New Yorker Fiction Review #244: "Grief" by Scholastique Mukasonga
A heavy short story, in the middle of a heavy issue of The New Yorker, covering what has been a heavy series of weeks in America. The issue itself focuses mostly on racial injustice, acutely focusing on the killing of George Floyd last month and the civil upheaval it has caused just as our quarantine-weary country is taking it's first steps out of hiding and into something akin to a pre-COVID normal. A lot to be reported, digested, and pondered upon. Far too much to be covered in one issue of The New Yorker or certainly here, in an entry that's meant to review a short story.
The short story in question -- "Grief" -- is the first person account of a Rwandan Tutsi woman living in France in the wake of the 1994 Rwandan Civil War and the mass killing of the Tutsi people. We can only assume the year to be late 1994 or early 1995, as the woman attempts to grieve for family, most of whom she assumes were killed in the genocide (her brother, apparently, made it out to Canada). She remembers the period right after she got out of Rwanda safely, and the hollowness of grieving with her friends in Burundi, without any actual proof that her family had been killed. And then later, in France, attending the funerals of strangers just so she could try and process some of her grief in the company of others feeling the same thing. And finally, her return to Rwanda, seeking some kind of closure, and her visit to one of the mass-killing sites.
Many people -- probably a majority of people -- who lose a loved one are granted a long lead-time, a chance to say good-bye, or -- if not that lucky -- a chance to bury their dead and mourn with their relatives. In this case, the main character must process the loss of most of her relatives in the complete absence of any of that. No information as to how or when they were killed. No last remains. No ceremony. Not even really any relatives to mourn with.
I am somewhat ashamed to admit I know very little about the Rwandan Civil war and the genocide against the Tutsi people, particularly because it took place during my own lifetime. I wonder if it was my own lack of awareness (I was 14 after all) or a cultural bent in America -- at least at the time -- to turn a blind-eye toward ugly things going on in other countries. Certainly we should have been talking about this in my high school classrooms, right?
A person can only keep track of so much current news. There is a saturation point. But I personally -- and probably a lot of others -- could do well to open our eyes to crises like these, or at least try to stay more informed on events going on outside our borders. At the very least, a story like "Grief" has opened one person's eyes to an episode of human atrocity probably overlooked or forgotten by many people in the world because it took place in a part of the world that does not have as much influence or get as much press coverage as others. A shame, but also a chance to learn something and do better.
Comments