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Today on the AIPR Blog, Daniel Solomon, an independent researcher on mass atrocity issues who blogs at Securing Rights, discusses The Early Warning Project, a new mass atrocity forecasting program that combines statistical forecasting with crowd-sourced intelligence from a pool of invited experts, of which Solomon is among.
In December 2008, the final report of the Genocide Prevention Task Force (GPTF), a high-profile convening of U.S. officials and policy experts, described “early warning” as a prerequisite of effective mass atrocity response. Early warning, which the group defined too-narrowly as “getting critical information [about mass atrocities] to policymakers,” has since emerged as a keystone of local, national, and international mass atrocity prevention agendas. The first adage of mass atrocity prevention, that it is possible, is closely followed by a second: mass atrocities can be known, far in advance of their onset.
Early warning, defined more broadly, far predates the GPTF report; since 2008, however, policy-oriented warning programs have proliferated widely. Recent innovations in statistical forecasting have borne fruit in parallel models of mass atrocity risk. Among several programs, one stands out: the Early Warning Project, a partnership between the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum’s Center for the Prevention of Genocide and Dartmouth’s Dickey Center for International Understanding. Unlike similar programs, which rest on the predictive grist of specific models, the Early Warning Project creates an interaction between statistical forecasting and the “wisdom of the [expert] crowd.” In the project’s expert opinion pool, of which I am a member, area scholars and mass atrocity specialists fill the blind spots of quantitative indicators. At the same time, the project’s quantitative side informs the specialists. If we can anticipate mass atrocities before they occur, it is only through the pluralism of knowledge, which the Early Warning Project advances.
Like much of the mass atrocity prevention agenda, early warning does not exist in a vacuum; each program warns about a specific event, for a specific audience. Some programs, formal and informal, identify local threats to vulnerable civilians: in northern Nigeria, an interfaith consortium gathers town-level data about trends in mass violence, for town-level use. The scope of the Early Warning Project is general by design. The project’s statistical model—and, to a partial extent, its expert opinion pool—measure risk in “country-years,” namely, annual, country-level indicators of mass violence. In tandem, the model and the expert pool can describe the risk of mass violence in Sudan, in 2015; only the pool, with its malleable question set, can describe the same risk in Darfur during November of the same year. The predictive model is only as nuanced as its data allows. Without more granular indicators, more specific prediction exceeds the project’s scope. It leaves to others—field researchers, journalists, human rights monitors—the question of how perpetrators may kill, or where, or when.
If the project’s audience is diverse, it is also limited. The explicit audience of the project’s warnings is a digital public: an assortment of individuals, organizations, and officials, often linked to institutions of the so-called global North, with continuous access to web-based information. This is a significant improvement from the status quo. Existing attempts at systematic warning models, such as those spearheaded by the CIA-funded Political Instability Task Force, are proprietary to the U.S. government; separate public efforts to assess and rank the global risk of mass violence, such as the International Crisis Group’s CrisisWatch bulletin, often lack comprehensiveness, whatever their qualitative value. Despite these improvements, the shortcomings of the program’s audience are also clear. These warnings are not intended for communities in conflict-affected areas. In fact, civilians and civil society for whom violence is imminent will likely find little use for the program’s country-year assessments. These groups may receive separate, more specific warnings that describe the time and location of a society’s mass violence.
In some circumstances, a common practice of mass atrocity prevention is unachievable and unproductive. As AIPR Board Member Sheri Rosenberg often observes, the relative entropy of the field of mass atrocity prevention may prove more fruitful than its false organization. A practitioner may approach the prevention of mass violence from various angles and levels of political organization, each equally as worthy as its counterpart.
Several approaches to prevention, however, may benefit from the agenda the Early Warning Project’s risk assessments provide. Where it works best, the Early Warning Project is an agenda-setting tool: it tells practitioners, if imperfectly, which crises loom on the near horizon. For the informed practitioner, the program’s findings will contain few surprises (any way you slice it, the likelihood of mass violence in countries like Myanmar is an apparent fact). Its strength is not in the creation of new knowledge, but in the transparent collection of existing knowledge about global trends in mass violence. The statistical model’s criteria is publicly accessible: through its blog, the project is also finding ways to make the conclusions of its expert pool equally transparent. The advocacy efforts of coalition groups like the Prevention and Protection Working Group, which informed the creation of the U.S. government’s Atrocities Prevention Board, or the R2P Focal Points initiative of the Global Centre for the Responsibility to Protect, which organizes global collective support for the “responsibility to protect” doctrine, are often ad-hoc. These groups may use the Early Warning Project’s findings, as well as associated media coverage, as a wedge for collective global and regional action.
Of course, the political tenuousness of prevention will remain. One imagines the government of South Sudan, for example, is none too pleased by its unfortunate rank on the Early Warning Project’s list. But the possibility of limited consensus, often elusive in the practice of mass atrocity prevention, will likely advance our current status quo.
In today’s guest post, Dickinson College student and AIPR Communications Intern Sam Gillespie applies an early warning systems (EWS) lens to Cameroon, where he is currently studying.
“It could never happen to me.” Whether our nature or just a common sense of denial, most would agree that humans rarely think they will become the victim of an unfortunate event. This spans from third graders thinking they won’t be picked last for the team, to a homeowner opting out of flood insurance, to states refusing to admit they are at risk of a humanitarian crisis. In sub-Saharan Africa, this impulse to deny an imminent crisis is particularly pronounced—especially among unstable states at risk of mass atrocities.
Enter early warning systems (EWS). Early warning forecasting seeks to monitor certain factors that determine a states’ likeliness to commit atrocities. Early warning is cost effective since the costs to monitor certain factors are less expensive than intervening after crises take place. Some of these risk factors include official discrimination against a group within the state, political instability, increased military activity, and conflicts with neighboring states. Unfortunately, analysis of these factors is difficult to accomplish without resources, technology and funding.
Furthermore, these early warning factors are usually not evident to the naked eye, whether viewed by local citizens, surrounding countries, or the international community. Economic growth, political proceedings and even tourist activity may carry on as usual, without giving any indication of imminent violence. As a result, atrocities that may be predictable to a team of analysts may appear to be spontaneous to the untrained eye.
For the last five months, I have been studying abroad in Yaoundé, Cameroon, with a program that has successfully sent students here since 1993. For nearly 20 years, the program has never feared for the safety of its students. Since being here, I have never feared for my safety more than I would in the United States. But despite my confidence in Cameroonian infrastructure, studying early warning systems have forced me to question the stability of what I thought was a stable country.
In a country such as Cameroon, any local or visitor could say the prospect of genocide is ridiculously far-fetched, as I would have said before analyzing the early warning factors. But by analyzing these certain risk factors in Cameroon, I’ve discovered that the likelihood of genocide and mass atrocities in this country is not as far off as I had first thought. Thanks to a study done by the University of Sydney and the University of New South Wales where Cameroon was ranked 13 on a list of countries most at risk of a mass atrocity, I have begun to more carefully examine early warning factors and how they indicate a potential threat.
Official Discrimination Against a Group within the State
One of the first important things to remember when discussing genocide and analyzing its risk factors is that the term itself means the targeting of a specific group and “results in the deaths of a substantial portion of a communal group or politicized non-communal group.” Therefore in forecasting genocide, an important factor is the official discrimination against a group within the state, both historically and in the modern context.
Historically, Cameroon is home to arguably one of the most severe genocides in Africa. Between 1959-1964, the national Cameroonian military targeted the indigenous Bamileke peoples, killing between 100,000 and 400,000. French involvement in the massacre is still in question, however, it is clear that the Cameroonian military were the primary perpetrator of the genocide. Many believe that there was French support of the Cameroonian military and their aim was to exterminate the ethnic group most likely to offer a presidential candidate in post-colonial Cameroon.
I discussed this genocide with my host mother, Jacqueline Mafowe, who is Bamileke and was born in the early 1950s. Though her memory of the events is foggy, she does remember her family having to move to avoid the conflict. Even once families moved, she was told that they would often spend nights camped out in their fields to avoid raids lead by rival tribes or the Cameroonian military. During these raids, perpetrators would burn houses, steal livestock and loot the village of anything of value. Despite not having a great memory of the era, my host mother told me that the stories of her parents still haunt her and her siblings.
In the modern context, Cameroon is considered one of the most ethnically diverse countries in the world. Boasting over 250 ethnic groups, the country presents the potential for more ethnic tensions than most diverse African countries. Although today there is no active genocidal campaign against a particular group such as the Bamilekes during the early 1960s, there is clear discrimination against Cameroon’s Baka people (pygmies). Despite having the same legal rights (on paper) as all Cameroonian citizens, in order to access the most services one must obtain a national identification card. In order to obtain the card, one must produce a birth certificate, which is not possible for most Baka people since many are not born in hospitals. It is important to note that discrimination against Baka people is widespread across sub-Saharan Africa and does not apply only to Cameroon.
Another instance of discrimination concerns the Francophone versus Anglophone populations. In 1962, British colonized territories in Nigeria were reunited with their tribal ancestors who had been colonized in French Cameroon. By the time the reunification happened, the colonized peoples had been taught English or French. Therefore British Nigerians spoke English and French Cameroonians spoke French—both groups let their native vernacular become a secondary language. Since the reunification, the majority Francophone population has proliferated in the education system and government, forcing the Anglophones to learn French if they want to receive a higher education or obtain a position in government.
Director of the Dickinson program in Cameroon, Teku T. Teku, is a native of Buea, a city located in the heart of the Anglophone region. Speaking with him, I learned that during the 1980’s he and many other Anglophones were forced to learn French in order to attend University of Yaoundé I, which was the country’s sole public university at the time. “If you wanted higher education, you had no choice,” Teku told me. Teku’s time at University Yaoundé I allowed him to obtain a scholarship to study abroad at Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, and subsequently lead to his ascension to director of the program in Yaoundé. Had he not learnt French, none of these opportunities would have been available to him.
Political Instability and Increased Military Activity
The next factor necessary in early forecasting work is examining political instability and increased military activity. In both these areas, Cameroon is very complicated because despite apparent peace during its independence, the country has had few elections and presidents, and is ranked extremely low on freedom indexes. In 54 years, Cameroon has had 10 elections that have produced only 2 presidents, both of whom undoubtedly fixed conditions to maintain their power. These conditions include appointing ministers, paying high salaries to military officials and intimidating other political parties and candidates. While well known, this is hard to definitively prove since the government makes it difficult to obtain financial records and monitors the press to make sure it publishes stories that favor the government. On the Freedom House Index, political rights in Cameroon were ranked 6/7 and civil rights 6/7—seven being the lowest possible score.
Monitoring military as a function of the government’s power, it is important to understand that increased military activity is an important factor in forecasting. As noted in the report, “Understanding and Forecasting Political Instability and Genocide for Early Warning,” it is important to monitor specific military activity. This study examines how the “demobilization of parts of the regular army, for example, might push a government to rely upon paramilitaries for regime security, and, by creating an armed force unfettered by the institutional constraints of the regular military and answerable directly to the executive, might actually increase the chances of genocide.”
In Cameroon, military records are not made public, and therefore, analysis of its activity is extremely hard to monitor. In light of the Boko Haram movements in northeastern Nigeria, the Cameroonian government has made their military movements more public. In recent months, military forces in Yaoundé have practiced blocking off roads, setting up check points and enforcing its will over the city at a moment’s notice in an attempt to increase security measures. As a temporary citizen of Yaoundé, the efficacy with which the military imposes its will over the city is simply terrifying. The blocking of a single road sends the entire city into frenzy and creates traffic jams that stretch for kilometers. Furthermore, their strategically placed checkpoints at intersections and major junctions have forced me to produce my passport several times in the past month. Both of these military demonstrations have proved to me how the Cameroon government could shut down and exploit its capitol city in under an hour.
Conflicts with Neighboring States
This last factor that plays an important role in determining a country’s susceptibility to genocide involves a state’s volatility with other states. This can be an indicator of how volatile a state might be within its own borders. In this regard, Cameroon has been very well behaved and even exemplary. As civil wars, insurgencies, and other violent conflicts have ravaged the Central African Republic, Nigeria and DRC, Cameroon has opened its doors to thousands of refugees. The state has allowed humanitarian organizations to set up refugee camps and provided educational, medical, and nutritional support for those in need.
With regard to Cameroon’s relationship with neighboring states, professor of political science and international relations at University of Yaoundé I Elizabeth Nkongho told me that, “although Cameroon has not done a lot right in the way of politics, the government has respected AU and UN conventions regarding refugees and displaced persons.” Furthermore, Cameroon has not been involved in border disputes or territorial wars with its neighbors, barring the reunification issue that was discussed in previous sections.
Early warning forecasting—at its core—is simply the realization of modern technology and analysis that can help monitor and track factors that lead to genocide or mass atrocity. Through this sort of analysis, the international community and other actors can monitor “at risk” countries and better prevent genocide and mass atrocity events around the world. Furthermore, early warning forecasting models can serve as monitoring systems to collect data to prosecute those who commit genocide and mass atrocities. What’s more, forecasting highlights problems and factors that are not evident to the untrained eye and proves that genocide is never a spontaneous event, but a process. Even a trained professional living in an “at risk” country would have trouble foreseeing a mass atrocity without taking a bird’s eye view at the situation. But when you weigh all these factors together, a seemingly stable state can prove to be a risky environment, prone to mass atrocity.
During my time in Cameroon, I never would have believed that the country would have been so susceptible to an event as severe as genocide. But after examining these factors, it has become dreadfully clear how such a horrible event could come to fruition.
The author would like to extend a special thanks to Dr. Ben Goldsmith at the University of Sydney for his expertise and guidance regarding early warning forecasting systems.
After more than one year of worsening religious and ethnic-strife in the Central African Republic, recent months have seen wider international attention to the conflict and authorization of a United Nations peacekeeping operation. In this month’s guest post, Dominique Fraser analyzes the latest developments in CAR, including application of the R2P norm to this troubled landlocked state. Ms. Fraser received her Bachelor of Arts with a major in Peace and Conflict Studies from the University of Queensland in 2013. She was president of the R2P Student Coalition at her university in 2012 and upon graduating undertook an internship at the Global Centre for the Responsibility to Protect, where she worked in the areas of research, advocacy and country monitoring.
The crisis in the Central African Republic (CAR) has now entered its second year and while it is becoming more sectarian in nature, the international community is finally starting to take not only notice, but action as well. A coup in March 2013 saw a group of mainly Muslim ‘Séléka’ rebels take control of the country and commit atrocities against communities; in turn some Christian communities formed so-called self-defence groups, the “anti-balaka” (anti-machete). Since September 2013, the anti-balaka have been engaged in a program of ethnic cleansing, which many fear may develop into a full-fledged genocide. African Union troops, as well as France and now the EU, have been in the country for months trying to establish stable conditions, but due to a lack of troops and resources, many have called for the establishment of a UN peacekeeping operation (PKO) which was only recently approved.
Over its more than two-year course, the conflict in CAR has displaced over one million people (almost a quarter of its population) and has killed over 2,000. In February this year, reputable human rights organizations Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have stated that the atrocities committed against the Muslim population in the west of the country amount to ethnic cleansing. Several UN officials have adopted this language, with Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon calling the conflict “ethno-religious cleansing” and has warned against the dangers of a de-facto partition of the country, which is increasingly being discussed by CAR residents. Virtually all Muslims have been driven from the capital Bangui, as well as the western city of Bossangoa, and others from all over the country are seeking shelter in the northern parts of CAR or trying to cross the border into Chad and Cameroon. Along the way, refugees have been attacked with machetes and firearms. Additionally, over half the country’s 4.5 million people are in need of humanitarian assistance, but the international community is slow in providing much-needed financial aid.
The Responsibility to Protect (R2P) has been developed to respond to exactly the kind of crisis now occurring in CAR. In 2005, world leaders agreed that states must protect its people from war crimes, crimes against humanity, genocide and ethnic cleansing. If a state fails or is unwilling to do so, then that responsibility falls on the shoulders of the international community. At the end of 2013, Philippe Bolopion from HRW said that “the handling of the CAR crisis will certainly become a test case for R2P.” And he was right. That the violence in CAR has not led to heated discussions around RtoP—as it has with Syria—demonstrates the norm’s power in relation to the current situation: RtoP has been mainstreamed into the international response, without needing to be discussed and defended by its advocates.
UNSC resolution 2127 from 5 December 2013 authorized the deployment of MISCA (the African Union’s International Support Mission in the Central African Republic) and French peacekeepers, giving them the mandate to use “all necessary measures” to protect the population. The resolution also spoke of “the primary responsibility of the Transitional Authorities to protect the population.” This so-called “first pillar responsibility” was also reiterated by UN Special Advisor on the Prevention of Genocide, Adama Dieng on 22 January 2014. However, interim President Catherine Samba-Panza has little hope of establishing peaceful conditions in her country, with both rebel groups receiving financing for weapons through the illicit trade in diamonds and ivory. Adama Dieng, therefore, highlighted second and third pillar responsibilities in saying that “the transitional authorities have neither the capacity to protect the civilian population nor to exercise control over the armed elements …, [so] the international community must take concrete measures to assist the State to stop the abuses and protect the civilian population.”
What the international community has done so far simply has not been enough. In mid-2013, the African Union set up MISCA, asking the UNSC for one year to prove its ability to undertake an extensive peacekeeping mission with Chad promoting “an African solution to an African problem.” However, despite the assistance of almost 2,000 French peacekeepers under Operation Sangaris and now with EU peacekeepers who have taken over security of the airport in Bangui, MISCA has been unable to keep the peace due to limited resources and so the situation continues to spiral out of control.
On 10th April, the UNSC finally authorized a UN PKO—the United Nations Multidimensional Integrated Stabilization Mission in the Central African Republic (MINUSCA)—with a troop size of up to 12,000 under Resolution 2149, which again reiterated the primary responsibility of the CAR authorities to protect the people. The resolution authorized the mission to protect civilians, support a democratic transition and deliver humanitarian aid. The international mass atrocity prevention community sighed in relief, hoping the UN PKO would be able to avert an even bigger humanitarian disaster. However, the mission won’t be deployed until 15th September this year and if it encounters similar funding issues as the humanitarian aid effort, it might turn into a dog that cannot bark. In the meantime, violence is spiraling out of control. The UN now needs to find a way to bridge the time until UN peacekeepers can be deployed in September.
In the second of two AIPR blog posts commemorating the 20th anniversary of the Rwandan genocide, Michelle Eberhard shares insights drawn from a recent University of Minnesota conference on this tragedy’s lessons. Ms. Eberhard is a former AIPR intern who completed in December 2013 a M.A. in Human Rights Studies, with a concentration in genocide, from Columbia University. You can read her previous AIPR blog posts by clicking here.
Commemorations, Voices of Rwanda founder Taylor Krauss explained, represent a “deliberate confrontation with history.” They are an opportunity to experience an event through the eyes of the victim, to enable the voiceless to speak, and to stop the completion of the cycle of genocide by refusing to allow the present to “erase the trace of the past.”
Speaking at a University of Minnesota Institute for Global Studies conference, “Genocide and its Aftermaths: Lessons from Rwanda,” Krauss accompanied his opening address with excerpts from filmed interviews with three Rwandan rescapés who survived the genocide in 1994. Each of these individuals shared stories of fear, the loss of loved ones, and a personal journey of how they, as Krauss put it, “prevent forgetting.”
The importance of remembering was a reoccurring theme at the conference, which was held on April 16, 2014, and included panels on representation and long-term implications of the genocide in Rwanda that left upwards of 800,000 individuals dead in the span of roughly 100 days. The conference also provided an opportunity to consider not only the ramifications of this crisis in the context of contemporary conflicts like Syria and the Central African Republic, but also what the true legacy of Rwanda’s story might be.
Memory as a Political Tool
Several speakers, including Eric Schwartz and David Lippmann, Deans of the University of Minnesota’s Hubert H. Humphrey School of Public Affairs and the University of Minnesota Law School, respectively, focused on the political context of the genocide in Rwanda.
While Schwartz reasoned that “examining what we didn’t do in the past can only enhance what we do in the future,” Wippman argued that “those who remember history are condemned to mess it up.” Wippman supplemented his quip with examples of how the legacies of Vietnam and Somalia, as well as the progression from the Weinberger and Powell Doctrines to Presidential Decision Directive 25, made American action in Rwanda in 1994 conceptually unrealistic.
Wippman also shared his personal experience in the National Security Council, when he was tasked with completing research for then-President Bill Clinton, who had read a piece by Philip Gourevitch on Rwanda and jotted “is this true?” in its margins.
Though somewhat absurd now given the enormous amount of documentation that exists on the Rwandan genocide, how often do questions of this skeptical nature nonetheless continue to hamper efforts to prioritize and appropriately respond to similar crises twenty years later?
Weighing the Impact of Humanitarian and Human Rights Organizations
Another perspective that added an important dimension to the conference’s scope came from Executive Director of The Center for Victims of Torture, Curt Goering, who spoke of his experience as a staff member at Amnesty International during the Rwandan genocide. Goering expertly synthesized the transformation his organization was faced with at the time, as patterns of human rights violations shifted towards an increase in extrajudicial and mass killings, and away from large numbers of prisoners of conscience. He also noted new challenges such as the difficulty of operating in insecure environments and addressing violations committed by individuals who actually carry out peacekeeping missions.
From an operational view, Goering emphasized that Amnesty was completely underprepared to handle a crisis like the genocide. With deteriorating situations, policy restraints, and a dearth of crisis researchers due to “insufficient flexibility to shift around resources,” organizations like Amnesty were often reduced to monitoring a crisis and providing recommendations. As such, Goering concluded, the impact of humanitarian organizations was simply “not much.” But, he also cautioned against believing that the existence of appropriate mandates and policies would have “made the difference” in Rwanda.
What Justice, Whose Memory, and How?
Of course, the task of remembering what transpired in Rwanda must certainly extend beyond a discussion of consequences for political and humanitarian actors and institutions. Indeed, issues of post-genocide justice and memory are also imperative in the aftermath of atrocity.
Speaking in his capacity as both the current Director of the University of North Dakota Center for Human Rights and Genocide Studies, and as a former Legal Officer at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), Gregory Gordon explained the impact that the ICTR has had on rebuilding Rwandan society. Noting at the outset that “it’s not a zero-sum game” and that all components matter, Gordon countered several common arguments against the work of the ICTR by highlighting what it has contributed to Rwanda’s healing process and international justice more broadly, including the precedents the Tribunal has set on genocide, hate speech, and rape and sexual violence as a component of genocide.
Yet, as those familiar with the Rwandan genocide know, a majority of justice initiatives have occurred at the local level through the implementation of gacaca courts. Drawing heavily on their recently completed fieldwork in Rwanda, Distinguished McKnight Professor of Sociology at the University of Minnesota Chris Uggen, and University of Minnesota Ph.D. Candidate in Sociology Hollie Nyseth Brehm, explained the parallels between gacaca and restorative justice.
In particular, Uggen and Nyseth Brehm identified a handful of “dualisms” in gacaca: its formal yet informal nature; the involvement of the Rwandan government, despite the courts’ operation within the local community; the mixture of traditional procedures with contemporary cases it is meant to adjudicate; as well as its combination of punitive and restorative punishments. The pair also emphasized that much more time must pass before definitive conclusions on the impact of gacaca and other justice measures in Rwanda can be fully drawn.
The most pressing matter, of course, is whether the justice prescribed has been an appropriate antidote to the poison of the genocide’s aftermath. For Dan Wildeson, Professor of Communication Studies at St. Cloud State University and Director of the Center for Holocaust and Genocide Education, evaluating this question necessitates a consideration of the twin issues of birth and perspective.
Simply put, while children inherit their DNA from their family, Wildeson explained, they do not also inherit their culture, stories, or family legacy from some biological origin. Perhaps, then, we need a “tectonic shift,” he reasoned – a shift in the narrative of the world we pass on to our children. This shift is naturally tied to the second issue, as contesting any narrative demands that one consider the world from another’s point of view.
Similarly, the various manners in which Rwandans choose to remember what happened during the genocide were discussed. Nicole Fox, a Ph.D. Candidate in Sociology at Brandeis University, noted that while memorials were initially viewed as an opportunity to bury the dead that lay scattered throughout the streets of the country, these spaces eventually transformed into places for survivors to grieve, thus providing a dual purpose at both the macro and micro levels.
However, the challenges for memorials are real, as it is their creators who decide what stories each space will tell – sometimes at the detriment of marginalizing particular victim groups, like those in Rwanda who experienced gender-based violence. The implication of this selectivity is that such spaces inevitably become “organizers of memory and organizers of trauma,” which in turn, have the dichotomous opportunity to either empower or stratify communities.
Repeated throughout the conference were references to Rwanda’s “unbelievable” transformation in the past twenty years, particularly in terms of economic growth. But should we truly be so astonished by Rwanda’s progress? Is Rwanda not proof of what can be done when the world responds to a problem by identifying and implementing a focused solution? If we were to be astonished by anything in the past twenty years, then, it would seem more appropriate that we become struck by the moments of opportunity we have neglected to undertake elsewhere, knowing the impact that such commitment is capable of producing.
The legacy of Rwanda, then, must not simply be the chance it provides to reexamine our strategies for handling conflict. Though the world’s response (or lack thereof) in 1994 will forever remain one of the darkest moments of modern history, Rwanda today is an example of the alternative to cynicism, to apathy, to a foregone conclusion that there is no way to influence the outcome of a problem not uniquely our own.
As Fox stated in reference to the power of memorials, “the evidence shapes the stories.” Perhaps now the evidence of Rwanda can be the hope its transformation provides for current and future decisions regarding imminent atrocity situations. Perhaps now we can “prevent forgetting” our own power to create a world different from the one in which we live today.
If we could remember that capability, just imagine the legacy for which we might someday be remembered.
“Genocide and its Aftermath: Lessons from Rwanda” was co-sponsored by several departments, boards, and associations at the University of Minnesota, including the Center for Victims of Torture, the Advocates for Human Rights, the Jewish Community Relations Council of Minnesota and the Dakotas, St. Cloud State’s Center for Holocaust and Genocide Education, World Without Genocide, Global Solutions Minnesota, and the Minnesota International Center. A list of all conference speakers is available here. Rwanda photo credits: Adam Jones, Ph.D.
This month, we’re featuring a post by university student Sam Gillespie, a junior at Dickinson College majoring in International Studies and French. Currently studying abroad in Cameroon, Mr. Gillespie was introduced to concepts related to genocide and mass atrocity prevention last summer while working at the U.S. Army War College’s Peacekeeping and Stability Institute with Colonel Dwight Raymond, an alumnus of our Raphael Lemkin Seminar. Gillespie told AIPR that taking classes on humanitarian issues and learning on the ground in Cameroon has heightened his passion for human rights and mass atrocity prevention, and that after college he plans to return to Africa to work in the development sector.
“Would you mind hurrying up? We have somewhere to be,” my professor said to the Cameroonian National Gendarmerie officer circling our bus. He was exasperated. The official was closely examining all of our passports, the bus’ registration papers, and my professor’s itinerary for our trip.
“I’m doing my job! Would you mind letting me do it? If you didn’t interrupt me, I’d probably be done by now!” barked the officer, his words slurred by anger, and likely alcohol. From our seats in the bus, we could see his bloodshot eyes and uneven footing, plus empty beer cans on the ground.
After his inspection of the bus, the unsteady gendarmerie claimed “discrepancies” existed with our registration papers and unspecified “problems” with our first aid kit. He also demanded a fee. Asked if we’d get a receipt for our payment, the man said he was out of paper. At this, my professor laughed and handed him a notarized letter from his friend who holds a high position in government. Upon reading it, the officer returned all our paperwork and let our bus drive away without paying our fine. This was my first day in Cameroon and my introduction to endemic corruption.
Standing at the wrong place to hail a taxi, touching a mural that shouldn’t be touched, or taking pictures in a public place are all examples of “violations” I’ve since committed in Cameroon. Through these experiences, I’ve learned how corruption is not just merely inconvenient and sometimes costly, but how it can handicap a nation’s ability to develop economically, politically and socially.
Across Africa, the roots of corruption have survived countless regime changes and international aid missions. Year after year, corruption is passed on to the next generation. In essence, this culture of corruption has kept many post-colonial states trapped in a vortex of hardship and struggle. The impact of corruption can even be deadly. For the last several decades, there are numerous examples where political and economic corruption has lead to mass atrocities. Perhaps the most stunning example came in the early 1990s in Rwanda where a combination of corruption, political tensions and economic failure, among other factors, precipitated the most horrific genocide of the modern era.
Although the Rwandan genocide of 1994 is usually attributed to ethnic tensions, political and economic mismanagement contributed to the supremacy of the Hutu elite. It was the Hutu elite who ultimately began and encouraged a killing campaign against 800,000 Tutsis. Roots of the violence can be traced to the 1980s when the price of Rwanda’s main export (coffee), fell 50% as a result of an international coffee crisis. The plummeting coffee prices impacted Rwandan GDP and devalued the country’s currency 40 percent. The IMF provided an aid package, but instead of it going towards a recovery plan, the funds were largely disbursed throughout the President Habyarimana’s corrupt administration, leaving the rest of the country to fend for itself.
Beyond the high walls of Habyarimana’s presidential palace, the country declined rapidly. With 85% of the population falling below the poverty line and farmland devaluing greatly, the country fell further and further into debt. Amid the economic deterioration and rising political corruption Tutsi rebel groups formed in Uganda (mainly the Rwandan Patriotic Front) and ignited a violent civil war. After a pair of missiles shot down Habyarimana’s plane after a peace accord had been signed with the RPF in April 1994, the Hutu government began the massacres. Over the next four months, Hutu extremist militias exterminated 11 percent of the country’s population and left the rest of the world in shock.
The events of the Rwandan genocide were undoubtedly a culmination of many factors, amongst them ethnic tensions unique to the Rwandan example. But at its core, corrupt and irresponsible political behavior precipitated the economic failure that led, ultimately, to genocide. Thus one of the many lessons we can draw from the genocide in Rwanda is this: countries with endemic corruption are at a greater risk of mass atrocity compared to societies with stable and highly accountable state institutions.
While Cameroon has its own legacy of mass atrocities and remains at risk for more, I have hope for the country I currently call home. Despite having the same president for 30 years, I believe the political process is becoming more transparent in step with economic growth and social progress. My time in Cameroon will end in June 2014, but I’m hopeful that when I next visit, the gendarmerie officer who examines my passport will not be looking for a simple kickback, but performing his duties in the service of the Cameroonian people and stability of the state.
Moise Jean, “The Rwandan Genocide: The True Motivations for Mass Killings,” Emory Endeavors in World History, Volume I: March 2007.
Jared Diamond, Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed, Penguin Books, London 2005.
Today’s guest blog post on the intersection of genocide prevention and memorialization was written by Michael A. Morris, a graduate student at The Richard Stockton College of New Jersey. Mr Morris completed an internship at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum last summer and is currently pursuing a Master of Arts in Holocaust and Genocide Studies. He has previously written about The Jewish Museum in Berlin, a site he called “a perfect marriage between theory, content, and context.”
“…Without commemorative vigilance, history would soon sweep them away.”
These are the words of Pierre Nora in his Introduction, titled “Between Memory and History,” in Volume I of Realms of Memory (Nora 7). Nora is referring to the fact that in modern society we need mechanisms such as anniversaries, celebrations, eulogies, etc. to recall the past – remembrance is not a spontaneous action. Another way of explaining historical memory is articulated by Lewis A. Coser in the Introduction of On Collective Memory by Maurice Halbwachs. Coser writes that a “…person does not remember events directly; it can only be stimulated in indirect ways through reading or listening or in commemoration and festive occasions when people gather together to remember in common the deeds and accomplishments of long-departed members of the group. In this case, the past is stored and interpreted by social institutions” (Halbwachs 24).
This paints with a broader brush a concept that Maurice Halbwachs wrote about decades earlier – that is, collective memory. Of course, we as individuals have our own personal memories; however, we have a collective memory as well. It is affected by how we identify with a group or groups – whether with a national group, a political group, a religious group, etc. Halbwachs theorized that “…the individual remembers by placing himself in the perspective of the group, but one may also affirm that the memory of the group realizes and manifests itself in individual memories” (Halbwachs 40). In this regard, being a citizen of a country means that not only will the historical events be laid out on a mental timeline, but the narrative of those events also becomes part of the individual mindset. Thus, it is very important to consider how our society frames memory in museums, monuments, etc.
One very interesting case study is post-World War II history in Austria. In October, 1943, the Allies stated at the Moscow Conference that Austria, despite having a population who largely welcomed the Nazis in 1938 and heavily complied/collaborated with them, was the “first victim of Hitlerite aggression.” During the war, this narrative was framed in hopes that the Austrian population would break from the Nazis, thus bringing about a quicker end to the war. After the war, in Austria, the narrative of being Hitler’s first victims became a convenient phrase on which to base Austria’s pre and post-annexation history. In his seminal work on Holocaust memorials, The Texture of Memory, James E. Young stated that Austria had “…concentrated so single-mindedly on rebuilding, on effacing all links with the past, that there seemed to be little time or inclination for commemorating the Nazi past…” (Young 92).
Young is alluding to the fact that many high-ranking Nazis such as Franz Stangl, Ernst Kaltenbrunner and Adolf Hitler were Austrian. Furthermore, Austrians comprised approximately 8% of the Reich’s population, yet comprised almost 13% of the SS (Pauley 491). Austria also housed the infamous Mauthausen concentration camp. For the sake of geopolitical strategy during the Cold War, the superpowers that emerged from World War II (the United States and the Soviet Union) never re-visited this statement. Many years later, the Austrian architect, Alfred Hrdlicka, built a monument at Albertinaplatz, in Vienna, that not only challenged this history but also showed the importance of publicly re-visiting a popular narrative that was not representative of Austria between 1938 and 1945.
Jews and Austria
The governing body of Austria had a history of antisemitism. It is believed that Jews first arrived in Austria in the 10th century; however, in 1421, and again in 1670, they were given an ultimatum – leave the country or convert to Christianity. It was not until December, 1867, that Emperor Franz Joseph (who reigned from 1848-1916) removed all remaining laws discriminating against Jews in the new constitution. Rapid changes, however, were soon to take place (Pauley 473-474).
After World War I, the mighty House of Habsburg collapsed. The territory of the Austro-Hungarian Empire had encompassed areas reaching as far as Bohemia, Moravia, Galicia, Transylvania, Bosnia and Tyrol. With the loss of these territories came the realization that not only was Austria’s size drastically decreased, but the country was also now landlocked. The Austro-Hungarian Empire had been dissected for Europe’s new landscape of nation states. The post-World War I era ushered in a time for Austria that was marked by economic stagnation and political turmoil.
By 1938, the Jewish population of Austria was 192,000, almost 4% of the country’s total population. Most Jews lived in Vienna, Austria’s capital. Jews were noteworthy in Austrian culture, and many made a significant contribution to modern-day society; for example, Sigmund Freud, Gustav Mahler and Karl Kraus, among others. By 1940, 117,000 Jews left Austria, and by November, 1942, only 7,000 Jews remained. Many Austrian Jews were deported to the ghettos of Lodz, Minsk and Riga, as well as to Theresienstadt (USHMM – Austria).
On March 11, 1938, the German Army entered Austria, and on March 13, 1938, Austria was officially annexed into Hitler’s Reich. Not only was there a populist celebration over what had occurred, but it is estimated that roughly 1/3 of Vienna’s population (1/4 of a million people) came to greet Hitler as he incorporated his birth country into the Reich. This annexation also led to vitriolic violence against Jews. To quote Maureen Braun, a Jew living in Vienna at the time: “Things rapidly got very bad for the Jews. The Nazis made raids and pulled out men, made them wash floors, all sorts of things. Of course they started closing businesses, or taking over businesses, and putting in their own people, Nazis from Germany.” She elaborated: “For the first time I couldn’t do things I had done before. There were certain places that you couldn’t go any more; public places where it was not so safe.” Shortly thereafter, all Jewish property was registered with the German administration. Austria also participated in Kristallnacht in November, 1938 (Dwork 95-99).
Throughout the Cold War, Austria remained a stable democracy, but the election of 1986 brought unwanted attention. What initially appeared to be a normal campaign for Austria’s Presidency became a focal point of international attention in 1986 when it became public knowledge that the Austrian People’s Party candidate for President, Kurt Waldheim, was one of 1.3 million Austrians who were in the German Army during World War II. Waldheim had concrete connections to National Socialism, beginning in 1938 when he received a scholarship from the Chamber of Commerce under the Third Reich. However, the most incriminating information was that he was present in Thessaloniki, Greece, between February and August, 1943, when Jews were first sequestered from the general population, put in ghettos, and forced to wear Jewish Stars of David. Eventually, 46,000 Jews (one-fifth of the town’s population) were deported to Auschwitz. The New York Times, with investigative help from the World Jewish Congress, was the first to report the story (Mitten 66, 77, 147, 252).
The Monument Against War and Fascism
The veneer of the Moscow Declaration was beginning to tarnish. By 1987, Waldheim was barred from entering the United States, and other Western democracies ostracized him as well. Domestic opposition was beginning to mount. On November 24, 1988, after Hrdlicka’s Monument Against War and Fascism cleared bureaucratic hurdles, it was unveiled at Albertinaplatz, in Vienna. The monument is divided into five distinct parts. The first two parts are columns made of granite from Mauthausen concentration camp (Young 108-110). I find the third piece, a statue of a Jew on his hands and knees scrubbing the street, as well as the fifth and final piece, a thirty-foot high piece of stone depicting Austria’s Declaration of Independence on March, 27, 1945, to be the most poignant. I find it interesting that the Jew depicted in the monument has the appearance of a traditional religious Jew. Often times, Jews who lived in German-speaking countries in the 1930s and 1940s are depicted as modern and assimilated. One of Hrdlicka’s statements about the street washing Jew is: “The Viennese always behaved as if they were ignorant of what was happening to the Jews, but it was the Viennese after all who forced the Jews to wash the street with toothbrushes…” (Young 108-110).
The monument is located in a very public space, as it should be. Of course, infamous Nazis such as Hitler, Himmler, Goering, Eichmann, etc. were indispensable for the Holocaust to happen, but it was also everyday people who made the decision to participate, observe or turn the other way. Certainly, erecting a monument is not a cure-all. It will not prevent genocide. The fact that there has been a Monument Against War and Fascism in Austria since the late 1980s did not prevent the former Yugoslavia, Austria’s neighbor to the south, from descending into war, chaos and genocide in the 1990s. There is no fail-safe formula for preventing genocide through memorialization; however, the true value of a monument like the monument in Albertinaplatz will hopefully compel individuals to think about their role in society and also remind them about the Holocaust and the danger of other genocides. If the monument serves as a constant reminder of genocide, then it certainly is one positive contribution in an unclear path to preventing genocide.
Countless governments throughout Europe were eliminated once they were invaded by Nazi Germany. Certainly, collaborating with the Germans during World War II was not an exclusively Austrian phenomenon. Much has happened in Europe and the rest of the world since the annexation. This does not mean that collective memory has to be collective guilt, because each generation – and every individual within that generation – has an opportunity to set a new path. What value does this monument have? It not only memorializes the victims, but it also compels us to revisit a narrative and collective memory, a commitment not exclusive to Austria.
– Michael A. Morris
Bischof, Gunter. “Victims? Perpetrators? “Punching Bags” of European Historical Memory? The Austrians and Their World War II Legacies.” German Studies Review 27.1 (2004): 17-32.
Bunzl, Matti. “On the Politics and Semantics of Austrian Memory: Vienna’s Monument Against War and Fascism.” History and Memory 7.2 (1995): 7-40.
Dwork, Deborah, Robert Van Pelt. Holocaust A History. New York: W. W. Norton &
Halbwachs, Maurice. On Collective Memory. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992.
Kann, Robert A. A History of the Habsburg Empire 1526-1918. Berkeley, California, 1974.
Mitten, Richard. The Politics of Anti-Semitic Prejudice. San Francisco, California: Westview Press, 1992.
Mitten, Richard. “Reflections on the Waldheim Affair.” Austrians and Jews in the Twentieth Century. Ed. Wistrich, Robert. New York: The MacMillon Press, 1992. 252-273.
Nora, Pierre. The Construction of the French Past. Realms of Memory Volume I: Conflicts and Divisions. New York: Columbia University Press, 1992.
Pauley, Bruce. “Austria.” The World Reacts to the Holocaust. Ed. David S. Wyman Baltimore MD: John Hopkins University Press, 1996.
“The Moscow Conference; October 1943.” The Avalon Project. Documents in Law, History and Diplomacy. <http://avalon.law.yale.edu/wwii/moscow.asp>
United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. “Austria.” Holocaust Encyclopedia. <http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10005447>
United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. “Austria – Historical Film Footage.” “Annexation of Austria.” Holocaust Encyclopedia. <http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/media_fi.php?ModuleId=10005447&MediaId=1836>
Young, James. The Texture of Memory. New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press, 1993.
Image Credits (from top to bottom):
Image 1: russavia
Image 2: Buchhändler
Image 3: Abariltur
Impunity Watch: Cases of Gender and Post-Conflict Transitional Justice
This is a call to policymakers, who work to formulate policy to prevent the recurrence of genocide. How do we give a voice to survivors? How do we pay appropriate attention to victims of gender-based violence (GBV), as specific crimes, that can be a tool of genocide? Impunity Watch’s report, “Giving a voice to victims: Towards gender-sensitive processes of TJRNR in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Burundi and Guatemala” attempts to answer these significant questions. The main goal of the report is to provide analysis and recommendations for policymakers to reach gender-sensitive goals in rebuilding plans, to prevent future incidences of genocidal violence.
Impunity Watch, an organization promoting accountability for past international atrocities in violent, conflict-affected countries, released a series of reports on December 18, 2012 about transitional justice and gender. The reports provide an in-depth look at justice, peace, and truth-telling processes in Bosnia-Herzegovina (BiH), Burundi, and Guatemala.
Why a Gendered Analysis?
Gender analysis has become increasingly significant when determining the ways in which conflict and rebuilding processes affect men and women. As notable scholars from The Feinstein International Center at Tufts University have recently reported, separating gender from significant fields, including international development, conflict management, humanitarian response, or policy-making, is neither feasible nor desirable, and will lead to incomplete conclusions about the effects of policymakers’ actions and impact.[i] The Impunity Watch reports aim to understand how gender, transitional justice, atrocities prevention, and post-conflict policies have been addressed in these three cases, providing both strengths and shortcomings.
This article will address the policies and recommendations (some new, some restated yet important) in the case of Bosnia-Herzegovina, and how the main stakeholders could “do better” to address women’s rights in the aftermath of conflict. In this first article, I will discuss the main findings and challenges in the case of Bosnia-Herzegovina. My next two articles will address the Impunity Watch reports on Burundi and Guatemala.
Gender-Sensitive Processes in Bosnia-Herzegovina
The 94-page report summarizes the main obstacles to promoting gender-sensitive peace, reconciliation, and non-recurrence. Frankly, it is more difficult for women to have access to, participate in, and benefit from processes of truth, justice, reparations and non-recurrence (TJRNR), since these do not take the needs of women into consideration in design or implementation. For example, a female internally displaced person (IDP) reclaiming property will often encounter prejudices and a lack of understanding within society, something a male IDP will likely not experience. Women looking for their missing husbands are not entitled to certain benefits from the Law on Missing Persons. Victims of wartime sexual violence (which are mainly women in BiH, though not exclusively) face major challenges in obtaining war-related compensation. In short, there is a clear need to integrate a gender-sensitive approach to processes of TJRNR, to better include both female and male victims. This will help transform the broader social context of trauma and post-conflict experiences and development.[ii]
Some positive progress has been made to advance gender-sensitive justice in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Currently, the Ministry for Human Rights and Refugees (MHRR) is steering the process of drafting a document entitled Program of Assistance to Women Victims of War Rape, Sexual Violence and Torture 2013-2016. This plan will also include male victims of wartime sexual violence.[iii]
Gender analysis can highlight how gender-based violence, including rape, forced prostitution, and enforced pregnancy, can be used as weapons of genocide; this is a new understanding in legal practice and policy. In the case of Bosnia, for example, forced pregnancy was used to try and create more ethnically desirable babies, thus further driving out minority communities. This link between GBV and genocide is a clear call to action for policy makers to pay attention to GBV as an instrument of genocide.
How Conflict in BiH Disparately Affected Women
The conflict in Bosnia-Herzegovina, which lasted from 1992 until the Dayton Peace Accords in 1995, was between the region’s population of three ethnic groups, or ‘constituent peoples’: Bosniaks (48%), Serbs (37.1%), and Croats (14.3%).[iv] For more than 40 years the region was a federation of six republics: Serbia, Montenegro, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Macedonia, and Slovenia, as well as two autonomous provinces: Vojvodina and Kosovo. In 1987, Slobodan Milošević came to power in Serbia, vividly encouraging Serbian nationalism and nurturing the idea of Greater Serbia. Based on this ideal, fighting ensued and a number of massacres took place, which led to an international crisis, including the use of war tactics and mass violence to drive out minority populations. After the 1995 Dayton Peace Accords negotiated an end to the conflict, the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) was established in 1996, to establish justice for the region, and ideally to promote a lasting peace. A number of perpetrators indicted by the ICTY were charged with crimes of genocide.
In Srebrenica, one of the most well-known massacres of the war, the men were separated from the women and killed systematically, which left psychological, legal, economic, and social difficulties for the women survivors. More research has been done on the massacre at Srebrenica and the gendered pattern of violence there.
Shortcomings of the Process in BiH
- In the processes related to truth, women’s participation so far has been limited.
- When it comes to guarantees of non-recurrence, it appears that a rather one-sided picture after the conflict in BiH has been created, whereby women are mostly seen as victims of the war, while men are mostly seen as heroes.
- While women make up one half of the Expert Working Group that drafted the Transitional Justice Strategy, and the president of the EWG is a woman, judging from the first draft of the TJS, there is room for improvement regarding the issue of gender-sensitivity. Sexual violence was widely excluded in the document, and a more widespread support from civil society organizations (CSOs) was lacking.
Recommendations for Rebuilding and Non-Recurrence
Key recommendations highlight where the process in BiH can go to improve gender sensitivity and the rights and status of women. The recommendations also show the link between GBV and genocide. Some recommendations are as basic as institutional reform, and ensuring that institutions include an integrated gender-sensitive perspective in their research and recommendations. Gender/sex disaggregated data is also needed, especially with regard to crimes of sexual violence. [v]
New recommendations, specific to BiH, are noteworthy, and can serve as examples for other post-conflict cases looking to address the same issues of gender and transitional justice. These cover four main categories of change:
- Technical changes, including the male/female composition of committees, political appointments, etc. I would also suggest more data collection and dissemination of data about atrocities, to better understand and analyze the gendered effects of the conflict.
- Legal changes, including women’s access to reparations (a large section on this topic in the report concludes that women hit many barriers when claiming reparations for crimes committed during the conflict, and often fall through the cracks of what crimes are legally recognized).
- Societal changes, including making processes more accessible and open to women, providing economic opportunities to women in the post-conflict economy, and continuing to provide funding and support for the implementation of the National Action Plan on UNSCR 1325.
- Structural changes, including encouraging participation by women and civil society in relevant TJRNR processes, particularly those related to integrating a gender-sensitive approach in the latter (such as the Program for Assistance to Women Victims of War Rape, Other Forms of Sexual Violence and Torture 2013-2016); creating a space for women to testify to the ICTY and to tell their stories.
The Impunity Watch report outlines a holistic transitional justice strategy to address gender-sensitive rebuilding and links to prevention of mass atrocities in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Empowering women and changing the narrative of women solely as victims, while recognizing the reality of gender-based crimes as planned tools of genocide (see the work of Hugo Slim, Cynthia Enloe, and Ximena Bunster), can allow policymakers to pay attention to gendered aspects of conflict, rebuilding, and non-recurrence.
This is the third in a series of blog posts by Auschwitz Institute interns who from October 2011 through March 2012 monitored countries for risk of genocide using the Analysis Framework of the United Nations Office of the Special Adviser on the Prevention of Genocide. This week we present the post by Yasmin Andrews, a graduate student in international relations at the University of St. Andrews, in Scotland. Yasmin monitored Zimbabwe for risk of crimes against humanity.
As a student of International Relations at the University of St. Andrews, I was no stranger to the study and analysis of violence, war and political conflict. However, this internship took on quite a different timbre than my university studies. I was chosen as one of the first set of interns to monitor states “at risk” of the occurrence of genocide. My country of interest was Zimbabwe, which is currently embroiled in a myriad of problems that render the state incredibly vulnerable.
As a Genocide Prevention Monitoring Intern for the Auschwitz Institute, I have had to be incredibly alert to the happenings within Zimbabwe. My work entailed observing events, news and current opinions within the country in relation to the potential for mass atrocities or crimes against humanity. The UN OSAPG (Office of the Special Adviser on the Prevention of Genocide) provided us with a Framework of Analysis establishing detailed guidelines on different factors that could indicate the potential for genocide within a society, including issues such as independent media, human rights protection, propaganda, increases in arms, and any increased involvement by other states.
Genocide is defined in Article 2 of the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (1948) as “any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such: killing members of the group; causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part; imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group; [and] forcibly transferring children of the group to another group.”
Through the training received from the OSAPG and the research conducted, it became very evident that genocide is not a spontaneous occurrence. The build-up in tension within a country, as well as the actual killing of its people, takes place over a period of time. It is targeted and planned and therefore not a spur-of-the-moment affair.
My partner Jeremy Garsha’s and my job differed slightly from that of the other monitoring interns, as mass atrocities and crimes against humanity are more likely to occur than genocide in Zimbabwe. However, the UN OSAPG framework was still utilized as an important guideline in our research. This difference in classification often results in blindness towards the threat of violence that is brewing within Zimbabwe’s borders.
Zimbabwe has a history of internal violence. The massacre that took place through Operation Gukurahundi in Matabeleland by the Fifth Brigade is widely termed as genocide. This 3500-strong group of ethnically Shona supporters of Mugabe killed approximately 20,000 villagers and tortured and assaulted countless others in January 1983. In addition to this history of violence and genocide, the current situation in Zimbabwe lends itself to monitoring. There is a lack of an independent judiciary, effective national human rights institutions and effective legislative protection. The government has failed to abolish oppressive legislation and has passed additional laws which are inimical to fundamental rights and freedoms, including the Non-Governmental Organizations Act, which looks to proscribe the work of human rights organizations.
Additionally, Zimbabwe’s power-sharing government, comprised of President Robert Mugabe and the Zimbabwe African National Union-Patriotic Front (ZANU-PF), have employed violence and tyranny to dominate government institutions and stem significant human rights advances. The Anglican Church in Zimbabwe has been under attack from the excommunicated bishop, Dr. Nolbert Kunonga, since 2007. He has been able to intimidate Anglicans and with the support of members of the police force, he has denied many of their right to worship by seizing property belonging to the church. Churches have been forced to shut down and many have been forced at gunpoint to attend ZANU-PF rallies.
Additionally, the precedent of political violence, intimidation and corruption set by the 2008 elections is a cause for concern with the nation’s upcoming elections. UNICEF has reported a rise in the use of child labor and the lack of investigations or arrests for these abuses. A large number of NGOs, which provide basic services such as food and assisting the disabled, have been banned. Torture and other ill treatment of activists by police and members of Zimbabwe’s intelligence services remain a serious and systemic human rights problem in Zimbabwe. An alarmingly high proportion of these violations have been perpetrated by youth. Amnesty International’s call for Zimbabwean authorities to cease manipulating the country’s laws to persecute activists has fallen on deaf ears. Partisans of the Mugabe regime continue to benefit from a lack of accountability for past crimes. For example, a member of the Central Intelligence Organization connected to the murder of two MDC activists 12 years ago has still not been indicted. The African Union is unwilling to intervene and expel President Mugabe despite its mandate to maintain good governance in its member states. These are a few pertinent examples of the significant threat to the capacity to prevent mass atrocities in Zimbabwe.
The term “genocide” is a powerful word that many shy away from and are afraid to consider. When using the UN OSAPG framework to examine the cases of genocide in the past, such as when the Interahamwe killed 800,000 Tutsis in Rwanda, the indicators are visible. It is clear that there is a need for proper and effective monitoring efforts to prevent such a crime from ever occurring again.
This is the second in a series of blog posts by Auschwitz Institute interns who from October 2011 through March 2012 monitored countries for risk of genocide using the Analysis Framework of the United Nations Office of the Special Adviser on the Prevention of Genocide. This week we present the post by Shamiran Mako, a graduate student in political science and international relations at the University of Edinburgh, in Scotland. Shamiran monitored Bahrain for risk of genocide.
As an academic working mostly on comparative politics and international relations, the joint internship with the Auschwitz Institute for Peace and Reconciliation and the Office of the Special Adviser on the Prevention of Genocide (OSAPG) furthered my understanding of the structure and implications of international policymaking on genocide and other crimes against humanity. Using the OSAPG’s eight-point framework of analysis as the legal and normative framework for measuring the risk of genocide in conflict states also furthered my understanding of international law and the structures and processes that shape the international community’s response to genocide. As a genocide-monitoring intern, my task was to compile research on the developing crisis in Bahrain following the Arab Spring.
A common misperception pins genocide as an abrupt and spontaneous rupture in a state’s internal governing structures and institutions. However, as an unfolding process, genocide often beings with the violation of basic human rights, ultimately resulting in the suppression and extermination of targeted groups based on a misplaced threat perception by the ruling elites. This threat perception, often entwined in an ideological justification, escalates to the mobilization of the state’s resources and institutions for the destruction of the perceived threat group. Two things I learned during the course of my internship with the Auschwitz Institute and the OSAPG are the role of history and ideology as fundamental mobilizing factors that legitimize and shape the state’s response to perceived threat groups.
As a genocide-monitoring intern, I was responsible for mapping out a background assessment of the country’s historical inter-group relations, discrimination of specific groups in society, and prior record of human rights violations against targeted groups. In the case of Bahrain, the Arab Spring, marked by widespread revolutions and uprisings that have come to define the politics of the region since early 2011, demonstrated an opportunity for Bahrainis to voice their discontent with the ruling Al Khalifa family’s domination of state structures and institutions since the 19th century. Culminating in state-sponsored human rights violations, mass suppression, and the targeted killing of unarmed protesters, Bahrain posed a complex and challenging case that required an analysis of all relevant contextual variables.
While gaining independence from British colonial rule in 1971, Bahrain is comprised of an estimated 70 percent majority Shi’is and has been ruled by the Sunni-minority Al Khalifa family since the 18th century. Sectarianism and competing religious ideologies have also been determining variables of state-citizen relations, where the Al Khalifa family, with strong regional ties to other Gulf States, have ruled with impunity. Historically, the Shi’i community has been marginalized from state structures and institutions and live on the lower margins of the socio-economic strata. The 2011 revolts and revolutions in the Arab world provided an opportunity structure for Bahrainis to protest against failed promises of political and economic reforms.
Using the Genocide Convention’s definition of genocide as the main international legal framework, as well as academic and non-governmental sources to analyze the situation in Bahrain since the Arab Spring, I was able to develop a broader understanding of the inter-communal dynamics that have come to dominate Bahraini politics during this critical juncture. What originally began as peaceful mass protests against government policies instituted under Al Khalifa rule permeated by the monarchy’s reluctance to implement and uphold constitutional reforms that would ensure equal distribution of parliamentary seats, equal political participation and socio-economic development for the country’s majority Shi’i community, spiralled into political violence and the suppression of political dissidents, unarmed protesters, and human rights activists. Moreover, the use of foreign military personnel from other Gulf States, namely Saudi Arabia, to quell the revolution deepened the suppression of Bahrainis, which only served to further delegitimize Al Khalifa rule. The current unification proposal by Saudi Arabia and Bahrain, which would see the geopolitical and military unification of the two countries, has been met with criticism from the majority Shi’i community in Bahrain, other Gulf Cooperation Council countries (namely Kuwait, Qatar, Oman, and the United Arab Emirates), as well as Iran.
In sum, as a student of political science and international relations, the internship was an opportunity to understand firsthand the internal policy workings of the United Nations with regard to countries at risk of genocide and other crimes against humanity. In the case of Bahrain, its historical background, coupled with an understanding of the ideological implications that have plagued the country’s political trajectory, demonstrate the complex web of state-citizen interactions. The internship with the Auschwitz Institute for Peace and Reconciliation in conjunction with the Office of the United Nations Special Adviser on the Prevention of Genocide bolstered my knowledge of the multiplicity of variables that can impact a country’s recourse toward the suppression of its citizens, particularly the role of history and ideology in the case of Bahrain.