In 1944, the word "genocide" was coined to describe something so horrible that the English language had no word for it. Suddenly, the world was confronted with the enormity of attempting to extinguish an entire people solely because of inherent characteristics — nationality, ethnicity, race and faith. In the horrific aftermath of the Holocaust, the world soberly vowed, Never Again.
Fifty years later, nine-year old Ilen Ndikumwenayo saw his Tutsi mother killed by their Hutu neighbor during the Rwandan genocide. Now a freshman at Princeton, Ilen survived by hiding in bushes. But he did not escape unscathed. "I lost the moral ideals of trust and hope," he said. Meanwhile, the world stood by watching. President Bill Clinton later declared America's failure to intervene in the Rwandan genocide the greatest failure of his administration. But regret has done little to help Ilen.
As you read this, we approach the three-year anniversary of the beginnings of genocide in the Darfur region of Sudan — one that continues to the present day. In June 2004, the House of Representatives passed a resolution calling the situation in Darfur "genocide." Three months later, then Secretary of State Colin Powell affirmed that genocide was indeed occurring in our time. The 1948 Genocide Convention, to which America is a party, requires that action be taken if genocide takes place. Yet, a year and a half later, genocidal acts persist.
Darfur matters today because it represents yet another failure to deter and punish acts of genocide. Genocide will never cease to matter, because it challenges our very humanity. Every act of genocide is an attack on the ideal of civilization. Genocide is a crime visited upon its victims not for any rational end but simply because of who they are. All humans have a responsibility to prevent this senselessly violent act, and the complicity of silence or inaction is as dangerous as the complicity of action.
The victims of history's genocides have one thing in common: they have been reduced to something less than human. Only when this has been accomplished is it possible for the perpetrators of genocide to condemn entire peoples to death. Yet dehumanization is also accomplished when we read of slaughter in a land we have never heard of and do nothing. This is precisely what we must prevent. In two years of genocide, violence and starvation, the UN has estimated that 180,000 people from Darfur have died. How different would be our response if all of the residents of Salt Lake City had perished during the same period? We cannot allow our distance from and unfamiliarity with Darfur to dehumanize its suffering. We cannot allow them to be made any less human than our friends and neighbors, brothers and sisters, to whose defense we would surely rush if they were victims of genocide.
In Darfur, dehumanization has often taken racial forms. Sudan consists of two markedly different worlds: the mostly Muslim and Arab north and the largely Christian and animist south, where black is the predominant skin color. For over 20 years, rebels in the south have been battling northern government forces. In 2003, the insurgency erupted in Darfur, prompting the government to form and equip militias known as Janjaweed. These militias have committed most of the atrocities in Darfur, and their actions are underpinned by race. One report concerns a rape victim who was told, "You are black, so we can rape you."
A UN report documented the Janjaweed's "scorched earth" policy to drive black tribes from Darfur. Witnesses described statements such as "the Fur [one of the chief tribes in Darfur] are our slaves, we will kill them" and "we are here to eradicate blacks."
Last year, a fundraiser at the University raised nearly $20,000 to aid the people of Darfur. Most remarkable, however, was a simple gesture: at the end of the evening, which was videotaped, students held up a sign saying "Salaam Darfur" — Peace in Darfur. The videotape was then sent along with the money.
Small gestures are enough to let the victims of genocide know that they are not forgotten. The simple act of remembrance preserves their humanity. By reaching out to their peers who have suffered the ravages of genocide, students can aid in this effort. This can take many forms — writing letters, sending videos, email — but the essential element is to demonstrate that genocide can never be forgotten and its victims cannot be dehumanized. The act of genocide contains no trace of humanity. But its antidote — remembrance — shows the human spirit in full. Let the youth of the world take the lead in fulfilling the world's promise — Never Again. Scott Moore '08 is a member of the 'Prince' editorial board. He is a sophomore from Louisville, Kentucky. He can be reached at scottm@princeton.edu.
