For the past two and a half years, genocide has been unfolding on our watch. It is not being done with the devastating speed of Rwanda’s 100 days in 1994 or with the machine-like efficiency of the Holocaust, but it is genocide nonetheless. Innocent people are being targeted and killed because of who they are and where they live. Villages are being destroyed. Women are being raped. Children are being slaughtered.
This genocide is happening – and has been happening – in Darfur, a Texas-sized region in western Sudan. Darfur is made up of peasants of African descent and nomadic herders of Arabic descent. African rebels, fed up with the economic and political suppression from the national government in Khartoum, rose up several years ago. The government’s response has been criminal. Rather than engage the rebels – either militarily or in dialogue – the government enlisted the services of an Arab militia, the Janjaweed, to simply wipe out the African tribes in their entirety. Often with logistical support from the national military, the Janjaweed have obliterated hundreds of African villages and displaced millions of people. The displaced live in unsecured refugee camps under the constant threat of a return of the Janjaweed. Several hundred thousand have been murdered already. It is a desperate tragedy.
And we are allowing it to continue. By “we” I do not mean our government, but each of us individually. Certainly our government could do more. So could we.
We are all, of course, against genocide. The deliberate targeting of one segment of a population for destruction is loathsome to us all. Yet, few of us take action consistent with these near-universal humanitarian sentiments. When it comes to taking action, we are struck by a host of paralyzing feelings. We feel separated (Sudan is far and I know nothing about the victims) and confused (I don’t know who is truly at fault in this complex situation). We feel helpless (I cannot make much of a difference anyway) and overwhelmed (there are so many organizations already taking action and I do not know which is best). These emotions combine to freeze us into collective inaction. This is part of the reason genocide persists: the good people of the world do not act to stop it.
Samantha Power, author of A Problem from Hell, the definitive account of American responses to genocide in the 20th century, and the best professor I ever had, often talks about a toolbox of potential responses to genocide. She notes that the American government could use the military intervention tool or the economic sanctions tool or the diplomatic pressure tool. Too often, however, the government makes an all-or-nothing decision on the military intervention tool and takes all the other tools off the table. Since we cannot take military action that would really stop genocide, the government seems to be saying, we cannot take any action at all.
As private citizens, we face the same dilemma. Since we cannot stop the genocide on our own – and none of us can – we do not feel that we can do anything at all. Writing a letter or giving a small donation seems a paltry and wholly insignificant response to the brutal murder of thousands of human beings. But it is not. We each have our own toolbox containing a wide spectrum of possible action. From one end of that spectrum, we could volunteer for an aid organization and actually go to Sudan to take action, but that is a highly unrealistic option for most of us. Alternatively, we could simply support financially the organizations who are doing good work in Darfur. Still, most of us do not have unlimited budgets to give endlessly. But we can all visit the websites of these organizations or sign up for their monthly newsletters. This allows the organizations to show leaders that there is a constituency of concerned citizens they are lobbying on behalf of.
We have political tools. We can write letters to our government representatives alerting them to our outrage that our government has not put more pressure on the Sudanese government to end the massacres or on the international community to take more forceful action, such as sanctions. We can vote those who do not act out of office. We have economic tools. We can support efforts to divest money away from companies doing business with the Sudanese government, sending the signal that if they will work with murderers, we will no longer work with them. We have social tools. We can write letters to our local newspapers expressing surprise that the genocide is not being adequately covered. We can learn more ourselves and inform our friends about this quiet genocide. Education and publicity are so important to keeping the pressure on our leaders to act.
In Ohio, Ginghamsburg Church created its own tool. Last year, the church began a remarkable campaign to spend less of Christmas presents and donate the savings to aid for Darfur. They raised $327,000 and are continuing the effort this year. In that spirit, I am donating a full night of Chanukah to Darfur advocacy. I have selected two organizations I will donate to and I will write to my representatives and the President voicing my outrage. As a Jewish person, I am particularly sensitive to the threat of genocide and I feel a special responsibility to ensure that this happens never again. During the Holocaust, it was the acts of individuals – not of slow-footed governments – that saved lives. We must follow in the tradition of those courageous citizens who provided hiding places or overlooked false passports to help fellow human beings survive. Taking a stand against the decimation of any group is important to us all. So long as genocide can happen to anybody, it can happen to anybody.
I am happy to provide resources or sample letters to anyone who would like to join in this effort this holiday season.
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