The Hutu and Tutsi, two ethnic groups on the same soil, like any two incompatible ethnic groups in the world, started a bloody massacre. First, the Tutsi president was killed. Then, the address and population of each Tutsi family were registered, so no one could escape.
Although I do not have any racial prejudice, or do not wish to have any racial prejudice, but nearly fifty years after the end of World War II and the Nazis bowed their heads, that kind of well-organized and well-organized killing is still flowing on another continent. No hindrance, but the ridiculous thing is that compared with the advanced equipment of the SS, the weapons in the hands of the African brothers were actually a knife similar to the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom era. Even so, in April and July 1997, 800,000 people were massacred.
The story takes place at the United Nations Technical School, where Joe and the priest are the only two white people in the school besides the United Nations troops. After the coup, the school building was occupied by UN peacekeepers, followed by other white people living in the local area and Tutsi refugees pouring into the school for refuge. Outside the school building, there are groups of Hutu mob wielding knives and whistling. And the UN's only role there is so-called "observation", that is, no shots are allowed unless it's in self-defense. There are no living Tutsi in the blocks and houses outside the school building. Blood and the stench of corpses have enveloped the entire country. Then, the French troops sent by the UN came, and the only task completed was to pick up all the whites. The UN peacekeeping force then withdrew.
Because of the presence of priests, people seem to have retained their faith. I'm afraid, at a moment like this, faith can be a narcotic, but at the same time vulnerable. Marry, a little Tusi girl, asked the priest: Does God love all people? So, does God also love those outside with knives? The priest's answer: God loves us, but that doesn't mean he loves everything we do. These things are our own choices, and God loves each of his people.
The response of the UN peacekeeping force, from beginning to end, only reflected a so-called "inaction". For observers, they are just spectators from beginning to end, without exerting any influence, and then walk away. Before they retreated, Marry's father found the general and begged him to use the bullets of the army to end his own life and that of his compatriots. After all, the pain caused by bullets is quicker than that of knives, and the relief is faster. The next step is to let the children be relieved first, but the answer is always: I can't help you. When a species can't even decide the form of its own death, where is God?
The lonely figure in the poster is Marry, one of the several Tetul boys rescued by the priest at the cost of his life. She is running desperately, escaping the nightmare in her life.
It may be at the wrong time, but I have always struggled to understand how, as a participant in the genocide, such extreme emotions were formed. Even if they were good friends one moment ago, the next moment they kill each other because of different races.
I'd rather never know why. Thanks to my untimely life.
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