Rape, in the Democratic Republic of Congo, like many
war-ravaged countries, is strategy, an implement to seize power – control, not
only over entire communities and regions but, crucially, in this immense
country, over the great mineral wealth. The trauma – physical, psychological –
disables. And it is free. The cheapest weapon of mass destruction. It is no
secret why and how this happens. Rape emblemises Congo's history – an area brutalised
for 500 years by leaders and nations crazed with greed in a rush for natural
resources: rubber, oil, diamonds, copper, uranium, cobalt and coltan. The last
of these is used liberally in mobile phones, cameras, printers and laptops.
First came the Portuguese, in the 1480s, enslaving and destablising as British
ships arrived taking captives. In the late 19th century, as demand for rubber
spiked, Belgium's King Leopold II claimed the country, ordering further
gargantuan enslavements, commanding torture and murder on an unfathomable
scale: more than 10 million died. By 1960, when independence was declared, the
traumatised nation was ripped asunder, fractured, drained not only of minerals
but of human resources: an insufficiently educated nation left to stagger on
unaided. The former army officer and police sergeant Joseph-Desire Mobutu
exploited the power vacuum, seized control and bled the resources further. When
Rwanda invaded in 1996 (the First Congo War), helping other neighbouring
countries topple Mobutu – who had been backed by Western governments – little
improved. A year later, when the Second Congo War erupted, drawing in nine
nations, the turmoil was anarchic, dozens of rival militia groups, rebels and
army factions killing and enslaving to gain control of the mines – a dire
cacophony of child soldiers and mass starvation, collapsing infrastructure and,
all along, rape.
Dr Denis Mukwege tries to help all who arrive at Panzi
Hospital, the clinic he set up 15 years ago in the hills above Bukavu, eastern
Congo. After training in France to become a gynaecologist, he was hoping to
devote his career to treating women in pregnancy and labour. Instead, the
results of the Second Congo War arrived – wave after wave of rape victims,
girls as young as two, women in their eighties. Entire villages of women come.
Dr Mukwege specialises in repairing vaginal fistulas – holes created either
between the vagina and rectum, or vagina and bladder – a common occurrence
after violent rape. "Women who have been severely violated are completely
destroyed – some we simply cannot cure," he says. "And unfortunately,
these are often young girls aged 14, 15, 16, 17. They have to wear a colostomy
bag for the rest of their lives." Without medical intervention, urine,
blood and faeces trickle down, causing burns, infections, ulcerations,
abscesses and dehydration. The smell from infections ensures everyone in the
village knows what has happened. Many are shunned. Isolation engulfs. Fistulas
can also lead to nerve damage called "foot drop" in which the lower
limbs become paralysed. Women are left unable to walk.
Dr Mukwege treats 10 women a day in theatre. He has, in
total, tended to more than 30,000 survivors. In what psychological state are
patients when they arrive? "They are dehumanised," he says.
"Most are shamed by what happened to them. Most are excluded from their
own community. They feel life has no sense." He cites the plentiful
research into the psychological trauma that survivors carry, often forever. By
the time women are in Mukwege's care, the trauma has fanned out in all
directions. "If a child has seen his mother being raped he will never be
the same again," he says. "And if husbands stood by during attacks,
unable to help their wife, it completely changes their relationship. This
problem destroys families as a whole."
There is another important consequence, which, for Mukwege
is a "time bomb": the babies. "They are often not loved when
they arrive because they are the result of rape. People sometimes blame the children.
Often families say, 'This is a horrible child; he does not belong to us.' We
are raising a crisis." He continues "There is one lady. She was raped and
taken into the bush and kept as a slave for three years. She was also, as a
result of the rapes, contaminated with Aids. When she came home she found that
while she was gone all her family – her husband, father, mother and four
children – were killed." The woman eventually returned to her village but
with a baby, born from the innumerable rapes she endured. "It was very
hard for her…" says Mukwege, his voice unsteady "to keep this child,
to know, 'She is the child of the one who raped me, killed all my family and
contaminated me with Aids'." He stops again, frowning, wincing. "How
can all this happen in the life of someone?" Yet he carries on to say "Today
she not only supports her child but also other patients living with Aids. She's
really strong. She built her own house. She built her own business. She is a
leader in her community."
In 2011, Mukwege compared the international reaction to that
of Bosnia in the 1990s. "Since Bosnia was on Europe's doorstep, and Europe
was ashamed, it didn't last so long," he said. "When it happens in
Africa, people say, 'It's cultural. It's African. It's far away'." A year
later, in an address at the UN he spoke of the "deafening silence and the
lack of courage of the international community". Some see such silence as
deliberate, in order that the coltan keeps coming. "The West has a
responsibility because it knows how coltan is produced," says Mukwege.
"They can get this without destroying women."
Dr Mukwege is the recipient of the Sakharov Prize For
Freedom of Thought, the highest human-rights award bestowed by the European
Parliament.
"This prize is not really for me," he says softly.
"It belongs to the women who have been fighting for 15 years for their
rights, for their dignity, for their freedom. But I am very happy this prize
came now because the world does not understand what it means to be raped with
extreme violence. We need to highlight what is going on in this region. It is a
terrible disease, women destroyed in a way that denies their humanity."
He describes the "four pillars" of his approach. "We
treat them medically – surgically; psychologically – the trauma; legally – to
teach them their rights and help them go to court, if they want to," he
says. "The fourth way is to support them economically so they can be
strong and fight for their own rights."
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