A Life Half Lived

by Andrew MacLeod

  Having not actually met Kagame yet, I asked Rwigamba if it would be possible to play the General in a game. The next day Rwigamba told me that a game would be organised. Things like that need checking out in advance. Not being the world’s best eight-ball player I nevertheless backed my ability against someone who had always been allowed to win. The game commenced. Cues were chalked. Balls broke. All the officers watched intrigued as the General took on the ‘mzungu’. I started to pot a ball or two, making it very clear that it would be no walk-over. Mind you, he was not laying down either. The game moved on and the tension in the room started to build. More and more officers were offering their commander more and more advice: ‘Sir, pot the five-ball’. “Sir, careful of putting the white down near his ball.” “Sir, try the six.”

  “What, is it me against everyone?” I asked. The silent but strong return stares gave me my answer. Not only was it me against the world, it might just have been my last night in the Officers’ Mess. Perhaps I had underestimated the power of protocol around the boss winning. The game came near to its close. I looked down my cue lining the white, the black and a pocket. This was the call to make. Pot the ball and win? Miss and let the General take a shot? Try to win, or let him? I took the shot, potted the ball, looked up and saw a sea of silent black faces looking from me then to the General.

  Kagame quietly handed his cue to a major. “Your turn,” Kagame said. Game on now, with me against the major and everyone else – bar one

  – Kagame. While all the other officers gave words of encouragement to my opponent, Kagame put his arm over my shoulder, and suggested the shot at the nine-ball. Rarely did anyone deliberately lose to Kagame again. Over the coming months we played several times with our game score tied by the time I left the country. The game of billiards worked.

  Colonel Nyamvumba smiled as we met the next day, “It’s all very well to talk about the Law of Armed Conflict, Andrew, but let me explain the real world.” He started moving some things around on his desk. “We have a defensive position here,” he said pointing at a cup, “and the Interahamwe attack us from over here, forcing the civilian population to act as human shields. Tell me, what alternative does the law give to simply shooting at the advancing group, or should our soldiers just wait to die?”

  “Fire control orders,” I said, my military training kicking in. “You train the sub-unit commanders to control the soldiers to target the weapon carriers, and leave the non-weapon carriers untargeted.”

  Fire control orders are pretty basic parts of any sub-unit infantry operation. I was never sure when Patrick was testing me, and when things I said were genuinely new to him. Without doubt the RPA was an effective military force, after all they did stop the genocide, but they were a guerrilla army in the process of professionalising and were only beginning to implement training programs. Perhaps this stuff was new to him? Two of the basic principles of war are ‘Economy of Effort’ and ‘Concentration of Force’. This basically means focus your fire power on the enemy, and don’t waste bullets on someone who is not the enemy. If you have carried a whole bunch of bullets over a hill, it’s silly to shoot them willy-nilly.

  If we were to teach fire control orders, ie, how to shoot at the enemy, by definition we would also teach how to not shoot at civilians. There is one heck of a grey line between teaching military tactics, which was not my job, and teaching implementation of the Law of War, which was my job. When Rwigamba and I met not long after that conversation with Nyamvumba, Rwigamba threw me a surprise.

  “I think we can start the Law of Armed Conflict training now, Andrew”.

  I had initially envisaged training along similar lines as in Yugoslavia, where we would train the senior officers in classroom-type scenarios and then the senior officers would train their junior people. Rwigamba had other ideas.

  “We want you to teach all of our non-commissioned officers (sub-unit commanders) the basics of the Law of Armed Conflict and Fire Control Orders. It will need to be practical training because our guys don’t do classrooms well”. He was talking about many thousands of soldiers.

  Be careful of what you wish for, so the saying goes. The ICRC wanted to train the Rwandans in the law, and now a Rwandan was asking me to train all of them. The Red Cross had the mandate to teach the law, but not military tactics. It was a very fine line to say that you needed to teach soldiers how to shoot straight in order for them to avoid shooting civilians, as opposed to teaching them to shoot straight in order to shoot soldiers. I wasn’t sure that we could cross that line so thought of ways to avoid the problem.

  Before Gulf War One, General Norman Schwarzkopf said, “When given a task you think is too big, ask for so many resources to do it that the boss will change his mind and not ask you.”

  I put a proposition to Rwigamba so large that I thought he might reconsider and take us back to the train-the-trainer model.

  “Well to do that, you would need to let me know all your basic tactics and manoeuvre groups, give me a platoon of special force soldiers we can train up as a demonstration platoon, and then give us access to all your training grounds so we can find the best training terrain.”

  This was like asking for the entire operating methodology of their army to be given to me, a foreigner. But I forgot lesson two from Schwarzkopf. George Bush Senior actually gave him all the stuff he asked for.

  “Okay, we can do that,” said Rwigamba. “When do we start?”

  To achieve the objective, support from the Armed and Security Forces section of ICRC headquarters would be needed. We would need to source additional staff members to undertake this training. It would be more than a full-time job, and there was my standard dissemination work to do as well.

  First call would be to Yves Daccord, and then to Jean-Jacques Garcond, Head of the Armed and Security Forces section. We needed the correct level for the additional trainer. The person would need to be ex-military, focused on infantry minor tactics and neither too senior nor too junior. My feeling was mid-level, training major, anything more senior would be too highbrow. Ideally, it would be good to get someone from the region – from central or East Africa.

  “One question, sir,” I asked Rwigamba, “What is your basic manoeuvre group?”

  “Similar to your army,” he said. “A section of ten men made up of one scout, gun group of three, rifle group of three, section commander and second in command, and the signaller to carry the radio, sat phone, generator and laptop.”

  I had no idea if he was joking or not about the last bit. After all, an Australian army section is made up in a similar way, but back in 1998 our manoeuvre groups didn’t carry laptops, so what was an African army doing with them? “Why the laptops?” I asked.

  “Because we pass our command orders by Hotmail.”

  That was a surprise, but a very clever one. Back in 1998 email was new and back then the use and security of a Hotmail password would have been sufficient for operational security. It was novel, clever and again reminded me about Dominique’s comment about “smart” and how wrong he was. Like Gowing’s comments about the media, the Rwandans understood information control. That having been said, Rwigamba was exaggerating slightly as not every section had a laptop, but the significant commanders did.

  Now the search was on to find a suitable person to help do the training. ICRC headquarters originally found a retired colonel from the Swiss Air Force to be a trainer. This was a bad choice. What was needed in Rwanda was a person who would have credibility in front of a fighting African army. A retired colonel from the Swiss Air Force wouldn’t cut it in my view, the rank of colonel was too senior, the air force was the wrong branch of the services, and to be frank the Swiss military hasn’t fought for generations.

  The Right Fit? Hans Hatting, a colleague in Nairobi, told me of a Kenyan training major who had just retired after a few decades in the Kenyan Army, including time assisting ICRC training in that country.

  “Perfect, let’s get him”. Unfortunately, some in headqua
rters took significant time to adjust to the idea of a Kenyan major being a better fit than a Swiss colonel. Some in the Kigali office took even longer. Kilele ‘Ben’ wa Kivunzyo was eventually approved for a deployment to Rwanda after nearly three months of negotiations about why black was better than white, regional better than European and major better than colonel.

  Usually, when an expatriate staff member is deployed to an ICRC mission, particularly in a difficult country, for security reasons the staff member is sent to share a house with other expatriates. My residence had three others, Pascal: an Administration Delegate; Crystelle, a Detention Delegate; and Kathryn, a Health Delegate. All three were Swiss. You can imagine my surprise when Pascal, a mission administrator, told me Kilele was to be put in a small hotel in Kigali at the request of Pascal’s boss, Marcel, the head administrator. This had to be a mistake. Expatriates were put in houses. Downtown hotels in Kigali circa 1998 were neither appealing or secure, particularly the small flea-infested one that Kilele was put in.

  “Why isn’t Kilele in an expatriate house?” I asked Marcel later. “Because he is not an expatriate,” said Marcel.

  “He’s from Kenya. We are in Rwanda. That makes him expatriate.” “But he is black,” said Marcel. No guilt. No sense of how wrong that

  was. I insisted that he be put in an expatriate house and eventually Marcel relented and said that if Kilele were to live in an expatriate house then he would have to live in mine. I agreed. Kilele moved in and then Pascal moved out. This story was reported to headquarters and written up in my end of mission report, but was filed in the same file as, “That is just Dominique”.

  Kilele eventually found housing in an appropriate house. He was a great guy, conscientious with the light-hearted laid-back African style that works well with Australians. Always ready to laugh and with a comfortable attitude to life, Kilele and I became friends, and worked well together. Kilele spent a lot of his time fathering me and calming some of my frustrations with the organisation. The racism pissed him off, but Kilele had dealt with it a lot longer than me. He had been suffering racial vilification all his life. He was more sanguine than me.

  Reinforcing my views that our actions were closely monitored, Andrew Rwigamba thanked me for defending Kilele. How he knew, I can only guess. But if it was through electronic monitoring, then one cannot underestimate the impact that the racism had had on entire ICRC operations. I wrote in my end of mission report in early 1999: “The key word concerning relations with the military is ‘Sensitivity’. The RPA is very weary of international influence and perceptions of international arrogance towards the country. They are also exceptionally sensitive about the events of 1994. Therefore any actions or activities concerning the RPA must be made from an appearance of humility and understanding, whilst representing the ICRC in accordance with the Fundamental Principles.”

  Humility and understanding did not sit well with Europeans with racial tendencies. I went on:

  “Between 1990 and 1994 Lieutenant-colonel Kalimba was an operational Battalion commander, despite his medical training. He says that in 1990 a delegate demanded access to areas under his control. He says that her approach and demands (rather than requests) caused him to issue a standing order banning the ICRC from access to any area under his control. This standing order lasted until 1998 when Lieutenant-colonel Rusagara intervened to organise a meeting to discuss the first-aid training program.” It was very frustrating for me to realise that the majority of our blockages were on style rather than substance – and often these came down to racism. Again, in my end of mission report in 1999 I wrote regarding internal racism: “Internally the treatment by certain members of the delegation of Kilele (Ben) wa Kivunzyo when he joined the delegation to assist with the Armed Forces program was inexcusable.

  “At first he was given no house, car or computer as he was, in the words of the responsible administrator ‘not a real delegate”. When he was eventually ‘permitted’ to live in an ICRC residence one of the delegates changed house in protest.”

  Another delegate pulled me aside and accused Kilele of having an ‘affair’ with a delegate (a rumour I have no reason to believe). When I responded asking what the big deal was, as many delegates ‘sleep around’, she responded, “But Andrew, it’s different for him, he is African”.

  Another more shocking example involves the drafting of the document, “An ICRC delegate and Rwandan culture”, written by all of the dissemination field officers. When the first draft was being circulated one delegate began to correct the document. I asked this delegate if they knew more about Rwandan culture than 15 Rwandans and the delegate replied, “Yes, they are wrong here, here and here”. The same delegate also resisted the idea of the field officers briefing the delegates on culture as, in this delegate’s opinion:

  “We would not want the field officers to think that they are teaching us something.”

  Internal problems would be one thing, but more concerning were potential external problems that could impact on operations and lives. I wrote in my end of mission report: “Externally to the delegation such attitudes provide huge dissemination problems as interlocutors rebel against the feelings of racism (at worst) or paternalism (at best) that such delegates exude.”

  Above all, when examples such as this were brought to the attention of the Head of Delegation his reaction was one of inaction.

  It is in the above context that I am not surprised when I read that both Human Rights Watch and African Rights are considering reports on racism within the international aid community.

  Incidents like this really got to me and on occasions I would come home, sit on my bed and cry out of sheer frustration. What got to me was not the violence or poverty of the country, but the bureaucratic inertia that seemed to slow things down to an unnecessarily cautious level – and this cost lives.

  The Invasion of Congo Kilele and I had worked with Patrick Nyamvumba and Andrew Rwigamba to create a structure for the training we would do. Rather than just train in the Law of Armed Conflict in classroom-based isolation, we thought we would take four scenarios, and train the Rwandans on all tactical issues (with that component taught by Rwandan instructors), and incorporate Law of War factors, such as the treatment of prisoners of war, into their standard training scenario. This way the subliminal message would pass that law points are just as legitimate as how to shoot a rifle. We would focus on four incidents: an offensive operation, a defensive operation, a checkpoint operation, and a cordon and search. Each scenario needs a particular type of terrain.

  Rwanda is a stunningly beautiful country of green hills, tropical forest, red soil, banana trees and lots of eucalyptus. I felt at home with the nature. Lake Kivu in the west is breathtakingly gorgeous and Rwanda remains one of the few habitats of the wild mountain gorillas. We came across a beautiful valley.

  “You know, Andrew,” said Kilele with a beaming smile and taking a huge breath of the clear African air. “This valley is like heaven. I can imagine perfection in this valley. Just me, my wife and one million cows!”

  What a pleasure it is to be with a good friend, doing some useful work in beautiful terrain.

  After the training grounds were identified, we got to work. True to their word, the RPA gave us a demonstration platoon, and access to training areas, and we started enjoying our training, creating competitive spirit between Kilele’s group and mine over whose group would receive higher marks. Training was often held in extremely high spirits.

  On one occasion we were to undertake some training on the edge of the Akagera National Park with the full access we were promised. What we didn’t realise, but since has become public, is that the North Koreans, Chinese and Americans were all providing secret training support to the Rwandans in different parts of the country, each without the other countries knowing – another example of the Rwandans demonstrating diplomatic tact. When we were taken to our training area we found ourselves right next to the North Koreans’ rocket training. The Koreans were extreme
ly surprised to see a white guy, and thought their secret was blown. The Rwandans explained that we were trustworthy as we received this information in a confidential context, and the ICRC’s confidentiality can be trusted. This shows how much we had developed a sense of trust.

  When the North Korean presence later became public, Rick Skow noted over a beer in the Officers’ Mess how surprised he was that the North Koreans were in Rwanda.

  “Not at all,” I said, “I knew a month ago when I saw them at Akagera.”

  “Well why didn’t you tell me?” Rick asked.

  “Because you are the US Military Attaché, and I am the ICRC,” was my reply.

  By late June 1998 our training was progressing well and clearly we had gained the trust of the RPA. We had developed good friendships with people like Andrew Rwigamba and Patrick Nyamvumba. Dominique Dufour didn’t quite believe what we were doing, but we had lots of support from Yves in Geneva. There is no doubt in my mind that we were achieving results, and indeed Rick Skow let me know that CIA estimates of civilian casualties in conflict had dropped from 800 a week when we started the training to 400 a week a couple of months later. I am convinced that the training was contributing to that decrease in casualties. The delays in the training – first in getting Kilele in place, and secondly in pushing through the institutional blockages cost lives. Kilele was delayed three months. That’s 12 weeks. Four hundred lives saved per week times 12 weeks. Four thousand-eight hundred lives. Sleep well, Marcel.

  Patrick Nyamvumba had gone missing. We could not get meetings with him and we didn’t know where he was. Andrew Rwigamba assured us he was fine, but it made me wonder what was happening. Rwigamba piqued my interest more when he asked us to accelerate the training so that it would be finished by August 1, without giving any reason why. What was also curious was that each soldier who passed through our training was deployed to the west of the country, near the border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC).