History, it seems, has lost its shame and developed a taste for parody. The murderers are now the mourners. The architects of annihilation have become keynote speakers. And genocide denial has rebranded itself—with glossy flyers, catered buffets, and morally confused applause—as thought leadership. On June 21, 2025, in Brussels of all places, the organisation Jambo ASBL—a veritable wolf pack in tweed blazers—hosted an international conference on refugees. A noble cause, you might say, until you see who’s on the guest list. Gaspard Musabyimana, Charles Ndereyehe and others. Men whose real biographies read like open indictments. They are all fugitives from justice, all under indictments or accusations of incitement, organisation, or direct participation in that genocide. Men whose records are written not in ink but in blood. But today, they wear neckties. They speak fluent French. They post human rights slogans on social media. And the West, that self-declared guardian of democracy and justice, hands them a platform and applauds. This is not only a perversion of memory—it is a grotesque betrayal of truth. Men and women whose names are known not for sheltering refugees, but for creating them. Men who stood not in protection of the persecuted, but in orchestration of their slaughter. Genocidaires were well represented by their children. Gustave Mbonyumutwa, the son of Shingiro Mbonyumutwa who died before facing justice, was assigned to talk about “The absence of refugee voices in peacebuilding processes”. What a mockery! Placide Kayumba and Gloria Uwishema were on a panel discussing “Solutions and Citizens' Consultation”. The former is a son of Dominique Ntawukuriryayo—convicted for genocide by the ICTR; while the latter is the daughter of Charles Ndereyehe—a well-known genocide ideologue. And now, they sit on panels with PowerPoint slides and talking points. They pontificate about human rights, democracy, and dignity, without choking on the irony. Meanwhile, the very people whose families were ripped apart by these ideologues are nowhere to be seen—uninvited, invisible, forgotten. What we are witnessing is not justice, not dialogue, and certainly not healing. It is genocide laundering, sponsored by apathy and dry-cleaned by the West’s incurable blindness to its own selective compassion. From massacres to microphones There was a time when the architects and enablers of genocide fled into hiding. Now they flee into press conferences. The very people who once called for extermination on Radio Télévision Libre des Mille Collines (RTLM) are now panelists on migration. Those who helped compile Tutsi kill lists in Rwanda now edit “think pieces” on democracy and justice from comfortable European cities. The world, especially in its Euro-American institutions, has shown an extraordinary gift for historical amnesia when genocide takes place far from white borders. There is a reason denial of the Holocaust is illegal in France and Germany and many European countries, but denial of the Genocide Against the Tutsi is sold on Amazon, broadcast on YouTube, and paraded across human rights conferences under the smug protection of “freedom of speech.” What we are witnessing today is not freedom—it is freedom without responsibility, and worse, freedom without memory. It is how the world's moral compass shatters, pixel by pixel. Should the world accept the western misapprehension of innocence? Let us not mince words: this ludicrous phenomenon is not happening in a vacuum. It is tolerated, sponsored, and polished by actors with blood-stained histories and selective morals. Several French politicians, for instance, whose soldiers helped protect fleeing genocidaires in Operation Turquoise, still refuse to call their role what it was: collaboration or complicity. Not only were génocidaires sheltered in camps under French protection, but France continued to provide diplomatic cover for them for years—fueling revisionism in the name of geopolitics. The Belgians, colonial engineers of Rwanda’s ethnic divisions—and the infrastructure of genocide, have perfected the art of silence. Today, Jambo ASBL—a hate-mongering association filled with children of genocide perpetrators—is comfortably headquartered in Belgium, where it spews propaganda, lobbies EU parliamentarians, and calls for “democracy” in Rwanda, all while glorifying men who organized mass murder. The British, with their famed restraint, have offered sanctuary to wanted génocidaires and patted themselves on the back for supporting abstract concepts like “reconciliation.” But it’s easy to preach reconciliation when you are oceans away from the mass graves. The Americans, meanwhile, oscillate between forgetfulness and arrogance. Their refusal to call the genocide by its name while it happened in 1994—calling it “acts of genocide” rather than genocide—was not a legal oversight but a moral failing. Today, their academic and policy institutions are infected by self-proclaimed experts who downplay the Genocide Against the Tutsi or regurgitate FDLR talking points in the name of “balanced perspectives.” And then there’s the United Nations. That emblem of global virtue. The same UN that withdrew its peacekeepers as Tutsi children were butchered with machetes now releases yearly reports that treat both genocidaires and survivors as morally equivalent sides of a conflict. In the name of neutrality, they erase history. Lest we think the problem is only foreign, let us turn the lens inward. The African Union is another disgrace. It is simply a hollow brotherhood. The AU, whose predecessor, the OAU, watched the 1994 genocide unfold without lifting a diplomatic finger, remains handcuffed by cowardice. Instead of confronting the cancer of genocide denial spreading through regional politics—especially in the DRC, Burundi, and even parts of Southern Africa—it buries its head in sand. Its silence on groups like the FDLR, made up of remnants of the 1994 genocidal machinery, is deafening. Its refusal to condemn high-profile revisionists is complicity, not diplomacy. The AU could have built an African moral response to African genocides. Instead, it outsourced its conscience to Brussels. Victoire Ingabire: The saint of selective amnesia Nowhere is this international hypocrisy more visible than in Jambo ASBL, which has repackaged genocide denial as civic activism. Formed by descendants of perpetrators of the Genocide Against the Tutsi, it markets itself as a voice for the Rwandan diaspora. But scratch the surface and you’ll find denial, hate, and incitement in tailored suits. Their publications and conferences are not just misguided—they are strategic operations of historical revisionism, meant to delegitimize Rwanda’s post-genocide recovery by erasing the genocide itself. They twist every narrative: the victims become the villains; the killers become the critics. That such an organization is allowed to operate freely in Belgium is not a loophole—it is an indictment of European hypocrisy. Replace Tutsi with Jew in their rhetoric and they’d be shut down before breakfast. But in Africa’s case, the threshold for outrage is much, much higher. Then there’s Victoire Ingabire, hailed in some Western circles as Rwanda’s “hope for democratic change.” She has graced international headlines, met EU officials, and been given platforms from the BBC to Al Jazeera. She’s even been nominated for human rights prizes. And yet, this is a woman who has publicly aligned herself with genocidal ideology, questioned the nature of the 1994 genocide, and called for inclusive remembrance—a code phrase used by denialists to relativize the Genocide Against the Tutsi by including the suffering of genocidaires. Her calls for “inclusive remembrance” are not noble—they are rhetorical grenades lobbed at the graves of the victims. The praise heaped upon her by Western media and think tanks reveals a truth that many dare not say aloud: in the eyes of many, democracy is more important than memory—as long as the victims are African. In other words, a genocide denier who opposes President Paul Kagame is more valuable to the West than a genocide survivor who challenges their moral complacency. Let’s not beat around the bush. Victoire Ingabire is not a democracy icon. She is the poster child of moral imposture. She is a coldly calculated political opportunist who dons the veil of freedom while trafficking in the vocabulary of genocide ideology and denial. Ingabire’s flirtations with the FDLR, her public statements undermining the reality of the 1994 genocide, and her coy silences around genocidaires speak louder than any manifesto. Yet, despite all this, some media houses fawn over her. International NGOs treat her as a Mandela in waiting. The international hypocrisy is stomach-churning. Would Amnesty International host a white nationalist who downplays the Holocaust, just because they criticized a sitting government? Would European think tanks invite a Serb nationalist who called Srebrenica a hoax? Of course not. But Victoire Ingabire is different, you see—because her victims were African. Because the genocide she dances around in euphemisms didn’t happen in Europe. Because, in the calculus of international morality, dead Tutsis weigh less. And those who promote her—journalists, NGOs, academics—aren’t blameless bystanders. They are accomplices in a new war: a war against memory, truth, and the dignity of survivors. Let us briefly imagine when memory is an orphan. And what of those survivors? The woman who watched her mother hacked to death in a church while UN peacekeepers drove away. The orphan who grew up with no one to whisper bedtime stories because the entire village was slaughtered in three days. The man who saw his infant brother smashed against a wall while nuns turned their backs. These survivors don’t get conferences. They don’t get op-eds in European newspapers. They get silence. Their trauma has become inconvenient. Their testimonies are too raw for polite society. Their truth, too brutal for human rights panels that prefer the sweet lies of denialists over the bitter truth of genocide. Let us end with a grim parallel. Imagine this: A conference in Berlin in 2025. Its theme: “The Jewish Question and Post-War Migration.” Speakers include the sons of SS officers, a fugitive who ran Auschwitz’s logistics, and a woman who publicly claims “not all gas chambers were real.” Among the discussants is the daughter of a Goebbels deputy who believes the Holocaust is “contested,” and a charming German socialite who thinks we should “open the conversation” about whether Zyklon B was misunderstood. Imagine this grotesque theater being hosted at a sleek European university. Covered with neutral headlines in The Mail & Guardian. Live-streamed by NBC. Sponsored, perhaps, by a well-meaning human rights NGO that simply “wants to broaden the debate.” Now imagine that conference being praised by Der Spiegel, covered with neutrality by the BBC, Deutsche Welle and protected by Germany’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Unthinkable? That’s exactly what happened on June 21, 2025 in Brussels—with Tutsi victims swapped out and the Western gaze averted. It was live on YouTube mainly on Zoom. Let us end with a grim and deliberately unsettling parallel. Imagine this: Now pause. Deeply. Because that exact theater of perversion unfolded in Brussels this week—only the victims were not Jewish, but Tutsi. And because they are Black, African, and from a region treated as a political sideshow by the West, their bones are apparently less sacred than minerals in the DR Congo. Their memories less guarded. Their killers more palatable. This is not merely a double standard—it is an inverted morality in which the sanctity of life is measured in pigmentation and postcode. What is unfolding before our eyes is the betrayal of civilization dressed in the costume of liberal tolerance. When denial becomes panel discussion, when fugitives of genocide are described as “voices of opposition,” and when ideologues like Victoire Ingabire are exalted as “champions of democracy,” the world is no longer confused—it is complicit. Why does this all matter? Because genocide denial is not just a fringe phenomenon. It is a well-funded, institutionally protected, academically laundered business. There are publishing houses, YouTube channels, university departments, and NGOs all complicit in distorting the historical record of Rwanda. The victims of 1994 are being buried again—this time beneath hashtags, headlines, and human rights jargon. Every time a denialist speaks on a panel, a grave is spit on. Every time Victoire Ingabire is called a “freedom fighter,” a survivor is silenced. Every time an FDLR commander is allowed to speak on peace in eastern Congo, we undo the progress of justice. This is not democracy. This is desecration. This is not the gray fog of post-conflict ambiguity. This is black-and-white betrayal. When media houses grant her op-eds, when diplomats pose for photos with her, when think tanks offer her keynote spots—what they’re really doing is shaking hands with ideology dipped in blood. They are not really misinformed; they are just morally bankrupt. The defenders of civilization once vowed “Never Again.” But they didn’t mean it for everyone. Not in Africa. Not when the victims are Tutsi. Not when the killers wear suits, speak in fluent English or French, and know how to navigate Western guilt with precision. Claude Gatebuke is the best example of manipulators of the West. The Genocide Against the Tutsi did not end in 1994. Yes, the killing stopped. But the war on truth continues. And the worst part? The same powers who looked away then now lend their prestige to those rewriting the past. The hypocrisy is not just in what they did—but in what they now celebrate or tolerate. There will never be peace in the Great Lakes region if truth is trampled for the comfort of Western palates and African cowardice. There will never be healing if denialists are praised as activists. And there will never be justice if genocidaires wear suits and sit on conference panels, while survivors sit in silence. This isn’t just a failure of international relations. It is a failure of humanity. Truth must be remembered not just in memorials or museums, but in policy. If we cannot name denial, condemn collaborators, and shut down the microphones of hate, then we are not post-genocide—we are pre-genocide all over again. Certainly, history will not be kind to those who cheered the killers in suits while silencing the orphans in rags. We must choose, here and now: memory or myth, truth or revision, justice or betrayal. There is no middle ground. Not when the bones of the murdered are still buried beneath the soil—and their killers now speak on podiums above it.
