First big work day

July 7, 2008

Woke up early and went to work today at the Never Again office, my first full day completely focused on research. I arrived there about 9 a.m. and started in on emails, posting, and internet research. The wireless connection was up and down, especially in the afternoon, but was sufficient.

Web site designers who are sensitive to global audiences should keep in mind the speed of internet connection in places like Rwanda. The “standard” settings for Google Mail, for example, won’t load here. Luckily, there is a link to plain HTML for slower connections.

The office was quiet in the morning; two Dutch interns arrived about 9:30 and left in the early afternoon; two American interns were writing and editing their peace-building curriculum in the back room. The other American intern attended the workshop presentation with the Never Again staff.

At maybe 3:00 or 4:00, shortly after lunch, Julius returned to the office and we ended up in an hours-long meeting about how to shape my research next summer, how to locate other technical documents, and where all this research is headed. But mostly we talked about trauma, reconciliation, stigma, and healing.

This is the counterbalance that I needed for all the talk during the previous days about economic prospects and the positive forces in the country. Don’t get me wrong: Rwanda has done so much work, has come so far, and the prospects for the country are hopeful.

But that’s not why I came here.

I came to Rwanda, was drawn here, because of the very familiar patterns of human pain that are PTSD. And Rwandans continue to be traumatized and to suffer from PTSD. The Genocide provoked mass trauma on a scale perhaps not seen before in one culture. It’s like a volcano that continues to erupt; just when you think it’s done, another unctuous flow threatens every living thing in its path.

The children of perpetrators are now traumatized. Some have lost parents due to the war that ended the Genocide, some to prisons. There are no government programs for these children, no places reserved in schools as there are for Genocide orphans and children of survivors.

The children borne of Genocide rape are mostly street children. They are now 12 and 13 and some now have children of their own. The government has tried to put these children in orphanages, but the children escaped; now they are trying to settle and support the children in constructed communities that are composed of children only, but they need more support.
Survivors face social stigma because of their intrusive memories and sometimes-erratic behavior. Survivors who were raped have no chance of marriage or committed relationship.

Surviving mothers face the double burden of raising children on their own and managing their traumatic reactions (or not).

So why am I here? I am only one person, but I am one person who can listen to their stories, a few at a time, and say that yes, this happened to them. As a writing teacher, I listen to these stories on paper and help writers explore different aspects of the story in a structured, safe way.
As a new friend at Alverno said, these stories, called trauma narratives, “can let light and air into memory.”

I’m not trained in psychology, but my students at SPC have taught me how to help them write these types of narratives. Judith Herman’s Trauma and Recovery has been my guide about how to help these stories come into being without treading in potentially dangerous emotional territory. On an ethical note, I don’t assign trauma narratives as any part of any level of the writing curriculum. At the Freshman Composition level, though, I ask students to identify essential questions that will drive their writing for the semester. These questions must be something that the writer doesn’t know the answer to and something that is of vital importance to him or her.

Over the last twelve years, many students have chosen—needed—to write about terrible events in their lives that have changed their identity in important ways and because they are still on some type of journey to understand or at least make sense of their lives. After a couple of years, I thought I’d better learn more about this type of writing because it was evident to me that students needed to write these stories. I friend recommended Herman’s work, and now here I am.

Julius thinks that there will be many who would like to participate in my writing retreat next summer. His initial idea is for Never Again to develop sign-up sheets in each of the five sectors of the country, and then let three from each province attend. I wish I could do a larger workshop, but 15 really is the maximum number of writers I can attend to with the individual attention that each deserves. But perhaps I will be able to conduct two retreats next summer.
If Never Again and the participants like the outcome, I can repeat the retreats and/or train others to conduct them on an ongoing basis.

We also talked about how traumatized populations can develop online communities of support. Rwanda has made a strong commitment to ICT, or internet connection, for all its people; its people are Rwanda’s only natural resource.

More than anything, I hope that Rwandans come to understand that trauma and PTSD are not fatal, nor do they signify character flaws. People can recover from trauma, even the worst events imaginable.

Writing your story and having someone take it in, witness it, is one small step in that long, long process.