To understand this, one must dare to look into the minds of perpetrators\u2014not to excuse them, but to grasp the full horror of what genocide ideology does to human beings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Consider the case of Athanase Seromba. A Catholic priest in Nyange parish. A man ordained to serve God, to shepherd the faithful, to protect life, to embody compassion. A church, in Christian theology, is not merely a building. It is sacred. It is the house of God, the symbol of Christ among believers, a place of refuge, of salvation, of grace. Scripture itself makes this distinctly clear: \u201cMy house shall be called a house of prayer\u201d (Matthew 21:13). The Apostle Paul emphasizes this sanctity when he writes: Don\u2019t you know that you yourselves are God\u2019s temple and that God\u2019s Spirit dwells in your midst? If anyone destroys God\u2019s temple, God will destroy that person; for God\u2019s temple is sacred, and you together are that temple. (1 Corinthians 3:16-17). In the Old Testament, the reverence for sacred space is equally emphatic: \u201cConsecrate yourselves therefore, and be holy, for I am the Lord your God\u201d (Leviticus 20:7).<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And yet, at Nyange, that sacred space became a tomb. When thousands of Tutsi sought refuge in the church, they did so because they believed\u2014because they had been taught\u2014that no evil could desecrate such a place. They believed that the walls of the church would stand between them and death. But Seromba saw those same walls not as sacred, but as convenient. Useful. Efficient.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He ordered the church to be bulldozed. Let that sink in. Not burned in rage. Not attacked in pandemonium. Bulldozed\u2014purposely, methodically\u2014crushing over a thousand human beings beneath the weight of a structure that was supposed to symbolize salvation. It was not just murder. It was the calculated transformation of the sacred into a weapon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And thus far, what is perhaps even more horrifying is not only the act itself, but the mind behind it. Seromba did not see himself as a criminal. He continued to see himself as a servant of God. A priest entitled to offer blessings, to speak in the name of the divine, to mediate between heaven and earth. There was no rupture in his self-perception. No collapse of identity. No immediate recognition of moral disaster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Such a behavior is the true face of genocide ideology. It does not just permit killing. It sanctifies it. The belief creates a mental universe in which extermination is not only acceptable, but defensible\u2014where the victim is no longer seen as a human being worthy of compassion, but as an obstacle, an impurity, an enemy whose elimination is regarded as necessary, even virtuous. In such a universe, the perpetrator does not feel guilt. He feels alignment\u2014with authority, with community\u2014 even with God.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It is the terrifying reality revealed in the jurisprudence of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, which found that Seromba\u2019s actions were not an isolated deviation but part of a broader system in which institutions, beliefs, and identities were weaponized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But if the image of a priest turning a church into a killing machine is not enough to shake us, then we must go deeper still\u2014into the most intimate and sacred bond of all: that between a mother and her child.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We know women\u2014mothers\u2014who killed their own children. Not in a moment of anxiety or confusion. But in cold obedience to an ideology that had poisoned their minds so completely that they no longer saw their children as their own blood. These children, carrying Tutsi blood through their fathers, were redefined\u2014not as sons or daughters, not as flesh of their flesh\u2014but as enemies. As disposable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Please pause and think about what it takes for a mother to reach that point. The natural instinct to protect one\u2019s child is among the most powerful forces in human existence. It is biological, emotional and moral. It is the foundation upon which families\u2014and by extension, societies\u2014are built. To override that instinct requires more than hatred. It requires a complete reprogramming of the mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And, genocide ideology does precisely that. It teaches that identity overrides humanity. That blood determines worth. That love must yield to loyalty to a constructed \u201cus.\u201d It drills into the mind, day after day, that the \u201cother\u201d is not merely different, but dangerous. Not merely undesirable, but existentially threatening. And once that idea takes hold\u2014once it is repeated through media, reinforced by authority, normalized by peers\u2014it begins to erode even the most fundamental human bonds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A mother looks at her child and no longer sees a child. She sees a category. And categories can be eliminated. This is the point at which genocide ideology reveals its most monstrous achievement: it does not just produce killers; it produces people who believe they are doing what must be done. People who feel reasonable and very innocent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That sense of innocence is not unplanned. It is engineered. It is built through propaganda that reframes reality, through language that dehumanizes, through authority figures who legitimize hatred, through fear that punishes dissent, and through collective participation that normalizes crime. When everyone is involved, when everyone is complicit, the moral compass does not just break\u2014it is replaced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Creating mass murderers<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n To truly honor the victims, we must confront an uncomfortable question: how did ordinary people become perpetrators capable of killing with such ferocity\u2014sometimes even turning against their own children because they carried Tutsi blood?<\/p>\n\n\n\n The answer lies in a convergence of forces\u2014political strategy, ideological indoctrination, coercion, fear, and opportunism. The genocide was not simply carried out by a small group of extremists; it was designed to implicate an entire population. The Interahamwe militia and elements of the military were deployed into rural areas not only to kill, but to force others to kill. People were compelled to murder neighbors, friends, and even members of their own families. Refusal often meant death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was not accidental. It was deliberate. The architects of the genocide sought to ensure that the blood of the crime would implicate everyone. In doing so, they aimed to eliminate the possibility of moral return. When everyone is involved, accountability dissolves, and silence becomes survival.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As Alison des Forges observed in Leave None to Tell the Story, \u201cthe organizers of the genocide used the administrative structure to compel participation,\u201d ensuring that killing was not left to zealots alone but became a communal obligation. She further wrote that \u201cmany who killed, did so because they feared being killed themselves,\u201d a finding echoed repeatedly in witness testimony before the Tribunal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The roots of this descent into violence can be traced to political developments in the early 1990s, particularly the creation of the Coalition for the Defence of the Republic (CDR) in 1992. Though presented as a separate political entity, it operated with the tacit approval of President Juv\u00e9nal Habyarimana. Its role was to obstruct the peace process and radicalize the political landscape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At a basic level, the CDR claimed legitimacy as a political party, even demanding ministerial representation. In reality, it served as the voice of extremism. It allowed the President and his party, the MRND, to maintain a facade of moderation while advancing radical positions through a proxy. Habyarimana could appear as a careful mediator while the CDR shifted the political center toward virulent extremism. Over time, this strategy developed a momentum of its own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the other hand, political maneuvering alone would not have sufficed without a receptive social base. Extremists tapped into deep reservoirs of grievance\u2014economic frustrations, manipulated historical narratives, and distorted notions of identity. Hutu extremism was not a marginal phenomenon; it was cultivated by those in positions of power. State-controlled media, universities, and administrative institutions were mobilized to normalize hatred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ideologues such as Ferdinand Nahimana, Jean-Bosco Barayagwiza, L\u00e9on Mugesera, Eug\u00e8ne Rwamucyo, and Charles Ndereyehe did more than express grievances\u2014they shaped them. Through speeches, writings, and media broadcasts, they transformed prejudice into intense ideology and fear into justification for violence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Radio played a decisive role. Both Radio Rwanda and RTLM became instruments of incitement. As established in the landmark ICTR case The Prosecutor v. Ferdinand Nahimana et al., the Trial Chamber held that the media \u201ccreated a climate of hatred and fear that paved the way for genocide\u201d (Judgement, para. 1007), a conclusion later affirmed by the Appeals Chamber (Appeal Judgement, para. 692), which confirmed that RTLM broadcasts constituted direct and public incitement to commit genocide.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Chamber emphasized that RTLM broadcasts were \u201ca drumbeat calling for action\u201d (Trial Judgement, para. 1022; Appeals Judgement, para. 701). It further documented that announcers \u201cincited the population to hunt down and kill Tutsis,\u201d often identifying specific individuals and locations (paras. 1031\u20131033).<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was not abstract rhetoric. It was an operational direction, captured in multiple prosecution exhibits. RTLM transcripts entered as Prosecution Exhibits P38A, P38B, and P39 recorded announcers urging listeners to \u201csearch everywhere, even in the marshes,\u201d and to ensure that \u201cno accomplice survives.\u201d Exhibit P40 included broadcasts calling on civilians to erect roadblocks and \u201cverify identities,\u201d a practice that directly facilitated killings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In one terrifying excerpt entered into evidence, listeners were urged to \u201cgo to work\u201d and \u201cfinish the job,\u201d phrases the Chamber interpreted as unmistakable calls to kill (para. 1025). Another RTLM transcript (Exhibit P45) recorded the instruction: \u201cThe enemy is still among you. Do not sleep. Rise up and eliminate them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Witness testimonies reinforced this operational role of the media. One witness recounted hearing broadcasts that said: \u201cThe graves are not yet full. Who will help us fill them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another testified that immediately after such messages, \u201cpeople took machetes and went out to kill,\u201d establishing the direct causal link between broadcast and action.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Language itself became a weapon. Terms like \u201cumwanzi\u201d and \u201cInyangarwanda,\u201d meaning \u201cenemy\u201d or \u201chaters of Rwanda,\u201d were deliberately crafted and deployed. Such labels stripped individuals of their humanity and belonging. Once defined as enemies and haters of the nation, Tutsis were placed outside the moral universe\u2014people for whom no mercy was required.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This process is clearly reflected in ICTR jurisprudence beyond the media case. In The Prosecutor v. Jean-Paul Akayesu, the Tribunal underscored that genocide occurred in a context where propaganda had already dehumanized the victims. The Chamber noted that \u201cthe population was prepared to accept and participate in the killing of Tutsis\u201d (Judgement, para. 673), a finding upheld on appeal (Appeals Judgement, para. 471). It further established that acts of violence were often carried out publicly and collectively (paras. 731\u2013733), reinforcing participation as a social norm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The same judgement recorded evidence that local officials convened meetings instructing civilians to kill. One witness testified: \u201cWe were told that if we did not take part in the killings, we would be regarded as accomplices and treated as such.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another witness recalled: \u201cThe bourgmestre said the work had to be done by everyone. No one was to be spared.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n These testimonies align with documentary exhibits presented in the case, including communal directives and meeting records that organized participation at the local level.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Similarly, in The Prosecutor v. Georges Ruggiu, the accused acknowledged the power of propaganda. The Chamber recorded that RTLM broadcasts \u201cinflamed the population and incited them to kill\u201d (Judgement, para. 44), and concluded that they created \u201ca climate in which the extermination of Tutsis was perceived as a legitimate objective\u201d (para. 51). This reasoning was reinforced in the Appeals Chamber\u2019s broader jurisprudence on incitement, which confirmed that media messages need not explicitly command killing to be criminal if their context clearly calls for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This dehumanization was reinforced by a steady drumbeat of historical distortion. Extremist narratives insisted that the 1959 \u201cSocial Revolution\u201d had been left unfinished\u2014that Tutsis had been \u201callowed to escape\u201d and were now returning as a threat. This framing turned genocide into a supposed act of self-defense. The killing of children was justified with distressing logic: today\u2019s victims were tomorrow\u2019s enemies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Here again, Alison Des Forges provides a glaring reminder: \u201cThe killing of children was systematic, because they were seen as the next generation of the enemy.\u201d Her research shows that such instructions were repeated in meetings and broadcasts, embedding exterminationist thinking into everyday decisions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n ICTR evidence repeatedly confirms this logic. In multiple cases, including Akayesu and the Media Case, witnesses testified that militias explicitly targeted children, arguing that they were \u201cfuture enemies\u201d or \u201cfuture fighters.\u201d One witness described how attackers said: \u201cKill them all, even the little ones, so that none will come back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another testified that babies were taken from their mothers and killed \u201cso that the lineage would end,\u201d demonstrating the genocidal intent to destroy the group in whole or in part.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As documented in Leave None to Tell the Story, propaganda did not merely incite violence\u2014it normalized it. She observed that \u201cradio was used not just to inform but to direct,\u201d and that administrative authorities \u201ctransformed killing into a duty,\u201d blurring the line between state propaganda and mob action.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The lesson from this history is not commotion, but a criminal system. Genocide was organized, justified, and enforced. It reveals how absolute political power, combined with a cultivated sense of victimhood, can produce a society capable of extraordinary cruelty. The extremists did not simply command violence\u2014they engineered participation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The ICTR\u2019s jurisprudence leaves no ambiguity on this point. In the Media Case, the Chamber stressed that the objective was to mobilize the entire population, noting that the genocide relied on \u201cthe active involvement of civilians on a massive scale\u201d (Trial Judgement, para. 1008; Appeals Judgement, para. 693). This deliberate expansion of perpetrators ensured that guilt would be diffused, complicity normalized, and resistance rendered nearly impossible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It is our fight<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n This is the truth that remembrance must confront. To honor the victims is not only to mourn them, but to understand how their destruction became possible. It is to recognize that genocide thrives not only on hatred, but on fear, conformity, and the manipulation of identity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n If remembrance is to mean anything beyond ritual, it must serve as a warning. The conditions that enabled genocide\u2014the politicization of identity, the normalization of hate speech, and the erosion of moral boundaries\u2014remain possible anywhere. Wherever leaders exploit history to divide, anywhere media dehumanizes, anyplace people are compelled to see neighbors as enemies, the seeds of such crimes are present.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNever Again\u201d is not a slogan. It is a responsibility. And it begins with the willingness to confront, without illusion, how ordinary people were turned into participants in extraordinary evil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Once the genocide ideology takes root, what remains is a society in which killing is no longer an exception, but a duty. And, this is why the fight against this ideology cannot be selective, occasional or passive. It must be relentless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Since the same mechanisms that operated then\u2014distortion of history, manipulation of identity, dehumanization through language, the use of fear and conformity\u2014are not relics. They are tools. And tools can be picked up again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Wherever people are taught to see others as less than human, genocide ideology is at work. Wherever history is twisted to justify hatred, it is at work. Wherever silence greets dehumanization, it is at work. And wherever individuals excuse, minimize, or rationalize such thinking, they become, whether they admit it or not, part of the machinery that makes future atrocities possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The lesson is as clear as it is uncomfortable: genocide does not begin with killing. It begins with ideas. And ideas must be confronted early, decisively, and without compromise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n To fight genocide ideology is not an abstract moral exercise. It is a practical, pressing responsibility. The fight requires vigilance in how we speak, how we teach, how we respond to hate. It demands that we challenge not only explicit calls to violence, but also the subtle narratives that prepare the ground for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It requires courage\u2014the courage to refuse complicity, to resist pressure, to stand against the crowd when the crowd is wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because if genocide ideology can convince a priest that crushing his congregation is compatible with serving God, and a mother that killing her child is compatible with survival, then it can reach anywhere. It can take root in any society that allows it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The victims of genocide are not only those who were killed. They are also the truth, the moral order, and the very idea of our shared humanity. To honor them is to ensure that the ideas that killed them are exposed, challenged, and defeated\u2014every time they appear, in any form.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This is not someone else\u2019s fight. It is yours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Each year, as Rwanda and the world commemorate the victims of the Genocide Against the Tutsi, remembrance is often expressed through solemn rituals\u2014names spoken, candles lit, testimonies shared. These acts matter deeply. During these commemorations, there is a dangerous temptation to confine genocide to the realm of the unthinkable\u2014as if it were an eruption of madness, an aberration that belongs to another time, another people, another moral universe. That temptation is false and dangerous.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":2000108997,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[20],"tags":[],"byline":[271],"hashtag":[],"class_list":["post-2000108995","opinion","type-opinion","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-opinions","byline-tom-ndahiro"],"bylines":[{"id":271,"name":"Tom Ndahiro","slug":"tom-ndahiro","description":"","image":{"id":0,"url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/?s=96&d=mm&f=y&r=g","alt":"Default avatar","title":"Default avatar","caption":"","mime_type":"image\/jpeg","sizes":[]},"user_id":null}],"contributors":[{"id":271,"name":"Tom Ndahiro","slug":"tom-ndahiro","description":"","image":{"id":0,"url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/?s=96&d=mm&f=y&r=g","alt":"Default avatar","title":"Default avatar","caption":"","mime_type":"image\/jpeg","sizes":[]},"user_id":null}],"featured_image":{"id":2000108997,"url":"https:\/\/cdn.igihe.com\/en\/2026\/04\/sdsfdjj.jpg","alt":"","caption":"","mime_type":"image\/jpeg","width":1500,"height":1000,"sizes":{"thumbnail":{"url":"https:\/\/cdn.igihe.com\/en\/2026\/04\/sdsfdjj.jpg","width":1500,"height":1000},"medium":{"url":"https:\/\/cdn.igihe.com\/en\/2026\/04\/sdsfdjj.jpg","width":1500,"height":1000},"medium_large":{"url":"https:\/\/cdn.igihe.com\/en\/2026\/04\/sdsfdjj.jpg","width":1500,"height":1000},"large":{"url":"https:\/\/cdn.igihe.com\/en\/2026\/04\/sdsfdjj.jpg","width":1500,"height":1000},"full":{"url":"https:\/\/cdn.igihe.com\/en\/2026\/04\/sdsfdjj.jpg","width":1500,"height":1000}}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/opinion\/2000108995","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/opinion"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/opinion"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2000108995"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/opinion\/2000108995\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2000109102,"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/opinion\/2000108995\/revisions\/2000109102"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2000108997"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2000108995"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2000108995"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2000108995"},{"taxonomy":"byline","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/byline?post=2000108995"},{"taxonomy":"hashtag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/new.igihe.com\/english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/hashtag?post=2000108995"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"\"](\"https:\/\/cdn.igihe.com\/en\/2026\/04\/un71062010_lrme7607_credit_un_photo-manuel_elias_low_resolution.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"