The Measure of a Man

Have been preparing for the Prejudice & Discrimination lecture this weekend by watching this PBS documentary - "Ghosts of Rwanda". Its a stunning piece of work - full of astoundingly frank interviews with witnesses from all levels of the 1994 genocide and their reflections on what they did to help or harm. From the big movers and shakers who basically waffled and did too little too late - like Kofi Annan, Madeline Albright, Clinton - to the NGO workers, reporters,UN soldiers and victims on the ground who were face to face with monstrosity. There was even an interview with one of the Tutsi extremist murderers who had eventually converted and repented of his actions.

There were several parts of the documentary that made me so incredibly angry. We can be such stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid evil creatures.

Watching the clip of the then-Hutu extremist leader Bagassora proclaiming with absolute righteousness that every Tutsi deserved to be destroyed made me so damnably frustrated that I actually hit the table with my fist. I just wanted to punch the *#$@!. It was a stupid, meaningless act but the only one I was capable of as a distant viewer, watching atrocities in the haven of a ridiculously privileged little Asian nation, through the pixels of a TV screen, immortalised in the shiny rainbow surface of a pretty shrink-wrapped DVD.

And then there were all those amazing unsung heroes who rejected the chance to flee for sanctuary, stood their ground and refused to turn away from mass murder: Un-named,unarmed UN officers who had nothing but wooden chairs, staunch moral conviction and bare hands to push away murderers who wanted to enter a church to kill the 1000s of Tutsis hiding within; Carl, the lone church worker - the only American expatriate to chose to stay in Rwanda when the whole expat community fled - who managed to save more people than his ENTIRE GOVERNMENT could by confronting Bagassora himself in a chance meeting. Mbaye, the Senegalese UN captain who ignored instructions to stay neutral and herded 1000 Tutsis to safe zones on his own initiative.

An Irish BBC reporter is shown in the documentary walking past 5000 bleached, shrunken corpses lain out in a church courtyard, piled there by their murderers. There is no mistaking the pain in his voice as he remembers seeing a pristine white statue of Jesus Christ with arms extended in welcome while below him, draped on the steps of the church is a rotting corpse, with arms similarly spread out. He said,"I was raised an Irish Catholic but I had drifted far far away from my religion. But that day, I looked at Jesus and I prayed for His Kingdom Come."

When I watched the political giants stumble over their words, shift their eyes away and twitch the corners of their mouths as they tried to explain how they could have turned away from such Evil, I realised one thing more powerfully than ever.

The measure of a man is not his earthly power - his riches, his power suit, his military might, his political position, his number of MBAs and glittering portfolio of experiences. All those countless stupid ads for luxury watches and diamonds that proclaim otherwise can bite me - not one of those silly trinkets defines who I truly am.

The measure of a man is the moral choice he makes in the face of Injustice and Evil.

When everybody else flees and everything turns mad, what kind of person you are behind all the gloss then becomes starkly apparent.

The documentary made me really realise:
I have no love for cowards and hand-twisting naysayers.
I have no love for smarmy, empty political rhetoric.
I hate too clever-by-half, snotty little soundbite answers for terrible problems.
I hate complacency and the excuse, "It's not my problem." or "I did not know".

The anger that came out of me while watching the documentary makes me seriously wonder what kind of person I will be in any ethical storm - as large as a national genocide or as small as a classroom decision.

Will I take my stand and take heart, seek refuge in the fact that I did what God demands? To save the wretched, the helpless, the child, the widow?

Or will I flee and seek refuge in nice-sounding euphemistic explanations? And worse, bleat God's name in vain to justify my inaction and complacency?

The measure of a man surely is in whether he chooses the narrow RIGHT WAY that is less trodden or whether he chooses the wide, crowded SAFE WAY to destruction.

When my kids watch the clip this Saturday, I hope and pray that something sensible will sit inside them and help them see that.

As for me and my bile against the murderous thugs of this world - I jsut hope I will remember "But for the grace of God, there go I!"