Occasionally history hands you revelations with the subtlety of a thunderclap. You do not search for them; they announce themselves like a biblical plague. That was precisely my experience. Just as I was still making use of the December 10 rant from Jean-François Le Drian—France’s self-appointed prophet of genocidaires’ redemption—another machetocratic miracle descended upon my timeline. It arrived, of all places, from the United States of America, gift-wrapped in counterfeit divine authority, clerical collars, and the thrilling fanaticism of a self-anointed prophetess of hate. Her name? A Rwandan-American woman—Reverend Christine Coleman. Le Drian had already gifted me the first “Eureka,” the kind that makes a researcher feel as if the universe has kindly confirmed a hypothesis with unforeseen speed. But Coleman? She delivered the second surprise—a golden one, a stroke of genius of machetocratic illogicality— so pure and so unfiltered. Something that one can only marvel at how easily hatred repackages itself in religious language. The hate orchestra On December 11, 2025, Reverend Coleman—Rwandan-born, and proudly machetocratic—issued a public statement on X that harmonized so perfectly with Le Drian’s that it felt orchestrated. If Le Drian had played the bass drum of French denialism the day before, Coleman came in on the high-pitched cymbals, loud with evangelical fury. Her message opened with a scream written in capital letters, as though shouting at the blind: “WE TOLD YOU THAT HE DID NOT STOP THE RWANDA 1994 GENOCIDE BUT STARTED IT! YOU HAVE PROOF NOW! INDEPENDENT INVESTIGATION NEEDED!” There it was: the machetocratic refrain. The “we,” of course, are the disciples of Hutu Power narratives, and the “he” is President Paul Kagame—the man whose army stopped the genocide they wished had succeeded. Their hatred is so fanatical, so cosmically inverted, that they have convinced themselves the firefighter lit the fire, rescued children from flames he had supposedly ignited, and then blamed the real arsonists for interrupting his masterpiece. This isn’t just historical inversion; it is spiritual gaslighting on an industrial scale. She doubled down immediately, dragging geography into the delirium: “The invasion of Kagame's Rwanda to DRC, the occupation of Goma, Bukavu and now Uvira is proof that this Kagame did not stop the 1994 genocide—but he stopped what he started!” Her argument, if one dares to call it that, proceeds with the elegance of a drunkard descending a staircase. By some means, the presence of Congolese rebels in Uvira—year 2025 becomes retroactive evidence that Kagame planned the killing of Habyarimana, launched the genocide, stopped it only for spectacle, and is now performing an encore across the border. Logic does not survive in this machetocratic worldview—it is suffocated by ideology long before it sees daylight. What makes Coleman’s message especially striking is not its content but its presentation —because machetocratic denialists and ideologues have been reusing these poisons for decades. The profile photo attached to her X-handle is a psychological operation in itself: Christine on the left, her husband Rev. Coleman in full clerical attire in the middle, and President Donald J. Trump on the right, glowing like a divine endorsement. The message by this preacher of evil is unmistakable: “I sit with the powerful who don’t know me. I walk with the anointed. My odious ideology is sanctified from the White House and above.” This is a public relations coup for hate. Weaponizing God So, when she wrote in her X-message, “now God has given proof,” she meant it literally. God—who presumably has more pressing concerns—found time to validate machetocratic narratives through the fall of Uvira. If Le Drian invoked America’s intelligence services, Coleman bypassed the bureaucratic intercessors and went straight to Heaven’s archives. And then came her scriptural judgement, delivered with divinatory threat: “The one who believe that he stopped the Rwanda genocide is totally blind! A day is coming and approaching quickly, when Kagame will be answerable to all the blood shed on Rwanda and DRC soil and even other territories.” Take note of the usage of the pronoun “he”! This is not political criticism. It is just her spiritualized hatred. This is eschatology weaponized against a man whose army halted the genocide she cannot bring herself to acknowledge. Having subpoenaed God, prophecy, and imminent judgment, she then inclined—naturally—into dehumanization and xenophobic denial of Congolese citizenship: “...these monsters fight to conquer lands which do not belong to them!” Yes, she said “monsters.” Not militants. Not rebels. Not citizens with rights and grievances. Monsters, since the machetocratic universe always portrays Tutsi bodies as predatory invaders whose very existence is a threat. In this universe, Congolese Tutsi are never Congolese; they are eternal outsiders, perpetual trespassers, foreign shadows to be expelled, hunted, erased. It is the ideological root of every pogrom from 1959 to 2025. Any political movement with Tutsi inevitably becomes undesirable. Ms. Coleman’s language mirrors Le Drian’s not by coincidence but by cosmology. Both operate from the same ideological script: delegitimize Kagame, demonize Tutsi, gaslight the world, and weaponize Western ignorance. Both speak with the arrogance of people convinced that Americans are easily manipulated, that Western audiences cannot distinguish fact from political phantasm, and that social media is a pulpit from which machetocratic gospels can be preached into naïve ears. The dumbfounding part is not that these two individuals exist, but that they spoke within twenty-four hours of each other, on two continents, in perfect coordination and harmony—as though their machetocratic choir had scheduled a global rehearsal. Their voices, united by hatred, carried the same tune: Kagame is the cause of the genocide; Tutsi are invaders; the world must be corrected; the truth must be on its head to make real genocidaires forgotten. This is certainly not a coincidence. This is perfect harmonization by ideology. And it is a clear warning: Be wary of machetocrats masquerading as intellectuals, activists or counterfeit opposition politicians. Be careful with clerics who weaponize God to sanctify an ideology of a crime and its denial. Beware of conspiracy theorists who think the world is as foolish as they wish and hope. Two continents, two self-anointed prophets of political delusion, two megaphones of machetocratic delirium—yet one message, one rhythm, one ideological bloodstream. Le Drian in Paris and Rev. Coleman in America were not merely speaking in unison; they were performing a duet of denialism, a transatlantic liturgy of deception. And if the world pays insufficient attention, their symphony of gaslighting will spread with the ease of contagion and the confidence of a lie told loudly enough to seem like revelation. Their rhetorical choreography tells something far more hazardous than conventional propaganda. It uncovers a worldview in which truth is not a virtue or discipline but a problem, and where genocide—real, documented, adjudicated genocide—is treated as flexible clay to be remodeled in the hands of ideological sculptors. Their words do not simply falsify history; they destroy it. They tear it from its foundation and rebuild it as a laughable monument praising the perpetrators of genocide and condemning the rescuers. The shamelessness of their messaging is made more disquieting by a shared assumption—one they never articulate openly but reveal through their tone, their strategies, and their arrogance. Both of them sound convinced that Americans are easy to fool enough to swallow anything. Le Drian writes as if the U.S. President is a naïve child in need of French tutoring. Coleman preaches bare hatred as though Americans are spiritual infants waiting for her machetocratic gospel to illuminate their darkness. Here are two proud individuals, who cannot distinguish fact from fantasy presuming themselves tutors of the world’s largest democracy. Digital mask of Genocide denial Online hate speech in the 21st century rarely announces itself as hate. It lands clothed in righteousness, moral urgency, human right concerns, or divine conviction. It speaks softly, claims ethical authority, and presents itself as courageous truth-telling. This evolution is not unplanned; it is strategic. The X-messages of Jean-François Le Drian and Reverend Christine Coleman are not isolated lapses of judgment or unfortunate political opinions. They are contemporary manifestations of a decades-old ideological virus: genocide ideology adapted for digital circulation. What once needed magazines like Kangura, broadcasts such as RTLM, or the incitement of figures like Ferdinand Nahimana, Léon Mugesera, and Hassan Ngeze now travels smoothly across timelines, YouTube channels, and encrypted networks. The vocabulary has softened, but the objective remains unchanged. Genocide denial no longer appears as direct— it operates through linguistic repositioning, strategic vagueness, and moral inversion. Responsibility is blurred—whereby perpetrators are rehabilitated, rescuers are criminalized, and victims are gradually displaced from their own history. Jean-François Le Drian’s message to President Donald Trump demonstrates this transformation with troubling clarity. Operating not from state office but from the ideological ecosystem of online polemics, he advances a familiar narrative under the guise of moral revelation. His insistence that it is an “open secret” that the man who led the military struggle to stop genocide actually caused it is not an innocent argument but a recycled justification. It is the central alibi of genocidaires. This time, reintroduced without machetes but with refined rhetoric and insincere concern for justice. Christine Coleman’s message trails the same ideological script, though delivered from a pulpit rather than a keyboard alone. Her rhetoric fuses politics, prophecy, and certainty, collapsing complex historical realities into absolutist theological pronouncements. When genocide denial is preached rather than debated, it acquires an immunity to scrutiny. Faith becomes not a refuge for conscience but a shield for hate. Rev. Coleman’s invocation of God is not piety; it is an alibi. She speaks as if heaven were a co-author of genocide ideology, as though the Almighty Himself had logged onto X to approve machetocratic narratives. God is summoned not to mourn and console victims but to launder falsehoods, to baptize hatred, and to offer divine cover for partners in crime who lack evidence but possess certitude. This wicked woman’s most horrendous act is not denial, but the conscription of God into genocide apology. In her sermons-by-tweet, the Almighty is recast as a forensic accomplice, issuing heavenly “proof” to absolve killers and find guilty those who stopped them. This is not faith but blasphemy dressed as righteousness. When God is enlisted into machetocratic revisionism, genocide is not only denied—it is re-blessed What makes these two people’s messages particularly dangerous is their shared assumption about the audience. They presume global gullibility. They rely on the public's short historical memory, racialized understandings of African conflict, media’s superficiality and a digital environment that rewards provocation over precision. They both assume that many readers cannot—or will not—distinguish between legitimate criticism of governments and the soft-spoken rehabilitation of genocidaires’ narratives. It is manipulation calibrated for the algorithmic age. Equally revealing is the casual dismissal, by those echoing President Felix Tshisekedi’s rhetoric, of collaboration with the FDLR as a fringe or irrelevant concern. One is summoned to believe that an armed group internationally infamous for its genocidal ideology can be tolerated, partnered with, or strategically ignored without moral consequence. This does not require analysis but ideological suspension of disbelief. In the United Nations Security Council, genocidal ideology becomes invisible when it is politically inconvenient to acknowledge it. Such positions are not naïve. They are ideological. They depend on the systematic eradication of Congolese Tutsi as valid political subjects and on the regularization of a worldview inherited directly from the FDLR’s ideological universe. In this framework, some citizens are permanently foreign, some grievances permanently proscribed, and some lives forever negotiable. Digital hate speech does not invent these hierarchies; it amplifies and modernizes them. The stealthiest danger lies not only in what these messages affirm, but in what they accomplish. They participate in the symbolic continuation of genocide: the gradual alteration of memory so thorough that moral and criminal responsibility dissolves. When the past is rewritten convincingly enough, perpetrators no longer need weapons. Words suffice. False accusations replace accountability. Hence, confusion substitutes justice. Platforms such as X function as accelerators of this ideological mutation. What once circulated within extremist circles like CDR, RDR, FDU-INKINGI, and the FDLR now reaches global audiences rapidly—amplified by engagement-driven algorithms and the performative self-assurance of those who speak or write as if revelation has finally arrived. This is how genocide denial evolves. Not louder, but cleaner. And, not cruder—but more respectable. This is why these narratives must be confronted with lucidity rather than outrage. The danger is not disagreement; it is deception wrapped in righteousness. When hate learns to speak the language of morality, it becomes harder to detect and easier to absorb. And when such narratives go unchallenged, silence ceases to be neutrality—it becomes complicity. The stakes could not be higher. X which was supposed to be a platform for opinion—has become a contested arena where memory, responsibility, and truth are actively negotiated. When ideologues masquerade as moral witnesses and preachers of faith, they do more than hoodwink—they prepare the ground for future violence by erasing the moral clarity of the past. Digital genocide denial is a reality. It is adaptive, patient, and persuasive. Recognizing it is no longer non-compulsory. It is an intellectual, moral, and historical imperative. Failure to challenge these distortions head-on, risks repeating the most tragic lesson of all: that genocide does not begin with machetes, but with words—and with the world’s willingness to believe them. A warning The Le Drian and Rev. C. Coleman’s overconfidence is not simply insulting; it is a diagnostic symptom of ideological extremism. They both believe that if they shout loudly enough, wrap their falsehoods in scriptural language or diplomatic urgency, Americans will fall into line like obedient congregants attending a revival meeting of historical amnesia. This is why their manipulations matter. Because when Le Drian tells Americans that Kagame is the “open-secret villain,” and when Coleman affirms God Himself has delivered “proof,” they are not just deceitful. They are auditioning. They are testing how far they can push the world into the deepest hole of unreality—and how many will follow them into the dark, thinking they are being led by prophets rather than hate propagandists. The danger is not that these individuals speak or write—the danger is that their machetocratic vocabulary is wrapped in the language of diplomacy and divinity, making it pleasant to the inexperienced mind. End results? Political manipulation becomes spiritual revelation; historical revision becomes moral crusade; racism becomes national security advice. This is how atrocities are justified. This is how the seeds of future violence are planted—quietly, digitally and algorithmically. So, let the world take note: When deniers preach in synchronization across oceans, it is not an accident. It is coordination by hatred. And unless we confront their manipulations with steadfast clarity, the next person fooled will not be a policymaker in Washington, a UN Security Council member in New York or a pastor in Texas. It will be the world itself.
