The shocking story of Richard Clarke and the US failure to stop genocide in Rwanda

He was a significant actor in deciding the international response to the biggest genocide since the Holocaust

Some people become famous for the wrong reason. Richard Clarke, the man currently tormenting President Bush over the Iraq war, is one of them. He has become a poster boy for opponents of the war, largely because of his book denouncing George Bush.

Not many people in Britain know about Mr Clarke and Rwanda. Yet he was a among a group of significant actors in deciding the international response to the biggest genocide since the Nazi Holocaust. But because the tragedy occurred in a small African country, the effect of the actions of senior US policy makers was lost to the wider world. As Philippe Gaillard, then head of the International Red Cross in Rwanda, says in a forthcoming edition of Panorama on Rwanda: "I mean Rwanda, look at it on the map, who cares?" Mr Gaillard cared enough to risk his own life. In doing so, he and his Red Cross workers saved many thousands of lives. I know because I saw them at work.

In an interview with me during the genocide, against a background of bombs exploding in nearby streets, Gaillard spoke of half a million dead. The killing was nearly two months old by then. Still the world was doing nothing. He tells Panorama: "They cannot say they didn't know. They were told. Every day, every hour, every minute..."

In the early stages of the slaughter, the UN Security Council held an emergency meeting on Rwanda. Representatives of the US and Britain, among others, were debating the unfolding tragedy in the country. In Rwanda, the UN peacekeeping force of some 2,500 men stood between the Tutsi minority and a government that had decided to exterminate them. But the Security Council was not debating how the force might be used to protect a threatened minority. Rather it was deciding whether to pull the force out entirely or leave a token presence in the capital Kigali. This was because 10 Belgian soldiers had been abducted and then brutally done to death by soldiers in the Hutu extremist Presidential Guard.

On 15 April, a day after the bodies of the Belgian troops had arrived back in Brussels, Madeleine Albright received a cable from her bosses in Washington. It read: "The international community must give highest priority to full, orderly withdrawal of all UNAMIR personnel as soon as possible... based on our conviction that the Security Council has an obligation to ensure that peacekeeping operations are viable."

At a crucial point in the later Security Council debate, Madeleine Albright left the room to telephone Washington. She got through to Richard Clarke. Albright argued for keeping the UN forces in Kigali. Clarke was following Secretary of State Warren Christopher's policy and urging a total withdrawal. A compromise was reached: the force would be reduced from 2,500 to 250 men. Just 250 men to face the most ruthless killing machine Africa had ever seen. On 21 April 1994, the Security Council abandoned the people of Rwanda.

It suggests no disrespect to the Belgian UN forces to say that it is a fact of war that soldiers die. But at least one Belgian officer felt they should have stayed and fought. The Belgian government, supported by America and Britain, decided to leave. There was an immediate consequence for thousands of Tutsi refugees who were being protected by them in Kigali. They were slaughtered. Two thousand alone were murdered at the Ecole Technique school in Kigali; thousands of others died only hours after Belgian forces rescued white expatriates from a hospital in the city. At the Ecole Technique, the Hutu killers drove in one gate as the Belgians left by another. Later, when the UN force commander, Romeo Dallaire, pleaded for 5,000 troops to end the killing he was rebuffed.

By this time, the word "genocide" was being used by aid agencies and journalists to describe what was going on in Rwanda. (Human Rights Watch had been using the term since mid April.) Television networks were carrying footage of bodies floating in Rwanda's rivers. I remember meeting a Nigerian officer at the UN base in Kigali and asking him why the force had so few armoured vehicles. His answer was shocking. There were only a few vehicles because the Americans were still haggling over the rental terms for more, he said.

In response to the crisis - by now estimates were over half a million dead - the US suggested a plan. The international community would set up safe zones on Rwanda's borders. Refugees could make their way to safety. There was a big problem with this. How could a Tutsi get to a safe zone when the Hutu militia was hunting Tutsis? There was no way out.

When he was interviewed by the writer Samantha Power, Richard Clarke did not apologise for American policy at the time of Rwanda. He still defended the safe haven plan. A little context is in order here. The year before the Rwanda crisis erupted, 18 US troops had been killed during the botched UN intervention in Somalia. American diplomats were loath to cross what they now called the "Mogadishu line". There would be no more risky foreign policy interventions. Let us suppose we cut the US some slack over the first few weeks of the killing. They would argue that the situation was chaotic, that reports didn't amount to a picture of genocide. But by the time the US was suggesting safe havens, the administration knew very well that Rwanda was in the grip of genocide.

Nearly a million people were killed and the most powerful nation on earth actively worked to ensure there was no international intervention until it was too late. But Richard Clarke still says they did the right thing. He told his interviewer that the US should not be embarrassed. Embarrassed isn't the word that springs to mind in relation to American policy on Rwanda in 1994. Ashamed is closer to the truth of things. You may now understand why I felt a certain sense of astonishment watching Richard Clarke denounce George Bush the other night.

I have chosen to write about Rwanda this week for a deliberate reason. Over the years, much of the subject matter of this column has revolved around the struggle for human rights. I've written more about Africa on these pages than anywhere else. From today onwards, I won't be doing that here.

This is my last column. In the wake of the Hutton report, the BBC has decided that its correspondents can no longer write columns for national newspapers. To those who have written to me over the years to agree or disagree, many thanks. A lot of the letter writers have been people involved in human rights work. To those who devote their lives to the pursuit of the principles of human rights, I have one last message. I may not be with you in print but I will still be telling your stories on radio and television. In mind, heart and soul, your struggles are my inspiration. Goodbye.

The writer is a BBC Special Correspondent