At Several Junctures During the Reporting, Writing, and Publishing of the Anuak Genocide

Death in Gambella:

What many heard, what one blogger saw, and why the professional news

media ignored it

Doug McGill Editor The McGill Report

Andrew R. Cline, Ph.D. Assistant Professor of Journalism Missouri State University

Jeremy Iggers, Ph.D. Minneapolis Star-Tribune

This essay will consider the case of the coverage of a genocide of an African people living in Ethiopia, the Anuak, by The McGill

Report, an independent Web site that offers what its editor and author,

Doug McGill, calls “glocal” journalism. McGill defines this as

“journalism that illuminates the invisible strands of mutual influence connecting every town and city to the rest of the world”. McGill’s uncovering of the genocide and his reporting technique, which privileged the Anuak as credible sources of their own experience, justified the trust of his audience and what used by his audience as journalism, i.e. information that citizens need to be free and self- governing (Kovach & Rosensteil, 2001).

The essay begins with McGill’s narrative of his coverage of the

Anuak genocide. The essay concludes with two responses, one examining the rhetorical nature of the journalistic transaction between journalist and audience and one examining XXXXXXXX.

In late 2003 through mid 2004, The McGill Report published a series of articles about the massacre of 425 members of the Anuak tribe

1 2 by the military of Ethiopia (McGill, 2003 and 2004) on December 13,

2003. The first article, published on the Web on December 22, 2003, was the first news report published about the massacre, which went entirely unnoticed by the press internationally and in Ethiopia. The following narrative by McGill demonstrates how he came to report the incident, and the main lessons he draws from his experience attempting to gain international attention to the Ethiopian government’s attempt to eradicate the Anuak culture.

The narrative demonstrates the impact of McGill’s reporting on the Anuak community worldwide, its impact on politics in Ethiopia and on several beneficiary groups in the United States, and the widespread lack of interest in the report by a mainstream news media that, on the whole, has failed to fulfill journalism’s purpose.

The McGill Report: Covering the massacre in Gambella, Ethiopia

At several junctures during the reporting, writing, and publishing of the Anuak genocide story on my Web site, The McGill

Report, I was struck by how my journalistic training had insufficiently prepared me for the story, and indeed would have stopped me from publishing it at several points.1

The experience has made me consider whether, in printing the story of the Anuak genocide, I was acting as a journalist following professional journalistic norms as I had learned them at The New York

Times, or whether I was forced by a wider conception of myself-- especially my role as a citizen--to go ahead and publish although I never would have done so, nor been able to do so, if I had been working for the Times or another newspaper. I’ve decided that it was only by sidestepping several professional journalistic norms, and by recourse

2 3 to what I took to be my rights and responsibilities as a citizen, that allowed me ultimately to tell the Anuak’s story.

I first learned about the Anuak people while working as a volunteer teacher of English as a Second Language at a school in

Rochester, Minnesota. Thus, it was in a volunteer civic role, and not while scouting for story ideas as a journalist, that I first heard the claim that an unknown genocide was occurring in East Africa. At the time, I was unemployed, living on savings, and working as a volunteer on several social service projects in my hometown. I had a half dozen

Sudanese immigrants in my ESL class, all of them refugees of the Sudan civil war and several of them “lost boys,” young men separated from their families who had made their way to safe havens in the Midwest.

One of my students, a man in his late 20’s named Obang Cham, was originally identified to me by the ESL school as a Sudanese refugee.

But when Obang’s English began to improve, and we chatted over coffee, he told me a different story. He was a member of a small tribe called the Anuak that lived in remote western Ethiopia. He said that more than a thousand Anuak lived in Minnesota, and when I asked him why they had moved here, he gave me an answer I spent another nine months working to verify before committing it to print: “The Ethiopian government is trying to kill my people.”

The first thing I did after hearing those words was to research what had been written about the Anuak people. I discovered they were an invisible people to the public not only in Minnesota, but to the world.

Although Anuak had been immigrating to Minnesota from the early 1990s, with most of them arriving in the middle 1990s, not a single major metropolitan or local paper in the U.S. had written anything about

3 4 them.2 Was it possible that not a single reporter had ever met and chatted with an Anuak before? And if they had done so, and learned the story--of an unreported African genocide no less--why had they not published anything? In particular, I checked the archives of

Minnesota’s major metropolitan daily newspapers, the Minneapolis Star-

Tribune and the St. Paul Pioneer Press, and at my hometown newspaper, the Rochester Post-Bulletin. No stories had appeared about the Anuak.

Some reports on the Anuak had appeared, over the years, in various specialized outlets. Anthropologists have published reports on the tribe from the middle-20th century to the early 2000s.3 An academic historian of the Sudan and Ethiopia, Robert O. Collins, had mentioned the Anuak in several published histories.4 A human rights group,

Survival International, had written white papers on the Anuak in the

1970s and 1980s5, and the United Nations had mentioned the Anuak in field reports from Ethiopian refugee camps.6 In other words, various special interest groups knew about the Anuak, but knowledge of them in the wider public was basically zero.

According to Obang, he had fled his Ethiopian village of Dimma on foot in 1996 after Ethiopian soldiers surrounded the village and began shooting Anuak. Dozens died in that attack, he said. Many similar attacks during the early and middle 1990s are why so many Anuak now live in Minnesota. Yet the state had absorbed the cream of the crop of the young, strong male leadership of an entire Ethiopian tribe, and their wives, without notice or knowing. The Anuak were invisible in

Minnesota and the world.

If I had stuck strictly to my conventional journalistic training and assumptions, the Anuak would have remained invisible. I was not

4 5 employed as a journalist at the time, and in Rochester, Minnesota, I could find no positions available at my level of expertise. Obang was telling me about a possible genocide occurring halfway around the world, a story that under conventional journalistic standards would have required me to travel to Ethiopia to verify the story in interviews with eyewitnesses, with local Anuak experts and sources, and with those accused of the crimes. This all carried a price tag in time and money that was far too high for me to contemplate as an unemployed individual citizen, whether I’d been trained in journalism or not.

On December 13, 2003, my dilemma came to a head when my telephone started ringing in the afternoon. One after another, Anuak men whom I’d met in the previous months told me a chilling story--that one of the periodic massacres of Anuak men, women, and children was underway at that very moment.

They were having cellular telephone conversations with friends and family in their home villages and were hearing, through their cellphone connections, the sounds of the massacre--shouting and screaming, gunshots, soldiers yelling, and people sobbing and crying.

Some of my sources described hearing soldiers bashing down doors, yelling “put down that phone!” followed by gunshots and then silence. I spent hours on the phone that day, gathering every detail I could.

Through the cell phone connections, dozens of Anuak had heard essentially the same story over and over--that two troop trucks containing uniformed Ethiopian soldiers had arrived in town and disgorged soldiers who then went from home to home in the village, calling out the Anuak men and boys and shooting them dead in the street. Occasionally, the soldiers were joined by non-Anuak citizens, or lighter-skinned Ethiopian “highlanders,” who shouted “Today is the

5 6 day of killing Anuak!” and killed their victims usually with long spears, knives, or machetes.

I was reluctant to publish. In the evening and for two or three days following, I checked the wire services--AP, Reuters, AFP--and the

Web sites of the major daily newspapers in the U.S., Europe, and

Africa. Not a word on the alleged massacre was published. On the Web sites of the Ethiopian embassy, the major Ethiopian newspapers, and the

U.S. Embassy in Addis Ababa: nothing. Finally, around December 17, a

United Nations wire item mentioned there had been violence in Gambella, and the Ethiopian government released a statement reporting that

“tribal violence” in western Ethiopia had caused up to a dozen deaths.

This was nowhere near what the Anuak in Minnesota were claiming based on their knowledge from hundreds of eyewitness accounts, and the

Ethiopian government was placing blame in its press releases not on the

Ethiopian Army but on tribes fighting each other. This smelled like propaganda to me, but once again, living in Rochester, Minnesota, I had no definitive proof that it was. I placed a call to the press spokesman at the Ethiopian embassy in Washington, Mesfin Andreas. “The deaths occurred as troops tried to stop people from killing each other,”

Andreas said.

Under normal circumstances, an individual citizen does not consider calling an official spokesman of a sovereign government a liar in print--nor consider spending weeks of time, without financial compensation, building proof of it. Citizens on fire for justice sometimes do it, but professional journalists, in my experience, generally don’t do such time-intensive work for free. So my decision at this point was whether to press ahead with days of work without remuneration, to try to verify this incredible story as best I could,

6 7 or just quit. I checked with myself as a journalist: “Quit,” the voice said. Then I checked with myself as a citizen--not a citizen of

America, but of the world. “Go on,” the voice said.

On the weekend after the first phone calls came in, Anuak refugees from all over the Midwest gathered at a church in St. Paul,

Minnesota, to discuss the crisis. I attended the meeting where I met several hundred Anuak, and interviewed maybe three dozen. It was six days after December 13, and I recognized that talking to as many people as I could, as close in time to the massacre as possible, and who had as close to eyewitness accounts of the massacre as possible, was the key. So in interview after interview I asked the same questions, only talking to people who said they had spoken directly to people on cell phones who were eyewitnesses as the massacre was happening. The stories that I heard that day were identical to the ones that I’d heard over the telephone a week earlier. Uniformed Ethiopian soldiers had done the killing with automatic rifles, targeting Anuak men and boys for killing and Anuak women for raping. Not dozens but hundreds had died.

Back at home, I called an Anuak survivor in Ethiopia. He lived in

Gambella, the town where the massacre occurred. He told of seeing uniformed Ethiopian soldiers killing Anuak men on the street from the window of his home. He’d hidden under his bed as soldiers marched by.

His own son had died in the attack. While speaking to me, he said he could still see some bodies in the streets of Gambella, and that at a mass grave on one side of the town, several hundred corpses were strewn in piles. He and other Anuak survivors counted the corpses and noted how they had died, he said. The total was some 425 killed either by gunshots to the head or back, or by spear thrusts and machete blows.

I knew that if I were a reporter at The New York Times, I’d have been unable to publish the story even with all the material I’d gathered. The problem was, I had not actually been in Ethiopia, nor talked face-to-face with any actual eyewitnesses to the killing.

Instead, my sources were a strange new breed of witness--“earwitnesses” to the sounds of a massacre, and to direct eyewitness accounts of the massacre, heard over cell phones. I was not then aware, nor am I aware today, of any report of a massacre or other crime in the media based on witness accounts of this nature. They are the creation of our present strange new world of hyper-communication. Surely, editors at The New

York Times would be wary. Besides that, I knew enough of the Times’ foreign desk (I’d worked on the desk for a year in 1983), to know it would never challenge a sovereign government over a claim like genocide without far more reporting completed than I had done, including sending a correspondent to as close to the scene of the crime as possible.

In the end, my decision to publish what I’d heard, pointing a finger directly at the Ethiopian army, boiled down to my gut feelings as a journalist and my conscience as a citizen. After a week of solid reporting, I felt in my gut that I knew something close enough to the truth to publish. And my conscience told me it was my duty to publish, because even up to December 22, the day I finally did publish an account of the massacre, not a single news publication had done so-- anywhere in the world. If I didn’t publish, who would? Not that I had any idea who would read my report once I published it. The McGill

Report is not a highly-trafficked blog. Its readership spikes to a thousand or more every time I publish a story and e-mail it to my membership list, and falls steeply off from there to only about a dozen readers a day. But the story at least would be on the Internet, and

8 9 anyone who wanted to see it could do so. All the previous massacres of the Anuak that I’d heard about from Obang and others had gone unreported. Would this one too?

I published my first article about the massacre on Monday,

December 22, 2003. Two days later, my local newspaper, the Rochester

Post-Bulletin carried my story as well. But the response to the story showed me where my true audience was. I never received a single e-mail from any reader of my Post-Bulletin article. By contrast, within hours of publication on my Web site, e-mails started pouring in, and I discovered who the first audience was for the article--the Anuak diaspora living not only in Minnesota but all over the world. One e- mail, from an Anuak named Ujulu Goch in Washington, D.C., was typical:

“Sir, I would like to thank you for being a real friend of this small and defenseless tribe. God has always worked through someone to help needy people like the Anuak. But Sir, this is not the end of the tragedy. It’s the beginning of the extinction of my tribe from the face of the earth.” Similar notes came in from Canada, Geneva, New Delhi,

Cape Town, Melbourne, as well as cities throughout the U.S.

My Web site article, entitled “U.S. Anuak Refugees Fear 400 Dead in Ethiopian massacre,” was being e-mailed around the planet by the

Anuak diaspora. Time after time, they told me that they were learning more from my articles than from any other news source, inside or outside of Ethiopia. After a couple of weeks, I began to get e-mails from two other kinds of readers--American church leaders responding to the suffering of Anuak in their churches and parishes, and human rights and non-government organizations that had received my article in their e-mails, though not directly from me. One of those was Greg Stanton,

9 10 the director of Genocide Watch, an NGO watchdog that investigates genocide wherever it happens in the world.

“You were the first to report on this, and we’re very grateful,”

Stanton wrote me in an e-mail. Within days of my story appearing on the

Internet, Stanton had hired an investigator and sent him to Ethiopia to check out the claims made in my article. On February 25, 2004, Genocide

Watch published the investigator’s report, “Today is the Day of Killing

Anuak,” based on interviews with dozens of eyewitnesses to the massacre in Gambella.7 The report verified all of the key claims of The McGill

Report article, including the number of Anuak killed and the fact that uniformed Ethiopian soldiers had carried out most of the killings.

In early 2004, I received a grant of $5,000 from the Knight

Foundation to travel to Ethiopia to investigate the massacre, and to travel to a refugee camp in southern Sudan where some 10,000 Anuak had fled in the days following the violence of December 13. I spent two weeks in April 2004 in the refugee camp of Pochalla, Sudan, interviewing dozens of eyewitnesses to the massacre; in Nairobi where a smaller number of December 13 refugees had fled; and in Addis Ababa, where I interviewed the Ethiopian government official who, I had discovered, was the person most likely to have ordered the killings.

Upon my return to the United States, I was able to place a story about the massacre in The New Republic magazine, and on Minnesota

Public Radio. But my reception at the Minneapolis Star-Tribune, the major metropolitan newspaper in Minnesota and the one place that would be most likely to give the Anuak refugees of Minnesota true visibility in the state, was most revealing. After pitching a piece to a Star-

Tribune editor, three successive drafts were rejected. After the first

10 11 one, the assigning editor handed off the piece to a second editor, who specialized in long-style narrative and editing problematic pieces, for

“a little more work.” Both the first and second editors asked me, time after time, “if this really happened, how come the United Nations hasn’t said anything about it? How come Human Rights Watch or Amnesty

International didn’t say anything about it?” I countered that all of these agencies were big lumbering bureaucracies that were distracted with the much larger case of the Darfur genocide and didn’t have the time or staff to devote to the Anuak. In the case of the United

Nations, I explained to both editors that, in a manner similar to the

Rwandan genocide, the U.N. was itself implicated in helping to create the very conditions that had made the December 13 massacre possible--a point that seemed to elicit not the slightest interest or impact on them. Finally, I emphasized to them both that I had actually gone to

Ethiopia and Sudan myself, and got on-the-record interviews with dozens of eyewitnesses to the massacre, including several whom I quoted directly in the piece. I assured them that I had applied to all of my reporting and to the writing of each draft of my stories, the very highest journalistic standards as I had learned them while working for ten years as a staff reporter at The New York Times.

“Keep working on your sourcing,” they said time after time.

The Star-Tribune didn’t run an article until a year later, in

June, 2005 when a summer intern whom I had told about the Anuak genocide interviewed some Anuak in Minnesota and wrote a piece. The intern was a young black reporter from a Minnesota college who had heard me speak about the Anuak genocide at an academic symposium after returning from my Ethiopia trip. By that time, Human Rights Watch, in

March 2005, had also finally sent a team to Ethiopia and again

11 12 confirmed the original details of The McGill Report story and indicated that Ethiopian soldiers had “targeted” Anuak in “crimes against humanity.”

The fact that the state’s largest metropolitan newspaper was unwilling to accept my reporting of an African genocide, and was similarly unwilling to print any such language until Human Rights Watch had done so first, is a further indication of the ambiguity of my role as a journalist in this case. From the Star Tribune’s point of view, was I really a trusted journalist--a veteran of ten years reporting for

The New York Times--who now was reporting a new case of genocide in the world? Or was I a citizen whose journalistic credentials were suspect, or at least suspect enough to delay printing a word about the story until a prestigious human rights organization had put its stamp of approval on the claims? The facts speak for themselves.

From my vantage point, it was the three groups of readers who first responded to my story--members of the Anuak diaspora, the clergy, and small human rights organizations--who validated my work as journalism and me as a journalist. These readers immediately found my original story interesting and useful, gave me feedback in e-mails and telephone calls, and eagerly consumed every further Anuak story I wrote--about two dozen articles over the next two years. They are the ones who told me there was an interested audience out there for whom I should continue to write. The extent of my fame in the Anuak world came as a shock to me and again, in its way, illustrates the unusual nature of readership and audience in the Internet world. In April 2004, four months after publishing the story of the December 2003 massacre, I was in the refugee camp in Pochalla, Sudan, a dry red patch of boiling desert without a single flushing toilet or telephone, much less a

12 13 computer. In one of my interviews of Anuak refugees there, I spoke with a young man who had fled to Pochalla from Gambella after the massacre.

“My name is Doug McGill,” I told the young man. “Doug McGill of The

McGill Report?” he asked. I asked how on earth he knew about my Web site. It was because he had seen my very first articles about the

Anuak, published in mid 2003, when he was a student in Addis Ababa and had visited my site at an Internet café. And since the massacre, he said, people had downloaded my stories and passed them around in dog- eared versions as the best available news on what was happening in

Gambella.

Another striking example of the actual impact of my Anuak stories across global borders is that when I entered the office of Barnabas

Gebre’Ab, the Ethiopian government official who many think ordered the

December 13 killings, he showed me printed-out copies of my McGill

Report articles on his desk. “You are causing me a lot of trouble,”

Gebre’Ab told me before we sat down to talk. He said that just before I had arrived, a foreign aid official from Sweden had called him and asked, “What’s all this we are reading on the Internet about a genocide in Ethiopia? If this keeps up, Sweden will have to stop its foreign aid.”

To this day, the story of the Anuak genocide has hardly scratched the surface of public awareness in the United States. Although it is a confirmed case of African genocide, not a single minute of national network or cable TV news time has been devoted to it. In Ethiopia, though, it is now an established part of the country’s history. My story broke the news of the Anuak genocide in Ethiopia because the state-controlled press would never, and never has, reported on it.

However, my articles on the genocide from late 2003 throughout 2004

13 14 were avidly read in Internet cafes in Addis Ababa, which I know from e- mails received from many correspondents in those places, sometimes to thank me for my coverage, other times to call me a stooge of the Anuak or other interests. My articles were also closely read in Eritrea, the former Ethiopian region that won its independence in 1991 following a

30-year civil war. In the summer of 2004, I was interviewed by telephone by the Eritrean state-run radio station about my knowledge and views on the Anuak genocide. Members of the Oromo tribe of

Ethiopia, by far the largest ethnic group in the country, which also suffers discrimination by the present government, have also interviewed me and invited me to speak about the Anuak genocide at various Oromo conferences and events in Minnesota.

These examples, plus the fact that Ethiopian opposition parties after December 2003 began to cite the Anuak genocide as a reason why the present regime needs to be replaced, shows how articles written and reported from Minnesota helped make the Anuak a part of Ethiopian politics. Reporting on the events of December 2003 also gave the Anuak a role in U.S.-Ethiopian relations. In January 2005, then-U.S.

Ambassador to Ethiopia Aurelia Brazeal made the first trip in memory by a U.S. Ambassador to Gambella, where she gave a speech directly implicating the Ethiopian military in the massacre.

What are the main lessons I draw as a journalist from this experience? I would point to three main ones. First, I believe the story dramatically points to the failings of the mainstream news media as an effective international warning system against global threats--in this case, a sovereign government committing crimes against humanity.

That the international press would miss such a story is a lapse on the order of the American press failing to notice, say, U.S. military

14 15 actions aimed at killing all the inhabitants of Indian reservations, or people living in religious cult compounds, or all homeless people, or all drug addicts living in slums. That the Ethiopian press not only did not report the Anuak genocide, but published outright propaganda and lies designed to hide the truth of its criminal actions, was only to be expected under Ethiopia’s present repressive regime. But cell phone connections between Gambella and many other countries made details of the massacre easily verifiable through interviews with eyewitnesses and

“earwitnesses.” So why did the U.S. mainstream press not notice or report these deaths? Bus plunges, earthquakes, hurricanes and freak disasters in remote regions that kill far fewer numbers than were killed in Gambella routinely make headlines in the international press.

Why not the Anuak genocide? Obviously, very powerful forces are distracting the international press from its mission to serve global society. My experience covering the Anuak genocide makes clear, to me, the need for the international press to actively study, identify, and reverse those forces that are preventing it from supplying this critical global need.

Second, the conscience of the individual journalist seems to have played a more prominent role in my story than is typical in most “how I got that story” journalism narratives. Despite long years of training and experience as a journalist at The New York Times and Bloomberg News around the world, I found myself radically ill-prepared to make critical decisions about reporting and publishing what I’d learned about the Anuak genocide. At many points, I also encountered a great deal of reluctance by my former colleagues in the mainstream press to publish the basic facts of the Anuak genocide as I’d attempted scrupulously to report them, or to give the story the extremely high

15 16 level of play that, to my mind, the genocide of an entire culture deserves.

What precious little preparation or training I had ever had in how to apply my own conscience to my work as a journalist! This lack of preparation arose at many points during my reporting of the story, such as while interviewing refugees who still were intensely suffering the shock, depression, and physical hardships of surviving a mass murder.

This alerted me to what I believe is an enormous gap in the present system--or lack of one--in journalism training in the U.S.

This narrative is not the place to recount in detail how, driven by the moral dilemmas presented by the Anuak story, I tried to fill that gap in my own professional background. Suffice to say that running parallel to long-running coverage of the Anuak story, I also eagerly sought out personal conversations, email exchanges, and immersive reading to draw helpful journalistic insights from moral philosophy, rhetoric, epistemology, Buddhism, and the ethics of public speech.

Ultimately, it was primarily this course of self-study and meditation that allowed me, with some measure of confidence, to make the decisions of conscience that guided my Anuak coverage. I believe that journalism at every level needs to make a similar effort, in order to more fully conceive of itself as a conscious moral practice aimed at healing global society.

Finally, the Anuak story for me raises a point that transcends even the question of the individual journalist’s conscience. Because no matter how many journalists of conscience are trained, they will remain vulnerable as individuals without strong institutional support. Corrupt governments cannot effectively be countered only by upright

16 17 individuals, but by upright institutions with power and the will to use it. In the end, with the Anuak story, I had to squarely face the fact that for all of my soul-searching, no special courage was required of me to report and write what I did. I could publish without fear against the Ethiopian government because I live safely in Minnesota. Indeed, it would have been much tougher to have reported about nefarious doings in my own city or state as a freelance “citizen” journalist, than about

Ethiopia’s crimes, while knowing that no journalistic institution stood behind me. Had I faced a truly credible threat to my own personal safety or that of my family, I’m not even sure that I would have published what I learned about the Anuak genocide. I hope that I would have had the moxie to do so, but I’ll never really know.

To the extent that the Anuak genocide is reported at all in the mainstream news media even today, it is done by passionate advocates working against institutional inertia, at the fringes of the profession. The deference paid by even our greatest journalistic institutions to all governments and their spokesmen--including blatantly negligent, incompetent, and criminal ones--is still firmly in place. Entertainment values continue to trump news values at journalistic institutions at all levels. Pandering after lucrative readership demographics, instead of illuminating public issues that affect all of society, is how most news decisions are made. Meanwhile, unsexy but urgent public crises ranging from potholes to cultural genocides go uncovered and unhealed. My final question therefore is:

Where will our great journalistic institutions come from that put doing the right thing--not making the most money--at the very core of journalism?

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18 1 All articles by Doug McGill cited in this narrative may be found on The McGill Report: http://www.mcgillreport.com.

2 A LexisNexis search of major newspapers between 1996 and 2006 shows 220 articles published about the “Lost Boys” and three articles published about the Anuak. The articles about the Anuak followed McGill’s reporting of the incident in Gambella. These articles include:

Lacey, M. (2004, June 15). A River Washes Away Ethiopia's Tensions, for a Moment. The New York Times, p. A4.

Medcalf, M. (2005, June 16). Anuak nightmares. Minneapolis Star Tribune, p. 3B.

World Briefing Africa: Ethiopia: Nearly 200 Killed In Clashes. (2004, February 12). Reuters.

3 Evans-Pritchard, E.E. 1940. The Political System of the Anuak of the Anglo Egyptian Sudan. Berg Publishing Ltd. Wall, Lewis. 1976 Anuak politics, ecology, and the origins of Shilluk kingship. Ethnology 15:151-162.

Perner, Conradin. 1994. The Anyuak: Living on Earth in the Sky. Schwab AG. Eisei, Kurimoto. 1992. Natives and Outsiders: the Historical Experience of the anywaa of Western Ethiopia. Journal of Asian and Africa Studies, No. 43.

4 Collins, R. (1971) Land Beyond the Rivers: The Southern Sudan, 1898-1918. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971 Collins, R. (1983) Shadows in the Grass: Britain in the Southern Sudan, 1918- 1956. New Haven: Yale University Press.

5 1984. The Anuak – A Threatened Culture. Cultural Survival Quarterly. Issue 8.2.

1988. Anuak Displacement and Ethiopian Resettlement. Cultural Survival Quarterly, Issue 12.4.

6 2001. Practicing and Promoting Sound Environmental Management in Refugee/Returnee Operations. Papers presented at an international workshop, Geneva, Switzerland, Oct. 22-25, 2001. United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees.

2003. Assistance to refugees, returnees and displaced persons in Africa: Report of the Secretary-General. 58th Session, Item 114 of the Provisional Agenda, Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, Questions Relating to Refugees, Returnee, and Displaced Person and Humanitarian Questions. September 8, 2003.

7 "Today is the day of killing Anuaks" (2004, February 24). Retrieved September 14, 2006, from http://www.genocidewatch.org/Today%20is%20the %20Day%20of%20Killing%20Anuaks.htm