Violence in the Congo: An Empathic Response

On the evening of September 28, 2011, I had been invited to the home of friends to hear a presentation by Chouchou Namegabe, a Congolese activist, radio journalist, and founder and director of the organization, South Kivu Association of Woman Journalists.  They were hosting a group of friends, neighbors and colleagues to raise awareness about the sexual violence against women in Congo.

I had dressed for the evening and was ready to walk out the door, when I was stopped by my 12-year-old son. “Mom, you can’t wear that shirt out in public.” I had chosen a perfectly lovely lace top that my son thought was too revealing. I was amused, since he had never commented on my clothes before. Smiling, I replied, “I’m wearing a jacket, and besides, I always dress like this.” “Well, you shouldn’t. It’s embarrassing,” was his final verdict. I smiled again and, even though he was staying home and would not be publicly embarrassed by my fashion choice, I went in and changed to something more conservative.

An hour later I sat in my friends’ living room while Chouchou presented the stories she had collected from the victims of sexual violence.  There were audible gasps and visible tears from the people gathered, many of whom were hearing these stories for the first time.  For me, having heard so many stories before, and having sat with women in Heal Africa hospital in Congo, I thought I was more prepared than the others to take in what was being shared.  Then Chouchou told a story that broke my heart open again.  She told of a young boy who was forced to witness, then participate in, the brutal rape of his mother.

I immediately recalled the earlier scene with my own son. Our innocent exchange was prompted by his burgeoning sense of his own sexuality and his sense of my role as his mother. I could not help but contrast that with the image now etched on my heart of a mother and son whose relationship with each other, and their sense of self, was forever shattered by a brutal act of violence.

In that moment, I was able to personalize the violence in a way that I had not done to that point. I understand that I have no right to ask that the world be a safe, good place for me and my family unless I am doing everything in my power to make sure the world is a safe and good place for every mother and every family.

We know that humanity was birthed originally in Africa. Now, the wombs of Africa’s women are being destroyed physically. I believe if we are to birth a new vision for humanity, we must begin by healing the wombs and women of Africa. It is when we connect in empathy and deep compassion that we gain the strength to act in the world with great courage, capable of making profound, lasting change.