Noha Sweid
The film Trees of Peace, directed by American filmmaker Alanna Brown, revisits the tragedy of the 1994 Rwandan genocide from a deeply human perspective, drawing on years of Brown’s work collecting testimonies from survivors. The film confines the historical catastrophe to a narrow physical space, focusing on human relationships, allowing the viewer to experience an intense sensory journey charged with fear, waiting, and the instinct for survival.
The narrative begins with the assassination of Rwandan President Juvénal Habyarimana and the subsequent wave of extremist political mobilization led by Hutu hardliners against the Tutsi minority. This event casts a heavy psychological shadow over the fate of four women hiding in the basement of a house, separated from the outside world by nothing more than a narrow window through which they cautiously observe unfolding events. Suspended time dominates the cinematic experience, amplifying the sense of imminent threat.
François convinces his pregnant wife Annick, a Hutu, to take refuge in the basement to protect her from searches and the risk of killing, as both are considered political moderates. Soon, three other women join Annick after fleeing the burning streets: Payton, an American volunteer; Jeanette, a nun; and Mutisi, a Tutsi woman carrying the trauma of her village’s extermination in her memory.
From the outset, the confined space exposes deep political and ethnic divisions among the women, as if it were a microcosm of Rwanda itself. Feelings of suspicion and mistrust escalate gradually. Mutisi does not trust Annick or her husband, and her reactions toward Payton oscillate between reserve and open hostility due to Payton’s nationality and skin color. In contrast, Jeanette attempts to adopt a conciliatory discourse, yet its effectiveness remains limited under the constant pressure of fear and hunger. Her efforts to bridge differences remain constrained by the harsh material and psychological conditions.
Brown reveals the personal backgrounds of her characters through gradual confessions, deepening the psychological structure of relationships within the group. The American activist discloses the secret behind her insistence on staying with the women despite permission for white foreigners to leave the country. She confesses to having been an alcoholic and to having caused the death of her younger brother in a car accident after forcing him to accompany her. She later turned to humanitarian work in an attempt to free herself from profound guilt.
Jeanette, the nun, admits that she entered religious life to escape her abusive father, who mistreated and humiliated her mother, ultimately driving her to suicide. Annick, meanwhile, suffers from chronic anxiety linked to four previous miscarriages, making the protection of her unborn child the central pillar of her psychological stability and constant obsession.
Alanna Brown focuses on small details and subtle tensions between the characters, showing how extreme conditions reveal either human selfishness or a tendency toward solidarity. Within this confined space, the human capacity for adaptation and communication becomes apparent. Even in the darkest moments, the desire to survive and the need to protect others emerge. Conflicts arise over access to food and safety, while some women attempt to mediate, rearrange power dynamics, and revive empathy within the group. Although initial suspicions gradually diminish, hunger and external danger remain ever-present, pressing on every decision and movement.
Brown presents history through the characters’ perceptual experience. The outside world is revealed exclusively through the women’s perspective from inside the basement—through their observations, thoughts, and reactions. The viewer shares their anticipation and uncertainty about what is happening beyond the walls, shifting the film from direct historical representation to a dramatic exploration of shock and individual consciousness. The catastrophe is reconstructed through its psychological effects on individuals. Memories, intrusive thoughts, nightmares, distant sounds, fragmented signals, and oral testimonies exchanged among the women produce a fragmented history built on partial perception and constant anxiety, rather than linear factual narration or a complete view of events.
The narrative focuses on a limited time frame within an enclosed space, intensifying the sense of the present moment. Temporal distinctions dissolve, and waiting itself becomes the core of the dramatic structure. Time functions as a continuous present exerting psychological pressure on the four women, while the slow rhythm amplifies the weight of trauma.
At times, the camera briefly moves outside, capturing street violence and its brutality. From the basement window, Jeanette witnesses a man raping a Tutsi woman before killing her. The nun is shocked by the cruelty of the scene, especially because she recognizes the perpetrator as someone who once sang with her in the church choir. This moment places religious discourse under a severe moral test in the context of genocide.
The four characters offer an alternative to stereotypical representations of women in times of war and organized violence. They are active agents, not merely victims. Through her characters, Brown moves women from the margins of events to their very center.
The feminist presence in Trees of Peace can be read through the women’s ability to produce a self-authored discourse rooted in lived experience, shaped by ethnicity, social belonging, and systems of domination. The film offers a critical vision that challenges traditional portrayals of women as passive figures who merely receive events rather than influence them, or who react instead of initiating action.
Annick, the “owner of the house,” assumes a leadership role by caring for the women, organizing their daily life in the basement, and maintaining group cohesion. She reorders moral priorities amid the collapse of public authority, without reliance on patriarchal structures or external power.
Jeanette faces a moral dilemma as her conscience conflicts with institutional religious rules. With the breakdown of social order, she is compelled to take an ethical stance based on personal conviction and human responsibility. She thus exercises moral leadership grounded in self-accountability rather than religious authority, highlighting women’s capacity for independent ethical judgment in times of crisis.
The character of Payton reveals how cultural difference shapes self-awareness and role perception. Moving from a relatively safe Western environment into a war zone confronts her with challenges that exceed her prior assumptions about aid, justice, and rescue. Through direct exposure to violence, she begins to reassess her privilege and position as a white American woman belonging to a more stable world. Her identity is reshaped under pressure, leading to a more critical awareness of unequal power relations between the Global North and South, and between those who live in safety and those under constant threat.
Mutisi was subjected to rape during the war—sexual violence used as a tool of collective humiliation—yet she remains a self-assured character who preserves her dignity and inner coherence despite the trauma. The film does not confine her to the role of victim, nor does it frame her resilience as exaggerated heroism. It is simply a human stance affirming her right to maintain selfhood in conditions designed to erase her morally and psychologically.
Perhaps the film’s most significant achievement lies in its redistribution of power among women despite their ethnic and social differences. The women discover that collective survival depends on feminist cooperation, and that power is linked to the ability to manage psychological conflict, negotiate, and coordinate for survival. This vision reflects a feminist consciousness on the part of the film’s writer and director, embodied in the construction of the four characters within the basement. The film portrays women as autonomous beings capable of leadership and decision-making within their constraints. They cooperate, share knowledge, and provide mutual psychological support, resisting as women in their own right. Their strength manifests in thought, decision-making, and the preservation of dignity amid oppression and constant threat.
The film affirms that women are capable of shaping their own narratives and contributing to the formation of social reality, not merely acting as witnesses or victims.
The feminist bond reaches its climax when the women ask the Tutsi girl to leave the basement first if an opportunity arises. She refuses to leave before the others, placing feminist solidarity in direct confrontation with the logic of individual survival.
Brown seamlessly integrates the political dimension into the characters’ consciousness. The film includes references accusing the international community of failing to intervene and criticizes the United Nations forces for limiting their role to evacuating foreigners and staff. This implicit critique of international failure deepens the characters’ sense of isolation and abandonment.
Trees of Peace is a tightly constructed drama based on visual economy and intimacy, employing deliberate austerity techniques: close-ups of faces, limited natural lighting, dense silence generating continuous tension, and the dominance of waiting time over the overall rhythm. The use of confined basement space intensifies psychological pressure and the sense of persistent danger. Restricted movement and speech direct attention to minute fluctuations in gaze, breath, tension, and trembling, giving the experience an intimate depth that draws the viewer into the characters’ inner worlds. Faces become the center of visual narration, and psychological drama unfolds through subtle details rather than large-scale external scenes.
Lighting relies primarily on natural light filtering through cracks and a small window, reinforcing claustrophobia and isolation. The contrast between light and shadow symbolizes hope and danger simultaneously, linking the characters’ psychological states to the historical conflict and adding emotional intensity. Camera movement remains restrained and calm, with occasional long takes that allow the exploration of internal time and moments of waiting. Each moment of waiting carries ethical and psychological significance.
This deliberate austerity demonstrates to filmmakers that production constraints often enhance aesthetic value.
After 81 days of hiding from genocide, the four women emerge from the basement and are led by François to a safe shelter once military conditions stabilize following the opposition forces’ advance. The immediate danger thus ends after months of suffering. The film does not overlook the role of survivors in post-genocide reconciliation and national healing, nor the subsequent developments in the status of women in Rwanda.
Trees of Peace stands as a successful independent drama that combines historical commitment with deeply personal impact, foregrounding diverse feminist representations of identity and human experience. It highlights cinema’s ability to transform production limitations and confined spaces into artistic strength and a powerful critical discourse.
