Letter to the pope from African Rights

An Open Letter to His Holiness, Pope John Paul II,
on the 10th Commemoration of the Genocide in Rwanda

2 April 2004

Your Holiness,

As the tenth anniversary of the 1994 genocide in Rwanda approaches, this is a time of sorrow and reflection. I am writing, Your Holiness, on behalf of the human rights organization, African Rights, to welcome your recent appeal for peace in the Great Lakes region and your prayer that “such a tragedy (as the genocide) will not be repeated ever again.” In support of this sentiment, we feel it would be appropriate that the Catholic Church mark this occasion with admissions of its past failures in Rwanda, identifying any necessary reforms.

We are, of course, aware of your personal commitment to the promotion of global peace and write with respect, and in acknowledgement of the positive achievements of Catholic Church leaders in impoverished and conflict ridden societies around the world. However, African Rights’ recent research into the consequences of the genocide reveals that for Catholic Rwandese survivors, both clergy and laity, their Church has become a source of anguish rather than of spiritual comfort or practical support.

It is extremely difficult for outsiders to fully comprehend the roots of the problems within the Church and to propose solutions. However, in the absence of any public initiative on the part of the Church to address internal divisions, tensions are breeding. Our aim is to encourage the Church to acknowledge the crisis in its midst and to recognize that this is closely related to institutional failings prior to, during and in the aftermath of the 1994 genocide. The Catholic Church, so important to the lives of millions of people in Rwanda, as elsewhere, will be incapable of contributing to the creation of a just, tolerant and peaceful society in Rwanda, until it has secured these values within its own congregation.

In the past ten years, African Rights has interviewed thousands of genocide survivors, witnesses and perpetrators. We have produced reports documenting crimes committed by individuals and we have also celebrated the rare courage of individuals who risked their lives to save others. As you are no doubt aware, we have amassed testimony from witnesses and survivors implicating individual priests, nuns and Brothers in the slaughter. We have also named a number of other clergy we regard as genocide heroes and called upon the Church to formally recognize their extraordinary sacrifices and achievements, echoing the appeals of survivors that they should be canonized for their courage. You may also recall that we addressed an appeal to you personally in an open letter of 13 May 1998 to guide the Church through “a process of reflection, confession and self-examination” in light of the allegations of genocide against certain Catholic clergy and the evidence of the Church’s historical involvement in ethnic politics.

It is regrettable that no one at a senior level in the Church has responded to our earlier appeals. We received no answers to concerns raised in connection with the cases of Sister Julienne Kizito and Sister Gertrude Mukangango , convicted of genocide in Belgium in June 2001. Furthermore, our requests for information and action with regard to the allegations against Father Athanase Seromba and Father Hormisdas Nsengimana were met only with silence, even when the priests were arrested as genocide suspects by the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR). We welcome the fact that these cases are now within the realm of justice, but regret the lingering scepticism about the seriousness of the accusations. This is compounded by the claim that the Church has been the target of a “defamation campaign”, which has not been substantiated and which is, in any case, irrelevant to the charges made by survivors and witnesses against particular Catholic clergy.

Since our earlier letter, many institutions and governments have mounted public inquiries into their response to the genocide and overwhelmingly they have admitted errors and offered apologies. We struggle to understand why the Catholic Church has not yet undertaken an examination of conscience and sought to identify those members of the clergy who were in breach of their Christian duties.

The issue goes beyond the crimes of certain members of the clergy, to encompass a broader climate of opinion within the Church, which seems to have prevailed in some quarters, despite events. We therefore ask you, Your Holiness, to examine the persistent charges that ethnic divisions became institutionalized within the Church, contributing to the tragedy in 1994, giving particular consideration as to how to address this legacy which continues to stifle constructive debate and action. In this context, silence has become tantamount to negligence. It is allowing internal divisions to fester dangerously and exacerbates the suffering of genocide survivors who feel torn between their religious devotion and their disillusionment with the Catholic Church.

Certainly, both within Rwanda and outside the country, individuals and groups within the Church have thought long and hard upon the genocide and its implications and sought to address its consequences. Yet, such endeavours are limited in comparison to the scale of the 1994 catastrophe and their significance has been undermined by the refusal of Church leaders to support their endeavours. The result is an ongoing erosion of faith in the institution among genocide survivors. Similarly a rift between Church leaders and those members of the clergy who were directly affected by the genocide is widening. We draw your attention to some of our findings, Your Holiness, in the hope that immediate practical steps can be taken to offer reassurance and to build trust both within the Church and between the Church and the survivor community.

Divided Worshippers

Interviews with survivors frequently revealed the distress they experience in attending church services. One reason they give is the fear that “killers” are in the congregation or among the clergy. A devout Catholic, Vestine Mukarubayiza is from Musha in Gikoro, Kigali Ngali. She misses taking part in mass. But she lost many close relatives in the Catholic Parish of Musha and the massacre there made her doubt that God’s presence is stronger in a church. She now prays at home, partly because she worries that some of the priests may have been complicit in the genocide.

During the genocide, I saw that none of the killers were thinking about the existence of God. I no longer have any confidence in preachers. I cannot be sure that they have not killed or participated indirectly in the killings.

Vestine highlights how, by failing to respond to accusations against individuals, the Church has invited widespread suspicion. Serious allegations are a matter for judicial investigation and prosecution and need to be dealt with promptly and openly with the support of Church leaders. Moreover, there may well be individuals remaining in the employ of the church who violated Church doctrine, even if they did not commit a crime under law. The clergy must offer strong moral leadership, or their role becomes meaningless.

Landrada Mukabagorora describes herself as “physically and emotionally handicapped by the genocide.” Landrada, formerly a teacher, lives in Kigoma, Gitarama. Her grandfather, father and an older brother were killed in 1961; four brothers and their families were murdered in April 1994.

My life as a Christian has changed a great deal since the end of the genocide. The love in my heart has been extinguished. I’m no longer the same person. Priests and nuns have lost their value in my eyes.

I continue to pray; prayer helps me a lot. But I never pray in church. I rely on my bible and my heart rather than a place of worship. I can’t stand seeing the killers receiving communion in church.

Alexandre Nkuranga has remained a Catholic as a testament of love and respect for his parents who died in Mbogo, but he cannot bear to attend church.

My parents were Catholic. I remain a Catholic in honour of them. I pray at home and I think that it’s enough. I cannot find any peace in a church. Nor can I pray next to people who shouted out aloud when they saw a Tutsi, even a young one, so that he would be killed. They go to mass and even receive communion. Religious rites no longer mean anything.

A former monk describes himself as a “troubled soul” whose “whole life has been broken by the genocide.” He lost his entire family and many friends in the killings and while he retains some faith in God, and prays at home, he is highly critical of the Church.

The Church isn’t built upon faith in Christ. It never condemned the genocide; it was silent from the time the genocide was being prepared until today. It hasn’t punished or condemned its congregation and leaders who were involved in the genocide. The hearts of the real temples of God have not been cleaned, just the walls and bricks. The killers have returned to the houses of God to pray and receive the sacrament without any response from the leaders of the Church.

The importance of church attendance and ritual is still central for many survivors. Many find that it is not sufficient to pray in private. Disturbed by the many ways in which their former Church became negatively associated with the genocide, some survivors now either attend a different church or have changed religion. Jean-Pierre Karake grieves for more than 80 relatives, including his two-year-old son, his mother, four brothers and a sister. His faith is all that he has to cling to.

I needed God after the genocide. But I pray at the Methodist church. That is where I feel free—before my God. I was baptized a Catholic, but there in the Catholic Church, there seems to be a barrier between me and my God.

I get upset when I’m next to people I suspect participated in the massacres of the Tutsis. This prevents me from praying peacefully.

Clearly, the presence of genocide suspects in congregations is a matter for justice bodies, and cannot be resolved by the Church. However, it is the responsibility of the Church to provide a place of worship where all Catholics can feel welcome and at peace. The current situation where survivors feel unable to pray in church is indicative of a glaring omission. Church leaders, who had never made condemnation of organized violence an issue of faith, ignored the fundamental necessity to confront the spiritual dilemmas raised by the genocide directly and to speak out unequivocally against the massacres. Survivors feel the lack of a consistent, nationwide attempt to engage with communities over questions of justice and repentance, to repair social fractures, to encourage confessions and to assuage the grief which dominates their lives on a daily basis. Individual clergy have been left to themselves to define a response, with mixed results. The sole unified response to emerge, in the shape of an initiative aimed at reconciliation, has been articulated in an insensitive manner.

The Call for Forgiveness

Survivor clergy are distressed by the expectation from others within the Church that the responsibility for reconciliation begins with the survivors. This, they explain, is demonstrated in regular calls for forgiveness which place a demand upon the people who have suffered most and who have nothing left to give.

This priest is committed to the principle of reconciliation, but feels that preaching forgiveness is a “superficial” response that will achieve nothing.

Genocide survivors are being asked to forgive, and yet no-one has asked their forgiveness. They are imposing a heavy burden on the survivors, when they are already crippled by the problems caused by the genocide. These artificial acts of forgiveness will not lead to the ripe fruit of reconciliation. They will lead to unripe fruit which could be the bitter cause of new confrontations.

The genocide survivors need moral and material support. You need to help them before you can start talking to them about reconciliation. Reconciliation is not for tomorrow or the next day.

A nun in Butare is determined to believe in a Church of God and to carry on despite the fact that she witnessed the open collusion of some of her colleagues with the génocidaires in 1994. But she is furious about the demands being made of survivors, herself included.

When some priests say in their sermons that we survivors must forgive the interahamwe, I find such hollow sentiments shocking. I ask myself the question: what have I, or we, done to these interahamwe? They killed our families and we go on living among them. I even say hello to them. Is there a better form of mercy and rehabilitation than that? They should make amends instead, ask forgiveness in person, and pay what compensation they can.

A colleague says she holds onto her faith in God and still “loves and respects the Church” but not in the form it now takes in Rwanda. She says she understands why some survivors have left the Catholic Church, since even she no longer has the strength to go into her own parish church. Her trust in the clergy has been broken and what she has experienced leads her to conclude that the other nuns neither understand nor sympathize with those who are survivors.

I don’t agree with the way we are being forced to forgive our murderers. That is not the kind of mercy God asks us to show our tormentors. I need to know who I’m forgiving, and why. Animals forget, whereas human beings forgive. Even God does not forgive people just like that. There are ways of achieving His forgiveness, such as the sacraments. Nor do we forgive people who don’t ask to be forgiven, because that would be just play-acting. Real forgiveness is conditional. We need more truth and justice.

“Grief is killing me”, lamented a priest who said that he finds it “hard to admit that I’m alone in the world when I had ten brothers and sisters and their families.” Nor can he understand the positions taken by his Church.

The genocide was a hard test of Christian faith. We wondered where God was during the genocide, and whether the God we believed in was the same one our murderers prayed to. Why is it that, even right here in Rwanda, the priests suspected of genocide have not been questioned by the Catholic hierarchy?

Murderers and victims all celebrate mass together. Yet we all know one another very well: we know who did what during the genocide. But the Bishops have chosen to keep quiet.

The Church should ask forgiveness for what it did, then we would be back on the side of the biblical truth. What guarantee is there that someone who has not repented won’t return to his former ways?

The image of the church has been tarnished and sullied by the genocide. This is also why new sects and religions are coming up like mushrooms.

A priest living in Cyangugu argued that since justice is far from being achieved in Rwanda, it is wrong to preach forgiveness in such circumstances.

Everywhere priests are preaching in favour of an insincere, senseless, unilateral and thus impossible act of forgiveness. I think it is a form of torture for the poor genocide survivors.

A former novice is alarmed by what she sees as an intense and persistent campaign by priests to convince survivors to forgive genocide perpetrators.

What the priests are doing today to the survivors constitutes “moral terrorism.” They are terrorizing the survivors, convincing them that they should forgive those who’ve not asked for forgiveness, so that they can prepare for the after-life. They ask them to make the first move. Just like other Christians, the survivors are preparing for their life after this one on earth. The priests are therefore taking advantage of their conviction and of the respect that these people have for God, and are asking them to do something that is totally unreasonable. Why not ask the killers to ask for forgiveness instead?

“To deal with the consequences of the genocide”, commented this priest in Cyangugu, “you have to start with the causes.” He underlined the urgency and necessity of addressing the roots of the Catholic Church’s failure before it can claim the moral authority to guide the nation.

None of the relationships that had previously united people held firm—nationality, religion, neighbourly relations, shared political beliefs, marriage, the spirit of co-operation. Nothing survived.

Personally, I don’t see the genocide as the beginning of the Rwandese tragedy. I see it as the end result of the steady growth of hatred over many years. If we’re to find a solution to the consequences of the genocide, it’s not forgiveness or reconciliation that will be our starting point. The first step is conversion, to change the inner self that is manifested in outer behaviour. That is the true meeting place, after we’ve made the changes we have to make to be rid of evil. Only then can we embrace each other in a spirit of genuine reconciliation.

The Predicament of Survivor Clergy

Survivor members of the clergy grieve for their loved ones and wrestle with profound spiritual dilemmas provoked by the trauma of genocide. For them, the spiritual, familial, social and material losses of the genocide are intertwined in unique and painful ways. Their ability to recover is heavily dependant upon the support of the Catholic Church as an institution. It is, therefore, deeply regrettable that they have not been able to rely upon the wholehearted support of their superiors.

All too frequently, the Church responsible for bringing help and comfort to so many people around the world, has neglected to treat genocide survivors with due sympathy and concern. Members of the clergy have often felt personally let down when they were in need of moral sustenance or tangible assistance. Survivor priests, nuns, novices and monks describe serious past and present failings within the Church which are undermining its mission. Individuals who devoted their lives to God have been painfully disillusioned. Their despair is palpable and raw. They speak of incidents in which their views were marginalized or their concerns ignored. They also speak of their shame at their inability to help their families or the survivor community in general and argue that the Church can and should do far more in terms of both material relief and emotional succour.

A nun from Cyangugu lost her father and five siblings and now desperately wants to help the few relatives she has left: a brother, her mother, handicapped by the genocide, and her older sister and the orphans they have taken in. She is unable to contribute to them on the minute salary she receives and such is her torment she struggles even to eat. She feels the response from her Superiors has been unsympathetic and inadequate.

I regret the fact that I didn’t die in 1994. When I see the table at the convent full of food, I don’t have the appetite to eat because the few people I love who survived spend days and nights without eating. I reproach myself because I feel that I have betrayed them.

The Superiors don’t understand me. They say that they cannot make an exception in my case. I receive what everyone else receives, even though I have specific problems. It’s the same thing for all the nuns who are survivors.

The burden of looking after survivors has often fallen solely upon the shoulders of survivor priests, as this priest from Gikongoro pointed out.

The Church authorities deliberately take no interest in the welfare of survivors. They need psychological and material assistance. They have only a few relatives left and are living in poverty. They look to survivor priests as the only people they think can help them. They need them. The priests also feel a responsibility to help them regain their will to live. But what can the poor priests do without the aid of the Church? Not much in most cases.

Feelings of rejection and isolation are apparent in the explanations given by clergy who decided to leave their vocation.

This novice left her congregation because she believes that her Superiors frustrated and discouraged those members who wanted to spend time with the surviving members of their families. Their response to her request to attend the reburial of victims’ remains was particularly upsetting. It illustrates, more broadly, the lack of respect and interest shown by many in the Church towards the victims and survivors of the genocide.

Whenever we asked for permission to participate in ceremonies to bury the remains of our relatives massacred during the genocide, they accused us of chasing after bones instead of thinking about the people dying in prisons. They started to view us as enemies and believed that we were the ones who were wrong. This bruised our hearts even more, which are already badly wounded.

When she could no longer tolerate this treatment, she left, together with three other survivor novices.

With all this hurt, I’d had enough. We ran the risk of being traumatized, not just by the genocide, but also by our fellow Sisters in the community. Throughout the genocide and even afterwards, the Church always appeared to doubt the suffering of the victims.

While her trust in the clergy has collapsed, her faith in God has not.

I still go to mass, but I don’t have a lot of confidence in anything that the priests say. Instead I follow what my bible tells me. Even though I was lucky enough not to lose my faith in God, I understand why many have not been able to keep theirs. We are, after all, human beings and we’ve experienced the unspeakable.

This former Benebikira nun feels bitter and does not hide it. She traces ethnic tensions among the Sisters back to the early 1970s. She no longer attends large church services because of the emotions they provoke.

Instead of hearing mass and meditating, I start imagining the massacres of Tutsis. When a lot of the people who took part in the killings come to take communion, I ask myself if they really know the value of the Eucharist. Surely this sacrament no longer has any value for these murderers?

She admits that she has developed prejudices, so strong is her rage. She perceives the Church as “indifferent” to survivors.

Church leaders have continued life as if nothing had happened; the problem rests on the shoulders of the Tutsi clergy who themselves have been victims of the genocide. They never thought of reforming the Church after the genocide. Génocidaires, including members of the flock and some priests, still attend church without showing that they have a bad conscience and without any reaction from the leaders of the Church. It’s only the survivors who are hurting because of all this, but their responses won’t lead to anything.

The Catholic Church as in institution does nothing for the widows and orphans of the genocide. Nor has there been a prayer movement to help them come out of the apathy they’ve been plunged into and to make them understand that life continues despite everything. The Church could have done this because it reaches a lot of people in different positions.

The divisions within the Church over the issues of justice and forgiveness now run so deep, that this nun, who has remained in the Church, believes they constitute a radical split.

The Church as such does not exist in Rwanda. What you find instead are individual units that belong to the Rwandese Church. What we have is a Church for public worship; the same we have always known. The Church kept quiet after the genocide. They confined themselves to celebrating the jubilee, but they forgot that you can’t have a jubilee, in the biblical sense of the term, without self-criticism. Above all, the jubilee was not about celebrating, but was a year of conversion and reconciliation, a year of penitence. The Church ought to tell the prisoners that the Tutsis did not commit collective suicide in 1994.

Although she continues to participate, she does so with many reservations and her efforts to help survivors receive little support.

They go on giving the sacraments as they used to. They turn over the page, and continue as before. The weight of the institution presses down on us more heavily every day. We no longer find it easy to talk at meetings, because the survivors have become an embarrassment.

Of course, what we want is not noisy demonstrations, but to give the survivors back their self-respect and to help them have their say. The few members of the clergy who want to do something to help the survivors are soon brought back into line by the institution. In fact, religious circles have little life and dynamism. Yet, we have to be organized.

I meet a lot of survivors who come and tell me: “Even though I can’t see Him, God must exist. And he knows me. But, Sister, it’s not the God the priests and the religious orders taught us about.” I think we should listen more carefully to these despairing survivors who are bearing too heavy a burden, and are wandering into religious darkness. But it isn’t being done. Our Church has no interest in approaching these survivors who are really at the end of their tether.

Now, in my mid-fifties, I ask myself a lot of questions about the meaning of life. I was sentenced to death, but I didn’t die. So how can I go on living? How should I live after the genocide? What lessons should I draw from it? I have not been through what others have. Why have I escaped the fate all the rest were doomed to? To what end? It makes me think I owe the survivors something—the rest of my life. But that’s not enough. There are restrictions imposed on me by the community which limit what I can do for the survivors, and which undermine my enthusiastic commitment to them. I also have my own personal limitations.

Stemming the Tide

Our research suggests that despite the passage of time, the relationship between survivors and their Church continues to be marked by bitterness, incomprehension, feelings of betrayal and rejection. Until the Catholic Church, the dominant Church in Rwanda, acts decisively, it will be continue to be party to internal conflicts and resentment. There are signs that, in this tense atmosphere, attitudes are hardening and prejudice is spreading.

Genocide survivors are a minority in Rwanda. Whatever their feelings, congregations in Rwanda will continue to swell and, on the surface, worship will continue “as normal”. This should surely not be a cause for complacency. I am certain that the views and experiences we have documented will be a source of profound spiritual concern for you.

The 10th commemoration has become a focus for outrage about genocide and for efforts to prevent genocide now and in the future. We hope the Church will seize this moment to begin an honest engagement with a series of sensitive and troubling questions. We urge you, your Holiness, to act decisively with measures to bridge divisions, soothe tormented souls and promote tolerance and understanding.

Respectfully,

Rakiya Omaar
Director