent the interests of all poor groups, Tutsi as well as Hutu” (C. Newbury 1992, 196). Parties led
by Tutsi elites also emerged, notably the UNAR (Union nationale rwandaise), which wanted to crush
Hutu resistance to maintain the monarchy. Younger, educated, and politically moderate Tutsi joined
RADER (Rassemblement démocratique rwandais), which favored institutional reform and a
constitutional monarchy (Lemarchand 1970, 160; C. Newbury 1988, 194).
Tensions between elite Hutu and Tutsi continued, fueled as they were by PARMEHUTU’s appeals
to ethnicity. Violence erupted in central Rwanda in November 1959 and later spread to the north and
south of the country (Lemarchand 1970, 159; Reyntjens 1985, 196). The Union nationale rwandaise
(UNAR), a Tutsi monarchist party, sparked local violence when a group of its militants attacked one
of the few Hutu subchiefs in Rwanda. Rumor quickly spread among the population that he had been
killed (which was not true). In protest, a group of Hutu went to the residence of a Tutsi subchief and
killed him, along with two other Tutsi notables (Reyntjens 1985, 260). In the aftermath, the
resentment of the population reached the point where many Tutsi chiefs and subchiefs were forced to
resign. The Belgians further fueled this climate of insecurity in November 1959 when they switched
their allegiance from the Tutsi authorities to the Hutu counterelite in declaring their commitment to
majority rule (Reyntjens 1985, 278). They then filled these newly vacant posts with “interim” Hutu
appointees, many of whom showed little administrative aptitude (Lemarchand 1970, 173–174). A
climate of fear and insecurity once again prevailed in the everyday lives of ordinary Rwandans as
political elites postured to secure their political positions.
The transfer of power from Belgium to the Hutu elite normalized routine violence in the everyday
lives of Rwandans. Communal elections were held in June and July 1960 to select burgomasters
(mayors) and local councilors to replace the existing subchiefdoms, which were restructured into
larger units, and chiefdoms were combined into provinces (C. Newbury 1988, 198). The elections were
violent; UNAR thugs tried to use intimidation tactics to prevent victory for Hutu parties, which won
83.8 percent of the vote anyway (C. Newbury 1988, 198; Lemarchand 1970, 179–80). PARMEHUTU
won 71 percent of the vote (Reyntjens 1985, 283). These elections were instrumental in placing Hutu
leaders in key administrative positions. Despite this apparent “ethnic” victory, the identities of
ordinary Hutu remained tied to tradition, extending only as far as one’s family and clan; group
consciousness and references to Hutu ethnicity were an elite affair (Lemarchand 1970, 182). Newly
installed mayors, unconditionally supported by the Belgian authorities, used their newfound power to
intimidate former Tutsi authorities, notably through arbitrary arrest and imprisonment. In some areas,
mayors fabricated rumors of night raids and other disturbances to initiate “retaliations” against the old
Tutsi authorities. Many fled with their families to other regions of Rwanda or to neighboring
countries, laying the foundation for the RPF’s eventual return to Rwanda in 1990, when it invaded the
country from Uganda (Linden and Linden 1977, 160; Reyntjens 1985, 289).
The Belgians ensured a quick transfer of power to the PARMEHUTU leaders despite the disquiet
surrounding the communal elections. On January 23, 1961, Joseph Gitera assembled the recently
elected burgomasters and councilors to “declare the abolition of the monarchy and the birth of the
newly independent Republic of Rwanda” (Lemarchand 1970, 192). The Belgians named
PARMEHUTU’s Grégoire Kayibanda as the country’s second president, which was later confirmed
when Rwanda gained its independence from Belgium on July 1, 1962.11
POSTINDEPENDENCE POLITICS, 1962–1990
Despite the pristine image of national unity that the Belgians thought they had created in transferring
their loyalty to the majority Hutu, dissension among Hutu elites was rife in the immediate
postindependence period (1962–73). A regional rivalry emerged almost immediately, with northern
Hutu showing “unmitigated disdain” for their counterparts from the southern and central regions of
Rwanda (Lemarchand 1970, 266). In an effort to unite the various Hutu factions, Kayibanda’s
government identified a common threat—the inyenzi (or cockroach) raids that began in late 1961. The
so-called inyenzi was an armed faction of the UNAR (Reyntjens 1992, 172). Small bands made
frequent forays with the aim of “creating a sense of insecurity within Rwanda, and the prime targets
were Hutu officials and European administrators” (Weinstein 1977, 61). The worst attack was in
December 1963 when between 250 and 1,000 inyenzi rebels crossed into Rwanda from Burundi and
came within twelve miles of Kigali, after a foot trek of some 140 miles (Lemarchand 1970, 220;
Weinstein 1977, 64). The reaction of the Kayibanda government was swift. Authorities rounded up
twenty Tutsi leaders affiliated with UNAR and RADER (a moderate and ethnically inclusive party)
and publicly executed them (Lemarchand 1970, 225). Local militias were created in each province to
guard against future Tutsi attacks. In some areas, Hutu authorities attacked Tutsi homesteads, burning,
looting, and pillaging (Weinstein 1977, 65). By the time the attacks were contained, more than ten
thousand Tutsi had lost their lives (Lemarchand 1970, 225). The national police rounded up a few
hundred influential Tutsi and some Hutu; some were executed, others charged with treason or held
without charge (Reyntjens 1985, 463). By the end of 1963, between 130,000 and 300,000 Rwandans
(mostly Tutsi, along with Hutu and Twa who followed their patrons) had fled to neighboring countries
(Lemarchand 1970, 172; Reyntjens 1985, 455).
In identifying the inyenzi rebels as the common enemy, Kayibanda was able to unite the Hutu
leadership. His tactics, however, eventually backfired as the population—both ordinary peasant people
and the educated class—recognized that government-led efforts to unify against the inyenzi threat
were designed to consolidate Kayibanda’s position, rather than actually addressing the sources of fear,
insecurity, and dissatisfaction that had motivated Hutu to participate in the 1959 revolution in the first
place. Ordinary people continued to suffer the same abuses of power that their local officials (now of
Hutu ethnicity) had exacted upon them in the past. Educated Hutu—students, teachers, and junior civil
servants—felt shut out of the rewards of the revolution, from which much had been promised. Despite
their initial commitment to Kayibanda’s cause of Hutu unity, many educated Hutu quickly saw
corruption among state elites, recognized that the promises of increased pay would not be honored,
and judged that opportunities for career advancement were virtually nonexistent (Lemarchand 1970,
238–41). The response of the Kayibanda regime to these grievances was to blame all Tutsi, regardless
of social status or economic class.
Kayibanda expanded PARMEHUTU’s reach into local communities in an effort to “mould the
loyalties of citizens” (Lemarchand 1970, 247). Kayibanda retained the identity cards that the Belgians
introduced in 1931 to label Rwandans as “Hutu,” “Tutsi,” or “Twa,” and he instituted a quota system
to ensure proportionality in education and employment. The Kayibanda regime also limited Tutsi to 9
percent of the total number of seats in schools, the civil service, and even the private sector (Reyntjens
1985, 501). Contrary to the version of history found in the policy of national unity and reconciliation,
elite Tutsi continued to populate the ranks of the educated elite because of their historical advantage.
In addition, Kayibanda’s quota system was regularly bypassed as close-knit intra-ethnic kin and local
networks procured prominent positions in government and private sector employment for elite Tutsi.
This was possible because colonial policy had limited access to formal education to Tutsi, which
meant that few Hutu had the necessary skills to compete for these jobs (C. Newbury 1992, 197). It also
meant that close to 50 percent of the teachers and students at secondary school and in universities
were Tutsi (Reyntjens 1985, 501). At the National University, the primary training ground for the civil
service, Tutsi accounted for 90 percent of the student body (Lemarchand 1970, 260). The residual
effect of these colonial practices prompted members of the Hutu elite from the northern region of
Rwanda to call for radical reforms to remedy this ethnic imbalance.
Individuals from central Rwanda, where Kayibanda grew up, dominated his government (C.
Newbury 1992, 197). Corruption was the order of the day; Kayibanda’s long-term associates and
family held key administrative positions, which caused a rift among Hutu elites. Northern factions
“began to openly criticize the regime” (Jefremovas 2000, 303). In efforts to protect his power,
Kayibanda reframed regional dissent as ethnic violence. Rumors of Tutsi attacks against Hutu like
those of the inyenzi in 1959–63 spread quickly. The population was quick to believe them, relying on
the stories of refugees from Burundi who had fled that country’s 1972 Hutu genocide, in which an
estimated one hundred thousand to two hundred thousand individuals died (Lemarchand 1998, 6). As
Burundian Hutu streamed into Rwanda, Kayibanda instituted public safety committees, which were
essentially vigilante groups created to monitor the civil service, universities, schools, and businesses
to ensure that the ethnic quota regulations were being followed (Des Forges 1999, 40).12 In late 1972
and early 1973, almost all Tutsi students were run out of schools and the national university
(Reyntjens 1985, 503). Anti-Tutsi sentiment affected elites and ordinary people alike. The public
safety committees ensured that educated, salaried workers were fired, and blacklists were posted in
offices to intimidate local Tutsi. Ordinary folk were asked to leave their homes, which were looted
and burned by members of public safety committees (Reyntjens 1985, 503). In the hills, the violence
was not directed solely at Tutsi as it was in economic centers like Kigali, Butare, and Gitarama.
Instead, the wealthy, rural elite Hutu and Tutsi alike—not ordinary peasant Tutsi—were the victims.
Those from the north targeted southerners, while those with outstanding grievances against the local
authorities used the opportunity to exact payback (Reyntjens 1985, 504).
By July 1973, the violence had abated, and Major-General Juvénal Habyarimana, the most senior
officer in the northerner-controlled army, took power from Kayibanda in a “bloodless” coup (Des
Forges 1999, 41; C. Newbury 1992, 197–98; Reyntjens 1985, 506).13 Under Habyarimana, the ethnic
question took a backseat, and his coup was “welcomed” because it reduced both ethnic violence and
rampant government corruption (Jefremovas 2000, 303). Habyarimana was popular with Tutsi, and
some Hutu groups accused him of favoring Tutsi. Relations between elite Hutu and Tutsi were
amicable early in Habyarimana’s rule, although top positions in government were reserved for
northern Hutu. There was also considerable intermarriage, “not only between southern Tutsi and Hutu
but also between northern Hutu families and economically powerful Tutsi families” (Jefremovas
2000, 303).
Peace and the semblance of stability nonetheless came at a cost. Habyarimana consolidated a highly
centralized state apparatus to monitor and control the activities of the population that today is part and
parcel of the RPF regime (Purdeková 2011; Reyntjens 2011). Habyarimana banned political parties in
the name of ethnic unity and national security in much the same way that Kagame has (Amnesty
International 2011; Cooke 2011; Reyntjens 2011). In 1975 Habyarimana created the Mouvement
révolutionnaire national pour le développement (MRND), of which all Rwandans were members (Des
Forges 1999, 41). The party structure was then extended down to the most local levels of government
as the central party apparatus appointed all officials. Each local official was granted a leadership
position in the MRND, so that the state and the party became one entity in people’s daily lives
(Prunier 1997, 76). The central government required that residents of each commune register with the
local authorities, which in turn reported all births, deaths, and movement in and out of their bailiwick
on a monthly basis, a practice that continues today (Des Forges 1999, 42; field notes 2006). Identity
cards continued to categorize Rwandans according to their ethnicity. This measure was necessary to
implement Habyarimana’s policy of “ethnic and regional equilibrium,” which reserved seats in
educational institutions and in the state apparatus in order to rectify the favoritism shown by the
Belgians to Tutsi. On paper, the policy aimed to ensure ethnic equality; in practice, it excluded Tutsi
and non-northern Hutu from lucrative government posts. Only 9 percent of positions were reserved for
Tutsi, despite the fact than an estimated 15 percent of Rwandans held Tutsi identity cards.
The “hierarchical ethos” and top-down decision-making structures that shaped Habyarimana’s
regime affected ordinary people (C. Newbury 1992, 199). Mobilizing the population for public work
projects such as road repairs, ditch digging, and brush clearing was common practice in most rural
communities, harkening back to the colonial practice of akazi (or labor conscription by the Europeans)
and continuing today with the same practice of umuganda (community work). The stated difference in
the practice under Habyarimana was that it was voluntary (not mandatory, as it had been under
Belgian rule, although naming and shaming were employed to ensure full “voluntary” participation).
Such “voluntary” labor was limited to only two days per month (not per week, as it had been). In
practice, the government required ordinary people to work on umuganda projects on average four days
per month, and local officials enforced everyone’s full participation. Individuals who did not report
for work duty were fined (Des Forges 1999, 42). Some men in their late forties and early fifties who
participated in my research reported that the poorest of the poor “had to report for umuganda at least
one or two days a week or suffer imprisonment or worse” (interviews 2006). They also told me that as
the poorest of the poor had to report more frequently in those days because the authorities told them,
“Since you don’t work for money, you will come work for the state and we will feed your families.”
Local officials often used this tactic to entice men to participate in umuganda projects, as the full
participation of the population showed “those at the top” (senior government officials) that the local
official was able to control the activities of peasant people in his jurisdiction, just as it does today
through imihigo local accountability performance contracts (Ingelaere 2011; interviews 2006). When
local officials actually delivered food to families as promised, it was “usually rotten or infested”
(interviews 2006).
The ordinary peasants I consulted also made it clear that, despite the years of social revolution
(1959–62) and Habyarimana’s policy of ethnic equilibrium, ethnicity was a tool that elites used to
gain and keep power. Burnet notes that many of the women she worked with during her field research
“learned who they were when they went to school, obtained their national identity cards (around the
age of 16), or applied for jobs. The majority of women I interviewed . . . became aware of their ethnic
identity while at school” (Burnet 2005, 68). In 1972 and 1973, before the Habyarimana regime
introduced reforms to the education system, teachers forced Tutsi students to stand up in their
classrooms and identify their ethnicity, as only Hutu would be allowed to sit for national exams
(Burnet 2005, 69).
The highest level of formal education attained among my participants was the equivalent of the
third grade in the American system. Most participants had had only a year or two of formal schooling,
meaning that none of them had sat for national exams and none had graduated from primary to
secondary school. They also all lived in southern Rwanda, where relations between Hutu and Tutsi
were more amicable and cooperative than in other regions of the country, particularly the north. For
these individuals, ethnic identity had little impact on their daily lives. The ordinary peasants who
participated in my research understood that their lives were shaped by their social and class positions
and by their daily interactions with local authorities, which in turn were formed by the prevailing
regional and class politics at the time. All of the individuals who participated understood themselves
to be peasants. As Martin, a Tutsi man who survived the genocide told me,
I’m a former Tutsi. I had an identity card that said so. But it meant nothing until
the genocide. Why do you think they [the government] kept the cards? Even they
can’t tell who is Tutsi or who is Hutu. They needed cards to tell the killers, just
like they needed cards before [under Habyarimana] to determine who would
benefit from politics.
But me, and my family, and the others around us, Hutu or Tutsi or what, we
are peasants. And the authorities don’t care about us. Any of the benefits of
being Hutu didn’t matter; we [peasants] didn’t get anything out of being this
ethnicity or that one. We were told what crops to grow and always support the
party [MRND]. Coffee was important in those days.14 But we didn’t have land
like that. We can hardly feed our families. Some grew coffee instead of food
because they were forced. Others grew coffee and stole food from other plots.
There were a lot of problems among us [peasants], but they [the authorities]
didn’t care. We are peasants, and we don’t matter for much.
Being Hutu or Tutsi, that was the business of the government and other
important people [elites]. We just hoped, like we do now with this government,
that we could get some peace. (Interview 2006)
The Habyarimana regime created a strong, centralized, and effective state that served as an
instrument of domination and control. In the process, his government sought to contain the regional
and ethnic tensions from which Habyarimana’s power was born. The system of ethnic equilibrium was
unable to contain rivals for state power. Two senior officers in Habyarimana’s army made an
unsuccessful coup attempt in April 1980 (Gasana 2002, 30). The coup sharpened the divisions within
the northern Hutu elite, meaning that those from Habyarimana’s home province of Gisenyi were
favored over individuals from bordering Ruhengeri province. Habyarimana’s most favored individuals
were those from the abahinza lineage, of which his wife was a member. Habyarimana himself was
from an unimportant Hutu lineage; he consequently relied on “his wife’s clan . . . to be his ears and
eyes” (Prunier 1997, 86). Agathe Habyarimana was nicknamed Kanjogera (the name of King
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