Revising Rwanda: A Journey of Anger Alchemy

Dec 29, 2023

As we continue exploring the interplay between ancient healing traditions and the mind-body-spirit connection, I’d love for you to join me on this journey of personal transformation. If you’re new here, feel free to check out the first installment of this series to catch up. Today, we’re diving deeper, peeling back the layers of emotional and spiritual healing that have been unfolding alongside my journey with cancer.

Tending the Roots, Planting the Future

I’ve wandered beyond the surface of my illness, embracing a way of healing that speaks not only to the body, but to the unseen threads that bind heart, mind, and spirit. This path asks me to turn inward—into the quiet spaces of memory—confronting the unresolved emotions and experiences that have shaped me.

At its heart, my journey is about freedom, love, and becoming the fullest version of myself. But it reaches beyond me. It is a pilgrimage toward something greater—toward self-realization and connection to all that is.

This calling asks me to heal backwards and forwards, tending to the wounds of generations past and breaking the patterns that need not persist. I walk this path not only for myself, but to lay the groundwork for a legacy of liberation—for those who will follow, with hearts unburdened and spirits free to thrive. This is the work: to grow, to heal, to leave behind not just stories of survival, but a map toward joy, fulfillment, and the beauty of being whole.

The Body’s Quiet Language

Living with bile duct cancer, marked by a tumor entwining my liver, calls for a way of healing that reaches beyond the borders of conventional medicine. Western medicine views the liver primarily as an organ of detoxification, but traditional Chinese medicine sees it differently—envisioning it as the seat of emotional well-being and the flow of Qi, the life force that animates us. This perspective reveals the delicate connection between body and mind, where emotions like frustration, anger, and impatience—long associated with liver imbalances—can ripple through us, shaping the health of both body and spirit.

As I move through this challenging season, I’ve begun to confront and embrace the intricate weave of emotions that have followed me throughout my life—anger being the most persistent thread. This journey into rage and frustration has uncovered roots not only in the injustices and cruelties I’ve witnessed but also in the rigidities of the systems I’ve navigated. Yet, within this anger lies a deep reservoir of passion for justice, a longing for meaningful change, and a fierce commitment to giving voice to the unheard. By recognizing the complexity of my anger, I am learning to transform it—from an inner storm into a source of clarity and power, fueling personal growth and meaningful social change. This shift marks a vital step in my healing, guiding me toward a path that honors my emotional truths while moving me closer to a more compassionate and just world.

Hello anger, my old friend

Research within Chinese medicine indicates that emotions such as frustration, impatience, anger, and rage, often linked with the liver, can significantly affect the organ's well-being and, conversely, can be impacted by its condition. Furthermore, studies in the concepts of Qi and its circulation concerning health and illness illustrate how disruptions in Qi flow can manifest in various diseases, including cancer.

As I've examined my life through the lens of these emotions and come to understand the intricate relationship between emotional and physical well-being, it has sparked a deeper contemplation of a prevailing emotion that has consistently woven itself throughout much of my existence: anger.

This exploration led me to uncover the profound impact of anger, evident in my lifelong passion against injustice, violence, cruelty, and inhumanity. This sense of outrage extends well beyond immediate reactions to explicit violence, atrocities, and conflicts; it embodies a deep-seated frustration stemming from encountering widespread inefficiency, rigid inflexibility, a culture averse to risk, unwavering resistance to change, and the inherent compartmentalization present in the bureaucracies I've navigated.

Traversing environments affected by systemic issues, such as entrenched sexual harassment and toxicity within patriarchal structures, while simultaneously working within agencies and organizations advocating principles often not upheld in practice, has intensified my frustration. At times, grappling with internal conflicts within these bureaucratic frameworks has proven to be as formidable as addressing external injustices.

Frequently, my anger has acted as a shield, veiling underlying feelings of sadness. It was often easier to confront and express anger than to directly confront vulnerability and pain. Rather than succumbing to torrents of hurt and fear, I channeled my energy into fervent determination and passionate advocacy for justice and decency.

While anger has held considerable sway over my life, my goal isn't its elimination; rather, I seek equilibrium. I aim for a harmonious balance where anger becomes a compass, signaling areas of profound care, concern, and values worthy of defense. Acknowledging anger as a signal for potential violations of our principles amplifies its potential for transformation. By exploring situations where anger masks deeper wells of pain and vulnerability, I seek to address and process these emotions. This, in turn, allows redirection of efforts toward constructive advocacy for justice and upholding of ideals. Simultaneously, I am committed to seeking opportunities for reconciliation and healing whenever feasible.

“Transformation isn’t sweet and bright. It’s a dark and murky, painful pushing. An unraveling of the untruths you’ve carried in your body. A practice in facing your own created demons. A complete unrooting, before becoming.” Victoria Erickson

Revisiting Rwanda: A Journey Through Pain and Purpose

Trigger Warning: The sections that follow contain explicit and sensitive content related to the genocide in Rwanda. Reader discretion is advised, as the content discusses violence, loss, and traumatic experience that may be distressing.

My tenure with the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) in immediate post-genocide Rwanda during the mid-1990s encapsulated all of these elements -- aligning with my highest ideals and most impassioned commitments, yet also stirring deep wells of frustration, pain, and vulnerability.

On Kigali tarmac with fellow UN Human Rights Field Officers, November 1994

The mission's initial deployment encountered substantial obstacles stemming from organizational, logistical, and managerial hurdles in OHCHR's first ever large-scale human rights operation. We were deployed across the country without any prior training and minimal equipment to investigate and document massacre sites and mass graves. It soon became vividly evident that almost every church, school, or official building in hundreds of villages had been turned into sites of mass killing.

In nearly all the areas we visited, our team was the first international presence since the genocide. Upon our arrival at local villages, witnesses and survivors emerged from the shadows, eager to share their harrowing experiences. Listening to them narrate the devastating details of the mass killings, I was deeply affected by the intensity of their anguish. A tumult of emotions engulfed me—immense sadness, profound empathy, and a steadfast determination to pursue justice and reparations for the unthinkable horrors they had suffered. I devoted myself entirely, leveraging all available resources, to relentlessly champion the cause of accountability. It was, indisputably, the very least I could offer in response to such flagrant injustice.

Moreover, our mission extended beyond investigating genocide and war crimes; it encompassed the investigation of ongoing human rights violations by the government, occurring in the aftermath of the genocide. Contrary to the government's assurances against retaliatory violence, we painstakingly recorded thousands of cases of extrajudicial killings, enforced disappearances, illegal detentions, inhumane punishment, and torture. Over time, these inquiries grew more delicate, and my colleagues and I faced death threats—a grim yet paradoxical recognition of our work during those difficult times.

Then, merely a year after the genocide, close to two thousand internally displaced persons—predominantly women and children—were slaughtered by the Rwandan military during its campaign to shut down the Kibeho IDP camp in southern Rwanda. That the camp was administered by United Nations in partnership with the Rwandan government, unfortunately provided the government with a pretext to portray the military's effort to close the camp as a "joint operation" with the UN and Rwandan officials. The violence intensified over a span of four days, throughout which UN agencies and peacekeepers stood by as mere observers.

In the wake of the massacre and the lack of any substantive investigation into the errors that precipitated it, I felt compelled to conduct my own analysis after my mission ended in late 1995. This personal quest resulted in the publication of a book titled, Unprotected: Rwanda’s Kibeho Massacre and the Failure of the UN to Safeguard Internally Displaced Persons.

Although I had meticulously documented the events in Rwanda, I hadn't fully explored the personal toll these experiences had taken on me. Writing the book brought my underlying feelings of despair and anger into sharper focus. Subsequently, in my role with the State Department on the OSCE mission in Bosnia and Herzegovina, I faced disturbingly similar challenges, seemingly caught in a continuous cycle of distressing events.

Just Breathe: Processing through Holotropic Breathwork

Twenty-five years later, the timing of my diagnosis coincided with two pivotal moments: the release of a book that reawakened old memories and my exploration of a new breathwork technique.

The book that reignited my deep-seated emotions was Michaela Wrong's compelling, Do Not Disturb: The Story of a Political Murder and an African Regime Gone Bad. It was published shortly after I received my diagnosis. Diving into its narrative rekindled my anger as I confronted the ongoing repression and executions carried out by the same regime I had investigated a quarter-century earlier—actions still largely ignored by the international community. The realization that such suffering persisted, with minimal intervention, was infuriating. This intense anger felt almost overwhelming, rooted in the vivid memories of my experiences in the country during the 1990s.

At the same time, I was deeply engaged in learning a breathwork technique called holotropic breathwork, as part of a certification program. This practice involves a series of controlled, rapid, and deep breathing exercises designed to reach an altered state of consciousness, paving the way for deep self-discovery and healing. The technique fosters an acute awareness of the present moment and grants access to the unconscious mind. This enables suppressed memories and unresolved emotions to emerge, ranging from early childhood experiences to deeply entrenched traumas.

Assuming that at least some of that anger was disguised pain, I made a conscious choice to dedicate my breathwork practice for a month to exploring my emotional experiences related to Rwanda, to see what might happen.

At the onset, the sessions seemed akin to navigating a turbulent sea of repressed emotions, wading through the debris of memories long buried in the recesses of my mind.

Vivid and haunting recollections surged forward, transporting me through time. I witnessed countless women's faces—anguished and desperate as they sought missing husbands, sons, and relatives, victims of unspeakable violence. The deep scars of profound pain and fear etched on their faces in the aftermath of sexual assaults.

I was confronted with stark and haunting images —the unbearable stench of decomposing bodies strewn across fields, churches, schools, houses.

The faces of the Spanish forensic expert team, brows furrowed during the day while determining age, sex, cause of death, transformed into warm smiles and laughter as we gathered around beers in the evenings.

The penetrating gazes of countless eyes fixed upon me amid the overpowering stench in overcrowded village lock-ups, coupled with the absence of space, proper ventilation, basic hygiene, and the most fundamental aspects of human dignity.

Then, I found myself walking into a courtyard adjacent to the Nyumba chapel, where the ground gave way slightly under my weight. The unmistakable odor of decay was in the air. The landscape was strewn with remnants of horror—pieces of a jawbone, fragments of ribs, bones emerging from the earth. Inside the chapel, bloodstains covered the walls, while the floor bore a grim layer of coagulated thickness. Stepping back, my view revealed thousands of similar scenes, each serving as a silent testament to the hundreds of thousands of souls lost in the brutality merely months before.

Investigating the grim traces of the Rwanda genocide

I remembered vividly the bone-deep fear and searing humiliation when we were abruptly forced out of our Nissan Patrol, under the hostile glare of gun barrels, alongside two colleagues. As I was exiting the vehicle, a sudden, brutal strike from a rifle butt by a Rwandan Patriotic Army soldier sent me to the ground, before they commandeered our vehicle and rode off.

Amidst these and many other visions, torrents of grief, despair and anger surged within me, to a degree that seemed to have lain dormant for years.

It felt as if I was treading through an immense chasm, an abyss of unending pain and sorrow. To prevent disturbing my neighbors, I muffled my cries with a pillow. It felt like I could cry endlessly, as if there would never be enough tears to convey the depth of the pain.

The pattern continued for days: I'd start my mornings with breathwork, feeling overwhelmed, tears streaming down. Then, I'd delve into journaling before going about my day—often feeling tired but somehow finding the strength to continue. At the same time, I kept up sessions with an Internal Family Systems (IFS) coach, among other practices, helping me unpack the emotions that emerged during breathwork. This aided in processing those emotions and integrating them into my conscious awareness.

As time passed, the intensity of the sessions gradually lessened, allowing some relief to emerge. The once tumultuous and overpowering emotions began to recede like tides, leaving a growing sense of serenity.

During this changing phase, something important struck me. In the midst of all these emotions, a moment of clarity emerged where I suddenly started thinking about forgiveness.

The notion of forgiving those accountable for the immense suffering during and after the Rwandan genocide caught me off guard. While I’ve consistently valued forgiveness and held a deep appreciation for practices like Hoʻoponopono, my inclination had been towards forgiving specific individuals for the pain they caused me. The concept of extending forgiveness for such heinous acts on a broad scale had never crossed my mind. It wasn't a notion I had ever entertained.

Once this new idea surfaced, its power grew. It contradicted everything I had understood about the importance of accountability, justice, and sincere efforts toward healing and reconciliation. Whenever I tried to analyze it, concerns arose about potentially diminishing the gravity of the offenses, overlooking the imperative need for justice, or relieving the perpetrators of their responsibility.

However as I delved deeper while continuing to breathe and reflect, it became evident that this act of forgiveness surpassed any logical reasoning and the habitual responses of my mind and its patterns of intellectualizing, overanalyzing, categorizing. It emanated directly from the depths of my heart. Never before had I witnessed so vividly the tug-of-war between the rationality of my mind and the profound, stirring emotions within my heart.

Remarkably, my heart prevailed. It was liberating experience, imparting a deep sense of relief and peace while alleviating some of the heavy burdens I had carried—the very burdens that previously drove me in Rwanda, compelling me to feel responsible for resolving myriad problems and singlehandedly ensuring accountability.

However, this doesn't suggest that my mind simply capitulated. Nor does it imply that the pain and distress stemming from my experiences in Rwanda have been resolved and overcome. Rather, these aspects persist in an ongoing dialogue—an intricate interplay that unfolds within me. This interplay remains a constant shaping force in my life, and I observe its evolution closely. At present, I am pursuing certification in IFS (Internal Family Systems), an approach that adeptly embraces the apparent contradictions we face daily. It recognizes and honors the validity of these internal facets seeking recognition and a voice.

Additionally, I incorporate a variety of modalities to engage with and process the emotions that regularly surface. Alongside IFS, these approaches include journaling, somatic practices (refer to the endnote for further details), cognitive restructuring, self-compassion exercises, RAIN (Recognize, Allow, Investigate, Nurture), MBSR, and various others. Each of these techniques serves as a portal to delve into and understand the intricacies of my inner world. They empower me to navigate and harmonize complex emotions with compassion.

The ultimate objective of my journey, akin to many paths towards healing, isn’t solely centered on eradicating or erasing pain, though that might be the primary aspiration for some. Frequently, those on healing journeys aim to attain a stage where triggers and disturbances no longer impact them, striving for a sustained and tranquil “Zen state” of mind. However, on a healing path that is rooted in grounding and spiritual connection, rather than avoiding or concealing emotional discomfort, we confront it with self-awareness and empathy.

I’ve learned that we can try not only to acknowledge but also understand and meet the needs behind our pain. Our goal isn't just to reduce the pain's impact but to grow emotionally and have fortitude of heart. We aim to create a safe, compassionate inner space—a place where our pain isn't ignored but acknowledged and treated with understanding and kindness. This helps us expand our emotional capacity to hold all our feelings, letting every part of our emotional world exist without judgment.

In Rumi’s poem “The Guest House,” the 13th century mystical poet likens emotions to unexpected visitors that we ought to greet with warmth and acceptance, regardless of their difficulty or challenge. He encourages us to embrace them, stating, “even if they’re a crowd of sorrows who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture.” In this way, pain serves as a powerful teacher and catalyst.

In today's tumultuous and constantly changing world, some of our most crucial inner work revolves around acknowledging and engaging with our emotions. It includes cultivating the capacity to identify, accept, and genuinely feel the emotions residing within us, which often manifest as physiological sensations in our bodies (see [i] below for more information). By actively cultivating this awareness, we create a space for our emotions to flow through us unimpeded. This openness prevents them from getting trapped or stifled within, steering clear of the potentially detrimental effects of unresolved emotional burdens.

As we consciously recognize and embrace our emotions, even the initially uncomfortable or challenging ones, we enable them to move more fluidly within us. While this process may seem counterintuitive, embracing our feelings helps facilitate their natural release, allowing us to navigate them with greater ease and reducing their long-term effects on our well-being. Embracing this practice anchors us in the present, fostering resilience, and inner strength.

Embracing this strengthened emotional state empowers us in two important ways. Firstly, it fosters a mindset open to questioning and examining our perceived realities or truths. By challenging our preconceptions and beliefs, we create an opportunity for deeper understanding and growth. Secondly, it creates the necessary mental and emotional space to welcome new opportunities, potentials, and possibilities in our lives. This expanded awareness enables us to envision and pursue paths that were previously unseen or overlooked.

Without the practice of understanding our emotions and remaining receptive to new perspectives, we risk inadvertently projecting our pent-up emotions and unresolved energy onto others. These projections, whether directed at individuals or groups, can perpetuate destructive cycles of conflict and turmoil. However, when we actively engage in the process of embracing our emotions, nurturing self-awareness, and cultivating a mindset of expansion, we embark on a path toward gaining insight and wisdom.

A part of me wishes I had discovered these insights earlier— especially during my most challenging assignments. Unraveling these truths during those pivotal moments might have enhanced my effectiveness as an advocate, colleague and manager, while alleviating some of the stress in my life. Nevertheless, today, I find myself in an ideal position—with the privilege of coaching and guiding those navigating the forefront of change in our world. Witnessing their evolution into formidable leaders, equipped with emotional intelligence, sharp judgment, impactful communication, and authentic leadership fills me with profound awe and gratitude. They're not just enhancing the effectiveness of their efforts on behalf of the vulnerable and marginalized; they're also mastering the skill of advocating for themselves, adeptly maneuvering past obstacles to confidently embrace their potential, all the while empowering and lifting those around them. Despite formidable challenges, they are rewriting their narratives, paving the way for authentic and profound change.

The most influential change agents and pioneers of justice today derive genuine inner strength from their unwavering commitment to ongoing emotional growth. Research in management sciences consistently underscores the significance of emotional intelligence in leadership effectiveness. Studies have repeatedly highlighted how leaders who prioritize emotional growth and self-awareness foster environments that inspire trust, collaboration, and innovation. By nurturing their emotional intelligence, these change agents adeptly navigate complex challenges, make informed decisions, and cultivate resilient teams capable of adapting to dynamic situations. Their ability to understand and manage emotions—both their own and those of others—serves as a cornerstone for building cohesive, high-performing teams and fostering enduring societal change.

My liver cancer became an unexpected catalyst for a profound inner reassessment, echoing the sentiment expressed by Bessel van der Kolk[i] —my body was keeping the score, signifying unresolved emotional residues demanding attention. Departing from the conventional understanding of cancer's origin in the liver according to traditional Chinese medicine, I've untangled the intricate connections between my anger, core values, and profound emotions from my Rwanda experiences and so much more, unveiling an interplay between my protective anger shield and the transformative power of acknowledging and processing the emotions underneath.

According to Ram Dass, “While cures aim at returning our bodies to what they were in the past, healing uses what is present to move us more deeply to soul awareness.” This journey through liver cancer transcends mere physical restoration. It's a path that embraces the transformative power of present emotions and experiences, guiding me towards profound soul awareness amid the healing process. This emphasis on emotional healing and soulful evolution amid adversity remains a cornerstone of my ongoing journey.

Journeys Within and Beyond

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