Erin Jessee

The limits of oral history: ethics and methodology amid highly politicized research settings.

In recent years, oral history has been celebrated by its practitioners for its humanizing potential, and its ability to democratize history by bringing the narratives of people and communities typically absent in the archives into conversation with that of the political and intellectual elites who generally write history. And when dealing with the narratives of ordinary people living in conditions of social and political stability, the value of oral history is unquestionable. However, in recent years, oral historians have increasingly expanded their gaze to consider intimate accounts of extreme human experiences, such as narratives of survival and flight in response to mass atrocities. This shift in academic and practical interests begs the questions: Are there limits to oral historical methods and theory? And if so, what are these limits? This paper begins to address these questions by drawing upon fourteen months of fieldwork in Rwanda and Bosnia-Hercegovina, during which I conducted multiple life history interviews with approximately one hundred survivors, ex-combatants, and perpetrators of genocide and related mass atrocities. I argue that there are limits to the application of oral history, particularly when working amid highly politicized research settings.

Negotiating Genocide in Rwanda: The Politics of History

This book is an oral history-based study of the politics of history in the aftermath of the 1994 genocide in Rwanda. Using life history and thematic interviews, the author brings the narratives of officials, survivors, returnees, perpetrators, and others whose lives have been intimately affected by genocide into conversation with scholarly studies of the Rwandan genocide, and Rwandan history more generally. In doing so, she explores the following questions: How do Rwandans use history to make sense of their experiences of genocide and related mass atrocities? And to what end? In the aftermath of such violence, how do people’s interpretations of the varied forms of suffering they endured then influence their ability to envision and support a peaceful future for their nation that includes multi-ethnic cooperation?

Managing danger in oral historical fieldwork

Abstract This article offers an overview of the literature on anticipating and managing danger in qualitative fieldwork as it pertains to the practice of oral history in various settings. It offers an alternative perspective to the widespread assumption that oral history is an inherently positive endeavor that results in good relationships and positive outcomes. This article explores some of the circumstances through which danger can emerge in the course of oral historical fieldwork, both in relatively benign and in overtly hostile settings. It also offers preliminary recommendations for anticipating and managing these forms of harm.

The danger of a single story: Iconic stories in the aftermath of the 1994 Rwandan genocide:

In the aftermath of the 1994 genocide, the government of Rwanda—much like other transitional regimes around the world—has prioritized reconciliation initiatives that educate civilians with a highly politicized understanding of the conflict and encourage them to speak about the conflict and its aftermath in a manner that reinforces the legitimacy of the current government. However, individual survivors, bystanders, ex-combatants, and/or perpetrators of the genocide find various subtle ways to reinforce, resist, or complicate the current official history. This article analyzes a series of “iconic stories” that are repeated by Rwandans in different settings due to their historical and personal resonance for what they can tell us about the ethnic and political tensions that often continue to divide Rwandans and the overall challenges associated with everyday life since the genocide. Yet, engaging with these iconic stories places the researcher in a difficult position where the democratizing potential of oral history is potentially undermined. This article argues that even while qualitative researchers have an obligation to listen deeply to their informants, their moral and professional obligations to avoid reproducing narratives that promote potentially reprehensible agendas—for example, genocide denial or the legitimation of authoritarianism—make contextualizing their participants’ narratives in relation to the personal, historical, and political climate in which they are being produced essential.

Returnees: Looking Toward the “New Rwanda”

While many rural memorial staff, survivors, and genocidaires had internalized a host of complaints about life in post-genocide Rwanda, there was a significant cohort of Rwandans for whom RPF leadership and policies were largely regarded in positive terms: namely, returnees. I encountered returnees throughout my fieldwork, though mostly as gatekeepers within the government ministries and community-based organizations from which I required permission to conduct research, but also as colleagues and friends. To this end, I found returnees occupied a disproportionate number of positions of influence, both in the government and in civil society organizations. In nearly all instances, they came from elite Tutsi families who had some form of formal tie to the Rwandan monarchy during Rwanda’s colonial period. Their families had then fled ethnic and political violence in Rwanda beginning with the Hutu Revolution from 1959 to 1962, or subsequent periods of ethnic and political violence that occurred during the First Hutu Republic.1 Upon fleeing Rwanda, they brought with them little wealth, but were frequently able to leverage social and political relationships in a manner that ensured their survival, in some instances enabling them to thrive in their adopted homes. In many instances, this meant their children were able to achieve high levels of education compared to their Rwandan counterparts and, in the case of those who settled in Uganda, Kenya, and other former British colonies, proficiency in English rather than French. As a result, with the RPF’s military success in Rwanda surrounding the genocide, many returnees found themselves able, for the first time in as much as 35 years, to return to Rwanda and upon returning were uniquely qualified to take up positions in the new government, military, and civil society organizations.

Conclusion: The Danger of a Single Story

The narratives analyzed in the preceding chapters clearly demonstrate that despite the existence of a pervasive official history in post-genocide Rwanda, the Rwandan people still make sense of their nation’s past and present in diverse ways. Competing accounts exist surrounding every major period in Rwanda’s history, from the pre-colonial era to the present. In bringing these competing narratives into conversation, critical tensions become apparent between the RPF’s ambitions for the New Rwanda and the needs of ordinary civilians. These tensions have significant ramifications for Rwandan’s future. Not only is the RPF’s official narrative only genuinely perceived as accurate and appropriate by a minority of Rwandans, but its existence is widely interpreted as a coercive presence in civilians’ everyday lives. As such, the RPF’s official narrative repeats many of the same mistakes made by previous regimes, contributing to the maintenance of a powerful reservoir of ethnic, political, and social tensions that, if left unchecked, could threaten long-term political stability.

An Official History: Commemorating “the 1994 Genocide of the Tutsi”

The fieldwork underlying this book began at Rwanda’s state-funded genocide memorials. This was a calculated decision: as a foreigner to Rwanda, it was important that I learn how to broach the subject of the genocide and related mass atrocities in a culturally sensitive manner, and probe Rwandan civilians’ life histories without inflicting undue emotional distress upon those research participants who might find it difficult to revisit their pasts. The state-funded genocide memorials seemed like an ideal place to begin gaining this cultural and political fluency, as their exhibits had been carefully designed to educate people about the events surrounding the genocide, and their staff had been formally trained in how to address the often insensitive or misinformed questions and expectations of foreigners.

Genocide Survivors: Complicating the Official Narrative

Just as it took time to comprehend and navigate the unique social and political context in which the memorial staff were embedded, fieldwork among survivors required similar care and patience. Initially, I had perceived the memorials as a potential entry point in each community, anticipating that once I finished interviewing memorial staff at each site, they would then be able to help me recruit survivors from nearby areas. However, due to the complicated position occupied by memorial staff, and the fact that the surrounding communities had seen me doing fieldwork at the state-funded genocide memorials, memorial staff recommended that I find another way to gain access. While they were willing to provide names and facilitate introductions, they argued that survivors approached through the state-funded genocide memorials would likely assume that I was working for the government, rendering them suspicious and unwilling to speak freely. A safer option, according to my contacts at the memorials, would be to approach survivors through the various community-based organizations (CBOs) and non-governmental organizations (NGOs) that provided them with support, as these institutions were, generally speaking, seen as safe spaces for survivors to voice their needs and concerns.1 The vetting process that many of these organizations employed in deciding whether a researcher should be permitted access to their members, meanwhile, would help me demonstrate trustworthiness by Rwandan standards.2

Memorial Staff: Between Official Narrative and Lived Experience

Daphne—a child survivor of the genocide and a guide at one of Rwanda’s state-funded genocide memorials—was the first person who allowed me to interview her formally. We had met informally on several occasions while I was observing the day-to-day functionings of the memorial where she worked, and she had kindly permitted me to observe her as she guided visitors around the site. Like many of her co-workers, she was a consummate professional, providing a standardized overview of how the genocide took shape in her community before responding to visitors’ questions with confidence and composure, despite the intimate and often distressing subject matter. She seemed particularly skilled at providing support to the occasional Rwandans who came—often from abroad—to pay their respects to loved ones lost during the genocide, giving them plenty of space, but always staying close in case they wanted information or were overcome by emotion. She took great pride in her work, and wanted to take English lessons and pursue higher education in genocide studies or human rights so she could improve her understanding of what had happened in her country and better educate others.

Convicted Génocidaires: Keepers of “Bad History”

As indicated in Chapter 1, I interspersed my interviews with memorial staff and survivors with fieldwork at five Rwandan prisons so I could interview convicted genocidaires. I sought out genocidaires’ perspectives for two reasons. First, it seemed unethical to place the “narrative burden” of giving testimony related to the genocide solely on survivors and bystanders, many of whom face significant mental and physical health challenges in the post-genocide period that might be exacerbated by spending long periods talking about their experiences.1 This is not to say that genocidaires had been spared similar mental and physical health challenges—indeed, many of the genocidaires I interviewed exhibited anxiety, paranoia, and emotional distress, and admitted suffering from nightmares and other potential symptoms of trauma in discussing the genocide and their subsequent imprisonment, suggesting they too had been deeply and negatively affected by the violence they had enacted in the post-genocide period.2 However, it is arguably more ethical for perpetrators to share the narrative burden of speaking about the genocide with survivors, bystanders, and other parties to the conflict wherever it is possible to gain access to their accounts. Second, I recognized that it is important to consider the experiences of genocidaires in conversation with the experiences of survivors to gain insight into how the genocide and Rwandan history more generally are interpreted by different parties to the conflict in the post-genocide period. This is particularly relevant as survivors and bystanders may not fully comprehend the various factors that motivated perpetrators’ actions surrounding periods of genocide, for example, or may not have been party to intimate details regarding the planning and inciting of genocide in their communities.