IS IT possible, Belgium is asking in anguish, that the only man to face homicide charges arising from Rwanda's genocidal war will be a Belgian officer? Is it possible that a man who killed no one, whose offence, if any, was lack of foresight, may go to jail for years while the butchers of Kigali go free? Can that be fair?
On Wednesday Col Luc Marchal made his way into Belgium's highest military court to face charges of "involuntary homicide through failure of due care and foresight". Ten Belgian paratroopers, on UN service in Kigali on the eve of Rwanda's genocide, died, it is alleged, because their commanding officer sent them unarmed and unprepared into a death trap he should have foreseen.
The hugely controversial trial, the first of its kind in Belgium, is seen here quite differently, depending on your perspective. Its complexity lies in the unravelling of layers of guilt that have their roots in Belgium's colonial legacy.
For many soldiers, and others, the trial is simply the disgraceful scapegoating of an honourable, diligent officer for an understandable miscalculation. Responsibility is ultimately that of the murderers or politically of those who sent Belgian soldiers to Rwanda.
For the families of those who died the trial is a "first step" in the process of establishing the truth. The next, they say, should be a parliamentary inquiry, a call determinedly resisted by the government.
The families say even if others share responsibility and are not now being called to account for themselves, that is not a reason why Col Marchal should not face charges.
It is April 6th, 1994, Kigali, on the surface, is calm. There have been outbreaks of sectarian violence, but nothing to give an idea of the ferocity yet to be unleashed.
The government of President Juvenal Habyarimana, dominated by the country's Hutu majority, has agreed in a deal signed in Arusha, Tanzania last August, to share power with the predominantly Tutsi Rwandan Patriotic Front whose forces had launched an invasion from Uganda in 1990.
But within the government are those who have no intention of surrendering power, who are waiting for the chance to launch a war against their own people.
Keeping the fragile peace, Unamir, the United Nations Mission to Rwanda 370 Belgian soldiers, 370 Bengalis, 22 Ghanaians, and 60 Tunisians under the overall command of a Canadian, Gen Romeo Dallaire, and his deputy charged with responsibility for Kigali, Col Luc Marchal.
The Belgians' role is controversial. Former colonial masters in the region who, with the typical paternalism of former colonists, boast their suitability for their role on the basis of "local knowledge", they are associated with their past support for Tutsi minority rule. The French are seen to favour the Hutus.
Marchal has been uneasy for some time about his mandate. He has complained about lack of security for his men, billeted in 14 separate locations, the fact that they are only lightly armed and that ammunition is short. Patrols often go out virtually unarmed in open jeeps. He has warned of escalating tensions and requested a UN redefinition of the mission's role.
On this fateful day, as it approaches the city's airport, Habyarimana's plane is shot out of the sky, and almost before the debris hits the ground rumours begin to circulate that the Belgians are responsible. For those opposed to peace the moment had come to strike.
As night falls mobs roam the streets, barricades go up. The massacre of Tutsis and moderate Hutus begins. The virulently nationalist Radio Millet Collines fans the flames and targets the Belgians from the start.
At the UN base security is stepped up and patrols recalled. But at about 2 a.m. Marchal receives a call from the country's moderate prime minister, Ms Agatha Uwilingyimana, who asks for an escort to the radio station to make an appeal for calm. This is part of the UN's mandate.
Marchal, unaware that the killings have started, tells Lieut Thiery Lotin (29), to take a patrol of nine others in four jeeps. They have a few sidearms and no heavy weapons.
As the patrol arrives at the prime minister's house it is ambushed by the presidential guard. Guessing what is about to happen, the prime minister flees across the gardens of local homes with her husband, but they are caught by the guard and lynched.
Abandoning two wrecked jeeps the Belgian patrol heads back into town where it is surrounded again. A radio appeal to base is misunderstood. "Keep them talking," Lotin is told. No rescue mission is ever sent.
Within minutes five or six men are beaten to death and the survivors retreat to barricade themselves inside a house. Grenades dropped through the roof finish them off later. Ten men dead.
Belgium is appalled and within days it and the UN have pulled all foreign forces out of Rwanda. There is no peace to keep. The carnage has begun.
Two years later Marchal is in the dock in a military court. The army's advocate general has decided not to pursue charges of failing to mount a rescue mission. That would have been too dangerous, it is felt. But Marchal must still face charges for sending the patrol out, or for not sending it out with better protection.
Mrs Sandrine Lotin, widow of the patrol's lieutenant, says Marchal made mistakes. If he had not, "they would not have lied to us from the start", she says. "They told us lies as big as houses that all 10 had died in a similar way, that nothing could have been done to save them, that they died in minutes...
"They have always been evasive. If they had said to us Look we're sorry, things got out of control, but we did our best to save the men ... But no, they have never expressed regret."
Marchal say he will vigorously repudiate the allegations and fight to defend his honour as an officer.
