Much of the world came to learn of Rwanda in 1994, when the majority Hutu people went on a three-month killing spree against the minority Tutsi.
The genocide ended with the victory of the Rwandan Patriotic Front, formed by Tutsi refugees who grew up in Uganda. With the conquest came drastic change. A great many members of the English-speaking diaspora flowed in; mostly from Uganda, but also from Africa, Europe and America. The two words that had seemingly started it all, Hutu and Tutsi, were banned from public use.
It is how the country lives now, nearly 16 years later; with a heavy burden upon each individual to suppress at almost any cost the impulse to identify him or herself by ethnicity, or for that matter — because the two are so tied — recent history.
Other than historical references to the genocide and testimony heard in controversial local Gacaca courts, ethnic labels are unheard of. The government acknowledges that identities still exist, but an overarching nationalism is always played up.
So I was surprised when, at the tender age of 22, I arrived in this emerald-green country to find people treating me like a brother. I was greeted with a fist-pound and a touch to the heart by the money changer, who called me a fellow Jew. I took up dinner conversations with newspaper colleagues who loved me for being American.
Historical cousins
But what caught my attention most were the references to Israel, the references to the Jews. At first it seemed obvious; as historical cousins of genocide Israel and Rwanda had a special bond. Like Israel, Rwanda had escaped genocide to become a shining example in a troublesome part of the world.
But the reference and affirmation was much more than historical contingency; it was, according to them, true blood. According to some historians and Tutsi scholars, the group originally came to Rwanda from Ethiopia in the 15th century. Although played down by the current government, the belief persists. To Tutsis, the genealogical lineage to Ethiopia connects them to a greater constellation including ancient Hebrews.
For people like Claude Bizimana, a former soldier who fought alongside President Paul Kagame, the link has become a useful shorthand.
“That’s where the Jews lived,” he says , pointing to a shadowy suburban Kigali home in the dark starry night. “Those were all non-Jews,” he says, moving his finger all around. When he introduces me to his friends he begins with a familiar greeting. “He is also a Jew,” Claude says to me. “Josh is an Israelite too,” he says to his friend.
Genealogical proof of Tutsi descent from Israelites is impossible to find, but among the diaspora, survivors, and even at times the government, the association to ancient Abyssnia is common. The first person to remark on it — John Speke in 1860s Uganda — was also the first European to visit the Great Lakes Region.
That ethnicity remains hugely sensitive is clear from the reaction to presidential hopeful Victoire Ingabire’s candidacy in this year’s elections. After claiming that many Hutu were also killed during the time of the genocide and are not being remembered, she has been accused in the media of being an ideological descendent of the racist post-independence Hutu regimes that caused thousands of Tutsis to flee the country.
Poster-boy for the developing world
To a degree, the current administration’s strict rules on expression seem to be working. Rwanda’s economy was one of the fastest-growing in the world last year. It is one of the few countries meeting targets for the United Nations millennium development goals; it is one of the safest countries in the world and President Kgame has become a poster-boy for the developing world.
Most people who speak confidentially about the security situation in the country say the public ban on ethnicity is a necessary evil, but that it doesn’t stop people from knowing who they are. – guardian.co.uk