Paul Rusesabagina, the man who saved more than 1,200 lives during the
Rwandan genocide in 1994, held several thousand college booksellers
spellbound for an hour when he spoke at the NACS/CAMEX show in Houston
this past weekend. His story, told in the film Hotel Rwanda, is
one that, with characteristic modesty, he likes to call that of an
ordinary man caught up in extraordinary circumstances. Indeed his new
memoir, whose publication date is April 6, is called An Ordinary Man
(Viking, $23.95, 0670037524). Still, most in the crowd considered him an extraordinary man, on a par with Oskar Schindler or
Raoul Wallenberg, and gave him a long standing ovation.
Although he made clear that he and others at the mercy of marauding militia and a bloodthirsty army felt abandoned by the West, Rusesabagina was not accusatory, which made his story resonate all the more. "When the world decided to abandon us and closed its eyes and ears, we had to take responsibilities," he said matter of factly. "I got involved in everything."
Throughout the 100 days that he and the people he protected were under threat of death, "I decided not to fight with guns," he said. "I decided to fight with my words. I negotiated and learned how to deal with evil." He bribed, flattered, cajoled and stalled for time. "All this will end soon," he told one important general at a crucial moment. "What will you tell history afterward?" During another confrontation, he pointed to several of the people he was protecting and asked a militiaman bent on murder, "Is this old man the real enemy you are fighting? Is the enemy you are fighting truly this baby? Do you really want this man's blood on your hands for the rest of your life?"
Again and again Rusesabagina called and faxed contacts in Rwanda and around the world, seeking to get them to intervene on behalf of the 1,200 who were barely hanging on in the des Milles Collines luxury hotel in the Rwandan capital of Kigale. "I never gave up," he said. "I kept phoning the White House, Brussels, Paris."
Rusesabagina knew some of those who had done the killings. "I saw people we considered wise men, who were advisors and leaders, in the militia with guns and machetes," he said. "I couldn't believe my eyes." Early in the genocide, Rusesabagina's son, who was 15 at the time, witnessed the murders of friends and couldn't speak for four days. "He couldn't understand how human beings could be so wild, so cruel, so criminal."
In the same vein, he noted that as emphasized in the movie, leaders of the genocide used radio stations to incite the killers and guide them, to the extent of sending out over the air names and addresses of people to kill. "Media can be the best weapon when used for good," Rusesabagina said. "And media can be the worst weapon when used for evil."
Although he "expected death each and every day," one of the worst moments was when he gathered his wife and four children together before an evacuation and said that whatever happened, the six were "all brothers and sisters and the oldest would take care of the youngest. Then we shook hands."
As seen in the movie, before the first attempted evacuation, Rusesabagina decided not to go with his family because, he said, he knew he was the only person among the 1,200 who "could sit down and talk with the militia." Had he gone, those remaining would have been slaughtered, and their deaths would have hung over him forever. "I would never have been a free man," he said. "I would have been a prisoner of myself. I would never have been able to eat and sleep with satisfaction."
As a result, he put his family on a vehicle and stayed behind. He told the audience, "You can't imagine how heartbreaking it is to see your loved ones going and you don't know where they are going, where you are going and if you will ever see them again. Sending my wife and children to a safer place was the toughest decision I ever made in my life."
He spent some time discussing Rwandan history to show that the 1994 killings were not the first blood shed in the conflict between Hutus and Tutsis, which began during colonial times. "Both sides have done killing," he said.
Despite his general equanimity, Rusesabagina admitted to wanting to take revenge once. After the 100 days, when he went with his wife to his mother-in-law's house and discovered that she and other relatives had been slaughtered, "Like small babies we sat in the ruins and cried," he said. "If I had a gun, I would have killed someone. Thank God I didn't have a gun."
Although he made clear that he and others at the mercy of marauding militia and a bloodthirsty army felt abandoned by the West, Rusesabagina was not accusatory, which made his story resonate all the more. "When the world decided to abandon us and closed its eyes and ears, we had to take responsibilities," he said matter of factly. "I got involved in everything."
Throughout the 100 days that he and the people he protected were under threat of death, "I decided not to fight with guns," he said. "I decided to fight with my words. I negotiated and learned how to deal with evil." He bribed, flattered, cajoled and stalled for time. "All this will end soon," he told one important general at a crucial moment. "What will you tell history afterward?" During another confrontation, he pointed to several of the people he was protecting and asked a militiaman bent on murder, "Is this old man the real enemy you are fighting? Is the enemy you are fighting truly this baby? Do you really want this man's blood on your hands for the rest of your life?"
Again and again Rusesabagina called and faxed contacts in Rwanda and around the world, seeking to get them to intervene on behalf of the 1,200 who were barely hanging on in the des Milles Collines luxury hotel in the Rwandan capital of Kigale. "I never gave up," he said. "I kept phoning the White House, Brussels, Paris."
Rusesabagina knew some of those who had done the killings. "I saw people we considered wise men, who were advisors and leaders, in the militia with guns and machetes," he said. "I couldn't believe my eyes." Early in the genocide, Rusesabagina's son, who was 15 at the time, witnessed the murders of friends and couldn't speak for four days. "He couldn't understand how human beings could be so wild, so cruel, so criminal."
In the same vein, he noted that as emphasized in the movie, leaders of the genocide used radio stations to incite the killers and guide them, to the extent of sending out over the air names and addresses of people to kill. "Media can be the best weapon when used for good," Rusesabagina said. "And media can be the worst weapon when used for evil."
Although he "expected death each and every day," one of the worst moments was when he gathered his wife and four children together before an evacuation and said that whatever happened, the six were "all brothers and sisters and the oldest would take care of the youngest. Then we shook hands."
As seen in the movie, before the first attempted evacuation, Rusesabagina decided not to go with his family because, he said, he knew he was the only person among the 1,200 who "could sit down and talk with the militia." Had he gone, those remaining would have been slaughtered, and their deaths would have hung over him forever. "I would never have been a free man," he said. "I would have been a prisoner of myself. I would never have been able to eat and sleep with satisfaction."
As a result, he put his family on a vehicle and stayed behind. He told the audience, "You can't imagine how heartbreaking it is to see your loved ones going and you don't know where they are going, where you are going and if you will ever see them again. Sending my wife and children to a safer place was the toughest decision I ever made in my life."
He spent some time discussing Rwandan history to show that the 1994 killings were not the first blood shed in the conflict between Hutus and Tutsis, which began during colonial times. "Both sides have done killing," he said.
Despite his general equanimity, Rusesabagina admitted to wanting to take revenge once. After the 100 days, when he went with his wife to his mother-in-law's house and discovered that she and other relatives had been slaughtered, "Like small babies we sat in the ruins and cried," he said. "If I had a gun, I would have killed someone. Thank God I didn't have a gun."