"Please Dont Kill Me"

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"I'll Never Be Tutsi Again!"
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Liars. The murders had machetes drawn and drenched in blood when they came to the church in Kibuye, Rwanda. Inside sat two families connected by two sisters. This day, these butchers, and their taunting lies would change the image of Rwanda for those who survived.
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Each sister was married to Tutsi men. Each sister was Hutu. By the roughly drawn "laws" of the murderous mobs the sisters' children were Tutsi. Thus the battle lines were drawn.
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The mob ordered any Hutu out of the church. Tutsi had to stay.
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The first sister decided that day that she would die a Tutsi... die with her husband. The mob was willing to kill her without a second thought.
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The second sister pleaded to be allowed to take her 11 children out of the church with her. After some time the mob said she could... under one condition.
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They ordered her to leave the building. Just outside the doorway she called her children to supposed safety. Wait their she had been promised the opportunity to leave.
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Her 11 children walked toward the exit. Afraid, the children walked toward the mob who stood between them and their mom. This is when all Hell broke loose.
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In a blood lust filled rage the mob began hacking away at the 11 children. In a matter of moments 7 of the children were mangled and laying dead in the church doorway. Two had escaped.
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A three year old boy now stood crying in the midst of his dead brothers and sisters. As the mob encircled the boy he screamed for mercy.
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"Please don't kill me," the young boy shouted. "I'll never be Tutsi again!"
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The child's mother could do nothing for her boy. The mob had become a snarling pack of hyenas. Their prey was barely old enough to run let alone fight back. The war against the Tutsi had now become absolute Hell.
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Unmoved by the three year old child's tears and blood curdling pleas... the Hutu mob attacked.
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Genocide doesn't allow it's perpetrators to see these scenes with rational eyes... it mask their hearts. This three year old boy was the enemy for the genocidal Hutu. He wad old enough to know he was Tutsi. And that was all that mattered to his savage assailants.
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For the two siblings who lived the image of their brother pleading for mercy would never cease to replay itself over and over again in their minds. For you, it should never cease to replay itself over and over again in your soul.
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Genocide has not gone away. It continues to claim lives in countries all around the world. Currently it continues to kill in countries right next-door to Rwanda.
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As long as we remain silent it will never stop... it will never relent. It knows no boundaries and respects no borders. National sovereignty does not concern those who practice genocide. Religion cannot reign it in. Morality is blurred by it's many forms.
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Only the actions of brave men and women can stop it. Only the will to fight for the rights of all people can stem it's bloody flow. Only the courage to scream, even when it seems nobody I'd listening, will bring an end to genocide.
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Scream for those who have no voice. Repost this and other post on Alder's Ledge. Share us on FaceBook and Twitter. Follow us on Twitter, @alders_ledge. All of these are easy ways to become a screamer.
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Silent Suffering

Rape And Genocide

As the Armenian genocide began the horrors it would unleash became almost instantly clear to one part of the Armenian population... it's women.

Turkish soldiers were well known for many things amongst the Armenians. Self-control was not one of them. Instead the Turks took everything they wanted without a moment of hesitation. This included the innocence of young Armenian girls.

Rape became a hallmark of deportation in the process The Young Turks called "Turkification". If a child became unable to walk after repeated rapes... the Turks killed them. If a woman tried to resist she would be bludgeoned and then gang raped... then killed.

Yet despite the use of rape as a weapon not all it's victims died. Many were kept alive to serve as sex slaves in Turkish homes. Government officials, officers, and street vendors all approached the caravans of deportees to purchase "desirables". Young girls and boys were purchased from the soldiers all along the death marches.

Some of these slaves would be sent to work on farms. Others were sent to Turkish homes as servants. Many were sent to Turkish villages to be used as forced wives or made to participate in orgies.

For those made to become wives or concubines, rape was a daily threat. "Unrelated girls and boys in the household—regardless of religious or ethnic origin—were sexually available to senior males." Any adult male could use them for his deviant desires.

In all of this a common form of brandishing ownership developed amongst the Turkish masters. Slaves were to be tattooed upon their face and hands. It was a way to demoralize the slave and to show the rest of society that they were "unclean".

Thanks to the League Of Nations (the predecessor to the UN) we have documented cases of this practice. The survivors' families can access the pictures and documents of their grandparents who made it out of captivity. All due to a safe house the League operated in Aleppo, Syria. These images and surveys are housed in Geneva.

For Suzanne Khardalian these documents helped her understand the suffering and deep scars left by the "devilish marks" on her grandmother's hands and face. You can hear her story by watching her film "Grandma's Tattoos".

To read more about this subject please follow the link below.

http://www.armenianweekly.com/2011/12/07/devilish-marks/

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