When the world came to its senses after the Second World War and reports of the horrors of the Holocaust began to spread, the international community reacted with disbelief. And when reality proved much worse than even the worst nightmare, the world community reacted unanimously with a general outcry: crimes of this magnitude must never happen again. It appeared quite clear that, in the future, the international community would never again remain inactive in the face of such appalling tragedy. Yet, the firm imperative “never again” has become “again and again,” and the same dreadful crimes have been repeated in many parts of the world.
As though the world has not learned any lesson from the past, the case of the 1994 genocide against the Rwandan Tutsis twenty-five years ago was another defiant atrocious event that not only questioned the “never again” promises but also placed the reoccurring human genocidal impulse at the highest level of moral concern. How could genocide befall so small a country and account for a million deaths in just a hundred days in total indifference of the world community and the church? How could the local and universal church fail to give a strong and clear disapproval of the genocide considering that the country was highly Christian (about 80 percent), the killings mostly took place in churches and Catholic school buildings, and even church ministers were implicated in some of the massacres? Where were academicians and theologians? How do we understand their silent apathy? The genocide against the Tutsis has sparked countless embarrassing questions about the church and the type of Christianity it preached throughout a hundred years of evangelization. Furthermore, it disclosed an unprecedented moral deficit within the church that genuine theologians still have a hard time to comprehend and act upon.
In the face of this challenge, some theologians have simply kept quiet and abandoned the political sphere to cynicism. Others, avoiding dirtying their hands, have looked away and contented themselves with an evasive pious response that only calls for prayer, peace, and reconciliation in total ignorance of the necessity to scrutinize the root causes of the tragedy. Others again have opted to dismiss any critical inquiry and decided to run business as usual as if nothing had happened at all. Such attitudes are not only obnoxious, but they are also irresponsible. That is why the present invitation to rethink the role of theologians in genocide prevention is honorable and comes at an opportune time. Indeed, although twenty-five years remain an insignificant lapse of time to come to terms with the magnitude of the shock caused by the tragedy, there have been dynamics of appeasement and acceptance that make it possible to engage an objective and constructive theological reflection.
Focusing on the case of Rwanda, the present paper will be articulated around three important points, namely Rwanda as the epicenter of a theological investigation into the genocidal tragedy, the rationality underlying the pregenocide Christianism as the root cause of the genocide, and finally, reflective pathways for envisioning a theology capable of preventing recurrent or new genocidal tragedies.
Rwanda as the Epicenter for a Theological Investigation into Genocide
When I began my theological studies three months after the genocide against the Rwandan Tutsis, it became quite clear to me that I was to do theology in a special location. As a scholar aspiring to priesthood and, therefore, meant to proclaim the gospel in the midst of people confronted with the meaninglessness of life occasioned by genocide, I could not theologize in the classical way. How could I study theology while ignoring Rwanda as the theater of an event the implications of which so profoundly threatened to delegitimize theology? Was the prevailing theological discourse itself to be taken for granted? Was it so innocent and exempt from any suspicion? Should I relegate historical and theological responsibility to the prevalent mythical discourse that attributed genocide to acts of demons or justified it in terms of African atavistic tribal hatred and savages prone to kill one another?Footnote 15 I was troubled that there was little being said in church circles about the catastrophe. I questioned the lack of theological debate pertaining to genocide. I was perturbed by the noticeable theological apathy and the lack of sensitivity among prominent church leaders, Rwandans as well as foreigners. I definitely understood that if I was to do theology, a genuine contextual theology, it had to take the horrific event of the genocide as its starting point and Rwanda as its locus theologicus.
On the other hand, it became quite clear that Rwanda was not an isolated case, but a symptomatic design of the problems prevailing all over Africa due to the dual legacy of the ruthless colonial system and its subsequent post-independence dictatorial regimes. In other words, the genocide that had irrupted in Rwanda was boiling in many other African countries under similar or slightly different forms. Therefore, engaging a theological reflection on the Rwandan drama was actually reflecting beyond Rwanda. This is precisely because, as events proved shortly after, the conditions that made Rwanda genocide possible and the consequences of the genocide were largely shared among many other African countries. Moreover, the implications of that entire history had global ramifications that could hardly be ignored if a serious theological investigation were to take place.
With regard to the church, in particular, the theological investigation into the Rwandan church's poor response to the genocide could not be separated from that of the global church given its historical responsibility and its own ambiguous response. That is why Rwanda is inevitably the epicenter of such an investigation. Now what crucial questions are so inescapable for a theological inquiry into the root causes of the genocide and what should be the role of theologians in preventing genocidal tragedies? To respond to these questions, it is important to revisit the rationality that presided over the process of evangelization of the country, its protracted implications, and its potential for prompting similar drama if sufficient attention is not paid and no serious action is taken. Certainly, there are many other factors that can be examined in this regard, but for the sake of theological inquiry, this will be our specific focus.
The Rationality Underlying the Pregenocide Christianism as the Root Cause of Genocide
As has been certified by the African Union's investigation, the genocide against the Tutsis was called the “preventable genocide.”Footnote 16 Indeed, unlike previous genocides, this was a genocide that had every chance to be averted. First, from the nature of the Rwandan population, nothing suggested the possibility of genocide in the first place. Contrary to other African nations that had numerous social conflictual divisions, Rwandans spoke the same language, held the same culture and religious beliefs, shared clan lineages, and had lived mixed together on the country's rolling hills for centuries. Even in the previous situations of divisive politics that successively grieved the country since 1959, simple Rwandan citizens had generally managed to stand together and support one another. Never before had the hatred and destructive impulses that characterized the 1994 genocide ever been witnessed on such a large scale. Secondly, not only was the genocide against Tutsis perpetrated two years after warning signs had alerted the public, but the international community also disposed of preventive and punitive legal instruments that never existed during prior genocidal atrocities. In addition, the genocide struck after human rights activists and the media had repetitively denounced its planning, as well as test killings in which government officials were recognized as guilty by a UN investigation long before. And most shockingly, not only did the genocide take place under the nose of UN peacekeepers assigned the mission to protect the civilians, but also, at the cruelest moment of the genocidal frenzy, even the ineffective UN blue helmets present were pulled out, thus abandoning innocent Tutsi victims to the hands of their murderers.
Thirdly and most importantly, from the church perspective, Rwanda was hailed as Africa's most successful story of evangelization. The country counted more than 80 percent Christians and, apart from the state itself, no other institution was as influential at the national level as the church. As certified by numerous historians, from the colonial time, the church controlled the national school system, could easily reach the people at the grassroots nationwide through her parish network, and managed many vital social sectors. These included health centers, small businesses, agricultural cooperatives, and varied other social and vocational centers that she organized through her parishes, religious structures, and charity organizations. Obviously, it was one of the inescapable state partners when it came to major national decisions, and her voice was respected nationwide. Why then was the church unable to stand against genocide or at least oppose unequivocal disapproval to the perpetrators? Why was she so silent and even accused of complicity? Why did she fail even to defend her own devoted servant ministers or her properties as they were transformed into slaughterhouses? This is the paradox that has remained unfathomable and continues to intrigue those hungry with the truth about the profound reason behind the church's failure. And yet, it is the key question the response to which opens prospects for future prevention of similar tragic events.
In fact, in the aftermath of the genocide, many studies have attempted to understand that enigma, but rarely have they come to satisfying answers. Whereas some have sought to understand the conundrum from the perspective of the methods, strategies, and institutional structures employed by the church in her early process of evangelization, others have pointed to some church leaders’ poor moral behavior such as clear complicity and reluctance to speak out for fear of repression or alleged ignorance of the genocidal plot. Others again have referred to the reprehensible practices of the ecclesial institutions that have paralyzed their prophetic voices such as the long-drawn-out collusion between the church and state. None of these justifications, however, was helpful enough to explain the indolence that the church witnessed vis-à-vis such a critical matter. One profound analytical critique that deserves a particular attention because it provides an intelligible reason of the church's failure and, therefore, relevant to our theological investigation, was stressed by Professor Kä Mana in what he has called the “Christianism of the catastrophe.”
According to him, to understand the depth of the Rwandan drama, the inexcusable role of the church, and the ensuing theological crisis that faced Rwanda, Africa, and the global church at large, it is crucial to revisit the very rationality that presided over such Christianism and draw compelling lessons for a new evangelization. He frames that “Christianism of the catastrophe” around numerous characteristics. For the sake of concision and the purpose of the issue at stake, however, I will retain only a few of the characteristics that I find most significant. First of all, he describes it as a “Christianism of Power” and “monopoly of the Truth.” For him, it is a Christianism that had conceived its mission in the context of political, economic, military, and spiritual domination. As he underscores:
Whereas the early Christianity introduced itself as the Word of the weak in comparison to the powerful of the Roman Empire and the princes of the pre-established religions, the missionary Christianism of modern times emerged in Africa as a system of power and violence which imposed itself on the weak.… Under the guise of divine power and authority, it could be anything other than an authoritarian Christianism that was soon to give in to the temptation of those in positions of power compared to the weak: oppression, domination, abuse of power, violence against the conscience, and the imposition of dogma as immutable truths.Footnote 17
On the other hand, as Kä Mana further maintains, it was a Christianism whose project was to impose its vision of the world as the absolute essence of reality and history. As such, it established itself as a system of truth by the fear that it inoculated into the conscience of the conquered. Hence, because it did not need to justify its claim to the truth in an opposing debate with the native truth system, it was presented as the evidence itself, and the more it was feared, the more it was convinced of its universal validity. In this perspective, one understands why Congolese theologian Francois Kabasele can claim that it was a Christianism greatly influenced by the colonial violent methods. This is exactly how he articulates it: “The violence of colonial methods was justified as ‘rationality’ and, therefore, legitimate both for the colonizers and the missionaries by virtue of the good they thought they were bringing to the indigenous people, namely ‘opening them to civilization,’ ‘bringing them the salvation of souls.’”Footnote 18 In fact, as he further argues, it was the same violence utilized in forced labor for the benefit of colonizers or missionaries that was also justified by some of them as a divine law. Reinforced by the military power that operated as its secular wing, the missionary Christianism did not deem it necessary to justify its claims to the truth through public discussion. It imposed itself by means of the military supremacy of its origin and the alleged superiority of its monopoly of the truth.
Secondly, he refers to that Christianism as “a Christianism of duplicity,” which, as he explains, operates by “the process of multiplying masks in comparison to its real intention, by constantly referring to the founding texts incessantly distorted, betrayed, and reinterpreted according to its interests, without any direct relation to the substance of what the very texts recommend to translate into real life.”Footnote 19 In other words, the masks were meant to hide the major objectives of the Western plan of occupation of Africa. Hence, among other masks, he mentions the mask of political domination presented as a civilizing mission, the mask of ferocious mercantilism draped into the clothes of Christian humanism sustained by the divine order, and the mask of a deep-rooted racism wrapped in the sheets of Christian altruistic terminology. Under these circumstances, the Christian mission was tied to the ambiguity of the Western civilizing mission. For example, as Kä Mana elaborates, it was difficult for the evangelization mission to reconcile the proclamation of the Word of God that aimed at universal humanization and the Western project of occupying Africa. Likewise, the missionary Christianism suffered from the ambiguity of holding together Jesus’ message of universal salvation it preached and its subversive character toward the culture, the models of thoughts and actions of the society it originated from.
Thirdly, he describes the same Christianism as a “Christianism of the capital” because, as he reads it, it was guided by mercantilist philosophies and nurtured by the market ideology. The problem here was not so much that the missionary Christianism took advantage of mercantilist and capitalist systems to spread in Africa. It was rather the fact that it became subservient to that system and was instrumentalized by it to the extent that one had the impression of facing a spiritual system meant to domesticate African conscience in order to force it into the new economic order. Once it accepted such instrumentalization, Christianism failed its mission. Rather than directing the new converts to God, it pushed them to the new economic order and forced them into subaltern roles because they could not be fully integrated. Fourthly, Kä Mana characterizes the same Christianism as “a show and folklore Christianism,” that is, one that is essentially theatrical and preoccupied by infinitely multiplying the number of figurants, visible actors in public shows but incapable of truly being actors of their profound destiny by mastering their social reality.”Footnote 20 Behind the fascinating and rapid progression of Christianism on the continent, he questions the depth and the quality of the assimilation of the true Christian message and its core values. From the massive conversions of the beginning of the Christian missions to the current campaign of evangelizations and crusades, Kä Mana sees a game of numbers and superficial shows that hardly match the depth and quality of a genuine and transformative evangelization founded and mirrored in Jesus Christ. He then raises questions about the nature of Christianism that has engulfed the continent, its principles, and its capabilities of transformation of a continent where violence, poverty, and exclusion have largely remained the daily realities of most people. As he laments:
The Christianism that has prospered is the one for which the social show is more important than the solidity of faith as the pedestal of social change in its deep mechanisms. Sacral, liturgical, often folkloric and imbued with its charismatic expressions, it theatricalizes everything. Organized around the priestly figure to the detriment of prophetic and apostolic functions of the people of God, it plays more on the religious emotions than on the intelligence and imagination of active forces in Africa. It sings and dances while the society is sinking.Footnote 21
Fifthly, the author talks of “a Christianism of individualistic and egoistic salvation.” For him, this is a Christianism that insists on the afterlife for the benefit of the individual alone without any concern for the status of the community that, in African society, constitutes the social body to be saved as a whole in Jesus Christ. Here, the author denounces a redemptive individualistic theology in which the only things that matter are the personal relation with god and mastery of moral and dogmatic rubrics, as well as the hope to escape the fire of hell by irreproachable moral behavior. This is indeed a Christianism that brings people together but without establishing them into true fraternal communities and therefore incapable of preventing the ills of tribalism, ethnicism, or other exclusivist ideologies. Lastly, he perceives the same Christianism as “a Christianism of division” that operates by confessional conflicts and dogmatic antagonisms with the clear intention of making as many followers as possible to the detriment of other confessions. In addition, following the colonial divide-and-rule tactics that split groups along ethnic or tribal lines, it also relied on divisive strategies to consolidate its establishment and expand its missions.
In view of the dark picture that Professor Kä Mana paints of the aforementioned Christianism, one may think there is nothing positive and wonder whether it makes sense to keep blaming the missionaries a century after the process of evangelization began and decades after the integration of natives in leadership positions. Certainly, I do not think that is his intention. He rather tries to prove how the rationality that presided over the process of evangelization and that was later inherited by local churches has remained one of the most problematic and disruptive issues, as is illustrated in the case of Rwanda. In fact, with due respect for genuine missionaries who authentically ministered for the good of their faithful and the positive changes that have taken place in many ways as the situation evolved, it is nonetheless crucial to note that the same deplorable rationality described previously remains profoundly impactful in the concrete lives of church leaders and their faithful. Not only does it continue to influence people's mentality, but it also creates a spirit and behavioral patterns incompatible with and even harmful to a truly human and Christian society permeated by Jesus’ gospel message. Prominent among them are: first, the spirit of conformism whereby church leaders as well as their faithful conform to rules and regulations dictated by external forces beyond their control and, therefore, to which they have no possibility to oppose a critical evaluation. They then blindly obey but act without any conviction or out of fear, an attitude that is totally in contradiction of truthful discipleship of Jesus. Second, one observes the spirit of dislocation or the inner feeling of being torn apart. This is the feeling one experiences when he is constantly deprived of his capacity of thinking and acting as a person endowed with reason and good judgement. The more he conforms to external dictates and acts out of intimidation or manipulation, the more he ends up feeling torn between following such coercive instructions and following his conscience. He then develops a double personality and suffers from an internal rupture. The experience of dislocation thus plunges the individual into solitude, where he opts for an uncomfortable life of falsity because he cannot be faithful to both imperatives. In the end, this is a person who lacks any sense of purpose in life, any spiritual reference, any willpower to determine his destiny, and, therefore, is a person who is totally lost. Such a person may become even dangerous because he is no longer capable of valuing his life or that of others. This has been the fate of many Africans who submitted to the Christianism of the catastrophe and who have no will of their own, for they have no more unifying principle of their lives. Third, the spirits of nihilism, denial, resignation, and self-destruction arise. Where the spirit of the Christianism of catastrophe has triumphed, the individual finally submits to the system of nihilism, whereby he ends up losing himself. Denying his own system and incapable of joining the one imposed upon him, he becomes totally lost and gives up on life because everything becomes meaningless for him. In the end, he fails to find a way out and recourse to self-destruction. These features resulting from the “Christianism of the catastrophe” and many others that cannot be reproduced in the scope of the essay are some the major impediments for the profound renewal needed within the church and probably the most difficult challenges for theologians willing to engage in genocide prevention. Now how can theologians cope with such challenges that create conditions for genocidal atrocities? How could they creatively engage in genocide prevention especially when confronted with the aforementioned rationality and its protracted implications? The following part suggests pathways toward what we assume to be an appropriate response for a theologian.
Pathways toward a Theology Capable of Preventing Recurrent or New Genocidal Tragedies
Before embarking on the pathways that a theologian should engage as a contribution to genocide prevention, it is important first to clarify that a Christian theologian is not like any other academician. A genuine Christian theologian is first and foremost a disciple who gets to know Jesus first from his personal encounter. This has precedence over any theoretical knowledge. As in the Gospel narrative of the young rich man (Luke 18:18-30), to be authentically a true disciple, one must give up everything for Christ and freely follow him. That is why, before being a profession, theology is a vocation. It is first and foremost about a calling to be with Christ rather than an erudite discourse about God or a series of actions to perform. Therefore, before engaging in the praxis of designing conditions for preventing genocide, the theologian himself must be a person shaped by the encounter, the values, and the style of life of his master and, therefore, a person dedicated to Christ's project of universal salvation and the building of the kingdom of God. Without that, he can only speculate but never be adept at the task. That is why, as Dermot rightly asserts, “The mystery of God is not some kind of theorem to be proved; it is, rather, an experience to be lived.”Footnote 22
On the other hand, every theology develops out of a concrete and situated human experience interpreted and understood in the function of human belief. In the Christian perspective, the historical event is judged according to the criteria of its meaning for the fundamental human vocation that implies his relationship with God, neighbor, and creation. The initiative is taken to the next level by examining it through the lens of an intellectual faith reading of the history of salvation, which teaches fundamentally of God's liberation of his people as is initially translated in the Jewish exodus tradition and culminates in the salvific Christological event, namely the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This is precisely the principle of judgment of any historical experience. Hence, for a theologian engaged in genocide prevention, it is crucial to examine, evaluate, and judge the historical experience in need of a positive change and better future ways of translating faithful and truthful discipleship by telling whether it is attuned to the Christological project of salvation in its universality and purpose of unifying all people in a fraternal community of love as brothers and sisters of the same heavenly Father. It is in this light that a theologian should look at Rwanda and the event of genocide that took place there twenty-five years ago and gauge them under the principles of the gospel spelled out previously. Now, given that context, what are the pathways that a theologian should suggest in order to prevent recurrent or future genocidal tragedies?
As has been exposed, from a theological point of view, what really laid the groundwork for the perpetration of genocide in Rwanda was not simply the immediate genocidal government's conspiracy or its heartless execution. It is fundamentally what has been termed the “Christianism of the catastrophe” and the way it has been orchestrated throughout the process of evangelization. Therefore, for a theologian to engage in the process of preventing recurrent or future genocides, it is crucial first and foremost to deconstruct such a Christianism. Building on the lessons learned from the catastrophe and taking advantage of resources available in the context, one can then propose new pathways for transformation. Certainly, this is not suggesting a new way of believing but rather a new praxis of faith and living as authentic Christians.
First of all, from a “Christianism of power and monopoly of the truth,” it is crucial to shift to a humble and dialogical Christianity. As is being pointed out by many historians, from the very beginning of her mission, the Catholic Church adopted a policy clearly siding with both the colonial administration and the royal court as a strategy to keep the church's high profile and promote its apostolic interests. As historian J. J. Carney explains, this was meant to favor Cardinal Lavigerie's goal of “building a Christian Kingdom” in the heart of Africa and “spreading Christianity through the elite conversion.”Footnote 23 This culminated in the conversion of Mutara Rudahigwa, king of Rwanda, and the consecration of the country to Christ the King, thus drawing the whole nation to the massive conversion known as “the tornado.” The development of that choice with other prelates later shifting allegiances to either group to their opportune interests led to the creation of ethnic ideologies. These would play Hutus and Tutsis against one another until the groups were turned into radical enemies and engaged in mutual deadly hatred. Examining Rwandan conflicts during the period leading up to independence and observing the attitudes of the church at the time, Ian Linden states, “It was group loyalties, idiosyncratic preferences based on culture and history, rather than any ideal catholicity that were the operational terms of the church's actions.”Footnote 24 On the other hand, Carney points out how the Catholic Church's own history is marked by a deep ambiguity, noting her “cohabitation” with colonial administration, her failure to denounce government violence both during colonization and the succeeding post-independent regimes, and the church leaders’ silence as the genocide unfolded.Footnote 25 Other authors have pointed out the same attitudes during the genocide and deplored the church's compromised stance, her indecisiveness or silence, as well as the lack of adequate and unequivocal condemnation of the crimes then perpetrated.Footnote 26
Obviously, this is an indication that the church, rather than adjusting her attitudes and actions to the gospel principles, preferred to side with the powerful to the detriment of the weak, who desperately needed her voice and support. Even when reality proved the church leadership wrong, it took years before she could humbly admit her wrongdoing and apologize.Footnote 27 The claim indicated that the church as such or the institutional church could not be compromised in her holiness as though the institution existed in real life and acted independently of its leadership and members. Other claims of innocence aligned with justifications held by other bystanders or even perpetrators. Consequently, if theologians are to make sense and be credible, they have to denounce such attitudes and remind Jesus’ teaching to those who misunderstood discipleship and confused it with the comfort of worldly high positions. They should make Jesus’ voice resound when he addressed his disciples as they were competing for his right or left sides in his kingdom: “Anyone who wants to be first must be the very last, and the servant of all” (Mark 9:35). On the other hand, it is vital that the church leadership be reminded that, instead of believing that she is the only bearer of the truth, listen to other voices, especially those of lay people or those from other confessions in her midst and learn from their cultural and spiritual values.Footnote 28 In fact, had the church in Rwanda relied on shared moral and spiritual values of the Rwandan or other African countries’ cultures, genocide could have been averted. The proof is that they are the ones who managed to reunite and re-create bonds of neighborhoods among the people in the aftermath of the genocide when all other options had failed. The eloquent examples are those of truth-telling, resilience, moral integrity, and solidary that helped to revive the Gacaca system.
Second, from a Christianism of duplicity, it is crucial to shift to authentic and truthful Christianity. This implies to tune words and deeds as did Jesus in his preaching of the gospel and his ministry and later recommended to his disciples (Matt 7:21-23). Furthermore, it calls for recultivating the values of truth telling, recognition of sins, apology, and genuine renewal through authentic conversion. Third, from a Christianism of show and folklore the church must shift to a value-oriented and ethical Christianity. In this regard, prior to the genocide, the church's success was gauged in terms of her sacramental participation and the number of churchgoers independently of the quality of their moral integrity. Similarly, in today's campaign of evangelization and crusades, the Church is judged by the number of its adherents, the loudness of the noise they make, and the amount of money they collect. The quality of loving relationship and affectionate conviviality expected from true disciples of Jesus remains wanting, however. It is therefore pertinent for theologians to promote authentic discipleship rather than commodification of spiritual life. Fourth, from a Christianism of individualistic and egoistic salvation to a communal Christianity, this speaks not only to the necessity of lively ecclesial communities as a witness to the true church as God's family, but it also points to the reality of the widespread phenomenon of political violence and its disastrous consequences as one of the major challenges to the church's identity and mission. In fact, as has been exemplified in Rwanda, it questions the very raison d’être of the church as a sacrament of God's peaceful kingdom. It also calls into question massive participation of Christians in such violence. Unfortunately, as Katongole remarks, the church seems to care more about issues of contraception rather than such outrageous killings of Christians by other Christians.Footnote 29 Here the task and duty of the theologian to prevent more atrocities should be not only to commend reconciliation and peaceful coexistence but also to attest to the possibility of the vision of a peaceful and nonviolent church as God's sign in the midst of a world gone crazy. And from the learned lessons of the genocide, the theologian is called to be the apostle of a Christianity that fosters the recovery of the centrality of human dignity as the pillar of the gospel message and the Anamnestic praxis as healing and preventive mechanisms. Finally, he should engage the praxis of justice, peace, and reconciliation inspired by both the gospel message and the cultural values of the context in question as an ongoing process in the new evangelization methods and practice.
Conclusion
Throughout the present essay, I have sought to underline the significance of Rwanda as the locus theologicus for a theology attempting to respond to the critical questions raised by genocide in our contemporary time. Although I have touched one of the cornerstones of the problem, the task remains colossal and requires concerted efforts from the entire church. My hope is that this paper will initiate a more profound and constructive dialogue that can help us go beyond futile excuses and denials of our responsibility. In this way, we can truly address the problem and not only lay foundations for a genuine evangelization that God's people are so much hungry for and that they expect wholeheartedly, but also build a world free from further genocides.
