straightening the piles

Today I did something that I'm not proud of. But something important and I believe reflects the necessity of my parting with Rwanda. As I explained in a previous post, there are words that are not spoken or used in any context in Rwanda. Ethnicity for one.

I get fairly fired up when it comes to freedom of speech when it is related to the oppression of vulnerable populations. In the least condescending intention possible, I would consider genocide survivors to be a vulnerable population. Because 1. they have been subjected to extreme discrimination in the past and 2. currently, survivors are under represented in the group of people making decisions for them.

My previous rant about a coworker's refusal to highlight the manipulation of power at the district level was one instance of my inability to tolerate the censorship the Rwandan government has come to be at least somewhat known for. My inability to stay quiet when witnessing or identifying a violation of a person's rights is also ingrained in my character. It's more of a compulsion. Similar to straightening card piles when playing SkipBo. I have very little control.

But lately when playing SkipBo, I have been able to stop straightening the piles. Mostly because my efforts are fruitless and time consuming and also because it is silly to do when a mildly sloppy pile is not really doing any harm. So I keep playing and respect my opponents disregard for the state of our card piles. I'd say this is progress.

What is not progress is that I have stopped straightening the piles at work. What made me angry I have learned to negotiate with. I did not even lose my composure when a fellow member of the research team trivialized the fear of survivors living next door to perpetrators, probably related to the manic stress the government places on what they define as reconciliation. And at times the perpetrators were directly connected to the murder of the survivor's family or friends. Of course survivors are afraid. It would be insane for them not to be. Why didn't I say something?

A large part of me is afraid that my perception of the situation is too influenced by my own experiences, power, privilege, and societal norms to comment. But should fear and difference keep me from engaging in conversation? I really do hope not. Because maybe there are battles I should lose when it comes to censorship. In this case though I think the victory lies in the exchange of ideas.

The past few months have changed me. I don't think I can process everything I have taken in and the questions that I now have while entrenched in a cultural I will never be a part of or completely understand. The best I can do is find some sense in all of it.

Or maybe that is just my ethnocentrism showing.