In the summer of 2005, I went to Rwanda. I spent two weeks traveling around the country. A young Rwandan woman, Alice Musabende, was with me as guide and translator. One night, sitting outside under a starry sky, I asked Alice what had happened to her family in 1994 during the genocide.
For a hundred days that spring, innocent people were exterminated at a rate that exceeded anything the world had known. Nearly a million people were killed, 10,000 a day, more than in a single day in the ovens at Auschwitz or the killing fields of Cambodia.
Alice told me her story.
She was 14 years old that spring. Her mother had asked her to go on an errand to her aunt's house and to return right home. Alice went on the errand but stayed overnight and sat up late watching TV with her cousins.
When she arrived home the next morning, she discovered the bodies of her grandparents, her mother and father, her 12-year-old sister, and her 9-year-old and 2-year-old brothers.
At 14, she was left utterly alone in the world, without even a picture of her family remaining to hold to her heart.
A few years ago, Alice spoke at the Minnesota State Capitol. She said, "Never again should we let people be killed based only on who they are." A Holocaust survivor in the audience broke into tears. He said to me, "Those are our words, 'never again.' That's what everybody promised after the Holocaust. But genocide happened again."
For more than 350 years, the concept of "national sovereignty" held primacy over the idea of "individual sovereignty." Governments basically had immunity from outside intervention despite human-rights violations they perpetrated within their borders. The result has been an "over and over again" phenomenon of genocide since the Holocaust, with millions of innocent lives lost in Cambodia, Bosnia, Rwanda, Congo, Guatemala, Argentina, East Timor -- the list is long.