“Forgive and forget” — so the saying goes. But in Rwanda, they must forgive yet remember. Memory matters because: The 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi killed more than one million men, women, and children over four months, making the ability to forget both an imp ossibility and an unspeakable betrayal of the victims. If Rwanda is to continue to exist, memory must be the prerequisite for creating peace in a country where the genocide’s survivors and perpetrators are neighbors, co-workers and even family members who live side-by-side. The depths of this powerful dual truth connecting memory and genocide echoes the “never again” commitment following the Holocaust. Ironically, humans and history have yet to learn how to stop repeating deliberate and systematic extermination of others because, tragically, hatred is a lesson that is too often taught successfully. This past July, I experienced firsthand the power of memory for overcoming hatred and creating peace. I was given the opportunity to attend a four-day conference in Rwanda held in conjunction with the 30th anniversary commemorating the Genocide against the Tutsi. Titled “Listening and Leading: The Art & Science of Peace, Resilience & Transformational Justice,” the event was hosted by Aegis Trust, a global nonprofit that two brothers from England launched in 2000 to keep alive the memory of the Holocaust and other genocides. Today the organization is broadly dedicated to predicting and preventing genocide and crimes against humanity. Why did I go to the Aegis Trust conference? My friend Terri de Roon Cassini, director of the Comprehensive Injury Center and a clinician specializing in trauma care at the Medical College of Wisconsin, received an invitation from Aegis Trust to attend the conference based on MCW’s evolving work in community-based violence prevention in Milwaukee. She invited me to make the 16-hour trip with her colleagues to Rwanda because of my parallel work directing the Andrew Center for Restorative Justice at Marquette University Law School. Restorative justice is partly about remembering so that we can move forward—how acknowledging and responding to harm can lead to healing and safety for those harmed, accountability and compassion for those who harm, and stronger and safer communities. In that light, I felt compelled to go to Rwanda because its people have something to teach us as Americans grappling with a violence epidemic. Something vital I want to share—especially with those of us in Milwaukee, working to prevent community-based violence. That is my motivation for a series of blogs, beginning with this one that necessarily establishes the sad context of the Genocide against the Tutsi. Captured below is information from the walls of memorial centers, and testimonials from survivors and perpetrators who know all too well that understanding the pathway to genocide is key to prevention. From peace to hatred For centuries, 18 different clans constituting the peoples of Rwanda lived peacefully. With a common language, they built a history and culture, sharing and thriving on the rich, fertile hills of their native land in central Africa. But Belgian colonial…

Is there somebody you encountered only once who made you think about them often? In February, I came face-to-face with my somebody. I was more than curious when Marquette colleague Dr. Theresa Tobin reached out to say that a student in her class asked to meet with me. Theresa, an associate professor of philosophy, directs the Education Preparedness Program (EPP). EPP provides academic support and career-building resources for incarcerated and recently released students through Marquette’s Center for Urban Research, Teaching, & Outreach, in collaboration with partnering academic institutions and community organizations. That’s how Theresa met James. James Price. The name didn’t register with me when the three of us had lunch at Marquette Law School’s Tory Hill. James insisted on paying. The conversation flowed easily enough as the 40-something-year-old spoke about his current work, which necessarily touched on the tougher subject of his previous time in prison. Paroled after serving 27+ years for homicide, James is employed through 414LIFE, a Froedtert & Medical College of Wisconsin hospital-based violence interruption program that treats violence as a disease. The goal: to save lives by interrupting the cycle of violence. Among the program’s team of formerly incarcerated men serving as Violence Interrupters, James has a dangerous job. He taps past neighborhood and criminal experience as well as EPP-acquired mediation skills to meet victims and offenders of gun violence where they’re at. He mentors, helping steer them toward positive changes. Many of these individuals are kids. But that’s what makes James ideal for the job. As lunch continued, James described a 14-year-old convicted of killing a teen walking down the street, mistaking a cocked cap for membership in a rival gang. As I listened, inspired by how James puts himself in danger each day by working with these kids, it clicked. He was the 14-year-old I sentenced back in the early 1990s for that senseless crime. Over the past two decades, I would think about that young kid in my court who thoughtlessly did the unthinkable. A criminal to be punished for the safety of the community, who received the harshest sentence I had given to a juvenile. A kid I sent to prison, with no chance for parole for a quarter century. Yes, I remembered James. He was the somebody who was always in the back of my mind because, really, how could I forget the reaction of a child who, after hearing his sentence, said his life was over?! While his name escaped me with time, I often wondered how he was doing and what had become of him. Apparently, he never forgot what I had said to him: that when/if he got out of prison, his life was not over. He could have a productive and meaningful future. James shared how those words meant nothing to him at the time but, with nothing but time to think — 27 years, 7 months and 14 days to be precise — he came to realize that it had been the first occasion somebody…