Just yesterday I finally managed to finish We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families. Yes, that's the title of my latest read. It's about the genocide in Rwanda during the mid-90s. Why would I want to read 350 pages on such an unpleasant subject? To be honest, I've wondered that myself. The author of the book, Philip Gourevitch, apparently wondered the same thing as to why he would research and write such a book. He starts Part I of the book by quoting from Plato in The Republic:
Leontius, the son of Aglaion, was coming up from the Peiraeus, close to the outer side of the north wall, when he saw some dead bodies lying near the executioner, and he felt a desire to look at them, and at the same time felt disgust at the thought, and tried to turn aside. For some time he fought with himself and put his hand over his eyes, but in the end the desire got the better of him, and opening his eyes wide with his fingers he ran forward to the bodies, saying, "There you are, curse you, have your fill of the lovely spectacle."
Initially, he offers that segment of The Republic without additional commentary, but then several pages in he incorporates the passage by addressing the reader:
Like Leontius, the young Athenian in Plato, I presume that you are reading this because you desire a closer look, and that you, too, are properly disturbed by your curiousity. Perhaps, in examining this extremity with me, you hope for some understanding, some insight, some flicker of self-knowledge--a moral, or a lesson, or a clue about how to behave in this world: some such information. I don't discount the possibility, but when it comes to genocide, you already know right from wrong. The best reason I have come up with for looking closely into Rwanda's stories is that ignoring them makes me even more uncomfortable about existence and my place in it. The horror, as horror, interestes me only insofar as a precise memory of te offense is necessary to understand its legacy.
Even before Don Cheadle's Hotel Rwanda was released (side note: I've not been able to bring myself to watch the movie all the way through--I'm too affected by it) I've had an interest in the Rwandan genocide and how such a thing could occur. What makes us hate? How far away is genocide or ethnic cleansing in other parts of the world? Why do so few seem to care or even be aware that such horrible things are a daily part of life for so many on this planet? Gourevitch hits the nail on the head as to explaining my interest. Ignoring such things makes me vastly more uncomfortable than learning of and mentally engaging myself in the utter incomprehensibility and gruesomeness of such events. Is there a way that my increased awareness might serve to somehow lessen future atrocities? Yes, that probably is a very arrogant, American thing to think. But so what? Why not hope that I can do some good in the world?
One thing I do know is that learning of such things has already helped me deal with my own challenges in a much more patient and grateful fashion. For instance, though the experience with Eliza was neither enjoyable nor something I would recommend, I felt that it was but a drop in the bucket compared to the agony and strife that millions upon millions of people in this world live with every day--with no end in sight. Perhaps that is a bad philosophy--others are much worse off, so just be grateful for what you have. Comparisons are generally not the best method for determining how to react to situations in your own life, but they can be instructive in helping one maintain perspective. And such is where I find myself--I have a bit of a different perspective on life now than I did before I started reading this book. And I am grateful for the perspective that has been gained. Can you give a higher compliment to a book?
I will share just one additional passage from the book that struck me particularly. Those who share my LDS faith will likely recognize immediately why it struck me so deeply. In this passage Gourevitch is recounting a conversation he had with Paul Rusesabagina (the main character in Hotel Rwanda) about Paul's actions during the genocide (where he was singularly instrumental in saving numerous lives through his diplomacy, courage and conviction--all while his own life was in as much danger as those he desired to help).
I wanted to know what had made Paul strong--and he couldn't tell me. "I wasn't really strong," he said. "I wasn't. But maybe I used different means that other people didn't want to use." Only later--"when people were talking about that time"--did it occur to him that he had been exceptional. "During the genocide, I didn't know," he told me. "I thought so many people did as I did, because I know that if they'd wanted they could have done so."
Paul believed in free will. He understood his actions during the genocide in the same way that he understood those of others, as choices.
Agency is a powerful force, and we always have that available to us--regardless of our status or situation. Easy for me to say sitting here, but I hope I won't be found wanting when the time comes for me to demonstrate how I choose to use my agency.
The book is devastating in so many respects, but it is also instructional in providing insights to the enduring power of the human spirit and the ability of one or a few to change the lives of many--for good or for bad. We all have that power and that opportunity. Let's not kid ourselves into thinking we don't, and let us be wise in how we employ it.
Leontius, the son of Aglaion, was coming up from the Peiraeus, close to the outer side of the north wall, when he saw some dead bodies lying near the executioner, and he felt a desire to look at them, and at the same time felt disgust at the thought, and tried to turn aside. For some time he fought with himself and put his hand over his eyes, but in the end the desire got the better of him, and opening his eyes wide with his fingers he ran forward to the bodies, saying, "There you are, curse you, have your fill of the lovely spectacle."
Initially, he offers that segment of The Republic without additional commentary, but then several pages in he incorporates the passage by addressing the reader:
Like Leontius, the young Athenian in Plato, I presume that you are reading this because you desire a closer look, and that you, too, are properly disturbed by your curiousity. Perhaps, in examining this extremity with me, you hope for some understanding, some insight, some flicker of self-knowledge--a moral, or a lesson, or a clue about how to behave in this world: some such information. I don't discount the possibility, but when it comes to genocide, you already know right from wrong. The best reason I have come up with for looking closely into Rwanda's stories is that ignoring them makes me even more uncomfortable about existence and my place in it. The horror, as horror, interestes me only insofar as a precise memory of te offense is necessary to understand its legacy.
Even before Don Cheadle's Hotel Rwanda was released (side note: I've not been able to bring myself to watch the movie all the way through--I'm too affected by it) I've had an interest in the Rwandan genocide and how such a thing could occur. What makes us hate? How far away is genocide or ethnic cleansing in other parts of the world? Why do so few seem to care or even be aware that such horrible things are a daily part of life for so many on this planet? Gourevitch hits the nail on the head as to explaining my interest. Ignoring such things makes me vastly more uncomfortable than learning of and mentally engaging myself in the utter incomprehensibility and gruesomeness of such events. Is there a way that my increased awareness might serve to somehow lessen future atrocities? Yes, that probably is a very arrogant, American thing to think. But so what? Why not hope that I can do some good in the world?
One thing I do know is that learning of such things has already helped me deal with my own challenges in a much more patient and grateful fashion. For instance, though the experience with Eliza was neither enjoyable nor something I would recommend, I felt that it was but a drop in the bucket compared to the agony and strife that millions upon millions of people in this world live with every day--with no end in sight. Perhaps that is a bad philosophy--others are much worse off, so just be grateful for what you have. Comparisons are generally not the best method for determining how to react to situations in your own life, but they can be instructive in helping one maintain perspective. And such is where I find myself--I have a bit of a different perspective on life now than I did before I started reading this book. And I am grateful for the perspective that has been gained. Can you give a higher compliment to a book?
I will share just one additional passage from the book that struck me particularly. Those who share my LDS faith will likely recognize immediately why it struck me so deeply. In this passage Gourevitch is recounting a conversation he had with Paul Rusesabagina (the main character in Hotel Rwanda) about Paul's actions during the genocide (where he was singularly instrumental in saving numerous lives through his diplomacy, courage and conviction--all while his own life was in as much danger as those he desired to help).
I wanted to know what had made Paul strong--and he couldn't tell me. "I wasn't really strong," he said. "I wasn't. But maybe I used different means that other people didn't want to use." Only later--"when people were talking about that time"--did it occur to him that he had been exceptional. "During the genocide, I didn't know," he told me. "I thought so many people did as I did, because I know that if they'd wanted they could have done so."
Paul believed in free will. He understood his actions during the genocide in the same way that he understood those of others, as choices.
Agency is a powerful force, and we always have that available to us--regardless of our status or situation. Easy for me to say sitting here, but I hope I won't be found wanting when the time comes for me to demonstrate how I choose to use my agency.
The book is devastating in so many respects, but it is also instructional in providing insights to the enduring power of the human spirit and the ability of one or a few to change the lives of many--for good or for bad. We all have that power and that opportunity. Let's not kid ourselves into thinking we don't, and let us be wise in how we employ it.
