Rwanda’s Remembrance: A people’s audacity to exist, 32 years on

32 years on, I write, once more, with our youth in mind. How much we wished we could have assured you, Dear Children, that the fight behind “Never Again” would end in our lifetimes. That your shoulders would be unburdened by the weight of unfinished history, your minds untouched by re-emerging currents of language used in its darkest chapters – divisive, regressive, hateful and violent. Alas. How unbearably daunting, for those tasked with nurturing precious young life, to know that the most demanding fight of our existence, may indeed pass on to those we live to protect. I believe you see it too. Thirty-two years on, it is a bitter truth: the malicious forces that sought to destroy our nation (and nearly succeeded) have not vanished – they have endured and regrouped, nourished and emboldened by neighbouring hands. Who would have thought that members of the very international Community that turned a blind eye as we were losing our lives, our country, our dignity, would now be pointing an accusatory finger at us for having the temerity to exist. Who would have thought? Who would have thought that the selfless heroes who stopped the bloody madness, those who gave what was a then failed state a new lease on life, would now be pushed onto the bench of the accused? Accused, Dear Children, because these heroes work daily to shield your generation and those to come, from the fate that devastated those who came before you. Accused because they work to make right the solemn promise that Rwandans will not die twice. How disingenuous these accusations are. How shameless an inversion of fact, to claim that those who brought us back to a land where every child could belong as Nd’Umunyarwanda, would now be the very ones sowing hate and division. That those who put their lives on the line for ALL of ours, would now be the ones to kill and rape, as a “hobby”. How deplorable and perverse this projection of the known killers’ murderous ideologies onto the very survivors of their crimes. And yet, here we are. The false narratives that once moved in waves have hardened into something constant. At times, they swell or recede in volume, but they no longer fully pass through. They are constructed, sustained, and amplified with formidable backing, both within regional backyards and beyond. The lies that anaesthetise the world on who lives and who dies, who is granted dignity and who must be brought to their knees – they are no longer aberrations. They are the architecture of our time. The machinery is deliberate and constantly running Arriving at the truth demands the effort, and willingness to navigate our complex history. Meanwhile, the simpler story that maligns those audacious enough to survive, comes polished, ready to use, and as a result, popular. But make no mistake, dear Reader: the Genocide against the Tutsi was a mass-participation genocide, and this genocide was popular, too. A prolonged political indoctrination, a deliberate military preparation, and ultimately, a youth-led participation. But I have watched our current young generation closely. Their sharpness. Their instinct for authenticity. Their refusal to be easily deceived. Beneath the noise that aims to confuse them, there is analysis, there is courage. There is discernment. I choose to trust this discernment with all I have. We do not say Never Again because we believe that the ill has been eradicated, nor that the fight is over; we say Never Again because we have embraced the reality of a perpetual resistance against the recurrence of the evil that tried to break us, to erase us. There is no other choice! Young ones, you too must refuse to let the blade of lies cut away at your future. Perhaps the compass of “Universal Values” has lost its true north. Or perhaps it was a farce all along, and we, then naively hopeful, did not know to laugh. Our nation called for restorative justice to deliver accountability, albeit imperfect, in the hope that we could once more rebuild together. Survivors offered an invaluable, redeeming gift: forgiveness. They did it for themselves. For future generations. For the country. We shall forever be grateful. Somewhere down the line Rwandans rewrote a future for ourselves as a nation that did not align with the one that was scripted for us. Much that we do to attain this future will challenge, will offend, will, and already does, bring discomfort to some. So be it. We march forward, and we will not turn back. But where, Mana y’u Rwanda, is our world going? In a world where truth has become threatening indeed, your voice, dear Survivor, dear Rwandan, dear Youth, is more powerful than ever. In an age where inflammatory narratives and rhetorics are mistaken for believable facts, where truth is drowned in a cacophony of algorithms and hyperboles, your silence will be perceived as acquiescence. It will be the weapon of choice for those who are bent on soiling your past and spoiling your tomorrow. Where vigilance can be diluted by the comforts of peaceful times, history teaches us: what is not fiercely protected will eventually, inevitably be lost. On the eve of another Kwibuka, I began to think of the message I write now, heart heavy. I write as a mother. I write as a grandmother. I write because the passing of time has enabled us to note patterns, with a familiarity that does not fade. Thirty-two years of confronting trauma, of healing this trauma, and of reconstruction. Enough time to alter the trajectory of a Nation. Enough time to rebuild institutions, restore dignity, and reimagine what it means to belong to one another. And yet, thirty-two years of age is young. A young adult. An even younger country. What we have built remains precious, but not immune. Do not indulge in obliviousness: across our continent, across our world, something unsettling is unfolding. Violence grows casual. Greed dresses itself as necessity. Scapegoats are created to distract populations. These are strange times, but adapt, we must. Yes, every Kwibuka, those who carry memory are tested. Yes, a hostile global context digs into old wounds, and makes this test more challenging still. Dear Survivor, how heavy is your burden! It’s almost as if to remember publicly is to disrupt the comfort of onlookers, who prefer distance from inconvenient truths. We see it. We see as you are asked, subtly or directly, to soften your voices, to edit your pain, to render your stories more palatable. The cost of this pressure accumulates. It settles into a quiet that is anything but peaceful. We must refuse this. The unimaginable courage found in a survivor’s retelling is the cement of our rebuilding nation. We are here because YOU are. Dear parent, young or older, We, as parents, must raise and nurture a generation that does more than remember. A generation that interrogates. A generation that verifies. One that speaks with evidence, boldness and with moral precision. All of us know what we were, as a country. Now, we shape what we will become. The space between those two realities must be filled with fierce defence of our history and a commitment to our cohesive present. We know the hate will continue this Kwibuka, as it always does. By now, we know its rhythm. We recognize its voice, and we speak back, with our truth. We fight back, by carrying the torch forward. One that burns with clarity so fierce, that distortion cannot survive in its light. We remember! Today, we live on, we fight on. Tomorrow, our Children shall grow and thrive. This is our promise, this is our pledge. Mpore Rwanda. Her Excellency First Lady Jeannette Kagame

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Rwanda’s Remembrance: A people’s audacity to exist, 32 years on