EvanL
06-19-2004, 07:09 PM
Photos document Rwandan refugees living in Toronto
Organizer brought together genocide, Holocaust survivors
OLIVIA WARD
FEATURE WRITER
Ten years ago, the Rwanda genocide ended the lives of more than 800,000 people, most of them ethnic Tutsis. But though the devastating slaughter has ended, its memories are like tentacles that reach out even to survivors thousands of kilometres away.
"Now, I am in Canada," says Patrick Sharangabo, "but I can't escape from the genocide. I don't live for myself any more, I live to teach about the genocide. But my other life, with its memories is always with me — every day." Sharangabo, now 22, was only 12 when the killing began in his hometown of Kicukiro. He is one of the subjects of an exhibition of photos at Harbourfront this weekend that document the lives of Rwandan refugees.
"A soldier took my money and then hit me on the head with a machete," Sharangabo recalls. "He thought I was dead and left me alone ... later they threw us all in a mass grave. They decided to come back next day to finish filling the grave. I lost consciousness and woke up at night. I saw a full moon and a little girl sitting up. I crawled out and carried her with me."
In the capital, Kigali, Roman Ruzindana also lived through terror. Hiding in his uncle's house, the young Tutsi watched two Hutu gunmen storm into the house: "they beat my uncle and took him and my cousin. They promised to come back and kill us all later. Me and my brother followed ... they took (my uncle) up a dark street and shot him in the head two times."
Both men now live in Toronto, part of a growing Rwandan community. They are featured in Faces of the 100 Days, an exhibit focusing on genocide survivors who are trying to painfully reconstruct their lives in Canada, far from the beautiful but bloodstained land where a three-month killing spree by ethnic Hutus decimated their lives and families in 1994.
The exhibition is part of a weekend event called Ibutsa: Remembering Rwanda, which includes documentary films and a cultural forum reflecting on the meaning of genocide.
Ibutsa in Kinyarwanda means "those who know must tell."
Carole Ann Reed, a human rights activist and academic who was the moving force behind the photo exhibition, says the torment that the survivors suffered has not ended for them.
"They will never get over their memories. And for some of the women, it's worse. As a result of rape, they're now dying of AIDS."
Reed, former director of the Toronto Holocaust Centre, documented the stories of 10 Rwandan survivors photographed by Leib Kopman, whose earlier work with survivors of the Nazi genocide was also the subject of an exhibition. For Reed, it is the continuation of an investigation into ethnic prejudice and hatred that she has been pursuing for the past decade.
"Although I'm neither Jewish nor Rwandan, I could see so many similarities between the two experiences of genocide," she says. "When the two communities got together, they were able to talk about all those common experiences, and discovered that they had happened to someone else."
On an invitation from the Toronto-based Hope for Rwanda's Children Fund, Reed organized the first of a series of Survivors' Dialogues in 1998. The two groups quickly broke down the barriers when they listened to memories of two of the darkest episodes in modern history. New understanding took root, and friendships grew.
A year later, Reed travelled to Rwanda with a group of teachers and community workers in a trip organized by the fund — a journey that marked her for life.
"I wanted to see the site of the genocide, but I had no idea how much it would affect me," she said.
"I walked through thousands of bodies. It was almost unbelievable to see such enormous destruction. But the most unforgettable sight, for me, was the body of a woman with a broken pelvis and splayed legs. It was obvious she had died from multiple rapes."
The trip galvanized Reed, and she later teamed up with Toronto lawyer Gerald Caplan — author of a 1999 report on the causes of the genocide — to organize a group called Remembering Rwanda, to plan ways of commemorating the 10th anniversary of the bloody event.
In Toronto, Reed spent hours with Rwandan survivors, interviewing them at length about their horrific experiences, and collecting memorabilia to be photographed for the exhibit. She helped raise funds for Rwandans, and has become a vocal advocate of people who have increasingly been left behind as new wars take the media centre stage.
The survivors, too, want to move on. Many have put down roots in Canada, fearful that as the Hutu perpetrators of the genocide are released from jail in Rwanda, their lives will again be at risk. But even here, the terror is not far from the surface.
"The war has changed me in every way," says Ruzindana, who found his parents still alive after the massive attacks ended, but is deeply traumatized by the weeks of killing, ever-present threat and starvation.
"I never used to be scared of anything. Now when a little thing happens I start panicking for no reason. I learned that life is short."
Organizer brought together genocide, Holocaust survivors
OLIVIA WARD
FEATURE WRITER
Ten years ago, the Rwanda genocide ended the lives of more than 800,000 people, most of them ethnic Tutsis. But though the devastating slaughter has ended, its memories are like tentacles that reach out even to survivors thousands of kilometres away.
"Now, I am in Canada," says Patrick Sharangabo, "but I can't escape from the genocide. I don't live for myself any more, I live to teach about the genocide. But my other life, with its memories is always with me — every day." Sharangabo, now 22, was only 12 when the killing began in his hometown of Kicukiro. He is one of the subjects of an exhibition of photos at Harbourfront this weekend that document the lives of Rwandan refugees.
"A soldier took my money and then hit me on the head with a machete," Sharangabo recalls. "He thought I was dead and left me alone ... later they threw us all in a mass grave. They decided to come back next day to finish filling the grave. I lost consciousness and woke up at night. I saw a full moon and a little girl sitting up. I crawled out and carried her with me."
In the capital, Kigali, Roman Ruzindana also lived through terror. Hiding in his uncle's house, the young Tutsi watched two Hutu gunmen storm into the house: "they beat my uncle and took him and my cousin. They promised to come back and kill us all later. Me and my brother followed ... they took (my uncle) up a dark street and shot him in the head two times."
Both men now live in Toronto, part of a growing Rwandan community. They are featured in Faces of the 100 Days, an exhibit focusing on genocide survivors who are trying to painfully reconstruct their lives in Canada, far from the beautiful but bloodstained land where a three-month killing spree by ethnic Hutus decimated their lives and families in 1994.
The exhibition is part of a weekend event called Ibutsa: Remembering Rwanda, which includes documentary films and a cultural forum reflecting on the meaning of genocide.
Ibutsa in Kinyarwanda means "those who know must tell."
Carole Ann Reed, a human rights activist and academic who was the moving force behind the photo exhibition, says the torment that the survivors suffered has not ended for them.
"They will never get over their memories. And for some of the women, it's worse. As a result of rape, they're now dying of AIDS."
Reed, former director of the Toronto Holocaust Centre, documented the stories of 10 Rwandan survivors photographed by Leib Kopman, whose earlier work with survivors of the Nazi genocide was also the subject of an exhibition. For Reed, it is the continuation of an investigation into ethnic prejudice and hatred that she has been pursuing for the past decade.
"Although I'm neither Jewish nor Rwandan, I could see so many similarities between the two experiences of genocide," she says. "When the two communities got together, they were able to talk about all those common experiences, and discovered that they had happened to someone else."
On an invitation from the Toronto-based Hope for Rwanda's Children Fund, Reed organized the first of a series of Survivors' Dialogues in 1998. The two groups quickly broke down the barriers when they listened to memories of two of the darkest episodes in modern history. New understanding took root, and friendships grew.
A year later, Reed travelled to Rwanda with a group of teachers and community workers in a trip organized by the fund — a journey that marked her for life.
"I wanted to see the site of the genocide, but I had no idea how much it would affect me," she said.
"I walked through thousands of bodies. It was almost unbelievable to see such enormous destruction. But the most unforgettable sight, for me, was the body of a woman with a broken pelvis and splayed legs. It was obvious she had died from multiple rapes."
The trip galvanized Reed, and she later teamed up with Toronto lawyer Gerald Caplan — author of a 1999 report on the causes of the genocide — to organize a group called Remembering Rwanda, to plan ways of commemorating the 10th anniversary of the bloody event.
In Toronto, Reed spent hours with Rwandan survivors, interviewing them at length about their horrific experiences, and collecting memorabilia to be photographed for the exhibit. She helped raise funds for Rwandans, and has become a vocal advocate of people who have increasingly been left behind as new wars take the media centre stage.
The survivors, too, want to move on. Many have put down roots in Canada, fearful that as the Hutu perpetrators of the genocide are released from jail in Rwanda, their lives will again be at risk. But even here, the terror is not far from the surface.
"The war has changed me in every way," says Ruzindana, who found his parents still alive after the massive attacks ended, but is deeply traumatized by the weeks of killing, ever-present threat and starvation.
"I never used to be scared of anything. Now when a little thing happens I start panicking for no reason. I learned that life is short."