Memory serves as the bedrock of individual and collective identities, anchoring societies and nations in the turbulent seas of history. In the aftermath of genocidal atrocities, where the very fabric of society is torn asunder, memory stands as a bastion of resistance against oblivion. For it is through memory that we honor the victims, learn from the past, and chart a path towards reconciliation and renewal. As the timeless George Santayana adage goes, Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Memory, therefore, is not merely an act of nostalgia, but a sacred duty, a beacon of light guiding men and nations through the darkest of times to a point of historical and moral clarity, as key safeguards against repeating past horrors. The following poem, inspired by Rwanda’s example, explores a new angle to echoes of memory. The Burden of Recollection The sky is dark With clouds whirling Around, casting a black Haze over the lining Of my heart, Suffocating it Like a prayer unanswered. A survivor’s gaze, Panicky, Stares, eyes ablaze Through the fractured Windowpane Of a soul Anchored on a cane, Wobbling through A forest of scars Inflicted by Past horrors. Today, The radio crackles Mournful songs, And animated tales Of unity, Of peace; A lie, A bitter jest. The bitter jest, A reminder Of the bloody Market stalls Dressed in stained Red shawls Woven from Threads of hate. I see their faces, Sketched in haste By a mind’s hand Trembling Like a wire band Betrayed. Faces Of mothers. Faces Of brothers. Faces Of sisters - all so cruelly undone. Each flicker of a flame Each flickering, Ghastly light, Reminding me Of the inferno; Their chilling, Final breaths. The machete’s shrieks Still echo Through the years Tormenting My soul’s ears. For now, Even the scent Of roasted maize Smells like The bitter stench Of blood. Each child’s Laughter A mockery; A reminder Of the innocence Lost to blind Hateful ignorance. For now, The music may send A joyous, Hopeful sound, Yet, deep within, Lies a hollow Empty space; A shell Without grace Filled with Shadows and despair Where love and laughter Should abound. This memory, A weight, A burden I must bear, A wound that bleeds Through holidays Through every day. To forget, Is to betray them; To erase their tears. To remember, Is to honor, To keep their souls alive; To ensure Their stories echo Through the years. To remember Keeps them alive, Keeps me alive, Keeps us alive, Keeps Never Again Alive. A poem by Williams Nkurunziza, Rwanda’s former Ambassador to Turkey April 2025
