Dancing with Prisoners: The Way to Reconciliation

Pulling up to the prison gate, our bus is passed by a truck-full of prisoners, clad in orange jumpsuits. The men are smiling and returning our stares. We wonder how many of the men before us were Hutus that had tortured and killed Tutsis and Tutsi sympathizers not even 16 years ago. There is no scarlet letter signifying their guilt, their orange outfits only tell us that they had been convicted of some crime, which may or may not have been related to the genocide.

As we walk through the front courtyard, a strange reversal of roles seems to take place: Men and women walk around, some aimlessly, some carrying out tasks, but all with relative freedom, while our group is led through, unconsciously formed into ordered pairs. I mention to the girl next to me how uncomfortable I feel about the situation, meaning the fact that we are being led through a prison as a tour group, but she takes me to mean the fact that we seem to be, yet again, the center of attention. We had no idea how literally those feelings would manifest.

After being caught by surprise at the settlement camps, we were sure to ask the night before if there was any sort of preparation we should have for the prison visit. Our academic director, Martha shrugged casually and said, “No, not really. You will hear a few testimonies from prisoners and have time to ask questions as a group.” Kale (ok), that sounded doable.

We line-up outside a large, brick building. I can’t see inside for the people standing in front of me, but I can hear music being played...odd. As I shuffle closer to the building’s entrance I see a decorated stage with chairs, which a prison guard is ushering us towards. The first in line had already grabbed the back rows, hoping to sink into the background of the elevated stage and spotlights. With no other options, I hesitantly took one of the front-row seats. Before me, hundreds of prisoners some wearing the convicted orange others the still-awaiting-trial pastel pink, are being lead into the audience, to sit facing us. To my left, three men play electric guitar and bass, a new-age and upbeat tune. No one seems to find this odd, except the 32 muzungus on stage. This didn’t seem like something we should be prepared for?!

I turn again to the same girl as earlier and say, “There is no foreseeable way that this can be made ok.” She just nods her head, half listening, still trying to make sense of what we have been led into. I was angry that the program had once again led us into a place of distress and severity with no more qualification for our being there than the fact that we hold U.S. passports. Already, I had been questioning why we should even be allowed to speak to prisoners when we are development studies students, not peace and conflict. But we were not only getting privileged access, we were honorary guests privileged to a special presentation.

After a few words from the head of the prison, eight men wearing traditional warrior outfits complete with spear, dance into the room to the beat of drums. They are clearly very experienced and they seem to be really enjoying the opportunity to share their talent. The faces of the prisoners in the audience are too generic to glean any emotion. A second speaker gives his “testimonial,” which consists of admitting his guilt in facilitating and partaking in the genocide and expressing his regret. This brief and generic guilty plea is followed promptly by a modern dance group. After the speaker seemed to brush aside such a horrendous atrocity with a few choice words, the performance of a few men about my age dancing in such a familiar style helped to alleviate some of my stress and anxiety about the situation. The people in front of us were no longer murderers, they were just...people. Since I could not distinguish between the varying levels of guilt, it was as if they were all the least horrible factor: innocent until proven guilty, right?

Other people in my group were not so quick to forget an forgive. We had, after all, just come from a horribly emotional memorial of the genocide to being asked to dance with possible perpetrators of that genocide. For me, I think I was ready to join with Rwanda in the reconciliation stage. My past exposure to the genocide had allowed me to go through the stages of grief, the final one perhaps being my breakdown during Sometimes in April. The most enlightening stage was my African studies course with Beth Dougherty my sophomore year. We studied the conflicts of Sierra Leone, Liberia, Angola, the Congo, Somalia, Eritrea & Ethiopia, as well as Rwanda. From the beginning Beth instilled in us a unique understanding of the actors in these atrocities. It was explained that the perpetrators of these genocide were not animalistic, freaks completely removed from ourselves, they were victims of their situation. We were brought to the realization that had we been in the same situation, we do not know that we would have acted any differently. It is impossible to know if one would or would not submit to authority or mob mentality till they are in the situation. Looking out at the prisoners before me, I could not feel anything besides pity and sorrow. There was a sense of relief when I was brought out on the floor to dance. It was a very literal way to connect with the people and to remove ourselves from the falsely elevated status.

After the dance party, we were led to a small room across the prison courtyard to speak with the head of the prison. The Tutsi woman stood before us confident and proud. After a briefing on the prison, she told us that she was a survivor of the 1994 genocide; looking at the deep scar above her right eye, I wondered just what that entailed. She related her initial hatred and bloodlust for the Hutus who were responsible for the genocide. In 1996, she came to work for the prison. As she worked with perpetrators of the genocide, the realization slowly grew that revenge would bring no solace and would only perpetuate the cycle hatred and anguish. Forgiveness and reconciliation is the only option for Rwanda’s future. And that is what we had just partaken in. If this woman could forgive the people responsible for the slaughter of her loved ones, who was I to judge?

And that was the second time I cried. Twice in one week, definitely a record for me. Here was a prison system that was actually based on rehabilitation and reconciliation, at least from what we heard and saw. In the U.S. convicts too often come out much worse than when they went in, many to become repeat offenders. Our “justice” system is based on punishment, which surely only harms our society in the long run. Though there are still rumors of discrimination and animosity between Hutus and Tutsis, from what I saw of Kigali and the prison, there is hope for Rwanda.