As Rwanda and the world observe a week of mourning in remembrance of more than one million people killed in the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi, survivors living in the diaspora say Kwibuka is not only a time to remember, but a responsibility to preserve truth, confront denial, and honour those lost by shaping a more humane future. Their voices, carried across continents, reflect a shared commitment to remember, educate, and to resist. Amelberge Nyagatare, Australia Kwibuka represents both memory and responsibility. As a survivor in the diaspora, it reminds me of where I come from, what was lost, and what must never be forgotten. ALSO READ: Experts on why genocide ideology continues to spread abroad Even far from home, I carry the stories, grief, and resilience of my people. Kwibuka means honouring those we lost by living in a way that gives meaning to their memory. Alice Umulisa, Kenya Kwibuka is both personal and collective. It is a time to remember those we lost and to tell the truth about the Genocide against the Tutsi, especially to those who have never met a survivor. Living in the diaspora means remaining connected to my history, identity, and country, while also serving as a witness and educator. It is my responsibility to explain what happened and to show how Rwanda has rebuilt. We must ensure the truth is not forgotten or distorted, particularly for younger generations. Kwibuka reminds us to promote unity and humanity wherever we are. With genocide ideology and denial still present in the region, it is also a call to speak out, challenge misinformation both in our communities and online and stand against intolerance. Sissi Dimitrie Mukanyiligira, Austria This is the second time Kwibuka finds me outside Rwanda, where life continues as usual for those around me. For them, it is an ordinary day. For me, it is even heavier than being in Rwanda, where since 1995 I have always taken leave to commemorate. Kwibuka is a time to pause and remember — to pay tribute to family and friends who were killed and the horrific deaths they endured, often before our eyes. It is also a time to recall the fear, hunger, thirst, despair, and the long, agonising sense of death, the many forms of torture we endured. Whether at home or abroad, Kwibuka remains a moment for every Rwandan, and indeed for all humanity, to reflect and commit to building a more peaceful future. Nadine Musinguzi, Uganda Kwibuka is deeply personal. It reminds me of my father, whom I lost, but it also strengthens me when I reflect on Rwanda’s journey of reconciliation and reconstruction. The international community should not ignore the persistence of genocide ideology in the region. There is clear evidence of what happened, yet some choose not to learn from it. There must be firm condemnation from all nations, especially as some continue to fuel denial and division. Gilbert Bavugamenshi, France Thirty-two years on, the journey as a survivor has been long. The wounds we carry began to heal thanks to the leadership that stopped the killings when the international community stood by. That moment gave us the strength to endure. Our country restored our dignity and honoured our loved ones. Today, as a father, I owe much to a leadership that promotes unity over division. As a survivor, I see remembrance as also fighting genocide ideology — by educating peers and future generations about preserving history without distortion. The genocide, planned and executed in April 1994, claimed over a million lives. Today, its ideology has crossed borders, with Tutsi in eastern DR Congo still targeted due to the same hateful narratives. Every generation has a mission. Ours is to carry forward the legacy of those who stood for justice. Marie-Josée Gicali, Canada The genocide was a calculated attempt to erase the Tutsi entirely. Remembrance ensures that victims remain part of the human family. It is a duty, especially for Rwandans and an act of resistance against forgetting. It means educating younger generations about the causes, course, and consequences of the genocide, so they can guard against its recurrence. It also requires supporting survivors and confronting denial and distortion, while demanding justice for those responsible. Kwibuka is also a moment to honour the RPF soldiers who stopped the genocide, saved lives, and rebuilt the country. Donatila Mukabandora, Belgium Kwibuka means preserving our history and passing it on to our children, so such tragedy never happens again. It also involves speaking to the world, ensuring that other societies learn from our experience. We call for continued justice and reject all attempts to minimise or deny the genocide. We must also stand with survivors and support them. We remain grateful to the Inkotanyi who stopped the genocide when the world watched. Kizito Kalima, United States Kwibuka is not just a day, it is my life’s mission. I have dedicated myself to raising awareness about the Genocide against the Tutsi. It is how I honour my family and loved ones. It is also a reminder to the world to act whenever human life is threatened. It means educating people everywhere and encouraging vigilance against injustice. As a man of faith, it also reminds me of God’s power, even in tragedy. Anne Nyiramongi, Belgium We remember the discrimination that led to the loss of our loved ones and the years spent as refugees. We remember daily, but we also rebuild under a government of unity. We safeguard unity, resist distortion, and live together as Rwandans. We guide the youth to understand their role in protecting history and preventing genocide. Sosthene Majyambere, Belgium Remembrance is a way of continuing to honour parents, siblings, and friends killed simply because they were Tutsi. In the diaspora, I strive to ensure others understand how it happened. Hearing it from survivors carries a weight that history books cannot. We remain to bear witness, to be a light so that it never happens again. Ntagugura Ituze Pascale, Belgium As a survivor every day I remember. With every achievement, I look around to celebrate with my father, but he is not here. When I need a shoulder to cry on, I look for my mother, but she is not here. I think of the laughter I would have shared with my brothers. Today, we mourn more than a million people. For me, it is not just a number. We mourn ours, lives lost, family and friends we knew, loved, and still carry in our hearts. Thirty-two years later, our hearts still bleed, but we chose to live and rebuild. We survived by God’s grace and the liberation of the Inkotanyi. Then we chose to live. Every day, we make that choice.
