Shake Hands With the Devil

by Roméo Dallaire

  We didn’t have a military band, so instead we hooked up a sound system and played the national anthem and lots of upbeat African tunes, which were a superb tension reliever and gave the whole occasion a festive air—somewhat hard to achieve, as armed troops from both sides of the conflict had accompanied the visiting dignitaries. For most of them, this was the first time they were meeting their former enemies, and my chief worry was how they were going to react to each other. I insisted that the troops stay by their vehicles, away from the bulk of the crowd, which they did, though their weapons were clearly in evidence.

  Invitations had been sent out to the president, the RPF chairman and leaders, the government ministers, representatives from the different political parties, the diplomatic corps and military leaders. The RPF’s civilian delegation, including Pasteur Bizimungu, was quite large and arrived twenty minutes late, looking sullen. I was pleased to see them become more lighthearted as the event went on. Madame Agathe, Faustin Twagiramungu and Anastase Gasana all attended. Once again, Habyarimana was absent, along with Paul Kagame; to be quite honest, I was somewhat relieved, because in this setting, I couldn’t have provided the level of security they required. But I had expected the minister of defence, Augustin Bizimana, and key members of the ruling MRND party, and I was very disturbed when they didn’t show up. Their absence didn’t go unnoticed by the RPF, either. I took it as a deliberate slight to UNAMIR, the implication being that neither we nor the peace accord were important enough to them to warrant their time.

  Still, the event was simple and respectful and passed without incident. The flag was raised and the constant breeze made it unfurl majestically; it was a rather big blue flag, and its communion with the blue of the Rwandan sky made quite a statement. The speeches, including my own, were laced with optimism, and UNAMIR received unequivocal support from the Rwandan leaders who attended. The major artisans of the ceremony, Colonel Figoli and his MILOBs, were quite proud of themselves and earned my admiration and gratitude.

  After the speeches were over, the crowd pressed in, enjoying the scant refreshments we could afford—warm soft drinks—and mixing joyfully together in a situation that any security person would have regarded as a nightmare. The RPF were the first to leave—the situation was becoming a little too much of a carnival and their soldiers were getting tense—followed by the other dignitaries. After spending some time with a group of children, learning how to play soccer with a ball made of banana leaves and twine, I finally left for Kigali, my worries about the future of the mission and the country reduced to a dull roar, mostly confined to brooding about the slight by the MRND. The press, both local and international, left with great pictures and, for a change, a good-news story from central Africa.

  When I got back to Kigali that night, I decided I needed to consult with Dr. Kabia, who was in Kabale doing adept political work for UNOMUR, negotiating with Ugandan government officials for more freedom of movement for the troops as well as a much deeper area of surveillance. I wanted to know whether I should make an issue out of the absence of the hard-liners at the flag-raising, and Kabia quite wisely pointed out that if I complained publicly about it, the hard-liners would only say that they hadn’t come because they hadn’t been certain that UNAMIR could guarantee their safety. The mission would be embarrassed and I wouldn’t have gained a thing.

  Over the next weeks I consulted with Dr. Kabia often, as the political pace of the mission picked up. I knew him to be a square shooter, with solid contacts inside the department of political affairs back in New York, and he always gave me quality advice. When another suitable person became available to take over his duties in Uganda, he flew to Kigali to become my political adviser, and later became chief of staff for the SRSG.

  The Belgian reconnaissance group had packed up and gone home, leaving a few staff officers behind to carry on with preparations for the main contingent. The Belgians had been visible all over town during their five days of information-gathering, and there’d been a few minor demonstrations against them that attracted some attention, especially from the radio station RTLM. My rationale for their presence, if anyone asked, was that although these troops were wearing Belgian uniforms, they were under UN operational command, and the badge of authority was the UN badge and the blue beret. Also, both the RPF and the Rwandan government had seen the list of troop-contributing countries that we had supplied for the approval of the Security Council, and neither of the ex-belligerents had objected to the presence of Belgian soldiers. I think they were resigned to accepting the Belgians because organizing another national contingent would have taken months; Maurice Baril had made it clear that no other First World country was remotely interested. As long as the Belgian troops behaved well and we continued to enjoy the goodwill of the Rwandans, I believed the situation was manageable.

  We had roughly three weeks to get ready to receive the Belgian contingent, and increasing numbers of military observers were arriving every day. I spent much of the first half of November working flat out with my fifty or so officers, in order to get the force headquarters at least functional. We were less and less welcome at the Mille Collines; guests on vacation and soldiers on a mission do not mix very well. I set Hallquist the task of finding us permanent headquarters that would house both the military and administrative sections. I also thought that planting the UN flag in Kigali would serve the same symbolic purpose as my flag-raising in Kinihira—demonstrate our commitment to helping the country move to a lasting peace.

  We were still having endless administrative and resource problems. I remember sending a message over the radio to Colonel Figoli in the demilitarized zone, telling him I needed written situation reports on what was going on up there, and he radioed back saying that they had no paper or pencils to write with and that their request for more had been denied by Hallqvist for budgetary reasons.

  The process of vehicle allocation was even more aggravating. The UN’s workhorses for transport and communications were a hodgepodge of thousands of Japanese four-wheel-drive SUVs, which had been donated for the Cambodia mission. They were tough enough to survive the terrible roads and rough terrain, were equipped with decent radios (though not encrypted or secure) and were air-conditioned (which I actually viewed as a drawback because it was hard to start a conversation with the locals when troops were keeping their windows rolled up in order to stay cool). The dispersal of these vehicles was the province of the CAO, and Hallqvist distinctly left the impression that civilian needs came before military ones. MILOBs lucky enough to have vehicles were accused of wasting gas on short errands in Kigali, while some civilian staff were burning up fuel taking weekend jaunts to see the gorillas in Volcano National Park and other sights in Rwanda.

  It maddened me that I was forced to fight a petty internal war over vehicles and office supplies. The lack of supplies and the delays damn near hijacked the mission. I had hundreds of troops arriving, and I had no kitchens, no food and no place to billet them. The unvarying official response to my complaints was that national contingents were supposed to come with a two-month supply of rations and to be self-sustaining. That was the rule. If they didn’t, the UN didn’t have the resources to make up the difference, and I would be left to improvise. Rich Western nations, such as Canada and Belgium, could afford these resources, but poor nations could not—often they were more or less “renting” their soldiers to the UN in exchange for hard currency. The result, which was terrible for building a united peacekeeping force, was that the Western soldiers were reasonably comfortable in the field while the Third World soldiers were living in near-destitution.

  Under the pressure of events and the ever-retreating Arusha milestones, my staff was working night and day. Hallqvist and his civilian staff generally worked nine to five, Monday to Friday. The rationale was that he and his people were in Rwanda for the long haul, whereas the military personnel were passing through. They were soldiers and should expect to make do. However, because of my rank and secondment contract from
Canada, Hallqvist seemed to expect me to take advantage of every possible perk and privilege: fancy car, big house, all the little luxuries. I believe a commander does his mission a disservice when he lives high off the hog while his soldiers are eating meagre meals prepared by cooks standing in the pouring rain in temporary kitchens. I think I may have actually shocked Hallqvist when I returned the Mercedes staff car he assigned me in favour of the UN standard four-by-four Land Cruiser and sent Willem de Kant out to rent us a small house, where I intended to house him and myself, and Brent and my personal driver when they arrived. I did not want one of the comfortable residences that so many of the UN staff were acquiring, because it sent a message to the Rwandan people that we put our comfort before their interests, and I couldn’t stomach that. I loved the house that Willem found us: it was on a hill in Kigali and was cosy and clean behind its wall and single metal gate. Each morning I drank tea on the patio, staring out at the view of the city spread below me, and I sometimes struggled to find the resolve to leave that peaceful spot to take up the challenges of the day.

  When I complained about the administrative situation to Maurice and Riza, they were sympathetic, but even they couldn’t do anything to reform the system. Hallqvist was operating well within the UN guidelines. He and I were stuck with each other and with the battle lines that our differing sets of imperatives drew across the heart of the mission.

  As my UNAMIR MILOBs arrived, we formed them into multinational teams. As vehicles and radios became available, I dispatched the teams throughout the country to conduct reconnaissance and locate potential team sites, meet political, security and military officials in the prefectures, show the flag and get the word out as to who we were and what we were up to.

  When Colonel Tikoka arrived, he assumed overall command of the military observer group. Tiko had done many of the military assessments back in August with Brent. Anyone who has ever served with Tiko has many tales to tell about his bravery and daring. During his last UN mission, in Somalia, he had had so many vehicles shot out from under him that only the most gung-ho soldiers would ride with him. He is a fine soldier, fearless and big-hearted, a commander who adores his troops and is capable of winning their absolute loyalty even in the direst of circumstances. His only failing was an aversion to paperwork of any kind, which meant that my force headquarters sometimes went without the vital information we needed to get a good picture of what was going on in the area under his purview, which was almost everywhere outside Kigali. His men were travelling unarmed through country that had recently been at war; some were braver and more resourceful than others, and Tiko was excellent at figuring out this human calculus and deploying the best that he had into the most complicated settings. He even finally rectified his aversion to paperwork by instituting a rigorous set of standard operating procedures among the numerous observer teams around the country.

  After a frustrating search, Hallqvist finally found a suitable permanent location for UNAMIR headquarters in the Amahoro (Peace) Stadium and attached athletes’ hotel. The complex was in an excellent tactical location, off the major route to the airport in the east end of Kigali. The enclosed stadium could accommodate up to a battalion’s worth of soldiers, vehicles and equipment. The hotel provided more than sufficient space for offices and conference rooms.

  I set the official opening for the mission headquarters for November 17. I was pushing the pace—my Belgian contingent wouldn’t arrive for another two days and I’d have to use MILOBs to monitor the proceedings—but we needed the exposure in front of the local and foreign press. We were falling behind in our phase-one objectives, and I wanted to show that I was prepared to make up for lost time. And at last President Habyarimana, who hadn’t met with me since I arrived in Kigali, was willing to come out to express his support for UNAMIR in public. The RPF was also supportive, though they were only sending Commander Karake Karenzi, their liaison officer to UNAMIR, since I couldn’t at that point offer much in the way of security in Kigali for a larger party of the former enemy.

  I met President Habyarimana at the main entrance of the hotel complex, dressed in my Canadian general’s uniform with UN insignia on the shoulders and wearing my blue beret. He was statesmanlike in an impeccable dark suit and black shoes so shiny they looked like patent leather. He shook my hand in a dignified fashion. Except for a few bodyguards dressed in civvies, he left his Presidential Guard escort outside and walked with me to the main hall.

  We were greeted by sustained applause, cheers and laughter. The atmosphere was celebratory, even though we’d been able to muster none of the pomp and fancy trappings of major international headquarters. People were seated on a couple of hundred borrowed folding chairs and wooden benches, and I led the president to his place at the front of the room, behind an ordinary six-foot-long folding table that we’d draped with some cloth. The UN and Rwandan flags were linked on the wall behind him in symbolic harmony.

  I was the first to speak and attempted three or four lines in Kinyarwanda, which our few local staff had written out phonetically for me. Hearty laughter greeted me, but the attempt—and the rest of my speech, in which I reverted to French to explain UNAMIR’s presence in the country—seemed to go over well with the crowd. Then the president delivered a heartfelt speech in French, full of high hopes for peace, co-operation and reconciliation, which surprised me because it broke with his party’s usual dogma.

  The media did its part, and many pictures were taken. The government even issued an official calendar poster of the event, with the president and me seated together, shaking hands under the Rwandan and UN flags. Habyarimana did not take questions, however, and soon I was ushering him back to his armoured Mercedes, through an enthusiastic crowd that sang and clapped as he passed by.

  We had a small reception afterwards for those who wished to stay, but Hallqvist said he was unable to pay for the refreshments since he had no authority to spend money on social events. Once again Amadou Ly played the angel to the mission and dipped into his budget. Overall, I was pleased with the day. With this official opening, the headquarters and its commander were in place, the flag was up in Kigali and we seemed to be advancing our mandate. The atmosphere of peace and optimism, however, exploded in violence that same night.

  At 0600 on November 18, the burgomaster of Nkumba commune called to inform the Kigali media and the government of a series of killings along the border of the ill-defined demilitarized zone north of Ruhengeri. He was able to supply details about each of the incidents, which he said had taken place at five different locations between 2330 and 0230 that morning. Two of these places were not even under his jurisdiction, and phone communication in the country was not reliable; we wondered how the mayor came into possession of all this information so quickly. The killings seemed to have been very well planned. The victims were men, women and children—twenty-one killed, two badly injured and two apparently kidnapped—associated with the ruling MRND party. Among them were people who had won local elections, and candidates for upcoming ones—elections that were being conducted with the assistance of Colonel Figoli and his troops in the demilitarized zone.

  The local media leapt on the story, inflating the number of dead to forty and accusing the RPF of being the perpetrators. To my mind, the murders came suspiciously on the heels of government complaints, which had been brought to me by Augustin Bizimana and Déogratias Nsabimana, alleging that Ugandan troops and RPF reinforcements were massing south of Kabale and in the area of the Virunga Mountains. I had contacted Ben Matiwaza of UNOMUR to investigate, since his troops conducted constant patrols of the area. He said they’d seen no sign of large troop movements. When I confronted Bizimana and Nsabimana to ask where their information came from, they were vague, citing Washington contacts they refused to name.

  Whether by design or not, the massacres were an immediate challenge to UNAMIR. We had just formally declared our presence to applause, song and cheers; now we were being tested on whether we could truly help to establish
an atmosphere of security in the country. (Coincidentally, speculation and sensationalism about the killings filled the newspaper pages that might have been devoted to good-news coverage of our official opening.) If we investigated and found conclusive proof that the RPF had committed the murders, we’d be in tricky territory in which one of the ex-belligerents appeared to be deliberately destabilizing the country; if we investigated and were not able to point the finger at the RPF, the media and especially RTLM would view us as either in league with the RPF or totally incompetent.

  I immediately launched a board of inquiry with as much noise as possible, though I was hamstrung by not yet having a civilian police contingent or a legal adviser (the UN never did post a legal adviser to UNAMIR, which would create enormous complications later on, when the world was arguing over whether a genocide was actually happening). The people who did the killing left enough evidence behind to suggest RPF involvement (pieces of clothing, the RPF’s standard-issue rubber boots, even food) but not enough to dispel the notion that it had been planted. When our investigation proved inconclusive, we invited all sides to participate in an inquiry, but the government was slow to send a representative and the process dragged on well into the next year and was never resolved.

  In a way, my bluff had been called. I’d taken a risk in opening our headquarters in such a public way before we had all the personnel in place and now our credibility was taking a hit. Our failure to find the perpetrators of the November 17 to 18 massacre became “proof” for the hard-liners that UNAMIR was biased against the regime and was a closet RPF supporter. My request for urgent deployment of personnel skilled in legal, media, investigative and political strategy in theatre went unheeded. No matter how sympathetic the DPKO was about the hits I was taking over this, they could not influence the already over-extended personnel branch of the UN to fill the positions. I had two comforting thoughts: Brent Beardsley, who had nurtured this mission with me, was scheduled to arrive on November 22 to take up his role as military assistant in my personal cabinet, and Jacques-Roger Booh-Booh was expected to land in Kigali the day after Brent.