Justice on the Grass: Three Rwandan Journalists, Their Trial for War Crimes, and a Nation's Quest for Redemption.

Justice on the Grass: Three Rwandan Journalists, Their Trial for War Crimes, and a Nation's Quest for Redemption

Dina Temple-Raston Free Press www.simonsays.com 302 pp., $25

Who is responsible for genocide? Can the blame extend beyond those who held the guns, wielded the knives, or committed the rapes? Can we hold accountable members of the media who incited their audience to violence by preaching hatred, suspicion, and self-preservation at all costs?

Prize-winning journalist Dina Temple-Raston explores these questions in her in-depth look at one case before the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, established by the United Nations Security Council to prosecute those responsible for the 1994 genocide. The trial examined how the acts of three Rwandan journalists--Ferdinand Nahimana, Jean-Bosco Barayagwiza, and Hassan Ngeze--contributed to the slaughter.

Like all ethnic strife, Rwanda's is rooted in history. The country has been torn by violence between its two largest tribes, the Hutu and the Tutsi, since the 14th century, when the Tutsi--tall and fairer-skinned--moved into the region already occupied by the stockier, darker-skinned Hutu. The next century, the Tutsi conquered the Hutu and established a kingdom near Kigali and expanded it to eventually include the area of present-day Rwanda. In the first half of the 20th century, with the country under German and then Belgian control, the Tutsi enjoyed educational, economic, and political rights not afforded the Hutu.

Between 1959 and 1962, in an effort to quell ethnic violence that was beginning to stir, the Belgians put more Hutu in the government and allowed them to run in local elections. Rwanda ended the Tutsi monarchy and set up an independent republic in 1962. Many Tutsi fled the country to escape reprisals by the now Hutu-controlled government. The country saw years of sporadic civil wars and ethnic violence--committed mainly by Hutu against Tutsi.

By the early 1990s, an organized Tutsi militia based in Uganda called the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) was making small incursions into Rwanda. In response, the government formed local Hutu militias called Interahamwe, meaning "those who fight together." When Rwandan President Juvenal Habyarimana's plane was shot down near Kigali International Airport in April 1994, Hutu extremists immediately claimed--wrongly--that Tutsi rebels were responsible for the attacks and were preparing to invade the country.

The wave of killings began. Thousands of Interahamwe moved across the country, slaughtering Tutsi and moderate Hutu suspected of supporting the RPF. Tutsi women were raped by the thousands, allegedly as both a terror campaign and an effort to breed the tribe out of existence.

The RPF moved troops into the country (a few hundred were already stationed in Kigali under terms of the so-called Arusha Accords, negotiated earlier by international peacekeepers) and captured the capital in mid-July, ending the violence. The RPF set up an interim government with a Hutu president, Pasteur Bizimungu, and Tutsi vice president, Paul Kagame, an early leader of the RPF and the country's current president.

The slaughter was devastatingly efficient. After just four days of violence, the Red Cross estimated that tens of thousands had been killed. In one town, Kibuye, there were 250,000 Tutsi in March 1994; after the violence, authorities could find only 8,000. Of the country's whole population, 1 in 10 was killed in 100 days. Amnesty International puts the total number killed at 1 million.

Who can be held responsible for such extensive violence? The Interahamwe did most of the killing, but the ethnic division and open hostility saturated the Hutu population and the government.

As of March 2005, the UN criminal tribunal had tried 23 defendants (20 convicted, 3 acquitted, most still on appeal), 17 cases awaited trial, and 25 others were pending. But the media case that Temple-Raston examines is particularly interesting because the defendants were not military, or even government, leaders.

Before the genocide, Ferdinand Nahimana was a history professor at the University of Rwanda--his "new history" focused on "overlooked contributions" of Hutu to Rwandan culture--and a broadcaster on the government-sponsored Radio Rwanda. He was removed from the air after broadcasting false reports that Tutsi rebels were responsible for a series of killings in a small village and urging listeners to fight the RPF and its supporters. Soon thereafter, Interahamwe militia and presidential guard members killed nearly 200 Tutsi and moderate Hutu in the village. Nearly 15,000 people disappeared. The incident was later called a dress rehearsal for the genocide.

Taken off the air, Nahimana recruited partners to found a new station: RTML. He was joined by co-defendant Barayagwiza, founder of the extremist Hutu political party CDR (Coalition for the Defense of the Republic).

One of the first private radio stations in Rwanda, RTML began broadcasting in summer 1993 and became known as "Radio Hate" for its anti-Tutsi rhetoric. RTML was the first to report the downing of the president's plane, and it immediately claimed that Tutsi rebels were responsible.

The third defendant, Ngeze, started publishing a newspaper called Kangura, which means "wake it up," in May 1990. It regularly featured cartoons spoofing Tutsi and unsigned editorials claiming the Tutsi intended to take over the government. He was arrested twice for violating Rwanda's media rules prohibiting "divisionism."

In January 1994, Ngeze printed an article claiming the RPF was planning a major offensive. The Arusha Accords were going to allow the RPF to post 600 troops at the presidential barracks to protect Tutsi who were joining the government, but Kangura claimed the RPF was planning to send 3,000 troops and take over the government. There was no proof this story was true--and because the situation was being monitored by the United Nations, it was highly unlikely--but many readers believed it. More articles followed calling for opposition to the RPF. Kangura's last issue was published in February 1994, two months before the violence began, but back issues of the paper continued to circulate.

At the trial, prosecutors insisted that the three defendants' media reports helped incite the genocide. The tribunal found that "speech that was 'align [ed] with state power rather than in opposition to it' deserved less protection and warranted more restriction and scrutiny." All three men were convicted of genocide, direct and public incitement to commit genocide, conspiracy to commit genocide, and crimes against humanity. They were sentenced to life in prison, though Barayagwiza's sentence was reduced because of rights violations during his early imprisonment. The verdicts have been appealed.

After hearing the horrible story of the violence, my first reaction was approval of the verdicts, followed closely by concern for press freedom. Temple-Raston notes that some observers said that the highlights of RTML broadcasts used as evidence in the trial were so inflammatory that they probably would have violated U.S. law, even with our extensive free-speech protections. However, others were concerned that this hard case had led to bad law. The International Criminal Court relied on the case in creating its definition of "incitement to genocide" and standards for freedom of the press.

Overall, the book is an excellent read. It bogs down a bit when Temple-Raston discusses the early procedural aspects of the trial. The chapter on the verdicts is also tedious (apparently, so was the tribunal's written opinion), but I was glad I kept pushing through those sections. The author does an excellent job weaving in stories of real people--not just the defendants, but also victims of the violence and observers of the trial. Interesting appendices describe where various players are now and list Temple-Raston's sources of information.

Despite the author's excellent research and fine writing, this is a difficult book to read. Like the films Schindler's List and Hotel Rwanda, Justice on the Grass may leave its audience richer for the experience of hearing the tale, but it takes a high emotional toll.

Is Rwanda healing? Consider, the author says, a memorial to the genocide victims that Kagame's government installed in 1998: "a great eruption of concrete block with a hand holding a machete aloft seemingly glued on top." It was meant to signal the impending reconciliation. The day after the dedication, the machete was knocked off. By 2002, the government had replaced the machete four times. The wounds are still raw.

SARA HOFFMAN JURAND is an associate editor of TRIAL.