Shake Hands With the Devil (23 page)

At the refugee camp all was quiet. The
CND
was ready and the route through Kigali secure, with large and happy crowds of Hutus and Tutsis gathering along the way, turning out to welcome the
RPF
to Kigali. The extremists were nowhere to be seen. We were glad that the Interahamwe, in particular, was absent. The Interahamwe were a group of young men who had attached themselves to the youth wing of the ruling
MRND
party and were beginning to show up at a lot of political rallies dressed rather bizarrely, in cotton combat fatigues covered in fantastical symbols in the red, green and black of the Rwandan flag, and carrying machetes or carved replicas of Kalashnikovs. We had found them comical at first, because they looked and acted like clowns, but we soon learned that wherever they showed up, violence and mayhem were never far behind.

When the convoy arrived at the refugee camp, I joined it. There were no incidents along the route. It finally dawned on me why the
RPF
had procrastinated. If someone with inside information had laid an ambush, they would have expected the convoy by early morning. As the convoy was delayed for hours, any ambushers would have abandoned their position for fear of being discovered by our patrols or because they would have thought the operation had been cancelled. It takes a very disciplined soldier to hold still in an ambush position for many hours, and disciplined soldiers were in short supply in both the
RGF
and the extremist camps.

A single shot or grenade from the crowd that lined our way into Kigali could have been disastrous, but as we moved through the streets, there was only euphoria. The
RPF
soldiers were cheered and showered with flowers. By mid-afternoon, the convoy moved into the
CND
complex. I personally welcomed Colonel Alexis Kanyarengwe, the chairman of the
RPF
, to Kigali with a Rwandan flag to fly at the
CND
. Once the
RPF
troops unloaded, they began deploying into a defensive posture around the complex and taking over security from my soldiers. As these handovers were completed, my troops withdrew to the perimeter of the complex to interpose themselves between the
RPF
and the Gendarmerie, which was trying to hold the cheering mobs back.

I spent the evening at the
CND
with Luc, watching the
RPF
get settled. Ambassadors from the diplomatic community came to pay their respects to the chairman. I was surprised to see the French ambassador arrive, since no foreign nation had done so much to prevent this day from happening. Perhaps the French were reconciled to a new Rwanda.

Brent had spent the afternoon and evening studying the
RPF
soldiers and their deployment around the
CND
. The commanding officer—who went by his
nom de guerre
, Commander Charles—was only in his late twenties, but he was obviously an experienced and able leader. The occupation of the
CND
had been well-rehearsed: the
RPF
had deployed by company, platoon and section-sized groups in a direct and deliberate manner. The entire area was checked in minutes, commanders liaised and passed direction, troops were moved into defensive locations, and they immediately began to dig in. Once secure, they had dismissed the
UNAMIR
troops and assumed total control of the interior of the complex. Once the
RPF
began digging, they never stopped for the
next four months. From shellscrapes or foxholes, they dug full fire-trenches, then roofed the trenches for protection from artillery or mortar fire. They then dug full communication-trenches between the individual trenches and built bunkers that developed into caverns. By the time the war resumed in April, they had built an underground complex under the
CND
. It was clear that while the peace process was progressing, they were also prepared for the alternative. I was determined that it would not come to that.

Earlier in December, Brent and I had sat down to draft our three-month review for Boutros Boutros-Ghali, which was to go to the Security Council on December 30. Overall, we were pleased, maybe even euphoric. Despite the world's lack of interest, the supply shortages, and the stonewalling from our
CAO
, we would achieve our phase-one military objectives by the deadline we had set. The ground was prepared for the interim government to step down and the
BBTG
to be sworn in.

However, the situation facing us was tough. With the
RPF
inside the capital and delays dogging the naming of the transitional government, I urgently needed all of the phase-two troops to deploy ahead of schedule. I had to concentrate troops in Kigali at the expense of the demilitarized zone, leaving me wide open with two possible fronts to worry about and only enough troops for one. I was very frank in outlining for the secretary-general how the lack of logistical support was placing my troops at undue risk. The fallout from the Burundi coup had also increased the demands on the military side of the mission. I had asked for more troops to deal with the changed situation in the south but had been told by the
DPKO
that I couldn't have them because I hadn't requested them in my technical mission report. How could I have, when the coup hadn't yet happened? Now I reported that I was making do by stretching my unarmed military observers to the limit so
UNAMIR
could at least maintain a presence in the south. We tried to frame it as optimistically as possible, urging the necessary backing instead of blasting the inadequate support provided to date. When we finished our report, we shipped it off to Booh-Booh to be included in his overall mission report.

When I eventually got a copy of the document that was presented to the Security Council, I was angry: where Brent and I had presented a realistic, if positively framed, picture of the overwhelming challenges facing the mission, Booh-Booh and his staff had watered it down, giving our masters back in New York a reassuring story of slow but steady progress.

In the last days of December, Faustin Twagiramungu became a frequent visitor to my office at the Amahoro. We would occasionally sit out on the balcony and talk well into the night. The balcony faced northwest, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, staining the sky blood-red, we would look out across the hills and valleys alive with the lights of hundreds of small wood fires. We could just make out the white cube of the
CND
and the silhouettes of
RPF
soldiers as they stood guard. The twilight hush was often punctuated by unexplained gunshots.

Faustin was another Rwandan leader who had been educated in Quebec during the Quiet Revolution of the sixties. He had been close to the radical students and intellectuals who would eventually migrate to the separatist cause of the Parti Québécois. One of the people he met during this period was René Lévesque, who became the
PQ
's leader. During our long conversations, he reminisced about his student days in Canada and the radicalism of his youth. I think he found that our shared history made it easy and natural for him to discuss the complex situation facing his country.

When he came to see me on December 30, it was late and he was on his way to another of the interminable meetings the politicans were holding to decide the final lists for the representatives in the transitional government. According to Arusha, the
BBTG
was to be a coalition of Rwanda's five signatory parties: Faustin's
MDR
; the ruling party led by Habyarimana, the
MRND
; Lando's Parti libéral; the
PDC
and the
PSD
(both moderate parties led by Jean-Népomucène Nayinzira and a triumvirate of Fréderic Nzamurambaho, Félicien Gatabazi and Théoneste Gafarange respectively); and the
RPF
. But the extremist
CDR
party, led by the likes of Jean Shyirambere Barahinyura, Jean-Bosco Barayagwiza and Martin Bucyana, whose ideology was blatantly fascist and racist, had refused to sign on with Arusha and as a result, was shut out of the
transitional government. That did not prevent its members from infiltrating the official parties and whipping up public paranoia and hysteria in their propaganda rag,
Kangura,
and over
RTLM
.

In the Arusha negotiations, Lando's
PL
had been allocated the powerful justice portfolio, and the
RPF
had been given the interior ministry, which in theory would enable them to investigate, charge and try individuals for corruption, murder and other crimes. This ability undoubtedly worried many of the current power-holders in Rwanda, who had money in their pockets and blood on their hands. According to Faustin, the biggest fear of the former ruling party was that once the transitional government was installed, the
PL
and the
RPF
would see to it that the president and many of his entourage were clapped in jail for crimes committed during the regime. That night, Faustin also told me that President Habyarimana was trying to manoeuvre around the installation of the
BBTG
and that his direct interference was one of the major factors behind the political impasse.

I remember Faustin's voice rising with concern and anxiety as he described how that manoeuvring was playing itself out and why the lists of the representatives to the
BBTG
kept changing. A woman named Agnès Ntambyauro was agitating for a position in the justice ministry, an appointment that was being blocked by Lando, even though she was a member of the
PL
. Lando was also having trouble with his party president, Justin Mugenzi. Both Ntambyauro and Mugenzi were known to be extremists who had joined the shadowy group that called itself Le Power, or Hutu Power. There were rumours that Mugenzi was being paid off by Habyarimana's henchmen to stir up trouble within the
PL
.

I told Faustin I understood his worries but urged him to find some way to rally the moderates in other parties in order to get the political process on track. If the installation of the
BBTG
was further delayed, he risked losing the support of moderates inside the army, the Gendarmerie and the communal police, who we knew supported Arusha. Many of these military moderates were taking great personal risks by doing their utmost to co-operate with
UNAMIR
. He and the rest of the politicians had to do the same if we were to have any chance at success. I had hoped to inspire him, but he left me that night unpersuaded.

The holidays had passed in a blur of meetings, as everyone scrambled to make the last possible window for the installation of the
BBTG
. This last official round of discussions was held at the rotunda inside the Amahoro complex. I attended all of the meetings and even agreed to chair some of them. Booh-Booh, before he went on holiday, hadn't been able to get any forward momentum. By New Year's Eve, the rifts in the
PL
and Faustin's
MDR
were becoming even more marked, and a threatening tone edged the debate. As the clock ticked down on 1993, I could feel my energy and optimism ebbing. When the meeting broke up close to midnight, I was depressed and exhausted. I hadn't slept much in weeks and I just wanted to go home and crash.

As I was packing up, Brent slipped into my office with a twinkle in his eye and suggested that we go up to the New Year's Eve party that our officers had organized at the Meridien hotel. I didn't really feel like it but knew I should go. As soon as we entered the party room, the place erupted. The guys had hired a live band, which tore into a wonderful set of African tunes that started my blood pumping. I couldn't resist. I started dancing and didn't stop for a good two hours. At first, my troops couldn't quite believe what they were seeing and joined in a little nervously. As the night turned to morning, I felt the tension draining out of me as I danced out all the frustration and disappointment.

Whatever the future held, that night nothing could touch or interfere with the wonderful bond I shared with my men.

I WENT INTO
the office at seven-thirty New Year's morning. The civilian staff were taking the day off, and all was quiet on the second floor of the Amahoro. As I looked around, my office seemed a symbol of everything that was wrong with the mission. I could use the phone on my desk only gingerly because the scrambling device attached to it never worked properly. We had begged, borrowed, scrounged and dipped into our own pockets to buy the furniture in the room. The fax paper was doled out by the
CAO
as if it were gold. Everything about this mission was a struggle.

I had pushed my small force to the point of exhaustion in order to meet the first of the ninety-day milestones set out in the Arusha accords, and yet where exactly had that gotten Rwanda or us? We were still bogged down in a political quagmire that threatened to hijack the mission. We had less than three days' water, rations and fuel; we had no defensive stores (barbed wire, sandbags, lumber and so on); no spare parts; no night vision equipment; and severe shortages of radios and vehicles. Staff officers worked on their bellies on the floor because there were so few desks and chairs. We had no filing cabinets, which meant none of the mission information and planning could be properly secured. Every week in our situation reports and almost daily by phone we begged for these shortfalls to be addressed; we knew there was equipment sitting at the
UN
depot in Pisa, Italy, but we were obviously a low priority, and everything seemed to go to missions such as the one in the former Yugoslavia. A commander seldom has all the resources he needs to conduct a mission and has to accept managing shortages,
which themselves present risks. A leader manages risk. But
everything
we did in
UNAMIR
was a risk because we had next to nothing.