Metis children: What they did to us was a crime against humanity

I’ve always believed that my mother didn’t love us, but I don’t believe that was the case. I was the child of a Belgian and African mother in Kigali, Rwanda. Rwanda was formerly ruled by Belgium under colonial rule. In their colonies, Belgian authorities imposed racial segregation and prohibited interracial unions. I was referred to as a “human mule” or “half-breed,” or a child who lacked knowledge of their family history.

When my father passed away when I was six months old, everything about my life fundamentally changed. My brother was taken away by Belgian officials and placed in a Kigali Catholic boarding school following my father’s burial. Because my mother is African and we are Metis children, they removed him because they perceived us as a threat to the white supremacist order that undergirded the colonial project.

They never told my mother or obtained her consent. She ran away looking for her son, but she was pursued by dogs. After being moved to a Protestant parish in Burundi, my brother was forced to live on his own as a servant. He was later transferred to Denmark.

The colonial authorities regarded my sister and I as “independent” when I was three and my sister was five. My mother was no longer needed, it was believed. My sister and I were taken and transferred to a facility for “mixed-race” children after numerous police-ordered abductions. My mother tried to stop them, according to what I was told.

For six months, we were there. My sister was sent to the other side of the country, while my sister was taken to a foster family on the coast of Belgium. They’ve always divided families. It was unlawful. You don’t know how to handle your family because you have the wrong perception of them growing up. Deporting children is a crime against humanity in its entirety.

Life on the coast

I was born on the coast of Belgium. There was a sense of community and isolation. The foster family I was placed with, however, didn’t make a good match. The mother wanted a second child after numerous miscarriages. I preferred the father over me because I felt isolated and ignored. There was a division as a result. I was given to wear torn clothing, and I was not given any money to study. My foster father had the authority to keep us all under his care, but the one thing that remained constant with my siblings was that. When I was 11 years old, I stumbled across our files and began deciphering them. When I first looked up the French word “illegitimate child” when I found my birth certificate, I was immediately taken to my birth certificate. I felt shook.

I spent the first 16 years of my foster family’s life before moving to Ghent to study after an uprising. My biological father gave us a scholarship to study. I received double payments from the government because I was his legal child and was treated as an orphan by the state. I met activists and made long-term friends. I soon realized that I was a part of activism at a company that provided contraception. In addition to attempting to reconcile my past, I helped to establish women’s shelters in Ghent and a forum for children to discuss their issues.

In the end, my brother and sister and I connected. I was never able to have a relationship with my mother, though. It wasn’t beautiful when I saw my mother once more.

When I was 21 years old, my biological father gave me an inheritance. I used the money I had in Rwanda to buy a small house in the city. My mother was where I looked for her when I went to find her. The setting is vividly remembered by me. It was so lovely. People waited for us to reunite in the hills. My mother and I both arrived. A translator gave me the ultimatum to clarify what she was saying. He later admitted to lying to me about my mother’s claim that she was lonely, but the translator claimed she had a husband and two children. It resembled being tortured. I flipped, left, and never turned around. I was unable to handle it.

We later came to question our mothers’ qualities as mothers: Was she a caring or easy woman, or why she left us? I’m so sorry, but I’ll have to deal with it.

Everything changed at that particular time.

I wanted to know more about my past and always believed I had a secret life. While working full-time for IBM, I studied African studies. I attended a colloquium in 2007, where the lecturers shared a tolerant perspective on colonization. A journalist once referred to Africa as a pleasant place to live because young people could live freely without the assistance of the local women. I had to take action because there had been little discussion about the Metis children, their mothers, and how colonization had affected them, which made me uneasy.

I contacted the research center’s director to request a study of Belgian colonialism and its effects on Africans. He agreed. It was challenging to access the federal archives. We were kept secret, and details of who brought us from Rwanda to Belgium were kept secret. However, my husband, a privacy officer, provided a list of contacts. I was certain that I wouldn’t fail with someone like that behind me. The archive eventually consented to grant access. Momentum was resurrected, and several Metis groups demanded answers.

In order to meet as many Metis children as possible, a group of young and older mixed-race people from Brussels, Ghent, and Antwerp began collecting evidence and seeking funding in 2008. The Mixed-Race People of Belgian Colonization were the theme of the Ghent Festivities in 2010. The Bastards of Colonization, our book, was finally released, and there were subsequent exhibitions and press coverage. A documentary on regional TV, in Belgium, and in other countries continued to be a huge hit thanks to packed venues, high visitor counts, and a huge success.

We requested access to the archives after gathering signatures. We eventually gained knowledge of what was done, secured funding, and took on leadership roles.

a transgression of humanity

We addressed our stories in various Belgian parliaments, asking for recognition, access to our records, and support for understanding our past. I still have questions about why people are learning more about our story, especially since Belgium recently issued an apology. However, abducting a child and bringing them to live with strangers abroad are not justifiable. It is unlawful.

There are so many incredibly heartbreaking stories about Metis children. Children from the former Belgian Congo, now the Democratic Republic of the Congo, were confined to isolated institutions far from their families in dangerous and hostile environments. My brother was a perfect victim of exploitation, who was eventually sent to Denmark. Because the Belgian embassy, which he was a citizen of, had recently stopped providing his papers, forcing him to flee to America, where he currently resided as an undocumented migrant.

The word “Métis” has been contaminated for many years, but we have made an effort to reclaim it. This phrase prevented us from reaching our full potential. You are always in the middle, not the middle. We asked for Metis to exist without an accent on the é, which is why we chose our own word. Only then could the Resolution Metis be cast in the Belgian state’s official Dutch dictionary.

Many of us are still making demands for reparations, but in different ways. To help us understand our past, I want to see funded studies. I’m retired, and many Metis children have over 70 years of age. It’s challenging to keep fighting. To me, support from organizations like Amnesty International and African Futures Lab is priceless because it keeps us telling our story.

Despite my challenges, having the Metis has helped me become who I am.

Source: Aljazeera