Screened to a full audience of mostly left viewers at New York's Civic Hall, The Uncondemned is a social tract documentary that is not anathema to those on the right.  It is decidedly not a Hollywood product.

Uncondemned set out ambitiously to record evidence of the vast and heavily reported – but unhindered – massive rape and massacre of Rwandan natives in October of 1994.

In that dozens of countries have used in the past, and continue to use to this day, rape as a tool not only of dominance and  triumphalism, but as a tactic to destroy a group, people, or tribe, the film has an estimable goal.  The ICC, the International Criminal Court, was presented with personal testimony of hundreds of Rwandan women who had been brutalized – not just raped, but savaged in unholy and vile fashion unsanctioned by religion or state.

The element of getting these damaged women of all ages from preteens to older women was a mountainous task in itself.  Crude, lawyerly questioning shut the women down.  These women had been so savaged and traumatized that only the most sensitive, slow-going, and careful examining of the actions being archived and collected could assay any testimony.

The doc, treating the subject matter in French, English, and dialects of Rwandan villages, elicited a remarkable success: the ICC judged that rape was, is, indeed a capital crime and a tool of racial genocide.  It was, in 1996, the first such judgment, and it has since been used in pursuing and suing rapists in many tribes and, more so than tribes, nation-states.

Where the doc fell short of the colossal terrain attached to this vile conduct is that they said nothing about the huge problem of rape among global Muslim countries – or the human offal of Nigeria's Boko Haram, as well as all ISIS savages, not to mention the honor killings and wife-killings of some Hindu communities, even today, as well as all the abuses that go unreported by beaten and tortured wives and daughters under Muslim cover.

They did not whisper Muslim or Islam as a concomitant for scandalous mistreatment of women.  Nor did the term FGM – female genital mutilation – come over the neatly translated French, Rwandan, and English subtitles.

The panel discussing the documentary afterward was composed of Malawian expats, American and British lawyers, and a self-possessed Rwandan victim living now in the United States.  Perhaps it was asking too much for the panel and the doc itself to take on the vast mountain ranges of abuse of women, even just confining the film to rape in the reporting countries of today.  Despite its many omissions, the film tried to capture the wrongs perpetrated, the failure of the international press and the United Nations, to lift a finger to stop the well bruited massacre and pandemic rapes and mutilations.

The indictment and criminalization after many centuries of rape as a tool of dominance and conquest and genocide were won in 1996, but there are huge masses of rape in Somalia, Bosnia, Chechnya, and in many, many niches of the Muslim and even Hindu worlds, where women are burned to death and drowned alive, or where rape must be blamed on the victim as if she invited it, and the proof of it needs, among Muslims, four male witnesses to attest to the rape.  Since these witnesses are usually the rapists, that never happens.

So the upshot is that Muslim victims of rape often keep silent, fearing that their report will bring dishonor to their astonishingly unsympathetic families, where eventually they are often murdered for the shame the rape brings – if the woman is culpable, even a tiny child, the men escape scot-free.

The solution vouchsafed in some circles is chemical castration (where the man can never force himself on a woman again) or, more advanced, actual castration.

No problem: poof.  Bye-bye, rapists of the past.  It stops the bleeding, stops the abuse, but does not heal the primitivism that lets such bestial "subhumans" (as Michael Savage styles them) think of women in the subservient, lower than domestic animal sense.

The film dealt only with a pitifully few men who all, puzzled and, not surprisingly, unrepentant, protested they had no idea that what they were doing was wrong.  I brought up the omitted aspects of the film to a Malawian on the panel, who listened respectfully and made no excuses.  A man overhearing our discussion, however, chided me that we cannot interfere in "the cultural habits of nations and religions," but I looked at him with enough disbelief that he stopped, mid-bloviation.  Not unlike a certain candidate and her home-brew server: Huh?  Was that wrong?