20 Years After Rwandan Genocide, Lighting A Flame Of Hope

The Kwibuka flame, commemorating the genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda
The Kwibuka flame, commemorating the genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda
Fulgence Niyonagize

KIGALI — As the 20th anniversary of the Rwandan genocide approaches, a “flame of hope” is being carried across the entire country, a symbol of reconciliation and faith in a better future.

“I want to make sure that everything's in order,” says the president of the Tutsi genocide survivors group in northern Rwanda. “The flame of hope will arrive in our district tomorrow.”

The Kwibuka flame, as it is known, is meant to symbolize the courage of the Rwandese over the past two decades after an estimated 500,000 to 1 million people were slaughtered by the ruling Hutu majority, including up to 70% of the Tutsi minority, in a period of just over three months.

All the fires lit across the country for the 100-day-long commemoration come from this single flame, first lit Jan. 7.

It will return to the Rwandan capital of Kigali on April 7, 20 years after the genocide started, where President Paul Kagame will use it to light another and to mark the beginning of the annual mourning period.

All over the country, the arrival of the torch brings together survivors, former persecutors, and students, who welcome it with enthusiasm. “He who has darkness in his heart always has bad intentions. This flame is a symbol that our hearts are now pure,” explains Moussa Fazir Harelimana, minister of interior security.

This year, the commemoration theme is “Remember, Unite, Renew,” three words that “invite us to think, all together, about the past to better prepare the future,” says an official from survivor association Ibuka.

Protais Mitali, minister of sports and culture, says these ceremonies help prepare the commemoration by harmonizing the debate as well as targeting and carrying out actions that support the survivors. He says it’s also an opportunity for those who deny the genocide to engage in soul-searching and march with others for the development of the country.

In the northern district of Rulindo, Eric Ngarambe, a 24-year-old militiaman at the time of the genocide, explains that he killed Tutsis at the pentecostal church using firearms, grenades, stones and machetes. “Honestly, I shouldn’t be among the living, given the extent of the suffering I have caused,” he says. “To build a nation is not only to receive the forgiveness of the survivors, but also to change and move on in a new direction.”

Jean de Dieu Mucyo, executive secretary of the National Commission For The Fight Against Genocide, says young people should be more involved in the commemoration activities that cover the 100-day period during which the genocide lasted. “It’s up to them to seize its remembrance and preserve it,” he says.

For the Kwibuka 20 commemoration, days of reflection are being organized by the Rwanda embassies in Europe and Africa, and by its mission to the United Nations. “These activities are all aimed at preserving the memory of what happened and counter all forms of denial, revisionism or normalization of the genocide,” explained Jacques Kabale, Rwanda’s ambassador to France, as he launched the commemoration on Jan. 24 in Lyon. “Only justice and remembrance can keep us from seeing history repeat itself.”

The youth, commonly called Rwanda rw’ejo (the Rwanda of tomorrow) are urged to take their future into their own hands. Marcel Mutsindashyaka, who lost both of his parents when he was just five years old, has done just that. He focused his attention on his education, and wound up earning a university degree in technology. He is proud of his achievements, looking back to the darkness of his childhood: “I have come a long way.”

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Ecological Angst In India, A Mining Dumpsite As Neighbor

Local villagers in western India have been forced to live with a mining waste site on the edge of town. What happens when you wake up one day and the giant mound of industrial waste has imploded?

The mining dumpsite is situated just outside of the Badi village in the coastal state of Gujarat

Sukanya Shantha

BADI — Last week, when the men and women from the Bharwad community in this small village in western India stepped out for their daily work to herd livestock, they were greeted with a strange sight.

The 20-meter-high small hill that had formed at the open-cast mining dumpsite had suddenly sunk. Unsure of the reason behind the sudden caving-in, they immediately informed other villagers. In no time, word had traveled far, even drawing the attention of environment specialists and activists from outside town.

This mining dumpsite situated less than 500 meters outside of the Badi village in the coastal state of Gujarat has been a matter of serious concern ever since the Gujarat Power Corporation Limited began lignite mining work here in early 2017. The power plant is run by the Power Gujarat State Electricity Corporation Limited, which was previously known as the Bhavnagar Energy Company Ltd.

Vasudev Gohil, a 43-year-old resident of Badi village says that though the dumping site is technically situated outside the village, locals must pass the area on a daily basis.

"We are constantly on tenterhooks and looking for danger signs," he says. Indeed, their state of alert is how the sudden change in the shape of the dumpsite was noticed in the first place.

Can you trust environmental officials?

For someone visiting the place for the first time, the changes may not stand out. "But we have lived all our lives here, we know every little detail of this village. And when a 150-meter-long stretch cave-in by over 25-30 feet, the change can't be overlooked," Gohil adds.

This is not the first time that the dumpsite has worried local residents. Last November, a large part of the flattened part of the dumpsite had developed deep cracks and several flat areas had suddenly got elevated. While the officials had attributed this significant elevation to the high pressure of water in the upper strata of soil in the region, environment experts had pointed to seismic activities. The change is evident even today, nearly a year since it happened.

It could have sunk because of the rain.

After the recent incident, when the villagers raised an alarm and sent a written complaint to the regional Gujarat Pollution Control Board, an official visit to the site was arranged, along with the district administration and the mining department.

The regional pollution board officer Bhavnagar, A.G. Oza, insists the changes "aren't worrisome" and attributes it to the weather.

"The area received heavy rain this time. It is possible that the soil could have sunk in because of the rain," he tells The Wire. The Board, he says, along with the mining department, is now trying to assess if the caving-in had any impact on the ground surface.

"We visited the site as soon as a complaint was made. Samples have already been sent to the laboratory and we will have a clear idea only once the reports are made available," Oza adds.

Women from the Surkha village have to travel several kilometers to find potable water

Sukanya Shantha/The Wire

A questionable claim

That the dumpsite had sunk in was noticeable for at least three days between October 1 and 3, but Rohit Prajapati of an environmental watchdog group Paryavaran Suraksha Samiti, noted that it was not the first time.

"This is the third time in four years that something so strange is happening. It is a disaster in the making and the authorities ought to examine the root cause of the problem," Prajapati says, adding that the department has repeatedly failed to properly address the issue.

He also contests the GPCB's claim that excess rain could lead to something so drastic. "Then why was similar impact not seen on other dumping sites in the region? One cannot arrive at conclusions for geological changes without a deeper study of them," he says. "It can have deadly implications."

Living in pollution

The villagers have also accused the GPCB of overlooking their complaint of water pollution which has rendered a large part of the land, most importantly, the gauchar or grazing land, useless.

"In the absence of a wall or a barrier, the pollutant has freely mixed with the water bodies here and has slowly started polluting both our soil and water," complains 23- year-old Nikul Kantharia.

He says ever since the mining project took off in the region, he, like most other villagers has been forced to take his livestock farther away to graze. "Nothing grows on the grazing land anymore and the grass closer to the dumpsite makes our cattle ill," Kantharia claims.

The mining work should have been stopped long ago

Prajapati and Bharat Jambucha, a well-known environmental activist and proponent of organic farming from the region, both point to blatant violations of environmental laws in the execution of mining work, with at least 12 violations cited by local officials. "But nothing happened after that. Mining work has continued without any hassles," Jambucha says. Among some glaring violations include the absence of a boundary wall around the dumping site and proper disposal of mining effluents.

The mining work has also continued without a most basic requirement – effluent treatment plant and sewage treatment plant at the mining site, Prajapati points out. "The mining work should have been stopped long ago. And the company should have been levied a heavy fine. But no such thing happened," he adds.

In some villages, the groundwater level has depleted over the past few years and villagers attribute it to the mining project. Women from Surkha village travel several kilometers outside for potable water. "This is new. Until five years ago, we had some water in the village and did not have to lug water every day," says Shilaben Kantharia.

The mine has affected the landscape around the villages

Sukanya Shantha/The Wire

Resisting lignite mining

The lignite mining project has a long history of resistance. Agricultural land, along with grazing land were acquired from the cluster of 12 adjoining villages in the coastal Ghogha taluka between 1994 and 1997. The locals estimate that villagers here lost anything between 40-100% of their land to the project. "We were paid a standard Rs 40,000 per bigha," Narendra, a local photographer, says.

The money, Narendra says, felt decent in 1994 but for those who had been dependent on this land, the years to come proved very challenging. "Several villagers have now taken a small patch of land in the neighboring villages on lease and are cultivating cotton and groundnut there," Narendra says.

They were dependent on others' land for work.

Bharat Jambucha says things get further complicated for the communities which were historically landless. "Most families belonging to the Dalit or other marginalized populations in the region never owned any land. They were dependent on others' land for work. Once villagers lost their land to the project, the landless were pushed out of the village," he adds. His organization, Prakrutik Kheti Juth, has been at the forefront, fighting for the rights of the villages affected in the lignite mining project.

In 2017, when the mining project finally took off, villagers from across 12 villages protested. The demonstration was disrupted after police used force and beat many protesters. More than 350 of them were booked for rioting.

The villagers, however, did not give up. Protests and hunger strikes have continued from time to time. A few villagers even sent a letter to the President of India threatening that they would commit suicide if the government did not return their land.

"We let them have our land for over 20 years," says Gohil.

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