Each year on April 7, Rwanda and the international community begin a period of commemoration known as Kwibuka, honoring more than one million lives lost in just 100 days in 1994. Yet remembrance without accuracy loses its meaning. The words used to describe this history carry legal, historical, and moral weight. For this reason, the most precise and appropriate term remains: the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi. ALSO READ: Genocide against the Tutsi: A moral test everyone failed The United Nations defines genocide as acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group. Genocide is not random violence nor a spontaneous eruption of anger. It is deliberate, organized, and purposeful. The events of 1994 did not emerge suddenly. They were preceded by years of preparation. Propaganda dehumanized the Tutsi. Weapons were distributed, militias organized, and lists compiled long before lives were taken. When the violence began, roadblocks appeared. Identity cards and simple documents became instruments of life or death. A name, an ethnic label, a moment’s inspection determined fate. This was not chaos but coordination; not confusion but design. Some have described these events as “a civil war,” “a coup,” or “interethnic violence,” or claimed that “both groups were equally targeted.” Such language blurs the line between organized extermination and generalized conflict, creating space for misunderstanding and, at times, distortion. ALSO READ: Kwibuka32: Rwanda will not die twice, says Kagame The 1994 genocide was planned systematically to completely exterminate the Tutsi. Those who distort and downplay history should be held accountable. This is not rhetoric. The International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) confirmed this in multiple judgments, including Prosecutor v. Akayesu (1998), which first established that genocide against the Tutsi occurred, and Prosecutor v. Kambanda (1998), in which a prime minister pleaded guilty to genocide. These rulings affirm what survivors and history bear witness to. ALSO READ: A preventable genocide, a denied responsibility: What ‘Corridors of Power’ reveals about Rwanda This precision is not about exclusion but about truth. Many Hutu who resisted the violence were also killed, yet they were not the intended target of a campaign designed to eliminate an entire group. The distinction is essential. Today, distortion, minimization, and denial persist. This final stage seeks to reshape memory, making the past less clear and less certain. Yet memory insists on being heard. For younger generations, this history may feel distant, but it remains a shared inheritance. To engage with it is not to be burdened, but to understand how easily truth can be altered when language is imprecise and how necessary it is to protect it. Ultimately, insisting on accurate terminology is an act of respect for those lost, for survivors, and for the integrity of history itself. It ensures that remembrance remains not only solemn, but grounded in truth and genuine meaning. Therefore, let this commitment be practical as well as principled. Educators must use the correct terminology in curricula; journalists should challenge mischaracterizations in public discourse; and readers can support survivor-led documentation efforts such as Aegis Trust and Ibuka. The writer is an international relations and diplomacy enthusiast.
