For Alphonse MUTAGOMA and John Prendergast
"Let Africa take care of Africa. We have enough to deal with now in our own country. We are *not* our foreign brother's keeper."
It would be so easy to dismiss this sentiment and say, "Of course there are those people who believe that..." But, because I hear and read it so often, I don't think it should be ignored or neglected. The fact is that there are too many people in this country (and, of course, others) who believe this, and some of them could be potential allies for a more inclusive and compassionate foreign policy. I have learned a lot of things working in countries in transition such as Bosnia, Colombia, Northern Ireland, Rwanda and South Africa. One of them is the value of finding a way to "stay in the room together" as we learn to talk and listen to each other. The recent US town hall meetings on health care reform demonstrate the ongoing challenges of this kind of work. Democracies are, indeed, always in a state of becoming. We have to learn, develop and build upon these habits every day.
People often learn best by experiencing something themselves or by seeing something modeled by another person. This summer
Facing History and Ourselves took a group of US students to Rwanda and, over and over again, they expressed surprise and delight at how much they had in common with their Rwandan peers. And, over and over again, they expressed shame, disappointment and anger at a US foreign policy that allowed the Rwandan genocide to happen....and to keep going once it was clear that it had begun. The students walked through memorial sites and listened to the stories of the people they met in sadness and confusion. The distance between them as Americans and the people they met as Rwandans had been closed. It became increasingly impossible for them to understand the legitimacy of an argument based on national boundaries. It sounded as foolish and thoughtless as one based on race or ethnicity.
But, everyone cannot travel the world and, of course, even some of those who do believe powerfully in the idea that what happens in your own backyard comes first. There are some people who will never shift this position. And, as Barney Frank said at a town hall meeting on health care reform recently, "Talking to you is like talking to a dining room table."
So, on to two people who model the principle of being and acting as our brothers' and sisters' keepers, Rwandan Alphonse MUTAGOMA and American John Prendergast.
MUTAGOMA means "one who shall not betray," and my bald-headed friend could not be better named. The son of a Hutu and a Tutsi and grandson of the same, Alphonse grew up in a village where people were dependent on each other, where good will was essential to survival. As the genocide swept through Rwanda, Alphonse hid with his family. As the husband of a Tutsi and the father of Tutsi children and as a southern Hutu, he, too, was at risk. The Tutsi side of his family--save his own wife and children--were slaughtered. So were many of the Hutu, by the RPF, as these family members waited to be rescued, hoping to join their forces and put the genocidaires down. Alphonse's most bitter memory is of a neighbor girl stumbling into public view. He debated whether to risk showing himself and revealing his family's hiding place to rescue her. He decided to stay hidden, shame burning inside him, as he watched and listened. In the end she was not harmed, but this Alphonse explains was an act of "providence," and he had "nothing to do with it." His eyes turn red when he tells this story; he grows quiet; he agonizes over every detail as if it were yesterday and not 15 years ago. And, of course, it was only yesterday.
Alphonse's belief that he is his brother's and sister's keeper is challenged daily in a country where people betrayed each other in ways that are truly unimaginable and where they continue to betray each other. Yet, he retains this belief and practices it and extends it beyond his own nation's boundaries. When the American students arrived in Rwanda, he told them "I am your father," and to the adults, "I am your brother." And, he acted like it. For three weeks, he took care of all of us in big ways and in small. He guided children who had never traveled out of their own state through difficult moments that, in many ways, probably remain incomprehensible to them. He showed them through his own character and decision-making the lie of "all Hutu are the same" and the hope of someone who is dedicated to building bridges and helping others cross them. He taught the children to dance and sing, to be quiet and to reflect, to respect people despite their many differences and to put kindness first. As the trip came to an end the students found ways to tell Alphonse what he meant to them, what they learned from him. They began to refer to him as "father," they hugged him, sought him out for walks and to sit together at meals, and they told him. "No one has ever been as kind to me as you." "You are the most respectful person I have ever met." "Adults have always disappointed me, and I don't trust them, but you are different. "I love you." When Alphonse heard these things, he bowed his head, took his handkerchief out of his pocket, unfolded it, removed his glasses, and wept.
John Prendergast is an American who has become well known for his informed activism and advocacy, particularly around genocide and massive human rights violations taking place in Africa. As the co-founder of the
Enough Project, he is dedicated to developing a
permanent constituency to prevent genocide and crimes against humanity. His work is premised upon the principle that we are each other's keepers. But, John is too well-schooled in the work of Washington to know that this argument won't make policy. So, he has invested in showing us, as Americans, our relationships to each other across national boundaries. Whether it's by engaging a well known person who has made this connection themselves (Don Cheadle to Darfur, Ryan Gosling to Uganda) and helping them to communicate that personal commitment and connection or by ceaselessly researching, writing and speaking himself, he has found ways to help Americans who will never travel to Darfur, the Democratic Republic of Congo, or Northern Uganda, to see these places through his eyes. Fortunately for us, John does not romanticize or sentimentalize Africa or the fragile places in which he works in order to draw awareness and attention. He respects the women, men and children in these countries and it shows. It is this profound respect for them and their fundamental rights to living in safety and security and with dignity in their native homes and villages which animates, indeed permeates, his work.
The question of are we our sister's keeper is one that John has addressed nearly daily over the past few months. In his effort to draw awareness to the fact that the Eastern border of the Democratic Republic of Congo has become the most dangerous place in the world for women and girls, he is making visible the direct connection among us as Americans, our use of technology (ipods, computers, cell phones) and "conflict minerals" like tin, tungsten, tantalum and gold that help power our electronics industry.
And, in situations like Darfur where our connection to the conflict is not as direct as in our use of technology products, John reminds us of our national commitment to the Genocide Convention, what Article II says, why it matters and what it would mean for us to honor that commitment.
Historical sociologist Helen Fein has developed an idea that I've seen young people (and their teachers) all around the world embrace. "Universe of Obligation" describes those people to whom we feel responsible, to whom we owe amends. I have spent enough time in conflict countries and places emerging from mass violence to know that it is fool's gold to believe that injustice can be contained, that the myth "if it's happening to them, it won't happen to me," is powerful, but still mythic, and ultimately, not much to hold onto. Injustice anywhere truly is a threat to justice everywhere. If I waited for someone who looked like me, believed in what I believe in, and carried the same passport to protect me when I was being attacked or threatened, I would be in for a long wait. That's why I am particularly grateful for Alphonse MUTAGOMA, John Prendergast and people like them. Their compassion and sense of obligation are unbounded.
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