To Genocide revisionists, Genocide deniers, Historical distorters, Memory saboteurs, Truth manipulators, Irresponsible voices in the space of remembrance, Kindly be informed that there are moments in a nation’s history when silence becomes a form of respect, and compassion becomes a national duty. ALSO READ: An open letter to DR Congo’s verbose minister Patrick Muyaya For Rwanda, that moment is not just April 7—it is the entire mourning period, and in truth, the 100 days during which more than a million of our people were hunted, tortured, and murdered. These 100 days are not a metaphor. They are not political ammunition. They are not rhetorical tools. ALSO READ: They exiled us - not our identity They are the darkest, bloodiest, most painful chapter of our history; a chapter written in the suffering of innocent men, women, and children. During this period of remembrance, genocide survivors carry the weight of memories carved into their lives with machetes, fire, and hatred. ALSO READ: I remember April 1994 as if it were yesterday The world moves on, but for them, these days reopen wounds that have never fully healed. This is why these days demand reverence, not rhetoric; compassion, not confrontation; humanity, not political showmanship. ALSO READ: Speech by President Kagame at Kwibuka 30 Your right to critique leadership, governance, or geopolitical issues is unquestioned. A healthy nation allows its citizens to speak freely. But freedom of expression does not mean freedom from responsibility—especially during a time when an entire country is grieving its dead. There are 264 other days in the year to debate politics, leadership, regional conflicts, and policy decisions. You have every opportunity to challenge, analyse, oppose, or criticize. ALSO READ: Commemoration does not end in one week But when you choose to use mourning days—days soaked in tears and memory—to launch attacks or score political points, you are not being bold. You are being reckless with the dignity of the dead. These 100 days are sacred ground. We remember those who died begging for mercy that never came. We honour children who had no chance to understand why they were being killed, mothers who died trying to shield their babies, and families wiped from existence without even graves to hold their names. ALSO READ: A preventable genocide, a denied responsibility: What ‘Corridors of Power’ reveals about Rwanda For genocide survivors, these days are not symbolic. They are a reliving of trauma. A return to darkness. A confrontation with memories that resurface every April. If you truly care about justice, truth, and humanity, then show respect for the pain of the living and the memory of the dead. ALSO READ: Why genocide ideology continues to spread abroad Critique when you must—but not by stepping into the sacred space reserved for remembrance. If your voice is sincere, it should know when to speak and when to bow. And in these days—these 100 days—your words should walk gently. Some periods are bigger than politics. Some memories are too heavy to carry alongside arguments. Some wounds demand silence, reverence, and humility. Honor that. Honor them. The writer is a genocide survivor and commentator on memory, dignity, and public discourse.
