DANIEL RODRIGUES
FOTÓGRAFO
Echoes of the Thousand Hills
30 Years of Memory and Reconciliation in Rwanda
In 1994, the world watched in horror and disbelief as one of the most devastating genocides in modern history unfolded. In just 100 days, between 800,000 and 1 million people, mostly from the Tutsi ethnic group, were brutally murdered in an indescribable wave of violence and hatred. Rwanda, the land of a thousand hills, was transformed into a stage of absolute terror between April and July of that year. Thirty years later, we return to this wounded land to listen to the echoes of the voices of those who survived this unprecedented brutality. We speak with mothers who lost their children, wives who saw their husbands massacred, and children who were orphaned, forced to grow up in a world of desolation. Among the testimonies, we also find the bitter confession of one of the Hutu aggressors, who, despite admitting to the atrocious acts he committed, managed to obtain forgiveness. All, without exception, grapple with deep scars and haunting memories that continue to torment them. The trauma of the genocide is a shadow that does not fade, a pain that throbs in the memory of each person who lost a loved one. The images of horror are like persistent ghosts, always lurking, invading moments of silence and peace. These are the echoes of the thousand hills, a return to Rwanda, not just to remember, but to feel the intensity of a pain that will never completely disappear.
The distinction between Hutus and Tutsis dates to the colonial era when Belgian colonizers favored the Tutsis in positions of power, creating deep resentment among the Hutus, who were more numerous but were decreed to be farmers, while the Tutsis were elevated to the elite, cementing the ethnic differences between them. Despite occupying different socioeconomic positions, this categorization between ethnicities became deeply entrenched in Rwandan society, which, in 1935, was institutionalized with the creation of ethnic identity cards.
Since the 1960s, especially in the more rural areas of Rwanda and the southern part of the country, this distinction sparked a revolt among the Hutus, with reports of various assassinations and persecutions of Tutsis during that time. These events became common for many, and with the economic and political crisis in the 1990s, followed by the civil war between the Hutu-dominated government and the Tutsi rebel group, the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), they culminated in a crucial event: the assassination of President Juvénal Habyarimana, a Hutu, whose plane was shot down on April 6, 1994. This attack was used as a pretext to start the meticulously planned massacres, initiating one of the most devastating genocides in modern history.
On the morning of April 7, hours after the assassination of the former president, coordinated attacks against Tutsis and moderate Hutus began immediately. Some were soon hunted down, attacked, or killed after their names and those of their families were broadcast on Radio Télévision Libre des Mille Collines, which played a propagandist role, promoting and inciting hatred and violence against the Tutsis, even calling them "cockroaches."
Upon waking up, most were still unaware that their lives were about to change forever, spending hours, days, and months in terror, as was the case with Mukansanga Veneranda, who was 36 years old at the time. Like many Tutsis, Veneranda ended up losing her husband, her two-year-old son, and was raped for two days when she thought she was going to be saved by soldiers. “My sister and my 16-year-old niece died of AIDS after we were raped for two days. I got pregnant instead of contracting AIDS. I would have preferred to die than have this child. A child of a murderer.” Human rights organizations estimate that between 250,000 and 500,000 women were raped during the genocide.
The intense massacres that occurred in the early days across the country, from north to south, where entire communities were decimated, led to a sense of fear among all Tutsis, even in the quietest moments. “What fueled our fear was when it was... quiet. The quieter it was, the more frightening it was. The silence terrified us,” says François-Xavier Ngarambe, a survivor who was at a school where he was teaching in Kigali at the time the massacres began, and where about 100 people were killed days before he managed to board a plane to Belgium. “They chose their victims, some were killed to the right, to the left, on top of the beds, under the beds, shot, hacked with machetes.”
After the massacre, the mental impact remained forever. Deep and devastating traumas are recounted by Kalisa Gilbert, who was only 8 years old when he lost his entire family, becoming an orphan. He continues to suffer from fear and is deeply disturbed. “I couldn't know exactly what happened, I don't know what happened to my brothers. But I know where they died. I couldn't distinguish them.”
It didn't matter if it was a man, woman, elderly, or child. If you were a Tutsi, the Hutus killed you. It is estimated that between 800,000 to 1 million people were killed in just 100 days in the most horrific ways imaginable. Gunshots, stabbings, beatings, fires. What mattered was "Cutting down the tall trees," a metaphor for killing Tutsis, who only said, "We have to do what we can to survive."
It is estimated that approximately 95,000 children were orphaned due to the violence and massacres that occurred. Ndagijimana François lost his entire family when he was only 11 years old. “I saw my father being killed while I was sitting on his lap. They beat him with sticks full of nails. They beat him to death.” In addition to the emotional scars he suffered at the time from witnessing his father's murder, he managed to escape into the forest where he was caught by a group of Hutus who left him with physical scars for the rest of his life after attacking him with machetes. To this day, he says he doesn't know how he survived.
During the genocide, several massacres occurred, primarily in places where people thought they were safe. For many, sacred places. Churches, schools, and other places that should have been sanctuaries of safety turned into true killing fields. François-Xavier says that the feeling of fear and despair led thousands of Rwandans to seek refuge in their faith, "In the face of fear, we are at the mercy of God.”
Many of the major massacres took place in these locations. “Most of the people who died in the genocide died in churches. Why? Because we thought there was no other safe place than the house of God. We thought no one would dare to enter a church.” Ndagijimana François was mistaken; the church became a killing field.
One of the many examples is the Church of Nyamata, which currently, like most churches where massacres occurred, serves as a memorial, a place of education and reflection, keeping the memory of the victims alive. It is still possible to see the clothes of some of the thousands of Tutsis who sought refuge there but were killed by Interahamwe militiamen and government soldiers. It is estimated that around 10,000 Tutsis lost their lives in that church alone.
In March 2017, more than 20 years later, the Catholic Church of Rwanda publicly apologized for the role of some of its members in the genocide. The Vatican, initially hesitant to take direct responsibility, eventually acknowledged the involvement of church members in the genocide in the same year.
The transformation of churches into massacre sites in Rwanda underscores the complex relationship between faith, power, and violence. The failure of churches to protect the vulnerable, along with the active participation of some religious leaders in the crimes, questioned the moral and spiritual role of the institution.
In southern Rwanda, at the Murambi Technical School, about 65,000 Tutsis sought refuge, guided by promises of government protection. However, on April 21, government forces and Interahamwe militiamen surrounded the school and carried out a massacre that lasted several hours. The attackers used machetes, spears, grenades, and firearms to kill all the Tutsis gathered there. It is estimated that between 40,000 and 50,000 people were killed that day. The bodies were left to rot at the site and exposed for weeks, creating a scene of horror and despair.
Further west, near Lake Kivu, overlooking the Congo, thousands of Tutsis took refuge in the hills of Bisesero. Unlike many other areas, the Tutsis of Bisesero organized a courageous defense against the attacks of the Interahamwe militias and government forces. Armed with stones, sticks, and the few weapons they had, they managed to resist for several weeks, facing relentless attacks.
Between May and June 1994, the attacks became increasingly violent and systematic. It is estimated that around 50,000 Tutsis were massacred in the hills of Bisesero during that period. “They said there was no mercy for the enemy,” recounts one of the survivors, Ndoli Charles, 69, describing scenes of extreme brutality where the attackers used machetes, spears, grenades, clubs with nails, and firearms to indiscriminately massacre men, women, and children. After this episode, Ndoli Charles was left alone; his wife and children were among the dead.
The international community, especially the USA and France, hesitated to recognize the gravity of the situation and classify the events as genocide, resulting in a delayed response. The Genocide Convention of 1948 obliges signatory countries to intervene to prevent and punish genocide. The reluctance to use the term genocide was, in part, a strategy to avoid this legal obligation. Many countries did not publicly acknowledge the genocide immediately, due to political and bureaucratic interests, lack of detailed information, and above all, the political risk of involvement.
Several months after the massacre, in June 1994, the French decided to launch "Operation Turquoise," a military intervention aimed at establishing a safe zone in southwestern Rwanda. However, the efforts were in vain. The Tutsis continued to be decimated. “France played a significant role in the deaths of many people,” says Ndoli Charles, who managed to meet with the French troops and begged for help. The survivors reported the massacres and asked for protection. The French troops promised to return in three days to rescue them but never fulfilled that promise. “They did nothing in Bisesero.” In the following days, the attacks against the Tutsis continued unabated, and many of the genocide perpetrators escaped to Zaire, now the Democratic Republic of Congo.
The operation was seen as an attempt by France to maintain its influence in the region and protect its Hutu allies rather than prevent the genocide.
Only in 2019 did French President Emmanuel Macron acknowledge that France had a "significant failure of assessment" during the Rwandan genocide, admitting serious political misjudgments and excessive support for the Hutu government. France opened judicial investigations into the role of senior military and political officials during the genocide, while Belgium, only in 2021, more than 27 years later, officially recognized its responsibilities and apologized for its role in the genocide.
After the genocide, the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) was established in Arusha, Tanzania, to try the main perpetrators. However, due to the overwhelming number of cases left untried, the new Rwandan government decided to implement the Gacaca courts, a system of community justice to try genocide crimes. These courts processed over 1.2 million cases, helping to promote reconciliation among affected communities.
The Gacaca courts were composed of elders and community leaders elected locally. They conducted trials open to the public, where witnesses and victims could present their accounts. The goal was community participation in the pursuit of truth.
Although they faced several criticisms regarding the quality of the trials, witness protection, and the ability of this justice system to guarantee adequate defense rights, these people's courts played a crucial role in the reconciliation process, according to the Rwandans. “If it weren't for Gacaca, there would be no unity and reconciliation. They might not have happened the same way,” says Ines Eugenie, who lost her entire family in the 1994 genocide.
The process of unity and reconciliation, strongly supported by President Paul Kagame, was extremely important in the post-genocide period for everyone to move forward at a time when the country was fragile and deeply traumatized. Forgiveness between victims and perpetrators was "important and brought us peace," confesses Bucyana Innocent, a former Hutu responsible for ordering the deaths of several Tutsis, including the parents of François-Xavier Ngarambe. During the 12 years he was imprisoned, and after writing several letters asking for forgiveness from the Rwandan government and people for his actions, in 2019, he obtained the forgiveness of François-Xavier, and now both are an example of the country's unity and reconciliation process.
But not everyone shares the same opinion. For Ndagijimana François, who continues to wonder what happened to his mother's body after she was killed on the road. "How did she end? Did a dog come during the night and take her body? Did a hyena come and bite her leg, bite her thigh? Did it eat the flesh and leave? Did the vultures come and eat her eyes and then leave?” He sadly recalls that the people who killed them were once the same ones they married, gave land to cultivate, and helped daily. Thirty years later, he still questions what humanity those people had and how the Rwandan people can feel peace and live as if nothing had happened.
With the capture of Kigali by the RPF, the genocide officially ended in July 1994, but the country was left devastated, with hundreds of thousands of bodies scattered and the infrastructure in ruins. “We found the country in a state of decay, with bodies scattered across the hills. The whole place smelled terribly bad, with corpses everywhere. We saw bodies being eaten by dogs,” says Kalisa Gilbert, who cannot forget what he saw when he re-entered Rwanda.
Reintegration was difficult due to mistrust and fear, with survivors facing enormous emotional and psychological challenges, dealing with deep trauma, the loss of family and friends, and horrific memories. The trauma is still felt today, and "You can't forget," confesses Kalisa, 30 years later, seeing these images in his mind. After the genocide, Zaire (Democratic Republic of Congo) welcomed many Hutu refugees, including the genocide perpetrators, the Interahamwe
While most Rwandans tried to move on with their lives, in 1996, thinking that the genocide was over and the country was at peace, Hutus in Zaire attempted to re-enter southwestern Rwanda, saying that "every survivor must die," and began killing again, recounts Ndoli Charles as he shows the scars from the 9 bullets he was hit with that year. These marks, made just two years after the genocide, bring back the drama of the massacre where he lost his entire family. "I survived twice."
Since the genocide, Ndoli and hundreds of thousands of other Rwandans cannot stop having nightmares and reliving all the events of that period. "I can't go a week without dreaming that I'm at war."
Paul Kagame, leader of the Rwandan Patriotic Front, played a crucial role in ending the genocide. Born in 1957, Kagame grew up in Uganda as a refugee and joined the guerrilla movement that overthrew the Idi Amin regime. In 1990, he led the invasion of Rwanda by the RPF, and in 1994, the rebels managed to end the genocide by capturing Kigali. Since then, Kagame has been a central figure in Rwandan politics, being elected last July as president for his fourth consecutive term with 99% of the votes. The current president is seen as a peacemaker capable of bringing stability and economic growth to Rwanda, as well as implementing national reconciliation policies. However, even though his government also faces criticism for political repression and restrictions on freedom of expression, he continues to be viewed as a "God," a "Hero," a "Savior," and sometimes a "Father," as most Rwandans refer to him.
After the 1994 genocide, the Rwandan government, through the voice of President Paul Kagame, “a hero and a father” to most survivors, implemented policies to promote reconciliation and national unity, avoiding ethnic contrasts. Educational and social programs were designed to mitigate ethnic divisions and promote national identity. Today, the trauma is still visible among Rwandans, and it may take years or even decades to heal. The reconciliation process is slow, but Rwanda prides itself on being a nation where ethnic identity is not officially promoted. However, these castes may still persist in some communities, despite government efforts to promote cohesion and reconciliation.
Rwanda's recovery and reconstruction are a testament to the resilience and determination of its people but also a reminder of the continuous need for vigilance, justice, and education to ensure that such horrors never happen again.
The genocide in Rwanda should have served as a wake-up call to the international community, highlighting the need for a swift and decisive response to humanitarian crises. However, the repetition of genocides and mass atrocities in the 21st century demonstrates that many of the structural and political challenges that prevented an effective response in Rwanda still persist.
The hesitation to use the term "genocide" and the reluctance to intervene for political, economic, and strategic reasons continue to compromise the international community's ability to prevent and effectively respond to such crises.
