In 2003, Maria joined the victims of a terrible crime in the Ituri conflict. Her story still matters, and an aid group is telling it around the world, but does our attention also carry some risks?
We don't know much about Maria. A photographer named Marcus Bleasdale met her in the Democratic Republic of Congo in August of 2003. She was breastfeeding one of her three children, resting the infant's head on her good arm. Her other arm ends at the elbow, where it's capped by a fresh cast that reads "31/8," probably meaning that it can be removed on August 31. Her older son is also in the frame, bandages dangling from his scalp.
Maria told the
photorapher that she lost the limb defending her children from one of
the militant groups then terrorizing Ituri province, her home. Soldiers
hacked it off at the elbow and ate the flesh. Maria does not say if the
soldiers forced her to watch as they cooked and consumed her arm, but
she would not have been the first in Ituri's war. When the sub-conflict
of the Congolese Civil War peaked from 1999 to 2003, stories of
cannibalism started to trickle out.
Stories like Maria's, and the larger Congolese conflict of which it was a part, are something we still talk about today. An art exhibit, meant to raise awareness, is currently shuttling Maria's photo around the globe, showing it and others to people in the highest levels of government. But the reasons we talk about Maria are nearly as complicated as the story itself, which is now mostly over, and risks over-simplifying our understanding as much as aiding it.
One year before Maria lost her arm, 23-year-old Chantal Tsesi woke to the sound of pre-dawn gunfire. Soldiers marched into her home carrying machetes and told her exactly what they were going to do. "Today we are going to cut off your arm," one of them said. She feared for her six-year-old son, the only other person with her in the house. "They cut off my arm," Tsesi told The UK Independent's Eliza Griswold in 2004. "They cooked it, while they were drinking our mandro [traditional beer], and ate it with the rest of the beans and rice." She added, "They told me they were going to find my husband and eat his heart."
Later, while Tsesi was in the hospital, soldiers returned to her village. They stormed her mother's house, where Tsesi's sister Georgette also lived with her own four children. "We had a shed and they tore it down to build the fire. They took our food and cooked pieces of Georgette and the children," Tsesi recalled. Everyone in the house was killed.
Ituri conflict "saw some of the most brutal and inhumane fighting of
all the Congo wars, and 2003 was a time when that crisis was at its
peak," Laura Seay,
a U.S. academic with deep experience in Central Africa, told me over
email. "It has since ended, and a woman in Ituri today is significantly
less likely to experience this type of violence, although certainly the
risk is there as the issues underlying the crisis (namely, land rights)
have never been resolved."
A 2003 investigation by Human Rights Watch found a trend of rebel groups using cannibalism "to bring ritual strength to perpetrators and to inspire terror in opponents." Breaking that taboo of eating human flesh was a way both to indoctrinate fighters -- getting them to cross a psychological line, making them more willing to follow orders that would otherwise be unthinkable -- and to intimidate opponents and civilians, who might have come to view mere death as so commonplace that something more horrific was needed to coerce them.
It's still not entirely clear how this practice began in Ituri. Human Rights Watch traced it back to 1999, when fighting there began between tribal groups that Belgian colonists had pitted against one another as a means of controlling them. A Congolese bishop named Melchisedec Sikuli Paluku was one of the first to alert the larger world, broadcasting the story of a man who'd been forced to watch his extended family butchered and prepared for consumption. Bishop Paluku told Griswold he thinks it might have began with the routine mutilation of civilians, an earlier tactic to terrorize local communities. "Bemba's men were cutting fingers and ears off," he said, referencing prominent militia leader Jean-Pierre Bemba. "That was normal. But when they started feeding them to the prisoners - that was something new." Bemba went on to become Democratic Republic of Congo vice president from 2003 to 2006 and was arrested on International Criminal Court charges in 2008. He is currently on trial.
The Ituri conflict is largely over, as is the larger Congolese civil war, with its horrifying statistics of "one rape per minute" (a number that actually reflects 2006 data). But the world is still struggling to understand it and to absorb its atrocities, as well as its lessons, which is why Maria's story is being told all over the globe right now by a project called Congo/Women. The traveling exhibit displays photos by Bleasdale and other journalists who have worked in the Democratic Republic of Congo, telling the stories of women like Maria. "If we do our job right, the arts can help us come together and take that next step to support those with whom we share this earth," Leslie Thomas, the project's curator, told Rachel Halder of Women Under Siege.