| Rarely does a photojournalistic exhibit go so far beyond the gallery as Jonathan Torgovnik has taken his series, Intended Consequences: Rwandan Children Born of Rape. |  |
Éva Pelczer
Rarely does a photojournalistic exhibit go so far beyond the gallery as Jonathan Torgovnik has taken his series, Intended Consequences: Rwandan Children Born of Rape. In raising awareness of the survivors of the brutal genocide of 1994, his diligent documentation of these women’s stories led to the establishment of a non-profit organization, Foundation Rwanda, dedicated to providing them and their children financial, educational, and health services. The exhibit itself has been shown internationally, and the women’s testimonies read aloud at awareness rallies and at commemoration ceremonies honoring the 15-year anniversary of the genocide, most notably at the UN in New York City on April 8.
It is impossible to remain unmoved by the collection of photographs and personal stories comprising the show. This is not an art exhibit; instead it is a candid, disturbing, and illuminating series of portraits and testimonies whose unabashed mission is to channel horror and empathy into a tangible reservoir of aid to the subjects in question (the images themselves have been used in other promotional material for Foundation Rwanda). In addition to this main monetary purpose, the show also promotes simple awareness of a genocide that is no longer an active concern for the rest of the world. Awareness is part of the burden these women carry, and perhaps the world’s shouldering more of it is better currency than aid money itself.
Torgovnik’s photographs are filled with saturated colors that brighten the room. They line the four walls of the large gallery, each with an accompanying text. In large font, the passages spell out excerpts from the women’s stories. The language is straightforward, and its simplicity, reflected in the portraits themselves, is jarring in contrast to the brutality the women describe. There are nearly 35 women around the room but it is difficult to make it through even half the texts—rape after rape, one more horrific than the next. The women talk about their resulting children; some say they hate them, others speak about the children’s innocence in contrast to their rapists’ crimes, and nearly all say they haven’t told the young teenagers, some of whom ask for their fathers, the circumstances of their birth. A prevailing concern—at least in these edited narratives—is the education of the children, and their uncertain future. Some women have given up; some have tried to commit suicide, and some are living only for their children. One woman feels lucky to have been raped by “only one” man. “Survivors” seems like an inadequate term for them.
Instead of dramatizing the subject, Torgovnik lets the photographs speak for themselves. A video at the center of the exhibition is one exception; one can watch translated footage of interviews with a number of the women, set to a soundtrack and edited in a style meant to wring every bit of heartache from their stories. It seems unnecessary; the stories of the genocide are disturbing enough without outside help. The interview with Torgovnik himself is similarly slick (both videos shown at the exhibit are available online), and raises the question of why the artist would need to verbalize the difficulty of an experience that is already so obvious in the work itself and his photographic hand.
Commendably, Torgovnik isn’t interested in presenting a stereotype of strong, selfless mothers in the face of oppression. The women’s strength is undeniable, but so is their humanity—Torgovnik doesn’t shy away from their depression, hopelessness, and hatred, most apparent in the unedited transcriptions of their narratives presented in the exhibit’s accompanying book.
Donating to Foundation Rwanda serves to sop up the feeling of helplessness instilled by the exhibit, but the situation in Africa is complicated—both in the consequences of sending aid and its potential ineffectiveness in the long run. Contributing money on a small scale is a measurable act of aid, but will not change the deep-seeded root of the problem, which is now the rejection of these women by their existing communities for the stigma associated with rape and having had a “child of the Hutus.” The reality is that these women, despite making up 70 percent of Rwanda’s surviving population, remain unsupported by their own people. As one woman, “Brigette” says, “I’m paying a price for the sins that I never committed.” But in such numbers, it is up to them to take control of the country—a point made by several prominent feminists, including Eve Ensler, author of The Vagina Monologues and genocide survivor activist.
Awareness is meant, in the words of Mary Kayitesi Blewitt, founder of SURF (a survivor’s fund for victims of the genocide) to “remind us of the suffering that must never again be permitted to happen to anyone.” (Although as Torgovnik has mentioned, the same kind of violence is now being perpetrated against women of Congo and Darfur despite an arguably extensive awareness of the situation by the rest of the world.) Foundation Rwanda strives to provide the women with basic help not provided by Rwanda itself, and to ensure education for their young teenagers, who will soon represent, in age, nearly half the population.
However, the country’s fragmentation needs a resolution that is self-sustaining. As Dambisa Moyo, economist and author of Dead Aid, has pointed out, the education of a child needs a purpose beyond Western satisfaction—the possibility of a job, and an economy in which it can be applied. There is little to criticize in Torgovnik’s photographs and subsequent activism, but what it takes on is enormous: a genocide of which the effects will reverberate through many more generations of Rwandans. The most effective thing the show offers toward long-term solution is not Foundation Rwanda’s donations, but its power to reach others through the experience of the women’s pictures and testimonies—as it already has, and will continue to do all over the America, from college campuses to the UN.
