Myth and Memory: the Construction and Deconstruction of Ethnic Conflict in Colonial and Post-Colonial Rwanda

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How to cite this thesis

Surname, Initial(s). (2012) Title of the thesis or dissertation. PhD. (Chemistry)/ M.Sc. (Physics)/ M.A. (Philosophy)/M.Com. (Finance) etc. [Unpublished]: University of Johannesburg. Retrieved from: https://ujdigispace.uj.ac.za (Accessed: Date). Myth and Memory: The Construction and Deconstruction of Ethnic Conflict in Colonial and Post-colonial Rwanda

By Nicasius Achu Check

A thesis submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Literature and Philosophy

Promoter Prof Yolanda Sadie Department of Politics and International Relations University of Johannesburg

2015

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION, AIM & SCOPE OF STUDY 13

CHAPTER 1 CONCEPTUAL AND THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK 1 Introduction 46 1.1 Understanding myth and memory 47 1.2 Conceptual and analytical understanding of myth and memory 54 1.2.1 Functional myth model 55 1.2.2 Rational myth model 56 1.2.3 Political myth model 57 1.2.4 Structural myth model 60 1.2.5 Elements of the structural approach 61 1.3 On the conceptualisation of myth in the study 63 1.4 Myth as a form of political acculturation in Rwanda 64 1.5 Structuralism as a form of analysing complex social interactions 67 1.6 Conceptual understanding of memory 68 1.6.1 Individual memory approach 69 1.6.2 Collective memory approach 71 1.7 Memory as a function of myth in Rwanda 72 1.8 Towards a definition of ethnic conflict 73 1.9 Theories of ethnic conflict 75 1.9.1 Eclectic and class theories 76 1.9.2 Instrumental and symbolic theories 77 1.10 Conclusion 81

CHAPTER 2 SITUATING RWANDA IN A HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL CONTEXT

2 Introduction 83 2.1. Rwandan pre-colonial generalities 84 2.2. The dialectic of state formation in Central Africa 90 2.3. Hutu, Tutsi and Twa in Rwanda: The pre-colonial era 92 2.4. The search for a Rwandese identity: The colonial era 98 2.5. The racialisation of Rwandan society in the colonial era 102 2.6. The road to independence 105 2.7. The 1959 revolution 109 2.8. The birth of a Rwandan republic 112 2.9. Post-independence Rwanda 114 2.10. Rwanda’s First and Second Republics: The construction of an ethnic enclave 116 2.11. Conclusion 119

CHAPTER 3 THE CONSTRUCTION OF A DIVIDED SOCIETY IN RWANDA: THE ROLE OF POLITICAL MYTH

3 Introduction 121 3.1 Myths in Rwanda: The pre-colonial era 122 3.2 Myths in colonial Rwanda 132 3.3 Mythical narratives in the post-colonial era: The resurrection of the Hamitic myth 140 3.4 Mythical narratives in the run-up to the genocide 144 3.5 Conclusion 149

CHAPTER 4 FROM PRE-COLONIAL TIMES TO THE ADVENT OF GENOCIDE: THE ROLE OF MEMORY

4 Introduction 151 4.1 Pre-colonial memories 152 4.2 Memories of the colonial era 162 4.2.1 The German occupation 162 4.2.2 Transformation of social classes into racial and ethnic groups 164 4.2.3 Memory on the role of the Catholic Church in perpetuating division in Rwanda 167 4.2.4 The changing policy direction of the church and the colonial administration 169 4.3 Post-colonial memories 172 4.3.1 Memory and violence: The inyenzi attacks 173 4.3.2 The celebration of Hutuness in post-colonial Rwanda 173 4.3.3 Memory narratives in the post-colonial Hutu administrations 175 4.4 Conclusion 177

CHAPTER 5 SETTING THE SCENE FOR THE GENOCIDE: 1990 – 1994

5 Introduction 179 5.1 Uganda’s indigenisation policies and their impact on Rwandan Tutsi refugees 179 5.2 The invasion of Rwanda by the RPF 184 5.3 The Arusha negotiations 186 5.4 Arrival of the UN and the advent of the genocide 193 5.5 The genocide and the deconstruction of the Tutsi ethnic superiority

myth 198 5.6 Reaction of the international community to the killings 201 5.7 Conclusion 207

CHAPTER 6 ‘NEGOTIATING MEMORY’ IN POST-GENOCIDE RWANDA

6 Introduction 208 6.1 The genocide: 20 years later and beyond 209 6.1.1 The refugee question 211 6.1.2 Post-genocide ethnic relations 213 6.1.3 Gacaca and the ICTR process: The search for a post-genocide justice framework 215 6.1.4 Ndimurwanda: ‘Rwandaness’ as a way forward 221 6.2 Perceptions of reconciliation initiatives in post-genocide Rwanda 222 6.3 Collective memory in the post-genocide era 228 6.4 Conclusion 233

CHAPTER 7 MAIN FINDINGS AND IMPLICATIONS

7 Scope, rationalisation and theoretical framework 235 7.1 Key findings 238 7.1.1 Key findings on the role of myths 239 7.1.2 Key findings: Memory 242 7.2 Negotiating memory in the post-genocide political dispensation 245 7.3 Contribution to the field of study 247 7.4 Areas for future research 248

Bibliography 250 Addendum (Respondents) 271

Abstract

This thesis analyses the role of political myth as an instrument of the social mobilisation of various segments of Rwandan society, and the role memory has played in shaping perceptions and societal interactions over time in this context. Therefore, of particular importance is the manner in which myth and memory have contributed to dividing the people of Rwanda along social and class lines, which eventually culminated in the Rwandan genocide of 1994. In addition to existing scholarly contributions, this study is based on interviews with both Hutu and Tutsi survivors of the genocide. In establishing the role of myth, the structural approach is used. With regard to memory, the direct and indirect memory narratives of respondents are analysed. Direct memories are those that respondents have gained from first-hand experience, while indirect memories are those they have acquired through oral or written transmission.

The study finds that myth and memory have played important roles in shaping the perceptions of both Hutus and Tutsis regarding the other. Myths propagated and reinforced ethnic differences in Rwanda – one of the most important being the Kigwa myth, which affirmed the superior ethnic status of the Tutsis. This superiority was perpetuated after the implantation of colonialism, when racial segregation as a means for the structural transformation of African colonial society became the norm. Consequently, the Tutsis began to play an increasingly important role in the colonial administration until the late 1950s, when a change in colonial policy direction in favour of the Hutus took place. The colonialists considered Rwanda to be a Hamitic kingdom, a position that precludes the existence of pre-Tutsi Rwandan traditions.

The change in colonial policy direction towards the Hutus was as a result of the post- Second World War myth in Rwanda that suggests that Hutus had developed sophisticated state machinery before the arrival of the Tutsis. These contradictory mythical narratives played an important role in creating separate nationalities within the Rwandan polity, which helped in shaping the opinions of members of the two main ethnic groups in Rwanda in a way that turned them against the other. The role it played in the manner in which people were killed in 1994 should be viewed within a wider context than the immediate causes of the genocide. The creation of these separate groups inevitably

6 resulted in major differences in the way in which the past is remembered by Hutus and Tutsis.

For the majority of Hutu interviewees, divisions between the Hutus and Tutsis were sown during the pre-colonial period through a system of social contracts such as the ubuhuke and ibinkigi, which restricted the Hutus and Twas to a lifetime of labour and service to their Tutsi masters. For Tutsi respondents, entering into a contractual obligation with the Hutus was another way of diversifying the food base of Rwanda. However, the implications and interpretations of such contracts were, according to Hutus, biased towards the Tutsis, thus creating tension between the groups. This was further enhanced by colonialism – a period which, until the late 1950s, is regarded by the Hutus as one in which their dignity as a people was taken away from them. The Hutus blame the Tutsis for fashioning and directing the separatist policy that the colonial administrators adopted soon after their arrival in Rwanda in 1894.

The memory of post-colonial Rwanda for Tutsis is one of becoming an ethnic minority in Rwandan political discourse. For Hutus, on the other hand, this period was a time when Hutu pride and the sense of nationhood among them were solidified and when the sense of ‘Hutuness’ was at its peak. Hutus were privileged in all domains of the country.

It is also evident from the interviewees that memories (and more importantly, the recollection by the Hutus of the ill manner in which they were treated by the Tutsis in the pre-colonial and colonial era) may have contributed to the Hutu people developing an attitude of revenge during the political dispensation that immediately followed the colonial period. Given the existence of different memories for Hutus and Tutsis, which culminated in the genocide in 1994, it was also important to establish how post-genocide reconstruction efforts are perceived from the two traditionally opposing sides. For the Tutsis interviewed, the call for forgiveness is difficult to follow, since it is difficult to forget. For the Hutus, the genocide was a painful period in Rwandan history, and they maintain that the atrocities committed in 1994 should not all be put on their shoulders. Because of the plurality of memory, post-genocide reconciliation between the Hutus and Tutsis is a difficult task. What is evident from all the interviews conducted for this study is that 21 years after the genocide, Hutus and Tutsis still seem to hold different views of the post-

7 genocide route which the government should follow and favour different approaches through which harmony can be achieved.

From the study it became clear that the myths of the ethnic superiority of the Tutsis and the independence and self-sustanance of the Hutus demonstrated conflicting views of the places of the two groups in the colonial and post-colonial administrations. The study also notes that while there are different narratives regarding the role that both groups played in the past, the chorus that Rwandans are ‘one people’ is a pretence aimed at being politically correct in spite of a massive clampdown on people with differing views on Rwanda’s past. Conflicting perceptions between the two groups led to an atmosphere of distrust and apprehension within each group concerning the motives and thinking of the other. The study concludes that though there is no direct link between the propagation of myths and genocide, there is a clear indication that myths played a fundamental role in shaping people’s perceptions, which manifested in many ways, including violence.

Acknowledgements

I owe my greatest debt of gratitude to my supervisor, Prof Yolanda Sadie, for her invaluable guidance, critique and suggestions in guiding the direction of the study. Her keen interest in the dissertation and her enthusiastic encouragement provided the necessary stimulus that helped me to complete the dissertation. Through her I was able to benefit from the supervisor-linked bursary, which helped in the completion of the thesis on time. Special mention must also be made of Ms Rae Israel, the secretary to the Politics and International Relations Department at the University of Johannesburg, for her constant help and encouragement.

I also owe a great deal of gratitude to Prof Korwa Gombe Adar, former director of research at the Africa Institute of South Africa and currently Professor of international relations at the American University in Nairobi for his encouragement. His recommendation to turn an initial work on myth and memory in Rwanda into a PhD project helped towards reshaping and restructuring my research. I also wish to thank Dr Monica Juma, Dr Thokozani Simelane and Prof Cyril Obi for their words of advice and encouragement to register in a doctoral programme. Special mention must also be made of the Africa Institute of South Africa at the Human Sciences Research Council, my employer, for providing the necessary financial and logistical support to complete the research within reasonable time. I wish to specifically thank Prof Phindile Lukhele-Olorunju, the Interim CEO of the Institute for her support.

I would also like to thank the library staff at the Africa Institute of South Africa in the Human Sciences Research Council, Justa Kruger, Salamina Molamu and Abel Modise for their suggestions about sources and their frequent updates on the availability of material on the subject. I am grateful to the hundreds of respondents who took time out of their busy schedule to talk to me and share their experience on myth and memory on Rwanda during my frequent visits to Rwanda over the years. Equally important in this regard are Denis Bekisha and Valentin Kalisa, who were my drivers, interpreters, security agents, research assistants and translators at the same time.

A special acknowledgement to my late parents Forche Daniel Achu and Forche Elizabeth, it is rather unfortunate that you did not live to see your dreams realised. A special thank

9 you to Prof Ajume Wingo and Dr Moses Azong for their encouragement and to Nancy Endah. I also wish to thank my brothers, Cho Denis Achu, Bafri Gerald Achu and my sisters Nancy Hornby, Achu Honorine, Achu Jocelyn and to my son, Ngu Aiden Achu. It is to you Pa Daniel, Mama Elizabeth and Aiden that I dedicate this work.

Abbreviations

AFDLC – Alliance des Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération du Congo APROSOMA – Association pour la Promotion Sociale de la Masse BBTG – Broad-Based Transitional Government CDR – Coalition pour la Défense de la République CEPGL – Communauté Economique de Pays des Grand Lacs CNN – Cable News Network DPKO – Director of Peacekeeping Operations FAR – Forces Armées Rwandaises FC – Front Commun FDLR – Front Démocratique de Libération du Rwanda FP – Force Publique FRODEBU – Front pour la Démocratie au Burundi

GOR – Government of Rwanda ICRC – International Committee of the Red Cross ICTR – International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda IMF – International Monetary Fund JCF – Joint Chief of Staff JPMC – Joint political military commission MDR – Mouvement Démocratique Républicain MDR-PARMEHUTU – Mouvement Démocratique Républicain/Parti du Mouvement de l’Emancipation Hutu MRND – Mouvement Révolutionnaire National pour le Développement. MRNDD – Mouvement Révolutionnaire National pour le Développement et la Démocratie MSF – Médecins Sans Frontières MSM – Mouvement Socialiste Mahutu

NMOG – Neutral military observer group NRA – National Resistance Army NT – Native tribunals PARMEHUTU – Parti du Mouvement de l’Emancipation Hutu PDC – Parti Démocrate-Chrétien PL – Parti Libéral PSD – Parti Social Démocrate RADER – Rassemblement Démocratique Rwandais

RANU – Rwandese Alliance for National Unity RPF – Rwandan Patriotic Front RRWS – Rwandan Refugees Welfare Society RTLMC – Radio Télévision Libre de Mille Collines RTR – Return to Rwanda RTT – Rwandan Trust Territory SAP – Structural adjustment programme SCR – Supreme Council of Rwanda TNA – Transitional National Assembly UDF – Unified Democratic Forces UMHK – Union Minière de Haut Katanga UNAMIR – United Nations Assistance Mission to Rwanda UNAR – Union Nationale Rwandaise UNPROFOR – United Nations Protection Force UNSC – United Nations Security Council USAID – United States Agency for International Development WB – World Bank

INTRODUCTION, AIM AND SCOPE OF STUDY

I Background to study

One of the worst atrocities of the twentieth century was committed in Rwanda between April and July 1994 (Strauss & Waldorf, 2011:3). On the night of 6 April 1994, the plane carrying the presidents of Rwanda and Burundi was shot down as it approached the Kigali airport. According to Burkhalter (1994:44), soon after the killing of President Habyarimana, mass killings were witnessed in Rwanda, with people of Tutsi background being the main targets. Newbury (1998:7) contends that the killings were generally carried out by hardliners in the Hutu-dominated government against Tutsis who had been labelled ‘enemies of the state’. Though the exact figure of Rwandans killed during this period is contested, a United Nations (UN) expert panel estimates that about 800,000 people were killed during the genocide. According to Des Forges (1999:15), 507,000 of those killed were of Tutsi origin – representing about 77 per cent of the total Tutsi population in Rwanda in 1994.

The fundamental question asked is why people who lived together for centuries, inter- married, spoke the same language and subscribed to the same cultural and social practices take up arms against one another? According to Des Forges (1995:44), the answer lies in what she terms ‘the ideology of genocide’. This ideology was born out of the desire of the pre-colonial Tutsi ruling elites to ascribe to themselves superior ethnic status to the detriment of the Hutus and Twas. They prided themselves on their ownership and knowledge of cattle rearing and looked down on cultivators (Hutus). Over the years, the Hutus began to resent the excesses of the Tutsi elite. The ideology of genocide, Des Forges (1995:44) maintains, took on a different dimension soon after the arrival of the colonialists in Rwanda in 1894. Soon thereafter, the Tutsis, which had asserted themselves as a social and economic class above the Hutus, established some form of special relationship with the colonial administrators. According to Chrétien (2003:50), this special relationship was born out of the Tutsis’ physical resemblance to the colonial administrators and was not a result of the Tutsis exhibiting some kind of special leadership

13 qualities. Colonial anthropological writings lend credence to this special relationship being purely based on aesthetic reasons and not on any kind of empirical research to justify why the Tutsis were physiognomically closer to the colonial administrators than the Hutus.

However, given the importance of race relations in twentieth-century Europe, the colonialists were interested in the physical characteristics of the Tutsis, whom they assumed were descendants of the Roman colonies of North Africa (Des Forges: 1995:44). With no empirical findings, the colonialists decided that the Tutsis were more intelligent to work with. Gatwa (2001:3) maintains that although the Hutus, as a social and economic class, were perceived as having very little to offer the colonial administration, they were nevertheless regarded as productive and loyal subjects who would play a critical role in the accomplishment of the colonial project in Rwanda. The divisions derived out of this social and economic stratification of the colonial Rwandan society played out throughout the colonial and post-colonial history of Rwanda. The resulting class and economic classifications were a trigger of conflict and resentment among the people of Rwanda. The negotiation of the nuances of these identities and conflicts has been a critical question that the Rwandan political elites have tried to mediate. This study draws out differing perspectives and counter-arguments in an attempt to explain how conflict and hatred among the people of Rwanda came to be.

In order to enforce the ethnic stereotypes mentioned above, only Tutsis were employed in the colonial civil service or enrolled for the higher education required for these jobs. In order to ensure that only Tutsis had access to these benefits, the colonial administration instituted a system of population registration – labelling each person at birth.

Des Forges (1995:45) maintains that the perpetuation of this separatist policy by the colonialists formed the backbone of the ‘ideology of genocide’. A manifestation of this ideology of genocide was witnessed in 1959, when the Hutus rose against the Tutsis and overthrew the Tutsi-supported monarchy. The ideology of genocide was fully developed by 1994, soon after the killing of Habyarimana, which unleashed a series of killings.

As noted in the ‘ideology of genocide’ examples, ethic differentiation in Rwanda was in essence an organic process, an implantation of a social order that was meant to facilitate the government of the Rwandan territory by the colonial administrators. Because of this

14 social anomaly, Rwanda has paid the highest price in terms of human lives and material destruction – more so than any other part of the continent (Nzongola-Ntalaja, 2001:61).

The ‘ideology of genocide’ has taken different forms and shapes over the years. One of the greatest manifestations of this ideology was in the form of the large-scale killings that took place in Rwanda in 1994, commonly referred to as the Rwandan genocide. The question now arises: did the myth of the superior ethnic (social) position of the Tutsi and the memory of past atrocities between the main ethnic (social) groups play a role in the tension between the main groups and the subsequent genocide?

One of the pioneering architects of the study of myth, Levi-Strauss (1955:428) defines myth as a means of expressing fundamental feelings common to the whole of humankind such as love, hate and revenge. Going further, he notes that people try to provide some kind of explanation for phenomena that they cannot understand otherwise. For Levi- Strauss (1955:429) these phenomena can be astronomical, meteorological and even societal. According to Cohen (1969:337), however, the term ‘myth’ is almost always intended pejoratively, for myths always contain references to objects and events that could not possibly exist and occur. As a result, there are no observations that could test them scientifically. The chief characteristics of myth are the following: a myth is a narrative of events; the narrative has a sacred quality; the sacred communication is made in symbolic form; at least some of the events and objects which occur in the myth neither occur nor exist in the world (other than that of myth itself) and most myths refer in dramatic form to origins or transformation (Cohen, 1969:337). In addition, Tudor (1972:13) defines myth as any belief that has no factual foundation. Evidently, the question of the veracity of myths is a major preoccupation of political scientists and philosophers. However, because myths are generally considered as an outlet through which suppressed feelings are exposed, their authenticity has generally been viewed in terms of the context in which the myths are propagated.

Scholars such as Flanagan (2004:111) contend that the Second World War was the key moment that led to the emergence of a serious discussion of the role of myths within the discipline of political science. This re-awakening of the study of myths was premised on the need to explain and perhaps clarify political events in several European countries

15 during the Second World War, particularly in Germany. However, others such as Howe (1968:584) maintain that Africa has produced myths about people and events that need to be taken into consideration when analysing myth in the political context of Africa.

There is a general understanding, at least among political scientists, that there is nothing wrong with using the term ‘myth’ in this popular sense, provided that it is used not as a term of abuse and with no pretensions to academic rigour. Secondly, there is a general consensus that any student of politics is entitled to regard a given set of beliefs as being false, but that it is not his/her business to denounce such beliefs (Tudor, 1972). He further notes that the question of whether a particular phenomenon is false is an arbitrary one and the overarching issue that students of political science should be concerned about is the meaning that particular phenomenon has in a society. The critical question is: do the people of that particular community believe in the myth and what are the repercussions of such a belief? The study holds that myths, especially those with an ethnic favour, express the inner beliefs of the community that propagate them. For instance, the understanding of the independence of Hutu principalities expressed in their myths is considered as an articulation of the Hutu people’s inner beliefs. The same could be argued of the Tutsis’ myths of Tutsi ethnic superiority. This understanding of the nature of myth is argued throughout the study, and at each point the impact of the propagation of a particular myth on the society is given.

It is important that myths are given a meaning that enables one to distinguish beliefs that are myths from those that are not (Tudor, 1972:13). For the purpose of this study, myths will be defined as narratives that seek to explain inner phenomena. This inner phenomenon finds expression through myths. There are structural, social, functional and political myths. These categorisations are expatiated upon in Chapter 1 below.

The importance of myths in Africa is demonstrated by Hampate Ba (1973). As one of the greatest authors of African oral literature, Hampate Ba contends that storytelling and oratory is at the centre of the perpetuation and sustenance of the cultural and socio- political settings of African people. He epitomises this thinking in his comparison of an old African man’s death to the burning down of a library. He said ‘En Afrique, quand un vieillard meurt, c’est une bibliothèque qui brûle’. (In Africa, when an old man dies, it is like

16 a library has burnt down). However, this form of knowledge preservation has been widely criticised for the obvious flaws in the process of transmitting knowledge orally from one generation to another. Over the years, especially after independence, there has been a thin line between oral literature and mythology. Within the pre-colonial traditional setting of the Great Lakes region, it is particularly difficult to differentiate between myth and other forms of oral narratives such as legends and folktales.

On the other hand, it is important to note that the study of memory is an important area of the discipline of political science that has gained momentum after the Second World War. Allen (2001:1) maintains that the Nuremberg Trials after the Second World War were a result of the idea that past human rights abuses require a response in the present. Responses will therefore rely on recollections that are perceived to be genuine and true in the eyes of the people. However, because memories of a particular event or the causes of a particular event are generally a subjective matter, a careful examination is needed if a clear picture of what happened in the distant past is presented as fact. As Noble (2008:456) puts it, the difficult task of a post-conflict generation is dealing with the memories of the past that families and individual people have. In many African societies, memory, either individual or collective, has been a source of violence and hatred. However, the role that myth and memory have played in perpetuating these conflicts, especially in the Rwandan crisis, has been largely neglected in scholarly literature.

Evidently, the link between myth and memory is crucial in the shaping of society in traditional Africa and in communities across the globe. Myths in most cases are a function of memory. This is primarily because without the recollection of past deeds some myths may not have been created, and accordingly will not have been spread. Memory therefore serves as the conduit through which myths are propagated. For instance, Du Toit (1983:925) notes that the rise of Afrikaner nationalism had it roots in the teachings of the Bible. He argues that the Great Trek was carried out as a result of the memory that the Afrikaner people had of the Jews who left Egypt to go to the Promised Land. Myth and memory as important ingredients in shaping societal interaction becomes even more intriguing when taking into cognisance the way that traditional concepts of identity and

17 nationalism are revered in Rwanda. The link between the two concepts, myth and memory, will be elaborated upon in Chapter 1.

II Aim of study

In view of the above background, the aim of this study is to establish the role of political myth and memory as instruments for the social mobilisation of various segments of Rwandan society, which eventually led to the deterioration of inter-ethnic relations prior to 1994. The idea is to investigate how the hegemony of the political myth of the Tutsis as a dominant group and the Hutus as subordinate group in Rwanda was expressed. To defend a particular mythical position, communities are impelled to act by the pouvoir moteur (motivating power) of a great myth, a vision that permits them to picture their coming action as a battle in which their cause is certain to win (Tudor, 1972:14). The violence after the killing of the Habyarimana in 1994 was premised on the notion that the myth of Hutu power would prevail over the supposed ethnic superiority of the Tutsi. Of particular interest is establishing the role of political myths as an instrument of social mobilisation, as well as the meaning of memory within the general understanding of political violence in Rwanda. Specific issues that are addressed include:

 The origin of Rwanda’s political myths;  The role that mythical narratives played in inter-ethnic relations in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda;  The manner in which memories of ethnicity-related political incidents entrenched hatred and division among Rwanda’s ethnic groups; and  Establishing the manner in which differences in ‘memories’ have been resolved after the genocide.

The study therefore examines the role that political myths and recollections of the treatment of the Hutus in the pre-colonial and colonial period played in directing and fashioning the attitudes of the Hutus and their conduct towards the Tutsis.

However, it is also important to note that in expatiating on the relationship between the Tutsis and Hutus, conflict is inherent in the life of every group or organisation, whether

18 formal or informal. Despite the presence of conflict in every society, it is equally important to note that the ethnic rivalry between these two groups in Rwanda suggests a more organised and well laid out political agenda. As pointed above, colonial policies of indirect rule and assimilation have been blamed for igniting this rivalry. However, colonialism and its attendant effects could not have been the sole cause of the 1994 genocide. The role that myth, memory, legends and folktales played in fashioning or shaping genocide policies needs particular attention, principally because in Africa, myths, memory and folktales play important roles in regulating and fashioning societal behaviours and the standing of groups in society.

The structural approach will form the basis through which the analysis of myths in this study is premised. The structural approach emphasises the meaning of the totality of all the components of a myth. This includes: the identification of the multiple meanings of a myth, the isolation of the various levels on which the myth evolves and treating all versions of a myth as authentic. In order to analyse memory, the direct and indirect memory narratives of respondents will be analysed. Direct memories are those forms of memory that the respondents experienced first-hand, and indirect memories are those that they have acquired by either reading books or by oral transmission (via family, friends and others). The latter usually involves narratives that happened in the distant past. In order to gain a comprehensive understanding of the critical nuances of memory, both individual and collective memories will be analysed. The discourse of individual memories focuses on the recollections of individual people within Rwandan society relating to the manner in which that society was structured in the past. Collective memory, on the other hand, focuses on how the present generation remembers the past. Hecht (2006:10) notes that this is usually done through anthems, memorial celebrations, coats of arms and museum displays.

III Literature review

Rwanda, as with most states with a colonial history, has tended to be viewed from two diametrically opposed points of view. The Great Lakes region of Africa has certainly encountered problems in establishing its history, and there are debates in the literature regarding key interpretations of Rwanda’s past. However, more recent research, as will

19 be shown below, discredits the earlier research. This is particularly evident in the discussions concerning the origins of ethnic identity in Rwanda. The first conceptual position asserts that Rwanda was a Hamitic kingdom and that its founding kings were descendants of a superior conquering ethnic group. The second, and more recent, conceptualisation maintains that before the arrival of the Tutsis and colonial administrators Rwanda was a flourishing polity with important, functioning state institutions. Besides colonial anthropological writers such as Hanning Speke and van den Burgt, who championed the first conceptual position, Alexis Kagame is perhaps the most vocal proponent of this line of argument. In La Divine Pastorale, Kagame (1952) contends that the kingship institution was introduced in Rwanda by Tutsis who had mastered the art of cattle rearing through many years of transhumance activities beginning from the Horn of Africa. This line of argument was further strengthened in 1953 with the publication of Le Code des Institutions Politiques du Rwanda, which presupposes that all the political institutions in Rwanda bear traces of outside influence. The bringers of this outside influence were the Tutsis, who subjugated the less sophisticated Hutus. In his later publication entitled The Bantu-Rwandese Philosophy of Being, Kagame (1956) furthers the notion of Rwanda being one country with two separate philosophical traditions, one being Hutu and the other Tutsi. According to him, the Tutsis, with a far more sophisticated philosophical tradition, should be more accommodating in accepting the Hutus. Through The Bantu-Rwandese Philosophy of Being, Kagame made African thought understandable to the Western world. Though Kagame went on to serve on the UNESCO committee for writing the general history of Africa, the central thrust of his argument was that Rwanda was a Hamitic kingdom and should be treated as such by the colonial administrators.

One of the first people to discredit Kagame’s account of the history of Rwanda was Lemarchand. In his 1970 book, Rwanda and Burundi, Lemarchand (1970) presents an account of an invading pastoral civilisation that met with equally centralised and well- organised Hutu polities. In his work, Lemarchand offers a biographical account of the various Rwandan kings. His work has been hailed as a pioneering endeavour in identifying the differences between the peoples of Rwanda in particular and the Great Lakes region of Africa in general. Rennie (1972) notes that into a fragmented congeries

20 of tiny Bantu chieftaincies came a cohesive group of pastoral Hamitic Tutsi. Rennie’s leaning towards the superiority of the might of the Tutsi was not arrived at by way of an empirical study, but was based on ‘court interpretation’ of Rwandan history. He concludes by positing that though the Tutsi succeeded in creating a centralist state, post-colonial reconstruction of Rwandan history shows that the ideas of Tutsi centralisation and their foreordained success are no longer tenable and that the Hutus could just as well have allowed the Tutsis to settle in Rwanda, as the migration patterns at the time would suggest.

Newbury (1980), on the other hand, notes that pre-colonial writings on Rwanda placed enormous emphasis on the ‘clan’s traditions’ and these have served as an important source in reconstructing the African past. According to him, the studies carried out on countries such as Rwanda were undertaken in a rather uncritical manner. Newbury (1980) suggests that it will be difficult to totally discard the methodological approach in which Rwandan colonial history was anchored, but cautions that the focus on clan identities should not be seen as unchanging as new processes of socialisation are encountered and experienced.

In his later publication, Newbury (1997) recognises the fact that the Hamitic frame of reference, or better still the notion that the Tutsis were foreign to Rwanda, was obsolete and that there needs to be a new narrative to explain why conflict is pervasive in the region. The fact that the Tutsis came from outside of the region does not necessarily mean that they would fight with the indigenous Hutus and Twa. He notes that under the Nyiginya dynasty, which is reported to be the founding dynasty of the Rwandan people, when conflict did occur it was more often within ethnic groups than between them. He therefore concludes that the division within Rwanda was more of a calculated attempt by some members of the political elites to control the resources of the country.

With regard to the colonial literature on Rwanda and the genesis of the ethnic conflict, Reyntjens (1995) provides a compelling contextual analysis of the hatred that existed and continues to exist between the Hutus and the Tutsis. Reyntjens maintains that the divisions in Rwanda had more to do with resource control than with ethnic hatred. He contends that the battle for the control of political power is at the bottom of the fight

21 between the Hutus and Tutsis. He also warns that a further humanitarian disaster is likely to happen if no political solution is found to the crisis in Rwanda.

Chrétien (2003:50) departs from the conceptual approach of Reyntjens and contends that the Tutsis migrated to Rwanda with some form of superior civilisation. Quoting a range of studies, it was assumed that because of the physical appearance of certain people in Rwanda, the notion of the ‘Hamitic-Semitic’ origin of some of the people in the region cannot be completely discarded. According to Chrétien (2003: 50), citing Harry Johnston, the first governor of the Uganda Protectorate, the Bantu people of the Great Lakes region benefited from the immigration to the Great Lakes region of a superior type of humanity, those of semi-Caucasian backgrounds.

Mamdani (2001:43), on the other hand, notes that at least two different kinds of studies have tended to buttress the idea of distinct difference in the ethnographic outlook of the people in the Great Lakes region of Africa. The first, according to him, is the phenotype ideology, which presupposes that because of the physical height of the Tutsi, they must be from another part of the continent or another part of the world altogether. This kind of conceptual approach supports the Hamitic angle that suggests that the Tutsis of Rwanda were foreign to the region. This line of argument was supported by Prunier (1995), who notes that the Tutsis were definitely foreign to Rwanda. This, according to Prunier (1995:11), was at the heart of the Tutsi/Hutu dichotomy, with the foreigners, of course being the Tutsi, having skilfully subjugated the inferior Hutu peasant masses.

Mamdani (2001:43) further notes that a second type of literature originating from a combination of physical anthropologists and natural scientists has focused on the genotype of the people of the region. This type of literature focuses on blood factors, the presence of the sickle cell trait and the prevalent ability among adults to digest lactose, a type of milk sugar that is a particular part of the diet of the Tutsis. It therefore supposes that the difference in the physical characteristics of the people of the region was as a result of dietary intake and not necessarily ofthe geographical origin of the people. Together with Des Forges (1999), Mamdani notes that the differences in Rwanda’s socio- political makeup were merely occupational and have nothing to do with a superior ethnic group invading and subjugating an inferior one. This line of argument has been supported

22 by Vidal (2003) and Fujii (2005). Guichaoua (2001) and McDoom (2008) state that the drive towards ‘new scholarship’ or a new orientation in the manner in which Rwanda’s past should be analysed should take into consideration the contextual disposition in which the ‘old scholarship’ was anchored. Without such contextualisation, the essence of what the ‘old scholarship’ was meant to achieve will fall by the wayside in the construction of a new Rwanda.

Considering how these two conceptual sides challenge each other in the thesis, it should be understood that new and old scholars have held strongly onto their points of view, which depend on which side of the political divide they find themselves. While the colonial administration relied heavily on the writings of Rwandese scholars such as Alexis Kagame to buttress their Hamitic hypothesis (old scholarship), as elaborated above, the post-colonial Hutu administrations depended on the teachings of Hutu scholars such as Narcisse Gatwa to reinforce the argument that Rwanda was a Hutu nation (new scholarship). These differences in literature and the varied ways in which the history of Rwanda has been treated find expression in the various interviews that were carried ou in this study. Conclusions drawn were also in line with what these two schools of thought have already put on the table.

Myth

Myth as a subject of empirical inquiry gained momentum after the Second World War because of the important role that myths played in shaping the ideological direction of pre-Second World War Germany. However, literature on myth can be categorised into two distinct epochs: the period after the Second World War and 1960 and the post-1960 era. Though there is a paucity of literature on myth in the period between the Second World War and 1960, the few studies that are available focus on the structural meaning of myth and how myth can shape the psychological direction of a nation. The earliest research in this area by Levi-Strauss (1955) and Sebeok (1958) concentrated primarily on the place of myth in modern society. Levi-Strauss (1955) argues that myth is an important knowledge transmitter. According to him, for myth to be known, it has to be told. But the critical aspect in this regard is who created the myth and for what purpose. To Levi-Strauss, however, myth is as important as a part of human speech. Levi-Strauss and

Sebeok assert that if there is a meaning to be found in mythology, this cannot reside in its isolated elements, but rather in the way those elements are combined, stressing the importance of structurally understanding myths and their various components.

The post-1960 era has seen a variety of contributions on the role of myth in societal transformation. In this regard Dubb (1960), Levi-Strauss (1963), and Cohen (1969) focus on myth as an important phenomenon for social transformation. In 1960, Dubb (1960) put together papers by scholars around the globe on the role of myth in societal transformation – particularly on how different ethnic groups relate to one another. The chapter on Rwanda authored by Rennie (1960) focuses on myths as a tool for social interaction. Rennie (1960) ascribes the hatred between the Hutus and Tutsis to myths. His work provides a useful foundation on how myths can shape societal formation and transformation.

In ‘The Story of Asdiwal’, Levi-Strauss (1963) focuses on the structural analysis of the Asdiwal myth. Known to have four versions, the Asdiwal myth presents a typical case of endurance among the Tsimshian, Tlingit and Haida Indians in the face of famine caused by lengthy winter snow in the North Eastern part of Canada. The Asdiwal myth describes Asdiwal’s adventure in escaping the harsh winter famine and protecting his family from starvation. In analysing the Asdiwal myth, Levi-Strauss (1963) brought to the fore the importance of the structural principle. The structural analysis of myth applied in this study is based on Levi-Strauss’s methodological approach in analysing the Asdiwal myth.

Cohen (1969) attempts a theoretical interpretation of myths. He focuses on the interdependence of the different types of myths, especially those related to social structure and culture. He argues that myths not only have different functions, but that these functions may be so closely interrelated that performance of one lends credence and strength to the performance of another. In essence, he says, various myth theories should not be seen as competing with one another, but rather as complementing each other. This study utilises Cohen’s theories of myth, particularly his functional, social and rational approaches to myth, and relates them to the Rwandan experience.

Another theoretical analysis of myth is undertaken by Strenski (1987), who examines the theoretical positions of mythologists such as Cassirer, Eliade, Levi-Strauss and

Malinowski. Cassirer’s myth of the nation occupies an important place in Strenski’s analysis of mythical theories. He examines Cassirer’s take on why the nation should be obeyed. Strenski also examines Eliade’s study of religion and myth. He puts Eliade’s understanding of myth and the study of religion into historical perspective. Conversely, Strenski also examines Levi-Strauss’ structural approach in studying myth, emphasising the importance of understanding myth from a holistic and comprehensive viewpoint. Strenski also analyses Malinowski’s mythical interpretation of ethnic groups and how these myths relate to group solidarity in times of war. Though the examination of these mythical theories does not fall within the scope of the thesis, they, however, provide a background for viewing and considering mythical narratives in Rwanda.

Another important contribution on myth in the post-1960 era is the work by Veyne (1988), who asks whether the Greeks believed in their mythology. The same could be asked of Hutus and Tutsis. Veyne contends that the answer is difficult because not everyone in Greece believed that Theseus defeated the Minotaur, for instance. Veyne cast doubt on whether the Greeks truly believed in their myths, and the same doubt could be applied to the Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda. However, the difference is that while the Greeks may have propagated myth to understand the society in which they lived, Rwandans used myth to shape perception of the ‘other’ with catastrophic consequences.

Lonsdale (1990), on the other hand, contends that the activities of the Mau Mau rebellion in the run-up to Kenya’s independence were shrouded in mysticism, with varying levels of myth at play. He argues that the Mau Mau rebellion was thought to be more atrocious than communism, and has lived in British memory as a symbol of African savagery. Lonsdale explores some of these constructions of the Mau Mau with special reference to the deconstruction of the myth of the invincibility of the ‘white man’ in colonial Africa. Though the work has no specific link to this study, it nevertheless provides an important perspective on how a united nation can defeat the most powerful colonial power in Africa through the deconstruction of the myth of racial superiority.

In Myth and Method, Patton and Doniger (1996), make a plea for the contextualisation of mythical narratives. This involves properly situating myths within the context in which they are propagated. The danger of context in myth, they argue, lies in the fact that some of

25 the underlying truth about myths may be lost, especially in the context of the African context. However, they argue that there is no master theory that can best explain the place of myth in society. According to them, theories put forward by Frazer, Freud, Levi- Strauss and Eliade have demonstrated shortfallings and there is need for a new method to research myths.

Attempts at theorising myth as a form of social construct were also examined by Segal (1999). He offers a comparison of many of the leading modern theories of myths, including those espoused by Levi-Strauss, Sigmund Freud and Bronislaw Malinowski. Segal contends that theories of myth are hard to compare partly because as an applied subject, definitions of myths are always based on broader theories that are applied to the case of myths. He, however, posits that one might compare theories by examining the positions they hold on key issues in the study of myth. In his later work, Segal (2004) used a more pedantic and perhaps mundane definition of a myth. He defines a myth as a story, a belief or a credo, making reference to the American ‘myth of the frontier’ and the ‘rags to riches myth’. Though Segal’s definition of myth does not fall within the confines of the study, it has, however, provided some critical perspectives on the different definitions and forms of myth.

Political myth

Within the realm of political myths, scholars such as Tudor (1972), Flood (1996) and Bottici (2007), attempt to situate myths within the wider context of political violence. For example, in Political Myth, Tudor (1972) defines myth as ‘a story, a narrative of events in dramatic form’. Drawing attention to the complex relationship between the discursive form and the communication of ideological beliefs, Tudor argues that in any reasonably civilised society, myths are incorporated into a general ideology composed of several mutually supporting practical points of view. Tudor (1972) maintains that every major ideology develops myths in keeping with its own historical vision. Tudor’s analytical explication of political myth forms part of the foundation of this study.

In a similar vein, Flood (1996) argues that myths do not arise solely from intellectual processes, but sprout from deep human emotions. Concerning the belief in myths, Flood (1996) argues that theories or explanations of these beliefs have, over the years, relied

26 directly or indirectly on the assumption that such beliefs are a product of irrational behaviour on the part of the believers. According to him, these beliefs could be a result of people’s need for faith and vivid objects of the imagination in order to commit themselves to great collective causes potentially involving personal sacrifice. This resonates with this study, as it provides a background on the implications of belief in myths could potentially be if what people believe in is threatened or if there is an attempt to deconstruct their belief. Taking his cue from Flood, Bottici (2014) argues for a philosophical understanding of political myths, insisting that myth is a process, one of continuous work on a basic narrative pattern that responds to a need for significance. Bottici contends that political myths are narratives through which people orient themselves and act to justify the political world in which they find themselves. Though Bottici does not link myth to political violence, his work provides a fundamental foundation for the understanding of myth and its political ramifications. Myth in Africa, together with legends, folktales and proverbs, is elaborated below.

Myth, legends, folklore and proverbs in Africa

With regard to literature on legends, folklore and proverbs in Africa, a body of knowledge has been produced on the subject. Achebe (1959) emphasised the importance of legends, folklore and proverbs in societal reconstruction in Africa. Achebe (1959) in Things Fall Apart brought to the fore the importance of proverbs and folktales as important conduits for the development of an African society. He points out the necessity of proverbs in our society, as they are the language through which elders can transmit important cultural artefacts. Monye (1996) underscores the importance of oral literature and proverbs as important for understanding society and emphasises that they deserve to be studied. He noted that folktales are among the most popular genres of oral literature used in many African societies and that this was mainly due to their entertainment value. As an example he pointed out that folktales and proverbs are usually told at night as a form of relaxation after the day’s work.

However, literature on legends, folktales and myths appears to have had a proud place in mainstream trans-disciplinary studies of African culture after the arrival of missionaries and colonialists at the beginning of the nineteenth century. This is not to say that the

27 presence of missionaries and colonialists made Africans develop folktales, but rather that their presence helped to document them. However, from a cursory view, the literature on legends, folktales and proverbs on the African continent can be divided into two distinct groups: mainstream and African-centred. With regard to the African-centred approach, scholars such as Wiredu (1980) notes that there are legends, folktales and proverbs that are particular to Africa, but these, according to him, are by no means unsophisticated. He shows how they can assimilate the advances of analytical philosophy and apply them to the general social and intellectual changes associated with modernisation and the transition to new post-colonial national identities. On the other hand, Hountondji (1997) notes that there is nothing wrong with African philosophy including myths, legends, folktales and proverbs, which he characterises as forming an important part of mainstream philosophical discipline. He criticises what many have called ethnophilosophy and suggests that all knowledge is first and foremost ethnic before becoming global. Evidently, because there has never been a clear empirical difference between myth on the one hand and legends, folktales and proverbs on the other, a scholarly separation at this point was not considered necessary. Nevertheless, it is important to underscore the fact that because legends, folktales and proverbs are the soil in which myths are planted, the overall importance of the former in the study of myth in Africa cannot be overstated.

Furthermore, colonial scholars such as Werner (1933) have also gone to great lengths in explaining and examining the place of myth in traditional African society. Werner (1933) examines the origin of folktales and their uses in Africa, while Frazer (1933) pioneered the ethnographic study of Southern Africa. Their work on myth and that of many other scholars laid the foundation for the understanding of myth in African socio-political settings. These studies contend that philosophical knowledge on Africa, especially in the realm of myths, legends, folktales and proverbs does have a distinct African flavour.

However, post-modernist scholars on the continent have taken the study of myth to new levels. One such scholar is Beier (1966). In a series of articles in an edited book, Beier (1966) examines a number of myths relating to the creation of the world from an African perspective. He examines myths such as ‘How the World was created from a drop of

28 milk’, ‘How God withdrew from the world’, ‘How the Moon fathered the world’ and the ‘Revolt against God’. According to him, these myths reveal that African society has been shaped and will continue to be shaped by myths. Though the myths considered were not linked to political violence, these studies do, however, provide an important base for the consideration of mythical narratives in this study. Beier (1966) also falls in line with what Wiredu (1980) considers an African-centred approach, which sees African societies as shaped by myth. Myth, according to him, is a manifestation of African philosophical discipline, which needs to be harnessed for the better understanding of African society.

Departing from the standpoint of Weridu, Okpewho (1983) in Myth in Africa, critically examines Africa and oral narrative theories, paying attention to theories such as evolution, psychoanalysis, functionalism, symbolism and structuralism. To Okpewho, the understanding of myth within the African context should first and foremost be grounded in context and theories. He notes that African philosophical thought processes which are expressed in the form of myth, legends, folktales and proverbs can fit within mainstream philosophical thought processes provided their context is well defined. Okpewho (1983) further analyses the meaning of myth in an African context, with emphasis on myth- making and the relationship between myth and social reality. Though Okpewho did not link myth to political violence, he does provide a critical lens through which myths can be understood in mainstream philosophical discipline.

In his later publication, Okpewho (1998) uses stories that he collected from various communities in the Niger Delta of Nigeria to reveal efforts by marginalised peoples to defend themselves and their place in an uneven socio-political landscape. In the process, he notes that because the people of the Niger Delta do not live in isolation their knowledge cannot be unique to the region, but is rather universal. It should be considered together with a sense of context to address the socio-economic and environmental nature through which the knowledge is generated. In Once upon a Kingdom, Okpewho analyses the use of myth by local people to justify their stance on important socio-political issues affecting the region and the people of Nigeria as a whole. In this publication, Okpewho links myth to a pattern of resistance and the use of opinion-shapers. This provides an important anchor for analysing Rwandan myths within a wider and global context.

While Okpewho examined myths from a Sub-Saharan perspective, Frobenius and Fox (1999) analyse myths from the African Maghreb context. They examined several myths including the Kabyl legends of creation and the Berber myth relating to the beginning of the world. Thus Frobenius and Fox’s (1999) understanding of myths, legends, folktales and proverbs falls within mainstream knowledge production. Their studies do not in any way suggest that the Kabyl legends or the Berber myth of the beginning of the world were unique or restricted to the northern part of Africa. In fact, the propagation of the Kabyl legends and the Berber myth of the creation of the world were done in order to make the world understand that this particular knowledge has its origins in that part of the world. These myths assume that in the beginning, the world was only inhabited by one man and one woman, and through an accident, they gave birth to 100 children: 50 girls and 50 boys. The boys and girls inter-married, and according to the myth, that is how the world was created. The myth provides an insight into how people viewed the creation of the world and also provides grounds on which Rwandan myths can be analysed.

Giddens and Giddens (2006) describe the role of mythology in African culture and religion. They argue that myths across all cultures have served the fundamental purpose of providing answers to that which is difficult to explain. Their study subscribes to mainstream thought processes that suggest that knowledge produced on the African continent is global knowledge. Of particular importance to their analysis is the notion that myths from around the world are similar. To account for this, they put forward two critical theories. The first is the diffusion theory, and the second is the parallel origin theory. The diffusion theory states that through travel, trade, conquest and other forms of human contact, myths have been dispersed throughout the world. On the other hand, the parallel origin theory claims that people in different areas of the world have developed similar myths because the basic ideas behind all myths are the same. Through a consideration of series of myths around the globe, the book offers an insight into how myths can shape the cultural landscape of a society.

Another important foray into Africa’s mythology is Knappert’s (1995) African Mythology: An Encyclopaedia of Myth and Legend. This contribution provides an idea of the wealth of Africa’s myths, legends, cosmology and narrative imagination. Knappert examines the

30 complexity of the place of myth in African society. Though he did not openly side with either of the conceptual approaches, his argument is that legends, cosmology and narrative imagination can help in understanding Africa’s societal phenomena, and he therefore tilts his thinking towards an African-centred approach. Accordingly, he contends that any phenomenon on the African continent can be explained by myth. According to him, myth is a powerful social weapon that can be used to shape people’s perceptions and opinions. Knappert provides a sound base for interpreting myths in Africa.

In addition, Mungazi (1996) analyses several myths in Africa, paying particular attention to the myth of the synonymity of blackness and unity. Leaning closely towards the mainstream approach, he argues that unity and brotherliness form an intrinsic value that cannot be equated to blackness. He argues that the contention that all black people are united is a myth that should be reconsidered. On the other hand, Assegued (2004) and Hesse (2010) have made enormous strides by explaining that traditional African oral literature is an important source for understanding African social transformations. Their work confronts certain myths about African mythological understanding. Embedded within mainstream epistemological debate, they argue that it is time for African voices, regional organisations and civil society to speak out against inaccuracies that African oral tradition cannot be equated to the mainstream philosophical tradition. However, these works do not link the propagation of myth to the recollection of the past and harmful perceptions and mass political violence. Conversely, Lawi (1999), as part of mainstream debate, provides some examples of how a structural approach should be applied in analysing myth. Within the structural approach, Lawi (1999) attempts to outline the major transformations experienced by the Iraqw community in Tanzania during the pre-colonial and the colonial era. He emphasises the social control dimension of the myths prevailing in the community and also illustrates how social control myths can be adopted by politicians to suit their particular political agenda.

In his work, Solani (2000) attempts to dispel the myth of ‘Saint Mandela’ that has been created by the mass media and perpetuated in the Robben Island Museum. He shows how those opposed to Mandela misrepresent him personally to the point of falsifying history. On the other hand, Lewis-Williams (1997) looks at San myth, demonstrating its

31 tenets of negotiation and conflict resolution. It outlines the cosmological stage (consisting of the material and spiritual realms) on which the San myths played out.

As has been shown above, there are varied points of view when it comes to the place of myths, legends, folktales and proverbs in Africa. However, because mainstream scholarship has presented an overwhelming and persuasive view of African knowledge as global knowledge, the study is drawn to following that. Because myths, legends, folktales and proverbs do not have proper boundaries in terms of the global discourse on African philosophical traditions, the study will group them under the general rubric of myths. Though much of the literature does not consider myths as political, the study notes that because some mythical narratives do have a direct bearing on the political future of a country, those will be categorised accordingly as mythical narratives in this text. In closing, Lemarchand (1999) notes that the difference between myths and folktales, legends and proverbs is that while myths have some historical validity, folktales, legends and proverbs are purely expressed as a form of recreation. However, as argued inthe next chapter, legends, proverbs and folktales are for the purpose of this study also grouped under the term myth.

Memory Memory as a scholarly discipline can be classified into two broad categories: individual and collective memory. One of the main proponents of individual memory is Assmann (2008). He notes that individual memory is that part of the recollection of the past that attaches to persons in the singular form. On the other hand, collective memory, as defined by Nets-Zehngut (2012), involves representations of the past that are collectively adopted by institutions of the state. This memory is found, for instance, in publications of state ministries, the army, exhibitions in national museums and textbooks approved for use in the educational system.

However, memories as a form of recreating the past have been the norm in many African societies. Memory has also been used to fathom the future in some African societies. The contributions of Chirambo (2010a, 2010b) and Ally (2011) document individuals’ memories of the nature of their social world, and more substantially, the manner in which they go about restoring their confidence in reality. They also present the concept of

32 politicised memory, which, in all its forms, is a selective recollection of the past that reflects politically informed agendas for the present. In this form of memory, oratory is significant. These scholars argue that a way of finding out about the past is to simply talk to people – collecting memories and experiences of their own lives, of the people known to them and of events they witnessed or in which they participated. An understanding of this body of literature has helped in interpreting and analysing Rwanda’s individual and collective memory.

Post-colonial memory literature on the continent has been enriched by the work of Malkki (1995). In Purity and Exile, Malkki (1995) shows how experiences of dispossession and violence are remembered and how they have been turned into narratives by Hutu refugees from Burundi, driven into exile in Tanzania after the 1972 Hutu killings by the Tutsi-dominated government of Michel Micombero. Malkki (1995a, 1995b) examines how identity and group belonging were formed as a result of the violence that the Hutus experienced in Burundi in 1972. She contends that as a people in exile, refugees in camps responded to their own displacement from Burundi by creating another ‘nation’ in Tanzania. Malkki’s work offers the perspective that violence can sometimes result in identity creation and can lead to another cycle of violence, as the displaced may want to return to their place of origin. This was the case for Rwandan Tutsi refugees, whose desire to return to Rwanda from Uganda precipitated the genocide.

Diawara, Lategan & Rusen (2006) explore the inner dynamics of memory in all its variations, from its most destructive and divisive impacts to its remarkable potential to heal and reconcile. Drawing examples from across the globe, the book addresses issues on both the conceptual and the pragmatic level, and its theoretical observations and reflections are informed by first-hand experiences and comparative reflections from across the globe. In similar vein, Macamo (2006) seeks to understand the notion of disaster through the description and analysis of memories of civil war in Mozambique. In a similar vein, Barnard, Stemmet & Semela (2006) contend that another way of finding out about the past is to talk to people, collecting their memories, their life experiences and their accounts of events that they witnessed or in which they participated. Drawing examples from the Namoha battle in Qwa-Qwa in 1950, Barnard, Stemmet & Semela

(2006) closely scrutinise the nature of oral history and what distinguishes it from other forms of historical enquiry. Though these studies do not link memory to violence, they provide an important angle for the analysis of memories of genocide survivors in this study.

With regard to the relationship between myth and memory, Du Toit (1982) contends that because of the belief of the Afrikaners in divine providence, they were able to come up the myth of the superior status of the white race in southern Africa. Horowitz (1998) further suggests that because of the memories of the bravery of Germans under Bismarck and other leaders, Hitler was able to come up with a myth of the superiority of the German race. Lemarchand (1999) contends that behind such twisted memories lies the invention of mythical interpretations of histories, which have led to bloodshed and violence in many parts of the world.

Flanagan (2004) points out that myths exist because of a recollection of past events, political or social, of the society in which the myth is propagated. He argues that myth theory’s common identification of narrative as a close relation of myth also has resonance in the political context, for there exists a connection between storytelling and moving forward into the political future. Flanagan (2004) notes that after 1945, and especially in Germany, storytelling, which was a form of remembering the past, became an acknowledged aid to progress when there was a high demand for explanation, debates and answers.

Colonialism and ethnic conflict in Rwanda

The history of ethnic friction in Rwanda is mainly reflected in the writings of Kagame (1947, 1952, 1959) and Muzungu (1987, 1989, 1999). In Le code ésoterique de la monarchie and in Le code des institutions politiques du Rwanda pre-coloniale, Kagame (1947, 1952) contends that the Rwandan kingdom was a Hamite one. The Hamites conquered and subjugated the Hutus, who he claims were lethargic and thus did not play any significant role in the valorisation of Rwanda. Monarchical institutions, he maintains, were brought to Rwanda by the Hamites (Tutsis), and thus they deserved to rule Rwanda. In his latter publications, Kagame (1959, 1999) questions the motives for the Hutus’ agitation for power. He also questions the motives of the Belgians in giving the Hutus a

34 platform to ask for democracy to be introduced in Rwanda, because, according to him, the Tutsis were meant to rule. Though Kagame’s work is considered ‘old knowledge’ and falls outside the scope of the present study, it provides an important point of reference for the analysis of the role of myth and memory in this study.

Over the years, Lemarchand (1964, 1970, 1994a, 1994b, 1995) has been consistent in arguing that the Tutsis may have conquered Rwanda, but that they could have met with an equally centralised Hutu polity with all the necessary trappings of power and leadership. Lemarchand’s position falls within the ambit of ‘new knowledge’ on Rwanda, which subscribes to the argument that Rwanda is a multi-ethnic society and its reconstruction was definitely not the work of a particular ethnic group but Rwanda as a whole. In this regard, in his book entitled Political Awakening in the Belgian Congo, Lemarchand (1964) argues that the myriad problems that the Belgians encountered in the Congo were as a result of the lack of political education of the masses and their insufficient knowledge of their role in a post-colonial democratic dispensation. Lemarchand (1970) further argues that the Tutsis of Rwanda and Burundi benefited from colonial policies that subjugated the Hutus in both countries. A change in colonial policy direction, he maintains, has been the source of the myriad problems that the two countries have faced after independence.

In his latter publications, which also discuss ‘new knowledge’ on Rwanda, Lemarchand (1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2002, 2006, 2009) points to a concerted effort by the Tutsis to maintain their superior ethnic status in the post-colonial administration, which, according to him, resulted in the many conflicts that Rwanda experienced after independence in 1962. He equally blames the colonial powers Germany and Belgium for doing very little to address the question of identity in colonial Rwanda. Their inaction contributed to the persistent ethnic conflict experienced in Rwanda today.

Another important author of the ‘new knowledge’ on Rwanda is Prunier. Prunier (1995, 1998, 2008, 2009, 2010) sheds light on the intriguing history of Africa’s Great Lakes region. In The Rwanda Crisis: History of a Genocide, Prunier (1995) examines the historical background to the 1994 Rwandan genocide, and specifically the roles played by the Germans, Belgians, Tutsis and Hutus. His analytical narratives provide a crisp and

35 clear picture of the dynamics at play and give examples of cases where the international community could have assisted. The political ramifications of the genocide are examined in Prunier’s Africa’s World War. In this work, Prunier (2008) documents how the whole Great Lakes region became engulfed in an intractable and bloody conflict after 1998 when the international community was reluctant to address the security situation in the Congo. On the other hand, in his work From Genocide to Continental War (2009), he examines the attempts of the Tutsis to protect the Rwandan nation after the 1994 genocide. He argues that the lack of security guarantees by the international community prompted the post-genocide government in Rwanda to embark on a massive campaign to eliminate genocide perpetrators from the eastern Congo. Though these contributions fall outside the scope of this study, they nevertheless provide an important background to the genocide and why it happened.

Chrétien also falls within the ‘new knowledge’ category. In The Great Lakes of Africa, Chrétien (2006) describes the complex social and political history of the Great Lakes region. He maintains that the colonial administrators exploited and manipulated the existing power structures to suit their objectives in the region. These anomalies, Chrétien contends, have made the countries of the region become trapped by their colonial and pre-colonial legacies. Newbury (1988) argues that, more often than not, revolutions such as what happened in Rwanda in 1959 are often seen in terms of the outburst of intense political activity that they usually generate; however, less attention is paid to the structures, processes and perceptions that make such activity possible. He examines such processes, paying particular attention to the long-term transformational processes that Rwanda underwent before the 1959 event. Taking his cue from Newbury, Mamdani (2002), another of the ‘new knowledge’ scholars, argues that colonial intrigues could also explain the animosity between the Hutus and Tutsis of Rwanda. He contends that the stereotypical description of the Hutus and Twa by the colonial administration ingrained in the minds of the oppressed a sense of inferiority vis-à-vis their better-supported counterparts, the Tutsis. All of the abovementioned contributions provide an important background to this study.

The 1994 genocide in Rwanda

Sources relating the 1994 Rwandan genocide are numerous and varied. In many of these, scholars argue that the creation of propaganda for ethnic superiority and invincibility, whether knowingly or unknowingly, created an artificial resentment from the otherwise ‘inferior’ ethnic group.

Of the many contributions that chronicle the genocide, the contribution by Des Forges (1999), Leave None to Tell the Story, is perhaps the most detailed and poignant narration of how the genocide unfolded in Rwanda. The book describes in detail how the killing campaign was executed, linking oral testimony with extensive written documentation. It draws upon interviews with those who were marked for execution but managed to survive. The analysis in the book is also based on the stories of those who killed or directed killings and those who saved or sought to save others. Also drawing from unpublished sources, Des Forges also shows how international actors failed to avert or stop the genocide.

Straus (2006), on the other hand, argues that though there is a myriad of literature on the Rwandan genocide, the causes of the Rwandan genocide largely remain unknown. However, in The Order of Genocide (2006), he maintains that ethnicity should be seen as a background condition to the genocide and not the primary cause. He argues that fear and intra-ethnic intimidation were the primary drivers of the genocide. Lyons and Straus (2006) also present an intriguing work entitled Intimate Enemy on the words and opinions of genocide perpetrators. The book suggests that it was difficult to ascertain from the pictures of the victims and perpetrators who was Hutu and who was Tutsi. This, they argue, may explain why the colonial and post-colonial governments employed ethnic identity cards to tell members of the two groups apart and to reinforce the myth of separate ethnic identity. Regarding foreign intervention or the lack thereof in Rwanda during the genocide, Kuperman, Dallaire and many others provide vivid accounts. In his detailed examination of the Rwandan genocide, Kuperman (2001) contends that the fear of failure could have hampered humanitarian intervention in Rwanda. Drawing lessons from the failure in Somalia in 1993, Kuperman (2001) argues that many were left to die in Rwanda because the international community did not fathom a way that they could come out of the situation unscathed. Another detailed analysis of the Rwandan genocide is

Cohen’s (2007) One Hundred Days of Silence, in which he examines the manner in which more than 800,000 people were killed in Rwanda in 1994. He pays particular attention to American foreign policy towards Rwanda at the time, with the Somalian debacle a year earlier still very fresh in the minds of Americans.

Dallaire’s (2008) Shake Hands with The Devil is perhaps the best first-hand account of the role of the UN mission to Rwanda. It provides an overview of the experiences of Dallaire, the force commandant of UN troops in Rwanda during the genocide. Dallaire analyses the political intrigues at the UN headquarters and how these intrigues prevented his mission from fulfilling its mandate, even when the evidence was clear that there was a genocide occurring in Rwanda.

Post-genocide sources: Gacaca and ICTR

Literature abounds on the political direction that the post-genocide government has embarked upon. The most critical, and perhaps the most pressing matter of all, was the justice process to try those accused of having committed crimes against humanity during the genocide. Gacaca, a community justice process, was identified as the most viable option to address the challenges of the post-genocide judicial process. Among the first to write about the gacaca was Daly (2002). In his article entitled ‘Between punitive and reconstructive justice: The gacaca courts in Rwanda’, he contends that though the gacaca courts are flawed in many ways, particularly from a Western perspective, they nonetheless offer potential for helping the communities within Rwanda to transform themselves.

Corey and Joireman (2004) maintain that the gacaca process will contribute to the insecurity of all Rwandan citizens in future, since it pursues inequitable justice, accentuates the ethnic divide and will be interpreted as revenge. Schabas (2005), on the other hand, explains the reason why Rwanda had to go the route of adopting a communal justice system to address the challenges emanating from the genocide. While recognising the challenges the gacaca system will face, he notes that it will bring closure to those affected by the genocide and the injustices of the past government.

However, the most comprehensive literature on gacaca is contained in Clark’s (2010) book entitled The Gacaca Courts, Post-Genocide Justice and Reconciliation in Rwanda. In it, Clark draws on more that seven years of fieldwork in Rwanda, coupled with about 500 interviews, to examine the complex nature of post-genocide justice in Rwanda. Its conclusions provide indispensable insight into post-genocide justice and reconciliation as well as the population’s views on the future of Rwanda.

With regard to literature on the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), Mose (2005) gave an overview of the ICTR’s processes and the cases before it. He examines the cases involving Akayesu and Kambanda, who were the first people convicted of genocide crimes in the tribunal. In ‘Your justice is too slow: will the ICTR fail Rwanda’s rape victims?’ Nowrojee (2005) offers an examination of international justice from the perspective of rape survivors from the Rwandan genocide and exposes the squandered opportunities that have characterised sexual violence prosecutions over the past decade. These and many others provide an interesting overview of the processes at the ICTR seating in Arusha Tanzania.

Contested sources

Several sources on Rwanda present the divergent views in how Rwandans view their history. Many of these sources suggest that the ethnic divide in the country started from these contested and at times divergent narratives of the ethnogenesis of Rwanda. Prominent among these are the works of Kagame, which assume that Rwanda was a Tutsi country and that the Hutus were just appendages. Another example of such literature is that of Segal (1964). He notes that because the colonial administrators had ascribed a certain superior ethnic status to the Tutsis, it would be difficult to take that status away from them, especially in the mist of political contestation. Gatwa (1998) also contends that the Tutsis’ exemption from certain labour practices in the colonial period opened doors for the Tutsis to abuse their privileged position in the colonial era. Prunier (1995) and Lemarchand (1999) contend that the two contesting historical narratives of Rwanda’s history are a result of the whims and caprices of the colonial administration, which did not invest in making sure that the true historical narratives of Rwanda were

39 unearthed. What the colonial administration was interested in, according to them, was to ensure indirect rule as a form of minimising contact with the local people.

Though Des Forges (1999) and Mamdani (2001) recognise the contested nature of the Rwandan historical narrative, they blame colonial administrators for this dispute. They argue that because colonialism needed a scapegoat to subjugate the majority of the people in Rwanda, the colonial administrators came up with a historical narrative that was neither true nor verifiable. However, the study notes these contested positions and analyses them within the given conceptual and analytical framework.

This is by no means an exhaustive account of the literature on Rwanda. It, nevertheless, provides a glimpse of some of the many and varied sources on the issues pertaining to this study. Given the above overview, and building on the works of others such as Rene Lemarchand, Gerard Prunier, Christopher Taylor and Scott Straus, the study is the first of its kind based on original data collection on the role that myths and memory played in shaping inter-ethnic relations in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda.

IV Methodology

The study is a qualitative analysis of political myth and memory as catalysts in shaping ethno-cosmology and inter-ethnic relations in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda. Both primary and secondary sources are used. Secondary sources include books and journal articles on the colonial and post-colonial security and political crises in Rwanda, as well as general sources on myth and memory. This is supplemented by 56 personal semi- structured interviews conducted with Hutu and Tutsi survivors of the genocide.

Selection of respondents and interview process

The 56 interviews that were conducted were with 33 Hutu and 23 Tutsi respondents. Interviews were conducted in Kigali, Nyanza, Butare, Kibungo and Ruhengeri. The first round of respondents was selected through non-governmental organisations such as IBUKA (a genocide survival organisation) and Never Again (an NGO dedicated to the eradication of hatred and promotion of reconciliation among Rwanda’s ethnic group). IBUKA, is headed by a Tutsi and has as its main objectives the payment of reparations to victims of the genocide. Because most of the victims of the genocide are Tutsis, their

40 ideological background tends to lean towards the empowerment of the Tutsis both as a social group and as a political force. Never Again, headed by a Hutu, attempts to eradicate the culture of hatred among Rwandans. Though it does not advocate for a Hutu resurgence in the political space in Rwanda, the openness of the way in which they conduct their business points to a pro-Hutu stance. With the assistance of officials at IBUKA and Never Again, the first round of respondents was purposively selected based on their age and gender. Particular attention was paid to whether the respondent was a victim or a perpetrator (Hutu or a Tutsi). Most of the first-round respondents were community leaders, teachers and traditional leaders. Others were purposively selected relating to their knowledge of myths and their ability to recollect critical milestones in Rwandan society. One other crucial determinant for selecting the respondents was their knowledge of the history of Rwanda and whether they were victims or perpetrators. All respondents, including the Hutus, presented themselves as victims of the genocide. I was particularly touched by the statements of some Hutu respondents in Butare who decried the fact that their son was killed in prison despite the fact that in the community of Savé (a neighbourhood in Butare) Tutsis and Hutus both testify that he was not a perpetrator, but rather a victim. He was described as a victim because his family had hidden Tutsis in their backyard as Hutu conservatives were moving from house to house in Savé killing Tutsis. Respondents were equally selected based on the recommendations of the first- round respondents – thus following a snowball technique of selecting respondents. In all, respondents were selected based on three critical criteria (1) age of the respondent (2) knowledge of Rwanda’s history (3) whether the respondent was victim of genocide or not. Gender balance was also important, as both Tutsi and Hutu women were prioritised in the study.

Interviews were conducted, as mentioned above, in Kigali, Nyanza-Butare and Ruhengeri. Kigali was chosen because of its cosmopolitan character: Tutsis and Hutus interact freely. Nyanza, on the other hand, was chosen because it was the seat of the Tutsi monarch. A very strong Tutsi nationalist movement is also present in this area. Ruhengeri (Musanze) was selected because of its strong backing of the post-colonial Hutu administrations. It was also the birthplace of Habyarimana. The interviews were recorded and in those instances where respondents were not amenable to being

41 recorded, notes were taken. The interviews were then analysed thematically, and more importantly, in terms of pre-colonial, colonial, post-colonial and post-genocide mythical and memory discourse. The age of the respondents was of paramount importance. Considering that the genocide happened in 1994, no respondent under the age of 35 was considered for the study.

As mentioned above, a total of 56 interviews were conducted with 33 Hutus and 23 Tutsis. Of the 33 Hutus interviewed, 18 were female and 15 were male. On the other hand, of the 23 Tutsis interviewed, 18 were male and five were female. The low participation of Tutsi women was owing to their reluctance to recount what they said was a traumatic experience and a difficult period in the life of the nation. However, it is important to note that no differences in opinions could be traced between male and female Hutu interviewees (the first group to be interviewed). In addition, no differences in responses were evident between the male and female Tutsi interviewees. The necessity for a gender balance in terms of the Tutsi respondents was therefore dropped.

Though a total of 56 interviews were conducted, a recurrent theme could be traced after about 20 interviews with each of the groups. Data saturation therefore became evident. Before an individual was interviewed, he/she was informed of the broad aim of the study. Their right to terminate the interview at any stage was emphasised. In addition, respondents were assured that their names would not be revealed. However, respondents did not have any objection to their names being published in the study, as many said that they ‘did not have anything to hide’. Nevertheless, considering that the genocide is still a very sensitive topic in Rwandan discourse, only the first names of the respondents are revealed in this study. Conversely, no pressure or inducement of any kind was applied to encourage an individual to become a respondent in the study.

As mentioned above, interviews followed a semi-structured interview guide. Questions aimed at finding views on issues such as who is a Rwandan, what some of the main features of the Rwandan society were and the main distinctive issues that characterised colonial and post-colonial administrations. English and French, which are the working languages of the researcher, were the main languages of communication. For the 11 interviews that were conducted in Kinyarwanda, the services of an interpreter were

42 solicited. Most of the conversations were taped, and with those respondents who were not confortable with the team taping the interviews, field notes were taken. These taped conversations and field notes were regularly consulted during the writing of the thesis. Each interview lasted between two and four hours. Interviews were conducted in Kigali, Nyanza, Butare (Savé), Kibungo and Ruhengeri (Musanze). The purpose of the study was explained to the respondents and they were urged to stop the process if they were not comfortable. The interviews were conducted in the homes of the respondents, usually under a tree or in their lounge. All the respondents accepted their names being mentioned in the study, but because the topic is still a very sensitive one in Rwanda, pseudonyms were used. All the respondents indicated their ethnic backgrounds and because the analyst is French-speaking and conversant with Kishwahili, the interpreter was rarely required.

It was important to win the trust of the respondents. It was particularly helpful to be French-speaking and of foreign origin. This was emphasised at the beginning of the interview and it seemed to have contributed to creating a sense of trust. The Rwandan interpreter was only present when absolutely necessary. This created some confidence in the respondents, which resulted in an open and frank discussion.

Analysis of results

The data captured in the field was analysed thematically and in terms of a specific period: pre-colonial, colonial, post-colonial or post-genocide. The themes of analysis covered issues of kingship, kinship, class, race and post-genocide reconciliation. Memory, on the other hand, was analysed individually and collectively within the frame of the abovementioned periods. To prevent any misinterpretation, and to ensure reliability and credibility, the taped interviews and field notes were repeatedly consulted in the course of writing this thesis.

Moreover, with the above thematic and periodic classification in mind, the data collected was analysed using two broad methods: interim data analysis and the review of relevant literature. The interim data analysis method is a form of qualitative content analysis that aims to understand the big picture within which a particular subject matter is being studied. It tends to be an ongoing and iterative (non-linear) process in qualitative

43 research, which is used mainly by qualitative researchers for collecting, processing and analysing data during a single research study. Interim analysis continues until the process or topic of interest is understood. The primary focus of the interim data analysis method in this study was analysing the content of all the interviews collected in the field. Emphasis was placed on the structural presentation of the various myths in order to identify their various meanings. Interim data analysis was also used for analysing the respondents’ recollections of Rwanda’s past and how the structural formations of the past contributed to the genocide in 1994.

V Organisation of chapters

The study is divided into six chapters. The aim and scope of the study and a literature review are presented in this introduction. Chapter 1 provides the theoretical grounding of the study, discussing the various types of myths. The structural approach as a way to analyse myths is also explained. In Chapter 2, a historical background to the study is presented, focusing on pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial ethnic interactions. The role of the colonial administrators and missionaries in constructing social classes in Rwanda is particularly emphasised. Chapter 3 focuses on the prevalence of myth and how it influences the ethnic debate in post-colonial Rwanda. It discusses myths as a form of ‘world creation’ and ethnic invention in the Great Lakes region of Africa. The chapter also focuses on some of Rwanda’s political myths and how they are (and have been) interpreted. Chapter 4 establishes the role of memory in Rwanda from pre-colonial times to the advent of the genocide. Emphasis is placed on the emergence or construction of a fragmented Rwandan society. The chapter focuses on memory of the ill treatment of Hutus in the pre-colonial era and how this memory contributed in shaping the relation of Hutus with the Tutsis in the post-colonial era. The chapter also focuses on the creation of a class-based society in colonial Rwanda and how the class situation was (mis)handled by successive postcolonial governments.

Chapter 5 is devoted to setting the scene for the genocide with particular emphasis on the events between 1990 and 1994. The international dimension of the genocide and other contributing factors also receive attention. Chapter 6 focuses on the recollection of the genocide by the respondents. It also attempts to analyse the post-genocide political

44 agenda. The chapter particularly draws on the interviews conducted. Chapter 7 provides a summary of the main findings of the study.

CHAPTER 1

CONCEPTUAL AND THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK: UNDERSTANDING MYTH AND MEMORY

1 Introduction

This chapter provides a general overview of the role of myth and memory in shaping societal interactions, in order to establish (1) the origin of Rwanda’s political myths; (2) the reason(s) for the 1994 Rwandan genocide; (3) the role that political myths played in inter-ethnic relations in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda; and (4) the manner in which memories of ethnic-related political incidents entrench hatred and division among Rwanda’s ethnic groups. It underscores the meaning of myth and memory and examines the relevant academic debates as they relate to violence, providing a review of the four main models of myth – functional, rational, political and structural. This will be followed by an effort to apply these models, particularly the structural approach, in interpreting and understanding the premise of ethnic differentiation in Rwanda. Rwanda’s myths of precedence have provided a rationale for inequality. Moreover, Rwanda’s inequalities were accepted as part of the caste system, which was supported by an occupational and wealth threshold that has been a subject of contestation since pre-colonial times. Particular emphasis will be placed on the structural analysis of myths in a multi-ethnic society. Elements of the structural approach will be highlighted and structuralism as a method of analysing complex social interactions will also receive attention. Furthermore, the colonial and post-colonial dialectic in mythical thinking will be expanded upon, which uses myth as a tool for social separation. The memory debate constitutes a further section in the chapter. It will be shown that the awareness among the Hutu of the brutal way the Hutu kings were killed by the Tutsi in pre-colonial times reinforced the stance of Hutu conservatives within the Habyarimana regime regarding the return and reintegration of Tutsi refugees after the Arusha Accord of 1993.

In the last part of the chapter, the primordial, class and eclectic sources of conflict will be presented. Emphasis will be placed on the instrumental and symbolic sources of ethnic conflict. In this chapter, a comparison is made between the instrumental and symbolic theories as they relate to the Rwandan conflict of 1994. It will be argued that integrating these two models best explains the conflict, since each model holds some specificities and peculiarities in the way it relates to sources of conflicts. These theoretical models and theories will serve as a framework for establishing the origin of political myths and how these have helped in shaping inter-societal interactions in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda. The second task will be to consider the relevant empirical role that political myths have played in inter-ethnic relations in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda, and the manner in which memories of ethnic-related political incidents entrench hatred and division among Rwanda’s ethnic groups.

1.1 Understanding myth and memory

Over the years, especially after 1945, several schools of thought regarding what constitutes myth have emerged. Among these are those spearheaded by Bascom, Levi- Strauss and Cassirer. Bascom (1954: 339) contends that myth has taken different forms or shapes over the centuries, and in most quarters, it has lost its contemporary nature and is increasingly being regarded as ancient or dead. In trying to situate myth within the contemporary conceptual framework, Bascom (1954: 340) maintains that myths are tales believed to be true, usually sacred, set in a distant past or other worlds or parts of the world, with extra-human, inhuman or heroic characters. Myth, he maintains, is an all- embracing story that articulates how characters undergo or enact an ordered sequence of events. It is this ordered sequence of events, especially as it pertains to cosmology, which makes myth different from other forms of oral narrative. The study considers this difference to be minimal to merit a different form of discourse. That explains why the study decided to group all into one and will be able to tell which is which in the course of the debate in the text. However, it is equally fundamental for the research to decipher how this method of perpetuating African culture informed the development of social strata in Rwanda. One could safely argue that the notion of identity being measured by the

47 physical characteristics of an individual and the skewed occupational division of labour, as propagated by the colonialists during the formative years of Rwandan society, played a major role in the nature of myth in the country and the shape it took over time.

Levi-Strauss (1955:428) on the other hand, looks at myth as collective dreams, the outcome of a kind of aesthetic play and the foundation of ritual. This therefore suggests that the ritualistic and mythical narratives seen in Rwanda in the run-up to the genocide can be considered as myth. If one considers this definition, it would be fitting to look at folkloric activities surrounding political figures in the run-up to the genocide as mythical in manifestation. In this case, and for the purpose of the study, there should be no qualms in considering folktales and ritualistic manifestations as mythical narrative, especially in an African setup.

Further to this, Levi-Strauss holds that human societies merely express through their mythology the fundamental feelings common to the whole of humankind, such as love, hate and revenge. In essence, myths try to provide some kind of explanation for phenomena that humanity cannot understand otherwise (Levi-Strauss, 1955:429). Despite the differences observed between myth, folktale and proverbs, which the study has grouped under one rubric, are considered as myths. Trying to differentiate between the former would further confine mythical narratives to mere ahistorical expression that has lost its contemporary vigour.

Cassirer (1961:94), on the other hand, maintains that the human mind experiences reality in a double mode. He notes that the human mind finds things in the world akin to itself, and it finds that they are realities in a class of their own. Importantly, Cassirer recognises that mythical thinking is a mode of symbolically structuring the world, and like poetry, it is an activity in its own right. This explains why functional myth exists, the main objective of which is to structure the world through the eyes of the people who propagate and believe in such myths. Evidently, this explains why the myth of the superior status of the Tutsis in Rwanda was thought to be true, because the people who propagated it wanted the world, and more importantly, Rwandans, to believe that the Tutsis are in fact superior human

48 beings. Because of the above definition, the Kigwe myth was taken into consideration as a critical myth that helped to shape the manner in which the people of Rwanda view each other.

Critical to the understanding of myth is the place of oral literature, folktales, legends and proverbs in society. As mentioned in the introductory part of this thesis, while myths do have a historical foundation based generally on memory, folktales, legends and proverbs are generally recreational or pastimes. The choice of myth as the preferred form of articulation in this study rests in the fact that it can be analysed from varying structural angles, while proverbs, legends and folktales seem to have a far more static form and nature in terms of their deeper and colloquial definitions (See for example Lemarchand, 1999:8). It will be of vital importance to understand how this method of perpetuating African culture affected the formation of social strata in Rwanda. Evidently, it will also be important to situate the meaning of myth within the wider construct of nation-building in the Great Lakes region of Africa by deconstructing the colonial mythical narratives that presuppose that the Tutsis were foreign to the region and should be treated differently. In essence, myths can also be used in the post-genocide era to reconstruct these erroneous narratives and put Rwanda on a certain developmental trajectory. This should be considered with the understanding that over the years, the concept of myths, legends and folktales on the continent has undergone dramatic transformation as Africa embraces urban expansion and globalisation.

However, after the arrival of the Germans in Rwanda in 1884, myth-making was re- oriented, as it became a tool to justify or reform the social make-up of the African polities. Lemarchand (1999:5) argues that many traditional African ethnic groups today bear traces of ‘invented’ ethnicity. He points out that myth-making, as it relates to the Great Lakes, was intended to deliberately deny or distort historical evidence in a situation of crisis and conflict. He opines that there is a fundamental problem in the creation of social classes in Rwanda, where the groups in conflict share the same language, the same national territory, and the same customs and have for centuries lived more or less peacefully side by side (Lemarchand, 1999:5). By implication, Lemarchand reasons that

49 the manifestations of ethnicity in Rwanda in the form of the genocide in April 1994 bore all the hallmarks of invented theories of ethnic superiority.

To further distinguish between myths as seen by other scholarly disciplines and myth as defined by political scientists, a detailed investigation into the form, content and structure of a myth is of paramount importance. In this regard, sacred myth, as it relates to cosmology, would be different from political myth.

Political myth

According to Flood (1996:41) political myths are narratives of past, present or predicted political events that their tellers seek to make intelligible and meaningful to their audiences. Within this realm of thinking, a political myth is said to exist when accounts of a more or less common sequence of events involving more or less the same principal actors, subject to more or less the same overall interpretation and implied meaning, circulate within a social group (Flood, 1996:42). With this in mind, it can be rightly argue that social groups and communities have in several instances resorted to political myths to advance their social ideology or to reaffirm a political position. In this regard, the Gobineu’s myth of the superior ethnic status of the German race quickly comes to mind. This study, in a nutshell, focuses on political myth as a possible catalyst for the ethnic divisions in Rwanda.

Political myth, Strenski (1987) contends, labours in a great spiritual process, a process by which consciousness frees itself from passive captivity in sensory impressions and creates a world of its own in accordance with a spiritual principle. This principle is usually derived from the political group that propagates it, and more importantly, from those who believe in it. Strenski (1987:26) further insists that in political mythical narrative, as indeed in every aspect of culture, one finds evidence of creative human agency, here operating on the epistemological plane. In political mythical thinking, any similarity in sensuous manifestations suffices to group entities into a single mythical genus. Cassirer (1987) further notes that any political characteristic is as good as another as far as the political aspirations of the people who propagate it and those who believe in it are concerned. This

50 therefore points to inconsistencies in political mythical thinking. As a result, Strenski (1987:30) concludes that political mythical thinking is governed by the law of concrescence. The concept of concrescence, as advanced by Cassirer, holds that all the pieces of a political myth are as important as the sum total of the myth. He opines that political mythical thinking coheres in an emotional unity, which, in all its vicissitudes, translates to the unity of life within a polity. A political myth therefore embraces, according to Tudor:

... an interpretation of what the myth-maker (rightly or wrongly) takes to be hard fact. It is a device men adopt in order to come to grips with reality; and we can tell that a given account is a myth, not by the amount of truth it contains, but by the fact that it is believed to be true, and above all, by the dramatic form into which it is cast ... What marks a myth as being political is its subject matter ... [P]olitical myths deal with politics ... A political myth is always the myth of a particular group. It has a hero or protagonist, not an individual, but a tribe, a nation, a race, a class ... [and] it is always the group which acts as the protagonist in a political myth (Tudor, 1972:13).

Thus, political myth is behind the feeling of nationality, and it gives this new national feeling force. Strenski (1987:16) even argues that it is inconceivable that a nation should exist without mythology. Such mythology could equally be seen, according to Flood (1996:44), as an ideologically marked narrative that purports to give a true account of a set of past, present, or predicted political events and that is accepted as valid in its essentials by a social group. This argument supports the ideological positions that the Tutsis took in the colonial period to support their political position on the superior nature of the Tutsi ethnicity. The same could be said of the position taken by the Hutus in the post-colonial political dispensation.

In a more nuanced political understanding, Bottici (2007:133) sees a political myth as the work of a common narrative by which the members of a social group make their experiences and deeds significant. This, according to Bottici (2007), is a normal component of modern political life. Depending on the circumstance and the audience to

51 which a myth is presented, it can be constructive and destructive at the same time. Flood (1996:41) concurs with this thinking:

Just as myth can serve an integrative function in relation to an established social hierarchy and or political order, the[y] can also serve a more competitive, agitative, even subversive purpose when they are used to consolidate one group’s identity in opposition to that of another group. The exact degree of opposition is, of course, infinitely variable, according to the social context in which it occurs. So too are the ways in which myth can be turned to account under conditions of rivalry between groups, a single myth can be subject to differences of emphasis which underpin different perspectives on the relative status of the competing groups.

The use of political myths by the different ethnic groups in Rwanda at different stages of the development of the Rwandan state attests to this disturbing trend. Myths portraying the ethnic superiority of the Tutsi were pervasive in colonial Rwanda’s political propaganda, which was circulated to a large extent by the colonial administration. However, the argument that this form of mythical narrative resulted in violence was not proven in the study.

At the dawn of independence, the Belgian colonial administration set out to re-align political forces by supporting hitherto marginalised Hutu political elites (Taylor, 1999:44). The Belgian governor-general, Jean-Paul Harroy, revolutionised the political landscape by appointing Hutu chiefs in the place of Tutsi chiefs and sub-chiefs, while in the meantime supporting and helping to form Hutu political parties with the sole aim of wrestling political power from the Tutsis when the time came (Taylor, 1999:44). The re- arrangement of the social order initiated by the Belgian colonial administration was met with stiff resistance from the Tutsis. The resulting effect was the Social Revolution of 1959, which led to the death of several thousand Tutsis, and thousands seeking refuge in Uganda. The genesis of the revolution has been attributed to conflicting interpretations of Rwanda’s myth of creation. Thus, the 1959 Hutu uprising confirms the assertion that myths do not only contribute to the construction of a community by drawing members of a group into a network of shared meaning; they can also be a destructive element in the

52 community by using an appeal to solidarity based on ethnic identity (Hecht, 2006:17) as will be shown in the course of the study.

In trying to formalise social stratification, the colonialists established a wealth threshold of ten cows within the society. Those with ten cows and above were called the Tutsis and families with fewer cows were called Hutu and relegated to permanent servitude. One of the first theories to justify this stratification and inform colonial policies in Rwanda was the Hamitic theory, propagated by John Hanning Speke. The theory summed up the Tutsi people as ‘pastoral Europeans arriving wave after wave, better armed as well as far more intelligent than the dark agricultural Negroes (Hutu)’. Though there were no linguistic differences between the inhabitants of Rwanda, such assertions gained ground and later played a major rule in the interplay of ethnic relations in post-colonial Rwanda. As noted in Prunier (1995:7), Speke holds that the Tutsi were members of a superior civilisation and that their ancestors were the Galla of southern Ethiopia. Though the physical characteristics of the Tutsi, such as a thinner nose and lighter coloured skin, provided the physical evidence confirming a Hamitic view, there was no evidence of cultural superiority. Within such anthropological thinking, Lee (2001) assumes that the Hamitic hypothesis provided a scientific basis for the missionaries and colonialists to ascribe biological and cultural superiority to the Tutsi as a group. The Hamitic myth will be explored further in the following chapters of the study.

1.2 Conceptual and analytical understanding of myth and memory

As noted above, myth can be defined as an expression of the inner feeling of a people, while legends, folktales and proverbs form part of their recreational activity. For the purpose of this study and bearing in mind that myth, legends, folktales and proverbs play the same role in society, legends, folktales and proverbs will be grouped under the rubric of myth. However, for myth to have potency, there most be people willing to propagate it and equally enthusiastic people ready to believe it. Though the study does not differentiate between myth, legends, folktales and proverbs, in instances where the difference is obvious an observation will be made in order to situate them in context.

However, the role of myth in Africa, particularly as a shaper of society, is perhaps the reason why ethnic conflicts are rife on the continent. Okpewho (1983) critically examines the place of oral narratives in African societies, paying attention to theories such as evolution, psychoanalysis, functionalism, symbolism and structuralism. To Okpewho, myth within the African context should first and foremost be understood within the context in which it is propagated. Meaning should be discerned and a context created in order to situate the meaning within the socio-political and cultural society in which myth-makers want to create. In this regard, Okpewho (1998) uses cultural narratives that he collected from various communities in the Niger Delta of Nigeria to reveal efforts by marginalised peoples to defend themselves and their place in an uneven socio-political landscape. In the Rwandan context, pre-genocide cultural narratives were meant to shape people’s opinions on the political stance that the government took. In this regard, violence was justified in that it was meant to ensure that other members of the Rwandan society would not divert the government from the political direction it was taking.

In Africa today, the analysis of mythical narratives to explain a particular political event have gained momentum. Of particular importance is Du Toit’s (1983) discussion of myth in the origins of Afrikaner nationalism and racial ideology in Southern Africa. Equally important is Solani’s (1998) account of the myth of Nelson Mandela as a hero in Africa. These forms of analysis have put the importance of mythical narratives squarely on the map of contemporary African studies. They have also resuscitated a long-forgotten tradition of myth as a form of societal (re)organisation in the post-1990 era.

Most kingship institutions in Africa or their symbols of power and authority are said to have descended to earth from heaven. Prominent among such kingship myths is that of the Asante in Ghana, who have a long-held myth that the golden stool of the Asantehene descended from the sky. A Rwandan political myth suggests that the Tutsi founding hero Mututsi descended from heaven accompanied by his sister Nyamparu (Lemarchand, 1999:7). Mututsi is further argued to have been the father of the Tutsi nation. The celestial origin of the Tutsi has found expression in folklore and urban legends in colonial and post- colonial Rwanda. Such political myths underwent fundamental changes as they came to be interpreted in different ways by the Hutu and the Tutsi. This mythical framework of the

Rwandan people, coated with racial stereotypes for over 70 years of white rule, inflated the Tutsi cultural ego, and at the same time crushed Hutu feelings until they coalesced into an aggressively resentful inferiority complex (Prunier 1995:45), as the unfolding events after 1962 suggest.

Myths attempt to offer a cause, and more importantly, an explanation of a phenomenon in the real world. In trying to understand cosmological phenomena, some myths are allegorical in nature or attempt to explain the functional character of events. In a traditional society, every custom and institution tends to be validated or confirmed by a myth, which states a precedent for it but does not seek to explain it in any logical or philosophical sense. This explains the prevalence of functional myths in most traditional African societies. But the idea that myth is purely for social bonding and validation and does not regard thought seems to be contradicted by the prevalence of political myths. Myths can also be explanatory, and the logical way in which we can see this is through the structural model. Mythical theories can gravitate towards functional, social, political and structural models. Myths embrace a wide section of society. The following is a detailed explanation of the various myth models that are commonly referred to in the dissertation.

1.2.1 Functional myth model

Functional myths are premised on how society as a whole should be organised and regulated. In most societies around the world, stories are told that justify the existing political and socio-economic systems. The myth of the Asante recognises the Asantehene as having descended from heaven on a golden stool, the myth of the Zulu describes Zulu men as having emerged from a bed of reeds with cattle and hoes, and the Tutsi Kigwa myth justifies the division between the Tutsi, Hutu and the Twa groups. Wilson (1960:1) posits that these myths are variably related to historical fact, but even when fictitious, they are told by the people (whose institutions they justify) as actual history.

Political scientists generally agree that social control is the totality of processes by which social order is established and maintained in society. However, some disagree on what these processes involve. Lawi (1995:260) insists that one underlying factor of social control is the fact that group interest is the perennial motive for social cohesion and

55 therefore drives the processes and means that minimise deviations from social norms within a group. On the other hand, social control can also be construed as an aspect of the functioning of the state. This would include education, law-making processes, crime prevention measures and punishment of what are considered to be deviant behaviours and attitudes (Lawi, 1995:260). The promulgation of myth as a way of influencing the thinking and orientation of a particular group subscribes to the goal of social control. Without putting emphasis on the directions that specific myths take, the main idea is the advancement of group interests and the process of influencing individuals to conform to these interests (Lawi, 1995:260). It is within such a realm that the concept of social control is anchored, and the following paragraphs will attempt to decipher how myths can play this important role of controlling the mindset and political orientation of a group.

In traditional African societies, elders play an important role as informal educators of the younger generation. Part of the curriculum of this informal education is storytelling, folktales and legends, and some of these folktales subsequently assumed mythical proportions. Though this form of informal education has withstood the transitions to colonial and post-independence states, its significance as a control mechanism has been declining over time. Lawi (1995:261) points out that prior to the colonial and the post- colonial dispensation, when no formal governance structure existed, mythical stories played their most significant role as a social control mechanism. One important aspect of this form of social control is the setting of ethical norms and enforcing conformity to these norms. Older myths tended to emphasise respect for and maintenance of life processes, and in most instances they projected terrifying events as results of extreme human misdeeds and established causal relationships with positive rewards (Lawi, 1995:261). An analysis of myths as a source of discord or division between ethnic groups will be provided in later chapters of the study.

1.2.2 Rational myth model

The rational myth model deals with myths that are a narrative of a culture, tradition or people that describes their early beginnings. Rational myths focus on detailing how the world the people came to know began and how they became part of it. Also known as

56 myths of precedence or creation, rational myths develop in oral traditions and are the most common form of myth found in most societies. In societies where rational myths are told, such myths convey profound truth, though not in a historical or literal sense. Rationalists argue that this form of myth, describing ostensibly historical events, serves to reveal part of the worldview of a people or explain a practice, belief or natural phenomenon. Within the realm of the rational myth model, myths are held to be symbolic descriptions of phenomena in nature.

Though rational myths are seen as traditional storytelling with supernatural beings, ancestors or heroes that serve as a fundamental type in the worldview of a people, they also justify the existing political and socio-cultural systems found in most societies around the world. Rational myth theory states that myths are made to better understand natural events and forces that occur in the everyday lives of a people. This is done by explaining aspects of the natural world or delineating the psychology, customs or ideals of a society, which in most cases is presented in the form of rational myths or myths of precedence. The aim of the teller of these myths is to justify the present socio-political and cultural dispensation. The degree of acceptance of the myths depends on the ability of the people to accept their socio-political and cultural status quo. The myth behind the caste system in India particularly illustrates this point, stating that the invading Aryans divided the local population into Brahmans, Khaskiyas, Vaishyas and Shudras (Khurana, 1960:136). The Brahmans are the highest caste and the Shudras the lowest. Khurana (1960:136) further contends that the system of segregation was decreed by God, whom the Hindus conceive to be ‘formless’ and ‘with form’. Similarly, in Rwanda, the Kigwe myth justifies the division between the Tutsi, Hutu and Twa peoples.

1.2.3 Political myth model

Political myths are aimed at justifying a particular political dispensation. One of the first theorists of the political myth was the German scholar Ernst Cassirer. In his work The Myth of the State, Cassirer argues that a myth ought to be understood theoretically because it has already figured in public life, particularly in the Nazis’ fulfilment of Gobineau’s racist myth (Strenski, 1987:15). The myth of the German nation-state began

57 soon after Hitler became the chancellor of Germany, and validated what Cassirer and others, including Schelling and the German romantic nationalists, had been suggesting: that myth lays the basis for nationhood. Gobineau argues in ‘An Essay on the Inequality of the Human Races’ that the white race was superior to the other races in the creation of a civilised culture and in maintaining ordered government. He posits that European civilisation is a by-product of Prussian, Germanic, Greek and Roman civilisation and corresponds to the ‘Aryan’ Indo-European culture. Given the political enlightenment and the vast changes in the economic sphere in Europe at the time, Gobineau indicated that white race miscegenation was inevitable and would result in growing chaos. However, he later argued that the white race could be saved. In the early 1930s, Hitler adopted Gobineau’s theory of the superiority of the Aryan race and called for its purification.

Cassirer disagrees fundamentally with Gobineau’s myth of ethnic superiority and argues that all dominant integrating ideas within a particular polity are general characteristics of the mythical thinking of the people of that state. Myth, he argues, is the central principle that binds the finer parts of the state together. To illustrate this he states:

This tonality assumed by the particular concepts within the mythical consciousness seems at first glance totally individual, something which can only be felt but in no way known and understood. And yet beneath this individual phenomenon there lies a universal ... [which] encompasses and determines the particular configurations of this thinking and as it were, sets its imprint upon them (Strenski, 1987:29).

The universality of myth centres on the idea of wholeness or unity and it would be disastrous to temper with it unless one has something better to put in its place. Myth labours in a great spiritual process, a process by which consciousness frees itself from passive captivity in sensory impressions and creates a world of its own in accordance with a spiritual principle. Strenski (1987:26) insists that in mythical stories, as indeed in every aspect of political life, one finds evidence of creative human agency operating on the epistemological level. He maintains that myth embodies a form of primitive thought, which, though flawed in comparison to modern knowledge, prepares the way for it.

Cassirer views myth historically as an archaic mode of understanding, rather than just a mode of misunderstanding (Strenski, 1987:25).

In mythical thinking, any similarity between sensuous manifestations suffices to group them into a single mythical genus. Cassirer further argues that any characteristic is as good as another. This therefore points to inconsistencies in mythical thinking. As a result, he concludes that mythical thinking was governed by the law of concrescence (Strenski, 1987:30). The concept of concrescence proposed by Cassirer holds that each of the pieces of a myth is as important as the sum total of the myth. Cassirer opines that mythical thinking coheres in an emotional unity, which, in all its vicissitudes, translates to the unity of life within a polity. As a result, a political myth, as Tudor states:

... is an interpretation of what the myth-maker (rightly or wrongly) takes to be hard fact. It is a device men adopt in order to come to grips with reality; and we can tell that a given account is a myth, not by the amount of truth it contains, but by the fact that it is believed to be true, and above all, by the dramatic form into which it is cast ... What marks a myth as being political is its subject matter ... [P]olitical myths deal with politics ... A political myth is always the myth of a particular group. It has a hero or protagonist, not an individual, but a tribe, a nation, a race, a class ... [and] it is always the group which acts as the protagonist in a political myth (Tudor, 1972).

It is understood that myth is behind the feeling of nationalism and it gives this new patriotic national feeling force. Strenski (1987:16) even argues that it is inconceivable that a nation should exist without mythology. It could equally be seen, as Flood (1996:44) assumes, as an ideologically marked narrative that purports to give a true account of a set of past, present, or predicted political events and that is accepted as valid in its essentials by a social group.

Rwanda’s political myths are conceived to advance the principles and ethos of a particular ethnic group. It is true that about three nations made up the Rwandan polity, each with differing ideas of their ethno-genesis based on their political myth. An analytical telling of the myths of the various nations would lay bare the differences inherent with the society

59 and would make it possible to deduce how such differences manifested through ethnicism and genocide.

1.2.4 Structural myth model Structure derives from the Latin word ‘structura’, which means to construct. Its meaning was initially confined to architectural studies until the 17th century, after which it was extended to other natural and social-science disciplines. Glusksmann (1974:15) contends that it is the way that the study of structure considers the parts of a whole and their interrelations with one another that appeals to practitioners of social science. As the word ‘structure’ was first used within the confines of architectural science, its application to the social sciences therefore led to important methodological considerations in anchoring it within its new domain. However, in both fields, structure is the organisation of the observable parts of the whole, a bias that orients structural social studies in a specific direction by defining the area and level of abstraction at which they operate and what constitutes a complete analysis (Glusksmann, 1974:15).

Within the structuralist worldview, the focus is not on the manifest content of the myth, but on the way the content is structured. Structuralism therefore, subscribes to the reasoning that if there is a meaning to be found in mythology, it cannot reside in the isolated elements that enter into the composition of a myth, but only in the way those elements are combined (Tudor, 1972:56). There are usually many versions of the same myth in circulation, and there are also different myths that structural analysis reveals to be variants of the same myth. Structuralists posit that there is no true version of a myth, that all versions convey the same meaning, and all do it equally well or equally badly. Tudor (1972) argues that the there is a need to collect, analyse and compare all available versions and treat them as a single communication to extract the hidden doctrine that they contain. The concept of structure is therefore useful for the analysis of social relations and the comparison of the societies of which they form part (Glusksmann, 1974:17).

It will be impossible to make an objective comparison of societies without a profound understanding of the people and individuals that constitute those societies. Individuals are the basic unit of analysis and it is their actions and beliefs that form the base from which the social structure is to be elaborated (Glusksmann, 1974:18). Quoting Radcliffe-

Brown, Glusksmann (1974:18) contends that structure refers to some sort of ordered arrangement of parts or components and a synthesis of the components would provide the whole as seen by society. Though structure is observed only in the interactions between individuals, it does not mean that their interaction explains it fully. It is possible, as Glusksmann (1974: 19) posits, that a correct explanation of the workings of a society may consist in discovering the systems of relationships existing at a more abstract level that govern the observed social relations. Though the relationship between the Hutu and the Tutsi in the Great Lakes region has been described as, for example, that of master/servant or coloniser/subject, a profound understanding of ethno-cosmology reveals that the pre-colonial and colonial relationship between the two groups was determined on an abstract level. Imana (God) was the determinant of this relationship, and this abstract logic from God was predicated on there being certain fundamental behaviours or morals that the Hutu and Twa had failed to master.

1.2.5 Elements of the structural approach

The essential goal of the structural approach to myths is to discover the fundamental relations between the constituent elements of the myth, which should be informed by empirical reality. This presupposes that the structure exhibits the characteristics of a system that is made up of several elements, none of which can undergo a change without effecting changes in all the other elements (quoted in Glusksmann 1974: 32). Some important concepts critical to the understanding of structural studies include; observation and experimentation, structure, measurement and statistical models. Gusksmann (1974:32) further argues that there should be an emphasis on the analysis of the social phenomena that form the constituent elements of the system. The aim, he further argues, is to isolate strategic levels, which can be achieved only by selecting a certain constellation of phenomena which when synthesised should represent the whole.

Levi-Strauss assumes that in myth the separate units have no meaning by themselves; they acquire meaning only in the way in which they are combined (Leach, 1967:50). He further posits that the units of mythological structure are the sentences that make up the myth. According to Levi-Strauss (quoted in Leach, 1967:1), the structural model requires:

 The identification of the multiple meanings of a myth;

 The isolation of the various levels on which the myth evolves;

 A comparison of the various levels of the myth (economic, geographical, sociological and cosmological setting);

 Comparison of the different versions of the myth and to look for the meaning of the discrepancies between them or between some of them; and

 Treating all versions of a myth as authentic or relevant to its socio-political setting (Leach, 1967:1).

Mythical thought follows a strict logic of its own, which comprises thesis, antithesis and synthesis, moving in ever more complex cycles to comprehend all the oppositions and limitations inherent in thought (Leach, 1967:52). Levi-Strauss further posits that the structure of a myth is a dialectic structure in which opposed logical positions are stated, the oppositions mediated by a restatement, which then, when its internal structure becomes clear, gives rise to another kind of opposition, which in its turn is mediated or resolved (Leach, 1967:52). The premise of a structural analysis will be to identify the opposed logical positions of the myth in order to mediate the oppositions by a restatement of the underlying meaning of the myth. The assumption in most traditional African societies is that the nature of myth (and the way it is articulated) is to mediate contradictions. It is therefore essential that for myth to play this important role, the method of analysis must proceed by distinguishing the opposing and the mediating elements in a myth. Identification of the opposing elements in a myth is of critical importance, as myth portrays the contradictions in the basic premises of a culture. The same goes for the relation of myth to social reality, where myth is a contemplation of the unsatisfactory compromises that compose social life (Leach, 1967:52). The idea is that people are reconciled, for better or worse, to the arrangements and contradictory formulas expressed in a myth, but as Levi-Strauss posits, myth makes explicit their experiences of the contradictions of reality.

Levi-Strauss’s analysis of the Asdiwal myth reveals the intricate internal structure of the myth, which involves issues that are geographic, economic, kinship-related and cosmological, among many others. As a result, it must be conceded that myth must have a structure as recognisable as that of a poem. Besides, structural analysis has been a tool of literary criticism for decades, and sociologists and political scientists have also used it to analyse kinship structures in several African societies. Critical to structural analysis is an understanding of the social reality of the perpetuators of a myth.

In analysing the role that political myths have played in inter-ethnic relations in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda and the manner in which memories of ethnic-related political incidents entrench hatred and division among Rwanda’s ethnic groups, this study draws largely on the structural approach to compare Rwanda’s political myths within the colonial and post-colonial paradigms. It identifies the multiple meanings of these myths, isolates the various levels on which myth evolves, and above all, treats all versions of a myth as authentic or relevant to its socio-political setting. Drawing largely from this structural approach, the study attempts to link the various structures of myths that justify political and socio-cultural phenomena within colonial and post-colonial Rwanda’s nation-building endeavours. This would be done within the wider context of the fact that there is a language of myth, a language that attempts to decode a completely unknown prehistoric script.

1.3 On the conceptualisation of myth in the study

In order to strengthen the theoretical depth of the study and to streamline the varied definitions that myth has had after 1945, the study has adopted a common approach through which the concept of myth is analysed in the study. Because human societies express fundamental feelings through their mythology that are common to the whole of mankind, such as love, hate and revenge, there is therefore a need for any empirical study of myth to include mythological narratives such as legends, folktales and proverbs. Legends are said to be narratives of human actions that are perceived both by the teller and listeners to take place within human history. Over time, legends may be transformed over time in order to keep them fresh, vital and realistic. Kapferer (2011) notes that many legends operate within the realm of uncertainty, never being entirely believed by the

63 participants, but also never being resolutely doubted. Folktales, on the other hand, are traditional tales or legends originating among a people or folk, forming part of the oral tradition of the common people. In other words, a folktale can be defined as any belief or story passed on traditionally, especially one considered to be false or based on superstition. A proverb in its original sense is seen as a popular saying, usually of unknown and ancient origin, that expresses some commonplace truth, useful thought or adage. Empirically, it is difficult to differentiate these definitions from that of myth that the study adopted at the beginning. Therefore, as mentioned above, for the purpose of this study, legends, folktales and proverbs will be considered as myths.

1.4 Myth as a form of political acculturation in Rwanda

The heterogeneity of the Rwandan society and that of the Great Lakes region of Africa as a whole coincides to a large extent with a social cleavage into three ethnic groups, Tutsi, Hutu and Twa. The Twa and Hutu are considered the original inhabitants of present- day Rwanda, while some argue that the Tutsi invaded the area around the seventeeth century using their cattle to establish some form of hegemony over the Hutu and the Twa. Because of their distinct physical presence, some even argue that the Tutsi could well have been the last survivors of the lost continent of Atlantis (Prunier, 1995:8). However, D’Hertefelt (1960:115) argues that the ancient political structure in Rwanda that put the Tutsi at the top of the social order was an original response to an apparently hopeless power situation. He doubts that a small group of pastoralists from the Eastern part of the country could succeed in subjugating the Hutu, who far outnumbered them. Though several propositions have been put forward, the idea is that during the fifteenth century, pastoralists (the Tutsi) began to settle in various parts of modern Rwanda (Rennie, 1971:31). Rennie (1971:31) posits that the descendants of Nyiginya, one of the invading clans from the east, formed the ruling dynasty of Rwanda in the sixteenth century. The imposition of the authority of the Nyiginya on the Hutu clans could be attributed to the iron ore (and related technology) available to the invading clan and their unlimited supply of cattle and associated products (Dubb, 1960:118).

The internal organisation of the new Rwanda kingdom, which consisted of civil and military organisation and a clientship structure, presupposes that the Hutu would have

64 been incorporated into the feudal structure of the new political order established by the Tutsi. Despite their numerical strength, the Hutu were subjugated to the lower level of the new political order, mainly through coercion. Myth also played a major role in justifying the feudal structure by the Tutsi. An old myth by the Tutsi summarises this changed power structure as follows:

‘There existed (once) and there should never (more) exist. Dead are the dogs and the rats. Left over are the cows and the drum’ (Dubb, 1960:119).

This mythical reflection of the political reality of ancient Rwanda was a typical expression of the centrality of the ruling Tutsi class to the rest of the population. The constant recitation of the myth over time forced the Hutu to accept the political status quo of being at the bottom rung of the socio-economic ladder. The myth, in a symbolic way, reflects the political reality of ancient Rwanda, where the Tutsi caste preserved its dominance through its ultimate control over economic wealth (cattle) and through exclusive possession of coercive techniques in the administration of the people (Dubb, 1960:119).

The link between social class and state functions was expressed in the ancient Rwandan governance structure, which reflected an elitist theory of power that identified the state with its rulers. The ruling elites were recruited from the superior Tutsi ethnic group, which established its authority over all the other groups in and around the Great Lakes of Africa. Myths were used to reinforce the Tutsi claim of a divine origin, claiming that the social stratification imposed on Rwandan society was sanctioned by God (Dubb, 1960:119). Politics, the Tutsi argued, was a science reserved for the Tutsi elites, as they had been trained in leadership for centuries. However, it has been argued that this description applies exclusively to the areas where the Tutsi had established some firm authority – some enclaves in northern Rwanda were not conquered until the arrival of colonialists at the end of the nineteenth century.

The arrival of the Germans in the last quarter of the nineteenth century saw the reinforcement of the Tutsi monarchical position. As Chrétien (2003:201) posits, the Europeans saw mostly aristocracies in power. Through the policy of indirect rule, the Germans vindicated the Tutsis’ monarchical position within the Rwandan society. No

65 studies have been conducted on the origin of the people of the area, with this kind of enquiry probably escaping the minds of the Germans, making it unclear how the monarchical institutions ultimately took root in the popular imagination of the people, and why the people grudgingly supported them. An understanding of Africa’s colonial history would suggest that the colonisers were more interested in the divisions that would help them to better manage the locals, and in trying to instil their morals, which was one of the main goals of the missionaries that accompanied the colonisers.

The collective understanding of the Germans was that if indirect administration would maintain an established political order, then it was the right policy to follow. Von Goetzen, the German governor of East Africa, observed in 1902 that ‘our [Germany’s] policy should aim at supporting the rulers’ authority so as to convince them that their and their followers’ welfare depends on their devotion to the German cause’ (quoted in Dubb, 1960:120). This policy position was observed and implemented in all political spheres in the colony. The use of the Tutsi myth of ethnic superiority by the German colonists changed the political fortunes of Rwanda. It planted in the subconscious mind of the Tutsi a spirit of superiority and power, and on the other hand, imbued in the Hutu a secret longing for the pre-colonial era when several Hutu polities were free from the yoke of Tutsi leadership. The propagation of the Tutsi myth of ethnic superiority largely contributed to the manifestation of ethnic divisions during German and Belgian rule in the country. The Social Revolution of 19591 has been seen as a result of the attempts by the Hutu, supported by Belgian colonial administrators, to question the rationale of Tutsi ethnic superiority in a country where the Hutu are in the majority. Though the Germans had accepted pursuing a policy that reinforced the Tutsi ethnic hegemony, some form of egalitarianism was the norm in socio-economic and educational domains (Dubb, 1960:121).

1 In 1959, the Hutu successfully, through a colonial-administration-supported revolt, overthrew the monarch as the tutelary of Rwanda. The revolution set in motion a series of processes that eventually led to the independence of the territory in 1962. For more on this see Prunier (1995) and Lemarchand (1999).

1.5 Structuralism as a form of analysing complex social interactions

The structural paradigm of mythology must be understood in terms of myth’s relationship with the larger overarching structure, which in this case, are the cosmopolitan values of the Rwandan state. The interrelationships between the various components of the Rwandan society can only have meaningful interpretation at the structural level. The difficult aspect of this model is its lack of physicality. It is, however, based on cultural realities such as kinship and tales.2 The structure of myths and the structural models that explicate them are only present in the human mind and are not physically tangible. Thus, in order to calibrate the social relationships present in Rwanda, a structural understanding of the cosmopolitan nature of the Rwandan state is necessary. Though the people of the country are understood to be the Tutsi, Hutu and Twa, their structural appendages need careful investigation. The overriding question here is the attempt to define categories of belonging. Newbury (1995:2) opines that any attempt at categorisation is made difficult by the contested nature of both the social and geographical boundaries of the Rwandan state. This question of contested boundaries within the Rwandan polity deserves recognition, considering that Rwanda had one of the most centralised pre-colonial state structures in Africa (Newbury (1995:2). It is understood that during the reign of Mwami Rwabugiri, Banyarwandan speakers occupied the majority of what are today the North and South Kivu provinces of the Democratic Republic of Congo. Newbury (1995:9) maintains that many of the Banyarwandans in eastern Congo were absorbed into new cultural and political configurations, diluting any major ethnic and cultural links with Rwanda’s central authority. In the main, many retained their Rwandan culture and used this to set themselves apart from earlier inhabitants of areas in which they settled.

The retention of some form of allegiance to the central Rwandan court by some of these immigrants made the adoption of a unique Banyarwanda culture in eastern Congo impossible. It led to the creation of sub-nations and a diluted cultural melange. Thus, within the structural view, this cosmopolitan nature of the Rwandan state and its environs

2 See, for example, Glazer, M. 1994. Structuralism @ http://www.utpa.edu/faculty/mglazer/theory/structuralism.htm (accessed 09/04/12).

67 is categorised and the various components defined within a specific worldview. This enables one to identify and define separate components within the Rwandan state. This separation raises issues about the nature of group identities applied to the Tutsi, Hutu and Twa. Taking into consideration the elements of the structural approach and considering pre-colonial times, these groups could not be considered as sub-national, but rather as separated by their economic status vis-à-vis the central Rwandan kingdom. Of course it has been debated that Tutsi, Hutu and Twa were already present in pre-colonial Rwandan discourse and refuting their Rwandanness will not help the cause of identifying critical elements needed in reconciling the country. Newbury (1995:3) further suggests that the complexities around the origin of the people of Rwanda is explained by the claim that this is primordial, and therefore beyond the range of historical explanation. Structuralism removes these complexities and exposes that ethnicity has a powerful presence in Rwanda that needs to be studied and represented. The present study attempts to analyse these facts and underscores the importance of myth and memory in shaping these differences.

1.6 Conceptual understanding of memory

It is important to view memory as an integral means through which myth is propagated. If a people cannot recollect what transpired in the past, mythical narratives about past heroes and heroines would be impossible. Marples (2012:438) notes that memory as a process of recollecting what happened in the past forms an important conduit through which myths are propagated. However, memory in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda was not a social institution formed spontaneously, but was rather a rational project featuring power relationships shaped by actors promoting political interests through it and legitimising their preferential social status and political dominance. In most of his writings, Kagame (a Rwandese Tutsi educator and priest) projects Rwanda as a Hamitic kingdom that conquered the less-structured Hutu principalities. Though he was not a history maker per se, he was a history writer par excellence, and his writings ignite the ethnic debates that characterised the Rwanda in the run-up to independence and after. The Hamitic myth, which initially was propagated by the colonial administrators, became the basis of state ideology and was so deeply ingrained that an almost mystical sense of superiority

68 persisted among the Rwandan Tutsi elite (Hecht, 2006.16). One could easily find that Kagame’s memorialisation of pre-colonial Rwandan society falls in line with Young’s (1993:6) assertion that the motives of memory are never pure. Kagame’s recollection of Rwanda’s past may have been geared towards achieving a particular purpose, that of political consciousness. As such, the past does not emerge as a simple object to be revivified, but rather is a contested contemporary project (Lebel, 2009:242). In Rwanda, institutions of Hutu power used memories of past Tutsi aggression to create a culture of fear towards the Tutsi population with the purpose of mobilising the masses in opposition to all Tutsis in order to aid the creation of an ethnically polarised environment: one that that eventually facilitated the genocide (Hecht, 2006:15). Using all forms of media, the Hutus cultivated a memorial arsenal that they used to castigate the Tutsis. The question is how this memorial arsenal was deployed and what its effect on inter-ethnic relations was. Two important approaches to this question can be distinguished: the first is individual memory, and the second national or collective memory.

1.6.1 Individual memory approach

Individual memory narratives are defined as those recollections that a person can remember from the near and distant past. This form of memory has been used by individuals to recreate and re-fashion the future of a polity. As with Rwanda, there were and still are people who manipulate the historical record for political purposes. As Lemarchand (2007:3) notes, these types of people can be found on both sides of the ethnic divide in Rwanda. However, the most important aspect to look at is who is a perpetrator and who is a victim within Rwandan genocide discourse. According to Straus (2004:94), no more than eight per cent of the adult Hutu population effectively took part in the killings. This is contrary to the much-vaunted argument in today’s Rwanda that the majority of Hutus were guilty in one way or another in the 1994 killings and that the main victims were Tutsis. Contrary to this understanding, Prunier (2009: 11) notes that it is fitting to remember that crimes committed by the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) are well documented, but scarcely make headline news in any news media. Prunier (2009:12) further contends that the poignant truth is that the crimes of the RPF are not only limited

69 to Rwanda, but are well remembered and documented in the eastern part of the DRC. This form of memory in post-genocide Rwanda has helped in forging a new paradigm in the manner in which the Rwandan past is viewed and how the future should be constructed.

However, one of the most difficult tasks in reconstructing the histories of the Great Lakes region of Africa is that of remembering what objectively transpired in the past. Within the realm of Rwandan memory, individual memory as it relates to the past, and especially to experiences during the genocide, is sometimes biased in a particular direction, depending on what the individual wants to achieve with the memory. Individual memory involves the individual recollection of past events within a specific time period. Legends, stories and folktales transmitted from generation to generation do not constitute individual memory. Individual memory must consist of events that happened during a person’s lifetime and in which the person was either an active participant or first-hand witness. Individual remembrance does not preserve an original stimulus in a pure and fixed form, but is a process of continuous re-inscription and reconstruction in an ever-changing present (Assmann, 2008:53). In Rwanda, both after independence and during the post-genocide era, individual memory has been tailored towards a particular view in spite of claims of impartiality and objective representation. Individual memory of past events therefore plays an important role in shaping people’s perceptions and the way in which they react and interact with people of the opposing ethnic group. Because national memory had a major influence on the lives of the people, it perhaps became difficult, both in the post-colonial era and in the post-genocide era, to separate national and individual memory. People are being taught how to think about and remember past events and how to interact with people of different ethnic groups. This has been the main driver of memory in Rwanda and has contributed enormously to inciting the violence in 1994 and to how Tutsis treat Hutus in the post-genocide dispensation.

1.6.2 Collective memory approach

Nets-Zehngut (2012:254) defines collective memory as representations of the past that are collectively adopted by a people. He notes that collectivity touches upon many topics such as nationalism, political leaders and the culture of a people, but above all, its greatest significance applies to intractable conflicts. Collective memory, also known as national memory, significantly influences the psychological dynamics of a people and the behavioural patterns of the people holding it. As a result, the people holding such a memory accord great importance to it and to the role it is called upon to play in society. According to Nets-Zehngut (2012:254) there are basically four types of collective memory: popular, official, historical and cultural memory. Popular memory, according to Nets- Zehngut (2012:254) involves the representations of the past held by society’s members, best determined directly by public opinions and surveys. Official memory is defined as representations of the past adopted by institutions of the state, and is manifested by publications of state ministries, state exhibitions and displays in national museums. Third is historical memory. This is defined as the way in which the research community views the event in its studies of the past. The last is cultural memory defined as the way the society views its past via newspaper articles, memorials, monuments, films and buildings. These forms of memories together help to shape inter-ethnic relations, and depending on how they are recollected, can fuel conflict.

In Rwanda, particularly after independence, collective memory consisted of narratives that described the eruption of the conflict between the Hutu and the Tutsi and how victory was granted to the side that stood for the truth and righteousness. The collective memory of the Hutu/Tutsi differences consists of a narrative that describes the eruption of the conflict and its course. As noted by Lemarchand (1999: 8), collective memory typically does not provide an objective history of the conflict, but largely expresses it in a manner that is functional to society’s interest. A collective memory narrative of a conflict, as in the Rwandan situation, touches on four fundamental themes. These include the justification of the conflict’s outbreak and its course, de-legitimisation of the rival, a positive image of the in-group (Tutsis) and presentation of the in-group as the sole victim of the conflict.

Collective memory plays an important role in the course of a conflict by shaping the psychological reactions of each party: negatively toward the rival and positively toward the in-group. Memory has therefore been used to influence and shape the way people react to one another, and the situation in Rwanda before and after the 1994 genocide was no different. The role that collective memory plays in shaping inter-ethnic relations cannot be overemphasised. In Rwanda, the national day and the national anthem and flag form an important part of the official memory debate in post-colonial Rwanda. The celebrations of these national days and the display of the national flag infuse a sense of patriotism and represent the nation in the international arena, and therefore influence foreign relations (Nets-Zehngut, 2012:255). On the whole, the collective narrative of memory attempts to describe the genesis of the problems between the Hutus and Tutsis, and in most cases does not provide an objective history of the conflict, but usually expresses it in a manner that functions in the society’s interest. However, the study attempts to nuance these differences and recognise that for Rwanda to move forward in harmony, there needs to be a concerted effort in addressing the need for a common memory for both the individual and the collective as a whole.

1.7 Memory as a function of myth in Rwanda One of the most problematic elements of state institutions in the twentieth century is how to present a true reflection of the history of a country. Attempts have been made, as Torbakov (2011: 210) puts it, to establish the regime of truth using legislative means and the creation of bureaucratic institutions to fight the falsification of history. When the falsification of history fails, many state institutions, including political elites, embark on a systematic process of creating myths in order to address the challenges that the state is facing. Using historical anecdotes, political elites create mythical narratives that attempt to confirm or shape a country’s political future. As a result of such falsification of history, myths are created. These myths’ claims to veracity are usually questioned and have been at the root of most conflicts on the continent. In Rwanda, the past was used as a means to influence the political future of the country. Basing their arguments on the need to redress the cultural and political imbalances of the past, the Hutus embarked on a political

72 campaign to erase the history of the Tutsis. The violence in 1959 and 1994 has not been studied in an exhaustive manner, and the fact that the truth has not been told has helped to create a myth that is both destructive and hard to mediate at the same time.

Evidently, Hutu power in Rwanda after the 1959 revolution and 1962 declaration of independence increasingly used myths and memories of past Tutsi aggression to create a cult of fear of the Tutsi population. Using memory as a foundation, Hutu political elites worked to mobilise the Hutu masses in opposition to all Tutsis in order to aid the creation of an ethnically polarised environment that would facilitate violence. Hecht (2006:16) contends that Hutu elites relied on deeply engrained national myths about ethnic character to cultivate support for the grassroots uprising that overthrew the Tutsi leadership in 1959. Relying on memory, the Hutu leadership in 1959 successfully reversed the logic of the natural Tutsi right to rule. Because of the myths that were peddled during the run-up to the 1959 revolution, the Hutus garnered massive grassroots support. This populace galvanised the Hutu elites, who considered their own rule legitimate because it consisted of members of the indigenous majority, with support based largely on the myth of Hutu solidarity.

Thus, there is no gainsaying that the memory played an important role in the manner in which Hutu myths were propagated. Drawing on memories of aggression and ethnic myths, the Hutu government labelled all Tutsi in the country as enemies of the state. This assertion was based on memories of past violence, in addition to a sense of ethnic consciousness, ethnic pride, aggression, inferiority and disgust towards the Tutsi population. As a result of these memories, Hutu elites were able to mobilise the Rwandan population against the Tutsis with devastating consequences both in 1959 and in 1994.

1.8 Towards a definition of ethnic conflict Georg Simmel, perhaps the first modern sociologist to write about conflict and its attendant effects, saw conflict as a basic and natural process of social interaction. He wonders whether conflict itself, without reference to its consequences or accompaniments, is not a form of socialisation. In his view, people are naturally

73 aggressive, conflictual creatures. He maintains that if every reaction among humans is a kind of socialisation, then of course conflict must count among them, since it is one of the most intense reactions, and is logically impossible if restricted to a single element. Thus, conflict exists within each of us: it is present in the dealings of any two persons whose interests or relations are interdependent or opposed. Conflict is inherent in the life of every of every group and every organisation, formal or informal. The widespread fear of conflict engenders emotional and pseudo-rational reactions, which culminate in a collective strategy calling for denial and possible elimination (Schroder, 2001:21).

At the beginning of the twentieth century, the definition of conflict was usually derived from the biological concept of competition. Competition occurs when two or more individuals, populations or species simultaneously use a resource that is, or is potentially, limited. When conflicts have already descended into violence, they are much more often settled by compensatory strategies than by confrontation. In this regard, conflict can be seen as:

… arising from a scarcity of positions and resources. It involves at least two parties. The parties are engaged in interaction composed of opposing actions and counteractions. Their behaviour is intended to threaten, injure, annihilate or otherwise control the opposition, thus enabling the contending parties to gain at each other’s expense. It also involves the acquisition or exercise of power or the attempt at acquisition or exercise (Raymond & Snyder, 1957:219).

As the twentieth century progressed, people began to search for more plausible means by which conflict can be defined. Many schools of thought emerged, and from the many that put forward their arguments, three main approaches can be distinguished:

 The operational approach, focusing on the ethics of antagonism, in particular, the measurable material and political causes of conflict;

 The cognitive approach, focusing on the dynamics of the cultural construction of war in a given society; and

 The experimental approach, which looks at violence as not necessarily confined to situations of inter-group conflict, but as something related to individual subjectivity, something that structures people’s everyday lives, even in the absence of an actual state of war (Schroder & Schmidt, 2001:3).

There is hardly any conflict in the world today that does not demonstrate one or all of the abovementioned parameters. Of essence, however, is the structural difference that differentiates one conflict from another. How then can ethnic conflict be defined? In carefully examining the Rwandan experience, the operational and cognitive understanding of conflict as illustrated by Schroder & Schmidt (2001:3) comes to mind. The Rwandan ethnic conflict displays all the qualities of an operational conflict, with ethnic antagonism as an underlying common denominator. The cognitive element demonstrates the cultural and sociological discontinuities of the various components of the Rwandan society. The idea that the Tutsi and Hutu groups are cultural and sociological constructs recognises the cognitive element inherent in their physiological differences. Taking the above into consideration, one is inclined to agree that conflict can be seen as:

… a struggle over values or claims to status, power and scare resources in which the aims of the conflicting parties are not only to gain the desired values but also to neutralise, injure or eliminate their rivals (Coser, 1968:232).

Thus, ethnic conflict stems from the fact that individuals or groups have needs and make demands that are not necessarily compatible with the needs and demands of others. Olonisakin (2006:265) maintains that the choices and demands made by one group may threaten the identity and survival of another. The Rwandan conflict is subject to such exigencies, as the various components of the society were fighting to satisfy their needs and demands.

1.9 Theories of ethnic conflict

In the twenty first century, 24 of the 53 (now 54) countries on the African continent are experiencing conflict in one form or another, or are recovering from it. This translates to approximately one in every two African countries being stricken by some form of crisis.

Colonial intrigues, resource control, ethnicism and regionalism are some of the cardinal motives that have masterminded these civil and armed conflicts. However, this alone cannot explain the re-occurrence of conflict holistically, partly because of the particularities of ethnic and cultural realities in different parts of the continent and the differing historical experiences that African countries underwent. Several causes of conflict on the continent can therefore be rightly judged to stem from local realities and exigencies. This would also suggest that local remedies should be prioritised in any conflict resolution attempts contemplated or applied on the continent. Faure (2000:159) argues that ancestral spirit, which is central to the lives of Africans, should form an integral part of African conflict resolution strategies. However, two broad theoretical frameworks can adequately explain the causes or re-occurrence of conflicts on the continent: eclectic and class theories.

1.9.1 Eclectic & class theories

Within eclectic theory, civil conflicts are seen as the products of a variety of factors that include – but are not limited to – cultural, political, social and economic issues (Kieh, 2002: 12). Given the complexity of conflicts, a single variable cannot authoritatively explain the causes of conflict. Several factors acting in concert have strongly precipitated the occurrence and reoccurrence of conflicts on the continent. The Rwanda conflict showed signs of eclecticism as the disparities in unemployment and underdevelopment in many parts of the country, coupled with the bitter effects of the structural adjustment programmes, led to wide discontent. The cultural diversity of the country provided another source of eclecticism. These cultural differences between the warring factions tell of a deep-rooted cultural and socio-political conflict that saw an opportunity to manifest in 1994.

Another explanation for the occurrence of conflict on the continent is the issue of class. According to Kieh (2002:11), the class theory has its intellectual roots in the communist manifesto of Karl Marx. He maintains that each member of society, based on his or her own relationship to the modes of production, belongs to either the owning class or the subaltern one. The class concept was based on the feudal system that existed in Europe in the Middle Ages, which saw a constant struggle between serfs and lords. Within the

76 realm of the Rwanda conflict, the Tutsi looked upon themselves as owners of the factors of production, while the Hutu and the Twa were regarded as the labourers. The major predictor for the eruption of conflict, especially within the Rwandan context, was the development of class consciousness by members of the working class, in this case, the Hutu and the Twa. The sustained effort by members of the Hutu elites during the 1959 and 1962 Social Revolution created within the consciousness of the masses a deliberate will to exclude them from the seat of political power in the country.

Kieh (2002:11) further maintains that class theory thrives on the understanding that it is not sufficient for the masses to be exploited by the bourgeois, but that the masses must become cognisant of their exploitation in order to wage a class struggle. The Rwandan ethnic majority was quite aware of their marginalisation and their overwhelming vote for PARMEHUTU in the 1959 general elections was a manifestation of this discontent.3 The conflict, in the eyes of proponents of the class theory, is a struggle between the masses and elites. There is firm belief within this group that the Rwandan conflict could only be resolved through attending to the wishes and aspirations of the majority, the Hutu. Though one cannot overemphasise the importance of eclectic and class theories in understanding the Rwandan conflict, the next section will be anchored on the instrumental and symbolic theories.

1.9.2 Instrumental and symbolic theories

Ethnic conflict research necessitates some kind of theoretical base in order to better understand the phenomenon. With regard to the Rwandan conflict, two other theories of ethnic conflict stand out, namely instrumental and symbolic theories. According to Eriten & Romine (2008:4), instrumental theory explains the main sources of an ethnic conflict as modernisation, economic factors and elite ambitions. Modernisation increases social integration and awareness, which make the differences between the members of the ethnic groups obvious. These differences may include disadvantages for an ethnic group

3 The PARMEHUTU party was formed in 1957 by the Hutu elites with the main objective of wresting political power from the departing Belgians and emancipating the Hutu masses. Their political propaganda centred on the upliftment of the Hutu, and the Hutu vote of the party in 1959 was more like a sanction vote, as the king, who represented minority Tutsi power, had not shown any indication of ameliorating the lives of the Hutus.

77 or may create discriminatory and exclusivist policies against the members of one ethnic group (Eriten & Romine, 2008:4). Being disadvantaged or discriminated against creates ethnic grievances among the group members and increases the possibility of ethnic conflict. German and Belgian colonial policies discriminated against the Hutu people’s assertion of citizenship and belonging (Prunier, 1995:26), and invented a caricatured Rwandan society that does not do justice to the diversity of the voices seeking to articulate its traditions (Lemarchand, 1999:5). This invented tradition did little to bridge the ethnic gap in Rwanda; it instead caused competition among the ethnic groups and contributed to economic grievances. The instrumental theory emphasises the role of the elite, in that an ethnic elite is the constructor and manipulator of ethnic identity for its own benefit (Eriten & Romine, 2008:4). Eriten & Romine further maintain that according to the instrumental theory, ethnic conflict makes sense only in modern societies where mobilisation and industrialisation have taken root. Mobilisation triggers a transition in a society from tradition to modernity through improvements in literacy levels, the introduction of mass media, advancements in transportation and communication and urbanisation (Horowitz, 1998; Eriten & Romine, 2008:4). According to instrumentalists, the process of social emancipation makes the ethnic groups integrate and become socially aware of each other’s ethnic characteristics, which makes the differences among the ethnic groups obvious and contributes to ethnic conflict by creating resentment among the disadvantaged group (Eriten & Romine, 2008, Brubaker & Laitin, 1998).

Thus, as society industrialises, people are introduced to science, news and the media. Extremists within the society usually use the media to peddle their nationalist ideas. In Rwanda, for example, the RTLMC served as a conduit for the dissemination of extremist Hutu propaganda against the Tutsi during the genocide. According to instrumentalists, improvements in transportation and communication are also major sources of social awareness. They also make the ethnic minorities more aware of the distinctions between themselves and others, thereby increasing the cultural awareness of these minorities.

The instrumental theory deals with the economic issues in society and their effects on inter-ethnic and ethnic conflict. Accordingly, ethnic conflict can be explained by various economic indicators such as economic development and rivalry, the economic welfare of

78 the ethnic group, benefit distribution and relative deprivation (meaning a decline in the standards of living of a group relative to another) (Eriten & Romine, 2008:6; Udogu, 1999). According to the instrumentalists, economic development is one of the fundamental causes of ethnic conflict. They see the forces of political and socio-economic development as a source of change and competition between ethnic groups for resources (Eriten & Romine, 2008:6). The instrumentalist conception emphasises relative deprivation as another major cause of ethnic conflict. Relative deprivation indicates an inequality between the standards of living of the two ethnic groups or a decline in the standard of living of one group. When a group begins to compare itself with another group that is economically, culturally and politically more successful, the less successful group feels discriminated against (Horowitz, 1998; Udogu, 1999; Tishkov, 1996; Eriten & Romine, 2008:7).

Another important area of interest to instrumentalists is the role of ethnic elites as leaders in conflict situations. According to this view, modernisation increases the possibility of an elite actively creating an ethnic identity (Faure, 1999, Eriten & Romine, 2008:7). In modern society, the members of an ethnic group may face the inequalities and discrimination caused by the dominant groups and, in order to survive, members of the ethnic group compete as a group for the scarce resources with other ethnic groups, with the ethnic elites being leaders of the groups (Tishkov, 1996; Faure, 1999; Eriten & Romine, 2008:7). Eriten & Romine further maintain that these elites create and manipulate the ethnic and nationalist sentiments of the group and provoke group awareness to mobilise ethnic followers through mostly economic and political interests.

Symbolism is another important explanation for ethnic conflict. Ethno-symbolists posit that once formed, ethnic identity is strongly path-dependent, indicating continuity between pre- modern and modern forms of social cohesion (Eriten & Romine, 2008:8). Proponents of the symbolic theory assume that emotional grievances, such as hostile feelings toward other ethnic groups or an existential fear among group members are the major sources of ethnic conflict. Eriten & Romine (2008:11) maintain that symbolic theory explores the existence, continuity and importance of historical memories, myths and symbols and their usefulness for the elite’s mobilisation. The Tutsi Hamitic myth created within their

79 subconscious minds their pre-disposition to rule over the conquered Hutu groups. The use of the testicles of the kings of the conquered Hutu groups as trophies signified an important subjugation ritual that the Hutu need to accept and respect (Prunier, 1995:45). This will be expatiated upon in the next chapter.

However, according to the symbolic theory, the existence of common past values is a requirement for being an ethnic group. Memories, myths and symbols have a powerful impact on group members, since these may evoke the emotions related to the ethnic past. There is therefore a tendency identified within the symbolic worldview for people having common feelings, beliefs and opinions about the same values of the past to be mobilised, manipulated and ruled by an ethnic elite (Brubaker & Laitin, 1998; Eriten & Romine, 2008:12). Symbolists maintain that the existence of historical memories –myths and symbols – is a fundamental requirement for a group to be counted as a separate ethnic identity. They further maintain that symbols of territory and community may take a variety of forms, such as flags, totems, coins, ritual objects, hymns and anthems, special foods, and customs, as well as representations of ethnic deities, monarchs and heroes (Eriten & Romine, 2008:12). The fundamental source of extreme ethnic nationalisation is fear, which may be the result of any threat towards the existence, security or the status of the group. Ethno-symbolists argue that any threat directed at the cultural values of a group, which can expressed in a variety of symbolic forms, such as religious and national rituals, language, clothing, food, murals or sacred sites, is the major source of any ethnic conflict. Symbolists maintain that the threatened symbolic and cultural values may mean an overall threat for the survival of the ethnic group (Eriten & Romine, 2008:13).

On the whole, integrating the instrumental and symbolic sources of conflict contributes to the explanation of the Rwandan conflict. A careful examination of the literature of Rwandan studies specialists such as Kagame (1959), Lemarchand (1999) and Prunier (1995) upholds the instrumental and symbolic models as areas of interest in explaining the premises of conflict in the Rwandan context. The post-Cold-War era and the gradual shift in the involvement of foreign actors in internal African continental affairs mean that dormant sectors of society could find their voice in a more pluralistic society. Melven (2000) maintains that high literacy rates and changes in media, transportation,

80 communication and mass urbanisation increased social awareness of the differences between the Tutsis and the Hutus. Urbanisation and the mass media contributed by making the disadvantages of the Tutsis so obvious.

For the elite motivation, both the instrumental and the symbolic theories have been significant. The symbolic sources discuss historical and cultural values, myths and symbols. In most instances, the Tutsis in what are today the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), Burundi, Tanzania and Uganda shared paid allegiance to the Tutsi king in Rwanda and shared historical and cultural values that can be associated with their ethnicity. The RPF leadership and the Tutsi mythology claim ownership of the kingship institutions in Rwanda and therefore also lay claim to the political leadership in the country, which has been ruled by the Hutu since independence. In this thesis it will be argued that the instrumental and symbolic ethnic conflict theories have been significant in interpreting the sources of the ethnic grievances among the Hutu people, using myth and memory as the underlying common denominator in justifying the presence of inequality. The structural elements of myth form the fundamental foundation that anchors the theory.

1.8 Conclusion

This chapter presented the various definitions and conceptual underpinnings of myth and memory. Myth, according to many, is defined in terms of fundamental feelings common to the whole of humankind. Myths try to provide some kind of explanation for phenomena that humankind cannot understand otherwise. Because of the various forms that myths can assume in society and for the purpose of this study, legends, folktales and proverbs were also considered to form part of myth. The various forms of myth were presented, with structuralism as the main theory under which the various myth forms were interpreted. An important aspect of a myth is the fact that it gives meaning and purpose to even the most seemingly disparate and fragmented elements of culture, inasmuch as it affirms life processes of change and refashioning. This therefore shows the reasoning by which the undoing of the Tutsi myth of superior ethnic status by the Hutus gives meaning and purpose to whatever policies the Hutu government put in place to address the Tutsi ethnic superior myth prior to the 1994 genocide. This probably suggests the

81 reason why the Hutus were not worried or upset by the magnitude and scale of the killings and destruction during the genocide. The killings of the Tutsi make the myth intelligible in the eyes of the Hutu and provide a means by which the Hutus could justify their actions.

Within the Rwandan setting, the disputed Hamitic frame of reference and other theories of ethnic superiority became a cornerstone of colonial policy. The chapter noted that myth, as a form of social construct, became the rallying call for the Tutsi against the Hutu during colonial times. Such calls, it is argued, were supported and encouraged by the Germans and later by the Belgian colonial administrators. As functionalism points out, myth became the data through which ethnic identity in Rwanda became racialised, and as a result, myth became an apparatus of genocide. The chapter notes that the exact ethnogenesis and the period of the arrival of the Tutsi in the Great Lakes region is a subject of debate. This confusion was compounded by Rwandan Tutsi scholars, such as Alexis Kagame, who claimed that pre-colonial Rwanda was a Hamitic empire. It is further argued that because of the controversies surrounding the socio-political history of the country, its past has generally been regarded as myth. In the next chapter, we provide the historical background of the Rwandan state, and in particular, its handling of ethnic relations. The chapter will discuss the nature of the international legal personality of the Rwanda state and its relationship to knowledge production and dissemination. It also focuses on the involvement of the Rwandan state in social welfare and civil society, as well as its pre- colonial and colonial history, history of migration, language, antiquities, surveys and national heritage, with particular reference to ethnic relations.

CHAPTER 2 SITUATING RWANDA IN A HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL CONTEXT

2 Introduction

This chapter focuses on the historical, cultural and socio-political origins of the ethnic division in pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial Rwanda. The migratory patterns of the Tutsi, as an ethnic group, and those of other groups in the region, notably the Hutu and the Twa, are presented. The main theme of the chapter is the response of colonial administrators to the seemingly well-organised hierarchical socio-political structure they met with in Rwanda. The reasons why the colonialists adopted the indirect rule system are presented and the reasons why they thought the minority Tutsi should rule over the majority Hutu are also presented. It is important to note that, though Rwanda is situated in the tropics, its high altitude keeps it temperate. With one of the highest population densities on the continent, human pressure on the land has long driven off any remnants of wildlife, with very little flora and fauna protected in the Akagera National Park.

The chapter is primarily divided into three sections. The first section deals with the state formation in the Central African sub-region, which was premised on pre-colonial migratory patterns, and which followed distinct cultural and political formations. Many of the groups that settled in what is today Rwanda brought along their kinship institutions, which they combined with the existing political formations to form a monarchical institution commonly referred to in the sub-region as mwamiship. This first section also deals with the economic and social relations in pre-colonial Rwanda. The importance of cattle herding as an economic activity is emphasised, with special attention paid to cattle as a means through which the Tutsi create alliances and subjugate their enemies. The last part of the section explores the origin of the kingship institution in Rwanda and portrays how its contested origin is at the root of the Hutu/Tutsi ethnic divide.

Section two deals specifically with Rwanda within the colonial realm and examines the racialisation of Rwandan society, maintaining that the purported division of the Rwandan society between black Africans (Hutu & Twa) and European (Tutsi) invaders unconsciously planted stereotypes in the minds of the people that became hard to dispel

83 as the country prepared for independence in the 1960s. This section will analyse the road to independence, the 1959 revolution and the birth of the Rwandan republic. Section 3 examines how the post-colonial government constructed a Hutu enclave through a number of political, economic and social reforms. It also looks at the formation of the RPF and how its formation led to the militarisation of Rwandan society. In this concluding section, the causes of the 1994 genocide are presented, as well as the manner in which the genocide was planned and executed. Emphasis will be on the myth and memory debate, which have been outlined in the preceding chapters.

2.1 Rwandan pre-colonial generalities

The Great Lakes of Africa, the interlacustrine stretch of land between East and Central Africa, has generally been referred to as a place in which to vanish from history and geography; an area where history is particularly contested, contorted and misconstrued (Newbury, 2001:257). The historiography of the region is a comparatively new endeavour, and at the end of the Second World War, there was a dearth of literature about the region. The few sources that existed termed Uganda the ‘pearl’ of the British Empire, the Congolese Kivu region a bucolic refuge for bourgeois Belgians and Rwanda an ‘African Switzerland’ (see, for example, Lemarchand, 1970:13; Chrétien, 2003:22 & Newbury, 2001:259). The apparent interest of Europeans in this part of the continent was probably spurred by the need to discover the source of the Nile. The search for the legendary source of the Nile led to the making of the 1950 film King Solomon’s Mines, which evokes the hills of Rwanda as a mysterious Atlantis, lost in the shadow of the ‘Dark Continent’ (Chrétien, 2003:22 & Prunier, 1995:2). At the outset, historical writing on Rwanda has a certain schizophrenic quality, contrasted with a relatively richly documented oral tradition relating principally to the central institutions of the state, together with a number of works that, to a large extent, reflect the monarch’s interpretation of Rwandan history (Rennie, 1971:4). The schizophrenia of writings on Rwanda, Rennie (1971:4) argues, lies in the dichotomous manner in which the perceived history of the country has been recounted, with Alexis Kagame representing one school of thought and Jan Vansina representing another. Rennie (1971:8) maintains that the contributions by these two individuals can be subjected to critical analysis in order to produce a convincing reinterpretation of Rwandan

84 history. Though this observation was made decades ago, attempts to amalgamate the positions of these two scholars have failed.

The work of Alexis Kagame,4 principally, Les organisations socio-familiales, La notion de génération, Les milices du Rwanda pre-colonial and l’Histoire des armées-bovines, holds that into a fragmented congeries of tiny Bantu chieftaincies came a cohesive group of pastoral ‘Hamitic’ people from the north, bringing with them a class-based society, pastoralism, ironworking and certain crops, as well as ideas of kingship and creating a series of ruling Tutsi dynasties that were eventually assimilated into the Rwandan state (see, for example, Rennie, 1971:5; Prunier, 1995:5 & Lemarchand, 1999:7). This brings the migratory history of this part of the continent into sharp focus. On the other hand, according to Newbury (1995:1), the conventional history of Rwanda refers to three distinct groups, the Twa, Hutu and Tutsi. They are presented as groups whose characteristics were primordial and unchanging and absolutely distinct from each other (biologically, culturally and historically). Mamdani (2001:34) maintains that the Tutsis and Hutus were political constructs initiated by the colonial administrators – portraying the Hutus as indigenous and the Tutsis as aliens. This, according to him, was crucial for the colonial administrators as it was the most practical way to effectively manage the polity.

Despite the biased lens through which Kagame viewed pre-colonial Rwanda, rational myth modelists argue that in order to situate the ethnic differences between the Hutu and Tutsi in Rwanda in historical analogy, it is important to understand how the Tutsi came to settle in Rwanda. Lemarchand (1999) contends that historians, and to a large extent political scientists, disagree on the exact origins of the Tutsi. Many argue that they are from Ethiopia, whereas others maintain that they are Niloid people who settled in the

4 Alexis Kagame, 1912 – 1981 was a Rwandan Roman Catholic Father, ethnologist, philosopher, poet and historian. In 1952, Kagame wrote Le code des institutions politiques du Rwanda, a stirring defense and vindication of the Tutsi feudal system. He became a member of les prêtres noirs (the black priests), a loose association of young African theology students who were undertaking a nationalist reading of Christianity. Kagame's doctoral thesis became his most noted work, The Bantu-Rwandese Philosophy of Being (1956). In it Kagame made African thought available in Western terms. He was appointed to the National University of Rwanda when it was founded in 1963. He subsequently received many international honours, which included serving on the prestigious UNESCO committee for writin+g a general history of Africa.

85 present-day Great Lakes area after several years of inter-tribal wars with neighbouring Acholi and Nihunde ethnic groups. However, many agree that the notion of Hutu and Tutsi as distinct groups is an anomaly and maintain that the distinction is more in class than race or ethnicity (Melvern, 2000:8), and this will be shown throughout the study. However, if Greenberg’s5 linguistic classification of African languages is anything to go by, one would agree with Newbury that the origin of the Hutu and Tutsi is outside of the Great Lakes; thus, a careful understanding of the migratory history of the region is necessary. Though this would be a subject on its own, it could, however, be argued that settlement in this part of the continent occurred in different epochs, with the Tutsi probably being the last to arrive in the region in about the sixteenth century (Newbury, 1995:1). This theory of different arrivals would for all intents and purposes presuppose a confrontational rather than a complementary attitude. This therefore puts into the spotlight the purported harmonious relationship between the various components of the pre-colonial Rwandan society propagated by Alexis Kagame.

Early archaeological findings along the shores of Lake Victoria confirm that human settlements in the region date back to before 2500 years ago in central Rwanda. These artefacts resemble those found in neighbouring Lake Albert, confirming the view that the Twa, and probably the Hutu, may have been the earlier settler colony in the region, and suggesting that the Tutsi found a flourishing civilisation in the area after their arrival some 2000 years later. Newbury (2001:267) posits that the presence of ironworking techniques in Rwanda that are slightly different from those along the shores of Lake Victoria suggests the possibility of the independent evolution of metallurgy in the region. This therefore points to the fact that Rwanda may have been occupied by different groups of people long before the present groups arrived in the middle of the last millennium, meaning that the

5 Joseph Greenberg, an American anthropologist, published his seminal work ‘The Languages of Africa’ in 1963. In it he classifies African languages into the Niger–Congo and Nilo–Saharan groups. The Niger–Congo group are said to have originated from the Cameroon–Nigeria border, while the Nilo-Saharan from the Horn of Africa. The Niger– Congo languages spread downwards to Southern Africa while the Nilo–Saharan group covers the entirety of North and West Africa. Swahili and Kinyarwanda, the languages spoken in Rwanda, were classified as Nilo-Saharan. Thus, the people of the region may have migrated to the area. According to Greenberg, the Niger–Congo group of languages would have been spoken in the area if the Tutsi had not come into the region from the Horn of Africa.

86 present inhabitants may not have been the original inhabitants of the area. Though the archaeological remains are too sparse to permit drawing definitive conclusions about the nature of the people and their exact technological savoir faire, the variety in pottery styles suggests some differences among the several local communities (Giblin, et al, 2011:176). These differences in technological knowledge and pottery styles confirm the dichotomy between the western and eastern regions of Rwanda long before the arrival of the Hutus and the Tutsis, and as clearly indicated, these differences correspond more with ecological than with racial groups (Newbury, 2001:267). As a result, the cultural orientation of the Rwandan state was already present at this time in history, and the assumption that the present Rwandan cultural landscape, with its dissimilarities in cultures, is rigidly tied to a history of migrating population groups is perhaps unfounded. This line of argument has, however, been the basis on which colonial and post-colonial migration theorists have premised much of the state-centred history of Rwanda.

Much of the metallurgical technology evidenced by archaeological findings suggests no particular outside influence, but it is safe to argue that the destructive land use associated with the collection of the huge quantities of firewood required for smelting led to the removal of the forest cover and the deterioration of the soil cover of the region. The vast expanse of land created by these deforestation endeavours led to the cultivation of tropical plants such as coffee, bananas and plantains. Newbury (2001:269) also posits that the large clearing also favoured the expansion and elaboration of an entirely new culture of pastoralism, shown by the pervasiveness of new language relating to cattle and pastoral production techniques. This essentially negates the assumption that pastoralism was closely related to an invading group and not a locally generated phenomenon. Linguistic findings suggest that by 800 AD, communities living between Lake Victoria and the north-flowing leg of the Kagera River had a word for a large cow with horns. Again, linguistic models further suggest that an interest in cattle types appears to have developed earlier in languages belonging to the predominantly Bantu group, such as the Kihunde, Kitembo and Mashi, and only later were such pastoral cognates found in languages of the West Highland group of Kinyarwanda and Kirundi (Newbury, 2001:269). Thus, neither the presence of cattle nor the emergence of specialised cattle cultures can historically be associated with any particular cultural or social group immigrating from the

87 north or east. However, it does not necessarily deny the immigration of pastoralist groups. As Newbury (2001:269) posits, this evidence only challenges claims of the exclusive association of such groups with the introduction of cattle.

Thus, from such archaeological and linguistic studies, the heterogeneity of the population of Rwanda is confirmed, and the meeting and co-existence of the different ethnic groups in the region is moved to a much earlier date. Relying strongly on such studies, Gasana et al (1999:142) rejected the hierarchical theory of the pre-literate Rwandan society and suggested that during the major part of the country’s long history, agricultural groups remained predominant over those that were pastoralists. Literature on these pre-literate societies suggests that both agricultural and pastoral communities practised cattle keeping and agriculture to various degrees going back many centuries, meaning there was no exclusivity in the economic activities of these peoples. The Tutsi could not claim that they introduced cattle, and the Hutu could equally not assume that they introduced the domestication or cultivation of fruit crops. At the dawn of the second millennium, the region witnessed several social changes in the form and growth of pastoral groups and the establishment of small polities in the eastern and central region of the present-day Rwanda. Though net migration and a massive population explosion were directly responsible for such increases, immigration from neighbouring pastoralists from Bunyoro and groups from Sudan or the Horn of Africa cannot be entirely refuted (Gasana et al, 1999:143). The increase in the number of pastoralists and a corresponding increase in agriculturalists from as far north as Cameroon and Chad necessitated the establishment of a central authority to regulate and control the various activities that the various people were engaged in. It so happens that that central authority envisaged by the groups was dominated by pastoralists or by agro-pastoralist communities (Gasana et al, 1999:143).

The new Kingdom of Rwanda expanded, and by the close of the sixteenth century, it had covered much of eastern and central Rwanda and part of western Rwanda. This was achieved to the detriment of kingdoms and principalities ruled by pastoralists and agricultural lineages (see, for example, Lemarchand, 1970:20, Gasana et al, 1999:143 & Newbury, 2001:263). This expansion had little effect on the social life of the polity as cultural and social institutions remained virtually intact. The most important of these

88 institutions was the ubwiru, which was a set of supernatural rituals aimed at guiding the life of the kingdom (Lemarchand, 1970:32; Gasana et al, 1999:143). One important aspect of the ubwiru was its all-encompassing nature, as people from all ethnic, social, cultural and political backgrounds were invited to join. This somehow contrasted with the ubuhake contract, which was designed to facilitate the exchange of cattle between a patron and a client. The ubuhake institution bound two contracting parties through the transfer of a cow from one person to another (Lemarchand, 1970:36, Gasana et al, 1999:143). Within the ubuhake system, the client enjoyed the offspring and the friendship and protection of the lender, but the principal amount, or the initial cow given to the farmer remains the property of the lender. Though in most cases this was a benevolent exercise, the lender could, if he so pleased, request certain services from the client such as the repair of his house or mending of his fence. Gasana further argues that one of the biggest inconveniences of the ubuhake was the fact that once terminated, the lender could claim the cow and any of its offspring. Since the lender was usually a pastoralist and the benefactor an agriculturalist, the subsequent hatred between the pastoralists (Tutsi) and the agriculturalists (Hutu) could well have been implanted in this manner.

While other pre-colonial contractual and societal phenomena also existed, which will be elaborated upon in the later section of the chapter, it is safe to argue that by the end of the eighteenth century, the polity called Rwanda had evolved into a centralised state with a strong king (mwami). Unlike in Burundi, which had powerful princes who competed for mwamiship, the situation was different in Rwanda, where succession rituals and the people who are to succeed a mwami are clearly defined by law. Nevertheless, the death of Mwami Kigeri Rwabugiri in 1895 set the stage for a bitter power struggle between the Bega and the Banyiginya families. Lemarchand (1970:57) posits that, though the Bega lineage was the most prestigious and respected clan from which a future mwami could be chosen, the Banyiginya lineage defied this important tradition and enthroned one of its own as the new mwami. Rwabugiri and his successor Rutalindwa refused to acknowledge the Bega in the continuity of the mwamiship in Rwanda. In the ensuing power struggle, Rutalindwa and his entourage were killed and the throne was returned to a Bega, Mwami Musinga. It was during this bitter power struggle that Rwanda was colonised by the Germans as part of the resolutions of the Berlin Africa conference of 1884–85. It was not

89 until 1895 that the Germans could set foot in Rwanda after the establishment of a German military post in Kigali.

The German colonial administration from 1894 to 1914 relied solely on the advice of the missionaries who had established stations in Rwanda decades before. The missionaries saw the ubuhake contract as a kind of capitalist framework, and since most of the lenders in the ubuhake contractual agreement were pastoralist, the missionaries suggested that they were the better equipped to effectively implant colonialism, since colonialism was effectively a capitalist project. The task for the missionaries was therefore to educate the Tutsi chiefs and convert them not only into good Christians but efficient administrators in order to further the capitalist project in Rwanda. This later created problems for both the missionaries and the colonial administration, as Christianity was mostly favoured by the Hutu. The missionaries (on humanitarian or religious grounds) endeavoured to restrain the abuses by the chiefs and the colonial administration against the Hutu. Lemarchand (1970:61) contends that missionary education of the Hutu threatened the very basis of the indirect rule policy and social stratification model that the colonial administration had inherited. The Belgian colonial administration, which administered the territory from 1918 to 1962, inherited this dialectic between the colonial administration and the missionaries, and in a dramatic turn of events, supported the Hutu in their quest for social egalitarianism at the onset of independence in the 1960s. Though the quest by the Hutus for political and social dominance found favour with the departing Belgian colonial administration, the shift in the socio-political paradigm of Rwanda was initially supported by the missionaries. The question the study poses is how myth and memory helped in the undoing of this socio-political status quo by the Hutu in 1994 and how the new regime has represented this phenomenon. The study will also consider the manner in which the various post- colonial administrations relied on myth and memory in maintaining their grip on power and in widening the ethnic gap.

2.2 The dialectic of state formation in Central Africa

The ethnographic and anthropological make-up of present-day Rwanda is contested, but one thing that is clear, judging from Greenberg’s classification of African languages, is that much of the people in the Central Africa region today migrated from the forest lands

90 of what is currently the border between Nigeria and Cameroon. These waves of migration comprised three main classes: the aristocrats, a lower agriculturalist class, (which makes up a bulk of the population) and a tiny minority of intermediate peoples who engaged in tasks such as pottery and hunting (Rennie, 1971:8). Rennie notes that deposits of iron ore and clay and the cutting of wood, grass and reeds were not subject to the exclusive rights of any group. Huts were unfenced and people could stray into the enclosures and hunting groups of other clans. As the population grew and agriculturalists advanced and cleared the forest for more permanent occupation, ubukonde, the giving of a sort of gift to the owners of the forest, who were mostly engaged in petty tasks such as hunting and gathering, was carried out. Rennie further noted that this was not a formal bond tying the two parties together, but rather a sign of the acknowledgement of the generosity of the hunting/gathering groups by the agriculturalists. As a result of ubukonde, exchange relationships grew, and in due course the forest people would bring skins and meat to the agriculturalists in exchange for products such as salt and iron goods (Rennie, 1971:9).

As the population grew and permanent settlement became the norm, small huts coalesced and benefited from the social capital accruing from group interaction. Over time, and until about 1500, several communities of agriculturalists were scattered in and around the hills in Rwanda. These settlements were in small fenced enclosures together with grain stores and ritual huts for the ancestors. Rennie (1971:10) contends that these agriculturalist communities grew sorghum and bananas, kept small livestock and bees, did some hunting and practised small village industries. Though the people wore animal skin and bark clothes and trading was largely through barter, three distinct political organisations may be discerned among the agriculturalist groups. Rennie indicates that the inzu was the smallest of such political organisations, and was comprised through patrilineal family succession. The umuryango was more of an extended family lineage and finally the ubwooko, which was more of a clan and the people recognising some untraceable kinship connection (Rennie, 1971:10).

Bennie (1971:10) further contends that as a result of these groupings, political leaders emerged, and the inzu and umuryanga were led by a lineage head elected by elders in these organisations. The leader was then supported in his leadership function by a male

91 council consisting largely of senior elders. The function of the leader of the inzu or umuryango is:

 The chief external negotiator for the inzu or umuryango in relation to feuds, marriage arrangements or payment of fines in times of peace and crisis;

 Being responsible for the regular veneration of ancestors; and

 If the head of the inzu is also the leader of the umuryanga, endeavouring to arbitrate in disputes between one inzu and another (Bennie, 1970:11).

Newbury (1995:4) posits that the recognition of the inzu and umuryanga leaders by the community led to the permanency of the settlement in several parts of modern-day Rwanda. There were no distinctions in land use, as cattle could be and were raised in all geographical zones, as the people who came to be known as Hutu had cattle in the area long before those known as Tutsi appeared on the scene. As a result of the clearing of the forest and the domestication of several animals, multiple polities emerged with different types of political organisation. Newbury further contends that in the grasslands area west of the Kagera, several large states with powerful political organisation emerged. The Nyiginya dynasty, which later became the core of the Rwandan state, was only one of a multitude of polities in the area.

2.3 Hutu and Tutsi in Rwanda: the pre-colonial era

In traditional African societies, the past is of paramount importance, as were it not for the past, the present, or better still, the time of the present generation would not exist (Kagame, 1996:84). Kagame (1996:84) further maintains that without the past generation, the men of today would not exist, but the language of the region concerned, its social customs and an array of customary laws would also not have been formulated. This, to some extent, calls into question the essentialism of belonging. It also deals with issues of boundaries when, within the Rwandan context, political boundaries are supposed to represent cultural differences. But as Newbury (1995:2) maintains, boundaries, both social and geographical, have always been contested. Since boundaries are most contested where the power of the state is highly developed, and with Rwanda having one

92 of the most centralised pre-colonial state structures in Africa, the effects of contested definitions of identity were more acute here than elsewhere on the continent.

Thus, those who came to be known as either the Tutsi or Hutu came to apply different definitions of who is Rwandese. Before one seeks to understand how these ethnic identities were forged, it is important to understand the origin of these groups. Pottier (2002:12) maintains that during the pre-colonial period, three distinct groups, the Twa (0.5 %), Hutu (87%) and Tutsi (12.5%), migrated and settled around what is known today as Rwanda during different historical epochs. He maintains that the Twa were the original inhabitants of the area, followed by the Hutu, who came from Central Africa and settled in the area around the twelfth century (See also Lemarchand, 1970:19 & Prunier, 1995:5). The Tutsi are said to have arrived in the area in about the fifteenth century and are known to have been the founders and rulers of the Ugandan kingdoms of Bunyoro and Buha (Pottier 2002:12) before their eventual conquest of present-day Rwanda and the establishment of the Ngiyinga Empire. Soon after the arrival of the Europeans, the Tutsi were seen as follows:

Of good race, has nothing of the Negro, apart from his colour. He is usually very tall, 1.80 m at least, often 1.90 m or more. He is very thin, a characteristic which tends to be even more noticeable as he gets older. Gifted with a vivacious intelligence, the Tutsi displays a refinement of feelings which is rare among primitive people. He is a natural-born leader, capable of extreme self-control and calculated goodwill (quoted in Prunier, 1995:6).

Colonialists relied on this anthropological information to make important colonial policies that have permanently impacted on the ethnic relations in Rwanda, decades after colonialism. The Hutu, on the other hand, were described as:

… displaying very typical Bantu features. They are generally short and thick-set with a big head, jovial expression, a wide nose and enormous lips. They are extroverts who like to laugh and lead a simple life (quoted in Prunier, 1995:6).

The Twa were not spared this treatment, and were generally relegated to the bottom of the colonialists’ anthropological description of the people they found in the Great Lakes region. Typically the Twa were considered:

Members of a worn out and quickly disappearing race … The Mutwa presents a number of well-defined somatic characteristics: he is small, chunky, muscular and very hairy, particularly on the chest. With a monkey-like flat face and a huge nose, he is quite similar to the apes whom he chases in the forest (quoted in Prunier, 1995:6).

This ‘scientific’ description of the peoples of Rwanda by colonial anthropologists influenced, in a strategic manner, the policies that the colonial administrators implemented in the region. It was obvious that the Tutsi were favoured in all spheres of the colonial administration.

Despite the differences noted in the societal make-up of the Rwandan polity, it is, however, important to note that the bulk of the constituents of the Rwandan state were the agriculturalists (Hutu) and not the pastoralists (Tutsi). It should be noted, as (Rennie, 1971) maintains, that all the states that make up the Ngiyinga kingdom included both pastoralist and agriculturalist elements. Also, for centuries, these groups seem to have blended well, partly because of the leadership capabilities of the Ngiyinga kings or the various features that were carefully integrated to form a unique Rwandan tradition. Among these were:

 Ubuhake, which was a form of master/servant cattle-based relationship where a pastoralist would give a certain number of cattle to the agriculturalist to tend. The offspring of such an arrangement were to be for the lenders. Though many agriculturalists in Rwanda had cattle, few had acquired it through ubuhake (Newbury, 1981:139).

 The ubwiiru traditional institution, which saw the collaboration of the pastoralists and agriculturalists in pre-colonial Rwanda. The abiiru (guardians of ubwiiru) laid down the principles of rule, but they themselves did not rule; controlled the symbols

of royal power, the drums (Kalinga); and advised the king on matters such as whether or not to conduct wars (Rennie, 1971:42).

 The intore institution. The intore was an integrated fighting battalion that had both pastoralist and agriculturalist elements. The intore helped to incorporate the naturally fissiparous pastoralists into a stable structure and gave the army a vested interest in expansion (Rennie, 1971:35).

The terms Tutsi, Hutu and Twa6 seem to be historically applicable only when the two groups of pastoralists and agriculturalists entered into an intimate social and economic relation. Thus, the three classes represented a specific economic status, defined by their way of life and ethnic origin. Pottier (2002:14) contends that wealth, not race, was the basis of the ethnic distinction between the Hutu and Tutsi. Mwami Rwabugiri is noted to have appointed two chiefs, one a Hutu and the other a Tutsi, to head the districts that were subjected to central rule. The Hutu land chief was responsible for arbitrating land disputes and organising agricultural tribute to the king, while the Tutsi cattle chief was responsible for collecting taxes on cattle (Pottier, 2002:14).

Soon before the establishment of a colony, many aspects of the pastoralists’ behaviour emphasised their superiority: their dislike for agriculturalists’ food, their refusal to share cattle-skin clothes with the agriculturalists and taking advantage of their beautiful women and superior height (Rennie, 1971:36). The Tutsi had a near monopoly in the allocation of cattle and developed a complex cattle culture with developed rituals and language through which to express it. Though the Tutsi exercise this superiority, nevertheless, both groups speak the same language, Kinyarwanda. Spoken by virtually all citizens of Rwanda, Kinyarwanda serves as an important element of national identity, cutting across ethnic, class and regional differences (Newbury, 1981:8). Another important group of Kinyarwanda speakers is located north of the international border with Uganda. They share long-term linguistic and cultural ties with the people of northern Rwanda, as the

6 The term Tutsi is a derivation from the Oromo language meaning ‘master’. Hutu was also a derivation from Bantu, which was the original name for the people who originated from the Central African sub-region and spread to other parts of the African continent. Twa was a demeaning word for labourer or helper.

Bunyoro kingdom in Uganda was formed by the descendants of the Tutsi. On the western border with present-day DRC, Kinyarwanda is spoken by a group called the Banyamulenge.

The establishment of the Rwandan state internationally isolated the Banyamulenge from their ancestral land in central Rwanda. Two ostensible reasons have been given for the displacement of these Tutsi from Rwanda. First was the high tax imposed upon the people by Mwami Rwabugiri, who ruled the kingdom of Rwanda in the latter part of the seventeeth century. The second reason could be the violent war of succession that erupted after the death of Mwami Rwabugiri in 1895 (Mamdani, 2001:71). The struggle turned into a prolonged civil war between two clans, the Abeega and the Abanyiginya. The Abeega took power after several members of the defeated clans had been killed (Mamdani, 2001:71). It has equally been argued that with the implantation of a colonial economy in Eastern Congo, several colonial companies were in need of manual labour. As many as 7,000 labourers, mostly Rwandans, were recruited to work in Eastern Congo by the Union Minière de Haut Katanga, a mining company in South Kivu, in the 1920s. The Social Revolution of 1959 in Rwanda also pushed several Tutsi to migrate to Eastern Congo. Thus, several factors accounted for the massive number of Rwandan Tutsi in Eastern Congo in the post-independence era.

But the perennial question that is often asked is what is the origin of the kingship institution in the sub-region is. Several hypotheses have been put forward to explain the origin of kingship in the Great Lakes region of Africa. Among them is the Hamitic theory, which reasons that monarchical institutions in the Great Lakes region were brought by a far superior conquering race. John Hanning Speke, the famous Nile explorer, maintains in ‘History of the Wahuma’ that what he calls the ‘theory of conquest of inferior by superior races’ that monarchical institutions in the region were brought by the Galla of southern Ethiopia, who are the ancestors of the Tutsi (quoted in Prunier, 1995:7). Other colonial anthropologists such as Van den Burgt, Gorju, John Roscoe and Pages agree with Speke’s assumption. But many others, including Lemarchand (1999), have argued that the Tutsi could well have met with a formidable and flourishing agriculturalist kingship institution and simply perfected it. Or better still, they could have incorporated the kingship

96 institution into their rituals, as the abiiru ritual suggests. The majority of abiiru ritualists were Hutu who perfected and venerated the way in which the Rwandan tradition was performed, and they also ensured continuous survival. Thus, it cannot be claim with certainty that this kingship institution was brought in the Great Lakes by the Tutsi.

Prunier (1995:25) maintains that the German presence in Rwanda was structurally essential, as it inaugurated a colonial policy of indirect rule. The idea was to leave considerable leeway to the Rwandan monarchy to do as it pleased and to continue with the policy of centralisation and annexation of Hutu polities. As the monarch was principally Tutsi, it gave them (the Tutsi) the leeway to impose their authority on the majority Hutu. When the opportunity presented itself in 1959 to destabilise the colonial and Tutsi powers, the Hutu did not hesitate to re-establish the authority of their group. The invasion of Rwanda in 1990 and the subsequent killing of Habyarimana in 1994 evoked in the minds of the Hutu the return of the colonial Tutsi excesses. The ferocious nature of the 1994 killings is a result of this uneasiness, and exposes it as a Hutu attempt to stop the return of the Tutsi to power in Rwanda.

Another important area of concern that strengthened the Hutu/Tutsi divide in Rwanda was missionaries’ and colonial administrators’ fascination with race-related writings in the nineteenth century. Writing in the early part of the nineteenth century, Seligman (quoted in Lemarchand, 1999:7) described the Tutsis as ‘pastoral Europeans’ who arrived wave after wave in Rwanda and who were better armed, as well as quicker witted, than the existing, darker agricultural peoples. Writing later, Westerman described the Tutsi as ‘light skinned, with a straight nose, thin lip, and narrow face and owing to their racial superiority they have gained leading positions and have become the founders of many of the larger states in Africa’ (quoted in Lemarchand, 1999:7–8). This became the normative lens through which the Tutsi were regarded, and this guided their relationship with the Hutu, whom they consider as inferior. Colonial administrators such as Speke joined the chorus describing the Tutsi as definitively different from the Hutu and Twa, and urged fellow administrators to accord special treatment to them (Newbury, 2001:273). These colonial writings and the treatment the Hutus and Twas received from the colonisers shaped their

97 thinking about and relationship with the Tutsis, and when the time arrived for them to take revenge they did not hesitate, as the carnage during the events of 1959 and 1994 reveals.

2.4 The search for a Rwandese identity: The colonial era

When the Berlin Conference of 1884/85 handed Ruanda-Urundi to Germany, not a single German had ever been in the territory. The hilly nature of the topography and the abundance of tsetse flies may have been among the reasons why it was difficult for outsiders to conquer the territory. Though most African countries did not display the same degree of vulnerability to Western influences, the fact that Ruanda-Urundi escaped the marauding Arab traders from Zanzibar, who at this time were trading deep within Congo, is mind-boggling (Lemarchand, 1970:47). The reputation that Ruanda-Urundi has built among its neighbours over the years as fearful warriors may have contributed to its isolation. During David Livingstone and Henry Stanley’s endeavours in this part of the continent, partly as missionaries and partly to discover the source of the Nile River, they were told of the malignant, treacherous and untrustworthy people of Ruanda-Urundi (Lemarchand, 1970:47). The first missionaries who attempted to convert the inhabitants of Ruanda-Urundi were massacred in 1881 and it took another 10 years before Baumann, an Austrian explorer, could tame the Ruanda-Urundi warriors.

The success of the Austrian expedition led the German Reich to dispatch Count von Goetzen, a Lieutenant in the German army, to officially subjugate and sign annexation treaties with the kings of Ruanda-Urundi. Heavily armed and prepared to fight his way into Ruanda-Urundi, Von Goetzen was disappointed with the warm and fraternal way in which he was received by Mwami Rwabugiri in 1894 (Lemarchand, 1970:48). Writing later, Von Goetzen states:

Feeling strong and being moderately equipped with weapons, we certainly would have liked to cope once with a more serious enemy (quoted in Lemarchand, 1970:48).

Though Von Goetzen’s encounter with Mwami Rwabugiri was peaceful, the same cannot be said of his attempt to pacify the interior of the territory. Urundi, another part of the Ruanda-Urundi territory, presented von Goetzen with a different scenario. After several

98 requests for a meeting, he was only able to meet Mwami Mwezi Kisabo of Urundi in 1899, and it took more than seven years after that to pacify the entire territory (Lemarchand, 1970:48).

Von Goetzen was impressed in the manner in which the Ruanda-Urundi territory was organised. The mwami sat at the centre of a well-organised kingdom and the occupiers’ first thought was that the entrenched system of governance should not be disturbed. As a result, the territory was to be administered on the basis of indirect rule, meaning the king would be the executive arm of the German administration in the territory. Apart from the fact that the centralised political systems of the indigenous societies were admirably suited for indirect rule, any attempt to displace the traditional rulers would probably have met with considerable resistance from the population (Lemarchand, 1970:49). The German Resident in Urundi von Grawert noted in 1905 that:

The ideal is, unqualified recognition of the authority of the sultans (kings) from us, whether through taxes or other means, in a way that will seem to them as little a burden as possible. This will link their interest with ours. This ideal will probably be realised more easily and earlier in Ruanda, which is more tightly organised, than in Urundi, where we must first re-establish the old authority of the sultan (king), which has generally been weakened by wars with Europeans and other circumstances (quoted in Lemarchand, 1970:49).

Thus, German policy tended to uphold and respect the position of the kings, and in the process, supported the king’s position on the superior nature of the Tutsi in Ruanda- Urundi.

German policy after the effective implantation of its administration was characterised by repression, and to a large extent, expediency and pragmatism. In early 1900s, the Germans launched a series of brutal expeditions against Ndungutse, leader of one of the Hutu polities, who refused to surrender to the Germans and to the Tutsi monarch (Lemarchand, 1970:60). This led to a massive exodus of Rwandans to the eastern region of the Belgian Congo. Though Ndungutse was killed by the Germans in 1912, his spirit of

99 independence from the Tutsi central court remains, and culminated in the 1959 Hutu uprising that eventually led to the independence of Rwanda in 1962.

Soon after the subjugation of separatists, the attention of the Germans turned to the missionaries who had been supportive of the effective implantation of German administration in Rwanda. The strategy of the Germans was to use the presence of the missionaries to educate the Tutsi chiefs, and thus convert them not only into good Christians, but also into efficient administrators. However, the Rwandan king was reluctant regarding the conversion of Tutsis to Christianity, and thus many Hutus converted in a show of defiance to the king. Though there was some rivalry between the French and German-speaking missionaries, by 1900, two missionaries’ schools were operating in Nyundo and Zaza, both in the north of the country (Lemarchand, 1970:62). By the end of German rule in 1916, the traditional authority in Rwanda was strengthened and taxes in the form of labour on government projects were ‘collected’ annually. The emphasis during this period was on cash crop production, and coffee and tea became the main sources of foreign cash revenue for the territory. Soon after the outbreak of the World War 1, Ruanda-Urundi was invaded by a column of Belgian forces from the Belgian Congo, and by 1916 German East Africa was under the control of Belgian and British forces (Louw, 2001:76).

German East Africa was shared between Belgium and Britain, and under the Milner-Orts agreement of May 30, 1919, Belgium was given to Ruanda-Urundi, while Britain received Tanganyika. This agreement was recognised by the League of Nations, and Ruanda- Urundi was to be administered as a mandated territory of the League by Belgium (Louw, 2001:76). It was in 1925 that the administrative status of the mandated territory was settled, when the government of Belgium enacted a law providing for an administrative union between the newly acquired mandated territories and their Congo colony (Lemarchand, 1970:63). The purpose for this amalgamation was for ease of administration and to more effectively use the meagre colonial resources put at the disposal of the Belgian Ministry of the Colonies. It was also thought that by administering Ruanda-Urundi from the Congo, the territory would benefit from the decentralisation and self-government that the other Congolese provinces possessed. The Belgian

100 representative to the Permanent Mandates Commission of the League of Nations had this to say in October 1925:

The Belgian government thought it good, in the interests of the population of Ruanda-Urundi, not to double the already large central services and the technical and medical services established at Boma, but, thanks to the administrative union, to extend the working of these services to the mandated territory (quoted in Lemarchand, 1970:64).

Indirect rule was therefore the preferred form of administration, and the early Belgian years bore the imprint of the German legacy. Very little was done to undo the German administrative set-up, as military commandants acted as magistrates, counsellors, troubleshooters and law enforcement agents.

The Belgians drew from their experiences in the Congo, where the wholesale removal of legitimate chiefs and their replacement by the ‘chiefs of the whites’ had had disastrous consequences for the European administration as well as for the Africans (Lemarchand, 1970:64). However, there were some contradictions, as in 1931, Mwami Musinga of Rwanda was deposed and replaced by his son, Mwami Mutara. The causes of Musinga’s dethronement are not known, but it is often recounted that Mwami Musinga opposed the implantation of the missionary enterprise in his kingdom on the grounds that that it undermined his authority. Musinga was also an opponent of the forced labour practised by the Belgians and the introduction of an individualised tax collection system. Under the Belgians, a family could no longer delegate a strong young man to do the work of the household; instead, all its members, including children and women, had to go and perform the corveé (Prunier, 1995:27). Musinga was also known to be haughty and unruly, openly adulterous, bisexual and incestuous, as well as never converting to Christianity and fighting alongside the Germans against the Belgians (Prunier, 1995:30). With all these vices, his dethronement was just a matter of time. He was replaced in 1931 by his half- brother Mwami Mutara III. With the overthrow of Musinga, Christianity received a boost and several developmental projects were initiated to take Rwanda to another level of developmental thinking. Cash crop production, especially of consumable crops, such as bananas, sweet potatoes, cassava and fruit trees was encouraged in order to ensure food

101 security. The burden placed on the people in the accomplishment of such projects was enormous, and many Rwandans emigrated to neighbouring territories.

Rwanda was far from the theatres of World War II, and as a result did not suffer from the effects of the war. However, nationalist tendencies were exhibited by the educated Hutu elites. The Hutu insisted on the recognition of the group as a majority political force in the country and called on Belgium to grant voting rights to all. The recognition of these voting rights needed a fundamental reorganisation of the Rwandan socio-political system, as the Hutu had been deprived of all political power and materially exploited by both the colonialists and the Tutsi for decades. Cosmetic reforms to recognise the rights of the Hutu were initiated, which the Tutsi resisted. Their resistance would lead to the 1959 Hutu uprising, which is examined in greater detail below.

2.5 The Racialisation of Rwandan society in the colonial era

The Berlin Africa Conference of 1884–85 sealed the fate of Rwanda and Burundi as part of German East Africa, which included Tanganyika. Bismarck had not planned any specific policy recommendations for the territory, but when Von Goertzen, the German envoy to the region, met Mwami Rwabugiri in 1892 he also noticed the phenotypical differences in the country’s population. Guided by previous anthropological writings on the people of Rwanda, the Germans maintained the socio-political status quo, with the Tutsi as the preferred group to lead the transformation of the Rwandan society. Because Rwanda was not a strategic colony, very few colonial administrators were posted to the territory. Prunier (1995:25) contends that by 1914 there were only 96 Europeans in Rwanda, including missionaries. The colonial administrators therefore adopted the indirect rule concept that was developed by Lord Lugard in India and perfected in northern Nigeria in the mid-nineteenth century. The colonial administrators were ready to overlook the overzealous nature of the mwami, since they hoped to use that particular institution as a tool of colonisation. More particularly, they acted in a way that resulted in a direct continuation of the pre-colonial transformation towards more centralisation and the annexation of more Hutu principalities, strengthening the power base of the Tutsi (Prunier (1995:25). The White Fathers missionary organisation led by Classe helped the colonial administrators in racialising the Rwandan political class. One of the first things they did

102 was to open a school in 1905 in Nyanza, which admitted only the sons of Tutsi chiefs (Mamdani, 2001:89). Mamdani (2001:89) maintains that the objective of the White Fathers was to turn the Tutsi, the born rulers of Rwanda, into an elite capable of understanding and implementing progress, and thus functioning as auxiliaries to both the colonial administration and the missionaries.

Though the First World War broke out in 1914, the German missionaries continued to exercise strong control over the education sector in Rwanda. Several mission schools were created in the country, and between 1914 and 1919, missionary schools were created in Kigali, Save and Rwamagana. In areas where there were many Hutu children, the schools were closed and transferred to sectors where they would have a sizable number of Tutsi schoolgoing children. The school enrolment records at Groupe Scolaire Butare show that there were 45 Tutsi and 9 Hutu in 1932; in 1945 there were 46 Tutsi and no Hutu; in 1949 85 Tutsi and 5 Hutu; and in 1954 there were 63 Tutsi and 3 Hutu (Lemarchand, 1970: 138). Of particular importance is the fact that the Hutu make up about 86% of the population and the Tutsi 14%. This therefore showed the preference that the colonial administration showed to educating the Tutsi, judging from the fact that education was completely paid for by the colonial administration and not by the parents of the schoolgoing children.

This skewed school enrolment was replicated in all schools in colonial Rwanda, with a low intake of students from the Belgian Congo and Burundi. The racialisation of school admission continued, and by the 1930s all government schools were phased out and the missions assumed control of the education system in the country. The Belgian colonial administration that took over the mandated territories of Rwanda and Burundi after 1919 acceded to the missionaries’ vision of selective education, and the desire by the colonial administration to phase out government schools was meant to restrict admission to mainly Tutsi children. Mamdani (2001:89) further maintains that in areas where both Tutsi and Hutu children were admitted, there was a clear differentiation in the education given to each. The Tutsi were given a superior education and taught in French, which prepared them for jobs in the colonial administration. The Hutu, on the other hand, were educated

103 in Kinyarwanda and Kiswahili, which was to prepare them for menial jobs as potters in the colonial administration.

Within the local political administration, there was a gradual Tutsification of the chieftaincy. Earlier, as indicated above, in the pre-colonial administration Hutus were usually appointed chief of the land, while the Tutsi occupied themselves with the cattle. In the 1920s, and following the recommendations of the missionaries, all Hutu chiefs were dismissed and replaced by Tutsis in all the regions of the country (Mamdani, 2001:91). The new Tutsi chiefs were usually the product of the missionary schools, which propagated the Hamitic supremacy theory. This included a presupposition that chieftaincy in Rwanda was a Tutsi birthright. According to Lemarchand (1970:125), before the outbreak of the peasant revolt in 1959, 43 chiefdoms out of a total of 45 were headed by the Tutsi, and the remaining two were described as vacant. In a similar vein, 549 sub- chiefdoms out of 559 were held by the Tutsi. Furthermore, a vast majority of auxiliary personnel, including judges and agronomical and veterinary assistants, were Tutsis (Lemarchand, 1970:125). Consequently, the post-colonial ethnic tensions are generally attributed to this biased colonial position towards the Tutsi. However, Lemarchand (1970:125) notes that this monopoly of power (relative to the Hutu) by the Tutsi had two important drawbacks. Firstly, the Tutsi became increasingly conscious of a class structure in the country, and secondly, because the Tutsi were looked upon as agents of the colonial administration, they were generally held responsible for the hardships and suffering associated with colonial rule.

The ‘Tutsification’ of the colonial administration continued in the 1930s with the introduction of the 1936 native tribunals. Mamdani (2001:91) contends that the native tribunals gave judiciary and executive powers to the newly appointed Tutsi chiefs. They were also mandated to implement every colonial government directive and were given the powers to proclaim a by-law so long as it did not violate an existing government policy or directive. This ‘Tutsification’ of the colonial administration led to two main issues. Firstly, it alienated the Hutus, who were the majority, from the colonial administration and reinforced the notion of the Tutsis as ‘an invading alien race’. Secondly, it negatively conditioned the minds of the Hutu against the Tutsi, with most of the Hutu waiting patiently

104 for any opportunity to seek revenge. The events of 1959 and 1994 were the outcomes of such hatred and differentiation.

The church in Rwanda has played a critical role as an instrument of evangelisation, socialisation and education. Lemarchand (1970:133) notes that nowhere else in Africa did the inculcation of Christian ethics carry such potent revolutionary implications as in Rwanda. Yet, the history of Rwanda shows that Christianity has not always been a source of political stability, and, depending on the time period and denomination, it can be contended that Christianity has contributed to both stability and instability.7 Though the church undoubtedly contributed to the preservation of the Tutsi privileges, this changed drastically after World War 2. The teaching of the churches that reinforced Tutsi superiority took a different turn as several priests began to preach the equality of man before God. Hutus were secretly introduced to some Belgian philanthropic organisations that questioned the disproportionate administrative and political representation of the Hutu in the country. This turnaround in the teaching of the churches deeply conditioned the minds of the Hutu and has been credited as the powder keg that ignited the 1959 peasant revolution.

2.6 The Road to independence

Mamdani (2001:103) contends that decolonisation in Africa unfolded along two separate and strategically aligned trajectories. First, was the decolonisation process in settler colonies, where it took an internal struggle between the settlers and natives (as in Zimbabwe and Kenya) to win political independence. In countries where a settler colony did not exist as a group, the colonial power had a larger margin for manoeuvrability and was able to differentiate between moderate and militant nationalism (Mamdani, 2001:103). The ultimate goal was to play these contending political forces against each other, and in the process usher a mode of independence that would ensure continuous colonial manipulation of the economic and political processes. It can be contended that

7 Though the policies of the Catholic Church in Rwanda are discussed in this section, it must be emphasised that several other churches such as the Anglican missions and the Presbyterian, Methodist and other Protestant churches had similar policies and continued to support the Tutsi morally and materially.

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Rwanda did not fall under any of these two categories, but could well be regarded as halfway between a settler colony and an indirect colony (Mamdani, 2001:103). However, the status of Rwanda as an enemy territory was only clarified by the United Nations (UN) after World War 2. The UN redefined Belgium’s possession of the territory as a trusteeship of temporary duration, during which it would initiate the process of making Rwanda an independent nation-state (Langford, 2005:4).

This redefinition of the Rwandan trust territory and the appointment of Perraudin8 in 1956 as head of the Catholic Church in Rwanda, re-affirmed Roman Catholicism as Rwanda’s dominant religion, as well as the continued support for the Hutu minority cadres within the colonial administration in breaking through the glass ceiling that had been imposed on their social and occupational mobility by the colonial administration and the Tutsi. In a pastoral letter in 1959 he has this to say:

In our Rwanda, differences and social inequalities are to a large extent related to differences in race, in the sense that the wealth on the one hand and political and even judicial power on the other hand, are to a considerable extent in the hands of people of the same race.9

The letter was written at a time when there was high tension between the Hutu and the Tutsi, and it further reinforced the Catholic Church’s support for the Hutu cause. This stance by Perraudin was seen by the Tutsi as a declaration of war and was frequently quoted as the reason for the mass killings of a number of Tutsi in Kabgayi. The year 1959 also marked a point in Rwandan history where the church and the colonial administration turned their back on the Tutsi.

8 Monsignor Andre Perraudin was a Swiss Bishop who was Vicar Apostolic of Kabayi, Rwanda in 1956. A firm believer in the Christian doctrine of the equality of humans before God, he was surprised and infuriated in the manner in which Hutu were treated in Rwanda. He publicly denounced Tutsi privileges and supported the Hutu uprising of 1959. Asked about his silence and complicity during the 1994 genocide, he stated that he ‘condemns but understands’: condemning because of his Christian beliefs, but understanding because he played a role in the process of the institutionalisation of ethnic division and aiding the spread of Hutu propaganda during the 1959 Hutu revolt (See, for example, Mullins & Rothe, 2008:83). 9 Lettre Pastorale du Monseigneur Perraudin, Vicar Apostolique de Kabgayi, pour la carême de 1959: http://www.mdrwi.org/perraudin.htm (accessed on 31/08/13) (The translation is mine).

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Langford (2005:4) contends that the Catholic Church used their link with the emergent Hutu cadres to ensure that Hutus organised themselves in a pressure group and that such an organisation and political perspective would not be anti-colonial. Hutu grievances regarding the quasi-monopolisation of colonial administration posts by a Tutsi minority were clearly stated in a document called the Hutu Manifesto of 1957. The Manifesto was drawn up by certain Catholic clerics in collaboration with Gregoire Kayibanda10 who later became the president of the country, and eight other ex-seminarians. The Manifesto presented the situation in Rwanda as follows:

 The monopolisation of the political and social space in Rwanda was predicated on the pre-colonial conquering manoeuvres of the Tutsi. This pre-colonial situation had been perfected and reinforced by the colonial administration.

 The Tutsi were an invading racial group that subjugated the Hutu and imposed its authority by violent conquest.

 The Tutsi were not originally from Rwanda, but were a minority racial group that had occupied Rwanda and subordinated the majority Hutu under a Tutsi monarchy and system of chiefs and sub-chiefs (Langford, 2005:5).

The manifesto maintains that the simmering tension between the two groups was predicated upon the above circumstances and had contributed to the entrenchment of Tutsi power in Rwanda. According to Mamdani (2001:103), the ultimate goal of the manifesto was the liberation of the Hutu from the Hamites and white colonialisation. The signatories of the manifesto subsequently formed a political party to advance the cause of the Hutu people. The Parti du Mouvement de l’Emancipation Hutu (PARMEHUTU), as the party was called, aimed to empower the Hutu politically and to wrest political power from the departing colonial administration. The Tutsi responded by forming the Union Nationale Rwandaise (UNAR), a party that aimed to retain the monarchy and existing

10 Gregoire Kayibanda was born to a catechist father in 1924 and attended a small Catholic seminary in Nyakibanda and Kabgayi. He became editor of the Kinyametaka newspaper and personal secretary to Monsignor Perraudin. He created the Mahutu social movement in 1957 and later that year became the main architect of the Bahutu Manifesto. After a short journalism course in Belgium, he returned to Rwanda in 1959 to form PARMEHUTU. After the general elections of 1961 and 1962 he became president of Rwanda on 1 July 1962.

107 system of chiefs within an independent Rwanda (Langford, 2005:5). Some important conclusions can be drawn from the above developments. Independence was not just a Hutu demand; it was made by the Tutsi elites as well. However, the main bone of contention was the post-independence political scenario. The form of the post-colonial nation-state was thus linked to the outcome of a struggle between the Hutu and the Tutsi. Langford (2005:5) contends that the political differences between the Hutu and Tutsi were resolved by the November 1959 Hutu uprising, which led to the dismantling of Tutsi power at the local level.

Before reflecting on the circumstances surrounding the upsurge of violence in 1959, it is important to explain the strained relations between the Tutsi and the colonial administration. After the gradual shift in the church’s doctrine on the equality of all races and its insistence that the Hutu should be given equal opportunities in the recruitment of public servants for the colonial public service, the Tutsi did not understand the sudden change of heart by the missionaries. Secondly, Lemarchand (1970:155) contends that, the poor treatment of Mwami Mutara11 during his visit to Brussels in 1959 gave the Tutsi a firm impression of the colonial administration’s shifting of loyalties to the Hutu. The cold shoulder given to Mutara by the Belgian authorities in Brussels angered most Tutsis, and many of them began to look at new ways in which to interact with the colonial administration. Thirdly, the sudden death of the mwami soon after his return from Belgium clearly indicated a Belgian conspiracy to eliminate all vestiges of Belgian presence in Rwanda, including the kingship, upon its exit (Lemarchand, 1970:155). According to the official response from the Belgian colonial administration, the mwami had died of a heart attack soon after watching a film in Bujumbura, Burundi. According to Lemarchand (1970:156), soon after the projection of the film, the mwami fell ill and was given an

11 Mwami Mutara III was the king of Rwanda between 1931 and 1959. Converted to Roman Catholicism, he was the first Rwandan king to be told by the colonialists that he would not be a constitutional monarch in post-colonial Rwanda during an official visit to Belgium in 1959. After being treated like a commoner during that visit, it is rumoured that he was murdered by the Belgians in 1959 in neighbouring Burundi. After watching a film in Bujumbura, the king complained of a headache and Belgian doctors administered some drugs, and a few minutes later, the king was dead. Tutsi elites are firmly of the opinion that the king was murdered because of his refusal to accept the Hutu ruling a post-independence Rwanda.

108 injection of antibiotics and died shortly thereafter. In the minds of the Tutsi elites and peasants alike, the mwami was killed by the colonists. It was therefore expected for the Tutsi to engage in a systematic onslaught against every aspect of Belgian policy, including the church.

In a drastic turn of events, which was aimed at diminishing the role of the Belgians in important court decisions, the successor to Mutara was named before Mutara’s burial, in total violation of Rwanda’s court tradition. This tradition holds that the abiiru12 would reveal the new king after the burial rites of the departed king had been concluded. In a total show of force, the abiiru named Jean-Baptiste Ndahindurwa as the new mwami before the burial of Mutara. He subsequently took the title of Mwami Kigeri V. Mindful of Mwami Kigeri’s inability to unite the Tutsis against the emergence of a Hutu counter-elite, a plurality of views within the Tutsi elite came into being. This manifested in the formation of two Tutsi-oriented parties, the Union Nationale Rwandaise (UNAR) and the Rassemblement Democratique Rwandais, RADER (see, for example, Mamdani, 2001:119 and Lemarchand, 1970:158). The formation of these political parties was partly in response to the ineffectiveness of Kigeri V and the mass mobilising forces of PARMEHUTU and APROSOMA

2.7 The 1959 Revolution

Revolutions are usually defined by their mass appeal and the resoluteness and determination of the majority of the people in service of a common goal. The massive revolts that swept through Rwanda in November 1959 were unlike the French and American revolts against an ‘old regime’ .Firstly, the Rwandan Revolution lacked broad appeal – ethnically, socially and culturally. These upheavals were the logical outcome of the tensions between the Tutsis on the one hand, and the Hutus, church and colonial administration on the other. To counter this hegemonic colonial administration, several UNAR meetings were called, and during one of such meetings in September 1959, the UNAR president, Rukeba, castigated the colonial administration and reasoned that

12 The Abiiri were a powerful advisory council in the Rwandan kingdom. They were the custodian of Rwandan tradition and acted as kingmakers.

109 colonialism had destroyed the ancestral customs of the Rwandan people and was trying to impose an alien one (Lemarchand, 1970:159). The goal of the UNAR party was to restore these customs, to shake off the yoke of colonialism and to return Rwanda to its pre-colonial socio-political status.

On the other hand, Gregoire Kayibanda, one of the authors of the Hutu Manifesto, argued against the restoration of monarchical institutions in the country, especially after the confusion following the death of Mutara, and created the Mouvement Democratique Rwandais/Parti du Mouvement de l’Emancipation Hutu, MDR-PARMEHUTU, in October 1959. Prunier (1995:48) maintains that the tension between the royalist UNAR and Republican PARMEHUTU was exacerbated by the rumour that a Hutu sub-chief and PARMEHUTU supporter, Mbonyumutwa, was attacked and killed by members of UNAR. The false news of his death spread rapidly, and within minutes several Tutsi elites were killed. In addition, large-scale destruction of property belonging to the Tutsi political elites also occurred. Lemarchand (1970:162) contends that in the weeks that followed, roving bands of Hutu roamed the hills pillaging and setting alight thousands of Tutsi huts. UNAR, together with the royal court, organised a severe retaliation and more than 300 people, mostly Tutsi, were killed before calm was restored.

Despite the uniformity of the means by which the violence was committed, particularly the use of sticks, machetes and burning with paraffin, Lemarchand (1970:163) notes that the reaction seemed to be spontaneous and did not show any form of preplanning in its execution. Surprisingly, some of the Hutu arsonists thought that the mwami had ordered the burning of Tutsi houses and some actually camped outside the king’s palace waiting for compensation for a ‘good job’. The Tutsi reprisals were, however, more organised. Local UNAR politicians who camped at the mwami’s palace in Nyanza sent out raiding parties, particularly targeting Hutu politicians they perceived to have led or spearheaded the upheavals. Lemarchand (1970:163) holds that while some of the Hutu were killed on the spot, many were taken to the mwami’s palace, where they were interviewed before being killed. This made the Hutu look at the situation through an ethnic lens rather than as something that was sanctioned by the mwami, as the initial reaction suggests. In addition to the deaths, several thousand huts were destroyed, an undetermined number

110 of plantations were plundered, livestock was killed and personal belongings were pillaged (Lemarchand, 1970:167). Though reinforcements were sent to Rwanda from neighbouring Congo under the command of Colonel Logiest13 of the Congolese Force Publique,14 it was only two months later (14 November 1959) that calm was restored. A commission of inquiry established by the Belgian colonial administration revealed that:

 There were only 346 gendarmes (policemen) in Rwanda during the crisis and these men were less than adequate to maintain peace and order in normal conditions, let alone under a security threat.

 The topography of the country prevented the effective mobilisation of armed forces to neutralise the situation.

 Communication channels were non-existent and the Force Publique relied on outdated radio communication by local chiefs to pinpoint areas of trouble (Lemarchand, 1970:167).

Several lessons could be learned from the above violent political incidents, which many have called a revolution. Firstly, it revealed that the Hutu political elites had to revisit their political strategy if they wanted to obtain political power from the departing Belgians. Secondly, it showed the Tutsi that playing the ethnicity card would not regain them the political power that they were fast losing. Relying on the mwami, as the leader of Rwanda, and as a benevolent leader whose power transcends ethnic and ideological boundaries, was not the ideal way to go. The role of the mwami in the revolt was troubling, as it was

13 Colonel Guillame Logiest was born in the French part of Belgium in 1912 and entered the Belgian Armed Forces at a very young age. He was subsequently sent to the Belgian Congo and participated in the formation of the notorious Force Publique, which was responsible for repressing several Congolese demands for independence in the late 1950s and was equally responsible for the death of Patrice Lumumba, the Belgian Congo’s first democratically elected prime minister. In the lead-up to the Rwandan Hutu uprising in late 1959, Colonel Logiest was sent to Rwanda to restore order and he ensured a Hutu victory in the November 1959 uprising. He then stayed on to become Special Resident of Rwanda. In 1960 he used this post to remove incumbent Tutsi chiefs and sub-chiefs from power and establish administrative structures staffed by Hutu.

14 A paramilitary armed force created by the Belgians in the Congo to surprise and repress dissent and uprisings against Belgium. One of its first African commandants was Mobutu Sese Seko, who later became the president of Congo, today the Democratic Republic of Congo.

111 very clear that he had sided with the UNAR leadership to cause harm to the Hutu. Lemarchand (1970:168) maintains that instead of looking to the mwami as the source of social justice, the Hutu looked forward to the birth of a republic as the only viable solution to their problems. Furthermore, the revolt led to the polarisation of views and expectations of post-colonial Rwanda by both the Hutu and Tutsi. Thus, after 1959, a conscious effort was made to harness popular grievances (especially among the Hutu) to the republican ideals. The stage was now set for the propagation of such ideals, as the Belgians rapidly moved towards independence.

2.8 The birth of a Rwandan republic

After the 1959 upheavals, social relationships between the various segments of the Rwandan society became grimmer. The economy, which was largely based on trade through barter, became increasingly monetised, and the Hutu could willingly sell their labour at market-related rates and not through the old clientship system. Prunier (1995:42) maintains that the beneficiaries of this changing system were the Hutus, and the old oppressive system was perceived more harshly, as the Tutsi lost their real power and their cultural legitimacy waned. As the Tutsi repression became more and more severe, Logiest began to replace Tutsi with Hutu chiefs, thereby trying to protect the gains that the Hutus had made by rising against the established colonial and Tutsi authorities. Mamdani (2001:124) contends that in order to consolidate the ‘peasant revolt’, an endogenous armed guard of about 650 men was formed, comprised of 85% Hutu and 15% Tutsi. The reconfiguration of the armed forces was necessary, considering that local elections were imminent and the local armed forces were to supervise the elections.

It was evident that the reconstitution of the armed forces was done to protect the gains of the Hutu and to ensure that peace and stability prevailed before and during the general elections. In the run-up to the communal elections of 1960 (recommended by the visiting UN Mission) two principal ideological blocs emerged. On the one hand, the PARMEHUTU campaigned for the replacement of the king with a republican system of governance, while the UNAR, on the other hand, insisted on the maintenance of the monarchy and old traditional customs (Nzongola-Ntalaja, n.d.:67). Recognising the minority nature of its support base, the UNAR leadership called for the boycott of the communal elections.

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Because of a lack of communication infrastructure, however, not all supporters heeded this call. As could be expected, PARMEHUTU gained 70.4 per cent of the vote, as opposed to the 1.7 per cent of the UNAR (Mamdani, 2001:124). Buoyed by this massive support, supporters of the PARMEHUTU party, including all local councillors and bourgmestres (regional governors), converged on Gitarama on 28 January 1961 and overwhelmingly agreed to abolish the monarchy and proclaim a republic. The UNAR rejected the Gitarama proclamation and called on the UN to intervene (Mamdani, 2001:124). The UN successfully convinced the Belgian colonial administration and the Hutu elites that gained power in the 1961 elections to organise another election. The 1962 elections were administered by the UN, and this time around the UNAR participated. There was little change to the previous results, as the PARMEHUTU gained 77.7 per cent of the vote, while the UNAR only managed to attract 16.8 per cent of the vote.

The taking of state power by the Hutu after 1960 is characterised by three elements. Firstly, external forces intervened to secure and protect the ‘peasant uprising’ and the Logiest played a role in overhauling the security apparatus of the colony by forming a new army largely made up of Hutus. In addition to this, the dismissal of Tutsi chiefs in favour of Hutu ones played a significant role in determining the outcome of the elections. Secondly, the colonial administration turned a blind eye to the reorganisation by Logiest. Thirdly, European clergymen played an influential role in supporting the emergence of Hutu elites, and consequently a Hutu counter-elite set on taking away power from the Tutsi.

The outcome of these political events was detrimental to the Tutsi. In the first place, the Tutsi political elite were divided on a number of issues, including the idea of an armed struggle to regain political power, with others seeking a compromise with the departing colonists. Confused as they were, several thousands of Tutsis who could not handle the dissolution of the monarchy went into exile in countries such as Uganda, Zaire, Tanzania, Burundi and Kenya, where the deposed king fled. Those who left during this period became the main leaders of the ‘return to motherland’ movement, which had branches in Burundi, Uganda and Kenya, and in the diaspora. Mamdani (2001:125) notes that those Tutsi who stayed tried to form an alliance with the Hutu elites. In most cases they were

113 incorporated into the mainstream political system, although many of them remained in the periphery until the events of 1994.

The peasant revolution of 1959 and the communal elections of 1961 and 1962 gave considerable power to the Hutu-dominated PARMEHUTU. As a result of this power, their leader, Kayibanda, toned down his exclusionist policy, favouring coalition with and accommodation of the royalist-dominated UNAR. The 1962 elections saw the constitution of a provisional cabinet, which comprised nine Europeans, seven Hutus and three Tutsis. Determined to challenge the overwhelming majority of the Hutu, all opposition parties, including the Hutu-dominated APROSOMA joined forces with UNAR and RADER to form what became known as the Front Commun (Common Front). Lemarchand (1970:197 and Mamdani, 2001:129) maintain that the pressure of the united opposition bore fruit, and the provisional government headed by Kayibanda agreed to share power with UNAR in the 1962 New York Agreement.15 According to this agreement, the Ministries of Public Health and Cattle Rearing would be held by UNAR members, while a number of deputy seats were also allocated to UNAR. UNAR was also allowed its own local headquarters in Kigali, to print its own newspaper, unite, and to criticise the government at will (Lemarchand, 1970:197). It was against this backdrop of political compromise that Rwanda became an independent state on 1 July 1962 with the leader of PARMEHUTU, Kayibanda, as president.

2.9 Post-independence Rwanda

The United Nations, and to a small extent, some within the political elites in Belgium were not enthused by the overthrow of the monarchy by the republican Hutu majority.

15 The February 1962 New York Peace Agreement between UNAR and PARMEHUTU was facilitated by the UN after UNAR refused to accept a republican post-colonial Rwanda. The Agreement brought together all the various factions that emerged after the 1959 uprising. The UNAR was given two portfolios in the Kayibanda government, and soon thereafter its secretary-general, Michel Rwagasana, pledged his support to the coalition government and opined that by virtue of UNAR’s entry into government, the party could no longer be considered an opposition, but rather a partner (See for example Mamdani, 2001:128). UNAR was allowed to set up its own local headquarters in Kigali, to print its own newspaper (Unité) and criticise the government at will (see Lemarchand, 1970:197). The New York Agreement therefore secured the Rwandan countryside, which had been ravaged by several years of fighting between the royalist UNAR and the republican PARMEHUTU.

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Constitutional monarchy, as was obtained in neighbouring Burundi, was the preferred option. However, in opting for a republican administration, the Hutu were forced, through the New York Agreement, to accommodate all social and political persuasions in the post- independence government. The royalist UNAR was allocated two ministerial posts, two secretariat of state posts, two prefect posts (and sub-prefects) and a senior post in the Commissariat for Refugees’ Affairs (Lemarchand, 1970:197). These reforms were aimed at providing a platform through which Kayibanda could execute his own political reforms. The main objectives of this government were first to avert a Tutsi-led counter-revolution, and secondly, to build up support from within to lessen the chances of a successful counter-revolution and at the same time strengthen the bases of legitimacy and solidarity of the new regime (Lemarchand, 1970:198).

The UNAR used the platform presented to them by the New York Agreement to sow seeds of division, and was increasingly inciting revolt again the new administration. Five years after independence, the spirit of tolerance had vanished. The government was an all-Hutu government, the National Assembly composed exclusively of Hutu. The local UNAR headquarters had been destroyed, its newspaper banned and many of its leaders executed (Lemarchand, 1970:197). The main concern of the ruling party was the understanding that Kayibanda had not done enough to advance Hutu representation in civil society, partly because many young school-leaving Hutu Rwandans could not find work. This created a pool of agitators ready to blame the government for failing to alleviate their plight (Mamdani, 2001:135). The state did little to advance the cause of the Hutu students, and by the 1970s there were as many Hutu as Tutsi students enrolled at the National University despite an official decree limiting the number of Tutsi students to 10%. The irony, however, was that the more Hutu students were educated, the more the country had to deal with Hutu university-leavers without jobs.

The Kayibanda administration was unable to address the needs of the Hutu students, who blamed their economic situation on the Tutsi, and by early 1970s a freeze in public servants’ salaries brought several ministries to a standstill. These problems brought to the surface the tension within the ruling party, particularly between the Hutu of the north and those of the south (Mamdani, 2001:137). By June 1973, Rwanda’s civil service was

115 close to paralysis and the killings of Hutus in neighbouring Burundi by the Tutsi-dominated army did not help the situation. Fearing a similar situation in Rwanda, the army, led by Habyarimana, carried out a bloodless coup on 5 July 1973 (Mamdani, 2001:138).

The Habyarimana regime attempted to complete the gains of the 1959 peasant revolution through what it called a ‘moral’ revolution. A form of affirmative action was contemplated, which focused on both the regional and ethnic fronts. Regionally, it tended to drive a wedge between the Hutu from the north and those from the centre and south. A Hutu from the north was to receive more preferential treatment than a Hutu from the centre or south. Allocation of posts was to take place firstly on a regional basis, and secondly on an ethnic basis. 60% of posts were to be allocated to the northerners and 40% to the southerners. Within each region, allocation was divided between the Hutu and Tutsi/Twa with the Hutu receiving 90% and the Tutsi/Twa group 10% (Mamdani, 2001:139). The principle was respected up to the events of 1994, though with varying degrees of success. Habyarimana’s attempts to reconcile the various ethnic components in the country jeopardised any gains the 1959 peasant revolution had given to the Hutu. Tutsis in schools, parastatals and the civil service far surpassed the official quota of 10%. Up to the October 1, 1990 invasion of Rwanda by the RPF, there was one Tutsi minister in the government of Habyarimana.

2.10 Rwanda’s First and Second Republics: The construction of an ethnic enclave

After independence in 1962, the central structure of the Belgian colonial administration in Rwanda remained unchanged. The continuation of this system entailed the subordination of both the constitution and the system of multiparty democracy in maintaining a Hutu state. This was accompanied by the retention of the colonial system of national identity cards, which specified each person’s racial identity – a central element of the continuity of the colonial state structure within the post-colonial dispensation (Langford, 2005:6). This enhanced the relative dominance of the Hutu group within the post-colonial state structures. The dominant political theme of the post-colonial Rwandan state revolves around the preservation of the democratic and egalitarian gains of the ‘Social Revolution’ of 1959. In essence, from its inception, the post-colonial state’s internal policies were predicated upon maintaining Hutu power for the unforeseeable future (Langford, 2005:6).

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Educational, social, cultural and welfare policies were used to fulfil this important Hutu goal.

Between 1962 and 1973, attempts were made by the ruling PARMEHUTU to consolidate Hutu power by uniting the different factions that had emerged after the 1966 dissolutions of other political parties.16 In achieving this, Tutsis who occupied important state positions were increasingly seen as obstacles to the implementation of the gains of the 1959 revolution. At the 10th congress of PARMEHUTU in 1969 it was decided to exclude Tutsis from the public service and from the education system (Langford (2005:8). This particular policy became law, and was fully implemented at the beginning of the 1972–73 academic year. By February 1973, the scope of the policy had been extended to include Tutsi schoolchildren, university students, state employees and those employed in the private sector. The intensive construction of a Hutu state structure continued with all branches of government following the directives of the single party and making sure its policies were fully implemented. Despite these efforts at the ‘Hutusification’ of Rwandan society, members of the northern Hutu elites were dissatisfied with the ‘slow pace’ of the process and staged a coup d’état led by General Habyarimana in July 1973.17

As a result of the success of the 1973 coup, opposition voices within the Hutu elites were eventually stopped, and pertinent debates about the functioning of the state were concentrated in the hands of the ruling party, which Habyarimana had transformed from PARMEHUTU into the Mouvement Révolutionnaire National pour le Developpement (MRND). The MRND exercised a high degree of centralised control over the whole country and ensured that all state structures were manned by committed party members. Though the country was divided into 10 provinces with elected heads, the ruling party nevertheless ensured that these positions were occupied by seasoned members of the Hutu elites. A new constitution in 1978 affirmed the absolute supremacy of the party – thus, the affirmation of a one-party state. The legal system was subjugated to the rule of

16 As was the norm in most francophone African countries, Gregoire Kayibanda also banned all political parties in Rwanda and those that refused to be disbanded were absorbed into the ruling PARMEHUTU. 17 The 1973 coup was based on the assumption that Kayibanda was slow in instituting reforms aimed at eliminating the Tutsi both as a racial and an ethnic group in Rwanda. The coup was also driven by regional politics, as most of those who came to power were northern military elites from Gisenyi and Ruhengeri.

117 the party as judges and magistrates were appointed by the state from suggestions by the party. Equally intriguing was the retention of the system of identity cards, which specified each individual’s racial background. According to Langford (2005:9), the Hutusification of Rwandan society was further reinforced in the 1978 constitution, which made all Rwandans, from birth, members of the MRND. Citizenship was therefore synonymous with membership of the MRND, which enabled the one-party state to exercise a substantial degree of direct political control over the population.

Many would have thought the church would act on these totalitarian policies by the MRND. However, the church failed to engage the state in any substantial way to question the need for such policies and how they were going to benefit the common Rwandan (Gatwa, 2001: 15). In view of the silence of the church, some members refused to give their allegiance to the state and the ruling MRND. They were severely beaten, and as many as 15 were killed and more than 300 imprisoned (Gatwa, 2001: 15). Surprisingly, though, some members of the church supported the imprisonment of church followers who, according to them, ‘did not respect and obey state and party guidelines’. The Catholic Church specifically ensured that all its clergy and staff in schools, hospitals and charity organisations were active members of the party. Gatwa (2001: 15) further notes that the church further supported the Hutusification of the country by paying taxes to the party and insisting on participation in the devotion to the cult of personality of the president and the wearing of medals and clothes bearing the effigy of Habyarimana. The church thus participated in enforcing and perpetuating the Hutusification of the Rwandan state after 1962.

The centralisation of Rwanda in the hands of the ruling MRND had its problems, such as the Hutu student protest soon after Habyarimana’s coup, which had as its main objective for the Tutsi to remain a racial rather than an ethnic group, which the new regime had claimed. Members of Habyarimana’s inner cycle concluded that the redefinition of the Tutsi from a race to an ethnic group was a prelude to their rehabilitation of Rwandan society. According to Mamdani (2001:149), the internal critique that the Habyarimana regime received from supporters within the country helped to crack down on the opposition. Some Hutu moderate elites were also sanctioned, and others were killed. The

118 reason for the internal critique of the ruling class was based on the fact that the 1959 revolutionary gains had been usurped by a narrow Hutu elite. The revolutionary justice was seen within the majority Hutu elite as social justice, as it attempted at addressing the wrongs of the past (Mamdani, 2001:150).

Thus, at the end of the 1980s, internal critics of the regime were divided between beneficiaries of the 1959 revolution and usurpers. Mamdani (2001:151) maintains that, looking at key appointments since Habyarimana took power, the regime had increasingly became regional, appointing mostly Hutu cadres from the Gitarama and Ruhengeri provinces. It is true that Habyarimana increasingly became subject to the whims of his regional bloc, but he also made no effort to evenly distribute the 1959 gains. By the early 1990s he was therefore not only attacked by Hutus who were left out of the sharing of the dividends of the 1959 revolution, but also by Tutsi refugees in neighbouring countries who wanted to return to their country of origin.

2.11 Conclusion

This chapter presented the socio-political and cultural setting of Rwanda. The geographical location of the country was presented, with its seasonal and climatic variations. One noticeable trend is the fact that with a high population density, most of the land had been cleared, and because of the need to feed the population, cash crop production has been relegated to a pastime. The chapter notes that the fact while that some Rwandese cultural capital may not have originated from the area, this does not mean that certain groups cannot be regarded as Rwandese, judging from the fluidity of pre-colonial migration patterns in this part of the continent.

The various ethnological interpretations of the pre-colonial era society were presented. It has been argued that Rwanda’s unequal ethnic relations were the work of colonial administrators who picked up on normative economic differences within the polity and elevated these differences to racial differences. These differences resulted in an unparalleled hatred between the Hutu and Tutsi, and have led to the killing of several hundred thousand Rwandans in the post-colonial era. The chapter takes a dim look at colonialism and the role it played in dividing the people of Rwanda. A particular group

119 being more economically endowed was not a sufficient premise for inequality. The kingship institution and its origin became the grounds by which superiority ethnic status was accorded to a certain group. This became the bone of contention during the run-up to independence, as the colonialists began to change their original version of the pre- colonial history of Rwanda. Though the Hutu wrested political power from the departing Belgians, successive regimes did little to reunite the Rwandan people. Refugees that were scattered all around the Great Lakes region were not allowed to return. This, however, angered many Tutsi refugees in Uganda, who staged a sustained war to gain the right to return to their home country. The chapter concludes by indicating that the Hutu feared the resurgence of the Tutsi hegemonic myth and did everything in their power to preserve the gains of the 1959 Hutu revolution. The Hutus sustained effort to keep the Tutsi from the lever of political power in Rwanda was predicated on such fears. In addition, the memory of the nature in which Hutu kings were humiliated and killed during the colonial era also helped to reinforce the hatred among the Hutu of the Tutsi, explaining the ferociousness of the 1994 killings.

Above all, the next chapter focuses on how myth, within the realm of the structural approach, was used to construct ethnic cosmologies to the detriment of the formation of a Rwandese social and cultural melting pot. This next chapter will bare the various ethnological constructs that define the various ethnic groups in Rwanda, from the pre- colonial, colonial and post-colonial dispensations. It is hoped that the analysis in Chapter 3 will provide the necessary ingredients to state without any fear of contradiction the role that myth, and subsequently, memory played in dividing the Rwandan society.

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CHAPTER 3

THE CONSTRUCTION OF A DIVIDED SOCIETY IN RWANDA: THE ROLE OF MYTH

3. Introduction

This chapter examines the manifestations of myths in pre-colonial, colonial and post- colonial Rwanda. Myth, as discussed in Chapter 1, focuses on the social, rational, functional, structural and political orientation of society to justify the socio-economic and political status quo, and this will be shown below. The mythical dialectic in the pre-colonial era centred on two critical issues: natural differences between the Hutus and Tutsis and the supremacy of the mwami as the providential sources of goodwill in Rwandan society.

The colonial era saw a radical shift in the manner in which myths were structured, with the sacrosanct role myths played in the society becoming evident. With the introduction of colonial values into Rwandan society, in an attempt at its re-organisation, mythical debates were tailored to legitimise the status quo, which presupposed the superiority of the Tutsis over the Hutus, and above all, assisted in creating a society that was responsive to the exigencies of the colonial administration. In this period, the Hamitic myth was prevalent. This chapter contends that mythical narratives in colonial Rwanda helped to create a deeper sense of ‘otherness’ among the various social groups in the country. In the post-colonial era, mythical narratives encapsulated ‘Hutuness’ as a norm and as a way of life. The notion of sacred spaces particular to one group was inaugurated, and the people found it difficult to relate with one another across the ‘frontier zone’. On the whole, the scale on which the mythical narratives were propagated made violent confrontation inevitable.

This chapter is divided into three sections. The first section examines myths in pre- colonial Rwanda, with a focus on the functional and social aspects of these myths. The second section examines the role of myths in the colonial era, with special emphasis on their role in the political and social turmoil that characterised Rwanda’s drive towards independence. Mythical narratives in the post-colonial era are analysed in the third section, with a focus on mythical dialectics after the overthrow of the mwami and after the RPF invasion in 1990.

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3.1 Myths in Rwanda: The pre-colonial era

As mentioned above, Hutus and Tutsis were interviewed to establish their perceptions of the role of myths in Rwandan society and to gather their memories of inter-ethnic relations in Rwanda in the pre-colonial, colonial, post-colonial and post-genocide era. As discussed in Chapter 1, myths are seen as ritualistic and mythical narratives with a historical favour. In essence, myths are a kind of explanation of historical phenomena that people within a particular community cannot understand otherwise. With this in mind, the first aspect that was addressed was establishing respondents’ views on the role of myths in the socio- political environment in Rwanda. The majority of both the Hutu and Tutsi respondents contended that myths in pre-colonial Rwanda were essentially an educational tool used by parents to occupy children during the preparation of evening meals. During this evening period, the focus was on folktales narrating the heroism of Rwanda’s forefathers in hunting game and their roles as ‘rain-makers’, among other stories. Because Rwanda was largely an agricultural and subsistence-farming country, rain was important for growing crops and grass for the cattle. Thus, folktales relating to rainmaking were an important aspect of the socio-cultural life of the people.

However, with the arrival of the Tutsis in Rwanda around the sixteenth century, the narration of myths, folktales, legends and proverbs changed to accommodate the changing socio-cultural configuration of the society. Over time, myths underwent fundamental changes and were propagated to address functional, rational, social, political and structural trends in Rwandan society.

Functional myths (see Chapter 1) propagated in pre-colonial Rwandan society were aimed at justifying and upholding the existing political, socio-cultural and economic system. The Kigwe legend was a prominent myth told in many households in Rwanda. The myth reads thus:

…To test their dependability, God decided to entrust Gahutu (Hutu), Gatutsi (Tutsi) and Gatwa (Twa) each with a pot of milk to watch over during the night. When dawn came, gluttonous Gatwa had drunk the milk, Gahutu had gone to sleep and spilt his milk, and only the watchful Gatutsi had stayed up through the night to keep guard over his milk.

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Interesting, all the 56 interviewees had heard the Kigwe legend. More than 90 per cent of the Hutu interviews contend that the propagation of the Kigwe myth inadvertently reinforce stereotypes about the Hutus. On the other hand, Tutsi interviewees suggest that the myth was started by colonial administrators. According to Muzungu18

… legends and folktales were part of us [Rwandans] … the interpretation of such legends and folktales had nothing to do with our background or where we come from. Soon after the arrival of the missionaries and the colonial administrators, we [Rwandans] were being told that some of us came from Ethiopia and some from Chad (Translation is mine).

Evidently, the discussion among Tutsi refugees was that the main enemies of the Rwandan state were the colonial administrators and not the Hutus. For them, Rwandans can resolve their differences in the same spirit as they did during the pre-colonial era.

The Kigwe legend has the possibility of driving into the minds of the Tutsis a sense of entitlement. It also, as Lemarchand (1999:6) notes, creates three fundamental qualities that set the Tutsis apart: firstly, the notion that the Tutsi have celestial origins and thus cannot be challenged; secondly, that the differences between the Tutsi, Hutu and Twa were sanctioned by God and therefore are irreversible; and lastly, that who should be the leader of the group was sanctioned by God and therefore should be respected by all.

Variants of the Kigwe legend became prevalent in pre-colonial Rwanda to justify the leadership position that the Tutsis began to assume at all levels of the society. Lemarchand (1999:8) notes that understanding the Kigwe legend from a structural perspective points to the fact that Hutus and Twas were less responsible as they paid little attention to the most important delicacy of the time, namely milk. The Tutsis who were, through the legend, seen as the most diligent of all, were entrusted with the role of leading the people of Rwanda. The Kigwe legend somehow stuck in the minds of the Tutsis and they frequently used it to justify their leadership position in pre-colonial Rwandan society. It also, as Newbury (2012: 23) points out, justifies the premise of

18 Muzungu, B. [Retired Roman Catholic Church Priest] Kigali, 12 October 2013.

123 inequality. Despite several attempts by the Hutus to undermine the Kigwe legend, the Tutsi resisted, and it soon became the main point of reference for Tutsi hegemony in colonial Rwanda, which one can argue help shape Tutsis’ behaviour towards the Hutus during the colonial era.

Rational mythical narratives were also predominant in the pre-colonial era. As discussed in Chapter 1, these forms of mythical discourse centred on justifying the socio-political environment. In this regard, and to justify the theme of Tutsi ethnic superiority, proverbs such as ‘dead are the dogs and the rats, giving way to the cows and the drums’ (Lemarchand, 1999:7) were rampant and occupied an important position in the daily lives of the Rwandan people. Variants of such proverbs were also propagated to justify the occupational function of the Hutus, as well as the position that the Hutus should occupy in society. Conversely, from a structural standpoint, the proverb attempts to denigrate the Hutus, because as hunters, their most important hunting weapon was the dog and the most important game was the rat. According to Mahoro19

… drums and cows were the totem of the Tutsi. Because Hutus were farmers and hunters, dogs and rats were regarded as their totem. The significance of the dead dogs and rats points to the fact that the Hutus had very little to say in the political direction of the country as cows and drums have now taken over the leadership of the country (translation is mine).

Thus, in the proverb, the dogs and rats, the main livelihood of the Hutus, are dead and the Tutsis, who pride themselves as pastoralists, the only group in Rwanda who are still able to command respect because their livelihood – the cow – has not been taken away from them. Evidently, the drum, the symbol of the cultural superiority of the Tutsi, was also spared. Taking into cognisance the structural realm discussed in Chapter 1, the reference to cows and the drum is of great importance, as they symbolise the wealth and authority of the Tutsi.

19 Mahoro, R. [Hutu, Executive Secretary of Never Again Rwanda] Kigali, 14 November 2013.

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Over time, the symbolic meaning of the Kigwe legend changed, and a majority of the Hutu respondents saw it as a form of denigration. On the other hand, 20 per cent of the Tutsi respondents maintain that the propagation of the legend was the work of the colonial administrators who were bent on imposing a particular socio-cultural structure in Rwandan society. Therefore, in order to deconstruct this assumption, skirmishes broke out, and more often than not, these skirmishes resulted in casualties.

Equally important in the theory of myth, as discussed in Chapter 1, are functional myths. Myths that revolve around kinship relations were common in pre-colonial Rwanda. A father, mother and children where the principal protagonists in myths, folktales and legends. This theme became very important because of the critical role and place of the family in pre-colonial Rwanda, and also because the fact that the family was the strongest fundamental organisation in the country. On this theme, an example of a folktale is the following:

There was a man who had two wives. One was sterile and the other had children. The sterile woman was the most pampered, while the one with kids had very little to eat. When one of the children was big, the father handed him over to the royal court, which gave some respectability to his mother. However, she continued to live in a rundown house while the sterile woman lived in the main house in the compound. After a while, the boy returned to his parents with cows, which was a sign that he did his job at the royal court with admiration and dedication. Upon his return he saw his mother in his cabin. Disappointed, he organised a big welcome party and invited all his maternal and paternal aunts and uncles. When all was seated he shouted ‘Senkoni, son of Nkundwa, heroes of Rutegamyambi, I ask you to love my mother. That is the condition I ask so that I can continue to represent you and fight for you at the royal court’. All assembled agreed that the child had spoken the truth. It is not proper that a mother who has a child in the royal court should stay in such misery. Then the man built a comfortable house for the woman. Thus, the child avenged the honour of his mother (Muzungu, 1989:177). (Translation is mine)

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Structurally, the analytical narratives in the myth centre on critical lessons: instilling a spirit of togetherness within Rwandan society; that wickedness is not part of Rwandan society; and that uncles and aunts are important in resolving family problems.20

With regard to how this myth relates to otherness and violence, it is important to note from the myth that hatred, wickedness and malice were all part of the Rwandan society. The events of 1959 and 1994 suggest that the Rwandan people had not transcended the culture of killing their own that had been prevalent in pre-colonial Rwanda. It also shows that for over 100 years, the Rwandan society had not transformed in order to create a unique Rwandese society devoid of ethnic groups, despite the fact that the people had inter-married for centuries. Though scholars such as Lemarchand (1970), Prunier (1995) and Chretien (2003) dispute the notion of ethnic groups, rather focusing on the occupational differences in pre-colonial Rwandan society, however, they do not dispute the fact that these occupational differences were formed during the pre-colonial period. Thus, one can assume that the hatred experienced in post-colonial Rwanda can possibly be traced to the pre-colonial times.

Through the structural approach (see Chapter 1), it becomes clear that Rwandan myths attempt to teach that deceitfulness and intrigue are vices that must be eliminated and fraternal relationships and rationality should be the virtues that the Rwandan people should strive for. In teaching these virtues to the Rwandan people, the ‘evil bride’s folktale’ is common: According to the folktale;

A young man pays the dowry of a young woman he intends to marry. After the initial traditional ceremony, and as tradition demands, the young man was to spend some few weeks in his bride’s compound. Every evening the bride’s mother gave food to the young woman to go and eat with her husband. The bride, as gluttonous as she was, would eat the food alone. After several weeks, the man’s brother-in-

20 Niyitegeka, S. [A Hutu widow whose husband was killed during the genocide. She also played the role of a sage (uyamuganyu) during the gacaca process]. Interview. 24 October 2013. She underlined the importance of uncles and aunts in traditional Rwandan society in regulating and stabilising the family set-up. She contends that in marriage proposals, funerals and celebration after the birth of a child, the uncles and aunts are the central figures and their views on important family decisions were final.

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law, suspicious of the gluttonous attitude of his sister, went to visit the recently married man. To his great surprise, he saw the man emaciated, unable to stand and his clothes could not fit properly on him. The brother-in-law asked his mother what was happening to her son-in-law, insisting at the same time that the boy was being starved to death. The mother replied that she has been giving food to the man’s wife (her daughter) every evening to give to the man. A trap was set and the man’s wife was caught eating the food destined for the man. On the day of their wedding, the gluttonous woman was banished from the village and her junior sister given to the man as his new bride (Muzungu, 1989:83).

Structurally, it also conveys a very important message that Imana will not accept evil, treachery and deceitful attitudes among Rwandans and that such vices will be punished. That explains why the gluttonous bride was banished from the village.

Regarding how the folktale relates to hatred for another ethnic or social group in Rwanda, many Tutsi respondents contend that pre-genocide Rwanda was like the bridegroom that was being starved. They maintain that though the groom starved, in the end he was rewarded (through the current Tutsi administration) and the wicked bride was banished (Hutu perpetrators were jailed and exiled to the DRC). Furthermore, evil (in terms of the myth) is not part of Rwanda and that should evil ever happen in Rwanda, it will be ‘banished’ in a similar way as the wicked and gluttonous bride was banished from the Rwandan society.

Another important mythical discourse in the pre-colonial era was the deification of Imana (God). In pre-colonial Rwanda, the people believed that everything on earth is made through the benevolence of the one and only God (Imana). It is to him that prayers are sent to protect the land (Rwanda) from danger and to guard the land from malice (Muzungu, 1987:23). It is common to hear people say the following proverb:

O Sovereign Imana gave you victory over foreign countries, he gave you the seed and the fruit. He crowned with success all your endeavours (Muzungu, 2003:5).

From the above proverb, it can be assume that Imana remained the god and creator figure in pre-colonial Rwanda and is responsible for the spiritual and physical well-being of all

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Rwandans. All segments of Rwandan society rely on him for divine and physical protection. One therefore often hears someone in distress say the following proverb:

My congratulations to Imana for nourishing and strengthening Rwanda. I bid you farewell, I do not plant my feet on this earth. I will offer my services where and when I am called.21

The proverb presupposes that Imana was above the physical realm and therefore was not seen through a social, economic or political lens in Rwanda. Poor and rich pray to Imana for divine protection and for revenge. Because of the importance that the people place on the role of Imana in Rwandan society, it was therefore possible that proverbs relating to the providence of Imana were common and played an important role in shaping the manner in which the people related to one another and Imana. It should be highlighted that because the Tutsis were seen as the representative of Imana on earth, all within the Rwandan society were called upon to respect the Tutsi so that they could intercede for the people of Rwanda.

In this regard, and with the tacit understanding that benevolence can only come to Rwanda with the respect of Imana, one of the respondents recounted the following legend:

Once upon a time, there was a married couple who could not have children. The woman had spent several years praying to Imana for a child. One day Imana came to her and asked: ‘What can I do to make you happy?’ ‘You know very well, Lord, I want a child.’ Imana replied, ‘Go and look for milk and share with your husband. You wait for eight months and in the ninth month you will get my response. I will give you a baby girl and you will call her Muzirazuba. She shouldn’t see the sun.’ After nine months, she had a baby girl. After a while a man came for the girl’s hand in marriage. The condition was that the girl should not step outside. One day,

21 According to Niyitegeka, S. [A Hutu widow whose husband was killed during the genocide. She also played the role of a sage (uyamuganyu) during the gacaca process] in an interview on 24 October 2013, this was one of the important myths about God (Imana). She holds that Imana can provide anything and everything to any Rwandan if that person could do what the Rwandan traditional society demands of him/her. She contends that Imana can make impotent men have children, can make rain fall during a period of drought and can also punish those who do not respect his commands.

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Muzirazuba’s husband went hunting with his friends. His father came and demanded to sleep with her. She shouted, jumped into the sun, and disappeared. Upon his return, Muzirazuba’s husband saw a big hole in the middle of the yard and noticed that his wife had disappeared. The husband shouted to Imana, ‘O Imana, you that reigned over Rwanda, please bring back my wife.’ In the morning, Imana asked, ‘If I bring back your wife, what will you give me?’ The husband responded that he would give all his belongings. Imana said, ‘Assemble all your family members, for it is in front of them that I will return your wife.’ To the delight of everyone, Imana resurrected Muzirazuba and said to her, ‘My daughter, you have kept your promise; your disobedience came from elsewhere and the tears of your husband touch my heart. From now on live a normal life.’

Because Imana was presented in pre-colonial Rwanda as representing the interests of the Tutsis, through this legend, the Hutus were made to believe that their own salvation and benediction could only be realised through their respect for Imana, and by association, the Tutsis. This therefore created a wedge between the Hutus and Tutsis, as Hutus complained that only the Tutsis’ interests were protected and guaranteed by Imana. Hutus would have to beg the Tutsis to intercede for them to Imana in times of crisis.

Structurally, as elaborated on in Chapter 1, the legend illustrates the power and the functional role of Imana in Rwandan society. It portrays Imana as the guardian and protector, in the sense of the proverb Imana y’ I’ Rwanda (Imana who reigns in Rwanda). The legend also presents Imana using the proverb Imana yirirwa ahanda igataha I Rwanda (Imana spent the day elsewhere, but in the evening, he comes to spend the night at his home in Rwanda). Rwanda was therefore presented as the home of Imana, and that despite the daily toils of the people of Rwanda, Imana ends up taking care of their needs (according to the legend).

The fundamental question is therefore why God did not protect Rwanda from the genocide, or better still, why God did not prevent the genocide from happening. According to some Tutsi respondents, God could not protect Rwanda because the people of Rwanda had sinned – sinned because Rwandans allowed Hutus to come to power

129 despite the fact that the Kigwe legend had instructed Rwandans that only Tutsis are capable leaders.

Within the realm of the structural approach, the legend emphasises three things; that Imana, represented by the mwami (king), is the only guarantor of life in Rwanda, meaning the Tutsis have the power of life and death in Rwanda; that he is the ‘one’ who ensures the fertility of the bees, cattle and women; and lastly, that he mediates between the sky and the earth and could conjure rain to fall and put drought and famine to shame. In some instances, this beneficence is conceptualised as milk, as expressed in the legend below:

The king is not man, O men that he has enriched with his cattle … he is a man before his designation to the throne … Ah, yes, that is certain: But the one who becomes King ceases to be man. The king, it is he Imana and he dominates over humans … I believe that he is the Imana who hears our pleas. The other Imana, it’s the king who knows him, as for us, we see only this defender. Here is the sovereign who drinks the milk milked by Imana and we drink that which he in turn milks for us (quoted in Taylor, 1999:121).

The milk analogy was quite important, as it pre-supposes that Imana was spiritually and culturally closer to the Tutsis, as the Tutsis were the only ethnic group with a monopoly over cattle and milk. The legend also portrays Imana as the conduit through which providence comes to Rwanda. The consensus is that he keeps the rain falling regularly, the cows giving milk, the bees producing honey and the crops growing (Taylor, 1999:123).

Because Imana was presented as being in the image of the Tutsi, this made the Hutus to subsequently resent Imana. Their revolt against the privileged position of the Tutsis, which led to devastating consequences, was as a result of the Tutsi making the only god (Imana) the Hutus have known over the years a Tutsi. That may explain why the Hutus refused to acknowledge the powers of Imana in the pre-colonial era and decided to completely revolt against them in the colonial era.

Another important topic of myth in pre-colonial Rwanda was the origin of the kingship institution. The first German administrators who arrived in Rwanda were immediately struck by the importance of this institution to the Rwandan people. Without any empirical

130 investigation, they concluded that the institution had a Caucasian influence, as will be elaborated upon below. The colonisers noted that the mwami lived at the centre of a large court surrounded by the huts of his wives and was largely treated like a divine being (Prunier, 1995:9). In a nutshell, the mwami was described in the following legend;

… the father and the patriarch of his people, given to them by Imana (God). He is the providence of Rwanda, the Messiah and the saviour. When he exercises his authority, he is impeccable, infallible. His decisions cannot be questioned … (Prunier, 1995:10).

The legend was recounted in many households in Rwanda during the pre-colonial and colonial eras. Viewing it from a functional point of view, the legend helps in shaping people’s perception of Imana, and because Imana was regularly referred to as a Tutsi in the colonial period, the Hutus’ perception and opinion about Imana also changed. It moved from deifying to loathing Imana as the Hutus began to hate the excesses of the Tutsi elite towards the Hutus and Twas during the colonial period, especially via the ubuhake and ibikingi tax systems.

With the arrival of the colonial administrators and after observing the coterie around the mwami for a couple of years, the colonial administrators began to speculate about the possible origin of the entire kingship institution in the territory. The most common idea then was that ‘negroes’ could not have possibly achieved such a degree of political and religious sophistication without outside (European) influence. The probable foreign origin of the kingship institution in the region became the most obvious and most propagated myth in the region. The powers of the mwami went beyond the physical realm, and in most cases, he symbolised the spiritual and material well-being of all Rwandan people. He was the ex-officio member of all traditional societies in the country and had the final say in matters of life and death for every Rwandan. To accentuate this, a popular myth in Rwanda states the following:

… Death, personalized as a sort of animal was hunted by Imana. He told all men to stay at home and indoors in order that death should not find a hiding place. An old woman, however, went out to work in her banana grove. Death, pursued by Imana, asked for her protection. Moved by pity, she let the animal hide under her

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skirt. Imana, in order to punish her, decided then that death should stay with men (humanity) (Forde, 1998:34).

The omnipotent nature of Imana and the fact that he is present in every domain of Rwandan society makes him more of a deity figure. Imana was looked upon as ‘a faultless work of art, chiselled by chosen tools … the hero of manifold beauty whose decision cannot be swayed and whose memory will live forever in Rwanda’ (Lemarchand, 1970:33, d’Hertefelt, 1960:118).

Though it has been assumed that the Imana, represented by the mwami has always stood beyond the Tutsi, Hutu and Twa divide, the theme of mwamiship was inextricably bound with the theme of Tutsi supremacy, partly because the mwami has always been a Tutsi. According to a popular proverb recounted in ancient Rwanda, the ‘mwami and the Tutsi were the heart of the country. Should the Hutu chase them away, they would lose all they have and Imana would punish them’ (Lemarchand, 1970:34). The fear of divine punishment for those that disobeyed the mwami (and the Tutsi) was quite apparent. As time went on, fear turned into resentment and hate for the Tutsis among the Hutus.

Thus, the Tutsi maintained power in Rwanda not only through the application of force, but also through the effective manner in which the mythical, legend, folktale and proverbial discourse of the divinity of the mwami was applied. The fact that myths were propagated by the Tutsis for the Hutus to accept Imana (the mwami) as a divine being suggest systematic and well-coordinated strategies by the Tutsi elites to maintain a particular status quo and an acceptance of the ordering of socio-political relations in the country.

3.2 Myths in colonial Rwanda

In contrast to the functional myths discussed above, rational myths dominated the colonial era. Rational myths are generally myths propagated to justify existing social and political systems, and they include: myths with supernatural beings, myths justifying the existing political and socio-cultural systems, and myths involving ancestors and heroes that save or play an important role in the current state of a polity. Taking into cognisance the political dynamics in colonial Rwanda, particularly with the arrival of the colonisers, rational myth approaches dominated mythical narratives. During this period, mythical dialectics develop

132 in oral traditions, which convey profound ‘truths’ about the society. Though these narratives do not in a literal sense describe a historical event, they serve, as discussed in Chapter 1, to reveal part of the worldview of a people or explain a practice, belief or natural phenomenon. However, the propagation of these rational myths in Rwanda was facilitated by the emergence of an educated Tutsi elite.

One of this educated Tutsi elite who had a great impact on the justification of ethnic inequality in Rwanda was Alexis Kagame. Kagame (1947), a proponent of the old knowledge discussed in the introduction, argues that pre-colonial Rwanda was a Hamitic kingdom built on conquered land inhabited by dark agricultural masses. He contends that Hutus should be happy to have the Tutsi among them, as the Tutsi provided the necessary essential commodities, such as security and food stability, to the Hutus. However, within the rational thought process that shaped Rwandan society, Lemarchand (1999:6), who represents the new knowledge approach, disputed Kagame’s historical narratives, while noting that Kagame’s works became the reference point par excellence for colonial missionaries and administrators in their day-to-day administration of the territory. He also became a consultant for the colonial administration on pre-colonial Rwandan history and ways of life. In reality, Kagame’s works preclude pre-Tutsi Rwandan traditions and also cunningly omit the vibrant socio-economic and political structures of the Hutu and Twa. In Kagame, the Belgians saw an ally whom they could work with to justify the Hamitic frame of reference. Together with other missionary-educated Tutsis, the Belgians instituted one of the most entrenched and visible indirect rule systems on the continent. On the whole, one can assume that by deliberately omitting important milestones in Rwandan history, Kagame reinforced and re-emphasised a myth in Rwanda that has proved to be destructive both in form and character, as the events of 1994 prove.

However, before Kagame’s works became reference material on Rwandan history, the first German administrator, Von Goetzen, recognised the supposedly class- and occupation-based hierarchical structure of the Rwandan polity and insisted that German policy must be to support the Tutsis and the chiefs in such a manner that they would be convinced that their salvation and that of their supporters depended on their faithfulness to the Germans (Melvern, 2000:9). The German policy was therefore not based on any

133 empirical research to determine the real nature of the differences between the groups, but rather on the desire to effectively administer the territory through indirect rule.

It is, however, important to understand this colonial background, which will make the understanding of mythical narrative in the colonial era through a critical lens easier. Evidently, the dominant mythical narrative in the colonial era was based on the exact origin of the Tutsis and the simmering tension with other local groups, such as the Hutus and Twas. In this regard, it should be noted that the Tutsi/Hutu dichotomy has its roots in Harry Johnston’s theory of the subjugation of inferior by superior ‘races’ in the interlacustrine countries of the Central Africa subregion. Prunier (1995:34) argues that in the early part of the nineteenth century, Sir Harry Johnston, the first British Administrator of the Ugandan Protectorate, put forward a theory that Rwandan kingship had originated from North Africa. Though no empirical evidence was produced to substantiate such claims, it nevertheless gained ground during the colonial era. The Nyamparu myth also gained ground and became one of the most recited myths in colonial Rwanda. The myth reads as follows:

The day she became the mother of all families, she from a celebrated background. She who had always reigned and protected the kings. She who later became an ordinary being. The one protected with arms when the ‘white men’ created a dangerous situation for her.22

The myth set out to glorify Nyamparu, the daughter of Kigwe, founder of the Rwandan nation. In mythical narratives, Nyamparu was seen as the pillar of the kings of Rwanda and the Tutsi group as a whole. The propagation of this myth in the colonial era antagonised the Hutus, who felt that their position in the Rwandan society was not recognised and acknowledged in the myth. Though the post-genocide situation will be discussed in Chapter 6, it is clear that the propagation of the myth inadvertently created a perception that the status of the Hutus and Twas is not equal to that of the Tutsis.

22 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013.

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Inasmuch as the Nyamparu myth was important in the eyes of the Tutsis in the colonial era, proverbs such as ‘Tutsis being from Ethiopia and Hutus from Chad’23 also became popular narratives in the colonial era. The potency of these Hamitic proverbs was further strengthened by the colonialists, who assumed that the Tutsis and their kingship institution were also brought into Rwanda by ‘pastoral invaders’ whose memory had been preserved in a set of myths known as the Bacwezi (Prunier, 1995:10). The Johnston (Hamitic) myth of the foreign origin of the kingship institution actually builds on what Speke had earlier speculated in the late nineteenth century, as elaborated in Chapter 1. These theoretical statements go deep into the Tutsi/Hutu dichotomy, as they assume that the ‘invaders’, being the Tutsi, have skilfully subjugated the inferior Hutu peasant masses and established their kingdom. As Ryckmans, a Belgian colonial administrator, pointed out (as quoted in Prunier, 1995:11):

… the Batutsi were meant to reign. Their fine presence is in itself enough to give them a great prestige vis-à-vis the inferior races which surround … It is not surprising that those good Bahutu, less intelligent, more simple, more spontaneous, more trusting, have let themselves be enslaved without ever daring to revolt.

Ryckmans’ doctrine, as the above folktale was frequently referred to, became pervasive in the policy formation and direction of the Belgian colonial administration that took over from the Germans after the latter was defeated during the First World War. The Tutsis, however, accepted this narrative to ensure that they were retained as chiefs in all sectors of Rwandan society. This doctrine thus became a ‘scientific canon’ through which the Hutus viewed the Tutsis’ claim for leadership positions in the country. However instrumental these mythologies may have been in holding the society together, it is impossible to escape the conclusion that it was the widespread adherence to the premise of inequality that allowed the differentiation in the Rwandan society to retain its stern

23 Muzungu, B. [Retired Roman Catholic Church priest, Rwanda’s independence hero and confidante of Kayibanda]. Interview. Kigali, 12 October 2013. He argues that the colonial administration was categorical in advancing the notion that the Tutsi were from Ethiopia and the Hutus from Chad. The kingship institution, he contends, was thought to have been brought to Rwanda by the Tutsis and that the Hutus were seen not to have had the intellectual ingenuity to have come up with such a sophisticated socio-political and cultural structure.

135 rigidity over the years, until it could no longer withstand the impact of egalitarianism at the dawn of independence in the 1960s (Lemarchand, 1970:35). The deconstruction of this dominant political myth could also be said to have contributed to this spirit of egalitarianism that swept over the country in the late 1950s.

In deconstructing the assumption of the superior ethnic status of the Tutsi, Hutus could have started adopting a more radical position against them. Folk narratives were propagated to affirm the important role Hutus played in upholding the dignity of the Hutu people. One such folktale reads:

… he protected us; he protected the people of Rwanda from its enemies. He ploughs his mountains and marshes to feed his people. This became the Rwanda of Ndungutse, whose residence was in Nyakavura.24

The above folktale glorifies Ndungutse, who was a prominent Hutu nationalist in the colonial era. He resisted German colonialism and was eventually killed by the Germans in 1912 in Ruhengeri (Musanze). The folktale attempts to affirm that before the arrival of the Tutsis and the Germans, the Hutus formed a united and self-sufficient polity. According to Shema, the myth also put across the message that the Hutus also had a functioning leadership structure under Ndungutse. By implication, the Hutus were trying to deconstruct the myth that leadership structures were brought into the region by the Tutsis.

In an attempt to reaffirm the Ndungutse myth, the Hutus may have increasingly committed violent acts in the run-up to political independence in the late 1950s and early 1960s. The intention of the Hutus was to reclaim the past where Hutus were leaders in their own right and were unconcerned by the hegemonic Tutsi monarchical claims. Of particular importance in the extremist position that the Hutus adopted in the run-up to independence is not what the Hutus actually believed in, but the way in which they believed (Mandelbaum, 2003:4).

Evidently, the manner in which the Hutus opposed and vehemently attempted to destroy myths, legends and folktales of the Tutsi being superior beings, can attest to the extent

24 Shema, J. [Hutu community leader in Ruhengeri]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 24 October 2013.

136 to which the folktale affected the daily lives of the Hutu and the urgent need to deconstruct it.25

As a result of the entrenched folktales and myths of the superior ethnic status of the Tutsi, the leadership in traditional societies, which was previously open to the Hutus, now became the exclusive preserve of the Tutsis in the colonial era.26 In a typical traditional Rwandan society, three distinct chiefs are recognised: the chief of the landholdings – those who take care of attributing land and agricultural production; the chief of men, who rule over the people; and finally, the chief of the pastures – ruling over the grazing lands (Prunier, 1995:11). In most cases, the chief of the landholdings was a Hutu, considering his occupational advantage of being a farmer. The chief of pastures was an exclusive position of the Tutsi, because of their pastoral background. The chief of men was usually not a contested position; the Hutus were usually preferred. With the propagation of the ethnic superiority myth and the notion that kingship was borrowed, all these positions became the recognised prerogative of the Tutsi in colonial Rwanda (Prunier, 1995:12).

Within the political thought process, and taking into cognisance the political myth approaches, the myth of the superior ethnic status of the Tutsi became part of the political discourse in colonial Rwanda. As highlighted in Chapter 1, political myths, as with every form of political and social organisation, require narratives to give them meaning and to provide a reason for their propagation. Legitimacy and political authority rest on the wide proliferation of these myths, and this goes a long way in determining who can govern, why, how and over whom (Sala, 2010:1). Of particular importance is the manner in which these proverbs, legends and myths have been transmitted through storytelling from one generation to another, which in a way may have shaped inter-ethnic relations in Rwanda.

25 Ahishakiye, N. [Secretary-general of the Genocide Survival Organisation IBUKA]. Interview. 18 October 2013. He maintains that as a Tutsi child attending school with Hutu children, the impact of the Tutsi superiority myth on the behavior of other Hutu children was evident. He contends that the Hutu pupils were quite afraid of approaching and playing with their Tutsi counterparts. They had been told at home by their Hutu parents that the Tutsi children were sent by God (Imana) and Imana should be respected at all times and not seen as a playmate. 26 Gaullaume, E. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Congo]. Interview. 15 October 2013. He opines that with the arrival of colonial administrators and the propagation of the ideology that the Tutsis are superior, all chiefdoms, including those of the land, which used to be the exclusive preserve of the Hutu, were given to the Tutsi. Tutsis were now chiefs of the cattle, of the land and of the grazing land. The Hutus’ role was confined to cultivating the soil and working in the Tutsi royal court.

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One such proverb was: ‘blood-soaked is the horn he plunges into the womb of other countries’. The proverb specifically suggests that the Tutsis (who are distinguishable by their cattle-rearing culture) should plunge their horns (knives, machetes) into the womb of other countries (Hutus). Considering the Hutus as ‘other countries’ carries great significance. It suggests that the Hutus are not part of the Rwandan society and therefore should be killed or chased out of Rwanda.

However, for such narratives to have purpose, potency and urgency, they need telling and re-telling, which will then constitute important acts that confirm belonging and participation in the country and connect individuals to those who govern. In addition, Sala (2010:1) argues that identifying who tells the stories and establishing how and why the stories survive may provide some indication of the extent to which there is widespread consensus on a form of political rule. The fact that the colonial administrators were the main proponents of the various Tutsi myths ensured their legitimacy and perhaps also their acceptability. Mandelbaum (2003:4) maintains that the key to predicting what type of believers are more apt to engage in extremist behaviour is to figure out different people’s tolerance of cognitive dissonance. Those who can handle a high level of dissonance without feeling major discomfort will be able to have beliefs that allow for ambiguity, which will make them more open to hearing opposing views. As history has shown, those with very low tolerance for cognitive dissonance (in this case, the Hutus) will not be able to handle any inconsistencies, which justifies the ferocious manner in which the genocide was carried out.

As Rwanda moved towards independence, the Hutu versus Tutsi divide played itself out at the UN Trusteeship Council. The Tutsis, sensing a shift in colonial policy, put together their grievances in what they called a Mise au Point (clarification of views). The Mise au Point, addressed to the UN trusteeship’s visiting mission, made three important declarations: that the people of Rwanda are ruled by a mwami, that racial and ethnic discrimination were instituted in the country by colonialism, and finally, that political leadership of the country rests with the mwami. The Hutu reaction was a counter- document entitled ‘The Social Aspect of the Racial Native Problem in Ruanda’, which outlined the constant and recurrent humiliation of the Hutu masses by the Tutsi in

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Rwanda. The Hutu Manifesto, as it was popularly known, referred to the socio-economic and political inferiority of the Hutus vis-à-vis their Tutsi counterparts (Prunier, 1995:45).

Because the Mise au Point did not mention the differences between the Hutus and Tutsis in the landscape of post-colonial Rwanda, it made the colonial administrators view the Tutsi demand for immediate independence as favourable to the Hutu majority and to the mandate given to them by the Trusteeship Council. The fact that the Mise au Point suggests unity between the Hutu and Tutsi was simply another attempt by the Tutsis to maintain Tutsi rule in post-colonial Rwanda.

The Manifesto specifically called for the abolition of the ubuhake and ibikingi contract- holding systems. Senyandwi27 notes that:

… though the abolition of the ubuhuke and Ibinkingi was not specifically mentioned, the majority of the Hutus knew that the main aim of the manifesto was to force the visiting UN Mission to abolish labour contracts binding the Hutus to the Tutsi and other forms of slavery in colonial Rwanda

It, however, supported the maintenance of the identity card system, which categorised every person as Hutu, Tutsi or Twa, insisting that these were needed to monitor progress in ending discrimination (Fujii, 2001:12).

The political significance of the Mise au Point and the Hutu Manifesto was that they hardened the stance of the respective ethnic blocs, which made reconciliation difficult. One of the immediate outcomes was the 1959 revolt, as discussed in Chapter 1, which triggered class consciousness, involving a racial rather than a social problem. Another form of significance of the two documents was the rise to prominence of Kayibanda, the architect of the Hutu Manifesto, who later became the first post-colonial president of Rwanda.

Within the mythical order, the Mise au Point and the Hutu Manifesto re-ignited the Hamitic hypothesis. They spoke in a language that the majority of the people in Rwanda understood: that of suppression, inferiority and subservience. According to the Hutu

27 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013.

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Manifesto, the foreign invaders and oppressors of the Hutu were the Tutsis, not the European colonisers. What the Mise au Point and the Hutu manifesto portray is that the problems in Rwanda were not those of class, status or regionalism, but that of race – a conflict between a supposed invading alien race and black Africans. The reinvention of the Hamitic myth in the run-up to Rwandan independence did not receive the adequate response from the ruling Tutsi elites. In response to the divergent views expressed in the Mise au Point and in the manifesto, the mwami resorted to themes of national unity, ignoring the burning issue of class and ethnic cleavage. To worsen the situation, the king denied the existence altogether of class and ethnic differences in the country (Fujii, 2001:12). All these denials and the ignorance of the critical issues affecting Rwandans contributed to the hardening of ethnic blocs and ‘otherness’ that led to the 1994 genocide. The general idea was that if the Tutsis successfully captured political power they would enslave the Hutus, a situation that the Hutus did not want to relive.28

3.3 Narratives in the post-colonial era: The resurrection of the Hamitic myth

The view that the Hutus and Tutsis arrived in the Great Lakes region in different epochs is well documented. However, it is also noted that they left traces of violence and terror on their path. The ferociousness with which some of the violence was committed left many to think of it as mythical – an assertion that would seem to cry out for ritualist and symbolic analysis. The symbolism attached to the hanging of the genitals of conquered Hutu chiefs on the Kalinga, as highlighted in Chapter 1, was quite instrumental in the pattern of violent behaviour and has continued to be a feature of violent confrontation in the country until now.29 The Kalinga, the sacred drum of the mwami on which nobody ever drummed and which symbolised the sacred power of the mwami was decorated with the testicles of

28 According to Shema, J. [Hutu community leader in Ruhengeri]. Interview. 24 October 2013, the Bourgmestre (regional governor) of Ruhengeri instructed them in coded language to clear the tall trees and also take care of the shoots. This meant that they should kill the ‘tall’ Tutsis and also their young ones. The teaching then was that if you allow the young one to live, he/she will grow up to avenge his/her parents’ deaths. So the ‘logical’ thing to do was to kill both adults and children. 29 Rutayisire, A. [Lecturer at the National University of Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 31 October 2013. He maintains that the manner in which people were impaled shows that the myth surrounding the genital ‘harvesting’ of Hutu chiefs was still in the people’s subconscious minds.

140 slain enemies and subjugated Hutu chiefs, the bahinza (Lemarchand, 1999:10; Prunier, 1995:10).

One important reason why the violence and terror in pre-colonial and colonial Rwanda should be viewed with a mythico-historical lens is the fact that in many instances the same forms of violence30 and the same techniques of perpetrating cruelty were encountered in Rwanda during the 1994 genocide. These include, among other things, impaling, evisceration of pregnant women, forced incest and forced cannibalism of family members (Taylor, 1999:105). The killing of people on highways and along small pathways, the severing of the Achilles tendons of humans and cattle, the emasculation of men and breast oblation of women followed a particular mythical-historical pattern. The symbolism exhibited in the manner in which people were killed during the Social Revolution of 1959 and the genocide of 1994 demonstrate the ritual processes intended to inculcate societal norms and values (Taylor, 1999:105). This methodical way in which the killings were conducted has also been the subject of heated debate. In her seminal work on violence and memory in Burundi, Malkki (1995:94) observes that:

It is relevant to ask how the accounts of atrocity come to assume thematic form, how they become formulaic … the first thing to be examined is the extent to which the techniques of cruelty actually used were already meaningful, already mythico- historical.

The manner in which victims were selected and killed during the many years of unrest in Rwanda were mythically inspired, and this should therefore call for new paths to be considered in understanding the post-conflict scenario. According to Ahishakiye,31 victims were obviously selected according to their ‘race’ and the manner in which they were killed was very symbolic. Satanic marks were also drawn on the victims to symbolise that they

30 Rutayisire, A. [Lecturer at the National University of Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 31 October 2013. According to him, the violence associated with the 1994 genocide was reminiscent of the kind of violence that was experienced by the Hutus in pre-colonial times when the Tutsis conquered Rwanda. 31 Ahishakiye, N. [Secretary General of the Genocide Survival Organisation, IBUKA]. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 18 October 2013.

141 belonged in hell and that they should not be considered by Imana (God) as they approached heaven.

It is therefore important that the violence and terror that characterise modern nationalism cannot be understood solely through the analysis of the associated political pragmatics: careful consideration should also be given to its ontological dimension (Taylor, 1999:106). As discussed in Chapter 1, and from a political myth point of view, Hutu extremists assumed that to protect the ‘Hutu nation’ from the ‘Tutsi invaders’, the Hutu must place the notion of the nation above the political realm. Therefore, for them, the state could be destroyed, but the nation (the Hutu nation) is paramount and must be preserved at all costs. Mythico-ritualist killings were therefore a method through which the myth of the Hutu nation could be preserved and the spirit of the Tutsi cast into the wilderness.

Political myth theorists (see Chapter 1) would contend that nationalism within the Hutu community in Rwanda, though quite different in its epistemic and ontological outlook, was both constitutive of the normative political system in this particular polity and was therefore representative of the general political outlook. Of particular importance within these ontologies are the myths, legends and folktales to which the Rwandan Hutu nationalism accord value: ‘It is an ontology confined within the structure of certain myths, it is an ontology that governs the constitution and reconstitution of being in some rituals’ (Kapferer, 1988:80).

The violence that is recurrent in Rwanda (judging from Kapferer’s definition of ontology) subscribes to the ideal of a Hutu nation devoid of Tutsi invaders. This portrays the fundamentals of Gobineau’s myth of ethnic superiority (though it was racial in his case – see Chapter 1). This explains why, within the Hutu ontological realm, there was actually a way in which a Tutsi should be killed or a way in which the Hutu social systems could inscribe law onto the bodies of their victims. Occasionally, as was the case in Rwanda, physical torture forms an integral part of the ritual process intended to inculcate society’s norms and values.

On the whole, one notices that the discrimination between lower and higher orders of society that later translated into the Hamitic myth was forged into a formidable ideological

142 weapon during the 1959 Social Revolution, only to re-emerge with extraordinary violence during the 1994 genocide (Lemarchand, 1999:10). The mythical connotations of the emasculation of Tutsi men during the genocide and the slashing off of the breasts of Tutsi women were quite profound and merit some interpretation. First, the emasculation and breast slashing manifest a pre-occupation with the reproductive system of an individual, and therefore destroy the future capacity of the group to reproduce (Taylor, 1999, 140). The main point of departure here was that the Hutu extremists were determined to rid the country of an enemy, and before such an act could be performed, they had to first transform their victims’ bodies (preparing the bodies to be received by Satan). The notion was to reconfigure specific bodies through torture in order that they became abominations that needed to be sacrificed (Taylor, 1999, 140).

The mythical orientation of the 1959 and 1994 violence was also manifested in the manner in which Tutsi women were violated and treated during these violent episodes. During the genocide, Tutsi women were taken captive and repeatedly raped by members of the FAR and the Interahamwe before being killed. Some were kept as sex slaves and transported to refugee camps in the eastern Congo after the RPF took over the country. After the first Congolese war of 1996, hundreds of these Tutsi women were rescued with children born out of their relations with their captives. Those who were pregnant were taken to government hospitals for abortions, while the children born of the union with the Hutu soldiers were placed in homes for abandoned children (Taylor, 1999:141). The placement of these children in orphanages was a result of the fact that these children had been rejected by their mothers. Boutros-Ghali (1996:67) notes that the situation during the genocide was quite complex, judging from the fact that adult Tutsis were forced to commit incest with their children before being killed. In areas where the child or children survived, the babies born out of this incestuous union were usually placed in orphanages. Politically, the mythical implication of these actions was generally desecrating the Tutsis as a whole and to make sure that the wounds of such actions were engraved in the memory of the Tutsis for generations to come. The bottom line was to ensure that the Tutsis never rose up against the Hutu.

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3.4 Mythical narratives in the run-up to the genocide

In this section, it will be shown that mythical discourses including legends, folktales and proverbs, could as well played a role in the manner in which people react to events and to one another prior to and during the genocide. In this section it will be argued that the death of Habyarimana was predicted by soothsayers and in the mythical discourse soon before his death. The widely publicised prediction of the killing of Habyarimana by the Tutsis prepared the Hutus psychologically for the method and manner of the revenge for his death.

Evidently, after numerous efforts to return to Rwanda had failed, The Rwanda Refugees Welfare Society and the RANU, which had transformed into the RPF, invaded Rwanda on 1 October 1990. Though rumours of an invasion of Rwanda had become routine by the late 1980s, many, especially within the Habyarimana administration, did not think it would happen as early as 1990. Rwandan intelligence reports at that stage suggested that the main security threat was the Tutsi refugees within Rwanda and not an external invasion. This assertion was based on the fact that most of the prominent Rwandan exiles were prominent members of Uganda’s People’s Defence Force (UPDF). Of critical interest to the Habyarimana administration was the fact that the bulk of the military intelligence in Uganda was made up of Rwandan exiles. They were living comfortable lives and the government in Kigali was not worried about any imminent invasion. But the logic within the high command of the RPF was to populate the Ugandan army and to ensure that when the invasion happened, it should be seen to be by the Ugandan army and not a separate entity with firm roots in Rwanda. Accordingly, Museveni gave his blessing to the invasion plan. According to Bikesha:32

… the infiltration of the Ugandan army by the RPF was a deliberate move to acquire the training that would be needed when the time for the invasion of Rwanda came. This actually help[ed] as most of us (RPF) were fighting like a regular army because of the training we received from Uganda’s army.

32 Bikesha, D. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Uganda]. Interview. Kigali, 30 October 2013.

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There was general pandemonium in Kigali soon after the RPF attack on 1 October 1990. Habyarimana immediately informed Francois Mitterrand, who promised to do away with the ‘Anglo-Saxon’ threat within months (Melvern, 2000:30). The Habyarimana government deplored all propaganda meant to depict the RPF invasion as an attempt to re-establish the monarchy in Rwanda and as an attempt to restore Tutsi privileges, which the 1959 revolution and the abolition of the monarchy in 1961 had stopped. Some of the fiercest critics of the Habyarimana administration criticised him on the manner in which he was handling the invasion. Among these were the Coalition pour la Défense de la République (Coalition for the Defence of the Republic – CDR), Radio Télévision Libre des Mille Collines (Free Radio and Television of the Thousand Hills – RTLMC), the Kinyarwanda newspaper Kangura (‘wake him up’) and the French language publication Le Courrier du Peuple (Prunier, 1995:129).

Moreover, in response to the invasion of Rwanda by Tutsi exiles from Uganda, meetings were convened by the local bourgmestre in most provinces. Usually such meetings were attended by some high-ranking official from Kigali and instructions would be given on ‘bush clearing’.33 The euphemism of bush clearing signified the elimination of any Tutsi in the community. Communities were rewarded for ‘doing an effective job’ in clearing the community of any Tutsi remnants. Prunier (1995:142) maintains that the fact that killing was umuganda (collective work) assuaged any guilt that usually accompanies such acts of barbarism and cruelty. According to Abandibana,34 the RPF armies were described as: ‘inyenzi [cockroaches] which must be crushed and killed with eggs so that the eggs should never hatch another inyenzi’. She further maintains that they were given instructions in those words by the local bourgmestre and the emphasis was to kill all Tutsis in their midst.

Accordingly, the symbolism of the inyenzi was important in the general order of things since it presented the RPF as the upshot of the inyenzi rebellion in the early 1960s in countries bordering Rwanda by Tutsi loyalist to avenge and restore the monarchy.

33 Ahishakiye, N. [Executive Secretary of the IBUKA genocide survival organisation]. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 3 November 2013. He maintains that he actually participated in one of such meetings in Bugesera where instructions were given that all Tutsis in the area should be killed each time there was a RPF attack. 34 Abandibana, B. [Community leader in Ruhengeri]. Interview, Ruhengeri, 3 November 2013.

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Mythical discourses about inyenzi being the undesirable insects in Rwanda resurfaced and were widely publicised in the local Hutu media. Folktales (songs) such as:

… the inyenzi have returned. Do well to smash them with your machetes, sticks and shoes. Ensure that the eggs are also smashed so that they do not return again in future.35

The symbolism of the inyenzi is quite profound. Though the Tutsi uprising in the 1960s was called the inyenzi rebellion, the term did not have the same potency as it did in the run-up to the genocide in 1994. The allusion to the Tutsis as inyenzi (cockroaches) suggests that there was a desire on the part of the Hutus to completely annihilate the Tutsis. The fact that cockroaches are undesirable insects speaks volumes.

Conversely, in the early 1990s, it was a widely repeated myth that the RPF rebellion would be crushed in the same way as the 1960s Tutsi rebellion. In the early 1990s, soon after the RPF invasion, in order to ensure that the community showed no pity, the RPF fighters were described as:

Devils with tails, horns, hooves, pointed ears and red eyes that shone in the dark. Anybody found fraternising with them was bound to also be an evil creature so was bound to be killed (Prunier, 1995:142).

The inyenzi folktale and many other mythical dialectics identified the Tutsi as the causes of all the socio-economic, security and political problems in Rwanda. Though having fundamental political connotations, these myths were rational in their manifestations and created a sense within the Hutu population that the ultimate objective of their survival as a group would be the total physical destruction of the Tutsis.

Despite efforts by the RPF to portray the rebellion as an attempt to ensure that the rights of the Tutsi minority were respected, it did not attract public sympathy. Mythical discourses portraying the RPF as devils with tails, as indicated above, occupied

35 Mukagakinaya, J. [Community activist in Ruhengeri]. Interview. 13 November 2013. According to her, sayings such as ‘Inyenzi are troublemakers and distributors of diseases; crush them on sight without mercy’; ‘They will try to blend in with us, try to hide in our midst, pretend to love us, but crush them on sight, without mercy’; and ‘Inyenzi the troublemaker: if you can’t crush him on sight mercilessly, devise ways for their complete annihilation’ played an important role in jolting the Hutu into killing the Hutu without remorse.

146 prominent places in Hutu-dominated media such as RTLMC and Kangura, a conservative Hutu newspaper. The central theme of the myths was to ensure that the Tutsi were not seen as worthy of the trust needed to manage the affairs of Rwanda and to protect the Hutu majority.

To accentuate the notion of the Tutsis’ untrustworthiness, myths, legends and proverbs about the Akagera River being the shortest route to Ethiopia gained momentum. The Akagera River, which is seen as the source of the Nile, is perceived in Rwandan mythical discourse as the route through which the Tutsi came to Rwanda.36 Measures were taken to ensure that the Tutsi were sent to Ethiopia through the shortest possible way, and that was by killing them and throwing their bodies in the Nyabarongo and Akagera Rivers to later wash up in Lake Victoria (Taylor, 1999: 130). The Akagera River became an important mythical motif in the years preceding the genocide. It featured prominently in political discourse that had to do with the preservation of the Hutu nation. In one of these myths it was highlighted that the Akagera was the beginning of Tutsi domination and it would also be the end of their domination of Rwanda. Folktales such as:

… Akagera will get rid of our problems. The Nile will take it to Ethiopia for us. Going to where they came from.37

The above folktale suggests that the Tutsis will be killed and dumped in the Akagera River, which is a tributary of the Nile. Since the Nile flows through Ethiopia, it was assumed that the Tutsis would wash up in Ethiopia, returning to the country where the Hamitic myth purports they came from. The propagation of the Akagera folktale and in the belief in it most likely propelled the Hutus (according to some respondents) to embark on a campaign of killing to fulfil the Akagera prophecy.

36 Karamuzi, D. [Hutu community leader]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 4 November 2013. He contends that for the Tutsi to go back to Ethiopia they would have to be killed and dumped in the Akagera River, which flows through Ethiopia and on to Egypt. 37 Karamuzi, D. [Hutu community leader]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 4 November 2013. He contends that for the Tutsi to go back to Ethiopia they would have to be killed and dumped in the Akagera River, which flows through Ethiopia and on to Egypt.

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As the Akagera mythical discourse gained momentum, horticultural mythical imagery, as highlighted in Chapter 1, became an important symbol through which messages of violence were transmitted to Hutu extremists. Hutus were instructed, especially through the RTLMC and the Kangura newspaper to clear away the ‘tall trees’ (as discussed in the preceding section). This was a clear message to the Hutu population to kill the Tutsi among them, who were generally lanky and tall, as alluded to in the earlier part of the chapter. Messages were transmitted to cut down the ‘weeds’ and emphasis was not generally only on removing the tall weed (adult Tutsi) but also to make sure that the ‘shoots’ (children) were ‘taken care of’ as well (Taylor, 1999: 142).

Mythical debate, legends, folktales and proverbs in the years following the RPF invasion took on another dimension when the influential and highly respected Kangura newspaper predicted in December 1993 that Habyarimana would die in March 1994. Care was also taken to ensure that traditional folk songs in honour of cattle and milk or anything suggestive of Tutsi culture were banned. In official government residences, craftwork depicting cows, thatched huts and anything suggesting a Tutsi cultural heritage were also removed. According to Rucyahana:38

… the Habyarimana administration destroyed all Tutsi cultural heritage especially relics relating to cows, drums and milk. This was a deliberate ploy by the Hutu government to ensure that Tutsis do not belong to Rwanda.

There was a general understanding among Hutu extremists that the only way to eliminate the Tutsi as a people was to do away with their cultural heritage and any symbolic artefacts relating to the king.

Coupled with the above narratives, the debate around identity politics, consciousness and the belonging of ethnic Rwandans in Uganda surfaced soon after the Obote administration passed the Control of Alien Refugees Act in the early 1960s. The legislation made all Rwandese a special class of residents subject to arbitrary questioning

38 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013. He maintains that all cultural symbols relating to the Tutsis’ way of life were removed. During my tour of the Habyarimana house museum in Kigali, I was also informed that Habyarimana removed all cattle figurines in his residences soon after the RPF invasion in 1990. He never wanted any symbols depicting Tutsis in any form.

148 and detention without a warrant (Mamdani, 2001:167). The Amin, the second Obote and the Museveni administrations passed similar legislation, which made life for Rwandan refugees living in Uganda difficult. Though tacit agreements were reached with the Habyarimana administration to resettle thousands of Rwandan refugees, implementation of the moves was stalled by overzealous Hutu conservative forces within the Habyarimana administration. The constant harassment and changing international climate, which put pressure on the Habyarimana regime to allow the return of ethnic Rwandans, exacerbated an already growing number of identity-conscious ethnic Rwandans’ eagerness to return to their ancestral land.

The response of the Tutsi refugees was to invade Rwanda in order to force the Habyarimana administration to allow the refugees to return to Rwanda. As highlighted in the following chapters, the invasion of Rwanda by the RPF set in motion a series of events that eventually led to the outbreak of the genocide after the killing of Habyarimana on 6 April 1994.

3.5 Conclusion

This chapter discussed the role of myths, legends, folktales and proverbs in creating divisions between the various segments of the Rwandan society. As highlighted in Chapter 1, myths can be legends, folktales and proverbs. These narratives occupy a prominent place in Rwandan society and help in shaping the manner in which the people of Rwanda relate to one another. The chapter argues that in pre-colonial times, mythical narratives were prevalent. The Kigwe folktale, which affirms the natural difference between the Hutus, Tutsis and the Twas, was one of the most prevalent political myths in pre-colonial Rwanda. The folktale formed the basis on which colonial policies of indirect rule were premised. The propagation of the folktale tends to affirm the existing socio- political and cultural heterogeneity of the territory.

Furthermore, the Hamitic myth – the myth of the foreign origin of the Tutsis and of the kingship institution in Rwanda – was common in the colonial era. The myth falls within the social domain and was propagated to affirm the physical differences that the colonial administrators observed among Rwandans. Though it has been argued that the heterogeneous composition of Rwandan society predates the colonial era, the colonial

149 administrators, supported by the Tutsi elite, imposed a class-based society in Rwanda. To make this class structure permanent, the Hamitic myth was spread, making it a permanent fixture of Rwandan society. Attempts by the Hutus to deconstruct these mythical narratives were initially resisted by the colonial administrators. The persistent deconstruction efforts by the Hutus to debunk the old pre-colonial ethnic superior stereotypes, and the attempts by the Tutsis to hold on to them, contributed to the genocide in 1994.

The chapter further shows that the Hamitic myth resurfaced in the political discourse of the post-colonial era. The Tutsis were presented as an ethnic minority who needed to adjust to the prevailing socio-political atmosphere or leave the country. Hutus were presented in mythical debates as hardworking, industrious and capable of taking independent decisions with regard to delicate political and socio-cultural issues affecting the Rwandan territory. Mythical narratives on the survival of Hutu polities long after the arrival of the Tutsis were prevalent in the post-colonial era. These narratives helped to harden the hearts of the Tutsis, though they also ensured that the Hutus came up with various measures to preserve the political power that was handed to them after the 1959 revolution. The strengthening of ethnic positions ultimately led to the protection of ethnic spaces, and eventually the genocide.

The next chapter examines the intricate role of memory in exacerbating the ethnic divide and in the redefinition of ‘otherness’ in the post-colonial and post-genocide political dispensations.

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CHAPTER 4

FROM PRE-COLONIAL RWANDA TO THE ADVENT OF GENOCIDE: THE ROLE OF MEMORY

4 Introduction

The previous chapter analysed the role of myth in accentuating the division between the Tutsis and Hutus in pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial Rwanda. This chapter, on the other hand, is devoted to memory and the role it played in shaping perceptions and societal interactions over time and the manner in which it contributed to dividing the people of Rwanda along social and class lines.

It is important to note that memory can be instrumental in creating or elevating hostility towards a particular ethnic group. As highlighted in Chapter 1, two general types of memory exist: individual and national. Individual memory refers to the reclamation of past experiences as an important resource for power and identity. Individual memory strives to preserve the socio-cultural and political institutions of a clan and a community in order to ensure their continuity. National memory, on the other hand, denotes the collective memory narratives of a country, which are expressed in the form of national anthems, a coat of arms, history, museums, national heroes and heroines and national monuments. National memory is a recollection of a country’s national symbols that forms part of a country’s historical foundation and shapes current and future political agendas (Nets- Zehngut, 2012:255). National memory can also be reflected through the history of a dynasty, church or a state in order to legitimise such institutions and to ensure their continuity. In the case of the latter, national memory is reflected in symbols such as the Kalinga, national anthem and flag.

This chapter is predominantly based on interviews that were conducted in Rwanda in the latter half of 2013, which form the basis of this study. Of the 56 respondents, 22 were Tutsis and 34 were Hutus. Though the respondents did not experience the pre-colonial period, their recollection of what was told to them by their forefathers is important, as it sheds light on their first ‘encounter’ with Rwanda’s pre-colonial era. Their introduction to pre-colonial history could have laid the basis for their later perceptions of the ‘other’ in

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Rwanda. About 38 of the respondents lived through the colonial era, and their insight into that particular epoch in Rwandan history is significant. More than 29 respondents were born after Habyarimana came to power in 1973 and experienced the last days of his administration. All 56 respondents categorised themselves as genocide survivors, though the Tutsi respondents were more forthright in this assertion than the Hutus.

The first section of the chapter will therefore focus on memory of the pre-colonial era, and in particular, whether the memories of Hutus and Tutsis differ. The general overriding thematic issues that underpin both Hutu and Tutsi recollections of that period in Rwandan history are analysed. The second section analyses the recollection of both Hutus and Tutsis of the colonial era, and more importantly, the policies implemented in the territory by the colonial administrators. Critically, this section will decipher how occupational attributes were transformed into class segregation and will discuss the enforcement of such policies. Of interest will be the manner in which certain recollections of Rwandan society were promoted by the colonial governments and religious leaders over the years. These memories will provide an indication of how ingrained the superior and inferior status of the various class groups in Rwanda is. The third section examines what respondents remember of post-colonial ethnic relations and how they affected societal relations, especially in the face of increasing inyenzi (Tutsi guerrilla) attacks from neighbouring countries. The chapter concludes with memories of the role that monuments and symbols played in re-energising the Hutu and fortifying the Hutu nation.

4.1 Pre-colonial memories

This section is devoted to an overview of the historical roots of division between the Hutus and the Tutsis based on memories of respondents regarding how the pre-colonial society was organised. The fundamental point is how power relations between the Hutus and Tutsis were structured. However, because none of the respondents actually lived during the pre-colonial era, their recollections of the period were based on what was told to them by their forebears or what they learned at school. Indirect memory, as this form of memory is usually referred to, thus forms the basis for this section of the research. However, it is important to note that the task of remembering and retelling the past is a daunting one, and it is perhaps more complicated when members of the same society had to deal with

152 the violent and aggressive behaviour of one group against another. From the various views analysed, it is clear that the pre-colonial collective memory of Rwanda is also a contested one, as Rwandans from across social divides are unable to agree on a clear picture of what constitutes the pre-colonial history of the country. This was also evident from the interviews, as will be shown below. However, this does not take away from the interviewees’ prevailing perspectives on the existing class structures, which were ingrained in their minds.

Assmann (2008:57), though, contends that before the foundations of critical historical scholarship were laid in the 18th and 19th century, history and memory were not clearly distinguished. History, to a large extent, was a function of memory and the objectivity question was just a matter of power relations within that particular society. By considering both individual (cosmopolitan) and national (collective) memory, the chapter shows how different political leaders used this contested memory to gain currency for their ideological projects and to justify their varied political positions, beginning with the recollection of pre- colonial Rwanda.

However, the memories of the pre-colonial period in Rwanda, as established from the interviews, gravitate towards three fundamental issues: the contribution of the Hutus to nation-building, the acceptance by all social classes of the important role of the king, and the biased nature of pre-colonial social contracts.

 An overwhelmning majority of Hutus interviewed (30 out of 33) remember that they were told of the independent nature of the Hutu principalities before the arrival of the Tutsis and the fate of Hutu chiefs at the hands of the Tutsi invaders. However, all the interviewees recall the important role the Hutu and Twa people played in the nation-building process in pre-colonial Rwanda, such as fighting in the king’s army and attending to the royal fields.

 Most Tutsis, on the other hand, have an image of a period when the Rwandan society was properly administered by a mwami (king), who had the interests of all (Tutsi, Hutu and Twa) at heart. For them Tutsis were bringers of ironworking technology and the kingship institution to Rwanda. The majority of Hutus

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interviewed, on the other hand, recollect that when the Tutsis arrived in Rwanda they met with strong and independent Hutu polities. Many Hutus remember that though the Tutsis had superior technology in the form of spears, it does not indicate that the Hutus were backward or parochial in any sense.

 Virtually all interviewees provided some interpretation accounting for the existence of the social hierarchy, arguing that the seeds of division were sown during the pre-colonial period through a system of contracts such as the ubuhake and ibinkigi contracts, which restricted the Hutus and Twas to a lifetime of labour and service to their Tutsi masters.

With regard to the first point, which centred on the ill treatment of Hutu chiefs in the hands of the Tutsi, Hutu respondents interviewed from the Ruhengeri (Musanze) area, which was the last region to fall to the Tutsi and Belgian conquest in the 1920s, displayed a sense of nostalgia regarding the pre-colonial era. About half of all Hutus interviewed decried the ill treatment the Hutu chiefs were subjected to. In the words of Gakwavu:39

… in every political activity of the Hutu, there is the presence of the thought that our Hutu forebears were treated in the most inhumane ways by Tutsi leaders in the pre-colonial era. The atrocities inflicted on our leaders in the pre-colonial and colonial era cannot be justified. They [Tutsis] came, we gave them land, we allowed them to impose their king on us, we worked for them and all they thought of us was bad. In everything a Hutu man does, he thinks about the treatment the Tutsis gave his forebears. This is the main point of our fight with them [Tutsis]. If proper reconciliation does not take place, the Hutu would never forgive them (own translation).

Though Gakwavu’s recollection falls within the ambit of indirect memory, it nonetheless lays bare some of the critical hidden resentment that forms part of the socialisation of the majority of Hutus.

39 Gakwavu, J. [Hutu community leader and civil society activist, Ruhengeri]. Interview. 16 November 2013.

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Concerning the question of who they think were the first to settle in present-day Rwanda, most, with the exception of a sizable majority of the Tutsis, remember having been told that the Hutus and Tutsis arrived in Rwanda almost at the same time, around 1530. Many recounted that pre-colonial Rwanda was an expanse of land that was inhabited only by the Twas. Rucyahana, a Tutsis nationalist, maintains that the Tutsis were the first to arrive in Rwanda, followed by the Hutus. He recounted that:

… what I was told by my forebears and from logic is that the Tutsis first came to Rwanda with their cattle, clearing the land for the Hutus to farm on. Farming can only take place after the land has been cleared. The Hutus had no iron ore technology so they could not have had the necessary tools to clear the bush in order for them to farm. The Tutsis were the ones with iron ore technology and with cattle, which cleared the land for the Hutus to farm on. The idea that the Hutus and Twas were the first to inhabit Rwanda is therefore false and has no place in Rwandan history (own translation).

This memory is perhaps influenced by the current debate in Rwanda on who the original inhabitants of Rwanda were. Because the Tutsis control the media and the politics of the country, their opinions would obviously hold sway. However, Tutsi recollection of pre- colonial Rwanda is that they played an equally significant role in shaping pre-colonial Rwandan society, though respondents such as Rucyahana40 generally argue that the Tutsis were the first people to settle in Rwanda. This form of memory is based on the assumption that Hutus could only have been able to cultivate after the Tutsis cleared the bushes with their cattle. Cattle-grazing was equated to clearing, and this makes sense to many Tutsis.

The subjugation and bestiality that the Hutus and their kings endured under the Tutsi political leadership during the pre-colonial era were highlighted by most Hutu interviewees. In the words of Ntamavukiro:41

40 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Tutsi Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013.

41 Ntamavukiro, A. [Hutu court clerk, Ruhengeri]. Interview, Ruhengeri, 4 November 2013.

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… the most pitiful thing many Hutu people remembered about the pre-colonial era was the fate of Hutu leaders at the hands of the Tutsi invaders. Many of them were killed and their genitals removed and placed on the royal Tutsi drum (Kalinga). Many were driven out of their homes and died in exile, and others were beheaded in front of their subjects to discourage Hutus from disobeying the Tutsi kings (Translation is mine).

To Ntamavukiro, the most important concern during the post-colonial era was the nature and manner in which the Hutu kings were treated by the conquering Tutsis. These types of memories dominated the post-colonial era, and it can be argued that they provided the impetus for the manner in which the Hutus related to the Tutsis in the post-colonial dispensation. Tutsis who showed some remorse regarding the way in which the Hutu kings were treated were accommodated, but those that refused to acknowledge that the Hutu kings were treated badly were seen as enemies of the new state. This form of memory has united the Hutus, and many Hutu political leaders have used these images of the humiliation of their kings to rally Hutus under a common cause – a cause which they believe is right.

However, the image that the Hutus have of the relationship between them and the Tutsis in pre-colonial Rwanda was echoed by must Tutsi respondents. The common understanding of most Tutsis interviewed was that the Hutus were viewed through the iconographic imagery of the Hutu as an autochthonous ethnic group whose kings and traditions were dishonoured and replaced with the Tutsi traditional kingship institution represented by the Kalinga (royal drum). Tutsis’ idea of the pre-colonial period is one of conquering and establishing a kingdom in present-day Rwanda. Rucyahana,42 a Tutsi nationalist maintains that, his parents recounted how:

… the Tutsi came to Rwanda from neighbouring Uganda with their cattle. We [Tutsis] cleared the bush for the Hutus to farm. Though we collected some of their food, this was exchanged for milk that was produced from our cattle. Our kings

42 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013.

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united the country, which many Hutus made ungovernable at times (own translation).

Rucyahana further elaborated that the post-colonial administration did not regard the Tutsis as indigenous to Rwanda, and as a result, they were treated as allogeneic. According to him, in school textbooks the Tutsis were not represented as Rwandans, but as a racial minority. He maintains that this representation of the Tutsi as outsiders was correct, because the Tutsis had come with their cattle, cleared the land and allowed the Hutus to cultivate the soil. Though, he added, without the Tutsi to clear the fields with their cattle, it would have been impossible for the Hutus to cultivate the land with their archaic farming tools. This, however, points to the idea that the Tutsis were somewhat more advanced in their technological know-how, which could well be interpreted as ethnic superiority during this period.

However, Tutsis’ indirect memory of the pre-colonial era is that of Tutsis being the stabilising force that pacified the country, which was characterised by generalised warfare among Hutu polities and neighbouring clans, which were trying to establish a foothold in Rwanda. According to Rucyahana:43

… when the Tutsis arrived in Rwanda from neighbouring Uganda after a disagreement with the Acholi people, they [encountered] the Hutu kingdoms in a state of generalised warfare. They were fighting among themselves and the task of the skilful Tutsi king was to ensure that he established order and tranquillity among them.

As a result, and as Rucyahana notes, without the Tutsi, it is understood within Tutsi circles that Rwanda would have been reduced to a playground, and no concrete state infrastructure would have been erected. Rwanyagare44 concurs with Ruychana and maintains that without the tactful and skilful manner in which the mwamis managed the

43 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Tutsi Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda] Ruhengeri (Musanze), 08 November 2013.

44 Rwanyagare, J. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Congo]. Interview, Kigali, 17 October 2013. He opines that Hutus are of the opinion that before genuine reconciliation can be achieved in the country, the Tutsis must collectively apologise to the Hutus for all the harm they have caused them in the pre-colonial and colonial times.

157 affairs of Rwanda in the pre-colonial era, there would not have been a country called Rwanda to speak of. He contends that all the socio-cultural and political institutions found in Rwanda during the implantation of a colonial state were Tutsi institutions. This therefore leads to the notion that the Tutsis were in fact superior beings existing at the advent of colonialism, though the majority of the respondents perceives the Twa to be the original inhabitants of present-day Rwanda, followed by the Hutus and Tutsis (in that order). This divide between the majority of Hutus and majority of Tutsis, while not representing the convergence of views seen in much of the literature, has dominated mainstream national debate in Rwanda since the arrival of colonialism, and is at the centre of the post- genocide reconciliation narratives. Muntunutwiwe45 maintains that until a clear picture is discerned and an acceptable and common history of Rwanda is written and accepted by all the social components of Rwandan society, genuine and sustainable peace will be hard to come by. On the other hand, the majority of Tutsi respondents, including Rucyahana, note that for any sustainable peace to prevail, all Hutus should collectively apologise to the Tutsis for the hurt caused to them through years of marginalisation and discrimination.

For Rucyahana, pre-colonial Rwanda was actually a Tutsi polity, which the Hutus were allowed to settle after they were driven from the present-day Democratic Republic of the Congo by the Luba people. He contends that:

We [Tutsis] provided them with shelter when they were chased from the Congo by the Luba people. Though we were not as numerous as them, we though it wise to provide them with shelter so they could in turn be a source of labour for us. They worked in our households; we in turn gave them cattle to look after [through the ubuhake cattle contract]. They cannot therefore say we are strangers in Rwanda (own translation).

45 Muntunutwiwe, J. [Lecturer at University of Burundi]. Interview, Kigali, 5 November 2013.

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Conversely, this type of argument, which, according to the study is the dominant view, betrays the underlying notion of superiority among the Tutsi class. To make matters worse, it actually perpetuates it, and makes the dominant Tutsi version of events more credible in the eyes of the people in Rwanda.

The above argument has equally permeated the dominant views of the Tutsi, who, over the years, have seen themselves as the first settlers in present-day Rwanda, and thus feel that they should be respected as such. The dominant view among Tutsi thought process is centred on themselves, as evidenced from Rucyahana’s argument. According to this, none who live in Rwanda, including the Hutus (the beneficiaries of the Hutus’ providence), should have apprehensions about having Tutsis in their midst.

Most Tutsis interviewed were of the opinion that there were no clear social class categories in the pre-colonial times. To them, the Hutus (and to a lesser extent the Twa) were experienced farmers, hunters, labourers and potters. The Tutsis prided themselves in their cattle-herding and they bartered their cattle produce with the farming produce of the Hutus and the Twa. Of perennial importance is that there were elements of social, class and economic division, but race and ethnicity were not factors. The perception of the majority of interviewees (both Hutus and Tutsis) is that these groups lived happily together. Tutsis interviewed emphasised the occupation-based needs of the various groups, and that such occupational differentiation was actually an area of convergence rather than the reason why there was division between the two groups.

However, these occupation-based historical narratives became the premise by which class and social groups were formed following the implantation of colonialism in the latter part of the nineteenth century. According to Rwanyagare,46 class distinctions were a result of the occupational responsibilities of the people, not of any form of socio-cultural hierarchical stratification caused by the Tutsi political system. The skills-based division of labour was the basis for class and social distinctions in Rwanda. For him, the occupational structure in pre-colonial Rwanda was at the centre of all forms of social hierarchy, which

46 Rwanyagare, J. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Congo]. Interview, Kigali, 17 October 2013.

159 was later transformed into a form of racial and ethnic differentiation by the various colonial administrations that occupied Rwanda after the 1890s.

However, two Tutsi academics who were interviewed specifically highlighted that the central themes of memory in the pre-colonial era were the mythical narratives of the place of the mwami and the symbols of majestic power, such as the Kalinga, in Rwanda’s socio- cultural and political setting.47 Asked about the place of the mwami in Rwandan society, all respondents called him and the institution he incarnates (Imana) the creator of Rwanda. These narratives occupy a central place in the national memory discourse. According to Mahoro,48 Imana (who is represented on earth by the mwami) was the protagonist in many myths in pre-colonial Rwanda. Imana is remembered as the reliever of people’s daily challenges and how society can be regulated. Imana is equally remembered as the protector and the source of the providence among the people of Rwanda. The people of Rwanda remembered five basic things about the mwami:

 That he is the representative of God (Imana) on earth;

 He is omnipresent and omnipotent;

 He is the providential being of the Rwandan people;

 He is the giver and taker of life; and

 His actions cannot be challenged.

Because of the above, Muntunutwiwe49 perceives the mwami as having been a permanent fixture in the memory discourse of the Rwandan people. The various mwamis that have ruled Rwanda were celebrated and remembered in myth. To more than 90 per cent of the Tutsis interviewed, the mwamis were the embodiment of the people of Rwanda and the representative of all the socio-cultural and political institutions in Rwanda. To them, the mwami represented neither the Tutsis nor the Hutus, but was the leader of all Rwandans. Tutsis also acknowledged that hardworking Hutus in the mwami’s royal court

47 Shyaka, M. [Tutsi lecturer at National University of Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 7 November 2013. 48 Mahoro, R. [Hutu, Executive Secretary of Never Again Rwanda, a reconciliation-based non-governmental organisation]. Interview. Kigali, 14 November 2013. 49 Muntunutwiwe, J. [Tutsi Lecturer at University of Burundi]. Interview, Kigali, 5 November 2013.

160 were elevated to high status in Rwandan society. To the majority of Tutsis, social class could be attained and was not a given.

On the other hand, however, though the majority of the Hutus were in agreement that the mwami represented Tutsi interests, they also acknowledged that the pre-colonial Rwanda’s mwamis were divine and were celebrated beings whose wisdom had no measure. Most Hutus interviewed remember the mwamis as those who brought fertility, made the rain fall, banished evil spirits and protected the vulnerable and disabled in society. The majority of Hutu and Tutsi respondents agreed that these kings were regarded as able to protect the cows from the wolf, tsetse flies and external enemy forces.

What has been particularly significant from all the respondents is their detailed ‘knowledge’ of the pre-colonial Rwandan socio-political settings and the importance of this in the history of Rwanda. The convergence of views on the place of the mwami in pre-colonial Rwandan society shows that division among the people of Rwanda was not as a result of how the colonial socio-political structure was formed, but the instrumentalisation of the social and economic differences to their own advantage.

One of the main issues raised in the interviews was the place of the Kalinga in Rwandan society, since the testicles of conquered kings were placed on the drum, which made many Hutus look upon it as a symbol of oppression and subjugation. This also suggests a kind of distinction between the Tutsis and Hutus in the pre-colonial era, as only the testicles of conquered Hutu kings were put on the Kalinga. This form of indirect memory also played an important part in dividing the people. Approximately half of the Hutus interviewed contend that it was important to the people whose testicles were put on the Kalinga as it reminded them of the indignity they (Hutus) suffered under the Tutsis. However, the general understanding among Tutsi respondents was that it was only recalcitrant Hutus who were subjected to such indignities, as the majority of the Hutus respected the institution of the monarchy.

On the whole, the pre-colonial period in Rwanda, as recounted by interviewees, was a period of social and occupational class formation. It is also remembered as the period when labour mobility was restricted and cattle became a social and class symbol. This,

161 according to the majority of interviewees, laid the foundation for inequality in Rwanda by recognising and elevating one segment of the population above another. During the colonial period, as the section below portrays, these differentiations in occupational and social structures were later transformed into racial differences by the colonial administration. This form of differentiated memory contributed in widening the gap between the Hutu and Tutsi and also played an important role in explaining the spontaneous (planned) reaction of the Hutu towards the Tutsi after Habyarimana’s plane was shot down over Kigali Airport on the evening of 6 April 1994, which marked the start of the genocide against the Tutsi (see Chapter 6).

4.2 Memories of the colonial era

In this section, direct and indirect recollections of respondents’ experiences of the colonial era are analysed. About 23 of the respondents directly experienced colonialism. The research benefited from these lived experiences and from learning what many of them were taught at school. It is this form of direct memory (lived experience) and indirect memory (transmitted from generation to generation) that will form the basis of this section of the thesis. From the semi-structured questions posed to respondents four broad thematic issues can be discerned:

 The occupation of the territory by the Germans in the latter part of the 19th century (which is perhaps the main area of recollection);

 The categorisation of the various social classes into racial and later ethnic groups, which is regarded as the turning point in the modern history of Rwanda;

 The role of the Catholic Church in perpetuating these perceived divisions; and

 The changing policy direction of the colonial administration at the dawn of independence, which was the main cause of the animosity between the Hutus and the Tutsis, leading to the Social Revolution of 1959 and the overthrow of the mwami in 1961.

4.2.1 The German occupation

Of all the interviews conducted in Rwanda on the memories of ordinary Rwandans, those on the occupation of the territory by the Germans in the later part of the 19th century were

162 the most poignant of all. This was primarily because this event signalled the end of the authority of the mwami over the people and the end of the vast pre-colonial Rwandan territory, which was twice the current size of the country, as well as the transformation from a class-based society to a racial one. Niyibizi50 notes that his grandparents, who witnessed the annexation, were particularly moved and saddened by the fact that the mwami’s powers were taken away from him and that he became a shadow of his former self. He further notes that because of the trauma experienced during the annexation period, Mwami Rwabugiri died a few months after the arrival of the Germans.

Rwanyagare,51 on the other hand, whose grandparents also witnessed the annexation, recalls them telling him that one of the first important observations the Germans made after their initial contact with Mwami Rwabugiri in 1894 was to notice and report back to Germany how intricate and complicated his court and everything relating to his everyday life was. He remembers that his grandparents told him how the Germans were intrigued by the fact that though the people were physiologically different, they spoke the same language and practiced the same political, social and cultural traditions. Because of the physical differences between the Hutus and Tutsis, the German colonial administrators suggested that the Tutsis could have had a different racial make-up. As a result, for Rwanyagare, a picture was created in colonial Rwanda of the Tutsi as a foreign, sacred and special racial group, different from the dark agricultural ‘negroes’ – the Hutu. This sort of reasoning subsequently shaped the direction of colonial policy.

A majority of the Hutus interviewed recollects three important issues narrated to them by their grandparents. The first was the classification of the population into racial groups, which was predominantly meant to facilitate the administration of the people and the territory. Arranged in a pyramidal order, the racial classification meant the king was at the top, followed by the Tutsis, the Hutus and the Twas. Through this hierarchical order, the Germans were able to institute a system of indirect rule and the subjugation of the Hutus and Twas. Secondly, a few Hutu interviewees such as Senyandwi52 recollect that

50 Niyibizi, J. [Retired teacher and political activist in the 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 19 October 2013. 51 Rwanyagare, J. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Congo]. Interview, Kigali, 17 October 2013. 52 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013.

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Germany’s obsession with racial stereotyping in Europe contributed to the superior ethnic status attributed to the Tutsis because of their physical resemblance to the Caucasian race. Thirdly, a few Hutu interviewees recollect Tutsis presenting themselves to the German colonial party as the ruling group, thus making them the preferred social group for the Germans to trust and work with in their quest to annex and subjugate the people of Rwanda. This, however, led to the development of a new social group within the Rwandan polity. The Tutsis, who were cattle herders and very close to the king, were transformed into a Caucasian racial group, while the agricultural Hutus were regarded as the labourers through which the hard work necessary for the implantation of colonialism in Rwanda would be achieved.

4.2.2 Transformation of social classes into racial and ethnic groups

Racial segregation as a form of the structural transformation of African colonial society became the norm soon after the implantation of colonial rule in Rwanda. Thus, based on the above assumptions, the Tutsis were looked upon as superior in thinking to their Hutu counterparts. Consequently, the Tutsis began to play an increasingly important role in the colonial administration. Many also became abusive of their power and engaged in oppressive behaviours towards their Hutu counterparts (Randall, 2012:71). Mukangwise53 remembers her father recounting how the Hutu socio-political and cultural values were infused into the new Tutsi cultural landscape that the colonial administrators were building. She remembers that the propagation of Tutsi political and social culture was at the expense of Hutu political systems. Because of the colonial policy’s orientation, Hutu cultures and tradition gradually disappeared from the socio-political landscape of colonial Rwanda, though several efforts were made by Hutus such as Mbonymutwa and Kayibanda54 to keep the Hutu cultural history alive.

As a result, within individual memory narratives, the memories of the bravery of Tutsi kings and warriors became an important part of the identity of the Tutsi people. These

53 Mukangwise, T. [Hutu community activist, Butare]. Interview. Butare, 19 October 2013. 54 Dominique Mbonymutwa and Gregoire Kayibanda were fervent Roman Catholic conservative Hutu nationalists. They believe in the ethnic supremacy of the Hutus and believe Rwanda was a Hutu nation. Mbonymutwa became the first president of the Council of Ministers in 1959 after the Social Revolution and the Kayibanda took over from him in 1962 after independence.

164 shared experiences and memories, and the values they create and sustain, provide distinctive identities to individuals and communities (Hecht, 2006:10). Niyibizi55 recollects that the Tutsi were a distinct group of people who had very different political and social systems from the rest of the people in Rwanda. These political and socio-cultural systems were preserved in dance, artefacts and religious and cultural ceremonies. The colonial administration, however, noticed the distinction and therefore sought to separate the Tutsis from the rest of the people of Rwanda.

As a result of this recognition during the colonial era, the Tutsis’ identity emerged as a distinct cultural, historical and social construct. Their actions as warriors and carriers of superior facets of Rwandan civilisation were transmitted through stories told in families, works of art and secluded sacred gatherings. The Hutus were not particularly happy about the propagation of these types of narratives, as in the process, the Hutu civilisation and culture were suppressed and relegated to the back burner of colonial Rwandan history. Mukangwise56 further recollects that the propagation of Tutsi political and social culture was at the expense of Hutu political systems. Because of the colonial policy’s orientation, Hutu culture and traditions gradually disappeared from the socio-political landscape of colonial Rwanda.

About 25 of the Hutu respondents recalled that their grandparents were not happy with the manner the colonial administration treated them and the situation in which it placed them. As a result (as discussed in Chapter 1), the memories of Hutu polities that survived the Tutsi/colonial administration’s subjugation and conquest of Rwanda were reawakened and celebrated after 1959. They remember that the memory of Hutu heroes such as Ndungutse, leader of one of the Hutu polities who refused to surrender to the Germans and the Tutsis, was celebrated in Ruhengeri (Musanze), especially during Habyarimana’s rule. Furthermore, nostalgic representations of memory by the Hutus in the colonial era centred on the need for a return to the pre-colonial epoch, concerning

55 Niyibizi, J. [Retired Tutsi teacher and political activist in the 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 19 October 2013. 56 Mukangwise, T. [Hutu community activist, Butare]. Interview. Butare, 19 October 2013.

165 which there seems to be a convergence of views on the amicable and friendly manner that characterised Hutu/Tutsi relations.

Thus, among the interviewees, there is a clear division between the memories of the Tutsi on the one hand, and the Hutu on the other, which could be attributed to the German, and later also the Belgian, administrations. One of the outcomes of this division was the creation of two worldviews, one Hutu and the other Tutsi, which later culminated in antagonistic relations between the two groups. The respective colonial administrations embarked on this process of segregation by dehumanising the Hutu through a process of indirect rule, whereby all Hutu chiefs were dethroned and replaced with Tutsi chiefs. According to Sedagari,57 the dethroned Hutu chiefs were made servants of the various Tutsi monarchs. Furthermore, Hutu chiefs were speared, and for Sedagari, this was done to ensure that the Hutus never rebelled against the authority of the Tutsi monarchs, and to show that whatever they did to disavow the Tutsi monarch would be met with severe consequences.

The above dehumanisation process was also institutionalised. Hutus were tasked to do menial jobs in the households of Tutsi elites, in the royal courts and in the houses of colonial administrators. Bikisha58 remembers that calling someone a muhutu was synonymous to calling them slave or someone who performs menial jobs for his/her master. He opines that it is still common today in Rwanda to casually call someone a muhutu, which still signifies a slave or someone who performs menial jobs.

In addition, Mukangwise59 recollects that only Tutsi children were allowed to attend schools and Hutus were increasingly seen as labourers on large colonial agricultural plantations and in colonially supported industries. Furthermore, only Tutsi and colonial administrators were managers and foremen at these companies and institutions. As a result of this dehumanisation process, the colonial Rwandan society became more polarised, with the downgraded Hutu on the one hand, and the Tutsi beneficiaries on the other. This prompted people to create different pathways for development, organising

57 Sedagari, C. [Hutu community leader, Butare]. Interview. Butare, 21 October 2013. 58 Bikesha, D. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Uganda]. Interview. Kigali, 30 October 2013. 59 Mukangwise, T. [A Hutu community activist, Butare]. Interview. Butare, 19 October 2013.

166 themselves in racial and hierarchical structures without any proper directive from the colonial or monarchical institutions. This resentment between the two groups became so deep that talk of exterminating the Tutsis already became evident in the late 1950s.

From the interviews, the dominant view was that socio-cultural differences between the Hutus and Tutsis were formed out of the design of the colonial administration to better address the challenges of administering the territory. The concept of ‘divide and rule’, which had been perfected in many parts around British Africa became the main strategy that the Germans implemented in Rwanda. From the interviews it was clear that the social and ethnic differences were a by-product of indirect rule and Germany’s pre-occupation with class and race in the later part of the nineteenth century.

As a result of the implantation of this form of indirect rule, Sedagari60 recalls his grandparents telling him that the extermination of the Tutsis was deemed the only way in which the Hutu could undo the harm done to them by the Tutsis and colonialism. This was, he says, frequently contemplated as a feasible path to pursue as the territory prepared for independence in the late 1950s.

4.2.3 Memory on the role of the Catholic Church in perpetuating divisions in Rwanda

All the respondents interviewed emphasised, in one way or another, the role that religion, and in particular the Catholic Church, played in widening the gap between the Hutus and Tutsis. Most of what is remembered by interviewees centres on three thematic issues:

 The changing Catholic Church policies on social and racial class structure in Rwanda;

 The manipulation of the political system to favour a particular social/ethnic group; and

 The alignment of the church with state affairs.

60 Sedagari, C. [Hutu community leader, Butare]. Interview. Butare, 21 October 2013.

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The dominant view among Tutsi respondents points to the fact that the changing policies of the Catholic Church regarding the various social groups in Rwanda (together with the role of the colonial administrations) were at the centre of the division between the Hutus and Tutsis. For Muzungu,61 the change in the policy of the Catholic Church in 1957 from supporting the Tutsis as the true leaders of Rwanda towards empowering the Hutus to take over from the departing colonial administrators led to the development of mutual hatred.

Muzungu recalls that Bishop Perraudin, the Catholic Bishop appointed to lead the decolonisation process in Rwanda, openly recognised and supported the Hutus in the creation of a more inclusive and democratic post-colonial government. He further recollects that Bishop Perraudin’s pastoral letter of March 1959, which specifically identifies the Tutsis as the main purveyors of division in Rwanda, was unfortunate. According to him, the pastoral letter brought about much discomfort between the Tutsis and Hutus. On the other hand, the Tutsis began to rely on the teachings of Alexis Kagame, a Tutsi priest and philosopher whose works include: Le Code des Institutions Politiques de Rwanda (The Code of Political Institutions in Rwanda), Un Abrégé de l’Ethno-histoire du Rwanda (An Abridged Ethno-history of Rwanda), La Philosophie Bantu-Rwandaise de l'Être (The Bantu Philosophy of Being) and, Les Milices du Rwanda Précolonial (The Pre- colonial Rwandan Militias) validate the standpoint that Rwanda was a Tutsi creation. Kagame’s work portrays the Tutsi as members of a chosen ethnic group whose character and demeanour should not be question, and whose role as leaders and bringers of civilisation to the people of Rwanda should not be doubted.

According to Kambanda,62 the Tutsi Roman Catholic Bishop of Kibungo, the Church manipulated the prevailing political environment in Rwanda at the end of 1959 to impose an unpopular political system on Rwanda. According to him, the PARMEHUTU candidates were supported by the Church and given the necessary logistical support to

61 Muzungu, B. [Retired Tutsi Roman Catholic Church priest, Rwanda’s independence hero and confidante of Kayibanda]. Interview. Kigali, 12 October 2013.

62 Kambanda, A. [Tutsi, Roman Catholic Bishop of Kibungo and member of the Peace and Security Commission of the Rwandan Bishop’s conference]. Interview. Kibungo, 28 October 2013.

168 take over from the departing colonial administrators. He remembers that before the imposition of Hutu power on Rwanda, church leaders played significant roles in romanticising the Rwandan past and making Rwanda look like a Hamitic kingdom, whereas the original differences in Rwandan society were social, not racial or ethnic. Kambanda further recollects that though Tutsis were aware of their superior aesthetic stature, they did not overtly flaunt it or demand special privileges. Ntigurirwa,63 a Hutu, remembers that soon after the arrival of colonialists, the missionaries began to play important roles in advising Tutsi kings of the political and social policies that they needed to take. One of their first pieces of advice was that they should ensure that Tutsis were given a high political and social standing in society, as they were definitely not Africans.

According to Ntigurirwa,64 the superior political and social position in which the Tutsi found themselves after the implantation of colonialism was as a result of missionary advice. It was possible, Ntigurirwa recollects, for the church to have such an influence on the Rwandan society because it had succeeded in establishing itself in several parts of Rwanda before the arrival of the colonial administrators. Many Tutsis (including Muzungu) remember that because of the church’s policy of empowering the Tutsi, the Tutsi subsequently had an appetite for power and thought that political power in Rwanda belonged to them.

4.2.4 The changing policy direction of the Church and the colonial administration

Over time, the position of the Church regarding the place of the Tutsis in Rwandan society changed. This changing policy position became effective with the appointment of Perraudin as the Bishop of Kabgayi, Rwanda, in 1957. According to Muzungu: 65

The appointment of Perraudin was uncommon because of his liberal stance on a lot of the Church’s doctrine. It was normal to appoint conservatives to high positions within the church hierarchy. As a result of his appointment and because

63 Ntigurirwa, S. [community leader and civil society activist, Ruhengeri]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 2 November 2013. 64 Ntigurirwa, S. [Hutu community leader and civil society activist, Ruhengeri]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 2 November 2013. 65 Muzungu, B. [Retired Roman Catholic Church priest, Rwanda’s independence hero and confidante of Kayibanda]. Interview. Kigali, 12 October 2013.

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of his liberal and equity-driven stance with regard to the social problems in Rwanda, significant and revolutionary movements were bound to happen (own translation).

Since Perraudin was a liberal humanist with a lot of respect for equality and equity, he was quite shocked to notice that in Rwanda the minority ethnic population was in control of the political and economic spheres of the country. In his initial pastoral letter in February 1959 he states that:

In our Rwanda, the political and social inequalities are largely related to differences of race. In the sense that the wealth on the one hand and political power and judiciary powers are in reality in the hands of the same race group.66

Perraudin’s pastoral letter was interpreted as an endorsement of the Hutus’ agitation for political power. According to Muzungu, the action of the Catholic Church at that time was seen as an endorsement of the Hutu Manifesto of 1957, which accuses the Tutsis of being the main cause of the political upheavals in the country. From various signs, and from his close collaboration with the post-colonial administrations, it could be suggested that Perraudin sympathised with the Hutu. According to Muzungu, the effect of the church’s recognition of the dignity and independence of Hutu polities before the arrival of the Tutsis was palpable, and was interpreted by the Hutus as a form of acceptance of the fact that the Hutus were the original inhabitants of Rwanda.

Tutsis were therefore seen as invaders who should recognise the Hutus as the majority and find ways of working with them in the post-colonial dispensation. According to Kambanda,67 it was as a result of the teachings of the Catholic Church that the Hutus started having misgivings about the Tutsis. According to Kambanda:

… the Catholic Church in Rwanda created a society that was not a reflection of Rwandan society. Their understanding of Rwandan society was based on the old European feudal system, which was infatuated with class. He remembers that the

66 Available at: http://www.olny.nl/RWANDA/Archives/perraudin_careme.html 67 Kambanda, A. [Tutsi Bishop of Kibungo Diocese and member of the Justice and Peace Commission of the Rwanda Association of Bishops]. Interview. Kibungo, 28 October 2013.

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change in the Church’s policy was premised on the liberal doctrine that prevailed in Africa in the late 1950s and early 1960s (own translation).

The Tutsi were quite apprehensive of the changing attitude of the Church, and the monarchy, under King Rudahingwa, called several meetings with the Church, with the mediation of the colonial administration. These meetings bore no concrete result, as it was evident that the church had made its stand and was not going to deviate from it. The Tutsi elites were therefore quite apprehensive about the changing stance of the church. The church’s position was also influenced by the local Hutu clergies, who thought the time had come for the Hutus to take the political reins from the departing colonial administration. To support his point, Muzungu recollects that Nikwigize, the Bishop of Ruhengeri in the early 1960s, stated that the Tutsis were in a bad position and that their attitudes justified the shifting position of the church and their killings in the run-up to independence.

According to Muzungu, instead of the church being a moderating factor, it took an active part in the implementation of an ideology of hate, deceitfulness and violence, which eventually culminated in the genocide of 1994. Kambanda68 recollects that, based on the number of priests and bishops killed during the genocide and the massive number that are currently in jail for taking active part in the genocide, it can be said that the church participated in sowing the seeds of division in Rwandan society. Kambanda claims that the role of a priest in society is to reconcile people, but the fact that Perraudin was a divisive element speaks for itself.

On the other hand, as can be expected, many Hutu respondents did not see Perraudin as divisive. Senyandwi69 contends that the fact that the church recognised the ability of the Hutus to lead a post-colonial democratic Rwanda says something about their degree of leadership ability and self-control. Thus, such recognition by the colonial administration

68 Kambanda, A. [Tutsi Bishop of Kibungo Diocese and member of the Justice and Peace Commission of the Rwanda Association of Bishops]. Interview. Kibungo, 28 October 2013. 69 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013.

171 is frequently used to justify the assertion that the Hutus were capable and ready to rule Rwanda in 1962.

Therefore, based on the interviews and from what people could remember, two broad themes can be discerned in the colonial period concerning the division between Hutus and Tutsis. Firstly, the Hutus have a different recollection of the colonial period from the Tutsis. The second theme is that memory can be used to advance a particular political agenda and to suit a particular direction that a group of people may want to take. For the Hutus, the colonial period saw the combination of two complimentary views whose agenda was to subjugate the Hutus to the point of serfdom. On the other hand, the Tutsis saw the colonial period as an epoch where they could consolidate their power over the polity. However, events leading up to independence in 1962 proved to be quite different from what the Tutsis had planned. Consequently, all the political capital they built over the 300 years of their political leadership in Rwanda has been eroded. The persistence of the rule of the Hutus can also be regarded as an impetus behind the sad events of 1994.

4.3 Post-colonial memories

With the exception of one, all interviewees have lived experiences of the post-colonial period. For the purpose of this discussion, the post-colonial period is the period between 1 July 1962 (Independence Day) and 6 April 1994 – the day that president Habyarimana was killed and the genocide started. This section of the chapter examines what respondents remember of this period in terms of the animosity between the Tutsis and Hutus. From the semi-structured interviews of respondents, three thematic issues can be discerned:

 The inyenzi (Tutsi guerrilla) attacks after 1962 and their impact on Tutsi and Hutu relations in the post-colonial era;

 The commemoration and celebration of the Hutuness of the post-colonial era, the Tutsi refugee question and the intransigent attitude of the various post-colonial administrations; and

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 The disagreement between the two Hutu administrations after independence on the manner in which the Tutsi question should be handled.

4.3.1 Memory and violence: The inyenzi attacks

Asked what the issues were that marked the period after the departure of the colonial administrators, all the Hutu respondents recalled the government’s uneasiness with the constant inyenzi (Tutsi guerrilla) attacks. Mahoro70 recollects that the persistence of the attacks was a sign of defiance, a sign that the Tutsis were not ready to be led by a Hutu. According to Mahoro, the ferocity of the inyenzi attacks was purposefully meant to recreate a Rwandan society that the 1959 revolution and the 1961 overthrow of the monarchy had abolished. Mahoro was also of the opinion that the sustained nature of the inyenzi was a clear testimony to the desire of the Tutsi to maintain their feudal privileges and to keep the Hutus as perpetual serfs, though the latter are in the majority. In addition, Musanaberg71 emphasised that the violent inyenzi rebellion brought back memories of the fate of Hutu kings during the pre-colonial and colonial eras, who were killed by their Tutsi counterparts and had their genitals put on the sacred Tutsi drum (Kalinga).

The memories of the way in which the Hutu kings were killed in the pre-colonial and colonial periods made the revenge killing after the inyenzi invasion and during the genocide the most atrocious and cruel. According to Shyaka,72 the violent way in which the Tutsi people were killed bore all traces of the revenge killings that the Hutus were subjected to during the pre-colonial and colonial era.

4.3.2 The celebration of Hutuness in post-colonial Rwanda

On the question of what the main, distinctive issues that characterised the post-colonial administration were, all the Hutu respondents recalled the commemorative events marking milestones in the life of the post-colonial country. They remembered the elaborate ceremonies commemorating the independence of the country and others

70 Mahoro, E. [Hutu Executive Secretary, Never Again Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 14 October 2013. 71 Musanaberg, F. [Community activist in Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali]. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 18 October 2013. 72 Shyaka, M. [Lecturer at National University of Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 7 November 2013.

173 marking the collapse of the monarchy, which eventually gave birth to the post-colonial dispensation. Such commemorative events were promoted through public media, symbols, and practices, with the intention of embedding the Hutuness of the country in the minds of the people. A further question was then posed on how respondents remembered post-colonial nation-building projects. Uwineza73 recollects that:

… Hutu-specific political events were commemorated and given the widest media coverage. Those who could not celebrate the birth of the Hutu nation were looked upon as those who prefer despotic rulers to a democratic dispensation that the Hutus have brought to Rwanda.

On the other hand, for the Tutsi respondents, the post-colonial period was just a continuation of Belgian rule in Rwanda. According to Rucyahana,74 most of the ministers in the post-colonial administration were Belgian nationals, suggesting that Rwandans were not ready and were not given the opportunity to rule. He further added that Tutsis who could have given the necessary impetus to the new nation were forced into exile. However, all the respondents recall the date of independence as particularly symbolic, since it signalled the end of the Tutsi-dominated monarchy.

In memorialisation projects, as argued in Chapter 1, the past does not emerge as a complete object to be revivified; it is constantly contested as a contemporary project that needs to be nurtured, and fertile minds have to be cultivated to accept such discourse (Lebel, 2009:242). On the question of why the Tutsis were neglected in the memorialisation narratives in the post-colonial era, all the Hutu respondents indicated that the task of the new leaders, after independence, was to preach and justify the political foundation on which the Hutu state was anchored so as to enable the state institutions to note its constitutional grounding. According to Niyitegeka,75 the only way in which the post-colonial Hutu politicians could instil a sense of nationhood in the minds of the people was through such commemorations. On the other hand, Hutu scholars were urged to

73 Uwineza, C. [Hutu Niece to Kayibanda, Rwanda’s first president]. Interview, Butare, 23 October 2013. 74 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Tutsi Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013. 75 Niyitegeka, S. [A Hutu widow whose husband was killed during the genocide. She also played the role of a sage (uyamuganyu) during the gacaca process]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 24 October 2013.

174 teach a history of Rwanda that reflected the contribution of Hutus to nation-building. According to Mvuriye,76 such teachings were meant to re-write the history of Rwanda, considering the importance of historiography in the development of a young nation. Historiography was therefore an important tool that the post-colonial administration used to instil a sense of pride and direction in the people of an independent Rwanda.

4.3.3 Memory narratives in post-colonial Hutu administrations

A question was posed to respondents on how they viewed the two Hutu administrations (1962 – 1994) and the manner in which the Tutsis were treated. According to all the Hutus interviewed, the post-colonial era was tailored to the celebration of the country’s Hutuness and the celebration of the ruling party (PARMEHUTU) as the dominant political force. After 1966, it was the sole political organisation that could bring development and peace to the people of Rwanda. According to Lynbona,77 the remembrance of Hutu heroes in the immediate post-colonial Rwanda was mandatory for everybody in Rwanda – be it Tutsi or Twa. He recalls that it was a national obligation for all Rwandans to respect and commemorate this day, with the view of making it a permanent feature in the political and cultural calendar of the country. He further remembers that after the inyenzi campaign, the focus was on making Tutsis commemorate Independence Day (which was the day on which the monarchy ceased to exist). This made the Tutsis in Rwanda hostile towards the government, as they were forced to celebrate a day that they did not particularly have any attachment to. According to him, the Tutsis who remained in the country after the 1959 peasant revolution were therefore forced to either partake in the celebration of the triumph of republicanism, or be accused of being supporters of the inyenzi uprising.

Asked what they remembered of the second Hutu administration (1973 – 1994), all Tutsi respondents were of the view that a more nationalistic approach was adopted to reinforce the Hutu foundation of the country. According to Rucyahana,78 Habyarimana’s government was principally geared towards preserving the gains the Hutus had achieved

76 Mvuriye, A. [Tutsi pensioner. Worked as a history teacher during Kayibanda and Habyarimana’s administrations]. Interview. Kigali, 16 October 2013. 77 Lynbona, D. [Hutu civil servant in Ruhengeri]. Interview, Ruhengeri, 5 November 2013. 78 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Tutsi Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013.

175 after independence. Rucyahana recalls that Habyarimana’s doctrine for the consolidation of the ‘Hutu nation’ fell on receptive ears and his administration tried to invent new narratives to decontextualise the memory debate within such a multi-ethnic society. For Rucyahana, Habyarimana’s approach in recognising the Tutsi as an ethnic minority won him some support, though not enough to reconcile with the Tutsis, especially those in the diaspora. According to Rucyahana, there were attempts by the Habyarimana administration to return the Tutsi refugees in Uganda to Rwanda, especially after the victory of the National Resistance Movement (NRM) in Uganda. However, no concrete measures were put in place to ensure the safety and well-being of the Tutsi returnees.

The post-colonial flag was also seen as an important issue that marked the post-colonial administration’s break with the colonial and Tutsi past. To all Hutu respondents, the post- colonial flag was an auspicious symbol that united Rwandans. It should be noted that the post-colonial flag did not depart significantly from the royal pan-African-inspired flag. The post-colonial administration was careful not to alienate the royalists and the Tutsis who had begun to identify themselves with the state of Rwanda and the royal flag. What the new administration did was to put a large black letter ‘R’ in the middle of the flag to distinguish it from the flag of Guinea Conakry.

Tutsi respondents, on the other hand, saw the new flag as a symbol of the usurpation of power by the Hutus. Rwanyagare79 recollects that Tutsi Rwandese in exile were bent on making sure that the old royal flag with the royal drum in the middle should be the symbol of the post-colonial state. According to him, the Hutu administration that came to power in 1962 did not represent the views of all Rwandans, but merely a section of the Rwandan society who were adamant that Tutsis should not partake in the process of governing a post-colonial Rwanda. In Ndayisabye’s80 view, the post-colonial administrations resented the drum and cattle symbols as national symbols because they represented the oppression of the Tutsi and were also seen as a reminder of the tyrannical system that the Hutu wanted to leave behind. It can be argued that this division that seemed to exist

79 Rwanyagare, J. [Tutsi returnee refugee from Congo. Left Rwanda in 1959 as a teenager, currently a teacher in Rwanda]. Interview. Nyanza – Kicukiro, Kigali, 17 October 2013. 80 Ndayisabye, V. [Hutu, former employee of Hôtel des Diplomates]. Interview. Kigali, 12 October 2013.

176 between Hutus and Tutsis concerning the national symbols played a role in conditioning the minds of the Tutsis into perceiving the post-colonial administration as wanting to destroy the history of the Tutsis in Rwanda.

On the whole, nationalistic memory debates show that, despite the danger of remembering the past through the either/or lens of victim and perpetrator, the Habyarimana regime (according to the Tutsis interviewed) insisted on and implemented measures that portrayed the Tutsi as perpetrators of crimes against the Hutu people in the pre-colonial and colonial era. Whether this was indeed the case is of lesser importance, since perceptions can create negative relationships with the other group. Viewing the debate from an identity perspective, Habyarimana was accused of emphasising the ethnic and national trauma which Tutsi actions caused the Hutu and thus encouraged an ‘us versus them’ mindset. Within the realm of national memory narratives, the overthrow of the monarchy was seen as a victory for the Hutu nation and was remembered as the day the shackles of slavery were broken, the day the Hutu regained their dignity – the day modern Rwanda was born.

4.4 Conclusion

This chapter analysed memory in pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial Rwanda, paying particular attention to how memory was used by the colonial administrators, the Catholic Church and the Hutu political elites to foster a Rwandan society that responded to their political whims. The chapter compared and contrasted Tutsi and Hutu memories of pre- colonial, colonial and post-colonial Rwanda. The chapter showed that Hutus and Tutsis exhibit differing memories and perspectives on how the pre-colonial Rwandan society should be represented. While the Hutus remembered the pre-colonial era as a period when independent Hutu principalities flourished, the Tutsis, on the other hand, see it as a period when the Tutsi king was the king of all Rwanda and the Hutus respected and accepted this form of political control.

The chapter also analysed the transformation of Rwanda’s social classes into racial and ethnic groups. As with many other societies in Africa, the transformation of these classes into racial groups breeds competition and hatred. This led to violent confrontation, as each

177 group tried to surpass the other both in the political and social domains. The creation of these divisions compelled the various groups to make deliberate efforts at forming group solidarity and alliances in order to compete for the meagre economic resources of the country. Because competition is counter-productive to inter-group solidarity, hatred and violence was bound to develop.

In a nationalistic and conservative environment, the post-colonial administrations operated under a strict political system whereby Rwanda was first and foremost a Hutu republic. Interviewees remembered that this form of governance was acceptable to both the colonial and church authorities. The insistence that the post-colonial Rwanda be a Hutu republic left no room for Tutsis. Thus, the invasion of Rwanda in 1990 was meant to force the Habyarimana government to recognise the Tutsis as an integral part of Rwandan society. The chapter concludes by arguing that the polarising nature of the memory narratives of the Hutus and Tutsis and the inability of the colonial administration and church authorities to nuance these led to divisions between the people of Rwanda. The contribution of this division to the genocide of 1994 cannot be overstated.

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CHAPTER 5

SETTING THE SCENE FOR THE GENOCIDE: 1990 – 1994

5 Introduction

The previous chapter concluded with an analysis of the ‘memory’ of Hutus and Tutsis of the post-colonial period until 1990. This chapter focuses on the events leading up to the genocide in 1994. It analyses two key historical issues at the dawn of the April 1994 events, namely: the invasion of Rwanda by the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) and the Arusha Accords of 1993. The overarching theme of the chapter is the response of the Hutu political leaders to the invasion of Rwanda on 1 October 1990 and how this response served as a catalyst for the genocide. The chapter provides an account of what happened in the final years of the Habyarimana administration and how it was perceived by the respondents. In essence, the chapter provides the immediate causes of the genocide as well as the manner in which the international community, including the United Nations (UN), reacted to the unfolding events in Rwanda.

The chapter is divided into three sections. The first section gives the background to the chapter by analysing the indigenisation policies in Uganda and how they set the stage for the return of Rwandan Tutsis to Rwanda. The section analyses the invasion of Rwanda by the RPF and its repercussions in Rwanda. The second section analyses efforts at reconciling the government of Habyarimana with the RPF, and the last section focuses on the genocide. The chapter concludes by discussing the genocide, the pattern it took and the manner in which most of the people were killed. It also analyses the position of the UN vis-à-vis the killings and some of the policy positions advanced by the UN for its non-intervention approach.

5.1 Uganda’s indigenisation policies and their impact on Rwandan Tutsi refugees

One of the outcomes of the 1959 revolution and the subsequent oppression suffered by Tutsis in Rwanda under the Kayibanda and Hahyarimana administrations (as discussed in Chapter 2), was the migration of dissatisfied Tutsis to neighbouring countries. There were more than 70,000 Rwandans in Uganda during the second Obote administration of

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1980 to 1984. Though statistics did not show who was Hutu or Tutsi, it has been argued that more than 75 per cent of all Rwandan refugees in Uganda were Tutsis.

Asked about the economic activities and employment opportunities for Rwandan refugees in Rwanda prior to 1994, Rwabutogo81 contends that few economic opportunities were available to Rwandan refugees, as all refugees were required by law to stay in refugee camps. He further opines that the situation was compounded by the 1984 Alien Act, which forbade all refugees from belonging to a cooperative, forming part of the executive of a trade union, or belonging to a youth movement. Article 6(2) of the Aliens Act of 1984 also forbade refugees from joining or managing a political party or playing any role in party politics in Uganda. According to Rwabutogo, this troubling Act made many Rwandan refugees prisoners in a country with which they shared political and ethnic affinities.

Conversant with the difficulties faced by Rwandan refugees in Uganda, Yoweri Museveni, the minister of armed forces in the Obote administration, decided to form the National Resistance Movement (NRM), with the bulk of its first adherents being Rwandan Tutsi refugees. According to Mvuriye,82 more than 80 per cent of Tutsi refugees joined the NRM, mainly to escape the economic effects of the new Aliens Act promulgated by the Obote government. Mvuriye further contends that it was compulsory for all Rwandan Tutsi refugees to be a member of the Rwandese Alliance for National Unity, RANU, and the Rwandan Refugees Welfare Society, RRWS. A delegation from these two bodies secretly toured East Africa persuading Tutsi refugees of the necessity of contributing funds for the invasion of Rwanda.

The coming to power in Uganda of the leader of the NRM, Yoweri Museveni, in 1986, in which Rwandan refugees played a major role, paved the way for them to organise themselves in an environment free from persecution and fear. The large number of Tutsi refugees in the NRM became a major problem that the Museveni administration had to

81 Rwabutogo, E. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Uganda. Left Rwanda as a young civil servant in 1959 after the 1959 revolution]. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 11 November 2013.

82 Mvuriye, A. [Tutsi, pensioner. Worked as a history teacher during Kayibanda and Habyarimana’s administrations]. Interview. Kigali, 16 October 2013.

180 deal with. Steps were therefore taken to ensure that these refugees returned to their home country.

A good number of Museveni’s National Resistance Army (NRA) came from Tutsi refugee camps in the west of Uganda. At the peak of Museveni’s guerrilla war, 45% of his combatants were made up of people of Tutsi background. After the NRA took power in Uganda, most of the senior army officers were of Tutsi background. Prominent among them include Rwigyema and Wasswa, as well as Majors Peter Banyingana, Christopher Bunyenyezi, Samuel Kanyemera, Paul Kagame and Stephen Nduguta (Prunier, 1995:93). They formed the backbone of Museveni’s NRA. A move by Museveni to ensure that all top ranking army officials in his army were Ugandan necessitated that these army officers of Rwandan background looked for ways of returning to their land of birth, Rwanda. It is, however, important to note that Banyarwanda, as people of Rwandese background are known, comprised three distinct groups in Uganda. The first is the nationals who were part of the Ugandan colonial state at the time the country’s western borders were defined by the 1910 agreement between Germany and Britain. The second group comprised migrants who crossed the border during the colonial era in search of a better livelihood, and, lastly, refugees who came to Uganda as a result of the political crisis in postcolonial Rwanda (Mamdani, 2001: 162).

Des Forges (1999:47) contends that the bulk of those who were conscripted by the NRA were Rwandan refugees who came to Rwanda after the 1959 – 1964 political crises in Rwanda. Though most of the Rwandese were settled in about eight refugee camps, many left the camps and were able to earn a living by grazing herds on the adjacent lands. These Rwandese herders entered the Lake Mburu National Park, which had been allocated to Ugandan elites as part of a land reform programme that was financed by USAID and the World Bank. Mamdani (2001:165) cogently argues that the occupation of these important parcels of land by Rwandese refugees brought the Banyarwandan refugee question to the forefront of Ugandan politics, forming the immediate backdrop to the RPF invasion of October 1990.

The post-colonial Ugandan government was also appalled by the number of Banyarwandans in the country. In response to this, as mentioned above, the first Obote

181 administration passed the Control of Alien Refugees Act. This legislation made the Rwandese a special class of residents subject to arbitrary arrest and questioning (Mamdani, 2001:167). The passing of the Act was followed in 1969 by a presidential decree that ordered the removal of all unskilled foreigners from public employment in Uganda. The decree went further, ordering a census of all refugees in Uganda with the sole objective of expelling Banyarwandans, who had become a political liability to the Obote administration. All these measures angered many Banyarwandans and the urge to go back to Rwanda became increasingly compelling.

Thus, the Museveni administration provided the Rwandese refugees with enough time to prepare for the invasion of Rwanda for the purpose of returning to their homeland (Rutaremara & Muzungu, 1996:41). Despite the sacrifices made by the Rwandese refugees in the Museveni’s successful campaign, they were legally disallowed from occupying important positions in the Museveni administration (Mamdani, 2001:167). Thus, the indigenisation policy that the Museveni administration embarked upon in the late 1980s provided the necessary impetus to the Rwandan refugees to organise themselves properly for the invasion of Rwanda. Continuing to stay was counter- productive to the millions of Tutsi Rwandans in Uganda.

Though by 1989 French and Rwandan intelligence reports indicated that there was a planned invasion of Rwanda from Uganda, those reports were not treated with any seriousness in Kigali (Mamdani, 2001:162). Muzungu83 holds that there were rumours in political and church circles that Rwandan Tutsis would attack Rwanda in early 1991. However, according to Muzungu, the Habyarimana administration believed that measures were being put in place to accommodate the Tutsis. There would therefore be no need for the Tutsis to invade. Secondly, there was optimism in Rwanda that any such force would be defeated anyway. Muzungu further contends that one of the other reasons why the invasion rumours were not taken seriously was the financial and logistical support

83 Muzungu, B. [Retired Tutsi Roman Catholic Church priest, Rwanda’s independence hero and confidante of Kayibanda]. Interview. Kigali, 12 October 2013.

182 which the French government of Francois Mitterrand had given to Habyarimana, making it feel invincible in the the confidence that any invasion of Rwanda would be crushed.

Despite the dismissal of the invasion rumours, the Habyarimana administration created the Special Commission on the Problems of Rwandan Refugees, which was to complement the work of the Joint Rwanda–Uganda Ministerial Committee on the Problems of Refugees (Prunier, 1995:90-91). This, however, did not help to calm the growing preparation within the RPF for the invasion. With the apparent failure of the two initiatives, Rwandans woke on 1 October 1990 with sustained gunfire on the border with Uganda as Banyarwandans, with the support of the NRA, crossed into Rwanda from Uganda. According to Rwanyindo,84 the Habyarimana administration was perceived not to have taken the 1 October 1990 invasion seriously, and was surprised by the speed with which the RPF advanced on the first day of the attack. He maintains that measures were put in place to protect Hutus across the country and to organise a citizen defence of the country if need be. This was evident in the manner in which guns and machetes were distributed to people to defend their villages and towns from the ‘alien invaders’.

Besides the promotion of an ethnic-based politics in Rwanda and the indigenisation of the Ugandan public sphere, three other important issues precipitated the RPF invasion of Rwanda in 1990, which eventually led to the genocide. These were, firstly, the fight for positions between the army and Hutu politicians within the Habyarimana government; secondly, the unresolved Tutsi refugee question; and thirdly, the economic crisis of the 1980s. Concerning the first issue, the squabbles between the army and politicians over important positions within the government were compounded by the fight for political positions between the northern and southern Hutus. Senyandwi85 holds that before the invasion, Rwandan politicians were divided along regional lines. He maintains that the army was increasingly openly defying orders from the president. The invasion was therefore timed to take advantage of the weakened position of the government and to inflict the heaviest casualties on the Habyarimana army.

84 Rwanyindo, T. [Lecturer National University of Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 2 November 2013. 85 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013.

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Concerning the second issue, Tutsi refugees were to be repatriated to Rwanda from Uganda, Congo and Burundi according to the terms of a Rwandan inter-ministerial committee on refugees. However, the government of Habyarimana failed to implement these recommendations, thus leaving the RPF with no option but to invade Rwanda in order for the refugees to return. The third issue, the economic crisis of the 1980s, caused by the decline of the prices of Rwanda’s main cash crop, coffee, affected the ability of the Rwandan government to address fundamental issues relating to the repatriation of the refugees and to pacify the internal Hutu opposition, which was gaining more support.

On the other hand, the RPF had also timed the invasion to happen in 1990 so as to pre- empt the introduction of multiparty politics by the Habyarimana administration. If the Habyarimana administration had implemented a multiparty system of governance, it would have deprived the RPF of one of its best public relations positions, that it was fighting a totalitarian, single-party dictatorship (Prunier, 1995:91; Otunnu, 1999:36). This allowed the Tutsis to instrumentalise the ethnic divisions by pre-empting the planned introduction of multiparty politics in 1992 with the invasion in 1990, thus making their cause more palatable in the eyes of the international community.

5.2 The invasion of Rwanda by the RPF

The plan to help Rwandese émigrés in Uganda invade Rwanda was kept top secret, and by 1988 as many as half of the commanding and rank and file positions within the NRA were occupied by those of Rwandese background. Prominent among these include Musitu, who was head of the NRA training service, Banyingana, head of the medical service, Kagame, acting head of military security, and most importantly, Rwigyema, commander-in-chief of the NRA (Prunier, 1995:91). Members of the Return to Rwanda (RTR) association were frequently briefed on the strength and capabilities of the Habyarimana administration to wage a campaign against any outside force supported by the RTR association. By 1990, the RTR association, which had reorganised itself into a military force called the Rwandan Patriotic Front, (RPF), was informed by Valens Kajeguhakwa, a prominent Tutsi businessman, and Pasteur Bizimungu, a Hutu, that the Habyarimana regime was on the verge of collapse and any push from outside would hasten its total demise (Prunier, 1995:90). Rwigyema quickly assembled a platoon of

184 about 100 and attacked the Kagitumba border post on the afternoon of 1 October 1990. In the later part of the campaign, Rwigyema and his comrades in arms later mobilised more than 7500 ethnic Rwandans within the NRA to join the campaign against Habyarimana and to exercise their right to return to Rwanda.

The initial attack was not very successful, as the RPF suffered several hundred casualties. A notable casualty on the second day of the attack was the RPF commandant Rwigyema, who was apparently killed by the fleeing Forces Armées Rwandaises (FAR), as he was retreating. Though several theories suggested he was killed by some of his subordinates, the fact of the matter is that the RPF lost their commandant and their morale was low. Many rank and file members began to question the timing of the attack. After the death of Rwigyema, Kagame, who had been on a course in the United States, hurriedly returned home and took over command of the RPF. Upon this act, Kagame called the invasion the beginning of a protracted popular war, which over the next four years saw the death of Habyarimana, the collapse of his regime and the ascension of the RPF to power.

Before the collapse of the Habyarimana regime in 1994, several attempts were made by the international community, and particularly the French government of Francois Mitterrand, to protect and secure the regime. One of the first countries to come to the aid of Rwanda after the invasion was Egypt. Egypt has a special relation with all countries sharing the Nile, which it continuously placates so that they do not limit the flow of water into the Nile River. After a demand from Rwanda, Egypt signed a contract worth $5.889 million for the purchase of 60,000 grenades, two million rounds of ammunition, 18,000 mortar bombs, 4200 assault rifles and rocket launchers (Melvern, 2000:32). Though Belgium had negotiated for a ceasefire between the government and the RPF, Rwanda continued to import arms and was the third largest arms importer in Africa after Nigeria and Angola (Melvern, 2000:32). Melvern (2000:32) further contends that the army expanded from 5,000 to 28,000 men in the first year of the invasion and this number required military hardware, which flowed into the country freely.

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5.3 The Arusha negotiations

Because neither the government of Habyarimana or the RPF showed signs of an outright victory, negotiations for a ceasefire opened in Arusha, Tanzania in July 1992. It took over 13 months for a peace agreement to be signed between the government of Habyarimana and the RPF. Organisation of African Unity (OAU) Secretary-General Salim Ahmed Salim chaired the discussion himself, with the support of the Tanzanian president, Ali Hassan Mwinyi, and France, Belgium, Germany and the USA acted as observers. Delegations from other African countries came from Burundi, Zaire, Senegal, Uganda and Tanzania (Melvern, 2000:52). The Arusha Accords signed in August 1993 provided for political, military and constitutional reforms in Rwanda. The government was to be broad-based and remain a transitional arrangement until a democratically elected government was appointed. A neutral international force was to be deployed, the French army was to withdraw, the RPF was to integrate with the FAR, refugees would be allowed to return, and, as a first step, a battalion of RPF soldiers would be stationed in Kigali (Melvern, 2000:53). The Arusha Accords provided for a transitional government that was to hold power for no more than 21 months until free elections were conducted. The government was to be made up of the MRNDD, internal opposition to the MRNDD and the RPF.

The Arusha negotiations, which were geared towards bringing lasting peace to Rwanda could be divided into three distinct phases: the pre-negotiation phase, the negotiations proper and the implementation phase. The pre-negotiation phase started immediately after the outbreak of hostilities in 1990.86 This phase involved regional and international efforts, which led to the establishment of the Arusha political negotiations (Jones, 1999:131). The negotiation phase started in 1992 and continued until August 1993. The implementation phase started after the signing of the Arusha Agreement with the attempt at establishing transitional institutions, during which time UNAMIR was deployed in Rwanda to help secure the transition process (Jones, 1999: 131).

86 The RPF invaded Rwanda from Uganda on the 1 October 1990. Though initially they suffered some setbacks with the death of Rwigyema in the first week of the attack, they regrouped and waged a sustained guerrilla campaign under Kagame. By the time the Arusha negotiations started in July 1991 they controlled about a third of the Rwandan territory.

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The pre-negotiation phase started soon after the outbreak of hostilities in October 1990. The main thrust of this phase was to identify the various protagonists in the Rwandan conflict and to seek avenues through which sustainable peace could be achieved. In this regard, the role played by the Communauté Economique des Pays des Grands Lacs (CEPGL), the UN, OAU and Mobutu Sese Seko as OAU mediator for the peace process was commendable. Prominent on the agenda of the sub-regional grouping was the problem of Rwandan refugees. The first meeting of the CEPGL with regard to the Rwandan refugee problem was held in Dar es Salaam in February 1991. The Dar es Salaam Declaration on the Rwandese refugee problem, which was signed on 19 February 1991, committed the government of Rwanda to finding a definitive and lasting solution to the refugee problem (Jones, 1999: 133). It should be noted that before the Dar es Salaam meeting, the presidents of Uganda and Tanzania persuaded Habyarimana to sign the Zanzibar Communiqué, which committed him to finding a peaceful solution to the Rwandan conflict and achieving a ceasefire agreement through dialogue with the internal as well as external opposition, as well as through the regional conference on refugees (Jones, 1999:133).

The second phase was the negotiation process itself. The formula for negotiation was to be adopted from the N’Sele Ceasefire Agreement that was signed between the government of Rwanda and the RPF in March 1991 in N’Sele, Zaire. The N’Sele agreement provided for the formation of a Neutral Military Observer Group (NMOG), which was to police the ceasefire and report to the OAU on its violations (Jones, 1999:134). As a follow-up to the N’Sele agreement, the government of Rwanda and the RPF met in Arusha in July 1992. One of the principal decisions from the first Arusha meeting was to remove from the NMOG any officers from neighbouring countries and replace them with officers from Senegal, Zimbabwe, Nigeria and Mali (Jones, 1999:137). By October of 1992, the two protagonists had reached an agreement on the nature of the presidential power under a Broad-Based Transitional Government (BBTG). It was agreed that the BBTG would not last for more than 22 months and would be followed by free and transparent elections.

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The negotiations leading up to the agreement in Arusha could in essence also be regarded as mythical, as many within the conservative Hutu administration would not allow Habyarimana to share power with the Tutsi-dominated RPF. Many argued that the negotiations were mainly a ploy to buy time and to allow the Habyarimana administration to rearm and come up with new strategies to defeat the Uganda-backed RPF.87 However, in the composition of the BBTG, it was agreed that the MDR would have four portfolios, including the prime minister and foreign minister. The RPF would have five, including the vice prime minister and minister of the interior. The ruling party, the MRND, would also have five portfolios, including defence, public works and the presidency. The PSD would be given three portfolios, including finance, the PL three and the PDC one (Jones, 1999:139). This preliminary agreement therefore meant that the RPF, together with other internal opposition parties, could make the country ungovernable should they so wish. To compound the political and security situation, the agreement with regard to the composition of the Transitional National Assembly gave the RPF 11 seats, the MRND 11, and the MDR, PL and the PSD 11 each. The rest were to be distributed to other political pressure groups. The CDR, which was composed of the radical members of the MRND and Hutu extremists, refused to accept this method and distribution of seats.

Though the CDR and the MRND reacted violently to the compromise reached in Arusha, the contentious point at the Arusha meeting were the number of soldiers each faction was to contribute to the new Rwandan army. After heated debate it was agreed that the new army would be comprised of 13,000 soldiers and a 6,000-strong gendarmerie. The command level would be split 60-40 in the government’s favour. The accords were then complete and were signed on 4 August 1993 (Jones, 1999:143). Soon after the signing of the agreement, conservative forces within the ruling MRND indicated that they would not accept the implementation of the agreement. This further confirmed the assumption

87 Shyaka, M. [Lecturer at National University of Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 7 November 2013. He contends that the Habyarimana administration was not entirely sincere about bringing peace to Rwanda through the Arusha negotiations. He maintains that the conservative people within his administration would have killed the president had he implemented the outcome of the negotiations. Habyarimana, he opines, was aware of this difficult position, and as a result, he wanted to play along with the negotiations so that he could re-arm and re-strategise in order to defeat the RPF.

188 that the negotiations in Arusha were just a ploy by the Habyarimana administration to buy time.88 It also indicates that the negotiation process in Arusha was shrouded in mythical discourse, as the MRND negotiators knew all along that the agreement would not be implemented.

The final step was the implementation phase, which proved trickier and more difficult to implement. Extremist forces within the government methodically and efficiently undermined the efforts of the implementation committee. The agreement had called for the establishment of the BBTG within 37 days of the signing of the agreement and the deployment of a UN force within the same number of days. Within this set period of time, the UN Security Council passed Resolution 872, establishing the United Nations Assistance Mission in Rwanda (UNAMIR) (Jones, 1999:144). The mission, headed by Canadian General Romeo Dallaire was to enhance security in Kigali and assist in providing security for the transitional government. Members of the Habyarimana administration frustrated the aims of the UNAMIR mission, and despite repeated calls to the UN head office in New York requesting the force’s mandate to be changed to peace enforcement and to warn of the fact that a genocide was in preparation in Rwanda, this fell on deaf ears and the outcome was the genocide in 1994.

However, during the negotiations in Arusha, anecdotal commentary coming from Arusha and from Hutu extremists in Kigali, suggest that the entire process was a political myth aimed at implementing the Hutu ‘final solution’ to the Tutsi problems in Rwanda.89 Theoneste Bagosora, one of the main protagonists of the killing of Tutsis in Rwanda quipped in Arusha after the signing of the agreement that he was going home to Rwanda to prepare for the apocalypse (the end of time in biblical terms). Within the Rwandan

88 Karamuzi, D. [Hutu community leader]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 4 November 2013. 89 During the final stages of the Arusha negotiations, there were frequent reference to the Rwandan ‘final solution or the apocalypse’ in reference to Hitler’s final solution during the holocaust. Bagosora, Habyarimana’s chief negotiator in Arusha made it very clear that the Hutu will not make all the concessions which the Arusha Accords have arrived at.

189 context, this meant that he planned to prepare for the ‘final solution’, which was to eliminate the Tutsis in Rwanda.90

The fact that none of the parties in the conflict seemed to have a decisive advantage over the other prompted them to sign the 10 January 1993 Arusha agreement to tackle the question of the distribution of seats in the Transitional National Assembly (TNA) (Jones, 1999:140). The agreement allocated the seats as follows: MRNDD (11), RPF (11) and MDR, PL, and PSD 11 each. A few days after the signing of the Agreement, the Coalition for the Defence of the Republic (CDR), a conservative wing of the MRNDD, and the MRNDD itself staged violent demonstrations in Ruhengeri and Gisenyi to denounce the talks and to call for the removal of the government negotiators in Arusha. According to Prunier (1995:173), MRNDD Secretary-General Ngirumpatse opined that, signature or no signature, his party had rejected the Arusha agreement. At this stage, Habyarimana was virtually at the mercy of the conservative Hutus within his party, since many other Hutu pressure groups had distanced themselves from the Arusha process.

The RPF noted that despite the signing of the 10 January 1993 Arusha agreement, the ruling MRNDD was unwilling to implement, it and as a result, launched a series of attacks against the FAR. Habyarimana ordered his team to return to Arusha and finalise the last issues, which were the refugee and security matters. Jones (1999:142) notes that the refugee question was quickly dealt with, as the formula was already agreed upon in several other meetings in Dar es Salaam. The security agreement was far trickier and would need more time to negotiate. In the meantime, the RPF was gaining more ground, and there was an urgent need (on the part of Habyarimana) to finalise the discussions. With regard to the security negotiations, the RPF insisted on the integration of all its combatants into the Rwandan army and the reorganisation of the command structure of the army. The percentage split of the army command positions was, however, a thorny issue.

90 See for example, Reyntjens, F. Inter Press Service, 28 February 1997, Rwanda: The planner of Apocalypse – The case against Bagosora @ http://www.ipsnews.net/1997/02/rwanda-the-planner-of-apocalypse-the-case-against- bagosora/ (accessed on 24/11/13).

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The government of Habyarimana insisted on 15 per cent of the army command being to the RPF, taking into consideration the total percentage of Tutsi in the country. This was met with outright refusal by the RPF. They insisted that accepting the government position would defeat the purpose of fighting for democracy for all Rwandese. After several months of negotiations it was agreed that the RPF would have 40 per cent of the positions in the army, as opposed to the 60 per cent held by the government. Regarding command positions, it was agreed that they would be split 50-50, and the RPF would head the Gendarmerie, while the government would retain control of the armed forces (Jones, 1999:143). Though Habyarimana initially rejected these terms, he was forced to accept them by the Americans, French and Tanzanian teams in order to avert an impending war. Thus, the Arusha Accords were signed on 4 August 1993. An implementation committee was set up with the United States, France and Tanzania, together with the RPF and the government of Rwanda as members.

Conservative forces in Kigali undermined the work of the implementation committee of the Arusha Accords. France was only able to pressurise the UN Security Council to pass Resolution 872, which established the United Nations Assistance Mission in Rwanda (UNAMIR). The UNAMIR was established under Chapter VI authority, with a mission to enhance security in Kigali and assist in providing security for the transitional government that the Arusha Accords had agreed upon (Jones, 1999:144). The mission was to be led by a Canadian General Romeo Dallaire. The difficulty of Dallaire’s mission was compounded by the killing of Melchior Ndadaye, the democratically elected president of Burundi, by Tutsi hardliners in Burundian army.91 The killing in Burundi also had ripple effects in Rwanda, as political assassination became the order of the day. Prominent among those killed were Bucyana of the CDR and Gatabzi, leader of the PSD. These killings hampered the implementation of the Broad-Based Transitional Government that the parties in Arusha had agreed upon.

91 Melchior Ndadaye, the first democratically elected president of Burundi, was assassinated by Tutsi officers in the Burundi army on 22 October 1993. After several decades of the minority Tutsi military officers’ rule, democratic elections were conducted in July 1993, and Ndadaye, leader of the Hutu dominated FRODEBU, was elected with over 65% of the vote. Not happy with his election victory, the army stepped in and Ndadaye was assassinated. Burundi has seen relative peace since then.

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Habyarimana’s sincerity in signing the Accords was not in doubt; rather it was that of his allies, who thought the president was a sell-out and that the gains of the 1959 revolution had been eroded. The atmosphere at Arusha was that of suspicion. The RPF was also sceptical in fully committing to the Arusha Accords. Their scepticism stemmed from the fact that extremist forces within Rwanda had formed what was called the Coalition pour la Défense de la République (CDR), whose objectives were to deny the Tutsi refugees the right to return to Rwanda and for the RPF to participate in any transitional government. While the RPF were preparing to send their representatives to participate in the transitional government, the government entered into the largest of all arms deals with a French company called DYL Investments for $12 million for the purchase of 40,000 grenades, 29,000 bombs, 7 million rounds of ammunition, 1,000 pistols and 5,000 AK- 47s (Melvern, 2000:55).

Several contracts of this nature were negotiated with companies in Egypt and France. Some of these arms were openly distributed to villagers and civilians for them to defend themselves in case of a Tutsi attack. The main architect of the arming of the civilians was Bagosora, the Chief of Staff in the Ministry of Defence at the time. The drawing up of lists of those to be eliminated was organised by him, and throughout the four years from the initial invasion to the genocide, the killing of Tutsi and perceived opponents of the regime was consistently carried out. Bagosora held the view that the struggle in Rwanda was not about the political orientation of the country, but was a matter between the Hutu and Tutsi. He was one of those who strongly believed that Rwanda belongs to the Hutu and that the Tutsis were invaders, naturalised immigrants trying to impose their will on the indigenes (Melvern, 2000:62).

As if guns were not enough, the Habyarimana regime imported hundreds of thousands of hoes, axes, hammers and razor blades, including 581,000 machetes bought from China via a company called Oriental Machinery (Melvern, 2000:65). These weapons were used in hacking several hundreds of thousands of people to death throughout the crisis years. Most of these weapons were purchased by Kabuga, a relation of Habyarimana, a prominent businessman who made his fortune from coffee export and the import of household goods. During this period, the European Community and the IMF provided

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Rwanda with substantial funds that were directed at helping the war effort against the RPF.

5.4 Arrival of the UN and the advent of the genocide

The UN became increasingly concerned as the number of deaths kept mounting, and no concrete measures were put in place to stop the carnage. However, for close to a year after the signing of the Arusha Accords, the Government of Rwanda (GOR) and the UN (including observers and participants of the Arusha Accords) struggled to implement the provisions of the agreement. Because the Accords were negotiated in different parts, and considering the complex structure of the whole process, its workability was in doubt (Prunier, 1995:192; Jones, 1999:143). For the BBTG to be functional and the integration of the armed forces to be a success, it would need a lot of political will. At this point in time, Habyarimana was completely isolated and any attempt to implement the Accords would have been met with a coup d’état. Iridahemba92 contends that though Kayibanda was a bad leader and his treatment of Tutsis despicable, Habyarimana, on the contrary, was good to the Tutsis. He argues that because of the Akazu,93 Habyarimana’s hands were tied, and if he had implemented the terms of the Arusha Accords, the Akazu would have killed him.

Though the Accords stipulated that the BBTG should be established at the same time as a UN peacekeeping force, when the BBTG’s formation hit a snag, France went ahead and sponsored several UN Security Council resolutions for the establishment of the force. It is in this context that UNSC Resolution 872 established the United Nations Assistance Mission in Rwanda (UNAMIR). Mahoro94 contends that one of the reasons why France sponsored the UN resolution establishing the UNAMIR was because it wanted the UN force to protect the government of Habyarimana and to give it some semblance of legitimacy in the face of constant attack from Uganda. France was also prevented from heading the mission because of its support of the Habyarimana administration. Uganda

92 Iridahemba, A. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Congo]. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 15 October 2013. 93 Means ‘little house’ in Kinyarwanda. It refers to a handful of Agathe Habyarimana’s relatives that sought to control Rwanda after Habyarimana became powerless in the run-up to the genocide. 94 Mahoro, E. [Executive Secretary, Never Again Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 14 October 2013.

193 and the RPF also insisted that, as a party to the crisis, France should not lead the force. Established under Chapter VI of the UN and led by Canadian General Romeo Dallaire, the mandate of UNAMIR was to enhance security in Kigali and assist in providing security for the transitional government (Prunier, 1995:194; Jones, 1999:144).

Dallaire arrived in Rwanda on the same day that President Ndadaye, the first Hutu democratically elected president of Burundi, was killed by a Tutsi-dominated army. With a tense atmosphere in Rwanda following the death of Ndadaye, Dallaire appealed for calm, but his calls fell on deaf ears as targeted killings of Rwandan Tutsis had immediately commenced after Ndadaye’s murder. Dallaire, however, requested New York to hasten the deployment of UNAMIR, and by November 1993, 1,000 UN troops arrived in Kigali (Melvern, 2001:213). Though Twagiramungu of the MDR was appointed as prime minister, as the Arusha Accords had proposed, his attempt to form a government was marred by division within the opposition parties. Targeted killings of opposition figures such as Gatabazi of the PSD and Bucyana of the CDR further set back the implementation of some of the critical elements of the Arusha Accords.95 Because of the security situation, Twagiramungu failed to form the BBTG. He was subsequently replaced by Uwilingiyimana as premier. She also failed to form the BBTG, as killings, burning and looting spread throughout Kigali in February 1994 (Melvern, 2001:213).

In the midst of the killings, the RPF soldiers who were to be part of the confidence-building measures arrived in Kigali together with the RPF candidates for posts in the BBTG. Among the future RPF ministers were Bihozagara, Bizimungu and Kagame. With the CDR’s insistence to join the BBTG and the RPF’s refusal, the implementation of the Arusha Accords was in limbo. The situation was further compounded by the UN representative in the country, Jacques-Roger Booh Booh, insisting that the CDR should be part of the new government (Prunier, 1995:204). This was in total violation of the Arusha Accords, which had vehemently opposed extremists being part of the BBTG. Frustrated with the delay in the formation of the new government, RPF ministers-

95 The killings of prominent members of the opposition were all attributed to the Akazu and other members of the ruling party. Because most of the killings were not sanctioned by Habyarimana, he was unable to stop them.

194 designate left Kigali for their hideout in Mulindi. In the meantime, UNAMIR had boosted its ranks with another 1,000 soldiers, mostly from Belgium and Canada.

With the delay in the formation of the BBTG, members of the RPF retreated to their home base to rearm their combatants and re-strategise on how to expand the area under their command. One thing that the MRND did during this period was to arm the local population and to ensure that the Interahamwe was prepared to defend Kigali should the RPF attack. The deadlock in the formation of the new government persisted as all the opposition parties refused the co-option of the CDR into the future government. While the OAU and the UN were putting measures in place to make sure the BBTG was formed, the Habyarimana administration went ahead and entered into the largest arms deals in the history of the country with a French company called DYL Investment for $12 million. The deal involved the acquisition of 40,000 grenades, 29,000 bombs, 7 million rounds of ammunition, 1,000 truncheons, 1,000 pistols and 5,000 AK-47s (Melvern, 2001:55). The arms were to be transferred to Rwanda by East African Cargo, a Belgian Company.

With the worsening security situation, UNAMIR had requested UN headquarters to provide it with intelligence-gathering capabilities, but such requests were turned down on the grounds that this did not form part of the original mandate of the mission (Dallaire, 2001:34). By January 1994, the US State Department had concluded that the Arusha Accords would fail and warned that if hostilities resumed, upward of half a million people would die (Melvern, 2001:91). Faced with a lack of intelligence-gathering capabilities, Dallaire relied strongly on Belgian military intelligence to gather information on the situation in the country. It did not take long for Dallaire to realise that the ruling party was stockpiling weapons, and that such weapons were hidden in the homes of top Rwandan military officials, far from the eyes of UNAMIR. Because of Dallaire’s insistence on the disarmament of the militia and the reinforcement of UNAMIR troop numbers, many within the Hutu leadership began to peddle rumours of Dallaire’s bias towards the RPF. Kangura, in one of its graphic images, reasoned that the reason why Dallaire and the UNAMIR contingent were supporting the RPF was because of their women.

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Despite the accusations from the mainly Hutu press, Dallaire gathered that the ruling party had ordered the Interahamwe96 to register all Tutsis in Kigali. Rwanyagare97 holds that the Habyarimana administration had ordered that all Tutsis in Kigali should be registered and their residential address clearly stated, so that when the killings started, the Interahamwe would know exactly where each and every Tutsi was located so as to make the killings easier. The idea for the registration of the Tutsis, Melvern (2001:92) maintains, was to ensure that when the time came all the Tutsis would be killed, judging from the fact that the Interahamwe was being trained to kill at least 1,000 people every twenty minutes. From this intelligence, Dallaire sent a telegram to the UN head office demanding permission to carry out a search and seizure operation in Kigali. The response from UN was that UNAMIR was a peacekeeping mission under a Chapter VI mandate, which concerns the peaceful resolution of conflicts only.

Despite demonstrations by members of the opposition on 23 January 1994 for the BBTG to be formed and installed, nothing was forthcoming. Instead, the demonstrators (moderate Hutu opposition and Tutsi political party supporters) were met with fierce resistance from the Interahamwe, and in the ensuing confrontation more than 47 people were killed, mostly Tutsi. Mukagakinaya98 maintains that the idea that only Tutsis suffered during the post-colonial Hutu administration is a fallacy. He holds that even Hutus were demonstrating and demanding for the BBTG to be put in place. Most Hutus in Rwanda then, he said, were of the opinion that peace could only be achieved with the return of the Tutsi refugees.

The security situation in Kigali became so tense that incidents of members of UNAMIR being shot at became common. However, according to its mandate, members of UNAMIR could not return fire. The Belgian Ambassador to Kigali had advised the UN headquarters that if the mandate of UNAMIR was not changed to include peace enforcement, the troops should be completely withdrawn (Melvern, 2001:96). Conversely, the Papal Nuncio and

96 Youth militia of the ruling MRND. In the run-up to the genocide almost all Hutu youths were urged to join the Interahamwe. They were the main instruments of the killings during the genocide, as the regular armed forces were engaged in intense battles with the RPF. 97 Rwanyagare, J. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Congo]. Interview, Kigali, 17 October 2013. 98 Mukagakinaya, J. [Hutu community leader in Ruhengeri]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 24 October 2013.

196 all Western ambassadors who had observed the signing of the Arusha Accords also appealed to all belligerents in the Rwandan conflict to give peace a chance and reiterated their disappointment in the failure of the transitional institutions to assume office (Prunier, 1995:209). In the midst of all the violence, the UN special representative warned that if progress was not made in the implementation of the transitional institutions, the UN may terminate the mandate of UNAMIR and that severe conditions could be attached to any renewal of the mission’s mandate (Prunier, 1995:209; Melvern, 2001:107). In order to facilitate the formation of the BBTG, a buffer zone was created to ensure that negotiations within each camp were undertaken without fear of attack.

On the other hand, the European Union issued a warning that if the president did not stop officially sanctioned violence and killing, it would boycott donor meetings and impose sanctions on Rwanda. Sensing the urgency of the matter, Mobutu Sese Seko invited Habyarimana and cautioned him of the need to guarantee public security in Rwanda. The RTLMC kept reminding its listeners that the apocalypse was around the corner, that every Hutu would have to ‘reach for the top part of the house’ (Tutsis), and that the Tutsi were evil and must be eliminated (Prunier, 1995:211; Lemarchand, 1994:21).

Faced with mounting criticisms for their handling of the security situation in Rwanda and Burundi, regional leaders convened a meeting in Arusha to confer on how the situation in Rwanda and Burundi could be handled. Present at the meeting on 6 April 1994 were President Mwinyi of Tanzania, Vice-President Saitoti of Kenya, President Museveni of Uganda and President Cyprien Ntaryamira of Burundi. The agenda for the meeting was regional security, with a focus on the situation in Burundi. The meeting soon turned into a forum for Habyarimana-bashing, where even his ‘Hutu brother’ from Burundi was unsympathetic to his handling of the crisis in Rwanda (Prunier, 1995:211). Determined not to sleep in Arusha that night, Habyarimana promised to implement the Arusha Accords and decided to return to Kigali the same night after the meeting. Ntaryamira decided to accompany Habyarimana to Rwanda before returning to Bujumbura on April 6th (Melvern, 2001:115). As their plane approached Kigali airport that same evening, it was hit by two missiles. It crashed in the garden of Habyarimana’s residence, killing all

197 aboard (Prunier, 1995:212; Jones, 1999:146; Mamdani, 2001:216; Melvern, 2001:115). This was the start of one of the darkest episodes in contemporary African history.

5.5 The genocide and the deconstruction of the Tutsi ethnic superiority myth

The news of the president’s death was broadcast within 30 minutes of its occurrence on RTLMC. Roadblocks were immediately set up in Kigali and sporadic gunfire was heard all over Kigali as the Interahamwe, together with the FAR, searched for Tutsis and moderate Hutus opposed to the Habyarimana administration. Rucyahana99 contends that the genocidal plan of the Hutu was unveiled soon after the RTLMC confirmed that Habyarimana had been killed. The target population was the Tutsis and the Hutu opposition, which was growing increasingly militant in agitating for reforms. Having confirmed the death of the president, Dallaire telephoned Agathe Uwilingiyimana, the BBTG prime minister, to inform her that in the absence of the president she was the titular head of state. However, Uwilingiyimana was unable to travel from her residence to the radio as members of Interahamwe had erected roadblocks around Kigali, the capital. Called to attend a meeting of top military officers soon after Habyarimana’s death, Dallaire could see several roadblocks with people armed to the teeth and cars transporting people with machetes and guns (Melvern, 2001:116). It was clear that the genocide had begun.

Uwilingiyimana could not make her appeal for calm on national television and radio as the Interahamwe and other law enforcement agencies had erected roadblocks around the capital. UNAMIR peacekeepers were equally restricted in their movement around the capital to protect opposition politicians. In the early morning of 7 April 1994, Prime Minister Agathe Uwilingiyimana and her husband were killed by members of the Presidential Guard as they tried to leave their home. Later that morning, the vice president of PL and minister of labour and social affairs, Landowald Ndasingwa, and his Canadian wife were also killed by members of the Presidential Guard.

In the midst of the confusion, as no clear leader had emerged, the Interahamwe took positions across the capital city and started killing all Tutsi in sight. In the midst of the

99 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013.

198 chaos, 10 Belgian peacekeepers who were dispatched to secure the prime minister and her family had been disarmed and taken to Camp Kigali and killed. Sustained and extensive killings of Tutsis were taking place in Nyamata, Kibungo, Gikongoro, and Cyangugu. Rwanyindo100 maintains that the killings of the Tutsi had been so numerous that bullets were considered precious and the Interahamwe resorted to killing people with machetes and blunt objects. Killings spread to all the prefectures in the country and on 8 April 1994, French soldiers arrived in Kigali and airlifted Habyarimana’s widow, his family and other members of the ruling MRND away (Callamard, 1999:175). An additional 400 French troops arrived to evacuate French expatriates in the midst of massacres and chaos.

However, as the killing was going on, surviving members of the Habyarimana administration decided to terminate France’s military cooperation with Rwanda, as a continuation of such a policy would lead to direct confrontation with the RPF, something that had been ruled out from the first day of French involvement in Rwanda (Callamard, 1999:176). The French policy to limit its intervention in Rwanda after the death of Habyarimana was also guided by the warning given to the French by the RPF, which had indicated that it would not accept any effort to strengthen the UN presence in Rwanda which could impede their rapid advance on Kigali (Callamard, 1999:176). With several roadblocks, UNAMIR could not perform its primary mission of protecting civilians and those designated to sit on the transitional cabinet. Because of this paralysis, the over 200 RPF soldiers that had been held in the parliament building left their position and engaged with the feared Presidential Guard. In the meantime, Bagosora had transferred all of Rwanda’s hard currency from the Central Bank to Gitarama, the new capital (Melvern, 2001:131).

The first large-scale massacre to be discovered by peacekeepers was at Gikondo, a parish in the heart of Kigali. More than 1,000 Tutsi families were killed in the church building by the Interahamwe, supported by the Presidential Guard (Melvern, 2001:132). In Nyanza, a Kigali neighbourhood, more than 5,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were

100 Rwanyindo, R. [Lecturer at National University of Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 31 October 2013.

199 killed and dumped in the dumpsite of the Kigali city council. Musanaberg101 maintains that when peacekeepers arrived in Nyanza, most of the victims were still alive, despite the fact that they had been dumped there five days before. Because many subsequently died, the RPF dug a hole and buried them on-site. Musanaberg further holds that despite the fact that the killings happened on the 6 and 7 April 1994, peacekeepers were still able to find people alive at the dumping site on 10 April 1994.

According to the International Committee of the Red Cross, more than 10,000 Tutsi and a few moderate Hutus had been killed in Kigali just four days after the death of Habyarimana. The Red Cross also speculated that by the time the RPF reached Kigali, probably all of the city’s 200,000 Tutsi would be dead (quoted in Melvern, 2001:137). As the killings were unfolding, Jean-Philippe Ceppi, a journalist with the French daily Libération, indicated that what was happening in Rwanda was a genocide of the Tutsi. Despite Ceppi’s explicit description of the spate of killings, the international press refused to acknowledge that the killings in Rwanda had a distinct ethnic flavour and continued to describe the situation in Rwanda as chaotic and anarchical and saying that the country was suffering from centuries-old history of tribal warfare (Melvern, 2001:137).With most of the members of the Akazu either dead or in exile (as was the case with Habyarimana’s wife), Colonel Bagosora, the secretary-general of the Ministry of Defence, was the only member of the inner circle still in Kigali, who would therefore ensure that the ‘final solution’ was carried out. Though his argument for the military to take over the country was not supported by a majority of the military officers and UNAMIR, he made sure that those appointed to strategic positions carried out the Akazu’s plan, which was to annihilate the entire Tutsi community to remove any trace of Tutsi presence from the soil of Rwanda.

While the killings were going on around the country, the Butare region was calm, probably because the prefect, Jean-Baptiste Habyarimana, was the only Tutsi prefect in the country.102 A week after the outbreak of mass Tutsi killings in the country, the prefect was

101 Musanaberg, F. [Tour guide at the Nyanza memorial]. Nyanza-Kigali. Interview, 18 October 2013. 102 As a result of the Hutufication of the country, most regional governors were Hutu, so the Jean Baptiste Habyarimana’s appointment (as a Tutsi) was not normal as most government appointees were Hutus. Because all regional governors were advised to start the process of identifying and killing Tutsis, the fact that the regional governor of Butare was a Tutsi, he could not ask the population to kill Tutsis as he himself was a Tutsi.

200 accused of ‘sleeping through the war’ and a new prefect was appointed. During the installation of the new prefect, the old Tutsi prefect was killed, together with his family, in full view of the population, which had gathered to witness the installation of the new prefect.

In Kibuye, a lakeside town on the shores of Lake Kivu, Tutsi resistance was recorded. However, by the time the French soldiers arrived in the town, more than 19,000 people, mainly Tutsis, were dead and about 800 wounded survivors were airlifted to secured zones for treatment (Mamdani, 2001:221). The general pattern of killings were tailored to the notion that the myth of the superior ethnicity of the Tutsi could be destroyed and that the killings were just a fulfilment of a gigantic plan to unravel the Tutsi dream of Rwanda being a Tutsi monarchy.

5.6 Reaction of the international community to the killings

One important observation in the build-up to and during the genocide was the reluctance of international leaders to call the events in Rwanda a genocide. According to Des Forges (1999:595), the major international actors, which include Belgium, the USA, France and the UN, all understood the gravity of the crisis within the first 24 hours, but did nothing to prevent it from happening. Apart from the Somalia effect,103 few reasons prevented the international community from stopping the killings in Rwanda. First, Belgium was preoccupied with extricating its peacekeepers, who were constantly coming under heavy attack from the FAR. The US was concerned about committing resources to a crisis remote from its own soil and France was preoccupied with protecting its clients and its zone of influence (Des Forges, 1999:595)

While the massacre of Tutsis was ongoing, the debate at the UN headquarters was troubling, as members of the Security Council could not agree on changing the mandate of UNAMIR from peacekeeping to peace enforcement. The UN secretary-general was of the opinion that UNAMIR should evacuate from Rwanda instead of changing its mandate

103 The defeat of the Americans in Somalia in 1993 had a negative effect on American intervention on the African continent. Americans decided to adopt a policy of non-interference on the continent until a thorough investigation and the way forward were sought for future intervention.

201 into a peace enforcement one. In one of his writings to the president of the Security Council, Boutros Boutros-Ghali suggested that:

It is quite possible that the evacuation of UNAMIR and other UN personnel might become unavoidable, in which event UNAMIR would be hindered in providing assistance under its present mandate and rules of engagement. The members of the Security Council might wish to give this matter their urgent attention. Should UNAMIR be required to effect such an evacuation, the Force Commandant estimates that he would require two or three additional battalions for that purpose (quoted in Melvern, 2001:139).

For all intents and purposes, the UN wanted to evacuate UNAMIR rather than help to stem the killing that had engulfed Rwanda after the death of Habyarimana. Boutros- Ghali’s response to the worsening security situation in Rwanda was perceived in certain quarters as an abdication of responsibilities and leadership. The situation on the ground in Rwanda was further compounded by the decision of the US to close its embassy in Kigali, requesting Belgium to protect all foreign nationals in the country, including over 240 US citizens (Melvern, 2001:140). Before the decision was taken to evacuate all foreign nationals in Rwanda in the wake of Habyarimana’s death, the American Embassy in Cameroon had already sent Colonel Vuckovic, the US military attaché in Yaoundé to Kigali with an evacuation plan. He succeeded in evacuating all US nationals and UN civilian employees through Burundi (Melvern, 2001:140).

The discussion in both Brussels (the main contributor to UNAMIR) and New York was on ways to rescue foreign nationals in Rwanda rather than on how to stop the mass killings of Tutsis and moderate Hutus. In the end, troops were sent to Rwanda by France and Italy, but their mission was mainly to rescue foreign nationals trapped in the country. The French forces arrived on 9 April 1994 with ammunition for the Presidential Guard and orders to evacuate the French Embassy. Iragena104 holds that the French were the main architects of the mayhem in which Rwanda found itself at the time. She maintains that instead of maintaining peace, the French flew in ammunition for the Presidential Guard

104 Iragena, J. [Lecturer at Catholic University of Kibungo, Rwanda]. Interview. Kibungo, 29 October 2013.

202 and also embarked on evacuations of friends of Habyarimana. Within four days, all French expatriates living in Rwanda had been evacuated, either to France or via road to Bujumbura. While the evacuation was in progress, Tutsis were dragged out of French military vehicles at roadblocks and killed. Karamuzi105 contends that the French had no pity for the Tutsis, as many of the Tutsis who were killed in Kigali were killed in the presence of French soldiers.

However, despite the deteriorating security situation, the UN secretary-general telephoned Dallaire to prepare an evacuation plan. Dallaire presented a different plan to the SG detailing how the killings in Rwanda could be stopped by changing the mandate of the mission. He unilaterally decided to prolong the UNAMIR’s mission in Rwanda and contemplated changing the mandate, but the limited means available to him prevented him from engaging the militia to stop the killings. While the UN was making plans for the withdrawal of UNAMIR, the interim government left Kigali for Gitarama. With the government in Gitarama, the killings also spread to the commune, and any resistance by the Hutu population to the killings was regarded as sedition and punishable by death. According to Rwabutogo,106 the Hutu government that left Kigali for Gitarama was very hostile towards the Hutus who had refused to carry out instructions to kill Tutsi.

In one of his bitter telegrams to the UN headquarters, Dallaire stated that:

Behind Rwandan government Forces lines the massacres of Tutsis and moderate Hutus and sympathisers with opposition parties is taking place. Bodies litter the streets and pose a significant health hazard. RTLMC broadcasts inflammatory speeches and songs exhorting the population to destroy all Tutsis. It appears now that the Presidential Guard initiated the ethnic attacks and then handed this task over to the militia like the Interahamwe and then withdrew to Gitarama and Butare. In Kigali, frequent roadblocks are established, ID cards checked and Tutsis executed on the spot … these massacres have been witnessed from a distance by UN troops (quoted in Melvern, 2001:164).

105 Karamuzi, D. [Tutsi refugee returnee from Uganda]. Interview, Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 30 October 2013. 106 Rwabutogo, E. [Tutsi refugee returnee from Uganda]. Interview, Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 11 October 2013.

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Despite these coded telegrams from the UNAMIR force commandant, the general feeling among UNSC members was that the force should be withdrawn and the killings were an internal Rwandan matter that would be handled by them. With calls from UN and international expats for UNAMIR to rescue their Rwandan staff and with increasing calls from headquarters not to engage the militia or the Rwandan army, Dallaire sent another message to the UN headquarters. It reads:

Due to the militia and self-defence groups controlling important arteries and areas of the city, they are very large, dangerous and totally irrational group of people. The force simply cannot continue to sit on the fence in the face of all these morally legitimate demands for assistance/protection nor can it simply launch into chapter VII type of operations without the proper authority, personnel and equipment … maintaining the status quo on manpower under these severe and adverse conditions is wasteful, dangerously casualty-causing and demoralizing to the troops … either UNAMIR gets changes … in order to get into the thick of things or it starts to thin out (quoted in Melvern, 2001:165-166).

This passionate appeal from Dallaire still did not persuade Kofi Annan, who was the director of peacekeeping operations at the UN at the time, to reconsider his position on changing the mandate of the mission and giving them more personnel to stop the carnage. Instead, on 21 April 1994, the UNSC passed Res. 912 for UNAMIR to withdraw from Rwanda. The resolution presupposes that the force commandant would remain behind and mediate between the RPF and Rwandan government soldiers. Two days after the UNSC resolution, all UNAMIR personnel had been evacuated (Melvern, 2001:173). At the time the UN withdrew its forces from Rwanda, the casualty figures were as follows: Gikongoro – 43,000 killed, Butare – 100,000, Murambi – 11,000, Cyagugu – 28,500, Kibuye – 200,000 and Bisesero – 9600.107

After 20 April 1994, Hintjens (1999:272) contends that the killings of the Tutsis intensified after all European journalists, businessmen, clergy, diplomats and international aid workers had left Rwanda. During this period, no part of Rwanda was left untouched, and

107 See, for example, Des Forges (1999).

204 because looks could not adequately differentiate the people, identity cards were examined at all checkpoints set up in the country (Hintjens, 1999:272). Children born of mixed marriages were killed and Hutu who married Tutsi were sometimes killed to punish them for marrying the enemy. Examples abound of Hutus who looked Tutsi who were killed, and vice versa – in such circumstances, an identity card could not save the unfortunate person (Hintjens, 1999:272).

As the RPF was approaching Kigali, at the end of April 1994, the interim government that was hastily formed under the command of Bagosora attempted to reactivate a civilian self-defence programme that had been put in place by members of the Akazu but was abandoned soon after Habyarimana’s death. The self-defence committees were aimed at giving control of the killing process to local administrators, who were keepers of communal documents with detailed information on the whereabouts of all Tutsis in all the communes in Rwanda. As part of the campaign, 5 May 1994 was precipitously declared ‘clean-up day’ – a day when Kigali would be rid of all Tutsis (Melvern, 2001:178). Still, with clear evidence that the violence was targeting a particular ethnic group, the international community, including the UN, questioned reports that described the violence in Rwanda as genocide (see, for example, Dallaire, 2001:37). In late May 1994, at the Rusomo Falls along the Kagera River, a body, bloated and mutilated, passed under the bridge every other minute. According to Rucyahana,108 thousands might have passed both before and throughout the three months that the genocide lasted. He further remembers that the killings were the fulfilment of a long-held Hutu myth that talks of the Hutus sending the Tutsis back to Ethiopia where they came from. He contends that the most convenient way (in terms of the myth – see Chapter 3) was through the Akagera River, which flows through Lake Victoria to Ethiopia. The dumping of the bodies of the Tutsis in the Akagera River was the fulfilment of this Hutu myth.

As the situation deteriorated, the UN approved another 5,500 troops for UNAMIR in May 1994. However, with no logistical support, the troops could not effectively do their job. In early June, the RPF had taken control of Kigali and a column of GOR forces and Hutu

108 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013.

205 civilians streamed out of Kigali on the way to Gitarama. Sensing the defeat of government forces, France repatriated most of the people responsible for the genocide through the UN-authorised Operation Turquoise, which was aimed at creating safe passage for the fleeing Rwandan government soldiers and also at creating a safe haven for the mainly Hutu refugees fleeing the RPF. By 4 July 1994, Rwandan government troops abandoned their position in Kigali and retreated to Ruhengeri (Melvern, 2001:215). As the RPF approached, the RTLMC, which was now broadcasting from Gisenyi, informed the people to move to Zaire, as the RPF was going to kill all of them. In the refugee camps in eastern Zaire, more than 2,000,000 people were being sheltered. As many as 200,000 had sought refuge in Burundi, and there were more than 2,000,000 internally displaced people within Rwanda (Melvern, 2001:218). The American government ordered its military to distribute relief aid to the millions of refugees in Zaire and the over 4,000 US soldiers deployed had strict instructions not to get involved in situations that would endanger their lives or those of the people they had come to help. In the midst of all the frantic efforts to provide relief aid to the Rwandan refugees, the RPF declared the war with the GOR over, and the genocide stopped on 18 July 1994.

For reasons that today remain obscure or perhaps mythical, a total of 800,000 people, mostly Tutsis, are generally accepted to have been killed in Rwanda during the genocide. A commission of experts established by the UNSC to investigate the genocide reported on 9 December 1994 that 500,000 unarmed civilians had been murdered in Rwanda during the genocide (Melvern, 2001:223). On the whole, the killings signify that the proponents of Hutu power succeeded in deconstructing the Tutsi myth of ethnic superiority. They succeeded in carrying out the wishes of the leaders of the 1959 Social Revolution, which aimed at diminishing the political power of Tutsis in Rwanda. Though stories have emerged that there was ‘reverse genocide’ in areas that the RPF occupied and in the first and second Congo wars, the magnitude of the killings of the Tutsis in full view of the international community was shocking, and at best barbaric. However, it is important to note that though there were killings on both sides of the ethnic divide, it is incorrect to point out that all the killings in Rwanda were all ethnically motivated, and it would therefore take a more nuanced ethnic based conflict resolution strategy to reconcile

206 the people. Whether this has indeed been achieved, in the view of respondents, is addressed in the next chapter.

5.7 Conclusion

In this chapter, the reasons behind the invasion of Rwanda by the RPF in 1990 and the timing thereof have been analysed. It is argued that the indigenisation policy in Uganda and the apparent delay in allowing the Rwandan Tutsis to return to Rwanda precipitated the invasion. The continuation of the war between the RPF and the FAR was as a result of the massive support that the RPF received from Uganda on the one hand, and the support FAR received from the French on the other. However, because the conflict had reached a stalemate in mid-1992, negotiations seemed the only way out of the deadlock. However, the subsequent Arusha Accords failed to maintain peace and the UN had no option but to deploy a peacekeeping force with no mandate to enforce peace or to disarm the combatants.

The failure of the Arusha Accords can partly be attributed to the intransigence of the Hutu extremists within the Habyarimana administration, as well as to the strong belief by the RPF that armed victory was a possibility. This assertion was made by many observers of the Rwandan conflict, who at times regarded the RPF demands as atrocious and aimed at ridiculing the government of Habyarimana. Given the deeply ingrained divisions between the Hutu and Tutsi over the years, as discussed in the previous chapters, the failure of the Habyarimana administration to bring the RPF on board was hardly surprising.

The inability of UNAMIR to provide adequate protection to politicians and civilians caught up in the fighting between the RPF and the FAR at the beginning of the 1990s (as a result of political intrigue and financial constraints at the UN headquarters in New York) eventually resulted in the carnage that took place in Rwanda in 1994. Now, 21 years after the genocide of mostly Tutsis and with a post-genocide government consisting of Tutsi refugees, the question is whether the government has managed to reconcile the Hutus and Tutsis (according to the respondents) to counter the deep divisions. The answer is far from obvious, as the following chapter portrays.

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CHAPTER 6 ‘NEGOTIATING MEMORY’ IN POST-GENOCIDE RWANDA

6 Introduction The RPF declared the genocide over on 18 July 1994, and subsequently put in place a broad-based transitional government (BBTG) as agreed in Arusha in August 1993. Though remnants of the defeated Forces Armées Rwandaises (FAR) were still held up in the eastern part of what was then Zaire, which threatened the foundation of the new state, proper governance measures were put in place in Rwanda to ensure that peace reigned. In this respect, a Hutu member of the RPF, Pasteur Bizimungu, was chosen to head the BBTG, with Paul Kagame, leader of the RPF, as his deputy. The BBTG comprised most of the opposition parties that participated in the Arusha negotiation, with a 50/50 split between Hutus and Tutsis in the new government. The former ruling party – the Mouvement Révolutionnaire Nationale de Défense du Democratie (MRNDD), together with the Hutu conservative CNR were excluded. Kagame succeeded Bizimungu in 2001 and multiparty general elections were organised in 2003, with the RPF garnering more than 80% of the votes. Though the 2001 constitution stipulates that a president can only be re-elected once, there are speculations that Kagame will change the constitution in order to run for another term in 2017.

This chapter is devoted to how the Hutu and Tutsi interviewees perceive the current post- genocide administration and whether the country is moving forward and healing from the past atrocities. It is important to note that an honest reckoning with a shameful past is extremely difficult, even impossible, when a majority of the population in one way or another may be considered accomplices to grave crimes against humanity. Even more difficult is how to deal with this when the minority (as it was the case in pre-colonial and colonial Rwanda) was collectively responsible for the harm caused to the Hutus during these periods. In most cases, historical distance facilitates the construction of critical narratives, since those who were born after crimes have been committed do not bear personal responsibility for them (Khazanov & Payne, 2008:415).

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The critical question, though, is how does the post-1962 Tutsi generation in Rwanda, who have been accused of inhumane treatment of the Hutu during the pre-colonial and colonial era, be treated in a post-colonial Hutu-controlled society? How do they extricate themselves from the collective guilt that the entire Tutsi group had to bear after 1962? The chapter is an attempt to answer these fundamental questions.

The chapter is divided into three sections. The first section of the chapter examines the path that the post-genocide administration has taken to reconstruct the country after the genocide. The three important issues identified by the post-genocide administration were: the refugee question, ethnic relations in post-genocide Rwanda, and the establishment of a judicial system for prosecuting those that committed acts of genocide and crimes against humanity. Of particular importance is how the government’s efforts on these issues are perceived by the Tutsis and Hutus that were interviewed.

The second section focuses on the representation of memory in post-genocide Rwanda, especially within the context of the celebration of national events. How is reconstruction attempted through a collective memory narrative (see Chapter 4)? Which national events are celebrated, and do these, according to the respondents, provide some shared sense of ‘national belonging’? Do they merely perpetuate former divisions between Hutus and Tutsis? The third section examines the current reconstruction efforts in the country 20 years after the genocide.

6.1 The genocide: 20 years later and beyond When Paul Kagame, leader of the RPF, declared on 18 July 1994 that the genocide was over, his government’s immediate task was to establish state machinery, reinforce the authority of the new state in all areas of Rwandan society, and above all, to address the refugee question inside and outside of the country. According to UN estimates, there were more than two million Rwandan Hutu refugees in the eastern Congo, a further 500,000 in Tanzania, and 200,000 in Burundi. Within Rwanda there were 600,000 internally displaced people in Gikongoro, 800,000 in Cyangugu and 300,000 in Kibuye (Melvern, 2001:218).

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The flight of Hutu refugees in the period from April to June 1994 (after the RPF took over the government), which was widely broadcast in the Western media, particularly by CNN, broke all refugee records, for it was the fastest and largest exodus ever recorded in mass movement history (Reyntjens, 2009:87). Within three days of the exodus into eastern Congo, the international media was beaming images of the plight of the refugees into the homes of people around the world. To compound the situation, there was a cholera outbreak, and more than two refugees were dying every three minutes. In contrast to the killings of the Tutsi in Rwanda, the situation in eastern Congo was widely reported in the international media. One journalist wrote:

The slaughter in Rwanda may have been an expression of the bestiality of man, but what is happening in Zaire today is surely the wrath of God. Epidemics of biblical proportions sweep the land. Water is poison … The dead are everywhere … It is as if Mother Earth herself did not want to accept the remains of the Hutu refugees from Rwanda (quoted in Melvern, 2001:218).

The Americans responded by dispatching more than 4, 000 American military personnel to help aid agencies in providing essential services to the refugees (Des Forges, 1999). The French government dispatched a similar number of French troops to protect the Hutu refugees from the RPF and to provide a safe haven for those fleeing from the new Government of Rwanda (GOR) forces in eastern Congo. Furthermore, the new government in Rwanda insisted that those responsible for crimes against humanity should be prosecuted in terms of international law, though the general thought among Hutu refugees leaving Rwanda was that the Tutsi-dominated government would unleash waves of revenge attacks on the Hutu population.

It is in the context of this thinking, and taking into cognisance the precedent set by the Nuremburg trials, that the UN created the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR). The tribunal was to try those who committed crimes in Rwanda that fell within the categories of organising, financing, facilitating and directing the killings of people in Rwanda between October 1990 and July 1994 (Des Forges, 1999:737). By the time the tribunal ended in 2011, more than 70 prominent Rwandan nationals who committed crimes against humanity had been tried and sentenced within the ICTR jurisdictions.

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While the ICTR trials were going on, the Rwandan government instituted a community- based justice system called gacaca to try those whose crimes did not fall within the ICTR jurisdiction.

6.1.1 The refugee question

One of the major pre-occupations of the new administration that took over from the Habyarimana regime was how to address the refugee situation in eastern Congo. To compound the situation, most of the FAR had moved into the Congo and were virtually controlling the movement of the refugees. The defeated army set up a parallel government administration in eastern Congo with sector heads and bourgmestres (regional governors). A series of concerns were envisaged by the post-genocide administration in Rwanda. First was that an invasion by Rwanda to eliminate Hutus who perpetrated acts of genocide in Rwanda would be a violation of the territorial sovereignty of the Congo. Secondly, any inaction on the part of the new government would endanger the security of the new Rwandan administration. As a result, the UNHCR was called upon to handle the refugee crisis. However, very little was done to ensure that all the Rwandan refugees in the eastern part of the Congo were repatriated and re-integrated into the mainstream of Rwandan society.

According to Nzungize,109 the situation in eastern Congo was dire, as some former members of the defeated government urged all Hutu Rwandans to move to the Congo where a new offensive against the post-genocide government would be organised. Therefore, most Hutus from Rwanda crossed the border and moved into the Congo. The defeated government grouped all the refugees according to the communes to which they belonged back in Rwanda. Remaining bourgmestres were called upon to administer the refugees and to provide them with the necessary financial and logistical support in order to mount a successful campaign to return to Rwanda.

In order to pre-empt this looming threat posed by the Hutu refugees in eastern Congo, the RPF government, together with the Tutsi settler population in eastern Congo, put in

109 Nzungize, H. [Hutu community in leader in Ruhengeri]. Interview, Ruhengeri, 10 November 2013.

211 place a plan to form, arm and lead a rebel group to overthrow the Mobutu regime. The Mobutu regime was seen as an obstacle to eliminating the Rwandan Hutu genocide perpetrators held in eastern Congo, because of Mobutu’s friendship with Habyarimana. The operationalisation of the plan became effective when the ADFLC was formed with Laurent Désiré Kabila as the leader (see Chapter 4). The ADFLC invaded the Congo in 1996, and by the time the ADFLC succeeded in overthrowing Mobutu in 1997, more than 500,000 Hutu refugees in eastern Congo had been killed by the ADFLC and RPF in what has commonly been referred to as the First Congo War. By the end of the Second Congo War in 1998 and during the 2008 and 2010 Rwandan incursions into the Congo, more Rwandese (mainly Hutu refugees) have been killed in the eastern part of the Congo. It has been argued by Reytjeins (2009) and others that the killings served as revenge for the genocide, but none of those responsible have been brought to book. However, international non-governmental organisations have pointed to certain individuals in the present Rwandan government as having committed acts of genocide or at least crimes against humanity in the eastern part of the Congo during the many years of Rwanda’s incursion into and occupation of the area.

Though the government put a commission in place to address the question of returnees, many complained that the re-education camp they were forced to attend was used as a place where confessions of wrongdoing were extracted from some of the returnees. If the confessions were incriminating, some of the returnees were either killed or sent to prison. Thus, according to Ndayisabye,110 some Rwandan Hutus have refused to return to Rwanda for fear of persecution. Most of those that have refused to return form the majority of the FDLR, which is fighting for the rights of Rwandan Hutus to return to Rwanda.

Given the fact that a large number of Hutus in the DRC (even today) refuse to return to Rwanda, respondents were asked their views on what should be done by the post- genocide government to address the situation. For respondents such as Kalisa,111 it is important that the Rwandan government should address the concerns of the Hutus that prevent them from returning, particularly the revenge killings that many returnee Hutus

110 Ndayisabye, V. [Hutu, former employee of Hôtel des Diplomates]. Interview. Kigali, 12 October 2013. 111 Kalisa, V. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from the Congo]. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 8 November 2013.

212 have been victims of. Hutu refugees have also not been properly re-integrated into Rwandan society. Properties of many have been confiscated by the state, and some have seen their small dwellings handed over to returnee Tutsis. Refraining from addressing these problems and not re-integrating these Hutus into Rwandan society could result in the formation of a major fighting unit that could threaten the peace and foundation of the post-genocide government.

6.1.2 Post-genocide ethnic relations

The RPF that declared the genocide over on 18 July 1994 embarked on a plan to honour the terms of the Arusha Accords (see the preceding chapter). The Accords were premised on an inclusive form of government in which all segments of Rwandan society would be represented at all levels. In the spirit of the Accords, Pasteur Bizimungu 112(mentioned above), a Hutu member of the RPF, was sworn in as president, with Paul Kagame, the main architect of the RPF victory, as his deputy. More than 40% of the post-genocide cabinet was made up of Hutus, which was a sign that the new government was committed to promoting ethnic inclusion in the management of the affairs of the new state. Though some respondents, such as Mukagakinaya,113 maintain that the Hutus in the post- genocide government were mere figureheads, the appointment of Pasteur Bizimungu, a Hutu, showed that they were serious about the country’s nation-building project.

Despite the seemingly perfect Hutu and Tutsi ethnic relations in the post-genocide era, President Pasteur Bizimungu resigned as president of Rwanda in 2000. It was very clear that his position as president of the country was made untenable by Paul Kagame, who ensured that all decisions made by the president were reviewed and accepted by him. The decision to review all the president’s decisions was seen by many observers and scholars of the Rwandan political scene, including Reyntjens (2009), as a way of making the position of the president redundant and showed who in actual fact ruled the country. The decision to make Bizimungu president was salutary for the RPF, as it removed the

112 Pasteur Bizimungu, a Hutu politician opposed to the Habyarimana government, left Rwanda in 1991 and joined the RPF in Uganda. He became a prominent member of the RPF and was appointed president of Rwanda in July 1994 after the RPF defeated the Habyarimana government. Because of his Hutu ethnic background, he was not properly integrated into the Tutsi-dominated RPF. 113 Mukagakinaya, J. [Hutu, Community activist in Ruhengeri]. Interview. 13 November 2013.

213 ethnic dimension from the reasons why the RPF took up arms against the Habyarimana administration. However, Kagame’s administration has been marked by intransigence, the imprisonment of political opponents and a rigidly controlled press. This has laid the foundation for new political problems that have continued to make the country unstable, particularly with the trial and conviction of Victoire Ingabire, an opposition politician, before the 2010 elections. As a result, political opponents of Kagame have frequently referred to his autocratic rule as the source of future discord between the Tutsis and Hutus.

In attempting to establish how respondents viewed ethnic relations in the post-genocide era, reactions were mixed and varied. Many Tutsis, such as Iridahemba,114 maintain that the RPF is an inclusive political party that has welcomed both Hutus and Tutsis into its ranks. He contends that there are more Hutu card-carrying members of the RPF than Tutsis. This, according to him, is a sign of political maturity on the part of the RPF leadership. However, the majority of Hutus were not as positive. For Senyandwi,115 for example, the new political leaders in Rwanda are committing political suicide by focusing more on the role of ethnicity and ethnic politics, which serves as a catalyst for division in Rwanda. He opines that by abolishing any reference to ethnic affiliation in the constitution, the RPF government is actually blocking measures through which ethnic divisions can be assuaged.

A cursory look at the composition of the Rwandan cabinet and other constitutionally mandated entities shows a good balance between Hutus and Tutsis. For example, many of the presidents of bodies such as the Gender Commission, the Ombudsman, and the courts have a fair balance between Hutus and Tutsis. The critical question is about the decision-making aspect of these bodies. The executive secretaries of most government entities and parastatals are Tutsis, who take their orders from the presidency. The decisions of these cabinet-appointed officials are usually not questioned, and any contrary views are considered opposition to government policies at best, with some opponents to government policies being considered harbourers of genocidal tendencies and ideology. Ethnic representation in the armed forces is fairly proportionate to the

114 Iridahemba, A. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from the DRC]. Interview, Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali 15 October 2013. 115 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide and political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013.

214 country’s ethnic composition. However, one notable observation by Senyandwi is that most of the non-commissioned soldiers are Hutus, while the commanders are Tutsi. Hutus in the army cannot take executive decisions, which in most cases compromises the security of the state, as the bulk of the soldiers that committed the genocide were of Hutu background.

On the whole, the country seems to have traversed the painful years of open ethnic hatred, but deep ethnic division still haunts the people of Rwanda. A walk in the affluent suburbs of Kigali and in trendy shopping complexes paints a totally vivid picture of these issues, as these places are mostly frequented by Tutsis, though they only constitute around 10% of the population. The public administration is still staffed by Tutsis, and the preferred language of government is English, as opposed to French, which has been the official language since independence in 1962. Though there has been remarkable progress in ethnic relations, the post-genocide government can, according to the majority of Hutu respondents, still do more to improve the lot of Hutus, who still suffer the stigma of being the instigators of the genocide.

6.1.3 Gacaca and the ICTR process: The search for a post-genocide justice framework

Wielenga (2014:43) notes that after the RPF took over Rwanda in July 1994, there was no judicial system left in place and the RPF had to rebuild the country from scratch while thousands of people accused of genocide crimes crowded jail cells around the country. In response to this dismal state of affairs, according to Wielenga (2014:43), the new government turned to its traditional justice system of gacaca, which involved the holding of court sessions in the local communities with respected community leaders acting as judges. It was thought that through this process, the government could rapidly conclude the hundreds of thousands of cases against those suspected of genocide crimes in a fair manner.

Though it has been described as a restorative justice process, the gacaca (as discussed above) was generally employed to traditionally try some categories of crime that could not be properly accommodated within the parameters of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), as it was seated in Arusha, Tanzania. The gacaca process

215 internationalised the memorialisation of the genocide and put the traditional Rwandan method of conflict resolution on the global stage.

One of the critical reasons why this form of justice was employed in Rwanda was the fact that the new administration that took over power in Rwanda after the genocide wished to rapidly prosecute those accused in one way or another of having participated in the genocide. This task was further compounded by the fact that fewer than 10 magistrates were still working in Rwanda after the genocide. Some had been killed and a sizable number had left Rwanda. As a result, the Rwandan post-genocide court system provided few legal options for the new government to provide adequate trials to the over 120, 000 genocide suspects and perpetrators (Clark, 2010:3). Given these limitations, it was suggested that the current legal structures and manpower would not be able to effectively deliver just and acceptable trials within the ambit of the law. The response was therefore to come up with an alternative legal framework with a structure and practicability that would be familiar to the Hutus, Tutsis and other components of Rwandan society (Check, 2014:137). After wide local and international consultation, the gacaca system was chosen as a legal method to speedily try genocide perpetrators.

Clark (2010:3) notes that gacaca courts were community-based dispute resolution tribunals that had been employed in pre-colonial Rwanda to deal with minor disputes and infractions such as inheritance, civil liability, theft and conjugal matters. Research has shown that gacaca was also used in conflicts amounting to criminal offenses such as theft and adultery. Unwritten indigenous Rwandan law guided its organisation, composition and sentencing methods. One thing that became apparent after the arrival of the Germans in the territory in 1884 was that gacaca was headed by a recognised sage who commanded respect and esteem in his neighbourhood.

Many proponents of the gacaca, including President Kagame, have argued that the gacaca system has traditionally invited the respect and support of the population, who have considered the process and its outcomes legitimate. Wielenga (2014:43) further states that a fully restorative justice process would have taken too long and would be difficult to monitor. As a result, the Rwandan government considers the process as a useful mechanism for the administration of popular justice and citizens’ participation in

216 the collective governance of the country. Thus, in pursuance of the speedy administration of justice to genocide perpetrators, the Rwandan Constitutional Court approved Organic Law 8/96 for the organisation of prosecutions for offences constituting the crime of genocide or crimes against humanity since 1 October 1990. According to Clark (2010:73- 74), the initial Organic Law established three categories of genocide suspects. Category I includes planners, organisers, instigators and leaders of genocide. Category II comprises perpetrators of, or accomplices to, intentional homicide or serious assaults that resulted in death. Category III includes those who committed serious assaults against others without causing death. The gacaca Organic Law was amended in 2009 to include category IV offences. Category IV suspects are those who committed offenses against property.

A noticeable omission of the gacaca system was its non-collaboration with relevant institutions such as the legal department and the courts to enable its proceedings to be in line with international conventions and protocols to which Rwanda is signatory (Check, 2014:137). Clark (2010:101) further argues that though the gacaca trials are a government-driven process, they have based their success and level of acceptance on the input of civil society and NGOs working in the field. On several occasions, these NGOs have been labelled as opposing government policies in the field of political and judicial reforms. This uncomfortable relationship could partly be blamed for the fact that there is no love lost between civil society and the government. In Africa, most NGOs and community-based organisations are frequently viewed as opposed to the government. This trend has arguably gained ground with the emergence of public opinion as an important tool in shaping policy formulation on the continent after 1990. This necessitated some changes to the gacaca law. The 2004 Gacaca Amendments recognise the threat posed by there being 19 judges in a gacaca sitting, as consensus in verdicts would be difficult to arrive at. The 2004 law reduces the number of judges from 19 to nine with five deputies. The information gathering process was also re-structured, with one person covering a radius of 10 houses rather than the general assembly investigating the village, as was the case in the previous legislation. Genocidal crimes were reclassified to accommodate only three of the four 2001 categories. Another significant amendment was the requirement for victims of rape to choose a judge from the elected nine to listen to her

217 complaint. The 2004 categorisation put rape crimes under Category I offences, which could only be prosecuted by the Rwandan public prosecution authority (see Gacaca Organic Law of 2004). By the time the gacaca system was closed in 2012, more than 25,000 cases had been heard and finalised. The gacaca system was criticised for not allowing representation from plaintiffs, and lawyers were also not allowed to represent their clients. This was perhaps one of the main shortcomings of the system.

Respondents were particularly asked to express their views on the effectiveness of the gacaca system, as well as whether the system has contributed in reconciling the deep divisions between the two ethnic groups that have developed over the years and that culminated in the genocide. Most of the Hutus interviewed, such as Senyandwi,116 maintain that the system was principally a mechanism for the victor’s justice, aimed at discrediting Hutus and making them feel guilty for perpetrating the genocide. Tutsis, on the other hand, hold a different opinion. Mvuriye,117 for example, maintains that the gacaca system was a perfect judicial system with the sole objective of punishing those who perpetrated crimes against humanity in Rwanda.

Regarding the effectiveness of the gacaca system as an objective and equitable judicial framework, all the Hutu respondents castigated it as an instrument for collectively punishing the Hutu population, as not all Hutus participated in the killings. Ndayisabye118 emphasised that because no Tutsi was tried under the gacaca system, the whole process appeared to be one-sided and resembles victor’s justice more than an equitable process to identify and prosecute the perpetrators of the genocide. On the other hand, for Tutsis such as Rwabutogo,119 the gacaca was a perfect platform for perpetrators of the genocide to confess and ask for forgiveness. Respondents were asked who should lead the reconciliation process, considering that most Hutu leaders are either in jail or facing trial.

116 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013. 117 Mvuriye, A. [Tutsi, pensioner. Worked as a history teacher during Kayibanda and Habyarimana’s administrations]. Interview. Kigali, 16 October 2013. 118 Ndayisabye, V. [Hutu, former employee of Hôtel des Diplomates]. Interview. Kigali, 12 October 2013 119 Rwabutogo, E. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from Uganda. Left Rwanda as a young civil servant in 1959 after the 1959 revolution]. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 11 November 2013.

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Rucyahana120 opines that Hutu youths should start the process of reconciliation through bodies such as the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission, which is a constitutionally mandated body for facilitating reconciliation in Rwanda.

On the question of whether the gacaca process has helped in reconciling the people after the genocide, Tutsi respondents contend that the gacaca courts represent a distinct Rwandan judicial system to deal with those who committed crimes against humanity. According to Shyaka,121 the gacaca process was a step in the right direction, but could have been better if all those who committed acts of violence and genocide were tried through the same process. According to him, genuine reconciliation will not be achieved if some genocide perpetrators (Tutsis) were exempted from the judicial process.

To Hutu respondents, on the other hand, the gacaca process represents a romanticisation of Rwandan cultural norms, which perhaps have lost their appeal in a post-modernist society. For Giraneza,122 the gacaca process was not a fair judicial process aimed at reconciling the people of Rwanda. To her, it further helped to divide the people, as not a single Tutsi was ever tried, though many of them killed Hutus in reprisal killings during the genocide. She cited examples in Ruhengeri where Hutus were systematically killed in areas that were under the control of the RPF. These people, according to her, needed (if due process was followed) to be tried under the gacaca law as well.

Interviewees were also asked to comment on the role of the ICTR,123 a UN-mandated court tasked with trying genocide perpetrators, in order to reconcile the Rwandan people. Twenty years after the court was set up, only 70 individuals have been convicted for their roles in perpetrating violence against the Tutsis in Rwanda in 1994. It should be noted that Felicien Kabuga and eight other important suspects have never been located and

120 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Tutsi Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013. 121 Shyaka, M. [Tutsi, Lecturer at National University of Rwanda]. Interview. Kigali, 7 November 2013. 122 Giraneza, J. [Hutu Civil Servant in Ruhengeri]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 22 October 2013. 123 Modeled under the Rome Statute, the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda was set up in 1997 to try genocide perpetrators. Sitting in Arusha, Tanzania, the ICTR tried several prominent genocide perpetrators, including Théoneste Bagosora, who was convicted for genocide crimes and is serving a 37 year sentence in a Malian prison. By the time the ICTR round up in 2012 more than 67 high profile trials have been concluded with over 40 convictions.

219 are believed to be hiding in the eastern part of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.124 However, some prominent people have been convicted by the ICTR, such as Theoneste Bagosora, a retired army colonel and a key figure in Habyarimana’s government. Though he had no important role in the last government of Habyarimana, he assumed the function of the commandant of the Rwandan Defence Forces after the killing of Habyarimana. Having retreated into the eastern Congo after the end of the genocide, Bagosora was later arrested in Cameroon in March 1996. Found guilty of crimes against humanity in the later 2000s and sentenced to life in prison, Bagosora appealed his sentence and was later given 35 years in jail. He is serving his time in a Malian jail.

The ICTR also convicted Ferdinand Nihimana, founder of Radio Television Libre des Milles Collines and Hassan Ngeze, owner of the Hutu extremist newspaper Kangura to life in jail. Jean-Bosco Barayagwiza, a founding member of RTLMC and the public affairs director in the then Ministry of Foreign Affairs was sentenced to 35 years in jail.125 These examples show that though the wheels of justice grind very slowly in Arusha, Tanzania, which is the seat of the ICTR, there are instances where justice seems to have been done. Virtually all of the Hutu respondents hailed the process, but decried the length of time that some of the cases are taking to be finalised at the ICTR. All Tutsi respondents dismissed it as a means through which the international community wanted to assuage the guilt they felt after the genocide.

On the whole, the gacaca community justice system and the ICTR served as important judicial instruments aimed at resolving the legal impasse that the post-genocide administration had to deal with. The two systems rapidly expedited the judicial process, which some legal pundits had predicted would last for over 200 years if the normal Rwandan state judicial system had been entrusted with the task. With more than 200,000 genocide perpetrators, it would have been a monumental task for the judicial system to complete the process in time, taking into account the fact that justice delayed is justice

124 See for example, The Guardian, 2 April 2014. Rwanda genocide: The fight to bring the perpetrators to justice @ http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/apr/02/rwanda-genocide-fight-justice. accessed on 31/07/15.

125 Ibid.

220 denied. In recognition of the challenges the two systems faced, the post-genocide government has put in place other traditional reconciliation institutions to address these lacunas. One of these traditional institutions is the ndimurwanda process, which the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission is championing as a way of instilling new concepts of reconciliation in the post-genocide society.

6.1.4 Ndimurwanda: ‘Rwandaness’ as a way forward

Ndimurwanda, Kinyarwanda for ‘Rwanda is one’, is one of the concepts being promoted by the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in its attempt to reconcile the Rwandan people. The NURC is of the view that if Rwandans see themselves first as Rwandans rather than as Hutus or Tutsis, the level of hatred and division would be drastically reduced. Hutus, Tutsis and Twas, the NURC posits, were introduced by colonialism, and since colonialism has been defeated, Rwandans need to reclaim the concepts that made them strong in the eyes of outside aggressors.

Ndimurwanda is first and foremost an old Rwandan concept of togetherness that was practised and promoted by Rwanda’s mwamis (kings) during years of fighting neighbouring groups. Ndimurwanda subscribes to the notion that Rwandans are Rwandans first before any other affiliation, such as ethnicity. Rwanda’s former kings practised this concept in order to instil a sense of belonging and oneness in Rwandans in the face of danger. This danger could be in the form of physical fights with a neighbouring group or during times of drought and hunger.

This existence and present-day application of the concept of Ndimurwanda was also assessed by the respondents, since it has been central in Rwanda’s past (before independence). Asked on the applicability of the concept, one of its main proponents, Rucyahana, recollects that ndimurwanda is the only solution to the hatred that characterises Rwanda’s public sphere today. He cautions that only when the people of Rwanda feel they are Rwandans first, before being Hutus, Tutsis and Twas, will genuine reconciliation be possible in Rwanda. He recalls that ndimurwanda was commonly practised in pre-colonial and colonial Rwanda, but lost its importance after independence. Asked whether the loss in interest in the ndimurwanda concept was as a result of the fact that it did not have universal appeal among Rwandans, Rucyahana opines that the loss

221 in appeal of ndimurwanda in the immediate post-colonial era was as a result of the fact that most Hutu administrations regarded ndimurwanda as a Tutsi notion and were thus reluctant to implement it.

Hutu respondents were more circumspect about the feasibility of the ndimurwanda concept. For Niyitegeka,126 ndimurwanda was used in Rwanda during a time when the country was peaceful and the prospects for rivalry between the various social segments of the Rwandan society were small. She contends that all the necessary ingredients for the success of the concept are not yet in place. She further opines that if the political field is not level, ndimurwanda would not succeed as a reconciliation tool in Rwanda.

On the whole, the 1994 genocide in Rwanda to a large extent put an end to the Tutsi myth of ethnic superiority. It signalled the end of the assumption that Tutsis were the chosen group to lead the people of Rwanda in perpetuity. It also portrays the long-held view that social classes do not have a common denominator, and took advantage of any inkling of conflict to inflict damage on the opposition group.

6.2 Perceptions of reconciliation initiatives in post-genocide Rwanda

In order to make sense of the post-genocide Rwandan reconciliation initiatives, it is important to ponder on two fundamental questions that Straus (2006) considers in his The Order of Genocide. Firstly, it is necessary to explain why the political elites in Habyarimana’s administration succeeded in forcing many ordinary rural Rwandans to kill, and what probable factors drove the elites to make these fateful decisions. Secondly, as Straus (2006:3) puts it, what ‘methodological approaches’ did these elites employ in order to achieve their objectives?

Straus (2006:7) maintains that the methodological approach that the interim government adopted after the death of Habyarimana was to identify a common enemy, and that enemy was the Tutsi. The declaration that the Tutsis were the enemy functioned as a de facto policy of the interim government that necessitated a coalition of forces to eliminate the

126 Niyitegeka, S. [A Hutu widow whose husband was killed during the genocide. She also played the role of a sage (uyamuganyu) during the gacaca process]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 24 October 2013.

222 enemy – Tutsis. According to Straus (2006:7), once local actors who subscribed to the interim government’s methodological approach in eliminating the enemy had secured enough power, they made the killing of Tutsis the new order of the day and demanded compliance from the Hutu civilian population. This is perhaps the reason why the killings filtered to the very bottom of Rwandan society, as they was in essence government policy.

Interviewees were also questioned on what they believed to be the immediate cause of the genocide, in order to understand how their recollection of the causes of the genocide could help in the reconciliation process. Particular reasons why people take up arms against another could therefore be used as the base through which the reconciliation process could begin. Niyitegeka127 recalls that the desire to kill Tutsis had always been a recurring theme in the life of the Hutus. For her, the death of Habyarimana was enough reason to start the killings. She further recollects that the memory of the subordination of the Hutus during the pre-colonial and colonial epochs, coupled with radio programmes and political party messages to the electorate, have always pointed to the elimination of the Tutsis as a political opponent and as a people. She also recalls that in the aftermath of the death of Habyarimana, bourgmestres and radio messages implored all Hutus to do the ‘right thing’, and that was to kill Tutsis. She recollects that, because there was disdain for the Tutsis in their community because of the Tutsi invasion from Uganda, the desire to kill the Tutsis was already there. What the political and military leaders did was simply to awaken the killing spirit in the Hutus. On the other hand, Iridahemba,128 a Tutsi respondent, recalls that the he could not really pinpoint an immediate incident that triggered the genocide. Nevertheless, he emphasised that plans had been in place since the 1960s by the Hutu governments to kill Tutsis. The downing of the Habyarimana plane, he recollects, was the main trigger of the killings because, as soon as the news of the death was confirmed, widespread killing of Tutsis and moderate Hutus began.

Though Straus (2006:7) argues that the main driving force behind the killings of 1994 was the fear among Hutu hardliners of losing control of state power, but that it also boils down to the manifestation of years of division between Hutus and Tutsis, which left very little

127 Niyitegeka, S. [A Hutu widow whose husband was killed during the genocide. She also played the role of a sage (uyamuganyu) during the gacaca process]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 24 October 2013. 128 Iridahemba, A. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from DRC]. Interview, Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 15 October 2013.

223 room for reconciliation. Once the Hutu hardliners had declared all Tutsis to be the enemy, it functioned as a de facto policy via which a coalition of actors could mobilise to take control of their communities.

With regard to the methods used by the hardliners, Tutsi respondents were in agreement that brutal methods meant to inflict the greatest pain on the victims were employed. Iridahemba129 recalls that methods such as impaling a victim when he/she was still alive were commonly used. Bullets were considered a luxury; instead, machetes and sticks were the most commonly used weapons.

Regarding the views of respondents on the current reconstruction initiatives in the post- genocide dispensation, all Hutu respondents are of the opinion that the current administration is not doing enough to promote national reconciliation and nation-building in Rwanda. According to Shema,130 the Anglicisation of the country is not a good sign for the Hutus who still believe French is the official language of Rwanda. Shema further argues that the gacaca process was meant to punish Hutus only and had nothing to do with the dispensation of justice in the country. Senyandwi131 also agrees with Shema that the nation-building and reconciliation projects in the post-genocide era are biased towards the Tutsis. He argues that the genocide commemoration events centre on atrocities meted out to the Tutsis by the Hutus. Nothing is mentioned about the atrocities committed against moderate Hutus and the suffering of Hutu refugees in eastern Congo.

As could be expected, all Tutsi respondents, on the other hand, are of the opinion that the present government is trying everything in its power to promote reconciliation among all the people of Rwanda. According to Rucyahana,132 the government, through the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission, has instituted measures to do away with ethnicity and regional politics in post-genocide Rwanda. According to him, the reintroduction of the ndimurwanda concept (as discussed above), which means that the

129 Iridahemba, A. [Returnee Tutsi refugee from DRC]. Interview, Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali 15 October 2013. 130 Shema, J. [Hutu community leader in Ruhengeri]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 24 October 2013. 131 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013. 132 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Tutsi Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013.

224 people of Rwanda are Rwandans first and foremost, before being Tutsi, Hutu or Twa, is a step in the right direction towards reconciliation. He argues that the new concept will eventually bring Rwandans together and help to solidify social and ethnic bonds. He maintains that the only way reconciliation can be successful in Rwanda is to rekindle the traditional Rwandan concepts that the mwami instilled in the minds of the Rwandans (see Chapter 2 for a discussion of some of these). According to him, there was no division or social tension in traditional Rwandan society, and the mwami was an important moderating factor who helped to resolve problems when and where they arose.

Rucyahana further said that to him the post-genocide administration’s aim is to ensure that all Rwandans feel accommodated and welcome in the new Rwanda. This is the reason why the Kagame administration, through the 2002 Constitution, criminalises any reference to ethnicity (see, for example, Article 34 of the 2002 Rwandan Constitution). According to Rucyahana, the propagation of pre-colonial practices such as gacaca and ndimurwanda (as discussed above) are in line with the idea of bringing back the national memory of pre-colonial ‘glory’ days when Rwanda was still ruled by the mwami. The question is whether this type of romanticisation of the Rwandan past would please everyone in the post-genocide dispensation.

In response, Hutu interviewees expressed their misgivings, though not in public, about the introduction of pre-colonial concepts as the way Rwandans should live in order to reconcile with one another. According to Senyandwi133 (a Hutu victim of genocide), the introduction of concepts such as ndimurwanda is a distortion of history. He recollects that ndimurwanda was a means by which Rwandans were rallied by the mwami in order to fight an external aggressor. According to him, Rwanda is not fighting any such external threat, so the idea of ndimurwanda does not apply. However, the Tutsi interviewee Rucyahana134 argues that ndimurwanda is the only practical reconciliation tool that the post-genocide government should practise to reconcile the people. To him, the success

133 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013. 134 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Tutsi Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013.

225 of the gacaca courts should serve as an example for the success of pre-colonial Rwandan reconciliation practices.

Asked about what the post-genocide administration should do in order to properly integrate the Hutu population within mainstream Rwandan society, Hutu and Tutsi respondents held opposing views. For Rucyahana,135 for any effective reconciliation to take place, Hutus must collectively apologise to the Tutsis for the wrongs they did to them in the post-colonial era, and more importantly, for the genocide. According to Rucyahana, the Tutsis were collectively punished in the immediate post-colonial administration for supporting the inyenzi attacks, so the same should be done to all Hutus for supporting the genocide against the Tutsis. Furthermore, if the Hutus do not collectively apologise now (21 years after the genocide), genuine reconciliation will not be possible in Rwanda.

The post-genocide administration is facing major challenges in their task to reconcile all the various segments of the Rwandan society. The first challenge is the inability to recognise the fact that they are no longer refugees, but politicians with the critical task of building the Rwandan nation that was destroyed by the genocide. Secondly, the post- genocide administration is facing a major challenge in reaffirming their Rwandanness. According to Rucyahana, their refugee label has been removed, but the challenge now is how to reaffirm and reclaim their Rwandanness. Ruycahana further asserts that the only memory of Rwanda for most of them, who were born in Rwanda and left as refugees before Rwanda became independent in 1962, was of Rwanda as a Tutsi kingdom with all the traditional aspects associated with mwamiship and its courts. Thus, it is only normal that the current leadership of the country, which also grew up in exile, should think along those lines and seek to implement and propagate monarchical policies.

For Tutsis, therefore, it is obvious that the national memory narratives in the post- genocide dispensation should centre on returning Rwanda to its pre-independence socio- political and cultural setting. That explains the rebirth of concepts such as gacaca and ndimuyrwanda. On the other hand, Senyandwi136 (Hutu victim of the genocide) contends

135 Rucyahana, J. [Retired Tutsi Anglican Bishop and President of the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013. 136 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide and a political activist during the run-up to independence in the 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013.

226 that in order for the post-genocide administration to sustainably implant these concepts, the RPF needed to transform from a liberation movement to a political party with the task of building the Rwandan nation so as to win over the majority Hutu population. The key, he contends, is for the current administration to develop a hegemonic ideology that will enhance the legitimacy of the RPF, by portraying them as liberators, representative, fair and committed to democracy. He claims that the current memory narrative was that they (Tutsis) have tried to make the political space representative in order to discredit any ethnic-based politics. According to him, it is in this light, and in order to promote reconciliation, that Pasteur Bizimungu, a Hutu (as discussed above) was appointed as the president of a post-genocide Rwanda in July 1994. The appointment of Bizimungu, as a Hutu, as president was meant as a sure sign that post-genocide politics had transcended ethnic, political and cultural lines. In reality, Pasteur Bizimungu played a generally ceremonial role, as all executive decisions were taken by his vice president, Paul Kagame. This became apparent when Paul Kagame unilaterally forced Bizimungu to resign in 2000. Bizimungu was later charged with corruption, though he was never tried. Placed under house arrest, Bizimungu regained his freedom in 2010.

When asked how the past could inspire the current generation of Rwandans to live in peace and harmony, all the Tutsis interviewed agreed that the RPF method of government is rooted in and supported by a historical narrative about Rwanda as a peaceful country. Senyandwi opines that in order for the post-genocide administration to promote the type of Rwanda which was ruled by the former kings, emphasis needs to be placed on what he called ‘cultural memory’, which should be contained in institutions such as libraries, museum sand archives; honoured through monuments, commemorative dates and practices; and reflected in national ceremonies. These cultural memories should be embedded in political, communicative and cultural formats designed for long- term use and should be transmitted from generation to generation. The purpose of such memories, according to Senyandwi is to influence the thinking of the people and therefore play a major role in ideology formation and construction of collective identities that are geared towards political action.

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However, in order for the post-genocide administration to benefit from the pre-colonial and colonial nation-building practices used by kings, they have put in place elaborate and organised forms of memory, which include:

 Employment of events in an affectively charged and mobilising narrative;  Institutions of learning and the dissemination of the mass media;  Sites and monuments that present palpable relics; and  Commemoration rites that periodically reactivate the memory and enhance collective participation (Assmann, 2008:55 – 56).

The above are hallmarks of annual genocide memorials in post-genocide Rwanda. There are no signs that these forms of memorial will change to reflect the heterogeneous nature of Rwandan society.

However, these elaborate memorialisation practices and institutions have not been able to invigorate the spirit of togetherness and forgiveness among Rwandans. Hutus still seem to feel that they are not properly accommodated in the memorialisation initiatives and have adopted a wait and see approach on Rwanda’s future. The Tutsis, on the other hand, see this form of memorialisation as the perfect way to unite Rwandans and to promote general healing and nation-building in the post-genocide era.

6.3 Collective memory in the post-genocide era

Collective memory symbols in the post-genocide era have been centred on three important events: the genocide memorial day, Freedom Day, which marks the end of the genocide, and Independence Day. Genocide Memorial Day, which is usually celebrated on April 7 every year, serves to remind Rwandans of the atrocities that a segment of the Rwandan population inflicted on the Tutsis. Generally regarded as the day on which the genocide officially started, 7 April has become a national public holiday where prayers are held for the peaceful repose of the dead, while 18 July is celebrated as Freedom Day. It is the day the RPF declared the genocide over and calls were made for national reconciliation. Rwanda’s independence is also celebrated on 1 July. These days form the collective memory in post-genocide Rwanda.

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Apart from the above, collective memory also consists of those national events aimed at celebrating the life of a nation (see Chapter 3). In this regard, respondents were asked to express their views on what the post-genocide government has done to make the entire nation move forward from the tragic events of 1994. All the Tutsis interviewed indicated that the national commemorative events around the genocide have been the main rallying point of the people. For the Tutsis interviewed, these commemorations are meant to bring the people together and to heal the wounds that the genocide had inflicted on Rwandans. On the other hand, the Hutus interviewed decried the fact that all commemorative events in post-genocide Rwanda are geared towards making all the Hutus appear as if they were the main architects of the genocide. According to Hutus, the day of independence, 1 July, is relegated to the political back burner, while 7 April of every year (the day of the commencement of the genocide) is more important to the post-genocide government and therefore attracts more attention.

One of the main collective memory processes in post-genocide Rwanda is the commemoration of a genocide memorial week. The week after 7 April of every year is usually set aside for genocide remembrance events and the entire country is called upon to pay homage to those killed during the genocide. These commemoration events are viewed by Hutu respondents as a contested terrain, since they only refer to Tutsis who were killed during the genocide. Generally, little mention is made of the numerous (and perhaps equal number) of moderate Hutus who were killed by the conservative Hutus and the RPF during the genocide.

It should be noted that besides public holidays in memory of those killed during the genocide, memorial sites can serve as symbols of reconciliation or division, depending on which side of the divide one looks at the Rwandan socio-political situation from. In this regard, respondents were asked to express their views on the role of memorial sites in fostering integration and reconciliation.

Tutsi respondents were of the view that these sites serve to remind the Rwandan public of the cruelty of humankind and also to demonstrate that the perpetrators may have been forgiven, but their crimes have not been forgotten. On the other hand, Hutus such as

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Niyonkuru137 argue that the sole objective of the many genocide memorial sites was to ensure that the Hutus feel guilty whenever they see these sites. According to her, the memorial sites are also meant to deter the Hutus from thinking of planning revenge attacks on the Tutsis.

Another critical element in soliciting national awareness on the process of reconciliation in the country is the role of museums. Museums play critical roles in instilling in the minds of the current generation the nature of social relations in Rwanda’s older generation.

Museums are also important in portraying how pre-colonial and colonial societies, as in the Rwandan case, were organised. In most of the museums housed within the Institute of National Museums of Rwanda, France and Belgium are represented as genocide supporters and enemies of the people of Rwanda. The Institute of National Museums of Rwanda was created soon after the genocide with its principal mission to maintain collections and hold them in trust for the benefit of society and its development. It was also aimed at establishing and furthering knowledge, as well as providing opportunities for appreciation, understanding, preservation and promotion of the natural and cultural heritage of Rwanda.

Conversely, museums also serve as important conduits for the preservation of a people’s memory, depending on which side of the ethnic divide one looks from. Of particular importance within the collective memory domain in post-genocide Rwanda is the Presidential Palace Museum in Kanombe, Kigali, which is part of the above-mentioned Institute. The house served as presidential palace for Habyarimana and Pasteur Bizimungu from the 1970s until late 2000. Though moderate in outlook, museum guides present it as a waste of Rwandan taxpayers’ money. The layout of the Presidential Palace Museum basically intends to achieve one objective – to depict Habyarimana as a selfish, nationalist Hutu bigot whose main interest was to promote the well-being of the Hutu people and his family. From the layout of the presidential museum, and from the explanation of the guides in the museum, it is obvious that the purpose is not to provide opportunities for appreciation, understanding, preservation and promotion of the natural

137 Niyonkuru, E. [Hutu community leader and civil society activist, Ruhengeri]. Interview. 2 November 2013.

230 and cultural heritage of Rwanda. Instead, at the presidential museum, emphasis is placed on the exquisite and expensive taste of the Habyarimana couple.

The changing of names of towns is a further way of promoting a collective national identity. The post-genocide administration is currently changing names of towns and important places with sentimental value to Rwandans. The main point of concern for the current administration is to make sure that names with a link to previous Hutu regimes are completely wiped from the psyche of Rwandans. Old town names with a link to genocide are earmarked for change. A critical look at the current process of name changing also suggests that the present name change process was undertaken without proper consultation. According to Shema,138 the name changes, especially that of Ruhengeri, which has been changed to Musanze, was done without consulting the locals. The area is noted for its Hutu militancy. The last independent Hutu polity is located a few kilometres from Ruhengeri (Musanze). The group contends that there is no particular relationship between the old name of the town and violence. Questions therefore arise as to why the present administration is trying to impose the name on them. For many Tutsi interviewees, the name change is just a normal process that the government was carrying out to stamp out names that bore some relationship to the genocide or were places where the most deaths occurred. In this process, Butare is now known as Huye, Ruhengeri as Musanze, Gitarama as Muhanga and Kibongo as Ngoma. Though the renaming process is usually practiced when a new regime comes to power, the Rwandan situation bears all the hallmarks of a revenge against the Hutus because the towns earmarked for change are of significant importance to Hutus.

Hutu respondents regard these name changes as going against the spirit of reconciliation, as they is interpreted within the Hutu community as discarding the past that they (Hutus) help to build. However, Tutsi interviewees, on the other hand, are in agreement with the government’s position on name changes. According to Kambanda,139 the name change will allow the people of Rwanda to be accustomed to names that do not have a negative connotation. According to him, most of the town names in Rwanda make specific

138 Shema, J. [Hutu community leader in Ruhengeri]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 24 October 2013. 139 Kambanda, A. [Tutsi Bishop of Kibungo Diocese and member of the Justice and Peace Commission of the Rwanda Association of Bishops]. Interview, Kibungo, 28 October 2013.

231 reference to the government of Habyarimana under which the genocide occurred. However, not all Tutsi respondents were positive towards the name changes. To Mvuriye,140 the name changes are just another ploy by the post-genocide government to vilify the Hutus and to make the entire Rwandan population look upon them as the bringers of evil to Rwanda.

In most civilised societies, the drawing up of a new constitution is an opportunity for all segments of that society to make submissions so that the constitution will represent the views of all. The same can be said of the national anthem. In Rwanda, the consultative process in the drawing up of the new constitution and in the approval of the national anthem were, according to some Hutu respondents, anything but representative. According to Nzungize,141 the process leading up to the adoption of the new constitution and the new national anthem failed to take into consideration submissions made by opposition political parties. Though the new constitution and national anthem were adopted in 2002 to replace the old ones (See Addendum 2, no. 7), these types of collective symbols are still to be fully accepted by the Hutus. According to Senyandwi,142 looking critically at the lyrics of the old anthem, there is nothing that actually calls upon the Hutu to rise against the Tutsi that would warrant it being changed. According to him, the idea was to impose a certain nationalistic view on the people, and in so doing the government adopted a new anthem called Rwanda Nziza, ‘Beautiful Rwanda’ (See Addendum 2, no. 8).

The general idea of the reconfiguration of memory in the post-genocide Rwanda and altering the national anthem was all about the re-imagining of identity in Rwanda, and in the aftermath of such atrocities, most Rwandans would be amenable to such identity reconfiguration (Longman, 2006:35). According to Mvuriye, the genocide trials and the change in the national anthem have succeeded in shaping public opinion in depicting the Tutsis as victims of a grand plan by the Hutus to eliminate them.

140 Mvuriye, A. [Tutsi, pensioner. Worked as a history teacher during Kayibanda and Habyarimana’s administrations]. Interview. Kigali, 16 October 2013. 141 Nzungize, H. [Hutu community in leader in Ruhengeri]. Interview, Ruhengeri, 10 November 2013 142 Senyandwi, A. [Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run-up to independence in 1950s]. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013.

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From the preceding analysis, it is clear that the Hutus and Tutsis are not in harmony with the path the post-genocide administration is taking towards reconciling all the segments of the Rwandan society. While the Tutsis believe the current government is doing a good job to reconcile the people, the Hutus, on the other hand, have a different opinion. Hutus usually cite the stifling of opposition voices in the political debate in Rwanda as a clear sign that the post-genocide government is not yet ready to accept criticism. Tutsis see opponents of the current administration as people who still harbour genocidal tendencies.

6.4 Conclusion

This chapter dealt with three major issues. Firstly, it examined the Rwandan refugee situation in eastern Congo 21 years after the genocide. In this regard, the chapter examined the current challenges in repatriating all the Hutu refugees still held in the Congo. The absence of proper reintegration strategies on the part of UN agencies and the government of Rwanda have hampered the complete repatriation of all Hutu refugees in the Congo. Secondly, the chapter analysed perceptions of reconciliation initiatives in post-genocide Rwanda, with emphasis on the challenges of reconciling an erstwhile divided and deeply troubled society. Views of Hutus and Tutsis on initiatives such as the gacaca and the ndimurwanda concept were analysed.

The chapter showed that the Tutsis and Hutus still seem to have divergent views on the way the reconciliation process is being undertaken in the country. The divergent views that exist between Hutu and Tutsi respondents can be attributed to centuries of ingrained division, which has characterised Rwanda’s modern history. As a result, an objective reconstruction of Rwandan history in terms of individual and collective memory is problematic, judging from the dichotomous memories and experiences of Hutus and Tutsis. As has been illustrated in the preceding chapter, the past of the Tutsi does not emerge as an abstract object to be revivified, but was a reality lived and experienced by the Tutsi supported by the colonial administration. Conversely, the Hutu have contested the Tutsi past, looking at it as an imposed version of colonial Rwandan society that does not have a place in contemporary Rwanda. That explains why some national reconciliation efforts such as the gacaca and ndimurwanda are not regarded favourably by the Hutus. From the views of the respondents on gacaca and ndimurwanda, the ethnic

233 classification (the division of the social classes into Hutus and Tutsis) invented in the colonial era and the subsequent divisions in the post-colonial era make genuine reconciliation between the Hutus and Tutsis still seem difficult in the post-genocide era.

It is, however, evident that individual recollections of the genocide and the role played by the Hutus during and in the immediate aftermath of the genocide have made reconciliation difficult. The situation is further compounded by the fact that Hutus and Tutsis have different views on the post-genocide reconciliation process. Therefore, because of these ambiguities in perceptions, the nation-building project that the post-genocide administration is trying to put in place has a long way to go, and the emergence of a united post-genocide Rwandese culture is becoming more and more difficult, given the apparent divisions that still exist between the Hutus and Tutsis.

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CHAPTER 7

MAIN FINDINGS AND IMPLICATIONS

7 Scope, rationalisation and theoretical framework

The fundamental task of the study was to investigate the role of mythical narratives including legends, folktales and proverbs as instruments of social mobilisation, as well as the meaning of memory within the general understanding of political violence in Rwanda. Specific topics that were addressed were: the origin of Rwanda’s myths; the role that myths played in inter-ethnic relations in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda; and the manner in which memories of ethnic-related political incidents entrenched hatred and division between Rwanda’s ethnic groups. The study therefore examines the role that myths and the recollection of the treatment of the Hutus in the pre-colonial and colonial period played in directing and fashioning the attitudes of the Hutu, and their conduct, towards the Tutsi.

However, before the 1994 genocide, the region witnessed several episodes of inter-ethnic violence. The 1959, 1961 and 1962 massacres of the Tutsis by the Hutus are rooted in the manner in which the Germans, the first colonial administrators, viewed and categorised the various segments of the Rwandan society. Although the categorisation of the people goes hand in hand with physical and social cleavages, they were generally not based on race or religion. The only differences in this myriad of social classes were the relationship of the individual to the king and the manner in which one relates to another through contractual obligation. The tension arising from these social differences, which the colonial administrators unknowingly planted into the minds of the people, has resulted in far-reaching repercussions, both in terms of human lives and material destruction. The study shows that this tension between the Hutus and the Tutsis subsequently led to the mass violence that the country experienced in 1994.

Various reasons have been attributed to the tension, including colonialism, ethnic differentiation and resource control. Colonial policies of indirect rule and assimilation have been blamed for igniting this rivalry. But it must be noted that colonialism and its attendant effects could not have been the sole cause of the 1994 genocide. The role that myth,

235 memory, legends and folktales played in fashioning or shaping genocidal policies requires particular attention, principally because in Africa, myths, memory and folktales play important roles in regulating and fashioning societal behaviours and the social standing of groups in society.

However, the roles that the broader concepts of myth and memory have played in the conflicts between Hutus and Tutsis over the years have not been empirically studied by means of fieldwork. The primary objective of this study was to add to the broader body of literature that exists on myth such as the excellent works that have been done by Taylor (1999), Straus (2008, 2004), Lemarchand (1999) and Prunier (1995), as highlighted in the literature overview. The aim of this study, as mentioned above, is therefore to add to this body of literature with a special focus on what the respondents recounted and their recollections of the past. These recollections are considered as instruments of the social mobilisation of the various segments of the Rwandan society that could have contributed to the Rwandan genocide of 1994. The idea was to investigate how the hegemony of the political myth of the Tutsi as dominant and Hutu as subordinate in Rwanda was expressed through education, acculturation, vilification and violence, and subsequently, the destruction, absorption or subordination of their myths (see Chapter 1).

In establishing the role of myth in the Rwandan genocide, the structural approach was used. Elements of the structural approach that were considered in the research include: identification of the multiple meanings of a myth, isolation of the various levels on which the myth evolved, comparison of the various levels of the myth, and above all, the comparison of the different versions of the myth. This is done in order to look for the meanings of and the discrepancies between myths. With these structural elements in mind, the study examined myths within the four mythical types, namely functional, rational, political and structural. Conversely, Rwanda’s myths were also assessed in terms of the pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial dispensations.

With regard to how the various myth types were analysed, it should be highlighted that functional myths are premised on how society as a whole should be organised and regulated (see for example Chapter 1). Furthermore, functional myth maintains that social control is the totality of processes by which social order is established and maintained in

236 society. On the other hand, the rational myth model is premised on the assumption that myths are a symbolic narrative of a culture, tradition or people that describes their early beginnings. Myths focus on detailing how the world they came to know began and how they became part of it. Also known as myths of precedence or creation, rational myths develop in oral traditions and are the most common form of myth found in most societies (see Chapter 1).

Political myths, on the other hand, are aimed at justifying a particular political dispensation. The instrumental nature of myth in political influence and planning emerges both in the analysis of past myths and in the creation of new ones. The focus is on the structural dimension (see above), which strives to detail the constituent parts of myths and linking them with the aggregate picture. Tutsi and Hutu myths of creation have been analysed, situating them within the wider context of the Hutu/Tutsi divide. Mythical dialectics of the pre-colonial and colonial eras have also been analysed with a view to structurally extricating divisive ingredients. The thesis opines that the Hamitic theory perhaps has a far more negative impact on the perceptions of the Hutu towards the Tutsi than any other myth and has also imbued in the Tutsi an air of ethnic superiority towards the Hutu and Twa. This, according to the findings of the thesis, could be the single most damaging theory of inter-ethnic relations in Rwanda.

In terms of analysing memory, the study made use of the individual and national memory approaches in analysing memory. Individual memory consists of events that happened during a person’s lifetime, in which the person was either an active participant or a first- hand witness. National memory, on the other hand, is popular memory that can be seen as a set of representations of the past held by society’s members and manifested through national symbols, national anthems, monuments and public opinions. The study analysed these forms of memories in an attempt to put together the causes of the 1994 genocide.

With regard to the rationale of the study, it is important to note that the Rwandan genocide of 1994 was a manifestation of a long history of social tension between the Hutus and Tutsis. The lack of proper understanding of the Rwandan society by colonial administrators and missionaries further exacerbated the socio-political tension between the two groups in the run-up to political independence in 1962.

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Although conflict is inherent in the life of every group or organisation, it is important to note that the ethnic rivalry between the Hutu and Tutsi in Rwanda suggests a more organised and well laid out system of political propaganda, setting the Hutu against the Tutsi. Colonial policies of indirect rule and assimilation have been blamed for igniting this rivalry. However, colonialism and its attendant effects could not have been the sole cause of the 1994 genocide. The role that myth, memory, legends and folktales played in fashioning the prevalence of ethnic conflict has not yet been empirically analysed.

In order to establish the role that myth and memory played, 56 semi-structured interviews were conducted with Hutus and Tutsis in and around Kigali, Nyanza-Butare and Ruhengeri-Kibungo in Rwanda. The snowball technique was used to select the respondents (see introduction of dissertation). After about 40 interviews, a saturation of data was achieved and very little new information was obtained (see introduction of dissertation for a detailed overview of the interview process). The interviews were thematically analysed in terms of themes of race and ethnicity, and in terms of ideas such as the low intelligence of the Hutus and their laziness, gluttony and serfdom. Concerning memory, the recollection of the independence of Hutu polities in pre-colonial Rwanda was a recurring theme among Hutu respondents. Among the Tutsis, the magnanimity of the Tutsi kings was a recurring theme, and with regard to memory, the notion of Rwanda as one and indivisible was recurring among the Tutsis.

Since this is a qualitative study, it could never be a representation of the views of all Rwandans with regard to the causes of the genocide. However, it provides some indication of how myth and memory have played a role in the ethnic conflicts in Rwanda over the years that culminated in the genocide in 1994.

7.1 Key findings

The study finds that myth and memory may have played some role in shaping the perceptions of each group regarding the other. From the views of the interviewees, it became apparent that myths of Tutsi superiority were propagated by the Tutsis in the colonial era. Whether these myths contributed in the violence that was experienced during the genocide did not come out clearly in the interviews. It was, however, evident from the

238 interviewees that, should the Tutsis have succeeded in coming to power in 1994, which they eventually did, it was expected that they would re-introduce the myth of Tutsi ethnic superiority to continue to subjugate the Hutus. What one needs to underline is that there seems to be a perception among some Hutus that the continuous domination of the political space in Rwanda in the post-genocide dispensation by the Tutsis is a validation of the fear felt prior to 1994 that the latter would re-introduce the Hamitic theory as it relates to the superior ethnic status of the Tutsis.

7.1.1 Key findings on the role of myths

Political debate in colonial and post-colonial Rwanda centred on the manner in which class as a social construct can be defined within the Rwandan context. The study finds that in trying to deconstruct the social class structure, myths were employed. Engaging with the interviewees, four critical approaches to the role of myths in society became apparent: myths as serving a particular cultural function in society, myths as a rational justification for class in society, myths as a social construct and political myths as justifying the political dispensation of a society at a given time. Functional myths are premised on how society as a whole should be organised and regulated. Rational myths, on the other hand, depict how the world began and how people became part of it. Also known as myths of precedence or creation, rational myths develop in oral traditions and are the most common form of myth found in most societies. However, the focus of the study was on political myths and how these helped to shape the Rwandan society.

However, in terms of the role of myth, six conclusions can be drawn from this study:

 Myths reinforced ethnic and socio-cultural differences. One of the first pre-colonial myths, the study finds that attempts to justify ethnic differentiation in Rwanda was the Kigwe myth, which affirms the superior ethnic status of the Tutsi. Analysed within the functional approach, the Kigwe myth, as discussed in Chapter 3, is a perfect example to illustrate how myths were propagated to justify the superior ethnic position of the Tutsis in Rwandan society. Thus, through the Kigwe myth, the premise of inequality between the Hutu and Tutsi became apparent and the Hutus could not argue for equality or question the Tutsis’ God-given position in

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society. Furthermore, the Hutus, according to this myth, could not question the leadership qualities of the Tutsis, as they had been tested and acknowledged by God through the Kigwe myth. The attempt to deconstruct the Kigwe myth may have led to the many incidences of large-scale violence that characterised post-colonial Rwanda.

 Colonialists invented and perpetuated ethnic difference. The study finds that the assertion made by colonialists that Rwanda is a Hamitic kingdom (and some Rwandan scholars such as Alexis Kagame) preclude pre-Tutsi Rwandan traditions and also omit the vibrant socio-economic and political structures of the Hutu and Twa (see Chapter 3). The upholding of the Hamitic myth by the colonialists and the missionaries presupposes that pre-Tutsi Rwanda did not exist, and that, in essence, the history of Rwanda started after the arrival of the Tutsis. On the whole, the study finds that by omitting important milestones in Rwandan history, a myth was created of Tutsi superiority that the Hutus have, over the post-colonial period, attempted to deconstruct. The deconstruction process contributed in exacerbating the social and ethnic divide in the country and may have played some role in the events of 1994 in Rwanda.

 Myths were propagated to present pre-colonial and colonial Rwanda as the epitome of a perfect Rwandan society. From this study it became evident that the current Rwandese society displays some elements of the Rwandan society of the past, with the introduction of old concepts such as gacaca and ndimurwanda (see Chapter 5). This is because the perception of the global society and appearances may have changed, but the inert cultural artefacts of a Rwandan society remain. Of particular importance is the fact that Rwandan culture, the political institutions and the relationship with different components of Rwandan society hardly seemed to have changed dramatically over the centuries. The majority of the people still live in villages and regularly have village meetings where problems affecting the village are resolved (see Chapter 3). This lifestyle has shaped the present interface between the various components of the Rwandan society. This may explain why

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the post-genocide administration has reverted to some traditional practices, as mentioned above.

 Though it can be argued that kinship relations and their importance in pre-colonial Rwandan society fall beyond the scope of this study, they do, however, have a bearing on the post-genocide reconstruction efforts, as the current government has placed a lot of emphasis on the importance of family and societal values (see Chapter 5). This theme became very important because of the critical role and place of the family in pre-colonial Rwanda, as well as the fact that the family was the strongest grassroots organisation in the country. As discussed in Chapter 1, structurally, the analytical narratives in the myth centred on (a) instilling a spirit of togetherness within the Rwandan society, and (b) teaching that wickedness is not part of Rwandan society and that any form of cruelty was punishable by God. The mass killing (genocide) of both Tutsis and Hutus therefore suggests that both groups have ‘sinned’ and should therefore look at ways through which they can repent, as many Hutu interviewees suggest. For the Hutu interviewees, then, for any genuine reconciliation to take place, both Hutus and Tutsis should confess their sins to God and ask for forgiveness (see Chapter 6).

 The study finds that the change in colonial policy direction towards the Hutus was as a result of the post-Second World War myth in Rwanda that suggested that Hutus had developed a sophisticated state machinery before the arrival of the Tutsis (see Chapter 3). Evidently, rational myths suggesting the independence of Hutu polities prior to Tutsi invasion were propagated to show to the entire Rwandan population that Hutus were capable of managing state machinery. The myth of Prince Nyamaka (see Chapter 4) who had led the Bushiru (Hutus) against the Tutsis and colonial administration in the first quarter of the 1900s was recurring and gained attention among the missionaries. The myth dispels the overarching Tutsi and colonial narrative that there were no Hutu principalities prior to the arrival of the Tutsis in Rwanda.

 The study also finds that the myth of Tutsi power symbolised as a python in a lake in Ruhengeri became the recurring mythical narrative in the run-up to the genocide

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in 1994. The legend suggests that if the python is killed, the Tutsi invasion will collapse (see Chapter 5). Interviewees noted that the attempt to kill the snake in the snake legend in Ruhengeri was aimed at ensuring that the Tutsi rebellion would be defeated and the Hutus would maintain power. The propagation of this legend further entrenched the conception that Tutsis could only be defeated through mythical means, and one way in which this could be achieved was by killing. The study notes, though without any concrete evidence, that the genocide in 1994 suggests that the Hutus who killed in 1994 were trying to deconstruct the legend surrounding Tutsi power and invincibility.

7.1.2 Key findings: Memory

One of the fundamental objectives of the study was to examine the role of memory in critically shaping the manner in which the Hutus relate with the Tutsis in colonial and post- colonial Rwanda. Not only is the past seen through a different ethnic lens, but there are also major differences between Hutus and Tutsis in the way in which the past is remembered. Memory, however, be it individual or collective, is a subjective phenomenon and sometimes blurs the lines between the factual truth and the interpretive truth. Thus, memory is a social product reflecting the agenda of those who invoke to make a particular situation palatable in the eyes of the majority.

Conversely, with regard to the role of memory, five conclusions can be drawn from this study:

 The dominant view among Hutus interviewed suggests that the imposition of pre- colonial social contracts helped to entrench division and hatred. Hutu interviewees stated that divisions between the Hutus and Tutsis were sown in Rwanda during the pre-colonial period through a system of social contracts such as the ubuhake and ibinkigi contracts, which restricted the Hutus and Twas to a lifetime of labour and service to their Tutsi masters. For Tutsi respondents, entering into contractual obligation with the Hutus was just another way of diversifying the food base of Rwanda. They recollect that Hutus were farmers and gatherers and did not have enough milk and other resources to diversify their sources of food. The ubuhake

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and ibinkigi contracts were aimed at giving the Hutus cattle and land in exchange for food items that the Tutsis did not grow. It is evident that this seemingly contractual obligation between the Hutus and Tutsis over cattle and land became one of the major sources of conflict between the two groups during the colonial era, and in particular, at the dawn of independence in 1957. The point of discord, according to Hutu interviewees, is not about the bona fide premise of the contract, but rather on the interpretation of the contract (see Chapter 3).

 Most Hutu interviewees recollect that the bone of contention was the interpretation of the contracts, which centred on whether the contractee should own the offspring of the cattle or the contractor. For Tutsi respondents, the offspring and the actual number of cattle given to the contracted belongs to the contractor and the only benefit the contracted (Hutus) received was the milk they got from the cattle every morning (see Chapter 4). Seemingly, this type of disagreement on the interpretation of social contracts between the Hutus and Tutsis became recurrent and was at the centre of the division between the two groups.

 The clash of ethnic memories is an essential process through which the construction of ‘otherness’ was premised. In order to establish the importance of memory in the ethnic divisions in Rwanda and how it contributed to the 1994 genocide, questions were posed to interviewees to paint a picture of the nature of inter-ethnic relations in the pre-colonial era. Though respondents were too young to have experienced the pre-colonial era, they were nevertheless asked to comment on their indirect memory (what they were told or learnt at school) of the first inhabitants of Rwanda. A majority of the Hutus recollected information on the independent nature of Hutu polities prior to the arrival of the Tutsis. They also recollected how prominent Hutu kings were killed and their bodies impaled in order to teach the rest of the Hutu population what would happen to them should they disobey the Tutsi leadership (see Chapter 4). Tutsi interviewees, on the other hand, recollect the pre-colonial period as one in which the Tutsi conquered Rwanda and established the Rwandan kingdom. However, the majority of both Hutus and Tutsis also mentioned the role the Hutu and Twa people played in the

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nation-building process in pre-colonial Rwanda, such as fighting in the king’s army and attending to the royal fields. But it was evident from the study that Hutus and Tutsis do not seem to have the same memory of the pre-colonial period and this fundamentally affected the manner in which they related to each other prior to the genocide.

 The change in colonial policy towards the Hutus in the early 1950s helped create resentment and bitterness among the Tutsis. Though about 10 of the respondents experienced the colonial period, the majority of them learned or were told about life in Rwanda during the colonial period. The majority of Tutsis on the one hand, have an image of the colonial period when the Rwandan society was properly administered by the mwami (king), who had the interest of Tutsi, Hutu and Twa at heart. Tutsis considered themselves the bringers of civilisation, and they made it known to the colonial administrators that they were the main architects of the society the colonists found in Rwanda. Most of the Hutus interviewed, on the other hand, remember the colonial period as one in which their dignity as a people was taken away from them. The bulk of the interviewees blame the Tutsis for fashioning and directing the separatist policy that the colonial administrators adopted soon after their arrival in Rwanda in 1894 (see Chapter 4).

 The post-colonial period was remembered as a period when the Tutsis became an ethnic rather than a racial minority in Rwandan political discourse. The dominant view among the majority of Hutus interviewed was that the post-colonial period as a time when Hutu pride and the sense of nationhood among the Hutus were solidified. They also remember the post-colonial era (Kayibanda and Habyarimana administrations) as a period where the sense of Hutuness was at its peak. Hutus were privileged in all domains of the country and Tutsis who recognised the Hutus as the majority were equally accommodated and treated with kindness. Conversely, about 90 per cent of Tutsi interviewees recollect that the post-colonial era was characterised by the castigation of the Tutsis as a group and the attempt to completely eliminate the Tutsis from the socio-cultural and political structure of Rwanda (see Chapter 3). For the majority of Tutsi respondents, the post-colonial

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era was a period when the majority of Tutsis were forced into exile because of the quota system that Habyarimana imposed on the government, according to which not more than 6% of Tutsis were to be enrolled at a public or private school or employed in the civil service. It was therefore evident that the past in Rwanda was seen through different ethnic lenses, accompanied by different memories. This, according to the study, contributed to the atmosphere of hatred and othering that the country experienced prior to 1994.

The implications of these findings are that these factors created a sense of entitlement to political and social leadership among the Tutsis, who see themselves as God’s chosen people to rule the rest of the people in Rwanda. It reinforces the stereotype, especially via the Kigwe legend, that Hutus are incapable of occupying leadership positions in Rwanda. However, other views and myths exist that maintain that there was independent and well-functioning Hutu state machinery before the arrival of the Tutsis, which presents a counter argument to the Tutsi myths that the Hutus are incapable of managing complex state processes. These different mythical discourses, according to the study, helped to polarise the Rwandan society and contributed to the manner in which ethnic relations were handled prior to 1994.

It is also evident from the interviewees that memories, and more importantly, the recollection by the Hutus of the ill manner in which they were treated in the pre-colonial and colonial era by the Tutsis, made them resort to violence and killings in order to prevent Tutsis from coming to power in the future (see Chapters 4 & 5). Thus, memory played a critical role in creating ‘otherness’ and differentiation in Rwandan society. This suggests a shift from the dominant narrative in Rwandan studies, which points to the fact that the Rwandan genocide was a cruel manifestation of ethnicism.

7.2 Negotiating memory in the post-genocide political dispensation

Given the existence of different memories for the majority of Hutus and Tutsis prior to 1994, it is important to analyse how the post-genocide government has gone about healing the wounds of the past division. Critical to this is how reconstruction initiatives were implemented. In this regard it is important to consider projects such as the gacaca

245 and the ICTR. Though these two important post-genocide reconstruction and justice processes are over, their impact on the reconstruction process in Rwanda cannot be overemphasised.

However, for the majority of Tutsis interviewed, the call for forgiveness is difficult to follow, since it is difficult to forget (see Chapter 5). For the majority of Hutus interviewed, the genocide was a painful period in Rwandan history. They maintain that the atrocities committed in 1994 should not be attributed to Hutus, as Tutsis also committed acts of genocide. However, because of the plurality of memory, post-genocide ethnic interaction between the Hutus and Tutsis is a difficult task, and the current administration should tread carefully not to rekindle these memories in its post-genocide reconstruction initiatives.

The study has found that remembering what happened in 1994 is a daunting task for all the respondents interviewed. Many did not want to talk about it, and the few that did either cried or stopped in the middle of the. However, most of the Tutsi interviewees remembered the genocide as a curse that befell Rwanda. They were also quick to remember that the colonial administrators played a major role in dividing the people along ethnic lines. The task of the post-genocide government, the Tutsis insist, should be on embarking on a clear break from the colonial history of Rwanda and engaging the Hutus in order to come up with viable methodological approaches for reconciliation. Some of the methodological approaches include the introduction of ndimurwanda as a way of life (see Chapter 5), and above all, the abrogation of ethnicity as a means of identification. The Hutus, on the other hand, have expressed indignation, as many suggest that if Rwandans do not know where they are coming from, which suggests a strong affinity to ethnic background, they will possibly not know where they are going.

The dominant view among Hutus interviewed is that the post-genocide ethnic reconstruction initiatives have been geared towards making the Hutus feel that they were the sole perpetrators of the genocide. They recall that Tutsis also committed acts of genocide, but were exempted from the gacaca process and the ICTR, which has just completed it process in Arusha, Tanzania. This renders the work of the post-genocide

246 administration difficult, as not all segments of the Rwandan society accept and identify with the post-genocide reconciliation initiatives.

What is evident from all the interviews conducted for this study is that 21 years after the genocide, Hutus and Tutsis still seem to hold different views of how post-genocide ethnic relations in the country should proceed and have proposed different methodological approaches through which reconciliation can be achieved. While the majority of Tutsi respondents are very happy with the current post-genocide administration’s efforts at reconstructing a battered country, the Hutus, on the other hand, are calling for an inclusive effort aimed at recognising the efforts of some within the Hutu population who sacrificed their lives in order to save Tutsis. The majority of Hutus also call for the repatriation and re-integration of FDLR fighters in the eastern part of the Democratic Republic of Congo into the Rwandan society so that proper nation-building efforts can start. A majority of 95 per cent of Tutsi interviewees, on the other hand, insist that the FDLR fighters are genocide perpetrators, so they should be pursued and killed or face justice, while a minority of those interviewed maintain that all Hutu refugees in the eastern part of the Congo should be given amnesty and be urged to return to their homes in Rwanda. It is therefore evident that these differing views on how the post-genocide government should reconstruct the country are based on the different memories of the Hutus and Tutsis, which help to nurture ethnic rivalry and put the post-genocide reconstruction efforts into jeopardy.

7.3 Contribution to the field of study

The contribution of this study lies on two levels. The first contribution relates specifically to the role that myth and memory played in shaping inter-societal and inter-ethnic relations in the colonial era and in the period prior to the genocide in 1994. Building on the works of others such as Rene Lemarchand, Gerard Prunier, Christopher Taylor and Scott Straus, the study is the first of its kind based on original data collection on the role that myths and memory played in shaping inter-ethnic relations in colonial and post- colonial Rwanda. The interviews reveal and reflect the diversity in views on pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial Rwanda. This diversity, the study notes, could have led to the violence that the country experienced prior to and during the genocide. The study has

247 been done by way of a structural analysis of Rwanda’s myths, with particular attention on an interim critical analysis of secondary data and interviews conducted in Rwanda. Besides political myths, functional, rational and structural myths were analysed to establish an empirical link between the propagation of myth and the shaping of the perceptions and opinions of an ethnic group by another.

The second contribution lies at a more indirect level, where the recollection of the manner in which Hutus were treated by the Tutsis in the pre-colonial and colonial periods (through subjugation and a series of contracts) made the Hutus resist any attempt by the Tutsis to come to power in Rwanda by any means. The study also made a significant contribution in examining the ways and means in which myths are utilised and their influence on memory, which can be applied to analysing conflicts in other parts of the Great Lakes region. Evidently, the study provides a basis through which myth and memory can best explain the prevalence of conflicts in other parts of the African continent.

Fundamentally, the study underscores the importance that myths and memory played in creating and sustaining ethnic divisions between the Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda. It shows that the foundation for violent conflict and genocide in Rwanda was laid through the propagation of myths and the recollection by the Hutus of the manner in which their forebears were treated by the conquering Tutsis. In essence, the study has contributed to understanding the root causes of the Rwandan genocide through an aspect that has not been systematically addressed: myth and memory.

Furthermore, in view of the importance of both the political myths that are created around the superiority/inferiority of certain ethnic groups, as well as the memories of the practical manifestation of these myths in, for example, political exclusion, discrimination and, in extreme cases, extinction (as was the case in Rwanda), the study suggests that these different ‘memories’ be considered in the post-conflict reconciliation efforts and should be vital ingredients for any post-conflict reconciliation and reconstruction on the continent.

7.4 Areas for future research

In terms of the role of myth and memory, a number of areas for future research can be identified. Such contributions could include not only the manner in which political myths

248 and memory contributed to shaping the post-colonial state in Africa, but also how myth and memory facilitated the construction of identity politics in Africa.

An important case study for further research could be Burundi, Rwanda’s southern neighbour, which can be labelled as Rwanda’s ‘notorious twin’, since it has all the ethnic and cultural dynamics that characterise Rwanda, and has experienced similar ethnic violence. An understanding of the effects of myth and memory in Burundi may also be relevant in understanding societal dysfunction and conflict in other African countries.

It will also be important for future research to look at the role myth and memory play in shaping colonial and missionary policies and activities in Africa. Of particular importance will be the link between myth, memory, missionary activities and the reaction of the local people.

249

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Addendum

Respondents

No. Name Designation Ethnic Sex group 1 Kambanda, A. Tutsi Bishop of Kibungo Diocese and member of the Justice Tutsi M and Peace Commission of the Rwanda Association of Bishops. Interview, Kibungo, 28 October 2013. 2 Iridahemba, A. Returnee Tutsi refugee from DRC. Interview, Nyanza- Tutsi M Kicukiro, Interview, Kigali 15 October 2013. 3 Niyitegeka, S. A Hutu widow whose husband was killed during the Hutu F genocide. She also played the role of a sage (uyamuganyu) during the gacaca process]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 24 October 2013. 4 Muzungu, B. Retired Tutsi Roman Catholic Church priest, Rwanda’s Tutsi M independence hero and confidante of Kayibanda. Interview. Kigali, 12 October 2013. 5 Mvuriye, A. Tutsi, pensioner. Worked as a history teacher during Tutsi M Kayibanda and Habyarimana’s administrations. Interview. Kigali, 16 October 2013. 6 Rwanyagare, J. Tutsi returnee refugee from Congo. Left Rwanda in 1959 as Tutsi M a teenager, currently a teacher in Rwanda. Interview. Nyanza – Kicukiro, Kigali, 17 October 2013. 7 Ahishakiye, N. Tutsi Secretary General of the Genocide Survival Tutsi M Organisation IBUKA. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 18 October 2013. 8 Gaullaume, E. Returnee Tutsi refugee from Congo. Interview. Kigali, 15 Tutsi M October 2013. 9 Ndayisabye, V. Hutu, former employee of Hôtel des Diplomates. Interview. Hutu M Kigali, 12 October 2013. 10 Rutayisire, M, Tutsi victim of genocide and teacher. Interview. Bugesera, Tutsi M Kigali, 14 October 2013. 11 Rwabutogo, E. Returnee Tutsi refugee from Uganda. Left Rwanda as a Tutsi M young civil servant in 1959 after the 1959 revolution. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 11 November 2013. 12 Rucyahana, J. Retired Tutsi Anglican Bishop and President of the National Tutsi M Unity and Reconciliation Commission in Rwanda. Interview. Ruhengeri, 8 November 2013. 13 Senyandwi, A. Hutu victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run- Hutu M up to independence in 1950s. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013. 14 Shema, J. Hutu community leader in Ruhengeri. Interview. Ruhengeri, Hutu M 24 October 2013. 15 Rutayisire, A. Tutsi, Lecturer at the National University of Rwanda. Tutsi M Interview. Kigali, 31 October 2013. 16 Nzungize, H. Hutu community in leader in Ruhengeri. Interview, Hutu M Ruhengeri, 10 November 2013.

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17 Kalisa, V. Returnee Tutsi refugee from Congo. Interview. Nyanza- Tutsi M Kicukiro, Kigali, 8 November 2013. 18 Shyaka, M. Tutsi, Lecturer at National University of Rwanda. Interview. Tutsi M Kigali, 7 November 2013. 19 Karamuzi, D. Hutu community leader. Interview. Ruhengeri, 4 November Hutu M 2013. 20 Mukagakinaya, Hutu, Community activist in Ruhengeri. Interview. 13 Hutu M J. November 2013. 21 Bikesha, D. Returnee Tutsi refugee from Uganda. Interview. Kigali, 30 Tutsi M October 2013. 22 Abandibana, B. Hutu, Community leader in Ruhengeri. Interview, Ruhengeri, Hutu M 3 November 2013. 23 Kabandana, E. Hutu worker at the Hôtel des Diplomates during the Hutu M genocide. Interview. Kigali, 12 October 2013. 24 Ingabire, C. Returnee Tutsi refugee from Burundi]. Interview, Nyanza- Tutsi F Kicukiro, Kigali, 14 October 2013. 25 Mahoro, R. Hutu, Executive Secretary of Never Again Rwanda, a Hutu M reconciliation-based non-governmental organisation. Interview. Kigali, 14 November 2013. 26 Rugano, K. Hutu community leader]. Interview. Ruhengeri, 10 Hutu M November 2013. 27 Rwanyagare, J. Returnee Tutsi refugee from Congo. Interview, Kigali, 17 Tutsi M October 2013. 28 Gakwavu, J. Hutu community leader and civil society activist, Ruhengeri. Hutu M Interview. 16 November 2013. 29 Muntunutwiwe, Lecturer at University of Burundi. Interview, Kigali, 5 Tutsi M J. November 2013. 30 Ntamavukiro, Hutu court clerk, Ruhengeri. Interview, Ruhengeri, 4 Hutu M A. November 2013. 31 Mutabaruka, R. Hutu, Civil society activist, Kibungo]. Interview, Kibungo, Hutu M Rwanda, 29 October 2013. 32 Habiyaremye, Tutsi, Lecturer Catholic University of Kibungo]. Interview. Tutsi M V. Kibungo, Rwanda, 29 October 2013. 33 Musindi, S. Tutsi Lecturer at Catholic University of Kibungo. Interview. Tutsi M Kibungo, Rwanda, 29 October 2013. 34 Uwineza, C. Niece of Rwanda’s first president, Kayibanda (Hutu). Hutu F Interview. Butare, 13 November 2013. 35 Nzeyimana, M. Hutu Civil Servant in Ruhengeri. Interview. Ruhengeri, 22 Hutu F October 2013. 36 Habonimana, F. Hutu community leader in Ruhengeri. Interview. Ruhengeri, Hutu F 24 October 2013. 37 Musanaberg, F. Tutsi Community activist in Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali. Tutsi F Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Kigali, 18 October 2013. 38 Ada, E. Returnee Tutsi Rwandan refugee from Congo. Interview. Hutu F Nyanza, 12 October 2013. 39 Njejimana, S. Tutsi community leader and civil society activist, Ruhengeri. Tutsi M Interview.

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40 Ndayisabye, V. Hutu, former employee of Hôtel des Diplomates. Interview. Hutu M Kigali, 12 October 2013. 41 Ngaigari, I. Tutsi victim of genocide and teacher. Interview. Bugesera, Tutsi F Kigali, 14 October 2013. 42 Butoyi, F. Tutsi victim of the genocide. Political activist during the run- Hutu F up to independence in 1950s. Interview. Butare, 2 November 2013. 43 Niyonkuru, E. Hutu community leader and civil society activist, Ruhengeri. Hutu F Interview. 2 November 2013. 44 Giraneza, J. Hutu Legal Assistant, Ministry of Justice, Ruhengeri. Hutu F Interview. Ruhengeri, 22 October 2013. 45 Kankindi, C. Tutsi Commissioner, National Unity and Reconciliation Tutsi M Commission, Rwanda. Interview, Kigali, 23 October 2013. 46 Niyobuhungiro, Hutu pensioner. Worked as a history teacher during Hutu M T. Kayibanda and Habyarimana’s administrations. Interview. Kigali, 16 October 2013. 47 Niyokwizera, O Hutu community leader in Ruhengeri. Interview. Ruhengeri, Hutu F 24 October 2013. 48 Mwsafiri, A. Hutu Civil servant, Ruhengeri. Interview. Ruhengeri, 21 Hutu F October 2013. 49 Mukamutesa, Retired Tutsi teacher, Nyanza. Interview. Nyanza-Kicukiro, Tutsi F D. Kigali, 23 October 2013. 50 Lynbona, D. Hutu civil servant in Ruhengeri. Interview, Ruhengeri, 5 Hutu M November 2013. 51 Ntigurirwa, S. Hutu community leader and civil society activist, Ruhengeri. Hutu M Interview. Ruhengeri, 2 November 2013. 52 Inankoyu, C. Hutu civil servant and civil society activist, Ruhengeri. Hutu F Interview. Ruhengeri, 2 November 2013 53 Rwanyindo, R. Hutu Lecturer at National University of Rwanda. Interview. Hutu M Kigali, 31 October 2013. 54 Iragena, J. Hutu Lecturer at Catholic University of Kibungo, Rwanda] Hutu F Interview. Kibungo, 29 October 2013. 55 Sedagari, C. Hutu Community leader, Butare. Interview. Butare, 21 Hutu F October 2013. 56 Mukangwise, T. Hutu community activist, Butare. Interview. Butare, 19 Hutu F October 2013.

1. Male = 33 2. Female = 23 3. Tutsi = 23 4. Hutu = 33 5. Hutu (male) = 15 6. Hutu (female) = 18 7. Tutsi (Male) = 18 8. Tutsi (female) = 5 Total = 56

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