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Crime, Law & Social Change34: 77–97, 2000.© 2000Kluwer Academic Publishers. Printed in the Netherlands.

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Victimization, survival and the impunity of forced exile:A case study from the Rwandan genocide1

FRANK M. AFFLITTODepartment of Criminology and Criminal Justice, The University of Memphis, Memphis,Tennessee, USA

Abstract. A case study of a Rwandan genocide survivor and a review of the cultural andhistorical contexts of that crime are presented. The case study examines not only the eventsthat occurred during the genocide, but also the post-victimization reflections of the respondent.It is argued that neither survival nor victimization in genocide are bounded events, but a setof processes. Survival during genocide is accomplished only by navigating through a series oflethal threats. Victimization is perceived to continue after the genocide through the impunitygranted to perpetrators.

Introduction

The basis of any empirical enterprise is the collection of observed data whichcan be subjected to theoretical speculation. To begin building a criminologicalunderstanding of genocide, then, scholars need a foundation of observationssuitable as objects for study within the epistemological framework of crimin-ology. This paper contributes to that process by presenting a case study of asurvivor of the Rwandan genocide, focusing on experiences during the geno-cide and the post-victimization perspectives of the respondent. The interviewdata reported here are interpreted in terms of the respondent’s sense of justiceand how formal sanctions, or their absence, affect the quality of experienceof victims in the aftermath of the crime.

The revelatory, holistic case study (Yin, 1984) found in this article relatesthe experiences of a young Tutsi woman during the Rwandan genocide of theperiod April to July of 1994. This case study is relevant in that it is far fromunique. It is because it is representative of many similar cases of victimizationin the Rwandan genocide that it is of value and is revelatory as a case study.

Another reason case studies such as the present one are of empirical worthis that the information provided by the research subject deals with issues bey-ond victimization. These contextual data include post-victimization percep-tions of justice and other perspectives beyond the cross-sectional experienceof direct genocidal victimization. This current case study of one Rwandangenocide victim and survivor provides the reader with not only the circum-stances surrounding victimization, but a context in which her current reac-

78 FRANK M. AFFLITTO

tions can be examined. These reactions center on her perceptions of the socio-legal aftermath of the genocide in her country and her continued persecutionas a Tutsi woman.

A third and salient point of relevance of the case study method is theposition of the professional researcher in the research process. This article isbeing written from a place of partiality (Benedetti, 1984). While the researchhas been conducted with the standard perpetual focus on the enhancementof scientific objectivity and empirical validity, I would be misrepresentingmyself as a criminologist were I not to state that I am partial in exposing thereader to data detailing a process of genocide.

The production of such a research article is part of a process of “writingagainst terror” (Sluka, 2000). This methodological genre has been a devel-oping professional trend in political anthropology and ethnography over thepast decade. “Writing up genocide,” then, is a methodological act that is also,inseparably, an “ethical stance” (Afflitto, 1998b) in my view. Not only areethics exercised in guarding the respondent’s identity and hometown, but thepresentation of the data themselves is one small piece in the fight againstgenocide. Anthropologist Nancy Scheper-Hughes (1992) has eloquently ad-dressed the responsibility of exercising morality in one’s ethnographic field-work in her book on poverty and violence in northeast Brazil. Other powerfulrecent work on fieldwork techniques (Lee, 1995) and on researching the vio-lence in and around Northern Irish Catholic ghettos (Sluka, 1989, 2000) hasalso addressed this methodological orientation.

Criminologists, in general, face similar dilemmas of partiality and ob-jectivity as part of more common research topics. After all, who among usdoes not study subject matter that is somehow repulsive and unacceptable,such as child sexual molestation, police corruption, domestic violence, orsavings and loan fraud? Our field is replete with scholars researching phe-nomena which they somehow seek to overcome, affect or modify. I feel noshame, therefore, in letting the reader know that this criminologist writesfrom a place of condemnation of genocide and state violence, in Rwandaand elsewhere. It is my hope that the data in this article provide the readera name and a face for the word “genocide” and motivate criminologists andvictimologists to include genocide in their research agendas.

Methodology

The case study is based on a number of contacts between the author and theresearch subject over an eighteen-month period. The author first witnessedthe informant speak in public on two separate occasions during a six-monthperiod, from October 1998 into April 1999. In October 1998, the research

A CASE STUDY FROM THE RWANDAN GENOCIDE 79

subject spoke at the First International Genocide Conference in Sacramento,California, hosted by the Ethnic Studies Department of the California StateUniversity at Sacramento. The subject was then invited to speak in April 1999at The University of Memphis as part of several academic projects commem-orating the fifth anniversary of the Rwandan genocide.2 It was during thatvisit in April, when the then twenty-year old informant addressed several Uni-versity of Memphis Department of Criminology and Criminal Justice classesand a group of faculty, that a full-length recorded interview was conductedwith her for purposes of this case study.

Information about the young woman’s genocide experiences was relayedto the author in fora other than the public speaking engagements and theformal interview. A personal relationship developed between the author andresearch respondent via telephone and cyberspace. She subsequently spokeon the Fox 13 evening news in Memphis during her April 1999 visit and shewas interviewed more extensively while visiting Memphis several monthslater for a five-hour video documentary on genocide due to be released late inthe year 2000 (Media Entertainment, Inc., 2000). The author was also presentfor and participated in those media events, having facilitated them.

The data for this article were gathered from all of the above-named sources.Information was principally garnered from the private, semi-structured inter-view, which lasted approximately 60 minutes. The interview schedule wasadapted from two questionnaires previously utilized by the author in researchwith state terrorism survivors in Guatemala in 1990 and 1992. Further ques-tions were tailored to elicit clarifying elements based on the author’s previousexposures to the research subject’s stated memories. In this way, generalquestions directed towards victims of state repression were used to gatherdata that could be solicited from any survivor, while specific details of theRwandan experience were collected from the individual research subject asshe reflected on her own genocide experiences.

Definition

While many definitions of genocide exist, two main points are necessary inorder to place the reported experiences of the research subject in the propercontext. The first of these is that genocide entails the real or attempted anni-hilation of a group, “in whole or in part” (United Nations, 1948). While themain polemic in the definition of genocide has tended to center on whatkindsof groups the attempted annihilation refers to, it is not necessary to enter intothis debate for the purposes of this article.

Essential for understanding the case of Rwanda, however, is one caveatto the definition process which is was brought into the literature by philo-


sopher Thomas W. Simon (1996). Simon refers to the fact that genocideis not limited to the simple killing of people in a particular group for thepurposes of elimination. For Simon the violence is perpetrated on the victimsbecause the perpetrators negatively identify, and sometimes assign, the groupidentity of those victimized or “victimizable.” This notion of negative groupidentity and assignment is essential to understanding the motives for genocideshould one seek to establish work towards prevention and amelioration of thephenomenon.

Comments on the available literature in English on the Rwandangenocide

Much of the published literature on the Rwandan genocide has dealt withcollective case studies providing bits and pieces of detail on victimization(African Rights, 1995, 1998a). Some of the books in question give a generalhistorical background to the violence, portraying the victimization of varioussectors of the Rwandan population (Keane, 1995). None of these above-mentioned sources, however, addresses the consequences for victims in anytheoretical context. Many recent works are more global analyses of victim orsurvivor experiences with experiential testimonies interspersed throughout abody of journalistic commentary (Gourevitch, 1998; Vanderwerff, 1996).

The present article will briefly address the history of Rwanda, the globalhistorical circumstances surrounding the 1994 genocide, and some of thecauses or social conditions present in the genocide. More detailed historicalinformation can be found in several major works in English (Destexhe, 1995;Eller, 1999; Prunier, 1995). Several noted academicians have also called forstudying Burundi alongside any study of Rwanda (LeMarchand, 1996; Me-lady, 1974; Melson, 1999). The interested reader or serious student shouldheed such a call.

The origins of intergroup conflict in Rwanda

Group assignment to a bipolar ethnic category in Rwanda and Burundi iscomplicated at best and even shares some random elements. Most of theauthors writing in English who have addressed this in their journalistic andscholarly works agree that there were many class or socioeconomic dimen-sions to ethnicity formation in Rwanda and Burundi (Eller, 1999; Gourevitch,1998; LeMarchand, 1996; Prunier, 1995). As a more random, yet deeplydefining element, the Belgian identity card system with bipolar “ethnic” cat-egories implemented in the second quarter of the twentieth century was andhad been the main catalyst in individual ethnic formation among Rwandans


(Feil, 1998; Gourevitch, 1998). Their German colonial predecessors propag-ated an ideology of racialist division based largely on aesthetics and cattle-owning (Destexhe, 1995) and were an influence on the European view ofRwanda for the Belgians who received the nation as one of the spoils of WorldWar I.

There are four dominant trends related to the explaining of who is a Tutsiand who is a Hutu in Rwanda. The first explanation for Tutsi/Hutu differ-entiation is a political thesis. This was effectively used by Hutu nationaliststo point out the perceived dangers of Tutsi domination. The political thesisstates that the Tutsi served Belgian colonialism. Tutsis were supposedly amore educated class of people who had constituted the pre-Belgian monarchyin Rwanda (Mwami). The aristocratic Tutsis had then worked at the side ofthe colonizers to further enslave or rule over the Hutu, or Bahutu (“servant”),peoples with a double yoke of oppression; one of these being domination byEuropeans and the other by indigenous Tutsis (Prunier, 1995).

The second explanation for Hutu-Tutsi differentiation is a class thesis.This class thesis states that the Hutu were the people who worked the landin more or less hunter-gatherer and subsistence-based agricultural communit-ies. The Tutsis were those who were cattle herders and, more importantly,livestock owners, favored in wealth succession, (i.e., livestock inheritance)by the Europeans through theubuhakesystem (Destexhe, 1995). The owner-ship and grazing of livestock necessitates more land than most subsistence orlocal market crop farming does. The non-governmental organization AfricanRights (1995) even states that the terms themselves may have been simplydistinguishing signifiers for cultivator (“Hutu”) and cattle herder (“Tutsi”).Therefore, the Tutsis, as cattle herders, were also the Rwandan equivalent oflarge landowners, according to this class thesis. It this class division, argueadherents to this thesis, that is essential to understanding the differentiationbetween Tutsi and Hutu.

The third thesis has been called the “Hamitic myth” (Lemarchand, 1996).The Hamitic thesis states that the Tutsis really are persons of a differentethnicity, or race, with different body types and complexions. The Hutu areconsidered to be of sub-Saharan racial/ethnic stock, with shorter, wider bod-ies, flatter, wide noses and darker complexions than the Tutsi. The Tutsi arealleged to be descendants of northeast African immigrants who emigrateddown the Nile and into the area south of Lake Victoria. Their taller, slighterfeatures and lighter complexions are evidence of their different “racial stock”according to adherents of the Hamitic theory (Melady, 1974; Prunier, 1995).

The fourth thesis is an instrumental thesis. While the proponents of theinstrumental thesis may admit to the influence of perceived class divisionsand aristocratic divisions on Rwandan society, they are not proponents of the


Hamitic thesis. The instrumental thesis emphasizes the widespread presenceof “mixed marriages,” the social mobility from “Hutu” to “Tutsi” upon ac-quiring cattle, the fact that both groups speak exactly the same language, andthe unreliable dependence on eugenic-related notions of nineteenth centuryEurope (where do tall Hutus or short, squat Tutsis fit into the racialist categor-ies?) in order to dismiss the validity of the political, class and Hamitic theses(Destexhe, 1995). It is exactly the racial categorizations of the Germans, andlater the Belgians, that constructed the indelible nature of “ethnic” or “tribal”identification for Rwandans (Prunier, 1995). According to this instrumentaltheory, this closed ethnic caste system is not of Rwandan making.

Hutu extremists have used the first three theses to varying degrees whileseeking to justify the destruction of the Tutsis. Supposed rejection of classdomination, aristocracy, pro-colonialism, and domination by those of foreignorigin had predominated as Hutu supremacist themes and rallying cries intheir propaganda outlets. When the military conflicts began in the Demo-cratic Republic of the Congo in 1998, these three themes were also funda-mental components of the anti-Tutsi campaigns of the new regime’s allies inthe eastern part of the country. There, the Banyarwanda, or Banyamulengepeoples, considered to be of Tutsi origins, suffered violence and calls forextinction just as they had in episodes of conflict throughout neighboringRwanda’s post-independence history (Mwangachuchu, 1999). This possibleextermination campaign, along with the persistence of cross-border raids ofHutu extremists into western Rwanda, prompted the Rwandan and Ugandangovernments to become militarily involved in the Congolese conflict.

There is some truth to the assumption that Tutsis, at least in the easternCongo, are on the more comfortable end of any continuum of class divisionsin the country, if not the region. The Congolese Tutsis are often the teachers,shopkeepers and public functionaries of the highly underdeveloped easternzones of the former Zaire (Anonymous, 1998). Much like the Jews duringthe Holocaust, the Tutsi are available to serve as scapegoats, as class enemiesof the poor and working “majority” peoples of Rwanda and the DemocraticRepublic of the Congo. If only the Tutsi will disappear, the Hutu extremistlogic contends, then the Hutus will be able to live in peace and prosper.

The rise of Hutu supremacist ideology

Rwanda gained formal independence from Belgium in 1962. The party thatruled Rwanda’s political and military spheres after independence was theNational Republican Movement for Development (or MRND, its French ac-ronym). TheInterahamwe(“those who work together”) (Prunier, 1995) weretheir clubs and their militias. A more openly extremist party which was alsoHutu-dominated and played a leading role in the atmosphere leading up to


the genocide by shunning any negotiations with the Tutsi-dominated rebelRwandan Patriotic Front was the CRD or Coalition for the Defense of theRepublic (Destexhe, 1995). The CRD had its own clubs and militias, knownas theImpuzamugambior “those who have only one aim” (Destexhe, 1995).At the time of the genocide, Rwanda was approximately 85% Hutu, 14%Tutsi and 1% Twa, or pygmy, out of a national population of around eightmillion (Feil, 1998).

It is important to observe that not all Hutu nationalism was necessarilyextremist. As a reaction to class and political rule discrepancies of the past,Hutu nationalism could be bent on majority rule without necessarily callingfor majority dictatorship or genocide. It is evident, however, that the extrem-ists controlled the military. Habyarimana, in fact, rose from his position ashead of the military in 1973 to take state power until his death in April 1994.

Hutu supremacist-inspired massacres against mostly male Tutsis occurredin 1959, the early 1960’s, the early 1970’s, and throughout the early 1990’safter the commencement of war between the Rwandan Patriotic Front andthe government forces. Such widespread, episodic violence became a justi-fication for many Tutsi and non-supremacist Hutus to form and fight in theRwandan Patriotic Front, in order to unite the divided groups as Rwandansand take the reins of political and military power from the Hutu supremacists.

The genocide of 1994 went way beyond selective massacres, howevercruel those may have been. It was planned and executed with precision (Afri-can Rights, 1995). Even children became legitimate targets. An estimatedone million persons were killed in barely thirteen weeks, with 800,000 killedwithin the first five weeks (Prunier, 1995). TheInterahamweboasted theycould kill one hundred Tutsis in twenty minutes and they proceeded to dojust that. Machetes were stockpiled for several months before the April oc-currences. Purportedly imported from China en masse, some were hidden inplastic containers at the bottoms of bogs and marshes, while others were bur-ied underground in impermeable plastic. Upon the assassination of PresidentHabyarimana, the military and theInterahamweset up roadblocks through-out Kigali after unearthing the machetes, and the killing began. The killingdid not end until July with the fall of the Rwandan armed forces at Gisenyi(Destexhe, 1995). The Ugandans upriver from northern Rwanda spent weekspulling the 60,000-plus corpses out of the river (Prunier, 1995) on their way“back to Ethiopia.” Within these larger events our case study unfolded.

A young woman of sixteen

Fleur grew up in what she describes as a middle-class family. Her familyhad passports and would go to other African countries for their yearly va-cations. In fact, one of her uncles worked in the Rwandan diplomatic corps


in West Africa. Her father was a small business owner working in the printindustry. Her family lived in the urbanized seat of a prefecture relatively closeto Rwanda’s capital, Kigali. Both of her parents had migrated from other partsof Rwanda to live in the prefectural seat.

Fleur’s family lived quite well by Rwandan standards. The circumstancesof her social status were understandably quite comfortable if one considersthat 90% of Rwanda’s population lives in rural areas outside of the cities,and is engaged in agricultural activities on small plots (Feil, 1998; PanafricanNew Agency, 1999), with coffee being the main market crop (Prunier, 1995).

Additionally, having money for international travel, even to neighboringstates, was a luxury most Rwandans could never hope to afford. Even hercultural preferences belied her social standing. For example, Fleur’s favoritetelevision show was “Melrose Place,” which she would watch each week inFrench.

The victimization of Fleur’s family in ethno-historical context

Fleur found out in elementary school that she was a Tutsi. While the regimewas Hutu, and lauded Hutu “togetherness” (Prunier, 1995) as an alternativeto Tutsi “domination” (Eller, 1999), Fleur’s parents never told her “what shewas.” At age six or seven, as my informant recalls, she was asked to fill inher ethnicity on a form at school and found that she could not. She wenthome to ask her father. He fell silent. After a hushed adult discussion betweenher parents, it was explained to Fleur that she and her family were Tutsis.This identification had made no difference in her life up until this point. Shereturned to school with the news and her life changed forever.

This is where Simon’s (1996) previous point about the perpetrator’s im-position of a negative identity on the victim is important. For Fleur, the matterof being a Tutsi or a Hutu was essentially meaningless until the school systemdecided to implement restrictive ethnic policies in order to keep Tutsi quotasdown and Tutsis out of education. The group membership to which she wassupposedly intrinsically tied was no less than imposed upon her by the Hutusupremacist-dominated education system of the time, which was itself an arti-fact of Belgian colonialism. From that day on, Fleur was no longer Rwandan,but a Tutsi.

Criminologist Margaret Vandiver has poignantly addressed the ludicrous-ness of the group assignment of persons to be victimized in the context ofthe genocidal events in Bosnia in the 1990’s. What Serb nationalism endedup labeling as a Muslim, according to the author was, in many instances, theantithesis of the individual’s own identification of self. Blonde, blue-eyed,beer-drinking, pork-eating Bosnians became Muslims overnight, according


to the spelling of their last names or other such perpetrator-imposed criteria(Afflitto and Vandiver, 2000). Such was Fleur’s case in Rwanda.

The school requirement for establishing my informant’s “ethnic identity”marked her formative years. Her social identity at school was changed fromthat of a good friend, student and playmate to that of a “snake.” Fleur becamea snake, as Tutsis were snakes and Fleur was a Tutsi. Snakes are consideredsly and sneaky in Rwandan culture, coming up upon one without one’s beingaware and, therefore, of intrinsic danger. Consequently, Fleur was no longerjudged on personal attributes by her teachers or fellow students, but by theidentity assigned to her by the state.

Being a snake was not the only negative characteristic attributed to the Tut-sis by the dominant Hutu ideology, which in many ways flaunted a discourseof supremacy while simultaneously portraying the anti-Tutsi fight as a fightagainst subjugation. The Tutsis have been portrayed as “cockroaches” (Iny-enzi) when alluding to former RPF guerrillas4 (Prunier, 1995), as “foreigners”from Ugandan exile (Destexhe, 1995; Prunier, 1995), as “southerners” inRwanda (Keane, 1995), class (Eller, 1999; Feil, 1998) and/or racial oppress-ors (LeMarchand, 1996), or “accomplices/traitors” (Ibyitso) (Keane, 1995;Prunier, 1995). The traitor label alluded to supposed Tutsi participation in theRPF, which was, in fact, a mostly Tutsi army at the time.

It is this last idea, setting up all Tutsi as a “fifth column” (Keane, 1995)of the RPF, that the genocidal regime used as its political logic in calling fordeath to the Tutsis. Being fifth columnists5 made all Tutsi eligible for thedeath sentence as foreign invaders with lethal potential and designs. Duringthe genocide, as well, Hutus who had married Tutsis, who befriended or pro-tected Tutsis, who voiced opposition to the Hutu supremacy ideology or whowould not participate in the killings were also identified as “Ibyitso” (Prunier,1995). There is also evidence that some perpetrators killed fellow perpetratorswho they did not find zealous enough in the matter of killing (Prunier, 1995).

A young woman’s victimization

When the killing began in April 1994, Fleur and her immediate family wentinto hiding. Her father, having faced tortures and arbitrary detention duringprevious epochs of MRND regime round-ups of Tutsis, left home to hidein the bush. Fleur’s family believed that, as before, the Hutu Power regimewould spare women and children in its murderous rampages, so she, hermother and eleven-year old brother stayed at their home while hiding. Ac-cording to some sources, there may even have been a certain amount of truthto that perception in those early days (African Rights, 1995; African Rights,1998a).


The respondent described to me how the three family members were inhiding in a back bedroom, having heard that a certain Hutu gentleman waslooking for her Tutsi father. Fleur and her mother knew quite well that therewere reports of widespread killings and that many of her relatives had alreadybeen killed in other regions. For example, Fleur’s older brother had calledfrom Kigali when the killings intensified there in the first weeks of geno-cide. After being shot in the chest, he called his mother to tell her what hadhappened to him and to the rest of the family. While his mother listenedover the phone, he succumbed to his wounds and died. By the end of the1994 genocide, my informant lost her parents, her older brother, her paternalgrandmother, three aunts, two uncles and a multitude of cousins, many ofwhom were children at the time of their murders.

She also lost her older sister, who was a medical student at the NationalUniversity. She was killed in Butare, the major southern city near the borderwith Burundi, where she studied. Most of the University’s faculty, studentsand medical staff were killed during the genocide (Prunier, 1995). While mostpeople killed were actually Hutu (Prunier, 1995), the National University isportrayed in more than one text as a focused killing ground (African Rights,1995; Prunier, 1995), resembling a genocide of the intelligentsia and the pro-fessional class. At the time of the attack on the house where her mother andbrother were in hiding with her, however, Fleur did not know of this event.A surviving best friend of her older sister was able to tell her subsequentlythat her sister had died, though Fleur does not know how nor does she knowexactly when. Given the fact that Fleur’s sister’s roommate was tortured bythe University fraternity “Interahamwe”6 and left without eyes or ears, Fleurhas been left to imagine in strands of painful thought the conditions underwhich her sister expired.

On the day Fleur lost her mother, their bedroom sanctuary provided norefuge. Five men in army uniforms armed with AK-47’s burst through thedoor when she and her mother did not answer the pounding and yelling.They went through the house searching for them until the three of them werefound and brought into the living room. My informant described the men as“ Interahamwe,” though they came in army camouflage uniforms with helmetssimilarly colored in the black, grey and pink camouflage pattern of the formerRwandan National Army (FAR).

My informant makes a clear distinction between the military personnelof what she calls “Habyarimana’s army”7 and theInterahamwemilitias. Herconceptual distinction centers on both the level of organizational formality aspaid agents of the state versus being state-sponsored paramilitaries, as wellas on the violence-perpetration model to which each group subscribed whenkilling. Regarding this second facet, Fleur told me that the “Habyarimana


army come [sic] to shoot you and you die,” whereas theInterahamwe“alwaystorture you before you die.” “People prefer to be killed by the army,” shefurther stated.

Her conceptual distinction may be difficult to understand, but becomesclearer during a later interview. While Fleur related to me how the army wasan organized and professional force who came in military uniform and alwayskilled people via gunshot wounds, she perceived the group that came to herhouse asInterahamwe, even though they were dressed in full military gear.Her attribution of the death squad that arrived at her home asInterahamwestems from the fact that the man who was looking for her father was a Hutuwho worked with him. This man, she stated, was the man who had sent thegroup to her house. He was also the leader of the group. Due to the fact thatthis group was not a detail of professional soldiers, but was comprised of menwho worked in civilian capacities in her city, she has concluded that they wereInterahamwe.

These five men came in asking for her father. They went straight to therear bedroom as if they knew where the three people were hiding. Aftershe and her family responded that they did not know his whereabouts, themen herded Fleur’s mother, brother and herself into the living room, then hermother was shoved against the wall. Two gunshots from an AK-47 occurrednearly simultaneously into the head of her mother, resulting in the verticalpropulsion and horizontal dispersion of blood-soaked brain matter over theroom’s occupants. Upon seeing her mother’s head explode, Fleur remembers“screaming.” TheInterahamwedeath squad had not necessarily come to findFleur’s father. They had come to kill, she said. They had come to kill Tutsis.They had come to commit genocide.

Fleur’s eleven-year old brother was attacked with one rifle-butt blow tothe head. He dropped to the floor. She imagined him dead, as the blow tohis head had been “really strong.” Screaming all the while, Fleur fought tosurvive. Two men attacked her head as well. Rifle-butt blows from one andmachete strokes from the other pursued Fleur’s life. She described crouchingon the floor like a turtle, all balled up, with her hands and forearms protectingher head. The machete scars on her skullcap and forearms map out the will tolive which she so ardently exhibits today. She succumbed to unconsciousnessand was left for dead.

Why did a man who worked with her father and was a “friend of thefamily” lead a squad of men to eliminate her family? He was a “really goodman,” she stated, before speculating on his reasoning for desiring to terminatetheir collective existence. He was my “father’s best friend,” she said. “He justchanged,” Fleur told me, “. . . maybe because of the radio8 . . . of this wholepropaganda thing. I was surprised when I first heard it [that he had organized


a militia group to seek out the family]. I denied it. . . [I believed] that it wasnot true.”

Unknown to my informant, her father was still alive at this time, still hid-ing in the bush. Upon hearing the news that his family had been victimized,Mr N. came out of hiding. He began the walk home, to be with his lovedones, even in death. He wanted to give them a Christian burial. He nevermade it home. Hungry, weary and certainly fearful, Mr N. was set upon bya Hutu supremacist militia as he walked back to his house. Hog-tied andbrutalized, Fleur’s father died of the multiple blows perpetrated by clenchedhands clutching bloodied stones.

The example of her father’s love continues to move Fleur. Mr N. made anincredible sacrifice in the face of obvious lethal dangers. He was a wantedTutsi in a town where everyone knew him. He had been arrested previouslyand tortured. These memories are prominent in Fleur’s recollections and con-versations. She believes that the spirit of this noble man lives on in the soulsof good people who are alive now.

Survival

Survival to my informant is unbounded by individual considerations and ap-proached by her in an ethnic, regional and even global context (see AfricanRights, 1998a; United States Committee for Refugees, 1998). “I am proudto have survived this ‘kind of thing’ and to still be here,” states Fleur. Thereis a sense of triumph emanating from her words and posture. She ardentlybelieves that the genocide was supported by France and China and ignoredby much of the rest of the world. It is in the face of world indifference thatshe talks of the elation of survival. She even minimizes her injuries by sayingthat, due to the covering of her head with her arms, her “head didn’t get hurttoo bad.”

What did it take for this young woman to survive, besides the foresightand fortitude of covering her head with her hands and forearms? Ironically,while the Hutus brought death to the woman who brought her life, she owesher present life to a Hutu man who she has never been able to thank.9 A“friend of ours came home, a Hutu”, upon seeing what had happened at theN. household. While they were both still unconscious, he took Fleur and herbrother to the hospital.

Fleur awoke in a hospital. Fleur’s eleven-year old brother would be in acoma for almost four weeks, but he lived. Her hospitalization was anythingbut pleasant. At the hospital, Fleur began to learn that survival was ongoingand continually unfolded in a process (Walter, 1969) of genocide; it was notto be an either/or phenomenon. The painful memories of her brain-spatteredliving room, the brother who she assumed was dead and the family members


she already knew about losing the weeks before were her surreal bed partnersin an overcrowded, medicine-sparse and hostile hospital environment ruledand continuously invaded by Hutu Power militias.

“You are N.’s daughter, correct? You are N.’s daughter! You are Tutsi!”they screamed at her as she recuperated in her hospital ward, the sounds ofgunfire and mob violence accompanying her painful memories as she layrelatively immobile. “No,” she said forcefully, fearfully. “I am so-and-so.”She denied her relationship to a man who gave his life at the thought ofher having lost her own. She denied her ethnic identification, or at least thatwhich her identity card told her to have. She learned that survival was plaguedwith pain. My informant now knew that with survival came guilt, denial,deceit, and even shame. The role of survivor guilt in the known repertoireof post-traumatic sequelae has been well-documented in U.S. and Europeanpsychiatric and psychological literature.

To Fleur, however, survival also meant hope, and the importance of win-ning the fight to live and breathe another day as a human being and as a Tutsi.The odds were stacked against this. Fleur was determined not to be anotherfatality of the Hutu supremacists’ genocide. Who else would carry on the N.name?

Survival also meant winning at the daily gamble of living while othersaround her perished. For nearly two months, while recuperating in the localhospital, my informant was witness to the sounds of mob violence and gun-fire, screams, pleas for mercy and haunting death throes of fellow Rwandans.At least once in her hospital stay, she was taken out of the hospital with agroup of persons and accused of being Tutsi. As the drunken mob fired shotsat her feet and those of the other members of the group of accused Tutsis,once again her guardian angel stepped in. “These people are Hutu,” someoneshouted, and she was saved once again while facing death.

One of the most horrific moments she related about her hospitalizationcentered on the impalement of a woman outside her hospital ward window.A sharpened stake was jabbed into the victim’s vagina. Fully conscious andshrieking in torment, she was raised up on the stake so that the weight of herbody pressed down, forcing it through her cervix, into her uterus and beyond.

The more she squirmed and yelled the farther down she sank and the closerto her horrible death she came. “There is not a day that goes by that I don’tthink about all this,” my informant has stated more than once. To Fleur, sur-vival has now become a responsibility. It is a delicate balance to be navigatedand achieved. Painful memories invade the psyche at the same time that thepride of knowing she has lived to tell about her ordeal fills her countenancewith an unsurpassable glow.


Impunity and forced exile: A symbiotic relationship precluding justice

Justice has remained an elusive ideal for Fleur. This was as true for her es-timations of justice nationally in Rwanda as it was for her desires for justicein her individual situation. While no action will ever bring her family back,certain actions may help dignify their memory. The militia organizer who ledthe group that killed her mother was arrested some time after Fleur and herbrother were freed from the hospital, when the opposition Rwandan Patri-otic Front liberated the country from the Rwandan armed forces (FAR) inJuly 1994, thus ending the genocide. While he remained incarcerated formore than four years, he was released sometime late 1998 or early 1999.All charges were dropped against him and he was allowed to go free. Fleurattributes this to the connections he had in the judicial system.

The fact that the Rwandan judicial system has had some fairly stiff witnessrequirements has been cited as an impediment to the successful resolution ofcases by surviving victims of the genocide still living in Rwanda (AfricanRights, 1998b). Fleur’s case is no different. Upon his release from incarcer-ation, the man who led the attack on her and her family publicly threatenedthe lives of Fleur and her brother, vowing never to rest until sure of their de-mise by his own hands. The respondent also worries about the one remainingcousin she has living in the area, because the génocidaire knows her familyand Fleur continually expresses worry about what he might do to that cousin.

Impunity can be defined as the “freedom from legal sanction or accountab-ility” (McSherry and Molina, 1992) for the perpetration of illegal acts. Lackof prosecution and weak judiciaries have been identified as major mechan-isms of impunity (Afflitto, 1998a; McSherry and Molina, 1992).

The violence itself and the continuing threat of violence, are, in and ofthemselves, also major impediments on the road to justice. The initial viol-ence during the genocide eliminated many persons from a potential pool ofwitnesses who could have been available to testify. The ongoing nature of theviolence, however, especially the invasions by Hutu extremists of Rwandanterritory (African Rights, 1998b), and the calculated assassinations of wit-nesses reported in all major texts are all factors in the present situation ofimpunity in which my respondent finds herself. Fleur is unable to return toRwanda, in her mind, as long as her father’s “best friend” lives, as he hassworn that he will never be happy until both she and her brother lie “dead athis feet.”

These feelings of the relative impossibility of justice in her individualcase are coupled with a broader contextual view of impunity. This broadercontext is shaped by two major factors. One is the knowledge Fleur has ofhow machetes were stockpiled by the pre-genocide regime in preparation for


the genocide. The calculated and rational nature of the genocide appears, attimes, to overwhelm her justice expectations.

In addition, a second important contextual factor for her is representedin the identities of many of the génocidaires themselves. Unlike many as-pects of modern state-directed warfare, killers had names and faces, manyof which were known by the victims. While even the Nazis moved from thesoldier-to-civilian direct killing of children, elderly and the infirm to the useof gas chambers in order to escape the demoralizing “toll” on their militarypersonnel (Browning, 1992; Destexhe, 1995), the Rwandan genocide wasalmost entirely carried out in person-to-person situations where perpetrat-ors not only refused to hide their personal identities, but actually flauntedthem. While other victims of mass killings and indiscriminate bombardmenthave described how technocratic and impersonal means of exercising viol-ence (such as constant barrages of offshore-launched missiles or airplanebombing runs) have demoralized them in terms of the bureaucratic and re-moved nature of modern warfare (Clifton and Leroy, 1983)10, the oppositeseems to be true in the painful evaluations reflected on by my informant.In Rwanda, there was no removal of the perpetrators from the victim pool.Individuals with names, faces and community reputations became killers ofpeople who also had names, faces and community reputations. The all-outstockpiling of machetes and their later distribution to the Hutu killing squadsallowed everyone who picked one up to be a technocratic operative in thedeath apparatus of the state. Such a cleavage of the social fabric appearsto leave Fleur perceiving a permanent breach between Hutus and Tutsis,between who she perceives to be the perpetrators of genocide and who sheperceives to be their victims.

Hope for justice in a young woman’s heart

When asked what should be done about the perpetrators of the Rwandan gen-ocide, Fleur responded “I think you should kill them all,” yet I had gotten theimpression that vengeance was not the only alternative she would advocateonce probed. The desire for vengeance has been noted to be very strong inthe surviving Rwandan population (African Rights, 1995). The NGO docu-mentation and policy initiative group, African Rights, advocates the trying ofgénocidaires in Rwanda as a means to satisfy people’s needs for vengeancewhile at the same time providing a foundation for the rule of law. It is becausesenior officials and others involved in massacres in Rwanda prior to 1994were not tried and punished that the genocide was possible, states AfricanRights (1995). They believe that only the trials and sentences applied willlead to an effective end to impunity. In probing the idea of solutions withFleur, this seems to be a tenet that is true for her case as well.


What the young woman in this study really wants is the death penalty forthe organizers, or orchestrators, of the genocide. This would mean that she isadvocating the death penalty for the least amount of people, as most peoplewere not the grand architects behind RTLM radio and the stockpiling of ma-chetes from China. For the “mid-level managers” who carried out, improvisedor creatively adapted orders for the purposes of rape, torture and killing, therespondent states the need for life-long prison terms without the possibility ofparole. Finally, for the low-level killers and participants who may have beenreluctant, fearful or simply too drunk to resist, she prefers a mixture of shorterjail terms and community release coupled with education in building a newRwanda (and new Rwandan identity) as her most desired and just outcomeunder the current circumstances of Rwanda’s largely unaided reconstruction.These desires for what would entail just outcomes for her closely mirror thelegal and judicial processes already occurring in Rwanda, where more than100,000 persons (Hranjski, 1999) in a nation of eight million are still awaitingtrial six years after the fact on allegations that they participated in and/ororchestrated the genocide of 1994.

Impunity as pathogen

In evaluating Fleur’s circumstances, evident persecution and the lethal threatsagainst her can clearly be seen to not have substantially dissipated. In fact,despite the distance, the threat can be said to have increased, for Fleur is nolonger simply a Tutsi, but a living witness. To return to her hometown wouldmean the possibility of assassination given the evidence she has provided inpublic.

The young woman of this study is an ongoing victim of genocide stillfighting for survival. I say this for several reasons. The first is that genocide isa process (Walter, 1969) of violence and victimization. Fleur is still facing thethreat of violence and victimization through forced exile and the inability tofeel sure that her life is not in imminent danger. Due to her circumstances, theprocess for Fleur is still ongoing. Related to this is the fact that she remainsa target. Fleur is a direct target of genocidal violence because her individuallife continues to be threatened. She is an indirect target of lethal violence,because every time a witness is killed in Rwanda, a clear message is sent topersons like Fleur who are alive and potentially available to testify in cases ofgenocidal violence. She even remains an “ultimate” target of lethal violencedue to the fact that she is a Tutsi. The Hutu supremacists still believe, perhapseven more strongly, that all Tutsis must be eradicated. The possibility forgenocide may have diminished with the supremacists’ loss of state power,and it may some time in the not-too-distant future rebound with assistance


from state governments like those of Angola, the Democratic Republic of theCongo and Zimbabwe.

The leading current victimizer of Fleur is impunity. Her “father’s friend”has not only killed with impunity. His release has effectively closed any caseagainst him and Fleur’s exile has been transformed from one that is primarilyvoluntary to one that is primarily involuntary. More than five years later, hecontinues to state with impunity that he wishes to see Fleur and her brotherdead and at his feet.

The psychosocial literature on victim-survivors of state-sanctioned terror-ism and families of the “disappeared” in Latin America is informative forunderstanding Fleur’s dual status as a survivor of certain genocidal eventsand a continued victim of a process of genocide through threat of lethalharm. The lack of formal judicial adjudication of the man who led the squadthat killed her mother is a type of “strategic impunity,” in which the contactsthe perpetrator had with judicial authorities served to “derail processes of ordemands for justice” (McSherry and Molina, 1992) by securing his releaseand non-prosecution. The inability for justice to occur, whether or not shewere actually to serve as a witness and pursue the case, is an ongoing crisis inthe young woman’s life that has long outlived the attack in her former livingroom.

A second component of impunity which has been originally defined inrelation to the Guatemalan population is that of “political/psychological im-punity,” where fear is manipulated by perpetrators (McSherry and Molina,1992). This “manipulation of fear” is current, chronic and clear in Fleur’scase. Her fear of genocide and of further lethal victimization is part of aprocess of maintenance of a status quo that allows Hutu supremacists to killTutsis with impunity.

It would be wrong to view Fleur solely as a victim of loss. I believe thatto most accurately understand the forces impinging upon the subject and herlife in an ecological sense that it is essential to see her as a person engagedin a process and living with a tremendous amount of fear. Also, she is aperson who was a child at the time of the murder of her mother and fatherand other family members, as well as the attempted murder of herself andher brother. War, of which genocide is the most ultimate and infamous form,affects children, in particular, in substantial ways (Martín-Baró, 1996). Un-derstanding Fleur as a child when she lived through direct violence in theRwandan genocide is the only way to understand Fleur today. “The experi-ence of vulnerability and danger, of defenselessness and terror, can leave adeep mark on people’s psyches, particularly on children,” observed the lateSalvadoran psychologist and Jesuit priest Ignacio Martín-Baró (1996). Sincechildren are “constructing their identities and their life’s horizons” in the


milieu of wartime violence, they truly become the “children of war” (Martín-Baró, 1996). “Child victims are tortured by living with fear and horror,” themurdered psychologist further states (Martín-Baró, 1996).

It is not difficult to imagine how, in the formative years of her search fordirection in adulthood, Fleur was brutally thrust into confronting experiencesthat would profoundly impact her as they were impacting the world she wasa part of. Not only do the thoughts of the justice she wishes for remain un-fulfilled, but Fleur still cannot proudly flaunt the N. family name nor spend arelaxing afternoon watching Melrose Place and eatingugali in her hometown.That which is lost is also that which continues to victimize her every day dueto the tangible shroud of impunity under which the loss, fear and anxietyexist.

The challenges and rewards of the present

African Rights (1995) has called for an examination of the heroes of thegenocide and not just of the victims and the perpetrators. Certainly, Fleur saidthat she had some type of “guardian angel” protecting her. It would be unfairto judge all Hutu men in her town on the behavior of her “father’s friend” andhis band of assassins. Fleur has two heroes in her life and these images willserve to give her strength in her ongoing battles with impunity and fear.

The first hero in her life who is evident in her genocide story is the Hutuneighbor who came to her rescue and that of her brother. At the obvious riskof his own life, and in an act that may have cost him his life (Fleur does notknow), this man brought both children to a hospital. He did this in front ofneighbors who knew what he was doing and could have informed on him atany time. He then lied to armed Hutu supremacists and convincingly statedthat the two child victims were Hutu, providing a convincing explanation fortheir injuries.

The second hero recognized by Fleur is her father. Having braved torturesin the past (he returned after a six month “disappearance” with no finger nailsin 1990), he faced certain death in order to make an attempt to be with andhonor his children and wife. Fleur once told me that she once had a thoughtquite close to one her brother had also had. She stated to me that she thoughtthat her father’s spirit had gone into my own heart, and that she was certainthat he would also manifest himself through the actions of other people thatwould help both she and her brother all their lives. Not only is this one of thegreatest compliments she could ever pay anyone, that statement also promp-ted me to be involved in formulating this article. While the efforts undertakento tell Fleur’s story may not bring her justice, it is hoped that its revelationcan bring a “better knowing” (Weine, 1999) for further victimological andcriminological research with survivors of genocide.


Conclusion

Despite the ongoing conditions of impunity and exile which present painfuland strenuous challenges in Fleur’s young life, she has worked at finding dir-ection in her adult life and in creating a future for herself. She is a successfulstudent in an engineering program in the United States and works to supportherself and to put herself through school. She keeps in regular contact withher brother in Canada, as well as with many Rwandans living in the U.S.through telephone and the internet. Even the small African community at themodest state university she attends is a source of support and encouragementfor her.

The case study method is important to the criminological study of gen-ocide. It is essential to refrain from relying solely on a positivist approachand a numerical summary of human losses when studying the phenomenon.Rather than seeing the genocide victim-survivor solely as a person copingwith loss(es), it is imperative to remind ourselves that how we are embeddedin empathetic communities and how we are attacked by multiple traumatizingprocesses, such as impunity, are factors that one cannot ignore in evaluatingand explaining anyone’s survival. Survival itself must be taken as an active,conscious strategy and not simply as a mere static fact of the continuation oflife. Survival is something much more profound than a heart continuing tobeat.

Notes

1. The author would like to thank Jeffrey S. McIllwain, L. Edward Day and Margaret Van-diver for their editing comments and criticisms.

2. The informant was brought to Memphis through the auspices of a grant (5-36256) bythe American Bar Association for research on genocide awarded to The University ofMemphis’s Department of Criminology and Criminal Justice.

3. For a detailed description of the questionnaires and their construction, see Afflitto (1993)and Afflitto (1998a).

4. Now the RPA, or Rwandan Patriotic Army.5. For a discussion of this ethnic/political linkage in the making of genocide in Guatemala,

see Afflitto and Vandiver (2000).6. Literally “those who work together” (Prunier, 1995). These were the rank-and-file killing

groups, organized by the MRND politicians and the FAR (former Rwandan army). Theyacted much like death squads and paramilitaries.

7. The Rwandan National Army, or FAR.8. The RTLM station, or Radio Télévision Libre des Milles Collines, which provided con-

tinuous Hutu supremacist broadcasts and genocidal indoctrination.9. Prunier addresses this phenomenon in his book The Rwanda Crisis (1995).

10. “I never saw an Israeli soldier,” said one young Palestinian who defended his communitiesagainst the 1982 invasion of Lebanon (Clifton and Leroy, 1983).


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