For years, Rwanda’s most visible place in global cinema has often come through films about the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi. Titles such as Shooting Dogs and Sometimes in April brought international attention, but they were all made by foreign directors. That mattered. For many Rwandans, it meant the story was being filtered through outside eyes, at a time when the country was still rebuilding and many people had not yet seen those films for themselves. Thirty-two years later, the narrative arc is evolving. Younger Rwandan directors are stepping into the foreground, offering perspectives shaped by proximity rather than hindsight. With growing financial support and access to international festival circuits, their films present audiences with a fuller, more layered understanding of Rwanda’s history and its ripple effects. ALSO READ: Why survivor testimonies are vital That shift in authorship is exactly what filmmaker Myriam Birara says has been missing. This year, she curated Cine Kwibuka, a platform for Rwandan art created in remembrance of the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi, and used its first edition to spotlight debut films by Samuel Ishimwe and Ornella Mutoni. Birara said audiences often react differently once they see a film about Rwanda made by someone who knows the country from lived experience, rather than distance. “When they are done watching my film, they say it was great to witness a production about Rwanda made by Rwandans,” she said. ALSO READ: When Hollywood films got the 1994 Genocide wrong Her point speaks to a larger question in cinema: who gets to tell a nation’s story, and how much authority comes with being from that place. In film, perspective matters. A director chooses what to show, what to leave out and what emotional weight to give each scene. That is why Birara believes Rwandan artists are especially well-placed to handle difficult subjects such as the Genocide and the country’s origins. “I think it is us, Rwandans, who should make cinema or openly talk on sensitive topics like the genocide or where Rwanda came from,” she said. “It is a good time to talk about Rwanda because there is empathy.” By empathy, she means an audience that is more willing to listen carefully and understand a story without flattening it into a headline or a single event. That matters in films about trauma, memory and survival, where accuracy and restraint are as important as emotion. ALSO READ: Rwanda’s Ben’Imana breaks new ground with Cannes 2026 selection “It is possible for a foreigner to talk about it, but it requires delicacy and caution so that you do not mess things up,” she said. Still, she believes Rwandan filmmakers bring something different to the screen, not because outsiders cannot contribute, but because people who live with the history can approach it from a place of ownership, responsibility and cultural understanding. “All in all, I think Rwandan artists can do it better,” she said. “They have that responsibility according to what they believe in because there are people who do not want that pressure, but they are capable of doing it in their own way and that way is nice and fitting.” Veteran filmmaker Eric Kabera said telling stories from a local perspective is central to preserving memory for future generations. Over the years, he has worked on films including 100 Days, Keepers of Memory, Through My Eyes and Iseta, projects that document the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi and its aftermath. He described the process as humbling and deeply personal, shaped by interviews with survivors and visits to sites where atrocities occurred. Some of the people he filmed have since died, which, he said, reinforces the urgency of recording testimony with care and dignity. Kabera views film as a form of historical record, a medium that captures lived experience through moving images and sound. He is now expanding that effort to include family histories beyond the genocide, documenting individual stories for future generations. In Rwanda’s post-genocide context, he said, filmmaking can also serve as a tool for healing, offering communities a structured way to confront painful memory while fostering unity. He noted that films are shaped by genre, audience and financing models, factors that influence how stories are framed and distributed. Understanding those mechanics, from grant funding to marketing and revenue, helps explain why some foreign-produced films reached global audiences quickly. In Rwanda, he pointed to growing institutional support, including initiatives by the Rwanda Development Board and local platforms, as signs that the industry is developing the capacity to produce and distribute its own narratives. Kabera acknowledged that promoting genocide-related films presents ethical challenges. Publicizing such work can feel uncomfortable, he said, because it centres real suffering. That tension partly explains why some locally produced films have not been widely marketed online. He cited ‘Iseta,’ which examines the only known footage recorded during the genocide at a roadblock, as an example of a deeply personal project. Having lived on that road before 1994, he sought out both survivors and perpetrators to reconstruct the story. For Kabera, the broader lesson is clear. If Rwandans do not proactively document their own histories, others will continue to shape the narrative. He called on families and institutions to view legacy recording as disciplined work that requires training, ethical standards and technical skill. He also welcomed the rise of young filmmakers documenting contemporary Rwanda, describing it as “a necessary continuation of memory work.” Costume designer Cedric Mizero said that storytelling extends beyond the camera. In commemorative productions, whether live performances or recorded films, costume design begins with research and concept development. Clothing choices often draw from Rwandan cultural references while emphasizing unity and continuity. Mizero, who comes from a farming family, said his creative approach is grounded in tradition. For him, fashion functions as visual language, conveying identity, values and collective resilience without a single spoken word.
