AFRICA AND THE DIASPORAHistory, Politics, Culture

SERIES EDITORS

Thomas SpearNeil Kodesh

Tejumola OlaniyanMichael G. Schatzberg

James H. Sweet

WhisperingTruth to Power

EVERYDAY RESISTANCE

TO RECONCILIATION INPOSTGENOCIDE

RWANDA

Susan Thomson

THE UNIVERSITY OFWISCONSIN PRESS

Publication of this book hasbeen made possible, in part,

through support from theColgate UniversityResearch Council.

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reproduced, stored in aretrieval system, ortransmitted, in any format orby any means, digital,electronic, mechanical,photocopying, recording, orotherwise, or conveyed viathe Internet or a websitewithout written permission ofthe University of WisconsinPress, except in the case ofbrief quotations embedded incritical articles and reviews.

Printed in the United States

of America

Library of CongressCataloging-in-Publication

Data

Thomson, Susan M.Whispering truth to power:

everyday resistanceto reconciliation in

postgenocide Rwanda / Susan

Thomson.p. cm.

(Africa and the diaspora:history, politics, culture)Includes bibliographical

references and index.ISBN 978-0-299-29674-2

(pbk.: alk. paper)ISBN 978-0-299-29673-5 (e-

book)1. Rwanda—Politics and

government—1994–.2. Rwanda—Social

conditions—21st century.3. Government, Resistance to

—Rwanda.I. Title. II. Series: Africa and

the diaspora.DT450.44.T46 2013967.57104′3—dc23

2013010424

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONSPREFACE ANDACKNOWLEDGMENTS: THESTORY BEHIND THEFINDINGSLIST OF ABBREVIATIONSNOTE ON KINYARWANDALANGUAGE USAGE ANDSPELLING

Introduction: State Power asLived Experience1 Bringing in PeasantRwandans through LifeHistory Interviewing2 The Historical Role of theState in Everyday Life3 A Continuum of Violence,1990–20004 Practices of National Unityand Reconciliation5 Everyday Resistance toNational Unity and

Reconciliation6 Everyday Resistance to theGacaca ProcessConclusion: ExplainingSystems of Power throughActs of Everyday Resistance APPENDIX: PROFILES OFRWANDAN LIFE HISTORYPARTICIPANTSGLOSSARYNOTESREFERENCES

INDEX

ILLUSTRATIONS

Figures1 Mud and thatch home, nowillegal under the nyakatsicampaign to modernizeRwanda’s housing sector2 Map of Rwanda, pre-2006administrative boundaries

3 Map of Rwanda, post-2006administrative boundarieswith new place names4 A survivor walks to tend tothe field of his “patron”(shebuja) in northernRwanda, August 20065 Citizens waiting to be“sensitized,” westernRwanda, July 20066 Rural residents shelterfrom the rain at their localsector-level office, April

20027 RPF provincial officebuilding in Butare (nowHuye) town, May 20068 Children in the midst oftheir morning chores, June20069 The informal neighborhoodknown as “Kiyovu despauvres,” central Kigali, May200610 A hill with small plotsizes in western Rwanda,

March 200611 Genocide memorial at theSt. Jean Catholic Church,Kibuye (now Karongi) town,August 200612 A survivor providesevidence before her localgacaca court while membersof her community look on

Table1 Rwandan socioeconomic

classifications

PREFACE ANDACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Story behind theFindings

Writing a book was not evenon my mind when I began myprofessional life. When Iimagined my career back as Iwas completing my master’s

degree, in 1992, I wasdistracted by Africa. I wasnot ready to settle down inNova Scotia, where I hadbeen born and raised, andcertainly was not keen on thedesk jobs my friends werechoosing. I wanted to goabroad and experience a partof the world that was rarelydiscussed in the lecture hallsof my undergraduate politicalscience courses but featured

frequently on the eveningnews. The first Iraq war wasraging at the time, and I wasglued to CNN, whosereporting largely centered onthe war in Somalia and theend of the apartheid regimein South Africa—topics thatwere framed asrepresentative of thecontinent of Africa. I had yetto realize that the Africareporting of major North

American news outletsprovided coverage of Africanevents only in ways thatwould appeal to Westernaudiences. I knew only of anamorphous yet singular“Africa” that existed in theimages and pages of English-language reports. I also didnot appreciate that Westernreporting on Africa wasskewed in such a way that itboth produced and reinforced

stereotypes of the “dark”continent as a place of ethnicviolence, famine, corruption,and big-man politics. Indeed,I did not even question howreporting on Africa could beanything but inaccurate giventhat the continent was at thattime made up of fifty-threecountries, covering ageographic area almost fourtimes the size of thecontinental United States. I

would not turn over in mymind how I learned aboutAfrica and what it meant formy work in Rwanda andelsewhere for another fewyears.

Instead, I busied myself insecuring a full-time positionwith the United Nations (UN)in East Africa. I believed inthe UN as an organizationdedicated to the security anddevelopment of individuals

and states alike. I knewwhere this idea came from:as a Canadian, I learned insocial studies classes inmiddle and high school thatformer prime minister LesterPearson was the grandfatherof modern peacekeeping—the quintessential Canadianvalue. That the UN was moreoften than not a source ofinsecurity in the lives of thecivilians it claimed to protect

would become clear to mesoon enough. The civil war inSomalia was under way, andmy first posting was as a“Nation-Building Officer”for the United NationsMission to Somalia inMogadishu starting in June1993. The UN did not havethe slightest clue about whatwas actually going on at thelocal level, so the missionended shortly after Somali

militias killed twenty-threePakistani peacekeepers inJuly 1993. I took one lessonaway from my three-weekstint in the field: localknowledge matters, and theUN did not seem to have anyaccess to it. It was quite thesurprise to my young mindthat local actors thought theUN an illegitimate entity.

In September 1993 Istarted to work in cyclone-

ravaged Madagascar. I wassupposed to monitor thegender dynamics of fooddistribution for ten months,but I completed only aboutthree months of myappointment. The monitoringof the food distribution tookplace in rural communities,sometimes as far as forty orfifty miles off the main road.Madagascar has arudimentary road network,

and there is only one pavedlink between Antananarivo,the capital, and Tamatave, aneastern port city. Repeatedcyclones in late 1993 washedthe road away in many spots.Traveling the two hundredmiles or so between the twocities could take up to twelvehours in a four-by-four thatferried me back and forthbetween “the office” (the UNoffice in Tamatave) and “the

field.” Every morning, Iwould be dropped off, withmy translator, to trek fromthe main road back to thecommunities where I wouldspend my days monitoringfood distributions organizedby the United Nations HighCommission for Refugees(UNHCR) and internationalnongovernmentalorganizations. My missionwas cut short when I

witnessed a murder. It was asurreal event, one that Istruggled to make sense offor a long time.

One afternoon, mytranslator and I finished upabout two hours early andhad walked back to thepickup spot on the main road.My translator lived in anearby community and leftme alone, which was againstUN policy as all staff

members were supposed tocheck in at the office at theend of each day. I sat on anoutcrop of the volcanic rockthat characterizes much ofthe landscape and watchedthe comings and goings offoot traffic, motor bikes,private vehicles, and the UNpickups and four-by-foursthat all vied for space on thenarrow, muddy main route,which was basically a strip of

cavernous potholes. Therewas a three-part funeralprocession walking along theside of the road. The youngermen and relatives of thedeceased walked up front,where the shrouded body wascarried in a burlap stretcheron the shoulders of six oreight men. Most of thepopulation of the communitywalked behind, with children,dogs, and goats bringing up

the rear. Suddenly there wasa thud and then loud wailingand incessant screeching. Thedriver of a Renault 4 had hita boy at the back of theprocession, and it looked likehe was badly injured. Myheart pounded in my chest asI struggled to understandwhat I had just seen. Iwitnessed angry pallbearersdrop the body they werecarrying to run back and

confront the driver. Loud,angry male voices filled theair. Time stood still as Iwatched the driver step awayfrom his car and cross hiswrists as he stretched out hisarms toward the approachinggroup. No one seemed to beattending to the boy who hadbeen hit by his car. Soon, Iwas off my perch and lookingfor safety, scanning in thedistance for my now long-

gone translator. I looked onin horror as the pallbearersbegan to dismember thedriver. He yelped, and thecrowd seemed to cheer. I sawhis arm fall to the ground.His death ended withdecapitation.

It was well past sunsetbefore my driver appeared,three hours late, as I sat inthe dark, shaken and alone,waiting for him to arrive.

Those three hours felt like aneternity and I wondered if thedispatch folks at my UNoffice even noticed that I hadyet to return to base for thenight. I also thought aboutwhat I had just witnessed:obviously, what I had justseen was murder. But was it?It seemed so controlled, somethodical. All the parties tothe event seemed to have adefined role. Why would the

driver get out of his vehicleand offer himself withoutstretched arms? Why didthe rest of the communitycheer? What about the boy? Iremained at the office for thenext few days, in a state ofshock and unable toarticulate my feelings. It tookme three days to tell my bosswhat I had seen. He was blaséabout it. “Oh, okay. Um, youknow that is how they solve

problems betweenthemselves. The driverprobably gave himself up.” Iwas dumbfounded. When Iexpressed my disbelief, hecontinued, “What youwitnessed is nothing unusual.The tribes around hereoperate in an eye-for-an-eyeway. The boy got killed, sothe driver gave himself up toavoid turmoil between histribe and the other one.” This

made some sense to me,vulnerable and shaken as Iwas from my experience.Eventually, I broke down,unable to function in thisremote area in a high-stressposition. I was medicallyevacuated to Sweden, where Iunderwent a period of“decompression”1 to help meprocess the experience.

Following almost fourmonths of therapy and rest, I

had to undertake a trialmission, meaning a shorttwo- or three-week missionback to Africa to assess myability to continue workingwith the UN. I was stillnaively committed to theideals of the United Nationsthat I learned in grade school.I was given the choice toeither travel to Malawi orRwanda as my first return tothe field since leaving

Madagascar. My UN handler,a German woman not mucholder than I was at the time,described both countries as“easy,” with “goodrestaurants” and “pleasantpeople.” “You’ll have notroubles in either country”was her succinct summary oftheir merits. No otherinformation on the politics ofeither country was provided,and I did not think to ask any

questions about localconditions. My UNcolleagues overseeing myreturn to the field providedno information on theongoing ceasefire in Kigali,Rwanda’s capital; indeed, Ihad no inkling that Rwandawas on the precipice of masspolitical violence that wouldend in genocide. So, I choseRwanda, as only a twenty-three-year-old could, because

of its proximity to myresidence in Kenya—theflight from Rwanda toNairobi had one fewer legthan the trip to Lilongwe, andI was eager to get home afteran extended visit in Sweden.I arrived in Rwanda onMarch 26, 1994, to follow ateam from the UnitedNations DevelopmentProgram on its assessment ofa women’s cooperative in

Gitarama. The mission wasto end April 13, 1994. WhenI landed in Kigali, there wasan obvious military presenceas the civil war between thegovernment and the thenrebel Rwandan PatrioticFront (RPF) was ongoing.But I had not been briefed onthe political situation and didnot think much of the armedvehicles and the fifty-mantroop patrols that walked the

city—that is what ceasefireslook like, right? I hoppedinto another white UN four-by-four and was taken to theoffice, where I met my teamleader and was briefed onwhat we would be doing inand around Gitarama, somethirty miles southwest ofKigali. What struck me mostduring our meetings with thelocal cooperatives the UNwas funding were the

inequalities between the localrepresentatives and thebroader membership. Theleaders were clearly drawnfrom the economic and socialelites, given their coveredshoes, stylish outfits, well-coiffed hairstyles, andperfect French. Ordinarypeasant women were usuallybarefoot, spoke onlyKinyarwanda, worethreadbare clothes, and had

their children in tow. Wenever spoke to them, yet theywere always present. I askeda few times during ourinterviews if we could speakto our “beneficiaries,” butour hosts always replied witha polite “No, they havenothing to say; they are poor,you see. Our job is to takecare of them for thedevelopment of the country.”I did not question the UN’s

dismissal of these women aspoor and thus without anyknowledge or opinion worthconsidering. I also knewnothing of President JuvénalHabyarimana’s developmentinitiatives, which I laterlearned were grounded in anideology in which only ethnicHutu were the “real” peasantsand that this ideology in partfueled the genocide thatwould engulf Rwanda just a

few days later. Everything Iexperienced during my firstweek in the country wasfiltered through the lens ofmy UN colleagues and thelocal elites with whom weworked. I could see ordinarypeasants everywhere I wentbut had no way to interactwith them or engage them asindividuals as I did not speakof a word of the locallanguage, Kinyarwanda.

Indeed, when I asked my UNboss why we did not travelwith a Kinyarwanda languagetranslator so we could talk tolocal people, he replied thatit was not necessary toconsult what the Rwandanauthorities called “themasses” as their wellbeingwas the responsibility of thegovernment, not the UnitedNations.

Around 10:30 p.m. on

April 6, 1994, the genocidestarted. I was safelyensconced in the UNheadquarters in the center ofKigali. We had arrived backfrom Gitarama late and werestill at the office when Iheard the crash that launchedthe genocide. Habyarimanawas returning from peacetalks with the leadership ofthe then rebel RPF in Arusha,Tanzania, when his plane was

shot down as it approachedKigali International Airport.2All passengers on board werekilled, including thepresident of Burundi,Cyprien Ntaryamira.Roadblocks were going uparound the city, and wereceived word from the UNAssistance Mission inRwanda (UNAMIR) to stayput. I spent the next five orsix days in the UN

compound, waiting to beevacuated. The paralyzingfear I felt in Madagascar lessthan a year prior flooded mysystem. I spent the next fewdays numb, without wordsand without reaction, largelyunaware and indeed unable toimagine the systematic andstructured killing that wasgoing on outside the confinesof the UN compound inKigali. I gained a pretty good

inkling when armed militiaentered forcibly and killedsome Tutsi staff members,including the UN driver withwhom I had spent the lastweek. Their remains lay inthe courtyard, and we had tostep around and over theirdecomposing bodies to get tothe cars that would take us byroad to Uganda some fivedays later. The reentrymission to determine my

ability to continue workingfor the UN would change mylife. How could UNpersonnel not have knownwhat was going on inRwanda? How could I havebeen sent to a country on “thebrink of civil war” (to quotethe UN staffer who briefed usupon our safe arrival inUganda)? The answers werenot that hard to find: Rwandawas the darling of the

international community forits commitment to goodgovernance and economicdevelopment, and theimplementation of theArusha Accords wasprogressing well.3 No oneimagined a rupture asdramatic as genocide.

I returned to Nairobi inMay 1994 to continue mywork with the UN. But what Ihad experienced in Kigali

became a constantpreoccupation, which was fedby erroneous reports thatatavistic ethnic hatred haderupted in Rwanda. Was itindeed genocide, as somesources were saying? Howcould genocide happenamong neighbors? TheUnited States certainlyrefused to say it was, andAmerican inaction was acommon theme of the

reporting. Gruesome imagesof people dying by machetechop at roadblocks wereinterspersed with images ofmass graves as bloated,decomposing bodies werepiled high over one hundreddays of genocide. The more Iread, the less I knew. Sincethe RPF eventually stoppedthe genocide with a militaryvictory, I, like many others,perceived them as the “good

guys.” I wanted to helprebuild the “new” Rwanda.4 Ifirst went to Ngara refugeecamp in western Tanzania inmid-1995 and worked therealongside a team of delegatesfrom the InternationalCommittee of the Red Cross(ICRC) who wereinvestigating sexual violencein the camps. I had a naïvenotion that criminalprosecution was a necessary

part of understanding andexplaining the genocide.Interfering in the lives ofwomen who had losteverything seemed a goodidea at the time. But thechoice was ultimately aboutme—I needed to feel that Iwas doing something to help.I would not understand untilyears later that the help Ioffered was hardly the helppeople wanted or needed.

At the time, I was smittenwith the RPF leadership. Ithad, after all, stopped thegenocide, and for me it was aclear-cut affair. Ethnic Hutuhad killed innocent ethnicTutsis as a result of deep-seated hatred. That Hutuelites had manipulated ethnicidentities for their ownpolitical and economic gainand that the RPF would dothe same had not even

crossed my mind. I trustedRPF rhetoric aboutsocioeconomic inclusion forall Rwandans, not just RPFmembers. Like many others,I understood pregenocideRwanda to be a place ofethnic discrimination andhatred that had resulted in the1994 massacres. At the sametime, I believed in RPFpromises of a Rwandanrebirth rooted in ethnic unity

and reconciliation. Theirframing of the genocidalregime of then presidentJuvénal Habyarimana asunscrupulous and corruptmade sense, and I believedPaul Kagame, then the defacto head of the RPF, to bean ascetic, principled, andselfless leader. I sufferedperhaps what many youngpeople suffer, an implicitconfidence in the value of

leadership and charismaticpolitical leadership inparticular as a direct path toeliminate the structuralconditions that result inunequal social, political, andeconomic institutions. Thatthe cult of personalitysurrounding RPF leaders,including Kagame, couldresult in authoritarian rulewas not something I wouldconsider deeply until I

witnessed firsthand the dailyfear and insecurity thatordinary Rwandans felt withrespect to their politicalleaders. Instead, like manyothers before and since, Iunderstood postgenocideRwanda through a narrowlens—that of the 1994genocide, in which Hutuchauvinist leaders droveordinary Hutu to commit actsof genocide against Tutsi.

The RPF, led by the capableand visionary Kagame, is thehero of the Rwandan tragedy.

I eventually moved toRwanda in July 1997,working for the UnitedNations Human RightsMission for Rwanda(UNHRFOR). This was aragtag bunch of young andoften ambitious Westerners,with an occasional WestAfrican national thrown into

the mix. We spent our daysinterviewing Rwandans abouttheir experiences of violencesince the genocide with thebroad purpose of monitoringthe human rights situation inthe country. It did not seemto matter very much thatmany of my colleagues didnot have the slightest cluewhat constituted a humanrights abuse. Instead, wetraipsed across the country,

with armed soldiers as ourescorts, to speak to ordinaryRwandans about the violencethey had lived through orwitnessed. We often met inhospitals, seeking to speak topeople who had just beenvictims of violence. Thehospitals stank: a pungentmix of dried blood, festeringmachete wounds, humanwaste, and charcoal smoke.Many of my UN colleagues

would wait outside whilethose of us who were willingwould go interviewweakened, vulnerable, andfrightened Rwandans. It didnot take long to see thatmany of my colleagues werebuilding careers, not caringfor local people. The powerdynamics inherent in theseinteractions were an equallyunexamined aspect of ourwork.

I resigned from theMission less than two weekslater. My last assignment wasto monitor the publicexecutions of twenty-twoRwandans at various sitesacross Rwanda. I witnessedthe executions in Kigali ofsix people, including onewoman, at Nyamirambosoccer stadium. As theirbodies slumped over in thehail of bullets from six police

AK-47s, I got really scared asmany in the crowd cheered,others danced, some wept,while others remained stonefaced. I knew I would have toresign. The situation inRwanda was simply toocomplicated for me. I did nottrust my UN colleagues tosupport or care for me. I hadalready been confronted withthe bureaucraticincompetence of the United

Nations. I could not imagehow public executions wouldfacilitate nationalreconciliation in such aclimate. What I was seeingand hearing in the hills whenwe interviewed ordinarypeople made no sense in thebroader context ofpostgenocide Rwanda. Iunderstood the executions asa political act designed todemonstrate that the RPF was

squarely in charge of thingsbut came to realize that Ionly superficially understoodRwandan politics. This lackof understanding waspotentially dangerous for thepeople I interviewed and forme. A few weeks later, KofiAnnan, then UN secretarygeneral, visited and held atown hall meeting with UNstaff. We were invited to askquestions. I raised my hand

and asked, “What do we telllocal people when they tell ushuman rights don’t matter?”Annan did not answer myquestion, and I was latercalled into the office of myteam leader, who told me thatmy question wasinappropriate given theprevailing political climate. Iassumed he meant thepolitical dynamic withinRwanda at large but later

learned that he meantbetween the UN mission andthe RPF-led government. Thegovernment shut down ourMission less than a monthafter Annan’s visit in July1998.

Since I had submitted myresignation letter to the UNsome four weeks prior toAnnan’s visit, my name wasnot included in the list ofactive staff to the UN

mission. As a result, Ijumped at the opportunitywhen a United States Agencyfor InternationalDevelopment (USAID)representative asked me towork on their project at theNational University ofRwanda. The projectinvolved trainingAnglophone lawyers to takeup genocide trials. I jumpedat the opportunity; I would be

working directly withRwandans! I was “allowed”to stay in Rwanda, after ameeting with then minister ofjustice Gerald Gahima duringwhich he made a few phonecalls and ensured that I had aworking visa. Thegovernment asked allUNHRFOR staff to leave,and only a few of us wereable to negotiate permissionto stay behind to take up

other justice-related tasks. AsGahima said, “Our needs aremany, and we want friends ofRwanda to work here, notthose who criticize what theydon’t understand.” I spentthree and a half years inButare town (now Huye sincethe administrative renamingexercise of 2006), workingwith students who had cometo Rwanda after the genocidewith their families. Many had

never been to Rwanda before,and only a few spokeKinyarwanda. Most of themspoke in glowing terms aboutthe RPF; I must admit theirearnest belief in the vision ofthe RPF swayed me greatly,and when I left Rwanda forCanada in January 2001 I wasa strong supporter. I was nottotally blind to theshortcomings of RPF rule butfelt that their authoritarian

practices were necessary torebuild a peaceful and secureRwanda. A benigndictatorship made senseparticularly since so many ofthe Rwandans around mesupported the government. Idid not reflect much on thefact that I was helping totrain the new elite and thatthe welfare of ordinarypeasant Rwandans was not apriority for the RPF. It also

did not occur to me thateverything I had heard aboutor witnessed in the newRwanda was again filteredthrough local elites.

All of these experienceseventually culminated in anintellectual journey thatmarked the beginning of thisbook project. When I firstarrived home in Canada inearly 2001, I was tired andfed up, and I could not make

sense of what I had witnessedin Rwanda and elsewhere. Ihad heard about and seen anincredible amount ofviolence, and I had becomecynical and bitter about theseexperiences. Eventually, Irealized that this bitternesswas not about “Africa,” butinstead was about myexperiences with the UN. Onmultiple occasions, the UNhad left me alone and

vulnerable. And if the UNrepeatedly and unnecessarilyput me in dangeroussituations, how much moreso might their actions haveput everyday Rwandans atrisk? My critique of the UNdid not, however, extend tothe government of the “new”Rwanda. I took a secondmaster’s degree, focusing onthe democratic transition inpostgenocide Rwanda. My

thesis provided a glowingtribute to the vision of theRPF.

In the ensuing years, I wasable to reflect on what I hadseen in Rwanda andelsewhere. I began to thinkmore and more about what Ihad not seen. I had lived inRwanda for almost fiveyears, yet I knew next tonothing of the everyday livesof ordinary Rwandans and of

how the nonelite peasantswere coping in the aftermathof the genocide. Yet theability of these ordinaryRwandans to adapt to the“new” Rwanda was a centralfeature of governmentdiscourse, which held thatRwanda was a nation on theroad to recovery because ofgovernment policy combinedwith the resilient spirit ofRwandans. My wish was to

design a project that wouldwrite the voices of peasantRwandans into academicknowledge, to analyze thepostgenocide political orderfrom their perspective, and tounderstand the workings andeffects of state power withinRwandan society. Otherswere analyzing how thegenocide could havehappened; although Idevoured these works as they

were published, I reallywanted to understand theeveryday politics of peasantRwandans as they struggledto make sense of their livesin the aftermath of thegenocide.

Also shaping my desire tounderstand the life worlds ofpeasant Rwandans wereinstitutional politics at mydoctoral institution,Dalhousie University.

Myriad challenges arose withthe Ethics Board, whichrequired five writtensubmissions over a period ofnine months before I wasgranted ethics clearance, amere two weeks before myfieldwork began in April2006. My effort to explainand justify to the Board mychoice of ethnographicmethods in a postconflictsociety like Rwanda was

compounded by Boardmembers’ lack of actualknowledge about Rwanda andthe fact that politicalscientists do not “do”ethnography. One membereven thought in 2005 thatRwanda was still at war andthat conducting researchwould be impossible. Theprocess was time consumingand frustrating but ultimatelyproduced a stronger research

proposal as I explained andreiterated my methodology,particularly my strategies forgaining access to peasantRwandans. In fact, I amindebted to the members ofthe Ethics Board who mademe think and rethink myresearch methods. I wasforced to consider—patiently, cautiously,systematically—what myreality, as a foreign

researcher in a potentiallyvolatile context like that ofpostgenocide Rwanda, couldbe like. This understandingwould later prove invaluablewhen the Government ofRwanda stopped my researchand asked me to undergo“reeducation” about the“real” Rwanda since peasantpeople had “filled my headwith negative ideas” (formore on this experience, see

Thomson 2011d, 2013).When officials at the

Ministry of LocalGovernment (MINALOC)summoned me to Kigali tomeet with them in August2006, I was very nervous formyself and for the thirty-seven peasant Rwandans whohad volunteered toparticipate in my research.My physical safety was neverat risk because such violence

is not a regular tactic of thegovernment for a foreignerlike me. Instead, thegovernment seeks to controlthe sociopolitical realmthrough fear, harassment, andintimidation. Indeed, I wasdominated by fear when aMINALOC official took mypassport, saying I would getit back once the governmentwas satisfied that I had beenadequately reeducated. What

that meant or how longreeducation might last werenot disclosed. After muchdiscussion, the assistant tothe minister told me that mymethodology was “too kindto prisoners accused of actsof genocide”; I was not totreat them as I was treatingTutsi survivors (the onlylegitimate survivors inpostgenocide Rwanda, anotion my research

challenges). Did I not knowthat prisoners had killed andalso had to be “reeducated”on what it means to be a goodcitizen in the new Rwanda?

The experience of havingmy planned year in Rwandacut short affected theresearch in a number ofpositive ways. First, inoffering to reeducate me, thegovernment gave me afrontline look at the tactics

and techniques it uses tocontrol Rwanda’s politicaland social landscape. Initialfeelings of fear, for mysafety and for that of myresearch participants, soonchanged to a sense ofprivilege at being able tospend so much time in thecompany of Rwandan elites—something I had notincluded in my originalresearch design. I learned to

recognize the sweepinggeneralizations andoversimplifications ofRwandan history that thegovernment relied upon tolegitimize its rule. Since myresearch was grounded in thevoices of peasant Rwandans,this recognition allowed meto further contextualize andsituate the narratives of myparticipants in the analysispresented in this book. The

government’s attempt toinfluence my thinking on itsreconstruction andreconciliation successessince the 1994 genocide wasequally revealing as I wasable to see firsthand how thegovernment organizes theflow of information anddetermines what counts asthe capital-T truth inpostgenocide Rwanda. Iwrote about this during the

gestation of this book (e.g.,Thomson 2009a, 2010,2011d, 2013) andoccasionally experience thewrath of the Rwandangovernment for doing so. Agood example of thegovernment’s efforts tocontrol the flow ofinformation is its reaction tomy contribution to Straus andWaldorf ’s (2011) editedvolume on contemporary

Rwanda. In May 2011, evenbefore the book waspublished, a government-sponsored website dedicatedto discrediting Straus andWaldorf as editors appeared,calling them the “pair indespair” and targeting selectauthors for their hatred ofRwanda (Butamire 2011a).The contents of my chapteron being reeducated at aningando for released

prisoners accused ofgenocide gained a page,where I was called a “fraudPhD” (Butamire 2011b). Ifforeign academics are subjectto this sort of intimidationand censorship, how must thegovernment treat ordinaryRwandans? I fear they aresubject to considerably moreharassment and intimidationand perhaps worse in acountry where journalists and

human rights defendersregularly disappear or fleeinto exile (AmnestyInternational 2011).

Despite the sometimesdifficult path that myprofessional life has taken, Ihave also been fortunate toshare in the lives of thethirty-seven Rwandans whoformally participated in myresearch project and of thehundreds of other Rwandans

who shared part ofthemselves with me. All ofthe Rwandans I consulted areidentified only bypseudonyms in the pages thatfollow. I cannot properlyacknowledge and thank anyof the real people I writeabout without potentiallyputting them in danger. It isthis reality that makes myacknowledgments difficultand important, as I cannot

directly thank in print all ofthose who made this book areality, even though many ofthe Rwandans I spoke to inthe course of this researchasked me to publish theirnames. Many of myparticipants simply wantedthere to be some writtenrecord of their lives. Even theworst violence cannotextinguish the basic humanneed to be recognized and

heard. As powerful as thisneed is for me, this booknonetheless chronicles thepostgenocide lives ofordinary peasant Rwandanswithout using their realnames, as it is my academicresponsibility to protect mysources, not to reveal them.Nonetheless, it is thesepeople that I most want tothank.

There are individuals and

institutions I can name.During the course of myresearch, I benefitedimmensely from thegenerosity and kindness ofinnumerable people andorganizations in Canada,Rwanda, and elsewhere. Theresearch benefited from thefunding support from theCanadian Consortium onHuman Security, theDalhousie University Faculty

of Graduate Studies, theInternational DevelopmentResearch Centre, and theSocial Sciences andHumanities Research Councilof Canada. I do not name myRwandan research partners orassistants for fear ofgovernment retaliationagainst them. I am likelyunable to travel back toRwanda to share my researchwith them anytime soon, but

I hope to do so one day. Myresearch assistants andtranslators were invaluable,and their friendship,particularly after thegovernment stopped myresearch, is something I willnever forget.

Others have been generousin sharing their time andintellect. I thank in particularDavid Black, Stephen Brown,Jane Parpart, and Tim Shaw.

I also thank everyone whocommented on early drafts ofmy work or provided anintellectual safe haven—there are too many of you tomention, but you know whoyou are. David and CatharineNewbury provided much-needed moral support andintellectual guidance duringmy Andrew W. Mellonpostdoctoral fellowship atHampshire and Smith

Colleges. Their combinedcommitment to Rwandanstudies and the Rwandanpeople is one I am trying toemulate in my own work.Rwandan friends livingacross North America helpedme make sense of theintricacies of theKinyarwanda language andthe intrigues of Rwandanproverbs and translations.Noel Twagiramungu and

Séraphine Mukankubitodeserve special mention here,both for their languageacumen and friendship.Myriam Hebabi assisted withlibrary research and JuliaMcMillan helped update mybibliography. Anne Aghion,producer of the documentaryMy Neighbor, My Killer(2009), provided the imageof the woman before thegacaca courts (figure 12).

Thanks are also due tocolleagues and friends whoprovided some of thephotographs that appearthroughout the text. JacobNoel and Carie Ernst createdthe maps, which is no easytask in a country with a habitof changing place namesevery now and then. J. NaomiLinzer Indexing Servicescrafted the index with fresheyes—your work is much

appreciated. Colleagues atmy new institutional home,Colgate University, providedcritical moral, financial, andadministrative support. Thestudents in my spring 2013“Rwanda since the 1994Genocide” course at ColgateUniversity also providedmuch-needed good humor asI completed the manuscript.A number of colleagues andfriends—An Ansoms, Jennie

Burnet, Anu Chakravarty,Marie-Eve Desrosiers, EllenDonkin, Bert Ingelaere,Etienne Mashuli, RosemaryNagy, Jade Rox, JacobSpeaks, Noel Twagiramungu,and others who wish toremain anonymous—provided intellectual andmoral support and deservespecial mention here. Theirsupport and insights, alongwith those of two anonymous

reviewers, improved the bookand perhaps even made me abit smarter in the process ofstruggling to incorporatetheir constructive criticisminto the text. Thank you all.

The text has also benefitedfrom the suggestions andcomments of editors and peerreviewers of the variousjournals in which I havepublished sometimesdifferent versions of sections

of the book. Parts of chapter5 were published under thetitle “Whispering Truth toPower: The EverydayResistance of PeasantRwandans to Post-GenocideR e c o n c i l i a t i o n , ” AfricanAffairs 100 (440): 439–56.Chapter 1 on my researchmethodology inspired anarticle on the challenges ofworking in highly politicizedresearch settings, published

under the title “Getting Closeto Rwandans since theGenocide: StudyingEveryday Life in HighlyPoliticized ResearchSet t ings,” African StudiesReview 53 (3): 19–34. Inaddition, parts of chapter 1originally appeared in mychapter titled “‘That Is NotWhat We Authorised You toDo . . .’: Access andGovernment Interference in

Highly Politicised ResearchEnvironments,” published inSurviving Field Research:Working in Violent andDifficult Situations, edited byChandra Lekha Sriram, JohnC. King, Julie A. Mertus,Olga Martin-Ortega, andJohanna Herman (London:Routledge, 2009), 108–24.Parts of chapter 6 werepublished under the title“The Darker Side of

Transitional Justice: ThePower Dynamics behindRwanda’s Gacaca Courts,”Africa: The Journal of theInternational AfricanInstitute 81 (3): 373–90. Adifferent version of chapter6, coauthored with RosemaryNagy of NippisingUniversity, was publishedunder the title “Law, Powerand Justice: What LegalismFails to Address in the

Functioning of Rwanda’sGacaca Courts,”International Journal ofTransitional Justice 5 (1):11–30. Parts of chapter 4were published under the title“Peasant Perspectives onNational Unity andReconciliation: BuildingPeace or PromotingDivision?,” in Rwanda FastForward, edited byMaddalena Campioni and

Patrick Noack (London:Routledge, 2012), 96–110.All of these papers werepresented at conferencesacross Europe and NorthAmerica, and I want to thankthose panel organizers,discussants, and audiencemembers who pushed me tothink through my ideas andarguments.

The folks at the Universityof Wisconsin Press deserve

special mention— TomSpear, Matthew Cosby, andLogan Middleton—thank youall. Special thanks go toGwen Walker, myacquisitions editor, and toJeri Famighetti and SheilaMcMahon, my copy andproduction editors, whopatiently supported me as Irewrote and revised themanuscript for publication.Last but not least, heartfelt

thanks go to my family, inparticular my boys, Evan andRiley, who have put up with alot over the years and havewaited, sometimes patientlybut often not, for me to finish“my work” so that I couldcome out and play.

ABBREVIATIONS

APROSOMA

Association pourla promotionsociale de lamasse(Association forthe Welfare of theMasses)Alliance desforcesdémocratiques

AFDL pour la libérationdu Congo-Zaïre(Alliance ofDemocratic Forcesfor the Liberationof Congo-Zaire)

AI AmnestyInternational

AIDS AcquiredImmunodeficiencySyndromeAvocats sansfrontières

ASF (Lawyers withoutBorders)

AVEGA

Association desveuves dugénocide(Association ofGenocideWidows)

BBC BritishBroadcastingCorporationCommunauté desautochtones

CAURWA rwandais(Community ofIndigenousPeoples ofRwanda)

CCM Center forConflictManagement

CDR

Coalition pour ladéfense de larépublique(Coalition for theDefense of the

Republic)

CNLG

Commissionnationale de luttecontre le génocide(NationalCommission forthe Fight AgainstGenocide)

CNS

Commissionnationale desynthèse (NationalSynthesisCommission)

COPORWA

Communauté despotiers rwandais(RwandanCommunity ofPotters)

DANIDA

DanishInternationalDevelopmentAgency

FAO Food andAgricultureOrganizationForces armées

FAR rwandaises(Rwandan ArmedForces)

FARG

Fonds d’assistanceaux rescapés dugénocide(GenocideSurvivorsAssistance Fund)

HIV HumanImmunodeficiencyVirus

HRC Human RightsCommission

HRW Human RightsWatch

IAI InternationalAfrican Institute

ICG InternationalCrisis Group

ICRC InternationalCommittee of theRed Cross

ICTR InternationalCriminal Tribunalfor Rwanda

IFAD International Fundfor AgriculturalDevelopment

IMF InternationalMonetary Fund

IRDP

Institute ofResearch andDialogue forPeace

IRIN

IntegratedRegionalInformationNetwork

Kcal KilocaloriesLDF Local DefenseForces

LGDL

Ligue des droitsde la personnedans la région desGrands Lacs(Great LakesRegion HumanRights League)Ligue rwandaisepour la promotionet la défense des

LIPRODHOR droits de l’homme(Rwandan Leaguefor the Promotionand Defense ofHuman Rights)

MDR

Mouvementdémocratiquerépublicain(RepublicanDemocraticMovement)Ministère du genreet de la promotionde la femme

MIGEPROF (Ministry ofGender andFamilyPromotion)

MINALOC

Ministère del’administrationlocale, del’information etdes affairessociales (Ministryof LocalGovernment,Informa andSocial Affairs)

MINECOFIN

Ministère desfinances et de laplanificationéconomique(Ministry ofFinance andEconomicPlanning)

MINIJUST Ministère de lajustice (Ministryof Justice)Ministère des

MINITERRE

terres, del’environnement,des forêts, de l’eauet des ressourcesnaturelles(Ministry of Land,Environment,Forests, Water andNaturalResources)

MRND

Mouvementrévolutionnairenational pour ledéveloppement

(NationalRevolutionaryMovement forDevelopment)

MRND(D)

Mouvementrévolutionnairenational pour ledéveloppement etla démocratie(NationalRevolutionaryMovement forDevelopment andDemocracy)

MSF

Médecins sansfrontières(Doctors withoutBorders)

MSM Mouvement socialmuhutu (SocialMovement for Mu

NGO NongovernmentalOrganization

NRA NationalResistance Army(Uganda)

NRM NationalResistanceMovement(Uganda)

NSGJ

National Serviceof GacacaJurisdictions

NURC National Unityand ReconciliationCommission

OECD

Organization forEconomicCooperation and

Develop

ORTPN

Office rwandaisdu tourisme et desparcs nationaux(Rwan Office forTourism andNational Parks)

PAC PresidentialAdvisory Council

PADE

Partidémocratique(DemocraticParty)

PARMEHUTU

Parti dumouvement de l’émancipation hutu(HutuEmancipationMovement Party

PCD

Parti chrétiendémocrate(ChristianDemocratic Party)

PDI

Partidémocratiqueislamique (Islamic

Democratic Party)

PL Parti libéral(Liberal Party)

PPJR

Parti progressistede la jeunesserwandaise(ProgressiveRwandan YouthParty)

PRI Prison ReformInternational

PSD Parti socialdémocrate (Social

Democratic Party)

PSR

Parti socialisterwandais(RwandanSocialist Party)

PTSD PosttraumaticStress Disorder

RADER

Rassemblementdémocratiquerwandais(RwandanDemocratic Rally)

Rwandan Patriotic

RPA Army

RPF Rwandan PatrioticFront

RSF

Reporters sansfrontières(Reporters withoutBorders)

RTD

Rassemblementtravailliste pour ladémocratie(Labour Rally forDemocracy)

RTLM

Radio-Télévisionlibre des millecollines(Thousand HillsIndependentRadio-Television)

TIG Travaux d’intérêtgénéral (Works inthe General Inter

UDPR

Uniondémocratique dupeuple rwandais(DemocraticUnion of the

Rwandan People)

UNAMIR

United NationsAssistanceMission toRwanda

UNAR

Union nationalerwandaise(NationalRwandan Union)

UNDP United NationsDevelopmentProgram

UNHCR United NationsHighCommissioner forRefugees

UNHRFOR

United NationsHuman RightsMission forRwanda

USAID

United StatesAgency forInternationalDevelopment

United States

USCRI Committee forRefugees andImmigrantsWB World Bank

NOTE ONKINYARWANDA

LANGUAGEUSAGE ANDSPELLING

Throughout the text, Ihave used the currentspellings for Kinyarwanda-language words, meaning

that I omit double vowels(e.g., “Tutsi” not “Tuutsi”and “Uburetwa” not“Ubureetwa”). In general,Kinyarwanda words are usedwith their augment andprefix, changing onlybetween the singular and theplural (e.g., umudugudu,sing., “village,” andimidugudu, pl., “villages”).

For categories of groupsand people, I use the

Kinyarwanda prefixes umu-/aba (e.g., umutindi, sing.,“destitute person,” andabatindi, pl., “destitutepeople”; umusazi, sing., a“foolish” person, andabasazi, pl., a group of“foolish” people). I have alsoretained the prefixes forparticular practices andactions where altering theform would introduceconfusion. This means that I

retain the augment and prefixfor words like ubuhake (atraditional system ofv a s s a l a g e ) , ubukonde(practice of acquiring landthrough sweat equity), and soon.

References to ethnic/racialcategories follow theconventions of theInternational AfricanInstitute (IAI), meaning thatI omit prefixes. Thus,

“Tutsi,” “Hutu,” and “Twa”instead of “Abatutsi,”“Abahutu,” and “Abatwa.”Where readers see pluralusage for ethnic/racialcategories (e.g., the BahutuManifesto or the Bakigapeople), this is to avoidmodifying the language ofthe primary source documentor to retain the originalmeaning.

WHISPERINGTRUTH TO POWER

Introduction

STATE POWER ASLIVED EXPERIENCE

One Sunday afternoon inlate September 2006, agenocide survivor I will callJeanne came to my residencein Huye town in southern

Rwanda.1 Among Rwandans,elites and ordinary folk alike,Sunday is a day reserved forprayer and for visiting familyand friends. Jeanne had nevervisited me before. I knew herwell since she hadparticipated in my researchproject, which sought tounderstand the effects of thepostgenocide government’spolicy of national unity andreconciliation on ordinary

peasant Rwandans living inthe southwest of the country.I often received visitors onSunday and continued to doso even after the governmenthalted my project in lateAugust 2006, stating that it“was against national unityand reconciliation” and “wasnot the kind of research theyneeded” (field notes 2006).

Given governmentscrutiny of my project and

the precarious social positionof most of my participants inthe postgenocide order, I wasrather surprised when peoplecontinued to drop by to showtheir support for the researchand me. My astonishmentwas a reflection of my ownstate of mind—thepostgenocide governmentwas exercising its muscle,and I was its target. Myvisitors understood my

feelings of powerlessness;some reveled in our mutualcondition. I had “become oneof them,” and this newlyacquired status was rooted inmy detailed knowledge of theindividual life stories of thethirty-seven peasantRwandans who participatedin my research. It was thesharing of secrets thatstructured my interactionwith ordinary Rwandans, and

many visitors subtlyreminded me not to revealanything that they had sharedwith me to the authorities.2Most acknowledged my“troubles” with thegovernment and assured methat its interference wasactually a good thing. AsMartin, a Tutsi survivor ofthe 1994 genocide, statedprosaically just a weekbefore I left the country: “My

government knows what itwill like and not like. Younow know what it is like tofear because of them. It’sgood for you because nowyou know even better whatwe feel when the [localgovernment official] comesto visit or when [President]Kagame issues an order thataffects our life.” Martin wasreferring to President PaulKagame’s July 2006

directive that all kiosks—themakeshift shops whereordinary peasant Rwandansbuy their staple goods—beshut down. The directive wasdevastating not only to theeconomic lives of the ownersof these kiosks but also forpeople who because of it hadto travel further to marketcenters for their sugar, oil,and other basics, payinghigher prices and losing the

opportunity to socialize overa beer or tea.

Jeanne was initiallyreluctant to participate in theresearch, but as time passedshe recognized that I wasserious about listening to herlife story. As our relationshipprogressed, she becameadamant that her story beshared so that people“outside Rwanda” couldlearn about her everyday

struggles and perhaps“storms like the war againstHutu and genocide againstTutsi” could be stopped andher surviving children wouldnot suffer as she had. Jeannecame to be one of the mostoutspoken of the individualswho participated in myresearch. Ordinary peoplewho have “nothing left tolose” have always spokentheir truth to power; what is

important is to know the“ways of doing it withoutprovoking a reaction fromthe government” (interviews2006). Before the genocide,ordinary people did so underthe cover of madness, andthese individuals are knownas abasazi (plural, meaning“foolish”). They used their“madness” to give theimpression that they werementally unstable to justify

their willingness to say “whatregular people can’t attempt”(interviews 2006). Since thegenocide, ordinary peasantRwandans like Jeanne, whono longer fear speaking out,are known as ibyihebe(plural, literally “fearless”).On our previous meeting, inJune 2006, Jeanne hadhugged me for a long time,perhaps five minutes, andwhen she broke our embrace

she said,

I amgladyouhavecomeinto mylife.Yougaveme asafe

space tosharemyinnerthoughts.It is notalwayssafe inthe newRwandato sharewhatyou

reallythink. Ihad thatwithsomepeoplebeforethe war.ButRwandese,we needsecrets,we

don’tshareeasily.Butwithyou, Ishared,and myheartfeelslighter.Youunderstand

becauseyouwantpeacefor allof us,evenpoorpeoplelike me.I amstrongerbecause

I metyou,becauseweshared.

Butourtime isnowover. Ican’tsee youanymore

becausepeopleknowthat ourofficialtimetogetheris nowover. Iwantyou toknowyou

willalwaysbe myfriendin here[tapsherchest],but youmust goand notgreetme if

wemeet,and donotvisit. Isometimestoldyoumorethan Ishouldhavebut I

wantedto andyou cantell mystory inyourbook.But it isbest formyfamilyand I ifyou

nevercomebackhereagain.(Fieldnotes2006)

I understood why sheasked me to keep distance,since our relationship wasgrounded in my knowledge

of power relations inpostgenocide Rwanda. As an“unimportant person”(meaning “a powerlesssubordinate”) in Rwandansociety, Jeanne likely wantedto distance herself from an(white-skinned, relativelywealthy, and foreign)“important person” like me,lest our continuedrelationship result in jealousneighbors or the renewed

attention of the local officialwho would sometimes pop induring our interviews toinquire about “how thingswere going.” So when sheappeared at my gate a fewmonths later, I assumed shehad come to withdraw herconsent to share her story inmy book. To the contrary,and like many of myparticipants who heard thenews of my “problems” with

the government, she hadcome to rightly remind methat my “troubles” were farless severe than those thatpeople like her experiencedevery day.

I also interpreted Jeanne’svisit as an act of resistance,given the attendant risks ofpossibly encountering thehandler the government hadassigned to keep tabs on meor, perhaps worse, the

member of the Local DefenseForces (LDF) who livedacross the street and who waslikely keeping an eye on meas well.3 Before thegovernment stopped myresearch, we greeted eachother politely, sometimeseven engaging in small talkabout the security situation inour neighborhood. I still sawmy LDF neighbor almostevery day, but he no longer

said hello—perhaps an insultin a society that prides itselfon the formality of greetingother people, or perhaps hefelt it best to no longerfraternize with me, as he waslikely reporting back onwhom I was with and what Iwas doing. His continuedpresence around myresidence was not lost onmany of my participants whocame for a visit, as some

joked about it with me. Oneindividual summed up ourshared condition with aproverb—the cracked potlaughs at the broken one(ikimuga giseka urujyo)—and further joked that all thatwas missing from myRwanda experience was to bethrown in cachot (detention).

Jeanne’s visit constitutedan appropriate ending to aperiod of fieldwork that was

fraught with challenges, mostnotably governmentinterference in the researchprocess (Thomson 2009a,2013). During our visit, shespoke of how she valued ourrelationship and how she was“glad” to have been part ofmy project since thegovernment stopped it. As aforty-seven-year-old Tutsiwidow of the genocide, shedid not expect that anything

would change in Rwanda inher lifetime, but perhaps the“disturbance” I caused thegovernment would “makethem wake up to thehardships” of many peasantRwandans. She continued:

Theproblemswe havearen’tjust

becausewe arepoor.Weknowwe are,but thegovernmentremindsus oftenthat wearepoor

and thatwe needtheirhelp.We seenew[localauthorities]often.Kigali[theseat ofgovernment]

changesthemjust aswe aregettingused tothem,to theirrulesandideas.Theycome in

to ourcommunity,and werespectthem.We dothisbecausethat isourculture.Aspeasants,

we haveno sayingovernance.Thosewhospeakout canreallyget intoproblems.That iswhat

happenedto you.Youmade iteasy forus tospeakaboutourproblems,and the[government]officials

gotreallynervousanddecidedto stopyourwork.

Thisis theproblemwesuffer

whentheofficialstell usaboutnationalunityandreconciliation.Wecan’tspeakout

aboutourhardships.No[shakeshead].Wemust gotogacaca[neotraditionaljusticecourts],

and wemust dowhatwe aretold,saywhatwe areeducatedto say.We gotoumuganda

[communitywork],and welisten totheirspeeches.Buttheydidn’tgrow upin ourcommunities.They

comefromKigalianddon’tunderstandwhat isnecessaryfor usto liveinpeace.Some

of themspeakonly alittleKinyarwanda[thelanguagespokenby themajorityofRwandans].The one

whohelpedstopyourworkhasonlybeenour[appointedgovernment]officialthese

last sixmonths.4Heneverasks uswhatweneed.Youunderstandthat wepeasantshave

fewchoicesuntilthegovernmentsays wedo.Thatmakesyou aproblemthatmust go

away.I am

glad tobe partof yourresearchand Icame totell youinpersonthat youare

doing agoodthing. Ifthegovernmenthasnoticedyouamongall thewhiteresearcherswe see

in[Huye]town,then Ineed tocomeand tellyou tokeepworkingand doyourbest

whenyou getback toCanada.(Fieldnotes2006)

Jeanne’s salvo was a greatrelief to me. She remainedcommitted to the researchand affirmed her continuedconsent. Her words also

made me realize that theordinary peasant Rwandanswho had participated in myresearch and later visited meat my residence not onlyunderstood its purpose andgoals but also knew that Iwould protect their lifestories, despite the less thanideal conditions of my hastydeparture. Jeanne understoodthe risks inherent in comingto visit me, but she came

anyway and shared that I“made it easy” for theRwandans I consulted to talkabout their hopes, fears, andfrustrations with thepostgenocide social order.

Jeanne’s narrative alsospeaks to a key finding of theresearch—ethnicity is not themost salient aspect ofindividual identity; levels ofpoverty as well as one’slocation in Rwanda’s rigid

and stratified socioeconomicstructure before and since the1994 genocide shapeeveryday life. When shespeaks of “us,” Jeanne doesnot mean other Tutsi butinstead means others in hersocioeconomic class. As awidow, she occupies aposition in the postgenocideo r d e r that is exceedinglyweak. Jeanne is poor andlandless, without sufficient

income to feed or clothe herchildren, let alone providefor their health care orschooling. Jeanne self-describes as “destitute”(umutindi), one of sixcategories of socioeconomicstatus that stratify Rwandansociety (these are analyzedmore fully in chapter 5).Vulnerable folks like Jeanneare near the bottom of thesocioeconomic hierarchy,

second only to those who are“most vulnerable” or livingin abject poverty (theabatindi nyakujya), who mustbeg to survive as they oftenlack the family and kinnetworks that could offerthem support (MINECOFIN2001). Being vulnerablemeans that Jeanne and otherslike her rarely have thepersonal resources andautonomy to shape their own

lives and livelihoods. Theylack sufficient emotional orphysical protection from thegovernment, which in turnmakes it difficult for them toanticipate, adapt to, resist,and recover from state-ledinterventions in their dailylives. In other words,individuals’ interactions withthe rules, regulations, andrituals of the postgenocideorder are reactive, as

government practices ofsurveillance and coercionessentially erase their abilityto voice their discontent withits postgenocide policies andpractices.

For Rwandans at thelowest levels of thesocioeconomic hierarchy,their ethnic identity mattersmost when they are requiredto participate in state-ledinitiatives of national unity

and reconciliation. Nationalunity and reconciliation arethe backbone of thegovernment’s reconstructionstrategy and the definingfeatures of state power inpostgenocide Rwanda as itstructures the interactions ofindividual Rwandans with thestate as well as with oneanother. On paper, there is aset of mechanisms that “aimsto promote unity between

Tutsi and Hutu in creatingone Rwanda for allRwandans” (NURC 2000, 4).In practice, it disguises thegovernment’s efforts tocontrol its population byusing the language of ethnicunity and social inclusionwhile working to consolidatethe political and ecomomicpower of the ruling RwandanPatriotic Front (RPF). Fromthe perspective of the peasant

Rwandans I consulted, it is aheavy-handed approach topostgenocide reconciliationthat operates to create thenecessary sociopoliticalspace for the government toengage in ambitious socialreengineering aimed at“wiping the slate utterlyclean and beginning fromzero” (Scott 1998, 94). As isdemonstrated in chapters 4and 5, the policy of national

unity and reconciliation isbuilt on a bedrock ofstructural violence andeconomic inequality thatplaces the burden ofpostgenocide reconstructionand reconciliation squarelyon the shoulders of Rwanda’spoor and largely ruralpopulation (Uvin 1998, 100–103; Zraly 2010).5

Broadly, the analysis thatfollows reveals the system of

power that structure the livesof ordinary peasantRwandans like Jeanne andthe thirty-six other poor,rural Rwandans I consultedin 2006 and whose lifestories form its backbone. By“ordinary Rwandans” I donot mean those individualswho hold formal politicalpower as a member of thepolitical elite or thoseindividuals engaged as agents

of the state (e.g., policeofficers, civil servants,military personnel, localauthorities). Instead, Iconceptualize “ordinaryRwandans” as the noneliteand largely peasant citizenry,many of whom aresubsistence farmers and/orday laborers. PostgenocideRwanda represents a contextwhere political power isfirmly held by the state in a

system where sociopoliticaldomination is commonplaceand accepted by ruler andruled alike. When the powerof the state is exercised at thelocal level, it takes the formof directives from “on high”(the regime in Kigali) and ofstrict monitoring of theability and willingness oflocal officials to “implementgovernment orderseffectively and efficiently”

(interview with MINALOCofficial 2006). RPF-appointed local leaders inturn keep an eye on theactivities and speech ofindividuals within theirbailiwick. Individualcompliance with the demandsof the policy of nationalunity is paramount.Individuals are constantlyand consistently reminded byappointed local officials of

the need to “unify andreconcile” in order toconsolidate present andfuture security. The densityof the Rwandan statesaturates everyday life withits strong administrative,surveillance, andinformation-gatheringsystems, resulting in minuteindividual forms ofresistance when confrontedwith its various practices of

control and coercion(Longman 1998; Pottier2002; Purdeková 2012b).Peasant Rwandans likeJeanne are subject to theexercise of power granted toappointed local leaders andmust perform the prescribedrituals of national unity andreconciliation, regardless oftheir private realities.

More narrowly, this is astudy of the individual lived

experiences with state powerof ordinary peasantRwandans living in thesouthwest of the country—how does it make them feeland what does it make themsay or do? Drawing on Weber(1946) and followingWedeen (2003, 680), theanalysis distinguishesbetween the terms “state”and “regime.” By “state” Imean the common set of

public institutions capable ofdistributing goods andservices and controllingviolence within a defined,internationally recognizedterritory. By “regime” I meanthe political order of aparticular administration, inthis case “the regime of theRwandan Patriotic Front(RPF)” as opposed to “thestate of the RPF.” Thisdistinction allows for a

critique of the variousmechanisms of the Rwandanstate in pursuit of the twingoals of national unity andreconciliation asimplemented by the RPF andits agents. In understandingand explaining the everydaypractices of national unityand reconciliation from theperspective of ordinaryRwandans, I analyze theirminute and subtle resistance

to its many demands toillustrate the ways in whichthe policy goes against theirinterests as peasants.6

The analysis that followsexamines the practices ofnational unity andreconciliation through anexamination of three types ofeveryday resistance—staying on the sidelines,irreverent compliance, andwithdrawn muteness—that

some ordinary peasantRwandans attempt. I examinesome of the subversive andstrategic ways in whichRwandans whisper their truthto the power of thepostgenocide regime. Iemploy the concept ofeveryday resistance toidentify and analyze thesystem of power to whichordinary Rwandans aresubject to illustrate how

individuals are positioned inrelation to state power andhow this positioning affectstheir life chances in thepostgenocide order. I do notconceptualize individual actsof resistance as half of theunambiguous binary ofdomination versus resistance,which sees domination as arelatively static andinstitutionalized form ofstate power and resistance as

organized opposition to it.Instead, I identify andanalyze the everyday acts ofresistance of ordinarypeasant Rwandans—fromsilence and secrets to lyingand foot-dragging—to showthe many ways in which thepolicy of national unity andreconciliation represents anoppressive form of power intheir lives through its variouspractices.

The Practices of theRwandan State

My research is explicitlyconcerned with how thesystem of power thatconstitutes “the state” playsout in the lives of thosesubject to its disciplinary“technologies” that producethe power relations in whichpeople are caught up

(Foucault 1977, 202). Myapproach is thus not rooted intraditional political scienceapproaches of statism orsystems analysis thatunderstand “the state” as an apriori conceptual orempirical object of analysis(cf. Abrams 1988; Jessop1990; Mitchell 1991; Scott1998). Instead ofunderstanding the state as aunitary actor that controls

how its institutions function,my analytical concern is toidentify patterns ofdomination and control bymapping its constitutivepractices and mechanisms inorder to assess its impact onand reach into the lives ofordinary peasant Rwandans.Following Das (2004, 226), Istudy the ways in which theinstitutions and practices ofthe state “are brought into

everyday life by therepresentation andperformance of its rules”through the individual acts ofresistance of ordinaryRwandans. As such, theanalysis is focused ondissecting the power of theRwandan state in identifyingthe often reinforcing andsometimes contradictorymechanisms of the policy ofnational unity and

reconciliation at the level ofthe ordinary citizen(analyzed more fully inchapter 4). The complexrelation between thepractices of national unityand reconciliation and thestrategic efforts of the RPFregime to ensure thatRwandans fulfill its manydemands is the central themethat winds through the pagesthat follow.

Mine is a “state-in-society” approach (Migdal2001) that analyzes themultiple ways in which thestate employs disciplinarytactics to make Rwandansbehave in ways they mightnot themselves choose and inways that confirm one’slocation in the socialhierarchy (cf. Bourdieu 2001;Foucault 1977; Scott 1985). Iam concerned with how state

actors establish and maintaintheir power and authority inways that serve to legitimateoppressive forms of rulewhile shaping people’sbehavior to conform andobey the myriadrequirements of nationalunity and reconciliation—inother words, its everydaypractices that serve toreinforce the image of “thestate” as a discrete and

relatively autonomous socialinstitution that is constitutedthrough everyday socialpractices as an aspect of thepower relations thatlegitimate its preeminence insociety (Migdal 2001, 18;Mitchell 1991, 78). As such,I analyze the Rwandan“state” as the product ofRwanda’s hierarchical,status-conscious bureaucracyin which political leaders see

their right to rule as natural,structured by historicalpatterns of domination thatlead “politicians [to] treat . . .citizens as objects they canmanipulate at whim to servetheir parochial interests”(Habimana 2011, 354). Thepostgenocide Rwandan statecertainly seeks to changeindividual behavior throughits top-down, state-ledpractices of national unity

and reconciliation to preventa “future recurrence” ofevents such as the 1994genocide (Straus andWaldorf 2011, 8). AsPurdeková notes, individualRwandans, regardless of theirlocation in thesocioeconomic hierarchy,must do more than respectthe authority of the state;they must also sacrificeindividual preferences and

sublimate private realities towork for the greater goal ofunity and reconciliation(2012a, 192–95).

Two examples furtherillustrate this point ofdisindividuation. First,Sommers recounts a storyfrom his 2011 fieldwork inwhich a Rwandangovernment official chastisedhis use of the Kinyarwandaword umutindi in reference to

his own “destitution” (2012a,51–52). Using descriptivelanguage related to beingvery poor or destitute(umutindi)—whetherjokingly as Sommers did orotherwise—is perceived bysome local officials ascriticism of the government.As such, it illustrates some ofthe pressures poor Rwandanscan experience wheninteracting with government

officials. How can they askfor what they need if they areunable to use words that bestdescribe their poverty withthose charged to alleviate it?Second, since 2006, it hasbeen illegal to wear open-toed shoes in any ofRwanda’s cities and town.This means that the rubberflip-flops that so manyRwandans favor because oftheir affordability are illegal.

This rule, like the many otherrules that structure theeveryday lives of Rwandans,makes it difficult for urbanand rural poor—the almost68 percent of the populationthat earns less than US$1 perday—to acquire the coveredshoes they need to take theirgoods to market, to bringtheir children to school, or toaccess health facilities.

These are but two of the

many forbidden or obligatorypractices that the RPF regimedemands of its citizens (seeIngelaere 2011, 74, andSommers 2012a, 245–49, forfuller lists). Identifying suchdisciplinary practices allowsfor an understanding of what“the state” is and what “it”does from a variety ofviewpoints—political elites,government bureaucrats, andnonstate actors alike—and

what effects the constructionof “the state” and theauthority it accords itsrepresentatives has on theoperation of powerthroughout society.

By identifying andexplaining everyday andoften mundane practices ofthe state, we learn of theroutine and repetitive actionsthat make “the state” real inthe lives of ordinary peasant

Rwandans. Administrativepractices define the contoursof everyday life withoutcompletely capturing it,because the very process ofinvading people’s livesgenerates points of resistanceand opposition. It alsohighlights the ways in whichthe command-and-controlapproach of the RPF regimeat the lower levels of theadministrative structure

considers ordinary folks to be“vessels” or “implementers”of government policy withouttheir input. Rwanda’s densebureaucratic state structure ismade up of “webs of people”and is best conceptualized asa “chain, with ‘cascade’potential,” its nexus of actionbeing primarily at the Sectorand Cell levels (Purdeková2011, 477; see also Ingelaere2011).7 Chapter 4 analyzes

the webs of state actors andinstitutions as well as thepractices and mechanisms ofsurveillance and coercionthat make up Rwanda’sbureaucracy to isolate whereindividuals “feel” the state.

Analysis of the mundanebureaucratic and institutionalpractices of state authorityreveals what the entityknown as “the state” meansfor people and how it makes

them feel about its nearconstant and discipliningpresence in their daily lives.In the Rwandan case, thestate has different meaningsfor different people, and itsmeaning is best determinedby one’s socioeconomicstatus and not necessarily byone’s state-imposed or self-perceived ethnicity (see alsoChakravarty, forthcoming).8This tends to mean that

politically connected elitesand other urban and educatedRwandans have overall arosier perception ofRwanda’s remarkablepostgenocide recovery thando the majority of poor,marginal, and rural dwellersthat I consulted in the courseof my research. Those at thehigher levels of thesocioeconomic hierarchy aremore likely to have benefited

from Rwanda’s postgenocideeconomic and developmentpolicies (Ansoms 2008,2009; Ingelaere 2011).Purdeková astutely refers tothose who benefit fromgovernment policies as “thecaptivated minority.” Shecontinues, “There is theexcitement and elation ofrelatively privileged youngpeople who believe the futurethat government paints in

front of them” (2012b, 16).Indeed, it appears as if this“captivated minority” is oneof the few groups to benefitfrom RPF rule since thegenocide. Wimmer et al.(2009) find that Rwanda hasthe third-highest rate ofsocioeconomic and politicalexclusion in the world(following Sudan and Syria),concluding that Rwanda “hasa higher probability of a

return to war than any othercountry in the world”(Wimmer et al., quoted inSommers 2012a, 227). Inaddition, since 2006 theRwandan economy is onlyadding an annual average of8,800 private-sector jobs,instead of the 120,000 annualjobs needed to supportcurrent levels of economicand population growth(Gökgür 2012, 32)

The popular andpredominant narrative ofRwanda’s postgenocidesuccess is one that is largelyattributed to the visionaryleadership of President PaulKagame (1999–present).9And indeed, there is nodenying Rwanda’s robusteconomic growth. UnderKagame’s leadership,Rwanda has become a leaderon the African continent in

terms of service delivery ineducation and health.International donors—notably the United Kingdom,the United States, theEuropean Union, and theWorld Bank—consistentlycite Rwanda as a countrywith low levels of corruptionand high levels ofinstitutional accountability(Zorbas 2011). The recoveryof the formal economy has

been nothing short ofoutstanding. Not only hasurban poverty decreased asnational income rises, butsince 2001 the economy hascontinued to grow at anaverage of 7 percent per year(Ansoms 2011). PresidentKagame regularly receivesinternational awards andaccolades for his visionaryleadership in Rwanda’srecovery from war and

genocide (Sommers 2012b).Rwanda since the 1994genocide is a place where thegovernment is renowned forincreasing women’s rightsand includes the highestpercentage of femaleparliamentarians anywhere inthe world; it has also reducedcorruption and overseeninnovative local justiceprocesses that have resultedin ethnic reconciliation

(Burnet 2008b, 2011; Cooke2011). President Kagameregularly boasts that less thantwenty years since the 1994genocide, peace and securityreign again for all Rwandans(Kagame 2011, 2012). Bymost accounts, under thevisionary leadership of PaulKagame, Rwanda is anAfrican success story to beadmired and emulated byother postconflict societies

(Crisafulli and Redmond2012; Clinton Foundation2009; Dagan 2011;Gourevitch 1998, 2009;Kinzer 2008; UN-OHRLLS2006, 130; Warren 2009;Zakaria 2009). The questionthat is rarely asked is: towhose benefit are Rwanda’seconomic gains accruing?

At the same time,Rwanda’s postgenocide rapidreconstruction and

reconciliation have beencriticized for its heavy-handedness (Ingelaere 2011;Longman 2011; Reyntjens2004, 2011. For the impact ofthe strategy on youth, seeSommers 2012a, 143–55).The RPF seeks to dominateall levels of sociopoliticallife, from the office of thepresident down to the lowestlevels of administrationthrough its policy of

“decentralization”(MINALOC 2004, 2006,2007). The governmentmaintains a tight rein onpolitical expression and, in2003, banned any publicmanifestation of “ethnicdivisionism” (between Tutsiand Hutu), “promotinggenocide ideology” (againstTutsi), or “preachinggenocide negationism” (thatis, questioning claims that

only Tutsi died in 1994).These laws are vaguelyworded and arbitrarilyapplied to anyone who makespublic statements that thegovernment perceives ascritical. They also have theeffect of removing ethnicHutu from the public sphereas the genocide ideology andnegationist laws represent anear total and“undifferentiated accusation”

of presumed Hutuparticipation in the 1994genocide (Chakravarty,forthcoming; Waldorf 2009,2011). The government alsotargets journalists as thepurveyors of divisionistopinion and strictly controlscivil society organizationsand other forms ofassociational life, includingchurches and mosques(Adamczyk 2012; Gready

2011; Longman 2011;Sommers 2012a). WhileHuman Rights Watch andother international humanrights advocacy groupshighlight the government’slack of commitment to basichuman rights such as theright to life and to freeexpression, PresidentKagame stresses theimportance of state controland authority to maintain the

ethnic unity that he claims tobe the basis of present andfuture security of Rwanda.10

When confronted withsuch starkly contrastingpoints of view, it is importantnot to throw up one’s handsand declare that the truth lieshopelessly somewherebetween the polar extremesof Rwanda’s glowingeconomic success and itsdenial of political liberties.

Such an approach ismisguided for analysts onboth sides of the divide.Since both sides offer someinsights into how “the state”manifests in the lives ofordinary peasant Rwandansthrough its practices ofauthority and control, myresearch methodologymatters greatly. It is one thatfocuses on process ratherthan conclusive outcomes. As

such, my analysis is bestunderstood as a snapshot ofeveryday life in 2006 for ahandful of ordinary peasantRwandans resident in thesouthern region of thecountry.

PoliticalEthnography:

Identifying Everyday

Acts of Resistance

My research joins a growingmovement within politicalscience that draws onethnographic methods toilluminate different ways ofanalyzing the everydaypractices of state power.Political scientists havefruitfully employedethnographic approaches to“get close” to people’s

everyday experiences. Forinter-pretivists, ethnographyis “the art and science ofdescribing a group orculture” (Geertz 1973, 5). Forpositivists, it is a tool used toexplain the causal story (e.g.,Allina-Pisano 2007). Despitethis epistemologicaldistinction, both camps agreeon a minimal definition ofethnography as “the processof learning through exposure

to or involvement in the day-to-day or routine activities ofparticipants in the researchsetting” (Schensul et al.1999, 91).

In order to bring in theeveryday acts of resistance ofordinary peasant Rwandans, Idrew upon ethnographicmethods: living in southernRwanda for six months in2006; learning Kinyarwanda,the national language;

participating in daily lifethrough everydayinteractions andconversations; observingevents and places such asmeetings, festivals, gacacajustice trials, ingandocitizenship reeducationcamps, and so on; examininggossip, rumors, proverbs, andjokes for their underlyingmeaning; recording fieldnotes to produce everyday

accounts of sociopoliticallife; and letting trust andemotional engagement be ofbenefit to the research.

As a tool for politicalanalysis, I understandethnography as both anactivity and a sensibility, anapproach that squarelysituates my research withinthe interpretative tradition ofpolitical science (Schwartz-Shea and Yanow 2012). It is

closely tied to fieldwork,where the researcherphysically and emotionallyenters the space she seeks tounderstand. Ethnographyseeks to allow “the originalresearcher and subsequentreaders to make sense oflocal knowledge, expertknowledge and theresearcher’s and reader’sown knowledge (amongothers) in a manner that has

potential to accord moreequal weighting amongdifferent bases” (Pader 2006,163). The ethnographicstance is a commitment towhat Geertz calls “thickness”to produce meaning throughnuance, texture, and detail(Geertz 1973, 5–6, 9–10).This should not be read as“exhaustiveness,” as there isan inherent hubris in seekingto analyze every nook and

cranny of a given subject.Instead, my ethnographicstance is an epistemologicalstatement that aims toportray ordinary people as“knowers” and as “recorders”of their own life stories,rather than to build onexisting portrayals of theseindividuals as “powerless”victims of the 1994 genocide,willing “to do whatever theRPF tells them to do”

(interview with RPF official2006). Such an approachrenders visible the powerrelations that structure theways in which the peasantRwandans I consultedunderstand and react to theoptions available to them inthe face of the official goalsof national unity andreconciliation.

My approach to politicalethnography is grounded in

an understanding of“knowledge,” be it the localknowledge of ordinaryRwandans like the folks Iconsulted, that of Rwandanelites, or that of the“specialist” knowledge ofoutsiders as historicallysituated and enmeshed inrelationships of power.Knowledge is sociallyconstructed, meaning that thecategories and classifications

that refer to particularphenomena—for example,who is a “survivor” of thegenocide and who is a“perpetrator”—aremanufactured for politicalgain rather than naturallyoccurring as a result of the1994 genocide (more onthese constructed categoriesin chapters 5 and 6).

An ethnographic approachalso positions resistance as

an analytical category.Everyday resistance is auseful concept as ithighlights the scope andnature of power in mostforms of relationship (Abu-Lughod 1990, 42–43; Ortner1995, 175). I conceptualizeacts of resistance as acts thatindividuals undertakeknowing that there is a riskof sanction from “the state.”This means not that

individuals necessarilyviolate a law against the actin question but more simplythat they take a calculatedrisk to maintain or enlargetheir position vis-à-vis thestate. In the relationship ofpower, the dominant groupwill do what is necessary tomaintain its positions ofpower, which in turn givesthe subordinate manygrounds to resist the

relationship (Scott 1990, 9).Indeed, the ways in which theRPF, as the dominantpolitical class, justifies theroutine repression of itssubordinates— ordinaryRwandans as well as itspolitical opponents andjournalists—emerge moreclearly when everyday acts ofresistance are identified. Thisalso exposes theexaggerations of the RPF,

who, like members of theHabyarimana regime beforethem, strategically situatespeasant people as “passive,”“powerless,” and “likeinfants” to justify continuedauthoritarian control of thepopulation in the name ofpeace and security(Desrosiers and Thomson2011).

Routine surveillance is atactic of the RPF regime, and

it includes exaggerating the“urgent need to reeducate[ordinary Rwandans] on thepurpose and goal of nationalunity and reconciliation”(interview with Rwanda’sombudsman 2006).Government surveillance inthe name of national unityand reconciliation seeks tojustify the economic andpolitical domination of theRPF. It allows the RPF

regime—as Rwanda’s currentelite—to maintain thebarriers between socialclasses and ethnic groups thatits vision of national unityand reconciliation claims toeliminate. An ethnographicapproach reveals that peasantpeople are far fromapolitical, “passive,” and“ignorant” individuals whoneed to be “taught what itmeans to be Rwandan”

(interview with Rwanda’sombudsman 2006). Thischallenges exaggeratedclaims by the elite thatordinary peasant people lackthe necessary consciousnessto actively and productivelyengage in politics or that theyneed to be “educated” or“sensitized” if they are to beadequately equipped to do so(Desrosiers and Thomson2011; M. C. Newbury 1980;

Purdeková 2011, 2012a). Thenonconsciousness of ordinarypeople is assumed to renderthem unable to participate inthe political arena, which inturn leads to the conclusionthat “obedience is part ofRwandan political culture”(NURC 2004, 16).

An ethnographicsensibility further reveals theeveryday lived realities ofordinary peasant Rwandans

to show that the forms ofobedience they practice aretactical as they seek to limittheir interaction with theimposed requirements of thepolicy of national unity andreconciliation. It also opensup an opportunity to bothacknowledge and explainnumerous instances ofresistance to state power inRwanda since precolonialtimes. For example, African

Rights (2003g) shows howpeasants ignored the ordersof elites to burn Tutsi bodiesduring the genocide. Burnet(2007) states that peasants insouthern Rwanda refused tocut down their bananaplantations to plant crops thatthe post-1994 governmentconsidered more productive.Des Forges (1986, 2011)analyzes instances ofresistance against the

German colonial authority aswell as against the Tutsi kingin the late nineteenth andearly twentieth centuries,while Berger (1981) analyzeslocal resistance to stateexpansionism led byRwandan religious elites inthe precolonial period.Longman (1995) describeshow peasants burned woodsto resist elite directivesbefore the genocide. C.

Newbury (1992) shows howpeasant farmers destroyedcoffee bushes in the late1980s and early 1990s togrow food for their familiesinstead. Burnet (2012, 121–26) analyzes the ways inwhich Rwandans resist state-imposed silences about whathappened to them and theirloved ones during the 1994genocide.

Situating LivedExperiences of State

Power inPostgenocide

Rwanda

This book opens up the lifeworlds of peasant Rwandanssince the 1994 genocide.Specifically, it analyzes theinteractions with state power

of thirty-seven ordinarypeasant Rwandans at thelowest rungs of society—notably the destitute(abatindi) and the poor(abekene). Taken together,these groups representapproximately 66 percent ofRwanda’s peasantry (Howeand McKay 2007, 200).Eighty-two percent ofRwanda’s entire populationlives in rural areas and is

considered by thegovernment to be peasants(World Bank 2012). TheRwandan peasantry is madeof four categories ofdiffering degrees of poverty(see table 1 for the full list).Lowest in the socioeconomichierarchy are those living in“abject” poverty (abatindinyakujya; sing. umutindinyakujya); next highest arethe “destitute” (abatindi;

sing. umutindi); above themare