Professional Documents
Culture Documents
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Abstract
Post genocide commentaries on colonial Rwandan history have emphasized the centrality of the
Hamitic Hypothesis in shaping Catholic leaders sociopolitical imagination concerning Hutu
and Tutsi identities. For most scholars, the resulting racialist interpretation of Hutu and Tutsi
categories poisoned Rwandan society and laid the groundwork for postcolonial ethnic violence.
This paper challenges the simplicity of this standard narrative. Not only did colonial Catholic
leaders possess a complex understanding of the terms Hutu and Tutsi, but the Hutu-Tutsi
question was not the exclusive or even dominant paradigm of late colonial Catholic discourse.
Even after the eruption of Hutu-Tutsi tensions in the late 1950s, Catholic bishops and lay elites
continued to interpret the Hutu-Tutsi distinction in a wide variety of ways. Catholic attitudes
and the escalation of Hutu-Tutsi tensions stemmed more from contextual political factors than
immutable anthropological theories, however flawed.
Keywords
Rwanda, Catholic, Hutu, Tutsi, colonial, genocide
DOI: 10.1163/157006612X646178
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Perraudin and Mgr. Aloys Bigirumwami, demonstrate how the racialist interpretation of Hutu and Tutsi categories remained a contested point on the eve of
Rwandas independence. I conclude by reiterating my central premise that politics matters more than ethnicity for understanding Rwandas recent conflicts.4
What Were Hutu and Tutsi? Precolonial Complexities and the Hamitic
Hypothesis
Despite their central importance in Rwandas tragic postcolonial history, the
categories of Hutu and Tutsi are not easily defined (cf. Kalibwami 1991,
47-60; Reyntjens 1985, 25-30; Mamdani 2001, 41-75; and Rudakemwa
2005, 23-30). Variously described as distinctions of race, ethnicity, caste,
socioeconomic status, or political power, the terms used to explain Hutu
and Tutsi themselves reflect deep ideological presuppositions.5 To be sure, traditional Rwandan myths never described Hutu, Tutsi, or Twa as ubwoko, the
Kinyarwanda term closest to the Western notion of race or ethnicity. Nor
should one read Hutu and Tutsi categories through a strict economic or classist lens where Tutsi describes the upper class and Hutu refers to the lower
class (Codere 1973; Lemarchand 1970; DHertefelt 1971). Thousands of
wealthy Hutu were never reclassified as Tutsi, and thousands of lower-class
Tutsi struggled to eke out a living far from the luxuries of the royal court
(Vidal 1973, 32-47). Neither does the term caste fit the Hutu-Tutsi distinction; there were no connotations of purity or pollution as in South Asia (Todd
1977, 398-412). Rather, the precolonial terms Hutu and Tutsi typically
referred to social or professional categories of farmers and herders, respectively.
Significantly, the categories also contained hierarchical overtones. As Jan Vansina has argued, in the nineteenth century Hutu was a demeaning term that
alluded to rural boorishness or loutish behavior (Vansina 2003, 134). Royal
Tutsi elites applied this term to servants and foreigners as well as farmers.6
Although Hutu and Tutsi categories existed in traditional Banyarwanda
society, the Hutu-Tutsi line remained comparatively fluid, and significant
factors of integration remained (Gatwa 2005, 5). Intermarriage continued,
wealthy Hutu were at times reclassified as Tutsi, and Hutu and Tutsi co-existed
in socially formative institutions like the military. While the mwami (king)
had theoretically unlimited power, three chiefs divided responsibility for
agricultural, pastoral, and tax issues on each of Rwandas hills. Significantly,
one of these chiefs was always Hutu. Furthermore, a Munyarwanda was
not merely Hutu or Tutsi. Family, clan, and lineage ties were often more
determinative, whether on the local hill or in the often-vicious succession
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nobility, writing in 1922 that when we speak of the Batutsi, we think very
uniquely of the great Tutsi chiefs, who constitute a very restrained aristocracy
(Classe 1922, 681). After Belgium replaced Germany as Rwandas colonial
overlords in 1916, Classe vociferously supported Belgiums and the royal
courts pacification campaigns across the northern and western regions of
Rwanda. This process often entailed replacing local Hutu lineage heads with
imported Tutsi notables (Rutayisire 1987, 112; Kalibwami 1991, 194). When
Great Britain briefly annexed the eastern region of Gisaka in 1923-24, Classes
voice proved critical in shoring up Belgian support for Musingas claims to the
territory. And when Belgian officials wavered in their commitment to an allTutsi ruling class, it was Classe who insisted that reinstituting Hutu chiefs
would lead the country to anti-European communism and anarchy
(Rudakemwa 2005, 202; Mbonimana 1978, 153). In addition, even as he
turned against Musinga after 1927, Classe continued to favor a Tutsi monopoly of the chefferies and sous-chefferies, the colonial administrative units that
Belgian authorities established in the 1920s. Generally speaking, we have no
chiefs who are better qualified, more intelligent, more active, more capable of
appreciating progress and more fully accepted by the people than the Tutsi
(Reyntjens 1985, 105; Longman 2010, 63; Lemarchand 1970, 73).
In addition, Hutu-Tutsi stratification grew inside the Catholic Church
under Classes watch. This was most evident in the area of schooling, a pastoral
priority that Classe saw as essential to determining whether the leadership
elite will be for us or against us (Classe 1940, 31). Whereas Hutu and Tutsi
had been educated together in the early years of Catholic missions, Classe
introduced a two-tiered educational system in the 1920s. Students were segregated by ethnic group, and Tutsi received a far more rigorous course than their
Hutu colleagues. This helped ensure that only Tutsi qualified for the most
influential positions in the colonial administration. In Classes view, Hutu
children should receive an education, but it should be an education suited to
those who would have places to take in mines and farming (Classe 1940, 40).
In addition, Classe patronized the Tutsi-dominated Josephite priests and
Benebikira sisters.
In summary, Classe contributed to the hardening of Hutu-Tutsi categories
in colonial Rwandan society and within the emerging Rwandan church. His
rhetoric could reflect the Hamitic imagination that European colonial officials
mapped onto Rwandan society. But to stop here is to say too little. For example, Classe did not categorically oppose Hutu advancement in the church.
Classe ordained multiple Hutu to the priesthood, appointed Hutu priests
and catechists to lead mission stations, and named the Hutu Gallican Bushishi
as professor of the major seminary in Kabgayi. Catholic schools educated
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Hutu throughout the 1910s and 1920s, and the Catholic seminary remained
one of the only avenues for Hutu advancement in colonial Rwanda (Rutayisire
1987, 178).
In turn, Classes writings in the 1920s and 1930s demonstrate the complexity of his understanding of Hutu and Tutsi categories. Even as he supported a
Tutsi monopoly on political power, Classe undermined the notion of inherent
Tutsi intellectual superiority and hinted at a more socioeconomic understanding of the Hutu-Tutsi distinction: I would say that the Tutsi are not, in general, more intelligent than the Hutu . . . Tutsi refers not to origin but social
condition, a state of fortune . . . whoever is a chief, or is rich, will often be
called Tutsi (Classe 1922, 681). Classe also recognized that Hutu and Tutsi
shared the same culture and intermixed through marriage, particularly in
Rwandas central regions: The Tutsi and the Hutu speak the same language,
they have the same religion and the same customs . . . the Hutu are Bantu but,
in the center of the country, with a certain proportion of Tutsi blood (Classe
1922: 680).10 Even as he described Tutsi in 1935 as Negroids and the African
people which displays the strongest Hamitic indications, Classe recognized
that Rwandas Tutsi population was not a pure race, and for those which fortune does not favor, alliances with female Hutu are not rare (Classe 1935,
138). Classe also continued to emphasize the political horizon that underlay
the Hutu-Tutsi distinction, noting that when he used the term Tutsi he was
speaking of the great Tutsi chiefs rather than the broader Tutsi population.
Yet even here he recognized that the ranks of Rwandas great chiefs included
Hutu and Twa alike (Classe 1935, 139). Nor was ethnic identity the sole
determining factor in Classes political views. For example, Classe encouraged
Belgium to reject older Tutsi nobles who did not embrace Belgiums and the
Catholic Churchs modernizing project. He cast his lot instead with a rising
cadre of young Tutsi elites who had been trained in Catholic schools. In the
views of Rwandas preeminent Catholic leader, political advancement depended
on openness to European modernization and Christianity as much as ethnic
heritage (Classe 1940, 40-43).
More than a racist ideologue convinced of the biological superiority of
Tutsi over Hutu, Classe was a pragmatic churchman protecting what he perceived to be the political interests of the Catholic Church. His much-quoted
1930 essay calling for Mwami Musingas removal from power advocated an
exclusively Tutsi ruling caste. Often overlooked, however, were his subsequent
statements proscribing any sort of permanent ban on Hutu political leadership and rejecting Tutsi favoritism in employment or secondary schools (Classe
1930; Mbonimana 1978, 64; Reyntjens 1985, 105). In other words, Classes
insistence on a temporary Tutsi monopolization of Rwandas chefferies was a
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tactical move to ensure that the Catholic Churchand not its Lutheran or
Anglican rivalsshaped the next generation of Tutsi political leaders. As
Classe said in 1927, The question is whether the ruling elite will be for us or
against us, whether the important places in native society will be in Catholic
or in non-Catholic hands; whether the Church will have through education
and its formation of youth the preponderant influence in Rwanda (Classe
1940, 31). This does not lessen Classes responsibility for his divisive rhetoric,
nor does it deny that Catholic institutions exacerbated Hutu-Tutsi tensions in
colonial Rwanda. But as would be evident in the 1950s, political and institutional interests were as important as racialist stereotypes in determining the
actions of Catholic leaders. In turn, developments in the 1950s demonstrated
the surprisingly malleable and intrinsically political nature of Hutu-Tutsi
identities in late colonial Rwanda.
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converted en masse to Catholicism during a late 1920s and 1930s movement famously described as la tornade. This public embrace of Catholicism
culminated with Mwami Mutara Rudahigwas 1946 dedication of the nation
to Christ the King. By 1950 Rwanda counted nearly 600,000 baptized Catholics and catechumensone-third of a total population of 1.8 million. While
adherents to traditional religion still comprised a majority of the population,
Catholics outnumbered Protestants by fifteen to one and Muslims by one
hundred to one. Significantly, Catholicism dominated Rwandas elite class
even more than its peasantry; 647 of Rwandas 674 chiefs and subchiefs had
converted to Catholicism by 1950. Nearly all educated Hutu had been trained
in Catholic schools and seminaries. The Catholic Church had become the
central agent of intellectual and political formation in colonial Rwanda.
However, such rapid success bred restlessness. Specifically, Catholic commentators in Rwanda feared that the rising clamor for decolonization would
open Africas doors to international communism, secularization, and religious
indifference. The division of Berlin in 1948, communist triumph in China,
cold war stalemate in Korea, and ongoing struggle in Vietnam appeared to
confirm this pessimism. These fears colored missionary views of African
nationalism, especially the movements most vociferous pan-Africanist and
anticolonial streams. Writing in the journal LAmi, the White Fathers attempted
to steel Rwandan Catholic elites against what they described as an approaching red menace.12 Inflammatory articles concerned the errors of Marxist
ideology, the anticlerical abuses of communist China, and a supposed Soviet
plot to pose communist agitators as African Catholic priests (Savez-vous,
1950; Des Noirs Communistes 1954). Even the missionaries growing emphasis on social justice and land reform stemmed in part from their fears that
peasant resentment would open Rwanda to the subversive ideas of communism (Cattin 1952; Actualit sociales 1954).13 According to Fr. Andr
Perraudin, the rector of Rwandas Catholic seminary and future bishop of
Rwandas largest diocese, the red monster will turn its eyes towards Africa.
The future [of communism] is not perhaps that far off (Perraudin 1955).
Along with their apprehensions concerning international communism,
missionaries feared that the secularizing trend of modern European history
would soon develop in Rwanda. A bellwether in this regard was the lay schools
debate of 1954-55. Supported by Augustin Buisseret, Belgiums minister for
colonies, Mwami Mutara and a coterie of other Tutsi chiefs advocated for
Belgium to develop an independent state school system and curtail missionary
influence in Rwandas Catholic schools. The argument reflected a broader
debate on whether a future independent Rwanda should reduce the social
influence of the Catholic Church, particularly as represented by the White
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Fathers and other missionary clergy. The White Fathers interpreted such critiques as part of a larger secularist conspiracy to eliminate Catholic influence
from society. In the words of one disgruntled White Father, anticlerical politicians were trying to keep Catholic politics in the sacristy (La Franc-maonnerie 1955). As the noted Rwandan historian Paul Rutayisire has argued,
Catholic leaders of the early 1950s were more concerned with perceived religious indifference and resurgent paganism than the Hutu-Tutsi question
per se (Rutayasire 2004, 42).
Second, Catholic leaders saw the upbuilding of Christian civilization as a
central component of their evangelical mission. Catholic missions had long
emphasized the importance of the European civilizing mission in Africa. In
the words of one Belgian cardinal, European missionaries had served for decades as messengers of Christian civilization in black Africa (Van Roey 1952,
104).14 While these sentiments would change after independence, latecolonial Rwandan elites noted their approval of the Westernizing influences
of Catholic missions. According to Alexis Kagame, the famous Rwandan
theologian and royal advisor, White Father missionaries had developed the
Kinyarwanda language and offered the religious formation that was an irreplaceable element in the initiation of Black Africa to Western civilization
(Kagame 1951, 223; Kagame 1950, 137-140; Gatwa 1954, 284). Similarly,
the Hutu journalist and future Rwandan president Gregoire Kayibanda associated the churchs civilizing mission with the Catholic obligation to protect
the common good and defend Rwandas status as a bulwark of African Christianity (Kayibanda 1953, 169; Kayibanda 1954e, 7). For Kayibanda the
Christian social task of the mid-1950s entailed Rwandans baptizing the structures and institutions of Rwanda. While this would not require a theocracy,
only an entente between church and state could provide a healthy basis for the
further evolution of Rwandan society (Kayibanda 1954b, 173-74; Kayibanda
1954d, 344; Nzamwita 1953, 236-237).
If such a church-state partnership had helped propagate a neotraditional,
hierarchical vision of Rwandan society during the first decades of the twentieth century, new winds of democratization and modernization were blowing
in the early 1950s. After World War II the United Nations appointed an international trusteeship to oversee Rwanda and Burundi, exhorting Belgium to
devolve further power to local elites. In response, Belgium announced a tenyear development and devolution plan in 1952, opening prospects for democratic elections. In turn, Mwami Mutara announced the abolition of uburetwa
(forced labor) and ubuhake (patron-client relationships), two vestiges of
Rwandas precolonial society. In this sense Mutara embraced the political
modernization of Rwanda, describing the 1953 decree establishing Rwandas
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among intellectual elites and urban workersplayed no small role in ratcheting up the anxieties of the White Fathers (Conway 1996; Gerard 2004; Aubert
1982).
In light of Rwandas postcolonial history, what seems most surprising in this
literature is the absence of Hutu-Tutsi discourse. The Hutu volu Kayibanda
offers a telling example. As coauthor of the 1957 Bahutu Manifesto, founder
of the Mouvement Social Muhutu, leader of the Parmehutu political party, and
president of the First Republic between 1962 and 1973, Kayibanda served as
the intellectual godfather of the Hutu nationalism that dominated Rwanda
between 1959 and 1994. Yet as lay editor of LAmi between 1953 and 1955,
Kayibanda did not write on the Hutu-Tutsi question. When he spoke of the
feudal mentality infecting the wealthier classes, he did not label this mentality Tutsi (Kayibanda 1954). His famous 1954 manifesto, Marching towards
Progress, reads like a paean for interracial and intraclass collaboration on the
pressing social issues of the day. Significantly, such social issues were never
framed in Hutu-Tutsi terms (Kayibanda 1954d). And even after taking over
the editorship of Kinyamateka, the popular Kinyarwanda-language Catholic
newspaper, Kayibandas social critiques did not incorporate Hutu-Tutsi language until well into 1957 (Rutayasire 2009, 16-17).
Similarly, Hutu-Tutsi language does not dominate the White Fathers political commentaries in the early 1950s. Brief anthropological studies in Catholic newspapers focused on the categories of clan and family; interracial analysis
centered not on Hutu and Tutsi categories but rather on white-black divisions
in Belgian Congo and apartheid South Africa (Nkongori 1951; Pauwels 1953;
Problmes sociaux 1952). Nor did the Hutu-Tutsi distinction dominate the
White Fathers more classified political reflections. For example, an anonymous October 1952 study of Rwandan politics described the Rwandan mentality as characterized by duplicity, xenophobia, and a lack of scruples in
choosing means to an end (Pro Memoria 1952). One should note that the
labels here are national rather than ethnic.
Even a later advocate of Hutu emancipation like Andr Perraudin rarely
alluded to an explicit Hutu-Tutsi problem in the early 1950s. To be sure,
Perraudin wrote in his 1952 seminary report of wanting to foster a more
forthright fusion between subjects of the different races and vicariates, attributing Nyakibanda Major Seminarys recent tensions to the human tendency
of people of the same ethnic group to come together (Rapport Annuel 1952).
Yet subsequent language implies that Perraudin was referring to tensions
between Rwandans, Burundians, and Congolese rather than between Hutu
and Tutsi. For example, he noted that the White Fathers chose to begin a new
seminary for Burundian and Congolese seminarians due to a desire to suppress at its root certain difficulties stemming from ethnic differences (Rapport
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Annuel 1952). Later in 1953 Perraudin traced intraecclesial divisions to political agitation, the promise of independence, and fights between blacks and
whites, but he never mentioned Hutu-Tutsi divisions as a precipitating cause
(Perraudin 1953). Likewise, White Father superiors praised Perraudin in 1954
for maintaining perfect union between the two clerical factions in Rwanda
(Volker 1954). The language of two rather than three should be noted. The
division here was black-white, not Hutu-Tutsi-European. Even in his 2003
autobiography Perraudin admitted that there were no visible ethnic problems
during my sojourn at the major seminary of Nyakibanda, claiming that he
only realized the extent of Tutsi clerical domination after being named Vicar
Apostolic of Kabgayi in 1956 (Perraudin 2003, 19, 134).
Rather than Hutu and Tutsi, the category of volu emerged as the dominant sociopolitical category of the early 1950s. Integrating the best aspects of
European and Rwandan traditions, volus were the elites of Africa: a category
of men who by their intellectual, moral and religious formation, and often
through their social situation and material assistance, find themselves in the
forefront of progress (Tribune Libre 1954). For both the Hutu journalist
Kayibanda and the Tutsi priest Gasore, the evolved men of Rwanda were
now entrusted with leading the lower classes to a higher level of civilization
(Kayibanda 1954d; Gasore 1956, 7). Likewise, the Tutsi priest Innocent
Gasabwoya argued that Rwandas key social division was not Hutu-Tutsi
but the cleavage between the class of volus at the head of the country which
have in their hands [the nations] destiny . . . and the class of the peasants
(Gasabwoya 1955).
This may also explain why the nascent political movements of the early
1950s coalesced not around Hutu and Tutsi labels but rather around more
generic calls for political reform. Launched in 1951 to support the moral,
intellectual and material progress of Rwanda, the Association of BelgianRwandan Friendship boasted a diverse membership, including European missionaries, the aforementioned Kayibanda, the Tutsi priest Alexis Kagame, and
Lazare Ndazaro, a moderate Tutsi chief and political rival to Mwami Mutara
(Les Amitis 1951). The Mouvement Politique Progressiste (MPP) succeeded this
association in 1955. Like its predecessor, the MPP avoided either overtly
nationalist or ethnicist language, striving to improve relations between Rwandans and Europeans while avoiding both anti-European nationalism and what
it termed social discrimination based on race. Its signatories included forty
Tutsi chiefs, Hutu intellectuals like Kayibanda and Munyangaju, and the
Burundian prince Pierre Baranyanika. Baranyanika would later emerge as a
symbol of the proclerical, pan-ethnic and anticolonial Burundian nationalist
movement (Un parti politique 1955).
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Surveying the Rwandan scene in 1955, one would have been hard-pressed
to name Hutu-Tutsi tensions as a central component of Catholic elite discourse. Nor did the Hutu-Tutsi question emerge strongly in broader public
discourse, in part because the Catholic Church maintained a near monopoly
of news media. Clerical tensions were evident between Europeans and Africans, as were growing divisions between Tutsi political elites like the reforming
chief Prosper Bwanakweri and Mwami Mutara. After 1956, however, the
panethnic volu identity that marked the early years of the decade gave way
to increasingly ethnicist Hutu-Tutsi discourse. In the face of democratizing
currents, elitist identities proved no match to ethnicism and nationalism in
mobilizing the Rwandan masses. Yet even as ethnopolitical tensions accelerated, Rwandan lay elites and Catholic bishops continued to display a remarkably malleable understanding of these contested terms.
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Council (Comit de ltude 1958, 5). In contrast, Tutsi elites thought that
Rwandas ethnic stratification would decline as Rwanda improved its educational system and established its independence from the Belgian colonial system. These Tutsi elites opposed any kind of Hutu affirmative action plan,
fearing that introducing Hutu quotas or Hutu representatives would only
strengthen Hutu-Tutsi identities and further exacerbate social tensions. Many
also took issue with Hutu commission members predilection for speaking in
collectivist ethnic terms. Here a reformist Tutsi chief and devout Catholic like
Prosper Bwanakweri reminded his Hutu interlocutors that the majority of
Tutsi were poor and that the Tutsi class did not conspire to discriminate against
Hutu (Deuxime Sance 1958).15
Even as the political debate became increasingly contentious, the HutuTutsi Study Commissions rhetoric concerning the nature of the Hutu-Tutsi
distinction remained remarkably ambiguous. The Hutu Catholic Balthazar
Bicamumpaka offered a socioeconomic analysis, arguing that our sense of
Bahutu encompasses all the poor people, so that a poor Mututsi is at the same
time Muhutu, that is Hutu in a social sense (Deuxime Sance 1958, 13).
Another Hutu representative provided a more biological definition. I understand a Muhutu in the genealogical sense, a Muhutu by race (Deuxime Sance
1958, 13).16 Known for his strident, populist rhetoric, the former Hutu seminarian and emerging Hutu political leader Joseph Gitera emphasized the solidarity of all poor Rwandans.
A Muhutu in our sense then is the poor and simple man, excluding at the same time
the racial Hutu who becomes socially Hamitic. The Mututsi for us is the superhuman . . . who socially is higher and mistrusts the Hutu, so that the Tutsi who sympathizes [with us] . . . is not a Tutsi in our sense (Deuxime Sance 1958, 13).
Even after the hardening of ethnic discourse in 1957 and early 1958, three
prominent Hutu Catholic leaders could still differ on how to understand the
term Tutsi. As with the language of black in apartheid South Africa, Hutu
and Tutsi reflected a far more complex political reality than essentialist ethnicist analysis would make it appear.17
Called by Mwami Mutara in a special night session on 12 June 1958,
Rwandas Superior Council gathered to consider the recommendations of the
Hutu-Tutsi Study Commission. On the Mwamis recommendation, the Superior Council rejected all of the Commissions conclusions. Mutara issued an
accompanying statement denying the existence of any Hutu-Tutsi problem in
Rwanda, claiming that such polemics had originated from the foreign influence of some whites on blacks, from communist ideas whose intention is to
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divide the country (Le dernier Conseil 1958). The Superior Council then
passed a decree banning any further usage of the terms Hutu, Tutsi, and
Twa on official documents (Nkundabagenzi 1962, 37). The Hutu delegation
to the CSP immediately protested. We want the term Muhutu strongly and
frequently utilized in view of its REHABILITATION, a term whose original
sense has been associated with slavery (Le dernier conseil 1958).
Hutu elites then took their argument to the hills. Kayibanda had already
convinced the UN tutelle that oversaw Rwanda to approve the statutes of his
Mouvement Social Muhutu (the future political party Parmehutu). This lent
public legitimacy to the MSMs demands for democratization and the promotion of what it termed the Bahutu race-class in social, familial, economic,
cultural, and political areas. For his part, Joseph Giteras Aprosoma (LAssociation
pour la promotion sociale de la masse) movement released The Voice of the
Peasants in late June 1958 (Murego 1975, 880-882). This publication further
radicalized ethnonationalist rhetoric, positing that the only enemies of Rwanda
were Tutsi who sucked the blood of their brothers, hated foreigners, opposed
the reign of Christ, and suppressed all voices of progress. For Aprosoma, the
Christian spirit of Hutu brotherhood stood in sharp contrast to the Hamitic
spirit of exploitation and extermination (Murego 1975, 880). Aprosomas concluding exhortation could have been mistaken for a Jacobin rally in revolutionary France: Young men and young women of the Hutu movement:
Liberty! Lets liberate ourselves from Tutsi slavery. We have had enough. Justice! (Murego 1975, 882). Political rhetoric had undergone a radical shift
from the panethnic moderation of the Mouvement Politique Progressiste.
In the midst of this political turmoil, Rwandas Catholic bishops intervened,
revealing both the lingering complexity and growing divisiveness of HutuTutsi discourse. After years of avoiding public commentary on the Hutu-Tutsi
question, Aloys Bigirumwami, Rwandas first indigenous Catholic bishop,
penned an article titled The Problem of Hutu, Tutsi and Twa in a September
1958 issue of the Belgian Catholic weekly Tmoignage chrtien (Bigirumwami
1958; Nkundabagenzi 1962, 38-42). While admitting a growing crisis between
what he termed the social or racial groups of Batutsi, Bahutu and Batwa,
Bigirumwami questioned whether one could clearly demarcate between Hutu
and Tutsi. Pointing to the discrepancy between his seeming Tutsi appearance
and mixed ethnic background, Bigirumwami lambasted the inanity of physical criteria in determining Hutu and Tutsi identities. He also downplayed
the importance of ethnic discrepancies in secondary schools, arguing that the
real division in Rwandan society pitted Hutu and Tutsi elites against the
impoverished masses of Hutu cultivators and petit Tutsi. Bigirumwami also
criticized the writers of the Bahutu Manifesto for addressing their petition to
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an imagined Tutsi collectivity rather than the actual leaders of the country
namely the Belgian government and Rwandas Superior Council. He concluded by reiterating Catholic demands for panethnic social justice along with
a plea for Rwandans to avoid discord, tension, and hate: The very rapid evolution that passes through our country should not and cannot blind us to the
point of misunderstanding realities, such as social and economic differences
(Nkundabagenzi 1962, 42; Kalibwami 1991, 422-433; Linden 1977, 256).
In contrast to Bigirumwamis socioeconomic understanding, Mgr. Andr
Perraudin offered a more explicitly racialist vision of the Hutu-Tutsi distinction in Super Omnia Caritas, his controversial February 1959 Lenten pastoral
letter (Perraudin 1959; Perraudin 2003, 187-196). For Perraudin, Rwandas
social divisions broke down along a clear Hutu-Tutsi axis, since in our Rwanda
social differences and inequalities are for a large part linked to racial differences. Reminding his readers of Gods universal love, Perraudin exhorted
Christians to love everyone regardless of their racial identity; racial differences
between Hutu and Tutsi should not divide Christians who find themselves in
the higher unity of the Communion of Saints. In adopting racialist rhetoric,
framing social problems in Hutu-Tutsi terms, and supporting the Hutu right
to association, Perraudins Super Omnia Caritas shared the political imagination of emerging Hutu nationalism. The letter that Perraudin later described
as the charter of my episcopate (Perraudin 2003, 187) established Perraudins
reputation as a pro-Hutu partisan, earning him lasting scorn among Tutsi
nationalists to the present day.18 It also marked an analytical divergence
between Bigirumwami and Perraudin that compromised the churchs ability
to speak with a united voice.
At the same time, this analytical discrepancy between Bigirumwami and
Perraudin undermines the notion that late colonial Catholic leaders were
locked in an inexorably tribal or Hamitic imagination. As we see above,
Bigirumwami fundamentally challenged the very tenets of the Hamitic worldview, contradicting Gourevitchs assertion that there were no alternatives to
a tribal construction of politics in the late 1950s. On the other hand,
Perraudins racial description of Hutu and Tutsi reflected lingering Hamitic
rhetoricrhetoric, one should add, that he himself did not utilize earlier in
the decade.19 However, Perraudins growing opposition to the Union National
Rwandaise (UNAR), the main Tutsi political party that emerged later in 1959,
stemmed more from what he perceived to be UNARs anticlericalism and
procommunist sympathies than any kind of racialist bias. In fact, Perraudin
and other Catholic missionaries would retain close ties with UNARs Tutsi
rivals in the Rassemblement Dmocratique Rwandais (RADER) party in late
1959 and 1960.20 Like Classe, Perraudin did not follow a strict ethnicist logic
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the hegemonic influence on Catholic imagination with which it is often credited. Here I have highlighted Mgr. Lon Classes multifaceted descriptions
of Hutu and Tutsi during the early decades of the twentieth century. At
times Classe utilized Hamitic language, but he was far more concerned with
protecting Catholic institutional interests than instituting a racialist apartheid
system within the church or society. Third, Hutu-Tutsi language was markedly
absent in early 1950s Catholic periodicals and missionary correspondence.
Instead, Catholic social analysis was dominated by themes of anticommunism,
democratization, secularization, Christian civilization, and the uncertain
future of Rwandas elite volus. This challenges the recent scholarly tendency
to read Rwandas late-colonial history exclusively through a Hutu-Tutsi lens.
Finally, I have argued that even after the public eruption of Hutu-Tutsi divisions in the late 1950s, Rwandan lay elites and Catholic bishops possessed a
diversity of views on how to interpret these categories. In particular, I have
highlighted the discourse of the 1958 Hutu-Tutsi Study Commission and the
commentaries of Mgr. Perraudin and Mgr. Bigirumwami as examples of both
the complexity and politicization of ethnic discourse.
Looking back on colonial Catholic history in Rwanda, I would argue that
contextual politics were far more determinative than overarching Hamitic or
tribalist ideologies. To be sure, missionaries and Rwandan Catholic leaders
invoked Hamitic or tribalist language in describing Hutu and Tutsi identities,
but such language co-existed with other, more flexible socioeconomic descriptions. To put it simply, Catholic missionaries and Rwandan elites were not
brainwashed by the Hamitic thesis. If the Hamitic thesis is a classic example
of flawed missionary anthropology, it does not singlehandedly explain either
the actions of Catholic leaders or Rwandas later history of Hutu-Tutsi conflict. Classe favored young Tutsi leaders because he thought they would facilitate the growth of the Catholic Church and favor the churchs institutional
privileges. Perraudin supported emerging Hutu elites because they shared his
vision of Christian civilization, church-state partnership, and social democracy. Likewise, Hutu-Tutsi conflicts in the late 1950s emerged out of a specific
struggle for political power between rival Rwandan elites and Belgian colonial
officials. Tutsi elites resisted incorporating Hutu elites into Rwandas traditional political structures and propagated an anticolonial, monarchist nationalism. In contrast, Hutu elites recognized the populist potential of mobilizing
a democratic electorate through the usage of collective ethnic rhetoric. Belgium played both sides of the fence before coming out in favor of the Hutu
parties in 1959 and 1960.
In summary, then, I have argued that politics matters more than ethnicity.
There is still a tendency in much journalistic commentary on Africa to assume
194
that ethnic groups are locked into primordial and even ontological struggles.
Seemingly tribal warfare emerges in places as diverse as Kenya, the Democratic
Republic of Congo, South Africa, Cote dIvoire, and Sudan. But not only
should these so-called tribal categories be subjected to further analytical scrutiny, but ethnic groupsand for that matter racial, class, religious, or gendered groupsare not destined to fight.21 Rather, political contexts determine
whether certain identities emerge as flashpoints. In this regard Rwanda might
have been spared the polemics of the late 1950s if Belgium had not propagated a Tutsi-dominated elite for decades. Likewise, the nation could have
averted its late colonial tensions if Tutsi elites had voluntarily shared power
with Hutu elites in the mid-1950s. Rwandas postcolonial history could have
turned out very differently if Hutu elites had not conflated ethnic, social, and
political identity in a cynical strategy to ensure the triumph of Hutu political
parties in a democratic, majority-rule system. Nor does the current Rwandan
governments recent ban on Hutu and Tutsi discourse ensure a conflict-free
future, especially if the ruling Rwanda Patriotic Front does not loosen its
monopoly on power.22
In addition, political bias often explains the deeper motivations behind
seemingly ethnic partisanship. In studying how Catholic missionaries and
indigenous church leaders shaped and reacted to the political disputes that
gripped Rwanda in the late 1950s and early 1960s, I have uncovered many
flawed anthropological assumptions concerning the origins of the categories
Hutu and Tutsi. What I have not discovered is a racialist conspiracy against
the Tutsi qua Tutsi. Rather, missionaries opposed Tutsi-dominated political
parties like UNAR because they feared that UNAR would eliminate Catholic
schools, create alliances with communist countries, and legalize divorce. On
the other hand, Catholic missionaries did not sympathize with Hutu elites
simply because they wanted to help a benighted race of Bantu cultivators.
They favored them because Hutu elites praised the church, supported liberal
democracy, and proclaimed their commitment to maintaining a close partnership between Rwanda and Belgium. Catholic missionaries downplayed antiTutsi violence in the early 1960s not because they hated Tutsi; many of these
same missionaries in fact welcomed thousands of Tutsi refugees to the grounds
of their missions. Rather, missionaries feared that the Catholic Church would
lose institutional privileges if it critiqued the emerging Hutu governments
complicity in the violence. In summary, politicswhether colonial, nationalist, ecclesial or otherwiseoffers far more explanatory value for understanding Rwandas past ethnic conflicts than the oft-invoked term of tribalism.
195
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Notes
1. The literature on the 1994 Rwanda genocide is voluminous, but see Des Forges 1999;
Prunier 1995; Gourevitch 1998; African Rights 1994; Mamdani 2001; Straus 2006. On
the religious dimensions of the genocide, see Longman 2010; Rittner, Roth and Whitworth
2004; Gatwa 2005; Katongole 2005; Katongole and Wilson-Hartgrove 2009.
2. For a strong recent critique of Classe on these grounds, see Longman 2010, 51-66.
The most thorough study of Classes ecclesial and social vision remains Rutayisire 1987.
3. While Justin Kalibwamis influential pregenocide church history offers a sympathetic
portrayal of Perraudin (cf. Kalibwami 1991), many postgenocide Rwandan commentators
200
have disparaged Perraudin for lending theological sanction to the late-colonial Hutu political movements that came to dominate postcolonial Rwanda (cf. Byanafashe 2000; Bizimana 2004). Perraudin is not a central figure in most English-language commentaries on
Rwanda, and he generally comes off in a more favorable light than Classe (cf. Longman
2010, 66-76, who closely follows Linden 1977, 249-273).
4. This essay developed from research in the General Archives of the Missionaries of
Africa in Rome. I am grateful to former archivist Fr. Stefaan Minnaert, M.Afr., for his support and especially for granting access to new sources from the late 1950s and early 1960s.
I have also drawn on correspondence, pastoral statements, and Catholic newspapers located
in the archives of the Diocese of Kabgayi, Rwanda, and the Centre Missionnaire Lavigerie
in Kigali, Rwanda. I thank both Bishop Smaragde Mbonyitege of Kabgayi and Fr. Marc
Franois, M.Afr., for granting access to these sources.
5. This essay focuses on Hutu and Tutsi categories. Rwanda also has a third social or
ethnic group, the Batwa. The Twa have lived in Rwanda for thousands of years, residing in
the northwestern mountains, the western forests, and around the royal court of Nyanza.
They have remained the most endogamous ethnic community in Rwanda, numbering
around 1 percent of Rwandas total population. During Rwandas independence struggles,
Twa leaders generally sided more with Tutsi than Hutu factions.
6. Jean-Pierre Chrtiena scholar who tends to downplay Hutu-Tutsi distinctions
concurs: The term Hutu meant, in the clientage relationship, the subordinate position of
the recipient: even if the recipient was Tutsi, the donor spoke of him as my Hutu. In
Rwanda, the term Tutsi little by little was perceived as an identity closely related to
power (Chretien 2003, 190).
7. Maquet described ubuhake as a patron-client relationship in which the client (garagu)
offered his services in exchange for the patrons (shebuja) protection and usage of land and
cattle. The client retained full ownership rights over milk, new male calves, and the meat
and skin of deceased cows. The patron also provided for the clients family after death. Client service included accompanying the patron on trips, working the fields, and keeping
watch at night. The patron could also choose to extend the ubuhake relationship to a
deceased clients heirs. The clientage system existed among Tutsi, although it was rare for a
Tutsi garagu to enter into relationship with a Hutu shebuja (cf. Maquet 1961, 129-131. On
the prevalence of intra-Tutsi clientage, see D.S. Newbury 2009, 329). First instituted under
Mwami Rwabugiri, uburetwa required the Hutu client to devote two of every five days to
working his Tutsi patrons land. During the 1920s the Belgians reduced this rate to two days
per week and made further exceptions for government and mission workers. While clientbased ubuhake applied to both Tutsi and Hutu, only Hutu were required to perform uburetwa service. For more on uburetwa see Reyntjens 1985, 134-142, 206-208; Rutayisire
1987, 140-147; Linden 1977, 228.
8. For similar perspectives see Kalibwami 1991; Rudakemwa 2005; Lemarchand 1994
and Lemarchand 2009. Even a strident critic of colonial anthropology like Bernard Muzungu implies the hierarchical and political nature of the traditional Hutu-Tutsi distinction.
While emphasizing the fluidity of kwihutura (changing social status), Muzungu admits that
this setback [becoming Hutu] could be the result of simple misfortune, dispossession or
even confiscation of cows by ones patron (kunyagwa) or by foreign aggressors in war, or
even as a result of famine or cattle epidemics like rinderpest (Muzungu 2009, 54).
9. In directives to his first 1879 caravan of missionaries traveling to Central Africa,
Lavigerie instructed the White Fathers to focus on elite conversion: Once the chiefs convert, all the rest will follow after them. (cf. Premires instructions aux Pres Blancs de
lAfrique quatoriale (1878), in Lavigerie and Hamman 1966, 154).
201
10. Louis de Lacgerthe historian that Classse commissioned to write the first official
history of the Rwandan church in the late 1930salso emphasized Rwandan national
unity over ethnic disunity, writing that there are few peoples in Europe in which one finds
together the three factors of national cohesion: the same language, the same religion, and
the same customs (De Lacger and Nothomb 1959, 37).
11. In the words of Emmanuel Katongole, it is this Hamitic story . . . that became the
unquestioning canon governing the decisions of German and later Belgian colonialists in
the administration of Rwanda (Katongole 2005, 99). To quote Timothy Longman,
Despite the highly consequential shift in missionary support from Tutsi to Hutu, the principles of church-state engagement in Rwanda remained substantially unchanged. The
churches continued to engage actively in ethnic politics without challenging the central
principles at the root of Rwandas ethnic conflict (Longman 2010, 66).
12. LAmi: La Revue des Elites de lEst de la Colonie was launched in 1950 as a weekly
newspaper for Catholic intellectual elites in Rwanda, Burundi and Eastern Congo. Its
international pages included frequent reflections on the fates of Indochina, China, Hungary, Yugoslavia, and other nations buckling under communist pressure. See here LAmi 71
(1950), 206; LAmi 93 (1952), 179-180; LAmi 98 (1953), 22-23; LAmi 104 (1953), 164165; LAmi 113 (1954), 176; LAmi 116 (1954), 304-305. Its successor Temps Nouveaux
dAfrique also carried forward the anticommunist theme. See here Le communism 1956.
13. The 1954 electoral successes of the socialists in Guatemala loomed in the background of this latter article.
14. For similar sentiments see the comments of Laurent Dprimoz, Rwandas Vicar
Apostolic between 1945 and 1955, in Le Jubil du Ruanda Catholique 1950, 165.
15. Reinforcing this point, a Belgian study group concluded in 1959 that only 6,000 to
10,000 of Rwandas 150,000 Tutsi should be classified as elites (cf. Rapport du Groupe de
Travail 1959).
16. Writing seven months later, the Hutu propagandist Gaspar Cyimana admitted that
ethnic intermixing in central Rwanda had largely eliminated clear racial distinctions
between Hutu and Tutsi. For Cyimana, such physical distinctions could still be made in
other regions of Rwanda (Cyimana 1958, 3).
17. For a fascinating recent analysis of the intersection of theology and black identity
under South African apartheid, see Magaziner 2010.
18. In his autobiography Perraudin defended Super Omnia Caritas against its critics,
describing this statement as an appropriate application of Catholic social teaching to a
regime of servitude and humiliation for the large proportion of the population (Perraudin
2003, 194). Of course, the controversy lies in Perraudins very assessment of traditional
Rwandan society.
19. In the late 1950s there did not appear to be a clear consensus on whether to describe
Hutu and Tutsi as social or racial groups. For example, the White Fathers newspaper
Temps Nouveaux dAfrique still referred to Hutu and Tutsi as social groups in April 1958
(Pendant quinze jours 1958). At the same time, even as he was undermining some of the
traditional Hamitic assumptions of colonial historiography on Rwanda, the influential Belgian anthropologist Marcel dHertefelt continued to describe Tutsi as an Ethiopian race
(DHertefelt 1962, 18).
20. RADERs panethnic, reformist, pro-Catholic vision emerges in their Manifeste du
RADER, 1 Oct. 1959, which can be consulted in Nkundabagenzi 1962, 129. In contrast,
UNAR adopted a much stronger anticolonial line in their early statements and called for
the reduction of missionary influence in Rwanda. Cf. Charte de fondation du Parti
UNAR, 15 August 1959, and Manifeste du Parti Politique Abashyirahamwe BUrwanda
202
(UNAR), 13 September 1959, in Nkundabagenzi 1962, 92-98. Perraudin and Bigirumwami issued a confidential condemnation of UNAR to their priests in late September
1959, although news of this condemnation quickly spread (Bigirumwami and Perraudin
1959).
21. As Leroy Vail has argued, the postcolonial tendency to attribute ethnic conflict
solely to European manipulations fails to grapple with the question of why ethnic consciousness developed among some peoples and not others. It also tends to eliminate African
agency, portraying Africans as little more than either collaborating dupes or nave and gullible people, beguiled by clever colonial administrators and untrustworthy anthropologists
(Vail 1989, 3-4).
22. As Ren Lemarchand noted in an earlier Burundian context, by abolishing ethnic
otherness as a socially relevant term of reference, Tutsi regimes [in Burundi] removed the
critical issue of ethnic hegemony and discrimination from the realm of legitimate debate
(Lemarchand 1994, 32).