"We Are All Rwandans"

by Christopher Heuertz

In the summer of 1994, as the frenzy of Rwanda’s 100-day genocide neared its end, a number of the Interahamwe (the pro-Hutu youth militia responsible for most of the estimated one million massacred Rwandans), crossed the boarder to hide in Congo. A few years later, these paramilitary fighters came back into Rwanda to complete their “unfinished business.” They conducted vigilante raids to kill Tutsi and claim loyalty from Hutu survivors.

In the small town of Nyange in western Rwanda, on the cold, rainy evening of March 18, 1997, shortly after dinner, but before returning to their dormitories, a number of St. Joseph’s Secondary School students gathered to study for their exams.

Suddenly, a group of Interahamwe insurgents attacked the unassuming campus. The night watchman—campus security—was executed. Immediately following his murder, 27 students were forced into a classroom and ordered to separate—Tutsis on one side, Hutu on the other. But the students refused to separate themselves.

In a courageous act of solidarity, the students refused to save their own lives by identifying the differences among them. Instead they stood in solidarity with their Tutsi friends.

Chantal Mujawamahoro—a 21-year-old Hutu was the first to lay down her life for her fellow students. Her name literally means “maiden of peace.” She bravely stood up to the attackers and proclaimed, “We do not have Hutus or Tutsis here. We are all Rwandans.”

They shot her in the head. Killing her at her desk.

One by one six more students were assassinated in front of their classmates.

Despite the impending slaughter, the young group of students remained determined to stand in unity—undivided in their identity as one.

Rather than wasting bullets, the infiltrators rounded up the surviving students and threw grenades into their classroom—the young people were left for dead. But most survived—each of them mutilated, many having lost limbs or other body parts, some left blinded.

I recently visited their campus and as I listened to their stories, as I heard their testimony of unity, I was inspired and convicted. Their bodies were broken, but they represented wholeness. My mind went to the Church. I saw in these students a totem—an image—of the body of Christ, unified and whole. And, for me, it painted a stark contrast with the disunity and brokenness I’ve witnessed and experienced—and even contributed to—in the Church.

Their disfigured and wounded bodies stand today as an indictment to the fractured body of Christ.

These resolute students have become a mirror to the Church—the mutilated body of Christ—a Church who divides herself along doctrinal lines that create opposing sides and breed suspicion, fear and judgment.

Our Christian witness is more commonly recognized by our divisions based on difference, rather than our unity based on commonality.

Though the Scriptures teach us we will be known by our love for one another, too often Christians are the most biased, prejudiced, and hateful of the so-called “other.” The one who looks different, behaves differently, has different ideas, perspectives and beliefs.

But if I’m honest, I’ve frequently been guilty of perpetuating reductionism of my fellow Christians and marginalizing those I disagree with. It’s the human impulse toward what we call tribalism in Africa, it’s just that in the so-called developed world we’ve tidied it up a bit and scrubbed it down.

Maybe it’s egalitarian Christians intolerant of their complementarian counterparts; or perhaps it’s open and affirming churches marginalized by more conservative or traditional congregations; or maybe it’s reformed believers intent on leveraging their theology against those who understand things differently. Sadly, in its worst caricature, a lack of ecumenical spirit prevents many who are Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox or Evangelical from recognizing those outside their own Christian faith tradition.

Today this often gets played out through social media tiffs or in the comment threads on the blogosphere. Rather than hashing out our differences around a meal or through honest conversation, we’ve taken our disagreements public and unnecessarily escalated them through disembodied discourse—diminishing everyone’s humanity in the process.

But these young Rwandan students stand as heroes offering a compelling invitation to a new kind of unity for Christians.

Their martyrdom bears witness to love and unity. By refusing to betray one another they illuminate their commonality rather than their difference.

These silent witnesses of hope remind us “We are all Rwandans,” we are one.

May their death not be in vain. By their example may a new kind of Christian unity follow.

An instigator for good and hustler of hope, Christopher L. Heuertz fights for a renewal of contemplative activism. For 20 years Chris served with Word Made Flesh, working for women and children trafficked into the commercial sex industry. In 2012, he and his wife, Phileena, started Gravity: A Center for Contemplative Activism. He is the author of several books, including his most recent, Unexpected Gifts: Discovering the Way of Community. Follow Chris on Twitter: @ChrisHeuertz

Editor's note: Photo taken by Chris Heuertz in Rwanda, at the St. Joseph’s Secondary School in 2013. Used with permission.