Truth, Purpose, and the Power of Ideas: Intellectual Lessons from Rwanda

[This is the first of three essays that I'm required to complete for my program.  I thought I'd include them here because so much of my time here has been focused on academics and these papers, I hope, will reflect how much I've learned!  I've changed them a little bit, in order to protect my program, and I'm also not sure how much is understandable without having heard our class discussions/being present here in Rwanda... I hope they make sense!  This one particularly is supposed to be a personal essay--no citations or anything.]

            Learning is a constant process.  Immediately upon reaching a “solution” or basic understanding of an intricate concept or relationship, a new insight propels you back into the exhausting yet exhilarating process of thinking and rethinking the complexities.  The peace and global studies discipline in particular fosters this opportunity to think critically and to continuously evaluate one’s field and one’s place within that field.  I find myself constantly absorbing new information—regarding social and economic development, political identity, humanitarian aid work, the relationship between capitalism and political space, the challenge of legitimizing alternatives, etc.—that will aid in my work with future peacebuilding efforts.  My program in Rwanda has advanced my studies in these areas significantly.  In particular, my time in Rwanda has allowed me to unpack three lessons crucial to peacebuilding: the danger of a single truth in peacebuilding efforts, the discovery of a space to change the theoretical within the concrete, and the necessity of believing in the power of ideas.

            First and foremost, this program has reiterated my understanding that no single truth exists.  In the field of peace and conflict studies, it is tempting to search for the answer—the one “right” solution—to the myriad global problems we analyze and discuss.  However, in realizing that each person comes from a unique environment, with a particular frame of mind and set of values, it makes sense that their story is their truth, fabricated from the unique circumstances life has presented him or her.  These contextualized truths must be viewed as valid and legitimate within the unique history of that person’s experience.

In learning to contextualize and historicize individual truth, I believe that I can better meet each person on his or her own level in a way that can foster greater understanding.  Only accepting one truth as the “right” way to view the world completely discounts an individual’s unique experience and hinders any sort of mutual understanding or desire to move forward together.  The danger of recognizing only a single truth constantly manifests in aid projects.  Their very specific plan to build peace, often focusing on development and short-term provision of goods and services, is praised for doing so much “good” in the world while it actually falls prey to an overarching, unjust system.  We heard myriad examples during our program: the alleviation of poverty via the Millennium Village Project, the Rwandan Development Board’s plan to modernize the country, the Invisible Children and Save Darfur advocacy projects for mobilizing masses to prevent genocide.  Despite these programs appearing to do “good” on the surface level, they operate within a system that perpetuates unhealthy dynamics like continual reliance on foreign aid, the privileging of “easier” economic development projects over complex structural problems, and the dehistoricization of incredibly intricate conflicts.  In other words, the very foundation of these programs meant to do “good” aligns carefully with a system based on harmful assumptions that continually oppress the very people these organizations are meant to help.  Thus this single conceptualization of what is “good” distracts from the main issue: the necessity of deconstructing an inherently oppressive system.

So what does this say about truth?  When these projects are championed as the “best” ways to encourage lasting peace, and their advocates—found among the majority of our speakers in class—truly believe that their actions are helping create lasting peace, how can that mindset—their truth—be doubted?  Do these advocates and speakers recognize how well their views align with the official government narrative, and do they realize that this narrative causes fear and alienation for certain groups of people?  Do they actually believe in the concepts on which they present or do they knowingly regurgitate the government’s narrative?  And the single question lying foremost in my head: are these people knowingly causing “bad” while operating under the guise of “good”? 

While this will remain an ongoing question for me, this program has helped me understand the danger of assuming one truth and how crucial it is to deeply evaluate every aid program and attempt to help.  In grappling with this very issue, I have reached a greater understanding of my own purpose in peacebuilding work.  I originally struggled with the aforementioned dilemma of concrete, on-the-ground projects perpetuating injustices on a grander scale and, if this truly was the case, dismayed over where I could work as an advocate of peace.  I could not imagine a definitive way to challenge the harmful assumptions that constrict the way people think: how could big picture paradigm shifts operate within concrete, action-based projects? 

However, I mistakenly isolated theoretical paradigms from on-the-ground structures and institutions, failing to realize how the two inescapably work together.  Dangerous paradigms do not simply appear but are constructed through specific structures and institutions.  Within those institutions, the seed of a harmful paradigm lies within the minds of individuals in the shape of specifically constructed assumptions and biases.  Hence these colossal paradigm shifts can only take place on the ground, within the minds of individuals.

Unfortunately, this raises uncomfortable issues like the presumption that I have the right to impose different mindsets on people and the critique that working within the system cannot break down unjust structures nearly as well as working outside of the system.  Yet, the final lesson I have gained from Rwanda is a strong belief in the power of ideas.  Engaging in theoretical discourse, believing in alternatives, and simply discussing new ideas are all crucial to seeing long-term change; if alternatives cannot be imagined, they will never come about. 

The immensity of some of these structural injustices tends to discourage and frustrate many, myself included.  The utter domination of harmful and biased systems like capitalism, neoliberalism, and nation-state organization is overwhelming.  Specifically, if capitalism as a concept is harmful in itself, how does one even begin to deconstruct such a pervasive mindset?  This point of discussion arose during our conversation in Uganda, pointing to the extent of capitalism’s infiltration into so many ways of life and its probable role in provoking conflicts in Africa.  If one views capitalism as a dominating system in its essence—a claim substantiated because capitalism’s very existence relies on the domination of some over others—then the system of capitalism serves to pacify and suppress those who do not fit neatly into its rigid model of how to organize life and economy.  Hence, in nations with a strong state and a highly integrated system of capitalism, little room exists for dissent or opposition.  It is in response to this intentional narrowing of political space that rebel groups arise and violence becomes the only option in which to voice opposition.  Yet with a less integrated capitalistic system and a weak state, one could argue that opponents have more space to disagree with the current system and highlight other alternatives, for the simple reason that capitalism has not fully pacified the nation under a single system.

Therefore, if capitalism rests at the foundation of many oppressions and conflicts because of its inherently closed political space, it seems to me that resistance needs to take the shape of establishing a space in which to share alternative ideas.  An opening of political space creates an opportunity to at least conceptualize that there can be another option rather than capitalism—or that there already are other options out there that deserve attention.  Encouraging this kind of open dialogue and critical thinking requires that all voices be heard, even allowing the “bad guys” to have their say.  Yet this brings up issues of voice and whether every voice should be heard, despite how harmful or violent it is.  Should we shut out harmful discourses or listen to them?  If we continue to engage with these discourses, will discussion serve to legitimize them and perpetuate their very existence?  Completely opening up political space certainly raises some major issues, ones that I hope to continue unpacking in the years to come.

All the same, I see positive movement occurring in this “play” of ideas: I think positive change lies in the ability to simply conceptualize and begin to believe that there are alternatives to these intimidating systems of capitalism, neoliberalism, and nation-states.  Thus, I leave this program believing even more in education, in the value of critical thinking, and in the spread of knowledge to let people make their own decisions.  Education has the power to influence ways of thinking, ways of conceptualizing, and ways of believing to the extent that entire paradigms are shaped—and hence can change—within this setting.  With an education that invites every individual to think for herself, the thoughts, possibilities, and ideas are endless—and within those rests the possibility of alternatives, even to grand paradigms. 

In synthesizing a semester of work, discussion, and observation, I arrive at these aforementioned lessons: the danger of assuming a single truth, the ability to work within concrete structures to change injustices existing within the mind, and the power of ideas to change abrasive systems of control.  All of these are crucial when examining their implications for pursuing aid work, for wanting to “do good” in the world, for trying to deconstruct complex paradigms within concrete structures, and for focusing on capitalism as a route cause of global conflicts.  I know that I will continue to confront these lessons from Rwanda when I return to my home institution and hope that they will guide me towards even more opportunities to explore the complex relationships in our world.

The other side of the road. And some heavy academics.

(I wrote this while in Uganda but couldn’t post it!)

I'm breathing out a huge sigh of relief.  I hadn't realized that I'd been holding my breath but here in Uganda, I'm welcoming the calmness, the openness, the pureness, in comparison to the vastly different Kigali.  We'll be gone from our home base in Kigali for a total of two weeks to visit Rwanda's northern neighbor, Uganda.  We crossed the border on foot—border patrol made us exit the bus and we all climbed over the haphazardly crooked gate that apparently signified a switch in a nations.  When we got back on the bus and were bumping over Uganda's rough roads of jagged asphalt, we suddenly realized that the bus had crossed to the other side of the road.  (They drive on the left here, just like their colonizer, England.)  But it's really more than just switching sides of the road; Uganda incredibly different.

If Rwanda is like a wrinkled tablecloth someone has carelessly balled up in the center of the table—crowded, hilly, squished—Uganda is like someone took the land and flattened it neatly out, with only a stray wrinkle here and there.  The stress on the land in Rwanda is noticeable: on every of Rwanda's one thousand hills, some ambitious—or desperate—farmer is trying to cultivate a slanted portion of the hill to sustain his family and attempt to make a living.  It's one big, competitive scramble.  Here in Uganda, the far-reaching flatness occasionally resembles Indiana's waving cornfields, and the land has none of the cramped, uneasiness that permeates Vermont-sized Rwanda.  Here it strangely feels more “African,” as problematic as that is.  The tall trees sprinkled across a savanna, the untouched beauty of rolling hills, the periodic sighting of some exotic bird.  Even the towns—yes, they are more chaotic than carefully planned Kigali—but they feel more “real.”  They're dirty and loud and unorganized.  They're overcrowded, dirt poor, and underdeveloped.  Perhaps it feels more “real” because Uganda seems to fit my stereotypical image of Africa more than heavily westernized Kigali.  But it could be more than that.

We've been studying the Rwandan government's development plan quite thoroughly over the past few weeks, since clearly it has major implications for the country's reconciliation and peace process.  Essentially, Kigali is Rwanda's hub.  The government has a lofty plan to entirely reorganize the capital city by 2020, a plan known as Vision 2020.  The idea is to modernize, become more efficient, develop a  private sector competitive enough to attract many foreign investors, and ease into a competitive, market-based economy.  As a result, Kigali itself now looks phenomenal.  The streets are cleaned everyday, the city is well-lit, street vendors have been banned to make the city appear less cluttered, high rise buildings are beginning to sprout from the city's center, even neighborhoods are being reorganized to eliminate crumbling houses and make basic services (like health care, education, and electricity) more accessible.  According to an official who works at the Rwanda Development Board, Rwanda is considered the 4^th easiest place to do business in the world and is ranked the most competitive place in East Africa.  In terms of development, Rwanda appears to be excelling.

This development trajectory was paramount to the post-genocide government's plan to rebuild the devastated country.  But is development really the only measure of success?  The only measure of reconciliation and moving forward?  I don't think so.  This was a very political choice on the part of the Tutsi-dominated RPF government who has kept the same leader, the seemingly well-loved Paul Kagame, in power since the genocide's end—almost two decades.  In the eyes of many, particularly the international community, the RPF's military sweep through the country in 1994 is credited to have stopped the genocide.  This is undoubtedly true—as the RPF moved south, they expanded the liberated area to include more and more traumatized Tutsi survivors in their safety zone and scattered the genocidaires into the Congo.  The genocidal killings stopped—at least in Rwanda.  The fleeing extremist Hutus, who perpetrated the genocide in Rwanda, then continued wrecking havoc in their exile: the mess that is eastern Congo (another story for another blog). 

This is the accepted narrative.  Because of the guilt that the international community feels for doing nothing to stop the genocide, they accept this narrative and appear to wholeheartedly support the man and the army who ended the killings (Kagame and the RPF).  The RPF government has promoted itself as an exemplary model of a post-conflict country by rapidly implementing a development plan that is strikingly familiar to the US's own model, hence receiving the stamp of US—and other western countries'—approval.

That's essentially what we've been learning.  It's hard not to be biased.  But from the majority of lecturers—government officials, university professors, government-approved NGOs—it's been the same story.  And really, it's entirely convincing.  Development IS incredibly important in a post-conflict country and Rwanda is seriously rocking it—the numbers show it.

But, FASCINATINGLY there's another side:

This past week, we visited a refugee settlement in southern Uganda called Nakivale.  The camp itself, being my first refugee camp, was powerful.  It took us about 2.5 hours on a rough, bumpy, poorly-maintained road to finally reach the camp, a journey that if the roads has been decent, would've only taken about 45 minutes.  The camp is not actually a camp but a settlement, the difference being that in settlements, refugees receive a little land to cultivate in order to feed their families and try to make a living.  This settlement houses over 70,000 refugees from all over, although they mostly come from Congo, Somalia, and Rwanda.  We spoke first with the camp director and then walked around in small groups with a local guide who spoke English.  Blocks of houses cluster together into neighborhoods whose names mirror the home countries of their inhabitants: New Congo, Kigali, Somaliland, etc.  The homes stand shakily, with basic mud walls and roofs of UN-provided tarps piled with rocks and branches to keep from blowing off.  Every person we passed looked up at us and smiled or waved; they were ecstatic about our presence.  While the guide spoke with us and pointed out various things along the way, we trailed a huge line of grinning children, all wanting high-fives and to hold our hands.  One little girl even got so excited about holding my friend's hand that she started to pee her pants—yet kept grinning and holding this muzungu's hand while she made little pee footsteps in the dirt behind her.  So our group of five that began the tour became probably 25 by the end.

The settlement houses Rwandan refugees who fled over the course of the years and for various reasons.  However, some general trends emerged, after speaking with residents and observing.  Most of them are Hutu.  Some of them fled Rwanda because they are perpetrators of the genocide and don't want to be jailed.  Some don't have homes to return to since other displaced refugees within Rwanda had moved into them.  And some fled Rwanda out of fear for the RPF, fear of speaking out against the government, fear of being Hutu and hence being labeled either as opposition or as genocidaire. 

And this is a government that is heralded by western countries as being a model for developing countries, an example for other post-conflict nations.  Yet their repressive tactics of silencing opposing voices—hidden under the guise of the RPF government being “genocide-stoppers,” of implementing an impressive western development plan, and of promoting the “necessary” stability of keeping one leader in power in a post-conflict nation—are keeping fearful refugees from returning.

An author we've been reading, named Mamdani, can articulate this much better than I can, but essentially, the RPF regime has developed very distinct categories of people.  Their official stance is that political privilege should never be based on ethnicity and the labels of Hutu and Tutsi should be erased from political and social spheres.  They favor the implementation of a national identity (everyone is a Rwandan, first and foremost) rather than an ethnic one.  However, Mamdani argues that the RPF separates Rwandan citizens into political categories that actually require a particular ethnic identity.  In post-genocide Rwanda, there are 5 groups of people: returnees (those who returned when the genocide ended, considered to be only Tutsi), refugees (those who still remain outside of Rwanda, considered only Hutu), victims (considered only Tutsi), survivors (only Tutsi), and perpetrators (only Hutu).  The assumption is that all Tutsis are victims and all Hutus, guilty by association, should be blamed for the genocide.  So this idea of a national identity may actually be a very specific tactic on the part of the RPF to maintain their hold on power and suppress the majority group, the Hutus.  It definitely makes one think.  More later.

(I'm not sure all of that made sense to anyone but myself.  But there's a glimpse into my head!)

A day in the life—just to give an idea.

I wake up at 7am everyday, and it’s freezing.  I fill up a bucket with water from the tap outside and heat some of it using the water heater for my bucket shower.  I get dressed in one of the five outfits that I brought to Rwanda—I’m not trying to be fashionable here haha—and then head to the table for hot, black tea (with TONS of sugar, the way Rwandans serve it), a glass of hot milk (unpasteurized and considered food), and chapatti (Indian flat bread, which is the BOMB.  I could eat it for every meal honestly.)  I brush my teeth using water that’s already been boiled the night before by our house girl, Angelique, and I spit into the dirt outside since we don’t have a sink.  I leave for school at about 8am, heading down the dirt path through the center of my village.  I get stares and double takes and “Hello muzungu!” from literally every person as I walk past the big trucks unloading bunch after bunch of green bananas from the countryside to sell in the market near my house.  I catch a bus on the main road to “mu mujyi” (town) and ride for 15-20mins for the equivalent of about 20 cents.  We’re squished tight into these little buses and generally listen to pumping jams on the radio the whole way.  I arrive in the central bus “depot” (if you can call it that; it’s more just an area randomly picked for all the buses to congregate) and listen for the bus hagglers to yell “Kacyiru” before climbing onto that bus and waiting sometimes up to 30 mins for it to completely fill up.  That ride costs about 40 cents, I’m guessing, and when I get off, I walk another 15 mins and arrive for class at 9am.

We often start the day with Kinyarwanda, with our hilarious teacher J.P.  He always looks incredibly smart with his shined shoes and suit jackets.  He greets us with “Mwaramutse.  Amakuru?” to which we respond “Ni meza!” and then class starts with lists of memorizing words, goofy skits, and sometimes singing.  This is pretty much what I’ve learned so far:

Nitwa Leslie.  Nturuka muri amerika.  Ndi umunyeshuri.  Niga amahoro na amateka hano mu Rwanda.  Mfite imyaka makumyabiri n’umwe.  Ndakunda Rwana cyane!

(My name is Leslie.  I am from America.  I am a student.  I study peace and history here in Rwanda.  I am 21 years old.  I like Rwanda a lot!)

Then we have a lecture (from a government official, a guest professor, or community leader) or discussion of readings.  I hate to say it but the generalization I’ve been making about the majority of our lectures is that they’re giving us a pretty standard and specific “official” narrative.  I have another blog coming in which I’ll write about this extensively (because I’m FASCINATED) but generally, we hear in class that Rwanda, and Kigali especially, is a rapidly developing, successfully modernizing post-conflict state.  Which sounds wonderful.  (more later!)

After a few hours of discussions and/or lectures, we break for an hour to eat lunch.  By now it’s SUPER hot—as far from the chilly morning as is possible.  We wander up the hill in the sun to the line of dinky shops and restaurants, where we choose from our usual selection of three Rwandan buffet-style lunch places.  For a flat rate of about 1000 FRW (about $1.50 maybe?) you can pile as much green banana mush, French fries, rice, beans, boiled potatoes, sweet potatoes, green stuff (obviously I steer clear of that one), and pasta—Rwandans like their starch.  Because there’s a flat rate, it’s really common to see Rwandans walking away with enormous piles of food on their plates—which they somehow manage to consume entirely.

Back to school after that for either more lectures/discussions, processing sessions (to debrief from all the really intense material we’re dealing with), or site visits.  I’m incredibly lucky because our program prides itself on experiential learning so we get to do a lot of hands-on talking with people and visiting of the places we’re learning about.  We’ve been able to meet with major NGOs and government organizations like Invisible Children, USAID, the Institute for Research and Dialogue for Peace (IRDP), the Justice and Reconciliation Project (JRP), the Center for Conflict Management at Butare University, the Rwandan Development Board (RDB), and the National Commission for Unity and Reconciliation (NCUR).  We’ve been able to ask questions of top government officials and NGO staff members of all of these organizations and more, adding a plethora of information to our class lectures and discussions.

We end between 4 and 6pm when I either trek to the library to do work and email (or skype my wonderful boyfriend!) or I head back home.  At home, my family and I usually watch this Mexican soap opera that I’ve become obsessed with called “Mar de Amor” (super dramatic, really cheesy, a great way to de-stress!).  Sometimes I sit outside and the neighbor kids come to say hello.  Sometimes our 3-year-old neighbor, Dan, comes to hang out, too.  We eat dinner around 8pm, which our house girl prepares outside on a charcoal stove.  Whoever is home at the time sits around the table in the living room, often by candlelight because the power goes out all the time, and we share rice, banana mush sauce, beans, pasta, nasty little fishes in a sauce, or fufu.  (Fufu is this squishy dough stuff made from cassava that you roll into a ball using your hands and dip into a sauce—it fills the belly but there’s literally no nutritional value whatsoever.  Also, my host mom thinks it’s the most hilarious thing when I eat fufu so the whole table is always laughing whenever there’s fufu being served.) 

By this time, it’s freezing again and I’m super tired so I end up going to sleep around 9 or 10pm. 

And that’s my life currently!

Some pictures

At the Equator in Uganda!

We got THIS CLOSE to an elephant on our boat ride safari!!

Me feeding the baboon.

The Happy Blog.

Sorry there haven’t been any entries lately.  I’ve been in Uganda for two weeks (no internet access and really busy!) so tons more blogs about that will be coming!

But this is the happy blog, as requested by my dear sister Elise.  I promise that my trip hasn’t been ALL depressing and intense.   So here’s three things that have been super fun and happy:

1.  About a month ago, we took a class fieldtrip to what’s called a Millennium Village Project.  Essentially, it’s a project where donors focus on one struggling town and invest significant chunks of money in it to implement the UN’s Millennium Development Goals from 2000 (which are very broad goals set to alleviate poverty through projects like education, agricultural development, and getting access to water/shelter/food/etc.).  We visited one such village, called Mayange, and got to visit a farm and a health care center, both boosted with donor money to ideally get them off the ground and running sustainably.  The happy (and not potentially problematic, like the whole Village Project) part is that we got to meet this wonderful 68-year-old man who gave us all passion fruit—STRAIGHT FROM THE TREE.  Straight up organic, fresh, yummy and delicious passion fruit, from the farm to my mouth.  YES.
2. On our way to Uganda, right after our bus drove over the NILE RIVER first of all, WE SAW BABOONS.  Not only did we see them, but we got to FEED them.  Not only did we get to feed them, we got to actually HAND the banana to them.  I even touched some baboon fingers in the process of them grabbing bananas out of my hand.
3. And the absolute coolest thing so far?  We went on a safari in Queen Elizabeth National Park during our stay in Uganda.  We first took a boat ride and saw hippos, elephants, water buffalo, crocodiles, birds…  I took so many pictures that hopefully I’ll put up soon.  And then we went on an evening game drive where we drove our big bus through an open savannah and saw tons of gazelle/antelope-type things, herds of elephants, huge groups of water buffalo, warthogs, and mongoose.  (Pictures to come!)  We spent the night in the park, listening to all of the absolutely wild animal noises coming from everywhere and watching a few antelopes and hippos occasionally meandering behind our lodge.  Then we went on a 6:30am morning game drive and saw… LIONS!  We couldn’t see much of them since they were pretty far away but that didn’t stop us from excitingly singing the Lion King and sticking our heads out the windows to get a better glimpse.

More (pics and blogs) coming soon!

xox.