Peace and Reconciliation in Rwanda

As I sat on the couch, blindly staring at the television screen, a visiting friend asked me whether I was tired enough to visit a neighborhood bar for a few drinks. At first, my aching body drove me to turn down the offer. The previous day's excursion to participate in one of the biggest political rallies of the year had left my already worn-out body in dire need for recuperation. However, the fact that I hadn't stepped an inch outside made me reconsider and viewed it as an opportunity to get some much needed stretching.

The bar was sparsely populated as we sat down and ordered a round of brew. As soon as it seeped into our brains, we began to talk about the political situation in our homeland, Rwanda. What exactly could we do to help?

In the past, I have been approached to be part of several political parties, but I turned the offers down because of my personal conviction of not belonging to any particular political party. I believe we don't understand their meaning or purpose, so we see them as opportunities to advance our own greedy personal agendas. He offered me a chance to start a political party, and my brain, souped up as it was, still rejected the idea.

My reasons for not belonging in any one political party stem from the fact that taking care of the party would divert attention from taking care of the needs of the country as a whole. We already have other things such as jobs, family, health, and such that take our time from addressing the needs of the people. Party meetings, rallies, fundraisers, and such would take away from time that we could use to help the country. What if instead of calling a rally for the RPF we could call a rally for all Rwandans so that everyone can come to the rally and see what their leaders have to tell them about their progress??? What if the colors people wore to the rally were those of Rwanda and not of a particular party such as PL or PSD??? What if the signs the people carried spoke of their allegiance to the country and not just singing the praises of a particular party???

My goal, as is the goal of my Rwandans I have spoken to, is to establish a system that views everyone as important and equally-deserving of the fruits of the country's development. Everyone has a hand to play. My friend mentioned that all parties have to be given a place in the government. That's true, but we have to give someone a place at the head table based on their ideas and potential to help the country move forward, not just because they're at the head of a political party. 

If you want to make a difference, come forward as a Rwandan and state your case. Let's talk about your plan, give you a chance to explain yourself and, also, a chance to explain our positions. Then we can reach a compromise that will have the most benefit for the country and not just any particular segment of the population. 

He told me it wasn't feasible...wasn't something likely to work because success requires precise organization that a political party can offer. I pointed out that great organization does not require a political party, but rather a will to see one's convictions realized. 

Rwanda needs its citizens to work together and not continue to partition themselves amongst political parties. We need to come together and find solutions by brainstorming and striving to put our decisions into action. When things go bad, we shouldn't barricade ourselves behind labeled forts and throw missiles of insult and accusation at other camps rather than sitting down together and finding solutions to the wedges between use. 

A couple of hours later, as I sat on the same couch and pondered back upon our discussion in the bar, I realized that we still have a long way to go in Rwanda and the solution might not be as simple as I would love it to be. His reason for wanting to start a political party was that many Rwandans are extremists who only want to satisfy their own thirst for power without regard to the common citizen. We agreed about that. But, is the solution to continue to carve ourselves up much as the Europeans carved up Africa in Berlin? Are we to figure out the cure for our ailments by running away from our fellow Rwandans? 

What if we were to come together under an umbrella movement whose only requirement was that you were Rwandan and concerned about the well-being of the country? There would be organizational tiers, but not the morbid fanaticism that accompany political parties. We form a think tank that puts its decisions in action for the benefit of the people by inclusion, not exclusion. We put the people to work for their own advancement. We mobilize the country to work to fix its shortcomings, and not to the singular benefit of a particular demographic group. 

Only then, I believe, will we realize the peace and reconciliation that we so love to sing about. Only then will we be  united for a common cause...Rwanda!!!

Inspiration or Lack Thereof

I am finding it hard to focus creatively, weighed down by a cowardly feeling always lurking in the shadows beyond the reach of my understanding. Trading in the suffocating tranquility of upstate New York for the chaos of the concrete jungle and its ever-present noise has not been as beneficial as I first imagined. Day in and day out, I stare at my pens collecting dust and wonder what, if anything, I'm missing out from the world of the muses. I have stopped trying to find reason in my exclusion from their visits, though I find myself looking back at the days and nights they came to me in droves, each carrying a vision as unique as the tales they inspired.
Maybe one day they will return or, maybe, they have found another door whose hinges exhibit not the slightest spot of rust and whose hinges glide without complaint. I work hard at preventing myself from anger and frustration...from throwing in the towel and heading back East. I've bared my pride for picking, and my skin hangs on my bones like a dejected soul.
Soon - I hope sooner- they will come back with tales from lands further away. They shall tell of new faces, new heavens, and new hopes. They shall have new expectations, too, so I have to get better at transcribing what their eyes had beheld. Then, and only then...

Random Rant

Baltimore Inner Harbor and Downtown
view from on top Federal Hill

The world is full of beautiful people and it's easy to misjudge where to allocate your affection...there is mass confusion as throngs mistake lust for love and tears create trenches on disfigured cheeks...where once was beauty now lies experience as life, in its infinite giving, bestows upon the being the gift of sight...many- still- shun the gift and continue stumbling in the same rut, unable to escape the folly that grasps them with a soft, iron hold...whether that is faith or hope or a concoction of both, I don't know...but I certainly have been known to sit and stare, wondering what, if anything, I would do in such a situation...wondering what I did in that situation. 

The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein

While I was unpacking and setting up the office in my new apartment, I came across "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein. It took me back in time, standing in front of twenty pairs of anticipating six- and seven-year olds, wondering why I couldn't read the simple children's book without tears pooling in my own eyes.
The book is about a tree, a boy, and their relationship over time. It is about longing and desire, pain and selfless love. It is about giving every ounce of yourself and never losing sight of why you gave in the first place. But, it's also about realizing that, in the end, all the things you strive for might not hold as much promise as you put in them.
The tree, as the title implies, is a giving one, and it gave everything of itself from leaves to make a crown to fruit to eat to its trunk to make a boat for the boy to attempt to run away from his misfortune. Finally, however, the boy comes back a changed being. He wants nothing more from the tree- which is a stump now- but to sit and rest his weary bones. "'Well,' said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, 'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.' And the boy did. And the tree was happy."
So, what is it about this simple, children's book that makes it hard to read without lumps forming in one's throat? It might be that, as I sat looking at its words and pictures, I wondered back over my own life. Pursuing what I thought would make me happy, overlooking people I shouldn't be, and garnering possessions in hopes of reaching the plateau of happiness and success. I realized who the "giving" trees were in my life and how ashamedly-similar the boy's actions were to mine. Maybe- just maybe- that's why the book has such an impact on me...in it are painful lessons for me...lessons, but also a warning to pay more attention to those who matter most and reciprocate their selfless love.
Instead of storing the book on the bookshelf, I put it on my desk, there to always act as a reminder whenever I begin to sweat the small stuff. There to remind me that life shouldn't always be about taking...that the source of giving is more important than what is given. To remind me to cherish the source and not the gift.
The lessons of the story might have been lost on my young class, but, I'm sure, with time they, too, will come to understand. Until then, whenever I get a chance, I will read them the story in hopes that if any of them is ever at the same juncture in life as I am, the book's magic will work for them, too. Then I'll be happy.

An Opposition Focus in Rwanda

Rwanda has experienced some turmoil since the beginning of the year when presidential hopeful Ingabire Victoire Umuhoza returned to the country after 16 years in exile. In the wake of her return, events quickly unfolded that, so far at least, seem to have pulled back the curtain to expose the true intent of the regime in Kigali. Supporters of the regime switched from singing its praises and how it was a "beacon" in the region, to claiming that Rwanda needs action at the moment more than it needs democracy. As a result, Kagame is now seen as hogging power and more of a dictator than a democratically-elected leader.
Kagame is a man of many admirers and about as many critics. Yet, to all, it is clear that he is not interested in a conventional democracy. The opposition, and many foreign critics, have jumped on this fact and called for him to step down, either voluntarily or through elections, to allow for a more democracy-conducive atmosphere. However, if there is no Kagame, who can take the reins in Rwanda and prevent what could possibly rival the 1994 genocide and its bloodshed?
The key- and what the opposition should be focused on- is targeting the average citizen to change their mindset. Many in the middle and upper social classes have a lot of interest vested in the current regime that they don't want to, or are afraid to, see things change. The average citizen, poor and largely uneducated beyond a few years of primary school, is the pawn without which the game cannot be won.
In 1994, the majority of the killings were not carried out by the army, but by regular people. The people were conditioned by a system of hate and paranoia that they were able to be exploited to achieve ends beneficial to a few strongmen. This same system that conditions them in this way, also, allows for the creation of strongmen such as Kagame.
The only way to retain power in such a system is to divide the citizens and play them against each other through fear-mongering. As soon as someone rises up to question the role of the RPF, the current ruling party in Kigali, they are accused of "genocide ideology," a law so vague and convoluted that if it had a genuine purpose, it has since been lost. The Tutsi population, which is still hurting from 1994, is afraid that the numerically-superior Hutu are biding their time to finish what they weren't able to finish. The Hutu look at the militarily-superior Tutsi and wonder when they will be fell upon in revenge. Both look to Kagame as a savior, and he relishes this role while allowing this climate of fear to fester.
This is why the focus should be on the system that creates such people as Kagame. The only way to change the system is to change the hearts and minds of the average citizens so that these exploitative tactics don't work with them. Only the people will be able to prevent the rise of divisive strongmen from their midst. They have to be able to speak up for their rights, and be willing to lose their lives in the process, rather than cower in fear.
Yes, to many Kagame is a savior, but even Jesus, after saving the world from sin, did not stick around physically forever. Kagame, too, can step aside assured that, after 16 years, he can still guide the country through his actions while he was at the top...if those actions merit that. To be a great president, you don't need to single-handedly bring development to your nation. You don't need to stay forever, and you definitely don't need to suppress the free expression of ideas. What you need is to inspire people to take their future in their hands. George Washington did not stay president forever even though he was offered the option. Thomas Sankara, in his brief 4 years as president, turned an impoverished country around by empowering the people to control their own fate by building their country. There are many like them, and they are what we need in Rwanda in order to attain true development.
Kagame might feel that the country is not ready to move on without him, but, like a parent of a teenager off to college for the first time, reality has to be faced. He has to trust that his guidance the past 16 years has settled into the minds of the people and that they will make good decisions based on that. Whether Rwanda succeeds or fails if he steps aside is unpredictable, what is predictable, however, is that Rwanda will suffer if he doesn't.
Not yet, however, not until the opposition has been able to change the system and the people are ready to be led by someone who doesn't require to be regarded as an overprotective parent. Then, and only then, will the successive rule of strongmen be over in Rwanda.

From a Rwandan to the World

Dear World,

Sixteen years ago, you watched as my home was torn to the ground, my neighbors, family, and friends hacked to death, and rivers flowed red with blood of innocent souls. Sixteen years ago, some of my family were vilified as savages while others were glorified as beacons of liberation. We were divided by the world and the standards of division are yet to escape your minds.

However, we want to move on. We don’t want to be judged and classified as cattle in a barn. If you look closely, you will see that we eat together, drink together, sing together, sleep together, and struggle together. Hutu, Tutsi, and Twa are terms dear to our cultural inheritance and not a hindrance to our pursuit of happiness and development. We are not just ready to move on, we have already moved on- moved on from the politics of exploitation, of hate, of insecurity and fear.

My people believe in a united Rwanda in which we are allowed to speak our minds, follow our hearts, and justice is dispensed equally without regard to ethnicity, region of origin, clan, gender, religion, or any other measure of differentiation. This is what we believe…don’t listen to those who profit from our weaknesses.  All that we ask you- the world- is that you stand with us; not pulling or pushing us, but beside us so we can all grow together. We are now asking you to look into our eyes and see, not only the pain, but also our infinite will to attain true independence from a past that has worked to alienate ourselves from each other.

We have died, we’ve been maimed. We have been left widows and orphans, but we have also been left with an undying desire to move on. We are tired of being hostages of our past…a past which you had a hand in imposing upon us. Now that our muscles are strained and our voices raised in efforts to lift the yoke on our shoulders, that very hand is busy suppressing our efforts. For now, our struggle continues, but, with each passing moment, we grow older, we grow stronger, we grow bolder.

In time you shall join us in genuine celebration. We shall welcome you and work together towards a better world. We shall laugh and eat and drink. We shall not talk of the past for it will be the future we will be beholden to. We shall sing and dance to the ballads of unity and prosperity. Songs shall flow lauding the overthrow of the exploiter. You and your sons and daughters shall hold our hands, and we shall do the same. Remember, however, that we will forgive, but we will not forget…history can never let us forget…lest it happens again.

Sincerely,

Rwandan

Rwanda's Road Map for Lasting Peace

Most people who know anything about Rwanda, know mostly that which relates to the 1994 genocide. They might not know all the details, but they know that one ethnic group killed another in the fastest genocide in modern times. What these people don't know is the condition of Rwanda in the thirty years preceding the genocide, and fewer know about the colonial period, its policies, and the years before the arrival of the Europeans. These people, though well-intentioned, also lack information and insight as to the degree of mayhem that enveloped the region after 1994 and is still ongoing. Why is it easy for foreigners to focus in on one tragedy while they remain ignorant to others which led to, or emanated from, it?

Whether it be because 1994 was the climax in the tragedy that unfolded before an uncaring world or a result of mass media hypnosis in spreading the victors' tale, what is known is that these people who claim to know about Rwanda lack the information necessary to know the root of the problem in Rwanda. 1994 was not something that happened overnight...it was not planned in a year or two...it did not rise out of the RPF invasion of 1990, and it goes further than the 1959 revolution and the late 19th century arrival of Europeans. These events had an effect on 1994, but the root of the cause is as old as time itself.

I believe if we identify the root we will then be able to also come up with a solution that will, I hope, prevent future 1994s. I think it's safe to assume that everyone- Rwandan or not- wishes and prays that what occurred in 1994 was the last of its kind...in Rwanda and elsewhere.

The tragedy in Rwanda is rooted in the concept of exploitation of perceived differences between groups of people for the optimum purpose of gaining supreme concentration of power and its assured safeguarding.  Firstly, the people were divided and classes were established. Secondly, labels were assigned to the ethnicities and, subsequently, the clans. Thirdly, these labels were used to amass power, Fourthly, fear of the past was used to manipulate the masses to commit atrocities regarded as safeguarding their "freedom." Fifthly, purported pursuit and annihilation of such practices were used to attain and consolidate power. That, in a nutshell, is the story of Rwanda from the time of our ancestors to now.

The problem is not between Hutu and Tutsi, but rather between those who want to use the minute differences between the two to gain a grip on power. The differences between the two should not be enough to cause the slaughter of millions, but we saw how they were exploited.  To prevent this, I believe we have to find something for all groups (Hutu, Tutsi, Twa, and naturalized) to rally around. Our history is fragmented with each group choosing to glorify whatever pertains to it, and downplaying what pertains to the other side. Whatever happened in Rwanda is part of Rwandan history and nothing done can erase it. Whether we like it or not, we have to find a way to deal with it and let it bring us together rather than being a wedge between us. A house divided cannot stand...so it is everywhere, so it is in Rwanda. If you think the solution is for one group to be killed off while the other lives on to enjoy the land, you are mistaken...it has been tried and failed.
What will bring us together is patriotism and duty towards our country and not any particular person or political organization. We should abhor politicians who want to partition our loyalty while they reap and steal the harvest of our labor. If one truly cares about the people, let he/she work to unite all groups of Rwandans rather than playing them against each other. We have to recognize, rather than ignore, our differences and use them to build a stronger unity socially. We should keep them out of our political sphere because they tend to polarize us rather than unite us. We should be united behind the banner of development, education, health, and other goals rather than behind any one political party or person. If everyone is aware of what is demanded from them and is held accountable, that person is more likely to hold the leader accountable, too. If the leader is to be held accountable, it lessens the chance for authoritarian rule and abuse of power. This is what Rwanda needs...something more meaningful than umuganda and other programs that are more of a farce than anything.
Programs that raise awareness, empower the common person, and raise the overall development of the entire nation, not just a particular city or region, are what will propel Rwanda into a self-sufficient nation. As long as a significant portion of the population continues to struggle to gain a meager meal, they will be turned away from doing their part in developing the country, and the team will be on the field without enough players to threaten or defend against the opposition.
So, if we understand that the problem in Rwanda is not Hutu against Tutsi or vice versa and see that it's really between the oppressed and the oppressors, we can move to stamp out the weeds that keep choking our crops. All Rwandans have to answer to the same rallying cry and our allegiances have to lie with the nation, rather than an individual or political entity. All Rwandans have a stake in a developed, peaceful nation, so everyone's participation is essential. Though it's hard to assure each citizen's participation, they have to be encouraged and cannot be prevented from participating overtly or covertly. Without this, Rwanda is headed through successive cycles of Hutu- and Tutsi-led governments that will continue to play the citizens against each other and develop the country only as it benefits their respective agendas.

The Dance of the Golden Cranes: A Short Play

The Dance of the Golden Cranes: A Short Play

New E-book::: The Dance of the Golden Cranes

I'm getting ready to release my second short play as an e-book. Here's a synopsis:

A country is ready to celebrate its Liberation day, but there are forces vying for power and control that might turn this opportunity for celebration into chaos. The General has spent his life ensuring that life in his liberated country is safe and free for all its citizens, but the President he is tasked with protecting has other plans that might jeopardize the former’s ability to continue to enjoy the fruits of the many years spent fighting in the forest. It’s deception and greed at their foulest.

This play was originally written in February for radio and I look forward to recording it in the coming months. In the meantime, I hope you will get a chance to read and enjoy it. 

Gacaca: Hijacked Justice

April 1994 found Rwanda embroiled in nearly four years of civil war that had destroyed much of its infrastructure and economy. The country was tethering on the brink of ethnic violence and it was finally shoved over the edge by the assassination of President Juvenal Habyarimana. In a matter of 100 days, hundreds of thousands of Tutsis were annihilated in revenge for the assassination. In retaliation, the Tutsi-dominated Rwandan Patriotic Front pursued Hutu refugees, some of whom had actively participated in the genocide, even into neighboring Democratic Republic of Congo (then known as Zaire) and killed thousands of their numbers. Although the exact number is unknown, what is indisputable is that many perished at the hands of the RPF. Sixteen years down the road, the RPF-dominated government in Kigali is still on the prowl for genocidaires, although the fight is now being waged on a different battlefield. 

Gacaca is a Kinyarwanda name for well-manicured grass and, traditionally, people would sit on grass and listen to disputes between their neighbors and the elders would then pass binding judgement to the two parties involved in the conflict. After the genocide, the Rwandan government opted for this type of system to process the large amount of cases due to the number of those accused of crimes during the genocide.

This is all and well, but the system has been hijacked by those who seek to slander and eliminate the intellectual element of the Hutus in exile and other Rwandan opponents of the government. Why do I say the Hutu intelligentsia? Because I have recently had to deal with people who have been falsely accused and convicted by gacaca for having participated in the genocide.  

I had heard about such allegations before but I had never personally known those accused, so I couldn't speak with certainty whether they were guilty or innocent, but now I know without a doubt that this is a continuation of the RPF strategy of following the Hutu masses to discourage any opposition. These people, who are well-learned and held positions in the education system before the genocide, are being forced to cower and limit their participation, if any, in any form of opposition. The interesting thing is that the ones I know who have been falsely accused and convicted have absolutely no interest in politics. 

I first heard about the allegations in 2007 but I didn't take them seriously. One of their former colleague, a Tutsi, had spearheaded a campaign to convict them and he set about to find a student at their former school who could help him by saying he saw them participate in the genocide. Among those being accused at the time was my aunt, who had passed away. I heard one man had been taken and tortured but he had refused to implicate them. I figured that was the end of that, but I was clearly wrong.

This year, I heard the people, all former teachers or administrators, had been convicted to between 19 and 27 years in prison. Knowing the people accused, I can attest to their innocence 100% without a smidgen of doubt in my mind. It didn't make sense for a system to pursue innocent people- some of whom had actually been imprisoned by the then regime during the genocide- without an agenda. One of the first things that came to mind was Stalin's purges. 

Rwanda has always pursued its opponents through false accusations, the most infamous of which is Genocide Ideology, and this is another form of pursuit. The bad thing about it is that it will make the system of gacaca, in general, lose legitimacy in the eyes of many. It is without a doubt that the system is the best to deal with such large amount of cases, but hijacking it to achieve political aims is a sure way to discredit it and whatever benefits it might possess. As I wrote in my previous post about speaking out against injustice, this is a moment for us to speak out against those who are wrongly accused. Gacaca is our tradition and it works, but we have to put an end to its hijacking...we, at least, owe that much to our ancestors who worked hard to give us a just way to deal with our disputes. 

The Road Least-Trod

Life, in its complex simplicity, offers each of us a chance to discover its true purpose. In the Christian Bible, a parable is told about two paths, one wide and the other narrow, which we all must choose between in order to arrive at our destiny.

The first is said to be easier to follow with its large width and plenty of companions. You never have to battle the wayside thorns nor the fear of loneliness in the darkest of nights. The pounding of a myriad of feet mean that the weeds never have time to grow and store dew that might wet your trousers on spring mornings. When danger pounces, statistics are in your favor in terms of surviving. Most, so the holy book asserts, choose this path and it leads them to an ending rich in pain and horror.

The second path is narrower, its dangers more severe, and the shoulders to lean on are as abundant as the grey of an infant's mop. It takes courage, hope, and faith to tread the dust of this path. Along its length, the pilgrims succumb to hunger, thirst, and other dangers rather than turning back and taking the wider, comfortable path. At its end is a rumored paradise meant for those who are faithful and selfless in the present life.

In living, we exhibit qualities that make us either selfish or selfless. Based on our hopes and values, we choose between the physical or mental comfort, then we spend the rest of our lives seeking and asserting justifications for our stances until we either die or come to the realization that we had been wobbling on the wrong path and seek out its nemesis to rectify our actions. Throughout all of this, we ask ourselves- and perhaps others- about what the right path is, how to identify it, and what it requires of us.

There can be but little doubt as to what life gives and requires of us. Individual satisfaction is wired in each individual to the point where many would seek to put out their own lights rather than letting others subject them to a state of perpetual dimness. Centuries of oppression and fear have left many in our midst feeling like candles in the midst of a storm, whose light depends on the gale's fickle mercy. We cower behind our fears and wait for the moment when it's our turn to be extinguished, hoping against all odds to live out our lives in dimness. In the meantime, we fail to give our light to other candles who may also spread it until it becomes too powerful for the storm to extinguish. If only we could see our own potential, then we can become an eternal light for all creation to witness and judge.

Fear is the one thing keeping us from accomplishing that. We fear for our lives, the termination of our privileges, rejection from our peers, and many others, but what we don't realize is that we end up living as shadows of our true potential. Someone once said that sometimes a person meets his destiny on the path he takes to avoid it. In trying to avoid pain, we end up taking a path that directs us to the ultimate pain source. What if we decided to put our fear aside and followed what our hearts and minds tell us is the right path? What if we chose to be vocal about the injustice being committed against others rather than hiding in stoic silence that ultimately leads to our own demise? What if you and I's fears are really a result of generations of fear geared into our genes by those who feast on them to enrich themselves at our expense? What if fear is the main ingredient in dividing us so that they can easily conquer us? If all this was the true, what should our next step be?

The first step is to realize that our silence helps neither us nor our situation. In Maurice Ogden's poem "Hangman," the hangman poses the riddle: ""He who serves me best shall earn the rope of the gallows-tree." One by one, the citizens of the town are led to the gallows until only the narrator is left. When the dreaded call of the hangman seeks him out, he realizes that all along the gallows had been meant for him and that the hangman had been killing those who might have stood up to save him. Here's an excerpt from the poem.

"You tricked me. Hangman!," I shouted then,
"That your scaffold was built for other men...
And I no henchman of yours," I cried,
"You lied to me, Hangman. Foully lied!"


Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
"Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said. "Not I.
For I answered straight and I told you true --
The scaffold was raised for none but you.


For who has served me more faithfully
Then you with your coward's hope?" said he,
"And where are the others who might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?"


"Dead," I whispered. And amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me:
"First the foreigner, then the Jew...
I did no more than you let me do."


Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
None had stood so alone as I.
The Hangman noosed me, and no voice there
Cried "Stop!" for me in the empty square. - Maurice Ogden,
 http://homepage.mac.com/steveklein/hangman.html

When we speak out and face the dangers from those who profit from our silence, we tread the path least trod and, though we might not live to reap the benefits, tomorrow will owe its prosperity to our selfless actions. The fight for peace and justice never ends, but we are not to fool ourselves into thinking we don't owe the sliver of freedom we enjoy today to those who sacrificed their past. Some, like Mandela, lived to see a better day while many of his comrades like Steve Biko like Robert Sobukwe died before the realization of their dreams, but I have no doubt that those who died had seen the promised land and were satisfied by their sacrifices. Rather than stand around cowering while the hangman terrorized their people, they sounded the alarm and, in time, their efforts helped to chase him away. 


It is up to us now to guard against his kind from establishing their footing in our midst again. Wherever we perceive injustice, we are to stand against it and make sure our cry for freedom is heard across the land. Treading the straight and narrow is the only way to guarantee our safety and that of the generations to follow. However, if you decide to waddle in fear of your own shadow, do not be surprised if no one comes to your aide when your number comes up...those who kill by silence shall be killed by silence. 

Nature: Friend or Enemy?

We all know what natural disasters are and the destruction they can rile up. We have seen pictures and footage of submerged cities, wrecked countrysides, dispossessed people standing shriveled and hopelessly wondering why such bad luck would choose them. Yet, we all glorify mother nature and thank her for the harvests and magic wonders she bestows upon us. It seems that nature is two-faced, perhaps functioning randomly, dishing out blessings and curses without merit. Or, there is a plan to all that befalls us and, maybe, we fail to notice the signs it sends us to warn us.
I have great respect for nature and, since my young days, something has always pulled me to become intimate with the world around me. Presently, I spend a lot of my time out in the woods and by bodies of water- large and small- trying to capture what I can of nature's essence.

My relationship with the animal world is not limited to any particular kind, but I especially love birds. Sakabaka is a Kinyarwanda name for the Black Kite. Since I began photography, I have taken more pictures of birds than any other subject. The two main ones I have photographed are geese and gulls. I also have photographed mammals and fish, and I use my technique to get close to them without scaring them away.
After photographing either the woods or the animals, I whisper a word of thanks to them for allowing me to photograph them, then I thank the creator for creating such beautiful wonders and the opportunity to capture them. Now, I am not animist, what I am is someone who seeks to be more in tune with the natural world in order to understand it more.
In the Bible, it is written that Jesus said to the storm, "peace be still" and it was so. It is also written that he cursed a barren tree and it withered, and that he admonished his followers for not having enough faith because if they did, they would tell the mountains to move and it would be done. Nature is not inanimate, it is alive, breathing and going through the circle of life much as we do. If I take a picture of someone, I thank them afterwards for the opportunity, hence why I do the same for the trees and animals.

As a refugee, whenever someone would give us clothes or food, I would always thank them and then I would thank God for using that person to attend to my needs. Many cultures, before so-called "civilization" moved in, had a culture of thanking slaughtered animals for sustaining them. In return, the people would only slaughter what they needed. It's the way it happens in nature and people are the only animals that kill even when they are dying of gluttony. This greed- and some do refer to it as a deadly sin- has risen with the spread of "civilization" that seeks to make man supreme above all other creatures.
In this process, we have forgotten our relationship with the natural world and focused our energies to enhance our comforts while neglecting the natural language. That's when rain forests are eliminated to dig for shimmering rocks or build cities that will require massive flooding to power them. Many species are eradicated- genocide???- and the outcry of a few are muffled by the indifference of many. When disasters break, we question why the creator would allow such a thing, when all the while we are the ones who have been wielding the ax that chops off our own heads.

So, is nature a friend or an enemy? Animals always seem to know when increment weather is on the way, so it's possible humans can learn to observe them. In the wild, bright colors usually mean "stay away," both in regards to animals and plants. So, why do we continue to blame nature? Maybe it's because we are part of nature and are the ones who have become indifferent to its warnings and the cause of much of its agitation and mayhem. If we are part of nature and we are to blame, then we are the fault of nature and, therefore, nature is to blame for allowing a chink in its own armor. So, go ahead, blame nature for all misfortune that befalls us, but keep in mind that sooner or later, it will find a way to fix itself, whether by eliminating the weakest link or, maybe, by strengthening it. I hope it's the latter.

Fort Ontario: America's History

On a rare sunny spring Saturday in Upstate New York, I decided to head thirty miles to the north to see and photograph Lake Ontario. Having been told there are great photo opportunities along the lake's shores, I had worn my walking shoes anticipating long, exhausting promenades along the beach in hopes of capturing its landscape and the wildlife it sustains. However, my plans were waylaid as I drove into the small, lake-front town of Oswego and saw direction signs to Historic Fort Ontario. I had never seen, let alone been to, a fort before, so I spontaneously altered my day's itinerary and followed the call of the siren to the sight that had so far till then eluded my fancy.
I found myself in a park with a crowd gathered around a baseball field. I could see the fort in the distance but its parking lot and the road leading up to it were empty and cordoned off. I drove to where the baseball parking lot was, but I seemed to be headed away from my intended destination, so I turned around and parked in the grass, next to a couple of cars. I grabbed my camera, fitted it with my desired lens, and set the exposure settings so that I didn't have to fiddle with them once I exited the vehicle...saving me some time and the trouble of dealing with the harsh sun's reflection off the camera LCD screen.

The bearers of the bad news were a couple seated in the parked car to my left. As I closed the windows, I noticed them and decided to ask whether the fort was open to visitors due to the apparent closed roads and empty parking lot. They told me the State governor had shut down the fort as part of his budget-trimming aimed at saving the State some of its expenses burden. The fort's memorabilia and artifacts would be shelved in some storage in Albany, away from the eyes of visitors such as myself and others who might wish to learn more of its historical and cultural significance. There was a passion in the couple's voices as they spoke, and I was sure the fort was more than a massive deficit-inducing thorn in the side of the State budget.
I thanked them, exited the car, and walked towards the shuttered gates.

Fort Ontario was first built by the British in 1755 during the French and Indian War and called the "Fort of Six Nations." The six nations were the Native American nations comprising of the Iroquois Confederacy that was in place-by some estimates- about two centuries before Christopher Columbus set sail in search for a shorter route to the East Indies and their spices. The fort was destroyed soon after by the French forces, but it was rebuilt four years later. Since then, the fort has been occupied, destroyed, and rebuilt through every major conflict in the area.
An interesting quote about the fort during WWII from Wikipedia:

"During World War II, Fort Ontario was home to approximately 982 Jewish refugees, from August 1944 to February 1946. Fort Ontario was the first and only attempt by the United States to shelter Jewish refugees during the war. After the end of the war the refugees were kept in internment due to disagreements concerning whether or not to allow them to become United States citizens. In January 1946, the decision was made to allow them to become citizens, and by February all of the Jewish refugees were allowed to leave Fort Ontario."

In 1946, Fort Ontario was handed over to the State of New York, and in 1949, development began to make it a State Historic Site.

On May 13, 2010, the State announced the closure of the fort and cancellation of all its future planned activities. The move had been suspected since governor David Paterson announced its potential closure a few months earlier to combat the State's budget woes. I was eight days late.
I have lived in Baldwinsville, New York, since August of last year, and I am now in the process of moving to Baltimore, Maryland. I can blame myself for missing out on visiting this landmark during the time I have been here, but I must also be credited with visiting and photographing other places in the surrounding vicinity. This area is beautiful beyond any good my words might do at an attempt to describe. I have seen much of it, though a lot still remains untouched by my sight; I have simply ran out of time.

Now, I will go with the feeling of having come so close to a past rich in fear, glory, and resiliency...so close, yet not near enough. I ambled around the crumbling outer wall, noting the signs warning visitors to stay back or to watch out for poison ivy. A few toothless canons stood watch out of duty, their sight less of a threat than a reminder of a youth past. The flag mast stood unadorned, devoid of color but not of purpose. The nearby cemetery bore the remains of some of the fort's fallen residents, many unknown to us as they were to those they perished close by. Their spirits, however, live on in us as we cherish that which they gave their last breath defending.

America is a land as varied as the nations whose outcasts flocked to it, and it's in this diversity that it has found its strength. In strength, it has come to the aid of rights and freedom whose denial and suppression led to its inhabitation. Fort Ontario represents this defense of the liberties and pleasures America has afforded people of different molds and casts. It, and many other places like it, need to be kept alive so that future generations are always aware of what the past had to endure to assure their existence. This is not just a historic site; this is a site whose history is intertwined with that of the nation, where the human spirit has triumphed time and time again in spite of many setbacks.
Two hundred and fifty years of history should not be thrown away because of incompetence and mismanagement of an ignorant few.

Conscientious Objection

There are situations you see and you know, without the minutest of doubts, that they are wrong and that you have to protest against them. Such objections are commonly referred to as "conscientious" because they are based on our conscience.
Being one to always strive for justice and universal, unhindered, enjoyment of music, I was reminded of a hit from back in the day that joins these two passions of mine. The situation you can conscientiously object to can be political, religious, social, etc...there's no limit as to what you can object to.
The song in mind is "Rock the Casbah" by the British punk rock band, The Clash. This song is special because it shows that no matter who tries to impose their biased will, the people ultimately have a choice. Especially for us Africans who continue to witness our people oppressed, killed, and denied justice; our land exploited for its resources; and our hopes of the future continuously being dashed. We can stand and claim our rights, let the world know that this is a new era...that we will usher it in ourselves...it's our destiny.
Here are the lyrics and the video. Enjoy.



Rock the Casbah

Now the king told the boogie men
You have to let that raga drop
The oil down the desert way
Has been shakin' to the top
The sheik he drove his Cadillac
He went a' cruisin' down the ville
The muezzin was a' standing
On the radiator grille

CHORUS
Sharif don't like it
Rockin the casbah
Rock the casbah
Sharif don't like it
Rockin the Casbah
Rock the Casbah

By order of the prophet
We ban that boogie sound
Degenerate the faithful
With that crazy Casbah sound
But the Bedouin they brought out
The electric kettle drum
The local guitar picker
Got his guitar picking thumb
As soon as the sherif
Had cleared the square
They began to wail

CHORUS

Now over at the temple
Oh! They really pack 'em in
The in crowd say it's cool
To dig this chanting thing
But as the wind changed direction
The temple band took five
The crowd caught a wiff
Of that crazy Casbah jive

CHORUS

The king called up his jet fighters
He said you better earn your pay
Drop your bombs between the minarets
Down the Casbah way

As soon as Sharif was
Chauffeured outta there
The jet pilots tuned to
The cockpit radio blare

As soon as Sharif was
Outta their hair
The jet pilots wailed

Chorus

Sharif don't like it
Rock the casbah
(He thinks it's not kosher)
Rock the casbah
Sharif don't like it
Rock the Casbah
(Fundamentally he can't take it.)
Rock the Casbah
Sharif don't like it
Rock the Casbah
(You know he really hates it.)
Rock the Casbah


(Lyrics obtained from:::  http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Rock-the-Casbah-lyrics-The-Clash/6BC5F672F9AD8EC4482568AB00317382 )

Interesting News from the Literary World

A few months ago, I submitted a couple of my poems to a well-paying, well-established magazine and they were rejected in one of the nicest tones I've seen used in that type of situation. I accepted it without much hurt- except maybe for the nice check I would have received- and moved on as only my kind can.
So, imagine my surprise when I saw a letter from them today as I opened my mail box. The envelop was heavy, bulging from its contents, and my heart began to emulate it. They say in moments of anticipation, blindness sometimes sets in, and I had been skeptical until today. I blinked to coax my sight back and to calm the alarmingly-high heart rate. I tore the damn envelope and damn near cursed myself to that despised of all kingdoms come...the one with fire and brimstone, not the gold and harps.
The contents, I found out, were marketing materials asking me to purchase a subscription for the upcoming year, with elegant material on the history and the forecast future of the magazine. My first- and only- thought was, why send to people who have been rejected??? We are the ones least likely to purchase because, a) resentment for being rejected, and, b) no money, since we weren't paid.
I would stick to advertising to those who were accepted since they are the ones more likely to sign up. However, I understand if they think the rejects are the ones in most need of seeing what type of poems are accepted, and, thereby, improve their craft along those same structures. Well, that might be well and all, but, once again, as my favorite Calypsonian famously proclaimed, "NO MONEY, NO LOVE."

Freedom of Expressions Applies to All Sides

A few months ago, I became aware of the political situation in Rwanda and joined a couple of pages on an online social site in hopes of learning more. Undiscriminating, I joined a page named after, and supporting, current Rwandan president Gen. Paul Kagame, and another one for the opposition leader, Ingabire Victoire Umuhoza, leader of the FDU-Inkingi political party based primarily in exile. Through several discussions with other participants, I came to see the passions these people, especially the young men and women, have for what happens in their country. Some even talked about their willingness to pick up arms, should need arise, and fight for what they perceive to be their way of right.

I agreed with some, and I disagreed with others, without taking any one side besides the truthful side, but all in all I was impressed. Over time, some participants began to change their views towards the middle; their shift from radical beliefs to more conciliatory ones reflecting a sense of maturity that a country like Rwanda needs in order to move on from the wounds of the past.

One of the topics we tackled was that of freedom of expression...the ability to speak your mind and bring your ideas to the table without fear of persecution. In Rwanda, two tabloids were first suspended, then outrightly outlawed because of their criticism of the government; the president mentioned journalists' meeting of exiled former military leaders whom it accuses of terrorism and some took this to be a warning against them; There is talk of imprisonment and harassment of journalists with some going in hiding or exile; and Rwanda has been listed as one of the states where freedom of press is heavily hampered by authorities.

Our discussions varied with some supporting the government and others accusing it of heavy-handedness and authoritarianism. But, one thing that became apparent was that censuring of who said what and what they said was wrong. Several outspoken supporters of the current regime were banned from the Ingabire page, and they complained about in as much as supporters of the two tabloids did when the government announced their suspension.

A number of supporters of Ingabire cried afoul of the banishment of anyone from the group when all they are accused of is speaking their mind. Around that time, I paused a question on April 18, 2010 on Ingabire's group page asking whether that page was managed by her or someone delegated by her to that duty. My question was not answered but I was encouraged to ask whatever question I had in the discussions section. I posted my question that same day and it went as such:

"What is Ingabire and the FDU-Inkingi doing to reach out to those who might feel threatened by her ethnicity and what is perceived to be her views?"

Up to this day, no one has answered my question. I even sent an email to an FDU-Inkingi asking that same question and no one has replied yet. I understand times have been tough with her arrest and arraignment on extremely serious charges, but we, as ordinary Rwandans, also have questions that, if answered, can help us cement our support for her. However, beyond just standing up to the RPF-government, she has to show that she will not replace one form of system for a similar system just for change's sake.
Which brings me to another of my questions: If Ingabire, or her supporters, is intolerant of other's freedom to express their views, what makes us think she, or they, will not do so once in power in Kigali?

If the group is not affiliated with her, her representatives should be wary of someone turning potential supporters into critics.  To those who feel threatened and who feel they have sufficient reason to feel that way, this type of action only adds to their suspicion and mistrust. If we accuse the Kigali government of oppression, we have to make sure we are not committing the same offenses we are accusing it of. Otherwise, it's the proverbial name-calling between the pot and the kettle.

I call that those banned from the group for voicing their views be allowed back in and encouraged to debate in order to reach a middle ground that is beneficial to Rwanda in general without alienating some among our midst, no matter how different and infuriating their views might be. The exception, of course, is if their speech is illegal and exhibits threats against others.

The only way to live together as Rwandans is through dialog. We talk, we listen, we clarify our views, and we empathize. We become better, tolerant, and insightful Rwandans for the benefit of our future and our children's after us. Muze dukore, dusigire abana bacu umurage ababyeyi bacu badusigiye.

Hope

Honestly, much as I don't see her as having articulated specifics as to how she can help Rwanda beyond the so-called truth commission, I fail to see what she has done that warrants arrest. Personally, I don't believe Rwanda's chance for peace and justice lies in political parties; they promote an atmosphere of people thinking "me first" that little is done in the way of helping the average citizen. FDU, RPF, FDLR, PSD are all political parties with labels attributed to them by others or themselves, and, as such, their first instincts is to look out for their own interests and survival.

As such, Rwandans should stand up against Ingabire's arrest without regard to her political or ethnic affiliations because it is simply the right thing to do. What she said at the memorial is the truth... badly-timed and at the wrong place, but still true. 1. Itsembabwoko= genocide, annihilation based on ubwoko (ethnicity). 2. Itsembatsemba= massacre...It is unfair to think that only Tutsi or moderate Hutus were killed during the genocide period or in the chaos of the wars that ensued after. I was in Kigali during the genocide and I remember people from both ethnicities being killed. Is this saying there was no genocide, or downplaying the horrors of the genocide? NO. I am simply saying that people from both sides lost their loved ones and their grief is equal to me. I wouldn't have said it at the memorial of the Tutsi victims it I was Ingabire, but poor choice of venue is not a crime she's been charged with.

Fear is something we need to rid ourselves of before we can all take a step forward. For centuries, dictators and oppressors have relied on people's fear of death as a deterrent against uprisings and they have succeeded in certain ways, but there was always a man or woman in whom was found a willingness to act in spite of the fear they held because they knew the future would feed off their energy. Ingabire, though she might lack qualities to make her the next president of Rwanda, she has proven to be a beacon of hope for many. Many others, here and elsewhere, will disagree with me, but the truth still remains that she has mobilized and encouraged some to speak and dream about equality in their homeland.

A few years ago, some said Barack Obama was inexperienced and unproven in matters of governance, but he had, on his side, a powerful weapon; Hope. He offered a war-weary, economically-battered populace a glimpse of hope for change. When election time rolled around, people voted in droves to usher in a new generation of leaders that could reinvigorate their cause for pursuit of happiness. History remains to judge him, but, in Victoire Ingabire, many Rwandans see their own hope.

The stakes are different and she stands to lose more, but the prize is all the same. Though she is imprisoned, it is, by no means, a conviction- that decision lies with the courts of the land- and it might end up being a distraction to keep her from running in the scheduled August presidential elections. So, the best option is to sit back, think about what you base your opinion of her on (be honest with yourself), and see what happens.

History is a fair judge and we will all have to face its impartial gavel. It is entirely up to it to make someone a martyr-not us- so we sit and wait. Let her case be heard and judged. Don't be afraid to form an opinion, but do so with as much knowledge and insight as you can garner so that you make the best decision for all of Rwanda and not just you. When it's all said and done and the smoke has cleared, Rwanda will still be there longing for all its sons and daughters to join hands in building up the inheritance of  our ancestors without fear, prejudice, and malice.

Growing Old

Everyday, I grow older...in time, manners, thoughts, and hopes. Age creeps over me like a diseased haze bent on revenge for opportunities wasted, ignored, or plain unrecognized in my free-wheeling days of youth. The fact that I actually have noticed this is testament to the susceptibility to glitches our touted fate actually is, as the plan is for one to remain impervious to the effects of age until their life source has waned beyond the point of rekindling. So, in my state of realization, I have decided to bring to the world ways that age has conspired- and might do worse in the future- to turn me into that which I have formerly despised.

To begin with, I have noticed that I now enjoy toasted bread slices. For decades, you could not get me to taste a slice of bread that had been hardened, but now I find soft bread to be as desirable as a black president...oh, wait, maybe not a good analogy (if that's what it is), but couldn't the fact that America now has a black president be a sign of aging? For decades...heck, centuries...Americans resisted the concept of any race producing its leader besides the Aryan race. Now, in age, we have seen it change course, much like my toast conversion.

Now, what else can happen? Let me see...I might turn racist, not against white people, but against black people. I might turn against women and meat, becoming a homosexual (or, nonsexual) vegetarian, unhappy with the world and reserved to lonely days and nights on a Greek island, with dreams of muscled Achilles chilling the loneliness slowly siphoning my life away.

Sounds bad, but it could be worse; I could despise books and knowledge, cling to religion while shunning guns, and declare anyone past a third grade education an over-educated hippie bent on reversing the course of nature by sidelining the influence of the holy book...which, as you might note, I choose to ignore as rage seethes within my blinded sights. You could blame me, if you want, but that blame would be misplaced as age is the real culprit. 

Age does weird things to you, such as kill you. I can guarantee you that you won't die younger, but you will die older, even if it's a few seconds older. As people realize they are one step closer to kicking the proverbial bucket, they tend to act irrationally, performing deeds they would have regarded as despicable in their early years. I don't blame those of us who've awakened to this realization; I blame those still blinded by the vigor of youth, strutting around like peacocks in heat, longing to take one from life and bear offspring relegating them to what they perceive to be the success line in the overcrowded soul refund line. If only they could see what will be revealed to them later on...what we now know...they wouldn't be dancing to the same tune, or at least not with the foolish grins on their faces...but such is the way of age, it rips your back side when you least expect it. Sadistic f*ck!!!

But, now I'm grappling with the tensions of age as it pulls my strings like an unstout Pinocchio. I know I'm easing into a period of contentment, when sitting on an expiring quay, hanging a line as old as time's breath over the side hoping to catch a meal to extend my experience by one more, unintentional day will be all that I loathe out of existence. That, too, will be an effect of age overdose. What else could one ascribe it to?

So, What then? What is to be done to combat the effects of age when one knows its inevitable victory? I leave the contemplating to greater minds than I possess. 

New Layout for Exile Calling

For those of you receiving the monthly issues of Exile Calling, you should have something new to look forward to in the near future: Newer, Sleeker, more technological layout.
Being immersed in photography and graphic design has allowed me the opportunity to understand better ways to produce a more appealing vehicle for my writing, and I hope the May issue (Exile Calling is released on the first Monday of the month) will be the first to showcase this change.
In a world where things change while those remaining constant perish, I think this is a good sign for the progress we're making. The seventh issue should be in your email boxes on April 5th.

A Native Tongue

Most people come from households where a language other than the predominantly used international languages such as French or English is considered native. This fact is easy to miss since the rise of the internet and the expansion of the global village which brought about the need to communicate with as many people as possible. Although French is considered the language of international law, English has quickly taken over as that of international business. English culture- mainly American through Hollywood and other entertainment influences- threaten other cultures to the point where certain countries such as France and some Arabic countries establish laws to limit its influence within their borders. While the need for universal understanding is a logical one, is one to satisfy it by giving up the native language? Are we to die murmuring words in a different language from the one we used to utter our first as babes? When does one find use for a native tongue fast on the trail of the dinosaurs?
My native language is Kinyarwanda. I learned to read kinyarwanda primarily from the bible and the newspaper, and, because of that, I grew up speaking a form of kinyarwanda that was deep, flowery, and ancient even at the time I was learning it. I was fascinated to be able to read and understand words few people in my house other than my grandparents could understand. My being beamed as I read scripture to audiences and they marveled at how I could read so well at a young age. I didn't know it then, but I had started on a path towards language appreciation...a path that would lead me to this exact point in time.
I, however, failed to see the turns and detours fate would dress my path with. My beloved language slowly eroded away by flight through different lands strewn with other languages one had to learn in order to survive. Along the way, English supplanted all other languages and established its supremacy hold on me. I loved the language, its writers, and its ease of use. I read voraciously, covering the classics and the contemporary. I read magazines and books about lands a thousand miles away and my mind was transported through time and space to experience what I was reading for myself. The more familiar I became with English, the more I unconsciously relinquished my Kinyarwanda until one day I picked a Kinyarwanda bible and I spent more time scratching my head for meaning than in actual reading. This was the beginning.
Time moved on, as time only can, and I attended high school and university where Kinyarwanda wasn't only impossible but also unhelpful. English dominated and soon even contact with people who speak Kinyarwanda was few and far between. By the time I finished school, I could speak kinyarwanda only as long as it littered my English like potholes on a Beverly Hills road. I considered it as one of my many languages I can understand but not speak. Then it all changed when I moved to Atlanta.
Contact was reestablished with Kinyarwanda speakers and soon it had blossomed. I have many people to thank for helping me revive my use of the native tongue, but prime among them is Job Muhumuza. Little by little, as I lived with his family during my first months in Atlanta, he coaxed kinyarwanda words out of me and I began to realize how beautiful a language it was. My first book or play I write in Kinyarwanda will be dedicated to this loving father and his family...to whom I owe much.
As of now, I'm still trying to relearn it enough to be able to write a quality work completely in it. I have begun to write my status messages on Facebook in Kinyarwanda and I'm happy to see others doing the same. In diaspora, it's easy to forget one's past, one's journeys, and one's beginnings, but I believe that without the past as a strong foundation, it's only a matter of time before our house of cards comes tumbling down. Besides, I have begun to see the beauty of my native tongue that I used to see when I was young.
Kinyarwanda is a thousand times as poetic as English. Everyday usage is garnished with proverbs and idioms that excite imagination and thrill the senses. As you listen to a skilled orator, you are left wondering how a mind can come up with such arrangement of words, and the only thing you can do is applaud and hope to remember a few things to help build up your own abilities. This is why I hope to one day be able to capture the beauty of Kinyarwanda in my own literary works for others to admire. Until then, however, I will continue to learn from others and online resources such as this website.  I hope you, too, can can focus on your native tongue and appreciate what makes it beautiful beautiful.

The Magic of Charlie Chaplin

Recently, my girlfriend was looking for a birthday gift for one of her friends who likes classic movies and I was asked which of the Charlie Chaplin movies I considered to be the best. The decision seemed to be an easy one, but before I could answer she said, "one that's not Modern Times." Now, I love Modern Times, but I don't consider it to be my favorite work of his. Actually, I was stumped as to which of his work I considered to be my favorite, or his personal best in my view.
Growing up in Rwanda, there were no television stations to show feature films as they do in other countries. We watched most of our movies either from home or make-shift theaters with 20-inch screen television sets. One of my earliest comedic experience was watching Charlie Chaplin. We called him "Charlot" and the pleasure of being able to retell his films to colleagues who had not seen them was only second to reenacting them. Our imitations, inferior in their imperfectness, were as much a source of importance to the performers as they were to the witnesses who, in turn, would become performers to a new group of dazzled spectators who would take their turn, ever widening the myth and legend of our beloved Charlot.
When I came to the United States, I was lucky to find a ready selection of his films for me to quench my curiosity. The library was my favorite hangout in the summer as most of my friends found some job and others left for season-long family visits. At the time, as I did in Rwanda, Chaplin's movies provided little stimulation aside of comedic relief. I watched, laughed, grew enraged at the maltreatment he received, but was always overjoyed in the end. I had yet to experience the most important part of Charlot's magic.
Charlie Chaplin was always identified with the political left and was hounded by controversies in regard to his lifestyle and views. In Modern Times, we see him criticize the Capitalist system and the emerging machinization of the industrial scene. Social unrest, poverty, inept and corrupt authority, and injustice mingle with hope and abundance of dreams of the common citizen. In Gold Rush, we see the extent and futility of human dreams; its resiliency and that of the hurdles strewn across its path. We are shown love for others in City lights, and that of humanity in The Great Dictator. Chaplin shows us that even in the simplest of beings, hope, chance, dreams, and love intermingle to form that which makes us humans.
However, Chaplin's magic was not in portraying that, but rather in entwining them with comedy to paint a present that is also the past and the future. If there is one person who ever used the time machine, Chaplin is the one, in my humblest of opinions. A feeling of timelessness haunts his movies even as one watches them a century after they were crafted. Whether I'm watching Modern Times, The Kid, or the Circus, I feel as if they are meant to address the issues of our time. Listen to his speech in the Great Dictator and you are led to believe he is speaking today rather than 40 years ago. I am forced, without much coercion, to laugh at situations that make society unequal, yet in my laughter is also a nagging thought encouraging me to identify what is wrong with the scene and what can be done to right the ship.
So, as I pondered my favorite Charlie Chaplin film and left my girlfriend to her own reading in the living room, I sat in front of my computer in the office and watched some of his films. I watched City Lights and laughed as Charlie weaved through the streets and in the company of the affluent. The encounter with the flower girl ever haunting his actions, he manages to accomplish that which he wishes for her- for her to regain her sight- while he ends up incarcerated. The end of the film made me think back and revisit his other finishes. What do his endings tell us about the films? Why doesn't he leave with the circus even though he's offered a job? Why does he set off down the road in Modern Times? What does the flower girl's realization at the end of City Lights mean? What happens after the speech in The Great Dictator? Maybe, that it's the beginning of another adventure, that life itself is a never ending adventure and we can go through it despite the setbacks and triumphs we encounter. That, as the saying goes, this moment, too, shall pass, and life should be measured in adventures rather than moments of success or failure.
Chaplin was a genius well ahead of his time, and that is evident in his films. My girlfriend selected The Kid, but I'm not sure which one I would have selected if it had been my friend. I would have leaned towards the whole set for $500, but even as easy spending as I am, I know that wouldn't have happened. Maybe, I wouldn't have considered a Charlie Chaplin movie as a gift, but I know I would have found a way to send some of Charlot's magic. Whatever method I would have chosen would have been an adventure, itself...not in the great master's way - for that can never be duplicated- but, maybe, in a way that would have made him smile as his has made me. That, also, is the magic of Charlie Chaplin.

Reflections

As the snowy mist swirls outside my office window turning everything uncovered a ghostly white in the fading light of day, I sit and wonder about how far I have come as a writer artist in the past six months I've been doing it full time. There is much I have accomplished in those six months and much more to appreciate in ways of experience garnered: The sixth issue of the monthly Exile Calling journal is about to be released in a few days, I have already received my first acceptance letter to be published, I have established useful contacts in the field, and, most of all, my skin has grown thicker and my mind wiser to distinguish between useful advice and empty praise. I have become aware of the realities of my profession, and I am emboldened to face the trek with will and determination reserved for a cornered prey of the wild.
However, there is much I would love to improve, both in character and circumstances. I lack patience to excite my calmness and remain unchanged by the long periods of waiting for editors to make up their mind. I also long for the open-mindedness to pursue opportunities whose requirements I regard as backwards and lacing evolution. I still refuse to submit to publications that do not accept electronic submissions whether through electronic mail or other website systems. I realize this might reduce my chances of being published, but I want to publish so people can read my work, not just to say I have been published. I want to be known for my work and not a published unknown.
Well, I hope to hear more from editors in the next few months about the dozen or so works I have submitted this year, and hopes are high that the majority will be accepted for publication. In the meantime, I will continue to find inspiration in the alternating moments of chaos and calm around me, and transmit them into words capable of projecting the emotions they entice to you readers. As the ground outside is masked by the white mass, I, too, seek to be enveloped by a layer of motivation to lead me on, unerringly, through a maze of patience and zeal possessed by few. I hope to count myself in the number of those blessed few.

Birthday and more

Today I celebrated my birthday in a style befitting a septuagenarian...I woke up at 10am, went to lunch with my beautiful lady, came home and took a nap, and woke up and watched a few shows before calling it a night- only one glass of beer. This doesn't mean I'm over the hill, however, it's only a reflection of the stage I'm currently muddled in and the need for me to take a rest before I get out there and take the world by its horns.
I am grateful to the circle of family and friends I have surrounded myself with, and with God for allowing me to enjoy such a blessing called life. In order to stay fit during these dog-days of winter, I have signed up for a membership at the local YMCA so that I can stay in shape lifting weights and playing indoor basketball so that I can tone this body that seems bent on round rather than chiseled curves.
I will continue to edit and submit my work in the coming weeks with the new issue of Exile Calling coming out on Monday March 1st.
Well, thanks for dropping by and happy writing.

Submitting Work

Today concluded, for at least the next few weeks, a period of submitting my work to several magazines and journals for publication consideration.I have submitted thirteen poems and one play to five different publishers in the past two weeks and, though I have more, I consider this to be an adequate test of the waters. I don't want to have all my poems or prose tied up while I wait to hear from the editors as it is not unusual for one to wait at least three months for a response...which is usually a "no."
So, now I'm off to continue the plays and short stories I'm working on.

Better Writing Techniques

I have articles on improving your writing stashed away on my computer, but like an amnesiac squirrel, I can't seem to locate them. Rest assured, however, that my ability to write has been contested by many before -the devil among them- but no one has denied my skills at devouring hot pie at an incredible pace. Eating virgin pie, while superficially unrelated to writing, is a good indicator of how good a writer one is. If you can get your lips, tongue, and every mince of meat in your grinder scorched, yet you keep going, I am willing to wager a smile that you would fare well against a severe case of writer's block. Don't believe me? Try eating hot pie then sit down to write. If you're unable to write, you are not, and have never been, a writer...not a good one, at least. If, however, you sit and you are able to write an interesting piece, then you have just proved my point and will excuse the mistakes in this article - as I haven't had hot pie in weeks.

The Goings-On

Much has been going on the past few weeks and, contrary to the spirit of this blog, I chose to wait until my emotions had calmed before I wrote a post, or posts, about it. In case you are wondering, all that has transpired has been good, so there is no need for you to weep and gnash teeth on my behalf.
Anyways, enough with the attempted joke-telling. I finally had some of my work accepted for publishing and it's a great honor for me as I've only been focused exclusively on writing to earn a living. This is a tough nut business to crack into, but I hope this will open some doors. I've also compiled a harem of poems and submitted 10 (ten) of them to several journals and magazines for consideration. I hope they view them from my own biased viewpoint, and I hope you hope for at least that much, too.
I also participated in the annual BBC African Performance Competition for a radio play they hope to air around August 2010. I found out about it with five days to go and I did my best, although more time would definitely have been better for the overall turnout of the script. The cool thing, besides the prize money, is that my play has the potential to be read by the great Wole Soyinka...a man who owes all his massive talent to an encounter we might have had in a previous life whereby I gave him a few literary suggestions and pointers. Seriously, though, it's an honor to participate in this as I had previously wrote about the influence of radio theater. See here.
As you might also have suspected, I am a budding photographer looking to capture the essence of existence through my camera lenses. This is a Herculean endeavor, but I once challenged the great Greek freak to a shouting match and he, like other less Sakabakean beings, resorted to blows. I won the shouting match, but it was another story when it came to throwing blows...or rather, in my case, receiving them. I lost a lot of blood and my pride literally took a beating, but at least I know I can defeat Hercules at something. Please feel free to disbelief this tale if you want, but I would strongly recommend doing otherwise.
Anyways, as I was saying before my thoughts sailed away with whatever remained of my brain from my college days, I entered a couple of pictures of mine into a contest run by the local zoo. Their website states that around 825 pictures were entered and I have calculated the odds of me winning to be 2/825...better than the odds of being run over by the wind...or a bus, in your case.
So, that's what I'm doing now: Waiting. I'm also doing a little writing. To give you a little something to look at, I will post a few of the pics I took from my zoo visit. The ones I entered are not included, of course. Enjoy, and keep writing or doing whatever keeps bread in your belly and creditors off your as...uhm, back.

***All pictures are copyright of Edouard S. Mutabazi and any use without prior written permission is prohibited by law.***