“We are children like others”: Pathways to mental health and healing for children born of genocidal rape in Rwanda

Abstract

Despite the well-documented prevalence of rape as a strategy of war, little is known about the specific psychological consequences to children born of conflict-related sexual violence. The results of data analysis of 7 focus groups and 60 in-depth interviews with children born of genocidal rape in Rwanda indicated that they are carrying the trauma of their own stigmatization and marginalization, are burdened with their mothers' trauma, and, we conclude, symbolize unresolved collective trauma for the society. Analysis also reveals that healing for these young adults requires interpersonal and intrapersonal compassion and acceptance, a meaningful connection with a peer group, societal recognition, and empowerment to help contribute to and transform their lives and societies. Each of these pathways to healing—intrapersonal, interpersonal, and social—is contingent upon the other, and none can be considered in isolation. To support this largely invisible population striving to fulfill their potential, opportunities need to be created for self-acceptance and acceptance by mothers, families, and communities; sharing and building emotional and social bonds with their cohort group; formal recognition; official social rituals to validate their experiences and those of the mother–child dyad in the context of culture and community; and for socioeconomic opportunities to enable them to fully participate in building the future of Rwanda.

Keywords

children born of genocide healing and recovery mental health sexual violence stigma

Background

The occurrence of systematic rape as a weapon of war and genocide is widespread across sociohistorical contexts. Traced back to the 11th century and continuing through the most recent wars, conflict-related sexual violence has been documented during World Wars I and II, the Vietnam War, and the conflicts in northern Uganda, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Timor Leste, Colombia, and Rwanda, to name a few (Denov, 2015). Far from random assaults upon individuals by the occasional errant soldier, conflict-related sexual violence is a purposeful and strategic military device designed to destroy individuals, families, communities, and entire societies (Hagen & Yohani, 2010). On the individual level, survivors may suffer from an array of severe physical and psychological trauma and injuries, HIV and other sexually transmitted infections, disturbances of sexual and reproduction functioning (Joachim, 2004), and forced impregnation and childbirth (Cavanaugh, 2002). At the community level, survivors of sexual violence may be stigmatized and expelled from their families and communities, especially in cultures in which a woman's virginity is prized for ensuring the continuation of male bloodlines (Carpenter, 2007). Ostracized survivors may, as a result, lack the social capital necessary to achieve socioeconomic stability (Stark, Landis, Thomson, & Potts, 2016), which is vital to posttraumatic well-being (Steel, Silove, Phan, & Bauman, 2002). On the societal level, a culture of silence surrounding sexual violence prevents accountability, justice, and healing, and ensures that trauma continues for years (Harvey, 1996). As such, wartime rape—a public act performed in the public sphere—wields the power not only to decimate victims' core self-worth but also to shatter the social bonds required for individuals, families, communities, and societies to thrive amid postwar reconstruction (Hagen & Yohani, 2010).

Among the many profundities that arise from systematic wartime rape is the fate of children conceived from sexual violence. The scope of this population remains largely unknown, with some governments actively repressing reports of the phenomenon in their postwar societies (Carpenter, 2010). Nevertheless, some data are emerging. A 2001 report by the War and Children Identity Project estimated that, at the time of publication, as many as 500,000 “war children” were alive in the world (Grieg, 2001). Research into how children born of conflict-related sexual violence and their mothers fare within their societies is only recently appearing (Carpenter, 2007; Denov, 2015; Denov & Lakor, 2017, in press; Erjavec & Volcic, 2010). To date, little is known about the specific psychological consequences to these children.

The well-being of mothers can also shed light on the subsequent experiences of their children. In this regard, Creamer, Burgess, and McFarlane (2001) have estimated the lifetime prevalence of postrape posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) at 50%. Denov (2015) has suggested that these children may be the recipients of the legacy of intergenerational trauma, that is, the unconscious and conscious uptake by a child of the affected parents' experiences of traumatic events and discrimination. Indeed, researchers in the field of neurobiology and epigenetics have documented physiological changes in the brains of the developing fetus, specifically cortisol reactivity and development of PTSD, as a result of intergenerational transmission of trauma (Radley et al., 2011).

Societal support has been identified as a critical factor in helping to ameliorate the potential negative psychological impacts of traumatic events (Ajdukovic, 2007). Conversely, evidence suggests that social stigma and rejection by family, peers, and community members directly affect sexual violence survivors' psychological well-being (Kohli et al., 2014) and access to education and crucial social services (Stark et al., 2016). Children born of conflict-related sexual violence, it follows, may be born into and raised in structures in which unmitigated intergenerational trauma, maternal trauma and stress, and maternal ambivalence combine with social and economic marginalization to create an environment hostile to their healthy development.

The implications of these multiple stressors upon children's development, mental health, and well-being in postwar societies are not yet well understood; however, research in this area is emerging. Denov and Lakor (2017, 2018) found that children born to mothers abducted and raped by members of the Lord's Resistance Army in northern Uganda experienced social rejection and stigma as well as ongoing violence, socioeconomic alienation, and challenges to their sense of personal and social identities. In their study of Bosniak adolescent girls born of wartime rapes, Erjavec and Volcic (2010) found that girls suffered from internalization of guilt as well as physical and psychological abuse from families and communities.

Van Ee and Kleber (2013) drew upon both postwar and non-post-war contexts to identify mental health risk factors for children born of rape. They identified the risk of infanticide and the epigenetic transmission of maternal PTSD, alongside child abuse, neglect, poor parent–child relationships, discrimination, guilt, self-blame, and problems with positive identity development. The extant literature on genocide survivors emphasizes the critical importance of postcrisis stability, access to resources, strong family and community bonds, and family rituals and narratives in fostering resilience and identity across generations (Atallah, 2017). Nevertheless, the pathways for achieving such outcomes for children born of genocidal rape and their families remain poorly understood (van Ee & Kleber, 2013).

Children born of genocidal rape: The Rwandan context

Mass rape and sexual violence during the 1994 Rwandan genocide against Tutsis have been well documented (Mukamana & Brysiewicz, 2008; Mukangendo, 2007; Nowrojee, 1996). From April through June 1994, members of the Interahamwe¹ in Rwanda carried out a targeted campaign of genocide against the Tutsi population, whereby over 1 million people, mostly Tutsi and Hutu moderates, were murdered (Mamdani, 2001). During this 3-month reign of terror, an estimated 350,000 women and girls were raped or gang-raped, sexually mutilated, or forced into sexual slavery by the Interahamwe (Sharlach, 2000). The primary targets for sexual violence were Tutsi women, Hutu women married to Tutsi men, and those who protected Tutsis (Nowrojee, 1996). It is estimated that between 10,000 and 25,000 children were born from genocidal sexual violence (Hogwood, Mushashi, Jones, & Auerbach, 2017).

In attempting to rebuild their lives following the end of the genocide, victims of sexual violence faced severe stigmatization by family and community members (Denov, Woolner, Bahati, Nsuki, & Shyaka, 2017). As a result, women confronted significant barriers when they sought a spouse or a property to provide for themselves and their families (Mukamana & Brysiewicz, 2008). Children born of genocidal rape inherited this maternal stigma and socioeconomic marginalization; however, they also carried their own intersecting stigma as enfants de la haine (children of hate; Nowrojee, 1996), both “illegitimate” and “tainted” with the blood of the enemy (Akello, 2013).

In the more than two decades since the end of the Rwandan genocide, surprisingly little research has focused on the needs of children born of genocidal rape. Hogwood et al. (2017) found that young adults born of genocidal rape in Rwanda experienced challenging parent–child relationships, discrimination, stigmatization, and identity issues. Denov et al. (2017) found difficulties with identity and belonging, ambivalence in the mother–child relationship, and a desire in young adults born of genocidal rape to learn of their biological origins and heritage. Indeed, many youth reportedly learned of their biological origins and histories from their mothers, family members, community members, and through rumours. We sought to explore the impact of such experiences upon the mental health, coping, and identity development of children born of genocidal rape in Rwanda as well as to solicit their perspectives on pathways to healing.

Drawing upon the voices of 60 youth born of genocidal rape in Rwanda, we seek to contribute to the understanding of this unique population's lived realities, particularly with regard to (a) participants' relationships with and treatment by their mothers, families, and community members, as well as their impact; (b) participants' overall well-being and their pathways to mental health; and (c) participants' individual and collective needs in relation to well-being, healing, and social inclusion.

Methodology

This research is part of a larger study led by Myriam Denov exploring the experiences of children born of genocidal rape, their mothers, and family members. This paper specifically focuses on the perspectives of those individuals, now young adults, born of genocidal rape. The study received ethical approval from two research ethics boards—the first from the Rwandan National Ethics Committee and the second from the Research Ethics Board of the authors' university. Due to the sensitive nature of the research, ethical issues required, and continue to require, constant consideration, attention, and mitigation. Participants had, for the most part, never shared their personal histories and experiences, and, as researchers, we were aware that recounting traumatic events could evoke varying levels of distress. Informed consent and confidentiality were assured. Support in the form of referrals to local counselors and organizations was instituted. To ensure support beyond standard ethical protocols, however, our team instituted monthly group counseling sessions for youth participants following their participation in the study. The group counseling, led by a local psychologist, was free of charge and available to all youth participants for 8 months following data collection.

Family and community perspectives: Community consultations

To invite family and community perspectives in all aspects of research design and implementation, prior to data collection, three community consultations took place in three regions of the country where the data collection was to occur. Stakeholders present at the community consultations included representatives from government, clergy, and nongovernmental organizations as well as practitioners, mothers who were victims of genocidal rape, and youth born of genocidal rape. The observations and recommendations from the community consultations were crucial to informing the research design and data collection processes.

This research engaged three local youths in Rwanda, who were themselves born of genocide, as coresearchers. The youth were selected on the basis of their interest in the research and proven skills, and were provided with ongoing research training and support. The project was initially designed to engage youth in study design, participant and community outreach, and development of interview guides. As the project advanced, however, the youth researchers expressed a desire to take on more responsibility and research tasks. In response to their engagement, initiative, and development of research skills, the youth researchers were provided with extensive training in data collection. These trainings included learning about the purpose of qualitative research, participants' rights and confidentiality, and procedures for informed consent. Additional training was provided in qualitative interviewing techniques. In the training sessions, youth researchers practiced how to introduce themselves and the project, facilitate focus groups, and handle challenging situations during interviews or focus groups. In addition, training sessions provided an opportunity for both youth and local researchers to provide suggestions for art-making and ice-breaker activities as well as to learn focus group facilitation techniques. Ultimately, the three youth conducted interviews and focus groups with their peers. The youth researchers also analyzed data and were invited to coauthor publications. This approach to youth engagement builds upon previous participatory work (Denov, 2010; Worthen, Veale, McKay, & Wessells, 2010) and recognizes young people's rights and capacity to act in competent and thoughtful ways.

Data collection and analysis

Potential participants were identified through professional networks. Through these community contacts, our team was able to identify a core group of potential participants. A snowball sampling technique was used to help identify and engage other participants. Participants were recruited from three different regions, representing both rural and urban contexts: Region 1 (21 participants), Region 2 (20 participants), and Region 3 (19 participants). Given the profound ethical implications of interviews and participant disclosures, as a selection criterion, respondents were required to have known about their origins and conception. Thus, all participants were aware that they had been born of genocidal rape prior to participating in the research, although the depth of information they had about their origins and histories varied.

In-depth interviews were conducted between June and August 2016 with 60 youth born of genocidal rape: 29 females and 31 males. Youth born of genocidal rape also participated in a focus group that was facilitated by a youth researcher. The same youth who participated in interviews were participants in the focus group discussions. A total of seven focus group discussions were held with eight youth participants in each group.² While the individual interview questions aimed to solicit an understanding of the unique life story of each participant, focus groups were used to identify and generate best practices and culturally appropriate directions for policy and practice innovation.

Local adult researchers and youth researchers conducted interviews with youth in the local language of Kinyarwanda, while external researchers used English with simultaneous English–Kinyarwanda translation. At the time of the interviews, participants born of genocidal rape were either 20 or 21 years old, with the exception of one participant who was 19.³ All interviews and focus groups were recorded with permission, and subsequently translated into English when necessary and transcribed. A grounded theory approach to data analysis was employed, whereby, through careful reading and coding of transcripts, the researchers identified key themes that emerged from the data (Creswell, 2014). An ongoing discussion of emerging themes by the research team (including the youth researchers) was part of the data analysis process. To protect the identity of participants, no names have been used in this article.

Findings

Theme 1: Absorbing and coping with hate, shame, and stigma

Interviews uncovered the complex and often challenging relationships that participants had with their mothers, families, and community members. Participants reported that multiple forms of abuse, shame, and internalized stigma have haunted them in some form for their entire lives. Transmission of messages of hate and marginalization occurred both explicitly and implicitly. Participants reported physical abuse, neglect, and rejection as well as differential treatment compared with siblings born postgenocide:

When I was young [my mother] used to beat me so much, even our neighbours were wondering if she was really my mother. (Male respondent)

I told [my mother] her husband wants to rape me. Instead of defending me, she was angry with me [participant cries]. (Female respondent)

She told me that I was ugly when I was born. (Female respondent)

Yes, our mum treats us [siblings] differently. She is caring with them … My mother seems to be unhappy with me. (Male respondent)

Marginalization and physical and sexual abuse extended to relationships with stepfathers:

My stepfather was beating me, hurting me, and calling me a bastard as well. He was even telling me to go to see my [biological] dad. (Male respondent)

Some of us are harassed and raped by the husbands of our mothers. He is like a husband of two wives in the house. (Female respondent)

While at the time of the interview all participants knew they were born of rape during the genocide, some participants reported that, as children, they were uncertain as to why they were treated as pariahs or were targeted within their families. Eventually, they grew to understand that their outcast status was associated with the circumstances of their conception and birth. One participant recalled the physical abuse and sting of being labeled by his mother and other relatives as a bastard or illegitimate child:

Yes, like my aunt when she happened to use words like ikinyendaro [bastard]. Though I seem to be calm, inside I feel really sad, but, for me, life goes on. When I was younger I used to cry very often … I was 4 years old when my young brother was born. Then my mom was calling me a bastard. Then I was growing in that situation and was feeling not loved. (Male respondent)

Negative messages from family and community members were subsequently absorbed and internalized, resulting in a sense of shame:

I don't know, I was confused. They were saying that my mother has children who are Tutsis and others who are Hutus, and I didn't knew what that was … It was hard to accept myself. I had a complex. I started feeling ashamed. (Female respondent)

Shame and stigma, in turn, could lead to feelings of worthlessness and despair, as illustrated in the following exchange:

I feel I don't have value [like other children]. But I have to be self-resilient.

Interviewer: Can you read for me what you wrote here?

“Since I was in the womb of my mother, I was miserable, I have never been happy.” (Female respondent)

As participants grew older and began attending school, some noted that the uncertainty of their paternity and their stigmatization contributed to mental health difficulties as well as social and academic challenges. These difficulties could compromise a participant's academic performance: “When it is time to go to school, I really feel disturbed. Normally it is difficult for me to hear and to understand when I am in class” (Female respondent).

Psychological and social challenges were often compounded by poverty. The majority of participants reported that a lack of resources with which to pay school fees had a profound impact on their self-esteem. Academic achievement was reported as vital to participants' sense of hope in the future, specifically the promise of a job and the ability to provide for themselves and their families. Without resources to pay fees, such a future would be impossible. Other participants, however, noted that even paid school fees could not rid them of the pain of social alienation. One focus group participant explained:

I am not saying that we don't need those materials and school fees. I am saying that the most important thing is to feel safe and comfortable. You can have all of those things and full school fees, but when you arrive at school you are still thinking about the bad words that they told you at home, and how your neighbors are always insulting you. How can you succeed at school?

To cope and manage the impact of internalized stigma and shame, participants used a number of strategies. For one participant, putting on a “game face” was a way of demonstrating normalcy:

I try to keep my appearance normal and to act and look happy so that no one could guess my story. And I do this to demonstrate to the people that do know my story, for them to see that I can be like them. (Male respondent)

Other participants discussed how children born of genocidal rape may cope by striving to be perfect and worthy of belonging: “We have to do our best to be exemplary so that our mothers don't regret why they gave birth to us” (Focus group participant).

For other children, entirely dropping out of society may have been the “solution.” Rather than working to belong and succeed in society, participants observed that some youth may cope through substance use or falling into sex work as a means of economic support. One focus group participant stated, “For boys, the problem is that due to poverty, some become drunkards, take marijuana, while some girls, for the same reason, become prostitutes.”

Theme 2: Absorbing and managing manifestations of maternal trauma

The internalized stigma and shame described by participants appeared to be compounded by two prominent factors: the knowledge that their mothers were deeply traumatized by the genocide and sexual violence that they had endured and that, somehow, participants themselves were ultimately to blame for their mothers' suffering. One participant was told in no uncertain terms that she was the cause of her mother's pain:

She [mother] would say that I caused all this, I screwed everything up; and sometimes she [would say that she] did not want to be with me. Saying like … She will never love me again … But later, I could hear her apologizing again … and then she would feel guilty. (Female respondent)

This relational dynamic could result in persistent confusion and uncertainty about their mother's love:

I really can't guess [if she loves me] because she is never open with me. It is like she feels guilty to have treated me in such manner. I think she is still traumatized … Even now, we have never talked about how she was treating me in such [an abusive] manner. (Male respondent)

Moreover, concern over their mother's reactions could stop participants from pursuing conversations about the circumstances of their birth. Despite a desire to learn the truth and to come to terms with their identities, participants reported that they typically subsumed their own needs to spare their mother's pain:

Every time I have tried to ask her [about my origins], she was always angry with me, so I decided to leave it because it is like she is traumatized. (Male respondent).

We didn't talk about many things [about my origins] because I saw that she was crying so much, and I stopped asking her questions. (Male respondent).

The pervasiveness of negative messages from mothers, stepfathers, kin, and members of the community, combined with a nagging sense that they were somehow to blame for causing their mother's suffering, deeply affected participants:

And when you have grown up not treated like a human being, it affects you a lot. It causes you to lose your self-confidence, and you feel like nothing, and life has no sense. While others are building their futures, you are just there asking yourself: “Why and why?” (Male respondent)

It is important to note, however, that not all participants described experiences of uncertainty about their mother's love, or articulated fears of retraumatizing fragile mothers in the quest for the truth. Although close mother–child relationships were not commonly noted across transcripts, for some youth in the project, a positive relationship with their mothers was a salve against social marginalization and self-abnegation, promoting a sense of hope for the future:

My mom is a strong born. She loves me, I love her … When I remember all what she did for me. I feel I love her too much, because she did whatever she could do when she had nothing. All this encourages me to focus on my studies and think about my future instead of sticking to the past … So, I thought I have to work hard to become a man and change her life, make her happy. (Male respondent)

Theme 3: Discovering diverse pathways to self-acceptance

Unprompted by specific research questions, the majority of participants identified the notion of self-acceptance and stated that it was the first step in healing themselves. According to participants, the various routes to attaining self-acceptance required that at least one attachment figure demonstrate caring and acceptance toward them. For those who felt maternal love, self-acceptance was possible:

Initially, I had problem to accept myself … I did not want to talk with other children, I did not want to hear the word “dad.” But now I have accepted myself. [Interviewer: What motivated you to accept yourself?] The fact that my mum provides everything I need, especially the school fees and other various things. (Female respondent)

Conversations about paternity between participants and their mothers, when they did occur, could be deeply meaningful and could help to set the stage for participants to look ahead to the future:

So, it is only when I reached [age] 17 that she decided to tell me the truth. It took me 2 years to understand what happened … I used to ask her so many questions, like who was my dad, how the genocide was, how she was raped … When you have a problem inside and speak out, then you feel more comfortable. It also helped me to know that I have to work hard towards my future. (Male respondent)

Others were further bolstered by a sense of connection to God. For example, one participant recalled his struggle to accept that his father was a genocidaire. In time, he found a way to make sense of the situation by placing this realization into a larger spiritual context and, ultimately, to gain strength from his faith:

When I reached my teenage years, my mother told me she wanted to have a conversation with me. Then she told me the way in which I was born, how my father raped her, and how he was among the killers during the genocide. I was so sad, and I was affected a lot. But as time went on and because I like to pray, then I was able to accept that situation. (Male respondent)

Still others found a sense of self-acceptance through the love and support of other family members:

I went to live with my uncle and continued to study. Here, I was morally helped a lot by my uncle and [his] wife. They used to always talk with me. They were open with me. Till now, I feel good with them. I no longer have headaches. (Male respondent)

The majority of participants in the focus groups reported that they began to feel a sense of connection, belonging, and true acceptance through sharing their experiences during focus groups with a cohort of other children born of genocidal rape. Sharing with a cohort helped focus group participants to understand that they were not alone. This, in turn, provided them with a renewed sense of energy and hope:

For me, having met people with same problems is a solution to my life. To meet and share our problems related to our story gives me strength to work hard for my future. Initially, I was thinking I am the only one person having many problems, but after hearing others [during focus group discussions], I feel mine are minor. (Focus group participant)

A youth researcher summed up the importance of self-acceptance as follows:

The first thing that youth in this project encounter is self-acceptance. Like some noticed when the project started, some youth came when they had not yet accepted themselves. But as days went, we saw many of them starting to accept themselves, feel their sense of humanity again, felt like there was something they could change. (Male youth researcher)

Theme 4: Longing for recognition and justice

Although participants emphasized that sharing with others was a necessary step toward healing, they also acknowledged that it was not sufficient to promote a deeper sense of validation and worthiness. Formal recognition by Rwandan society and real opportunities to contribute to Rwanda's future were viewed by participants as key to belonging, self-acceptance, and reconciliation. Across interviews and focus groups, there was a longing for formal recognition from society. Participants noted that inclusion in the Fund for the Neediest Survivors of Genocide in Rwanda (FARG), which supports genocide survivors born prior to 1994,⁴ would represent a significant indication of social acceptance and recognition:

We are children like others. What we need, others may also need it. First of all, they should see us as capable and give us the same opportunities provided to other children. Like FARG does not recognize us, whereas it pays school fees for genocide survivors' children. So children of my case don't have equal opportunities as the ones provided to the beneficiaries of FARG, like being offered scholarships, etc. (Female respondent)

Within the focus groups, there emerged a strong desire for recognition and justice. Specifically, participants expressed a need to advocate not only for their rights and for their families, but also for the rights and well-being of other children born of genocidal rape:

I want us to form a club and to have advocacy. We need to have all rights that other children have. We need to know each other, as we have the same problems. We need to be united, to understand each other. We also need to write our history. We need to make awareness of our story. (Focus group participant)

Theme 5: Transforming the narrative, transforming society

Study participants stated that, to open pathways for justice, recognition, participation, and belonging, a shift in fundamental social attitudes was required. Indeed, participants suggested that the extant genocide narrative would need to be transformed if children born of genocidal rape were to be accepted by Rwandans as full and worthy members of society. Several participants proposed that, to accomplish this, the implementation of a reconciliation process and even a version of the gacaca, the local tribunals set up in the aftermath of the 1994 genocide, was needed. The gacaca courts, modeled on a traditional Rwandan restorative justice process, were community-led courts that were formally bound by Rwandan law. Officially launched in 2001, the 11,000 gacaca courts were intended to supplement the formal criminal justice system by processing cases of genocide crimes in localities across the country. The primary goals of the gacaca were to (a) uncover, document, and establish the historical truth of the genocide; (b) prosecute and punish genocide perpetrators; (c) promote unity among Rwandans; and (d) demonstrate that Rwanda had the capacity and the will to address the fallout of the genocide. One focus group participant described why such a mechanism was necessary to revise the overarching narrative of where children born of genocidal rape fit within postgenocide Rwandan society:

Yes, we need to be accepted, but things starts from down [on the ground], things start with neighbors. If your dad killed people during the genocide and your dad is not here, people are seeing you as if you are him. You may find the people you [meet] … your dad killed their families. So we need, first of all, the neighbors' and families' support. [Interviewer: How?] We can do like gacaca; people forgive each other. And you have to explain that it is not your fault. People in gacaca were asking for forgiveness and they were forgiven despite that they killed people. What about us, who didn't do anything? Why can't people understand that we are victims?

Failure to change or interrupt the existing social structures that tacitly accept or perpetuate hatred toward and marginalization of children born of genocidal rape can present long-term risks to society, as the legacy of trauma and shame could lead to poor parenting practices for generations, affecting the entire society. As stated by one participant: “People and parents should love children of my case and help us to accept our situation. Because a child who did never feel love from their parents, how can they love their children too?” (Male respondent).

Finally, participants expressed a longing to leverage their unique position by standing up against genocidal ideology as a means to contribute to strengthening their country. For some participants, this was a moral imperative:

The first thing is to bear in our mind that we are all Rwandese and that to build our nation is our right and our obligation. We must be proud of our country. Another thing is to make awareness especially to youth about what happened to us so that they can understand … In the history of our country, we had some parents who indoctrinated their children by teaching them genocide ideology. For us, we have to build families where our generation will build the unity between Rwandans. In this way, Rwandese will live in peace forever. (Focus group participant)

Participants, in the hopes of having an impact on the postgenocide narrative, proposed that children born of genocidal rape could be transformed from symbols of hate, stigma, and societal shame into symbols of reconciliation and hope:

The society should consider us as symbol of reconciliation because we have been victims of genocide … Society should learn from us how a person can accept himself, whatever the problem they passed through. We must find solutions and together with all Rwandans we can build our future and our country as well. (Focus group participant)

Discussion

The purpose of this paper was to privilege the voices of children born of genocidal rape in Rwanda in regard to pathways to healing and well-being. We explored individual and group narratives of rejection, abuse, and stigma within mother–child dyads, family, and community relationships as well as Rwandan society as a whole, and the impact on participants' coping strategies, mental health, and evolving identities. Aligned with Marsella (2010), we sought to elicit participants' views on what is, and what would be, healing to them, rather than relying on Western frameworks of healing from traumatic events.

Mental health risk factors for children born of conflict-related sexual violence, identified by van Ee and Kleber (2013), were evident in the findings of this study. Specifically, respondents detailed their experiences of child abuse and neglect, poor parental relationships, the impacts of maternal trauma, self-blame, guilt, discrimination, and barriers to positive identity development. This study's findings, however, go further to suggest that the mechanisms for the effects of communal beliefs upon children born of rape include both interpersonal and structural factors. First, on the interpersonal level, absorption and internalization of negative messages, both spoken and unspoken, from mothers, other family members, and the community could lead to mental health difficulties, including feelings of despair and worthlessness. These feelings could be compounded by internalizing the belief that their mother's pain and suffering was somehow their fault. Such feelings could, in turn, result in problems with school performance at best, and self-hate, drug abuse, and sex work at worst. Although some participants coped by attempting to overcompensate through exemplary school performance and behavior, the underlying shame and emotional distress persisted over time. Although participants acknowledged that being seen and valued by one attachment figure, even if not their own mothers, was key to self-acceptance, they related that self-acceptance was not truly possible without understanding and acceptance by society.

Second, at the structural level, respondents lacked access to critical resources, specifically financial resources to pay school fees and to meet their family's basic needs, which further compounded their feelings of despair and shame. This finding aligns with that of Stark et al. (2016), who argue that ostracization may impede the building of social capital and the foundation of socioeconomic stability, and with findings of Steel et al. (2002), who demonstrated the connection between access to resources and psychological well-being in other postconflict contexts. Thus, mental health and well-being promotion for youth born of genocide must move beyond individual or group psychologically based approaches to include attention to resource access for youth and their families.

The relationship between stigma, shame, social marginalization, and mental health symptoms for children born of genocidal rape relates to the phenomenon known as minority stress. Minority stress refers to the levels of stress that individuals from stigmatized minority groups confront due to their marginalized identities, which amplify the general stresses of day-to-day life (Meyer, Schwartz, & Frost, 2008). Our findings similarly suggest that like sexual and gender minorities, for example, children born of genocidal rape are also exposed to repeated victimization, parental and community rejection, discrimination, and unequal access to the opportunities offered to other individuals from nonstigmatized sectors of society (Balsam, Rothblum, & Beauchaine, 2005). Unlike sexual or gender minority children and youth, however, whose experiences of stigma may begin in childhood or adolescence (Alessi, Kahn, & Chatterji, 2016), the stigmatization for this study's participants began in utero. Managing stigma and shame was further complicated by their absorption of the unmitigated trauma-related distress of their mothers, a finding also noted by Denov (2015) and recently explained in the fields of neurobiology and epigenetics (Radley et al., 2011). The mechanisms for such absorption varied among participants; however, all reasoned that the past traumas experienced by their mothers were exacerbated by the very fact of their existence. This finding underscores the lingering and intergenerational impact of sexual trauma and the importance of alleviating or mitigating its manifestations in survivors, drawing upon indigenous and local approaches to healing. This, participants emphasized, is important not only for mothers and their children born of genocide but also for children yet to be born. According to participants, if not interrupted, the legacy of trauma and shame could lead to poor parenting practices for generations, affecting the entire society, a key finding echoed by countless researchers concerned with intergenerational transmission of trauma (e.g., Anda et al., 2006).

Participants also emphasized that their mothers continued to suffer, decades after the genocide, despite the fact that many had participated in trauma support groups. The findings suggest that societal support, identified as crucial for the psychological healing of survivors of sexual violence (Ajdukovic, 2007), and the promotion of positive bonds between mothers and their children conceived from conflict-related sexual violence (Rouhani et al., 2015) was largely absent from participants' lived experiences.

The social silence around the existence of children born of genocidal rape was felt by the study participants, who urged Rwandans to take action to correct this profound omission and to engage in processes to validate their presence in postgenocidal society. This finding aligns with ideas considered by Bloom (2013), who argues that intergenerational transmission of trauma can be perpetuated by the silence or denial of a society of their own complicity in perpetrating wrongdoings.

Participants suggested that a reconciliation process designed just for them could include them within the genocidal narrative. The impetus for implementing social processes has been noted by others within postconflict societies (McKay & Mazurana, 2004), acknowledging the importance of community-based religious or spiritual rituals. Importantly, in Rwanda, such rituals could not only help youth born of the genocide but also help communities to identify and process unacknowledged shame over their failure to protect women and their children during armed conflict, ultimately working to heal the collective.

Study limitations

Given that study participants were recruited through professional networks, there was the potential for sample bias. In particular, it is likely that respondents from lower socioeconomic status groups were overrepresented in our sample. In addition, given the small sample size, the findings cannot be generalized to the realities of all children born of genocidal rape in Rwanda. We further acknowledge that our own social locations as Caucasian women from the United States and Canada have shaped the way we view and conceptualize postgenocide adjustment. We strove to address our biases through close engagement with Rwandan youth at each phase of the study design and implementation, staying close to the data in analysis, memoing, member-checking, and peer co-coding.

Conclusion

Although rape as a strategy of war has been well documented, research regarding the psychosocial impacts on children born of wartime rape is only now emerging. Data analysis of seven focus groups plus in-depth interviews with 60 children born of rape during the 1994 Rwandan genocide against Tutsis suggests that their mental health and well-being are negatively affected by stigma and marginalization within their communities, the long-term consequences of witnessing and absorbing the unresolved trauma symptoms of their mothers, and the collective silence of Rwandan society about their very existence. According to these young adult respondents, healing requires self-acceptance and acceptance from others, meaningful connection with peers who share their experiences, and formal recognition and empowerment to help contribute to the betterment of their country. These healing pathways—intrapersonal, interpersonal, and social—are entwined. Interventions should move beyond individualistic, Eurocentric, therapeutic frameworks to create culturally embedded, participant-driven opportunities for self-acceptance as well as maternal and social acceptance; a space for sharing stories and creating emotional and social bonds with peers; formal acknowledgement; and official collective rituals to integrate their stories and those of their mothers in the Rwandan genocide narrative. Importantly, there should be opportunities created to enable these youth to further contribute to the future of Rwandan society as symbols of reconciliation and unity.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research project has been funded by the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

Notes

Sarilee Kahn, PhD, Assistant Professor at the School of Social Work, McGill University, studies the intersection of psychological trauma, culture, migration status, religion, and identity for survivors of communal violence. As a practitioner, she has worked with conflict-affected individuals, and survivors of torture and gender-based violence in Afghanistan, Iraq, Bosnia, Liberia, Kosovo, and Sierra Leone. She holds a Master’s Degree in Social Work and Public Health from Columbia University and earned a PhD in Social Work from New York University.

Myriam Denov, PhD, is a Full Professor at McGill University and holds the Canada Research Chair in Youth, Gender, and Armed Conflict. Her research interests lie in the areas of children and families affected by war and migration, and their intergenerational impact. She has authored and coauthored five books addressing the impact of war on children, including Child Soldiers: Sierra Leone’s Revolutionary United Front (Cambridge University Press) and Children Affected by Armed Conflict: Theory, Method & Practice (Columbia University Press). Dr. Denov is a Trudeau Fellow, and was recently inducted into the College of the Royal Society of Canada. She holds a PhD from the University of Cambridge, where she was a Commonwealth Scholar.

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