As we reflect on the legacy of the genocide against Tutsi, we must confront the uncomfortable truth that the scars of such slaughters run deep. It is of utmost importance to always think and care about the trauma inflicted to victims during the genocidal campaigns in 1994 and even earlier. The survivor’s grief and pain is physical, social and psychological. The hurt seeps into the very fabric of one's being, shattering their sense of self and humanity. Survivors of genocide were left grappling with profound psychological scars that may never fully heal. Ever since the genocide started up to now, I have listened to many testimonies of survivors recounting their horrifying experiences with an eerie calmness, devoid of the expected tears or screams of agony. A troubling composure, as if the enormity and pain of their suffering has been numbed into oblivion –as if they were under anaesthesia. ALSO READ Genocide survivors organise mass in honour of wiped-out families Such serenity is a phenomenon that defies explanation, a paradoxical response to immeasurable trauma. How could individuals endure such agony and yet remain so strangely composed? Dehumanisation and its effects At the heart of this anaesthesia lies the stealthy process of dehumanisation. Throughout history, perpetrators of genocide employed dehumanizing rhetoric and propaganda to justify their atrocities. Genocide is not merely an act of violence; it is a systematic campaign to dehumanize, degrade and destroy an entire group of people. In Rwanda, Hutu-Power propaganda machinery disseminated hateful propaganda, urging Hutus to view Tutsis as less than human. From 1959, this dehumanisation process served to strip away the empathy and compassion that would typically evoke tears or screams in the face of suffering. ALSO READ Standing with Genocide survivors is the least we can do Since October 1990 up to April 1994 planners of genocide embarked on a relentless propaganda campaign through media outlets like the infamous publications like Kangura, Zirikana, Kamarampaka, RTLM ...etc. depicting Tutsis as less than human –to be exterminated. This process served as a psychological precursor to the atrocities that followed, stripping victims of their inherent worth and rendering them as mere objects of loathing and disdain. The Kangura's 8th Hutu commandment explicitly instructed Hutus to cease having pity for Tutsis. What it meant, for anyone who obeyed the order, had to abandon any semblance of empathy and sympathy for Tutsi victims. The malevolent decree normalized the idea of cruelty and indifference towards the Tutsi population, eroding any sense of compassion or empathy that may have existed. That, too, incarnated the ethos of cruelty and indifference. In such a situation, displaying softness or compassion towards the Tutsi as the targeted group was perceived as a sign of weakness—punishable by being banished and sometimes death. In the face of such unimaginable horror, the Tutsi were stripped of their humanity, and, reduced to mere shells of their former selves. The above commandment exemplifies the desensitizing ideology that pervaded Rwandan society leading up to the genocide. By devaluing to nothing the lives of Tutsi and eroding the natural human instinct for empathy, the perpetrators sought to deaden the population to the suffering of their victims. In doing so, they created a climate where atrocities could be carried out with frightening efficiency, making it easier to commit appalling crimes without remorse or concern. Dry eyes and hearts Tears, though a salty liquid from the eyes, serve as a cathartic release, a tangible expression of grief and pain. In ordinary circumstances, tears are regarded as a natural expression of emotion – a sign of vulnerability, compassion, and humanity. Nonetheless, in the crucible of genocide, tears become a luxury few can afford. To shed tears or cry out in agony is to risk attracting the attention of one's tormentors, inviting further brutality and humiliation. Moreover, the suppression of emotions becomes a survival strategy, a means of preserving one's dignity and sanity in the face of unspeakable atrocities. For many Tutsi survivors, the ability to maintain a facade of stoicism in the presence of their oppressors is a form of defiance, a silent rebellion against the dehumanisation imposed upon them. While the stoicism of genocide survivors may serve as a shield against further harm, it comes at a profound cost to their mental and emotional well-being. The inability to express grief or seek solace in the aftermath of trauma can lead to a crippling sense of isolation and alienation. Without avenues for healing or support, survivors are left to grapple with their pain in silence, burdened by the weight of unspeakable memories. When empathy is eroded and compassion is cast aside, society becomes increasingly desensitized to the plight of the vulnerable, paving the way for further atrocities to occur. A society that has lost its moral compass, where fellow feeling is viewed as a feebleness and the pain of the other is met with indifference. The Stoicism of Genocide survivors The brutality of the killings, characterized by machetes, nail studded clubs, and other crude weapons, shocked the world and left an indelible scar on the collective conscience. However, the human capacity for endurance in the face of unimaginable suffering is both awe-inspiring and haunting. It is not easy to delve into what would be the psychological mechanisms behind this anesthetized suffering, without exploring its implications for both survivors and society as a whole. For many, almost all survivors I spoke to, just to grasp their inner feelings, the instinct to remain silent and composed was not born out of stoicism or bravery, but out of sheer necessity. To shed tears or scream in agony is to acknowledge one's humanity, to assert one's right to empathy and compassion. But in the presence of merciless killers devoid of empathy or remorse, such displays of vulnerability become perilous liabilities. Survivors of the genocide against Tutsi in Rwanda learned early on, that showing emotion could be a death sentence. In the face of unimaginable brutality, they learned to numb themselves, to disconnect from their emotions as a means of self-preservation. Tears or screams became a betrayal of their survival instinct. They witnessed unspeakable atrocities, lost loved ones in the most horrific ways imaginable, and endured unimaginable pain and anguish. Yet, when they recount their experiences, there is often a remarkable absence of emotion – no tears, no screams, just a detached recounting of events as if they were describing someone else's nightmare. But beyond mere survival, the anaesthesia of genocide victims speaks to a deeper existential crisis – a loss of faith in humanity itself. To shed tears is to believe that someone, somewhere, might care, might intervene, might offer solace in the face of unspeakable horror. But in a world where neighbors turn against neighbours, where friends become executioners, where the very fabric of society unravels in the blink of an eye, tears offer no solace, no salvation. The survivors’ stoicism is not a sign of weakness, but of resilience in the face of unimaginable adversity. It is a testament to the indomitable spirit of the human soul, capable of enduring the unendurable and emerging, however battered and bruised, on the other side. During the genocide against the Tutsi in 1994, the ability to remain, enduring in the face of unspeakable horror became a grim inevitability. Lessons and pledge Behind survivors’ composed facades, there is a wellspring of pain and trauma, buried beneath layers of survival instinct and self-preservation. The absence of tears in the eyes of survivors, is not just a sign of strength, but a testament to the profound wounds that continue to haunt them long after the guns have fell silent and machete wielding killers disappeared after defeat by the Rwandan Patriotic Army. The silence of the survivors serves as unnerving accusation of the perpetrators and the society that enabled their crimes. In a world where tears are a sign of hope and trust, the absence of such emotions is a testament about the moral void that allowed the genocide to occur. When killers roamed with impunity and empathy perceived as a weakness or treachery, the very fabric of society is torn asunder, leaving behind a landscape of silent suffering and unhealed wounds. As we reflect on the horrors of the past—always—let us not forget the silent suffering of those who survived. Behind every stoic facade lies a heart that has been shattered a thousand times over—a soul that has been scarred by the cruelty of man. And let us pledge to never again turn a blind eye to the suffering of our fellow human beings, to never again allow the seeds of hatred and intolerance to take root anywhere. For in the end, it is not our tears that define us, but our capacity to rise above the darkness and embrace the light of hope and resilience.
