Intersectionality, Christianity, and the Rwandan Genocide
Intersectionality. It’s a big word loaded with meaning and often associated with the liberal agenda. According to the Oxford Dictionary, intersectionality describes “the interconnected nature of social categorizations such as race, class, and gender as they apply to a given individual or group, regarded as creating overlapping and interdependent systems of discrimination or disadvantage.” But how useful, really, is the concept in understanding our relationships, our humanity?
Before coming to Rwanda, I spent two weeks at Global Health Corps’ Training Institute, which provided helpful orientation on topics ranging from security to emotional resilience. One talk discussed the concept of intersectionality, and fellows were invited to participate in an exercise. Signs labeled with twelve different identities were placed around the room, including race, socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, and disability, among others. We were asked to move to a specific identity in response to questions such as, “Which identity are you most/least conscious of on a daily basis?” This exercise allowed me to take stock of the intersection of my identities, something I previously haven’t done. As a heterosexual, able-bodied, university-educated, Protestant, upper-middle class Asian male, I recognize my enormous privilege and the relationship of these identities to larger systems of power and oppression.
In explaining intersectionality, the speaker noted that differences in these identities should not be downplayed to create unity; for example, heterosexual immigrants shouldn’t say they know what it feels like to be a lesbian. While this idea makes sense, it didn’t quite feel right to me. It seemed like it could create unnecessary divisions between people with marginalized identities, potentially preventing unified action.
I spent some time processing these thoughts while settling into Rwanda over the past few months. My unsettled feelings were exacerbated after listening to a sermon by Pastor Antoine, a survivor of the Rwandan genocide. After visiting the Genocide Memorial, we had the privilege of hearing Antoine speak about his experience. While he could haven chosen to talk forever about the atrocities he witnessed, he focused instead on the process of forgiveness. When asked how on earth he could forgive someone who murdered his family, Antoine simply replied, “We have to remember that we are all human.” The key is to look past all the labels — Hutu or Tutsi, murderer or victim, rich or poor — and to see that at the core of every person lies humanity.
Immediately, my brain went on high alert. Doesn’t this go against the idea of checking my privilege? Of understanding my intersections? Isn’t color blindness supposed to be ineffective?
But look at the results. For all our sophisticated, Western liberal ideology, we still live in a nation deeply divided by race, socioeconomic status, and most recently, political affiliation. In Rwanda, in just two decades former murderers and family members of victims have learned not just how to coexist, but to flourish harmoniously and establish the country as a model for other developing countries. Maybe it really is as simple (and difficult) as remembering that we’re all human.
Is understanding intersectionality still worth it, then? The question has been gnawing at me, but a talk on intersectionality by a rapper named Propaganda that I watched recently comes to mind. Speaking about people with different intersections from himself, Propaganda explains, “If I understand that the same systems set [their] problem up, I don’t have to be the sole purveyor of suffering…I need to understand that if they free, I’m free…We’re working on the same things. It’s intersectional.” Rather than dividing, Propaganda is using intersectionality as a unifying tool, bringing together people of different marginalized identities.
In one of his most powerful remarks, Propaganda says, “Every time I take communion, I’m reminded that I was once undocumented too.” He’s saying that sharing in the body of Christ is a profound act capable of uniting people of completely different identities.
As a Christian, this hits home hard for me. Because of my privilege, I may not have many marginalized identities, but being part of the body of Christ unites me with the immigrants, the poor, the non-whites of the world. Without this ultimate intersection, there would be no reason for me to be in global health as a privileged person who otherwise would not identify with the marginalized. But with this intersection, I find pieces of myself in the unique identities of each person around the globe. Every person is now my reason to fight for global health.
Ben Tien is a 2017–2018 Global Health Corps fellow, serving as a Monitoring and Evaluation Associate for Health Builders.
