I met my friend at the home where her mother had raised her. The same home she was forced to flee during the genocide. And now, eleven years after an astounding three hundred thirty members of her family were murdered, it is the home she has dedicated the past few years to rebuilding. To visit her there was an honor.

We walked down an orange-dirt road streaked with mud from the rainy season, rounded a corner and started down a hill toward a gathering of people. Far below us was a vast grassy patch and beyond that more hills. By the time we reached the site, chairs were being placed to form a circle, tables were being carried in for the judges and neighbors were beginning to gather and chatter.

As guests, we were given seats in the relative shade. This was a relief, while at the same time somewhat embarrassing. Even during the rainy season, it is hot in Rwanda’s sun, and to have a seat when most of the community is standing felt uncomfortable. Providing a seat for guests, however, comes from a deep tradition of generosity.

I sat next to the judges who were sitting at small desks. They each had their notebooks out and their pens ready. At one end of the circle a group of older women had gathered. They periodically whispered to each other, leaned in to look at what was happening, and struggled to shield themselves from the sun. On the other side of the circle, most of the community was gathered. This included teenagers, men, women, the very old, the obviously sick, babies; in short, the community.

This neighborhood happens to have a relatively large Muslim population, so there were many people wearing caftans, hijabs, and kufis. Interestingly enough, as a friend reported to me, the Muslim community often played a role of resistance during the genocide.

Once the crowd had gathered, two men came forward and began to explain the rules of the gathering. They told us all that currently, this gacaca was focusing on developing various lists of names: names of victims, names of perpetrators who were at roadblocks or various meetings, etc. The next phase of the gacaca would be for discussion regarding particular crimes and accusations.

While discussing the community’s victims, the participatory nature of the process became clear. Various community members would call out a name and there would be some discussion of that person. The judges would capture the names in their notebooks. When the list-making turned to those people involved in the road blocks (and the killing) the atmosphere felt more tense and guarded.

At one point, someone pointed to a young man in the crowd and said he was part of a roadblock. He came forward to say that he was not, offering instead the names of some he claimed were there. My friend gestured to me wildly. She said this young man was involved in the killing of her nephew. She wondered what to do. Should she speak up now to alert the judges? What if he and his friends retaliate? She decided to speak up, but did so by asking a question of the young man concerning his whereabouts that day. His answer made it clear that he was lying. And the responses of some community members showed that many people thought he was guilty of crimes related to the genocide. My friend sat down content that the issue was on the table, while anxious about having spoken up publicly.

No matter how deeply the events of 1994 may be seared into the memories of Rwandans, the simple fact is that trying to reconstruct a history that took place more than a decade before is hard work and inexact. Still, as I witnessed today, the community seems dedicated to the task and to the idea that the gacaca was a necessary step in transitioning to a more stable and reconciled society.

My friend is worried about retaliation and worn out by the focus on the genocide—and all of the bad memories it raised. Still, she has chosen to remain in Rwanda and to return to the home of her childhood.¹

• In your journal, define the words justice and reconciliation. For justice to have a lasting effect on a society trying to heal and rebuild itself after genocide, must it go hand-in-hand with reconciliation? In what ways does gacaca lead to both justice and reconciliation? Could facing the past in this way actually inspire divisiveness instead of reconciliation?
  
  
• Traditionally, gacaca was used to mediate lesser conflicts within communities, such as the theft of a neighbor’s cow, or disputes over farmland. Attempting to resolve genocide-related crimes is a very different way of using gacaca, and there are different factors to consider, including personal safety. Murphy’s friend is “worried about retaliation“ if she speaks out during gacaca proceedings. What aspects of gacaca ensure the safety of community members? What aspects jeopardize their safety?
  
  
• Imagine if the community in which you live were to use gacaca as a way of settling disputes and conflicts among neighbors. Do you think it could work? What are some of the obstacles you might foresee? What aspects of your community might work well with gacaca?
  
  Every neighborhood has its own distinct “personality.” The types of people who choose to live there, the industries found in or around that neighborhood, and the landscape are just a few factors that make up a neighborhood’s unique identity. Think about some of the neighborhoods around you. How might gacaca play out in those communities?