There is a certain insincerity—gloomy, outrageous, and almost absurd—in the way Belgium approaches its role in history. This is, after all, a country that preaches human rights while carrying in its bloodstream the DNA of genocide. A nation that fancies itself a beacon of democracy but still refuses to reckon with the legacy of its colonial past—the very past that midwifed the genocide ideologues in Rwanda. Belgium does not merely bear historical responsibility for the racial divisions it imposed upon Rwanda; it carries the original sin of designing, codifying, and enforcing the framework that made the Genocide Against the Tutsi not just possible, but inevitable. Now, in 2025, as the world marks the 31st commemoration of the genocide, Belgium has once again proven that when moral responsibility becomes inconvenient, it is all too easy to discard. ALSO READ: Ibuka deplores Belgium’s cancellation of Genocide memorial event It has moved beyond historical negligence and into the realm of active denial—a denial that is even more insidious because it comes from a state that has legal measures against genocide denialism. This is not just hypocrisy; it is the final stage of genocide itself, as outlined by Gregory Stanton, who identified denial as the last and most dangerous stage of genocide. When a nation that once served as a colonial master refuses to acknowledge its historical responsibility while simultaneously weaponizing diplomacy to silence survivors, it engages in an act of historical revisionism that is both criminal and deeply sinister. On April 1, 2025, IBUKA, the umbrella organization for genocide survivors worldwide, alongside the Belgian Collective for the Prevention of Genocide and Against Denialism, issued a scathing appeal: “Can one imagine Belgian public authorities refusing to honor the millions of victims of Stalinism on the grounds that Russia invaded Ukraine? Or refusing to pay tribute to the American soldiers who fell in Bastogne because the United States launched a trade war with the European Union? Or neglecting to commemorate the victims of Argentina’s dictatorship because its current president consults the soul of his dead dog? Or ignoring the students massacred in Budapest in 1958 because today’s Hungary undermines fundamental freedoms?” Ibuka further asked: “Can one imagine Belgian authorities confusing history with diplomacy, obscuring the reality of a genocide—recognized as the crime of crimes—out of short-term political considerations? And yet, some Belgian public authorities have done just that.” The moral abdication of Belgium In an act of unfiltered cowardice, Belgium has now chosen to erase memory itself. On March 18, 2025, the city of Liège informed URGT (Union of Survivors of the Genocide Against the Tutsi) that their annual commemoration event, scheduled for April 12, was canceled. The justification? “Geopolitical issues in the Great Lakes region.” A few days later, on March 26, Ibuka Mémoire et Justice received an email from the protocol service of Belgium’s Chamber of Representatives, abruptly canceling their annual colloquium on the genocide’s history. The reason? “Diplomatic relations between Belgium and Rwanda have severely deteriorated.” A diplomatic rift with Rwanda? And so, Belgium erases its conscience. It buries its complicity in colonial policies that sowed the seeds of ethnic division. It suppresses truth with the same arrogance with which it once codified Hutu supremacy, issued identity cards that marked “Tutsi” and “Hutu as racial categories, and fueled the ideology that led to the massacre of over a million people. Belgium is not merely an observer of history; it is an architect of the conditions that made the genocide possible. And today, in 2025, it has decided that remembering is too politically inconvenient. Gregory Stanton, in his important work on the Ten Stages of Genocide, identified denial as the last, and most dangerous, stage. Denial is not simply the refusal to acknowledge history—it is the deliberate falsification and distortion of truth, the erasure of victimhood, and the rewriting of facts to suit political narratives. When states engage in denial, it is not just about historical revisionism; it is an active continuation of the crime itself. Belgium’s actions in 2025 are not an isolated act of political cowardice. They are part of a broader pattern of state-sanctioned gaslighting—a coordinated effort to silence survivors, reframe history, and cleanse Belgium of its colonial sins. This is not just an offense against the memory of Tutsi victims; it is a direct attack on historical truth itself. Belgium’s history of betrayal One must wonder: is this really a surprise? Belgium’s history with Rwanda is not one of noble engagement but of systematic destruction. This is the country that tutored the first genocide perpetrators, whispering the ideology of racial superiority into the ears of the PARMEHUTU elites. This is the country that abandoned Rwanda in its hour of greatest need, withdrawing its troops as bodies piled in Kigali. This is the country that welcomed genocide fugitives with open arms, naturalized them, and now cowers before their political influence. Belgium is not merely an accomplice; it is a perpetrator of sustained moral crimes. Its refusal to recognize the gravity of its past actions, and its current complicity in genocide denial, makes it an existential threat to truth and justice. What is the point of “Never Again”? IBUKA asks: “What is the point of shouting Never Again if we cannot resist the pressure of short-term political interests—interests that are, by their very nature, irrelevant to the reality of genocide?” IBUKA probes: “What is the point of officially recognizing a genocide and criminalizing its denial if diplomatic considerations can justify an official refusal to commemorate its victims?” Indeed, what is the point? If Belgium can justify silencing survivors and abandoning truth over political expediency, then its commitment to justice is a fraud. If the ghosts of King Leopold II’s Congo still haunt Belgian political institutions, dictating which victims deserve remembrance and which can be discarded, then Belgium’s moral fabric is threadbare. Several moral questions were raised: Would Belgian politicians dare boycott Holocaust commemorations because Israel is at war with Hamas? Would they refuse to honor Belgian soldiers who fought Nazi Germany because of a policy disagreement with the United States? The very suggestion would be outrageous—yet when it comes to Rwanda, Belgium finds excuses. IBUKA did not mince words: “Unlike politics, these victims are not negotiable. They belong to history.” Yes! This is not just about Rwanda. It is about Belgium’s failure—once again—to rise above its past and embrace justice. The survivors of the Genocide Against the Tutsi do not need Belgium’s pity. They do not need its half-hearted gestures or self-serving diplomacy. What they need—and demand—is truth. Memory is not a favor. It is a duty. It is a moral imperative. And yet, for Belgium, remembering the genocide is an inconvenience—one that reminds too many of its own complicity, of the bloodstains that no diplomatic maneuvering can wash away. It is 2025, and Belgium still refuses to learn from its own history. Perhaps, then, Belgium itself should be remembered—not as a champion of human rights, but as a kingdom of moral cowardice.
