Memo from the United Nations

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/23/world/23nation.html

When to Step In to Stop War Crimes Causes Fissures
By NEIL MacFARQUHAR

UNITED NATIONS — On the face of it, a commitment by all United Nations member states to reach an understanding on how the world body should intervene to stop genocide, war crimes, crimes against humanity and ethnic cleansing would not seem like a major stretch.

But the debate scheduled in the General Assembly for Thursday over the concept, known as “the responsibility to protect,” is producing rancor before it even begins. So much, in fact, that instead of figuring out how to enforce the doctrine, the General Assembly could end up debating the policy’s validity all over again, even though about 150 world leaders already endorsed it in 2005.

Ban Ki-moon, the secretary general, tried to set the tone with a speech on Tuesday. Citing his visits to the memorials for 800,000 dead in Rwanda, Mr. Ban said the United Nations had the unique ability to save lives by intervening to stop mass civilian deaths.

“It is high time to turn the promise of the responsibility to protect into practice,” Mr. Ban said, warning against those seeking to reopen the entire debate. “Resist those who try to change the subject or turn our common effort to curb the worst atrocities in human history into a struggle over ideology, geography or economics,” Mr. Ban added. “What do they offer to the victims of mass violence? Rancor instead of substance, rhetoric instead of policy, despair instead of hope.”

Mr. Ban may not have singled anyone out, but it seemed a not-so-subtle reference to the Rev. Miguel D’Escoto Brockmann, the Nicaraguan president of the General Assembly and a Catholic priest, who issued a position paper last week that created an uproar.

His “Concept Note” suggested that responsibility to protect was redecorated colonialism, and that the true means to eliminate genocide and similar scourges included world financial reform, Security Council reform and drawing a lesson from Jesus.

“Jesus’ emphasis on redistribution of wealth to the poor and on nonviolence reinforces the right perspective on responsibility to protect,” his note said.

Father D’Escoto scheduled a panel discussion before the General Assembly debate featuring speakers like Noam Chomsky, the American academic whose critique of “humanitarian imperialism” discussed the doctrine. Much of the opposition to the doctrine on Thursday is expected to come from traditional opponents of American foreign policy like Cuba, Venezuela and Iran.

While Father D’Escoto has supporters, many delegations reacted with the usual combination of outrage and derision that Father D’Escoto, a former Sandinista foreign minister, has a habit of provoking. The ambassador of one Latin American state said it was shocking that a priest was putting ideological and political visions ahead of human suffering. Peter Maurer, the Swiss ambassador, put it more bluntly, saying, “A priest should know that certain things are better kept to your heart.”

Father D’Escoto’s spokesman, Enrique Yeves, said the president was being unfairly criticized. “The only thing he is doing is calling for a debate on this issue, which is very pertinent,” Mr. Yeves said.

Even without the General Assembly president, the topic — shortened in United Nations-speak to “R2P” — was a hard-fought one. Many developing countries harbor suspicions that the doctrine is merely a Trojan horse for foreign meddling in their domestic affairs. Attempts to slap the label on various crises only deepened those suspicions. As prime minister of Britain, Tony Blair briefly used it as retroactive justification for invading Iraq. France tried to deploy it as the prescription for forcibly delivering aid to Cyclone Nargis victims in Myanmar in 2008. Russia cited it as its tanks rolled into South Ossetia last summer.

Edward C. Luck, whom Mr. Ban appointed his special adviser on the topic but the General Assembly refused to pay, wrote a report this year that divided the concept into three pillars: that all states must protect their populations from atrocities; that the United Nations and other institutions can help countries failing in this duty; and that the international community must react in a series of steps when a large number of civilians are at risk, with military intervention the final response. The fight swirls around that last point, when military intervention might be justified and whether that can be codified into law. “The problem with all of this is the one-dimensional perception that R2P is only about military coercion,” said Gareth Evans, a former Australian foreign minister.

Delegates from African organizations have come to argue that R2P is not just a Western tool. Other proponents hope the debate will inch the discussion toward practical steps on how R2P can be made operational. But some worry that the more it is debated, the less consensus will emerge.

The Bush administration disliked the doctrine on the ground that it might tie American hands in foreign policy decisions, but President Obama basically supports it.

Susan Rice, the American ambassador to the United Nations, often speaks about how the failure to intercede in Rwanda while she was a top Clinton administration official in Africa is a low point in American foreign policy and her personal career. In a speech last month in Vienna, Ms. Rice acknowledged that the doctrine had been abused in conflicts like Iraq, but argued for the responsibility “to respond to the worst outrages.”

“We know there will be more perpetrators,” she said. “We know there will be more victims. But we must work to ensure that there will also be more justice and fewer and fewer bystanders.”

Know a True Patriot?

July 4, 2009 - American Independence Day and Rwandan Liberation Day

For clarification, Rwandan Liberation Day need not be confused with Rwandan Independence Day (July 1st). Liberation Day marks the end of the 1994 genocide. According to a some of my co-workers, now it is also celebrated/remembered as a continuing unified struggle for wealth creation, health, greater political strength through unity and reconciliation, etc. Therefore, it was a day of wide celebration in Rwanda - everyone could find cause to celebrate somehow.

For me, it was somewhat of a strange day - one of my nation's greatest holidays celebrated in a foreign country at the US embassy with the largest single crowd of muzungus I have seen in a long while (excluding perhaps Quita Izina). While this could perhaps be said of 4th of July celebrations in general, the embassy event made the forced sense of patriotism seem more cheesy. I was far less intoxicated by the whole environment than I ordinarily am. I am not sure whether that is a result of generally impatience with such (generally) insincere gestures, environmental factors (both recent and academic) making me think more critically about America, or something else entirely. I certainly would not call myself anti-America, but I am also not "Woo , yay USA! We're the best!"

Having been here for some time, I actually knew a fair number of people at the event, which was refreshing, as opposed to being a newcomer and stranger. Also, the sight of the Tennessee flag brought an unexpectedly high amount of joy. I actually shouted with glee - all my friends thought I was mental - but I guess I was just happy to have a tangible reminder of home. To people here, Tennessee is such an obscure place. Where is Tennessee? Memphis? Elvis does not even ring any bells. I feel like an alien sometimes. Therefore, seeing my flag proudly waving on the embassy's lawn somehow was a justification of the legitimacy and significance of my roots. Strange but true. I felt more homesick looking at the flag than I think I had the entire trip.

However, some reminders of America were not so pleasant. At the bar (not free), one woman, probably mid-fifties, was trying to get the marine/bartender's attention - he was Latino. She tapped her hand on the bar a few times and said, "Mi amigo favorito," and ten turned to me and said "He can't even hear me," when he had not responded to her. I thought to myself (though probably should have said), "No, he is just ignoring you on account of your ignorant and derogatory remark."

The ambassador made an appearance, looking the very most textbook definition of a politician: kind of tan, greased-back hair, great smile, somewhat pudgey, etc. He read a speech no doubt published to all embassies or something of the sort. It was intended to be inspirational and "Oh the great American spirit," but it was just blah cheesy (which I guessI should expect and not concern myself with), particularly because he read it and more particularly considering the overly dramatic way in which he read it.

Noting all of the above, I am glad I went to the event and somehow celebrated the 4th in Rwanda. It was a very interesting experience to have catalogued in this life.

Crimson Tide Comrade

My "partner in crime" Sarah Stern arrived in town to spend her last weekend in Rwanda in Kigali with me. Of course we spent the time doing her favorite things in our favorite places and had a fabulous time in the process. A few interesting things to note during her visit:

- Moto rides from hell - Generally speaking, I have become very comfortable with the motos (motorcycle taxis) and enjoy them frequently as a means of transportation; however, Sarah and I had two particularly negative experiences.

1) I have seen motos zip in and out of traffic, zooming by with little regard to present cars, but I have never personally experienced such a horror...until now. I really thought I was going to die but was unsure of the best way to handle the situation. Tapping or yelling at the driver may distract him and cause him to wreck, so I simply occasionally screamed an expletive that carried no meaning to the driver but brought me some relief until the ride concluded.

2) On the way home from the Neon Lounge - as we call it - at about 11 p.m., it was very chilly and sprinkling. Neither Sarah nor I had jackets. My moto driver did not even provide me a helmet. Therefore, by the time I arrived at the house, my clothes were soaked, I was thoroughly shivering, and I had been "crying" on myself all the way home on account of the cold wind on my face.

- One of Sarah's final responsibilities at Sonrise School was leading a "girls' talk" about relationships with the secondary school girls. She was nervous about doing so, since apparently rumors had been circulating about the school that she was pregnant (her stomach was somewhat distended as a result of an infection or something). But Sarah told me the talk was quite a success, with the girls appreciating any sort of emotional guidance. Many are orphans, and the others rarely see their parents. They asked simple, reasonable questions:

Is kissing a sin? Is my boyfriend cheating on me? How do I know if I am being unreasonably jealous?

It was endearing to hear such sincere, honest questions yet frustrating that they had no model to already have taught them about relationships.

- Here, as in Ghana, begging is frowned upon. Yet, I have encountered it much more frequently here, though perhaps only because of the places and ways that I travel (spending much time downtown and walking frequently). During the day but especially at night, children and the disabled come out and patrol the sidewalk asking people for money. I have become completely callous to this now, ignoring their efforts or firming telling them, "No," without the slightest pause or guilt. No Rwandan seems to take pity on them (President Kagame certainly does not). Instead, they are working in some way to provide for themselves. Why should I feed an insatiable appetite?

- According to Sarah, connection to Bishop John Rucyahana provides a cloack of protection - regardless of the distance of the connection. According to locals, her affiliation with Sonrise prevented anyone from considering robbing the B2R house, cheating her in bargaining, etc. Bishop John is that revered and respected as both a community and national leader. People think it would shame them and their families to wrong Bishop John and those connected to him. It is interesting to note the degree of admiration for this man's work, altering behavior so clearly to reflect such.

Briefing on Venezuela

Venezuela tells oil workers: join socialist groups
http://www.reuters.com/article/worldNews/idUSTRE56D7ER20090714


Chavez opponents to meet with OAS chief
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5iVJIehVY5iuGJq_RpSoqYgyIh1DQD99DUCNO0

a little milk

So many of you who actually read this with some diligence and attention have asked me about my new blog site name - as opposed to the very original jaclyn714barnhart name. Allow me to explain.

1. Here in Rwanda, as I would imagine elsewhere in the developing world, milk is common enough, but anything other than whole milk is a rare commodity. While some of you out there enjoy this almost straight-from-the-animal fluid, I am not among you. I prefer skim milk. In truth, I am not much of a milk fan - I was allergic to milk when I was born. But in Rwanda, there are various things with milk in them that I thoroughly enjoy, such as African tea: tea (generally Rwandan black tea) milk, ginger, perhaps a bit of nutmeg, and a lot of deliciousness. So I have been consuming a ton of whole milk in my tea and coffee, not to the pleasure of my stomach of waistline.

2. This second reason requires a bit of foundation. On one of my favorite television shows, there is a memorable conversation between a main character and her current boyfriend. They come from different cultures - she is American; he is Russian. She has just discovered that her bestfriend has been diagnosed with cancer, and he, trying to be empathetic, says his friend died of cancer. Obviously, he comes off like an insensitive jerk. They argue until they realize they are simply suffering from a communication barrier due to a cultural misunderstanding. She then says, "I guess I just need to take my relationship with a little milk," meaning sometimes you need something to soften the blows; otherwise the harshness and bitterness of it all may be a little too much.

Such an idea seemed very fitting for me (and for everyone). Life is hard. Sometimes at the end of the day, you feel tired and defeated and wonder why we're here and what your struggles are worth. You need a little milk to temper it all and let you know you can and it's worth it. So two questions - what's your milk, and what's its origin?

Milk can have a number of consistencies - from very light to heavy. For me, milk can be both an activity that makes me feel most like myself or an idea to fully support, regardless of the idealist nature of it. For example, in Rwanda some of the things that have highlighed my time here are milk things:

- attending the Rwanda Film Festival
- salsa dancing at Pasadena
- discovering that I deemed valuable at UOB, regardless of what I view my niche to be

The Rwanda Film Festival featured a number of engaging, provocative documentaries in a number of languages about a variety of topics. Often the filmmaker was present to answer questions afterwards. Those of you who know me well know I have no qualms about attending movies alone - and so I did. I resolutely wanted to watch these movies with or without company and had a great time alone. One of the films was about albinism in East Africa - What is albinism? How do others perceive albinos and their condition? Do albinos consider themselves disadvantaged or disabled? What do they consider their identity? It was fascinating. I met the filmmaker and bought the dvd - awesome souvenir.

Since I discovered Pasadena, I have made a deliberate effort to go salsa dancing every week. I have established myself there as a "really good dancer" regardless of my muzungu appearance. I dance as much as possible and love every minute of it, completely unaware of the damage I am doing to my feet. Not expecting such dance opportunities here (and packing under tight restrictions), I did not bring my dance shoes to Africa but was forced to buy some cheap though surprisingly cute shoes when the chance arose. They are not ideal by any means, but they are shoes. I can dance in them. Side note on shoe shopping here: Shoes are not available row after row. While the store may have a rather wide selection of models, they only have a few sizes available in each model. You may want a smaller size, but too bad. That's all they have.

At Pasadena, there is a small dance floor in the middle of a bar/restaurant which is illuminated with a few spotlights. Everyone in the restaurant sits around with their chairs directed toward the dance floor to watch the dancing. Ordinarily, I would be far too nervous to dance under these conditions, but I hadn't danced in over a month. And again, those of you who know me at all know that dancing is milk to me. A light milk, but milk in any form can impart significant changes on one's life. Dancing here is remarkable to me because I let go of my worries about what others may think of my dancing and of my technique to an extent - and simply have fun. I hope this continues upon my return. Of course I have my favorite partners - Crazy Jimmy from Congo and Cesar from Venezuela. Not only are they good leaders with awesome moves, but they also want you to have fun and are really into whatever they are doing.

Like a Barnhart, I enjoy being busy and knowing that what I am doing has a meaningful purpose. Therefore, I am happiest at UOB when I know this is the case. Regardless of whether what I am doing seems earth-shattering to me, I have realized the work I am doing is very meaningful to others at UOB who sincerely appreciate my efforts. That is perhaps cream.

But all these thoughts about my sources of milk got me thinking about hope in general? I would generally consider myself an optimist for better or worse. I was talking to Cesar, another optimist, the other night about the state of affairs in the world. We both decided that we prefer to be optimists, though much of the time we cannot account for why we are such. Why do I have hope? Perhaps it's only because I cannot imagine living without it. Life must have milk. Why question its bountiful production?

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you these urgent messages...

Sorry to break the flow of our Rwanda journal adventure, but I must relate this to you. I have regretted my sorry degree of news-awareness and thirst for news for some time and have sought to remedy this. In in effort to do so (and to appeal to my largely news-hungry audience), I posted a news-feed corresponding to some of my areas of interest. This has encouraged me to read up frequently - especially as work has been slow lately (that is something I will explain later). So, to the point. Please read the following stories - they are generally short but extremely interesting and thought-provoking.

UK plans new powers on genocide:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/politics/8139045.stm

Clashes in China shed light on ethnic divide:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/08/world/asia/08china.html?_r=1&ref=world

Team monitoring diamond trade rebukes Zimbabwe:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/08/world/africa/08zimbabwe.html?ref=world

Rwanda leader urges G8 to consult poor nations more:
http://af.reuters.com/article/topNews/idAFJOE5650G920090706

Bolivia: President denounces Obama over trade:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/02/world/americas/02briefs-boliviatrade.html?_r=2&ref=americas

Mull those over, and get back to me.

Proudly Earned Stains

June 27, 2009 - Umuganda
Umuganda is mandatory, nation-wide community service that occurs once a month on the last Saturday of each month, starting at 8 a.m. Following the few hours of service, everyone listens to a lecture of sorts on the chosen theme of that month's umuganda (e.g. May's theme: customer care). Literally everyone (even the president) is required to participate - if you are caught out of your house not working, you can be fined or even jailed.

This particular day a team from UOB had semi-organized to meet at the home office to leave at 7:30 a.m. for our soon-to-open Nyamata branch to perform Umuganda service there. I hoped to make it, set my alarm, but was not fully committed to the idea. Luckily, I not only woke up but in fact made it to the bank on-time, despite transportation difficulties (on account of Umuganda). Once I arrived, we immediately piled into three cars - Ross's, Faustin's, and Jeffrey's - and left, also picking up a few more UOB employees on the way. I was nervous we would be stopped en route, as the roads are to be closed at 8:00 a.m. and the drive to Nyamata generally takes 45 minutes. Apparently, Jeffrey's skin color gave him a pass; people began to suggest I should sit in Faustin's passenger seat to ease his passage at police check points. Discrimination at its finest.

We did manage to make it to our destination, though with some effort and much confusion. In arriving at our work location, we were forced to drive through a small village and down a rather long, narrow dirt road lined on either side by people walking to the same place to which we were headed to work. Our driving past them, pasrticularly with much speed, threw dust into the air and therefore all over them (as Rwanda is currently in its dry season). Ross seemed oblivious to this fact, for he sped past them with little regard for the inconsideration he was displaying. Generally, I highly respect Ross's no-nonsense attitude, as he has been my greatest ally at UOB and often allowed me regain hope and sanity, but this is one example of such single-mindedness for results and timeliness producing negative consequences, even unintentionally. An excellent lesson for me.

When the work began, I was unsure how to make myself useful. I, as at other UOB events, had been designated as cameraperson, so I began by simply awkwardly, though purposefully, walking around, documenting activity. However, I was sensitive to the fact that the role I chose to play would be observed and scrutinized by all there - UOB employees and community members alike. Therefore, I felt compelled - both to uphold and celebrate the spirit of Umuganda and to impart a positive impression upon this community of my work ethic and all they associate with me - to work diligently. And with that resolution, I was off.

I took up a hoe - a rather "my-sized" hoe - and took a swing. My attempt at hoeing, having never before handled a hoe, was laughable (literally), and people were not shy about laughing at me - the muzungu with a hoe. I did not laugh. They were indeed laughing AT me. While I was resolved to serve, there were other opportunities for me to so without making myself ridiculous, so I took my hoe and used it for a different purpose, clearing land and turning up the top soil. I became adept at uprooting plant and developed a sort of audience, cheering section, and judging panel. Everything the muzungu did was interesting or strange or somehow note-worthy. Others were preparing the mud and grass to be made into bricks and others making the bricks: pouring the mud into the water-coated wooden frames; pushing it down to make the brick firm, sturdy, and compact; and slowly removing the frame. Man has made brick.

After watching the process a few times, I began making bricks mysef. Withba (a fellow UOB employee - one I would actually call my comrade) and I had a sort of cooperative system, and together we made 24 bricks. Locals seemed to be competing with me in terms of brick-making speed, appearance, etc. I may not have been the fastest brick-maker, but my bricks were very compact and straight; therefore, they/I became the subject of much controversy. Apparently, some people thought my bricks were outstanding - looked great and would prove very sturdy - while others thought they would crumble - too straight and too compact. However, one man standing by in this debate vouched for the quality of my bricks, saying he works in construction and my bricks were very good. Of course all of this was relayed to me by Withba.

Regardless of my bricks' quality, everyone seemed surprised/impressed by my diligence - reflected by my mud-covered appearance. I am glad to have shown that a muzungu is not afraid to get her hands (and general person) dirty.