jena and i decided this week to watch a movie 1)besides 27 dresses and 2)of a more light-hearted fashion…just kidding on that 2nd point. we decided to watch hotel rwanda, a film neither of us had seen. it was one i have wanted to see but never quite made the effort to see, but i kept reading about it in brian mclaren’s everything must change, a book i am currently reading for class.
i knew this movie would be a hard one to watch, one that would need processing, and one that would impact me…all of which are true. i took my computer and some magazines to jena’s to provide a diversion, i left immediately after the movie, and have thought a little (but not too much) about it afterwards. this is the way i have coped thus far with the movie. so, instead, i thought i would blog a little about it.
i cannot imagine…
i cannot imagine living in that kind of environment, the kind where one fears for his or her life.
the environment where one is shunned, persecuted, and killed because of who they are (or what tribe they belong to). the environment where these people are constantly put down, derogatorily, by those who think themselves better. the environment where hatred is bred, causing the factions to carry out inhumane acts.
the environment where…
or do i live in such an environment?
i cannot imagine being separated from my family, not knowing if i will ever see them again.
i cannot imagine sacrificing my life, my happiness for that of my family’s…and willingly walking away for their own good.
i cannot imagine.
but this is real life.
and this is the real story of what went on in rwanda in the 1990s…and probably the story of what continues in other locations today.
as the film comes to a close, the first aid worker walking alongside paul and his family says,
they say there isn’t any room
to which paul responds,
there’s always room.
the camera pans to include not only paul, his family and the relief worker, but a hoard of orphans that have come seeking safety. this statement sums up paul’s life (and mission in life).
a sacrificial life lived to protect some 1268 tutsi and hutu refugees.
there was always room in the hotel, to which he served as manager…
there was always room in his heart for those seeking help and aid…
there was always room in his life for those who needed an advocate.
it leaves me with a few questions:
what am i to do? how do i respond to genocide, to unfair treatment of people different than me?
and is there room in my heart, in my life, in my world?
i lack these answers…
i cannot imagine…
yet i am awaiting a response.