Memory and politics are inherently intertwined and can never be fully separated in post-atrocity and post-genocidal contexts. They are also dynamic and ever-changing. The interplay between memory and politics is, therefore, prone to manipulation, exaggeration or misuse by clever actors to meet a range of political ends.
This applies too to Rwanda’s commemoration period (Kwibuka). It runs from April to July each year, dedicated to remembering the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi.
I have been researching genocide memory in Rwanda for more than 12 years. My research focuses on memorialisation, meaning-making, and senses of justice rendered for individuals who lived through the genocide, documenting personal relationships with Kwibuka.
Remembrance poses a challenging paradox. Often, when new conflicts arise, memorialisation falls into two distinct and competing categories. There is politically motivated commemoration, where memory is used as cover to advance a political agenda. Then, there are memory practices that transcend politics. These two types of memory coexist at the same time and place.
Drawing from more than a decade of original research on genocide memory in Rwanda, I explore commemoration practices that transcend politics, and identify why Kwibuka is still needed and how individuals keep Kwibuka relevant in today’s challenging socio-political climate.
Three ways genocide remembrance transcends politics
Firstly, Kwibuka can be a freeing practice for survivors.
For many Rwandans, genocide remembrance practices like Kwibuka still hold meaning. According to interviews I held with several Rwandan genocide survivors based in the US and in Rwanda, the commemoration period can be surprisingly and unexpectedly freeing.
One Rwandan woman in her early 40s who survived rape and was forced into hiding during the genocide explains:
When survivors gather for Kwibuka, we feel like we are allowed to express our grief in ways that might seem bizarre to outsiders. As Rwandans, culturally we are expected to be strong and not overly emotional. Yet during Kwibuka, we cry, we tell stories, and we even laugh and tell jokes. During Kwibuka we are not judged for it. This is what it looks like for survivors to move forward.
Secondly, there is genocide memory as a responsibility.
Some survivors continue to engage in commemoration as an outward form of obligation to the victims lost during the genocide.
According to interviews with several early representatives of Ibuka, the main survivors’ organisation in Rwanda, established in 1995, right after the genocide, most survivors didn’t feel ready to put their own needs aside. They doubted that justice would ever be achieved. Yet, by and large, they did it anyway for the good of the collective, or out of respect for the leaders of the movement who were advocating for their rights.
The obligation to victims remains meaningful to genocide survivors today. When sharing her testimony at the UN commemoration on 7 April 2025, genocide survivor Germaine Tuyisenge Müller discussed her personal obligation to victims.
Many of us still have guilt. We do not know why we survived. We tell our stories out of responsibility.
She was only 9 years old during the genocide.
Out of 100 people I interviewed during my research from 2013 to 2020 in Rwanda, the majority feel it’s important to attend Kwibuka ceremonies. The main reason they give is to support their neighbours and their community.
This perspective represents a change that took place some time after 2014, the 20th Kwibuka, from negative incentives to attend (pressure, surveillance from the government and potential consequences), to Kwibuka being perceived as a positive collective good, with relatively little harm in attending ceremonies. As one Rwandan I interviewed in 2017 put it:
We go because it holds communal value, it’s better to go rather than cause a problem in the community, and it isn’t a hassle for me to go Kwibuka.
Thirdly, genocide remembrance provides agency.
Many Rwandan survivors view engaging in Kwibuka as a way to have agency in the present, contrary to the genocide period when they had no control over their fate. They exercise agency through commitments and actions that support victims who experience violence today.
The majority of interview respondents shared that they reflect on different things while attending commemorations, even when official stories told might not represent the diverse range of Rwandan experiences during the genocide. These include Rwandans from mixed marriages, or individuals falsely accused of committing acts of genocide in 1994.
Shaping commemoration
How can external actors and concerned citizens support efforts that shape commemoration that transcends politics?
While it may feel that there is not much “we” can do, as ordinary global citizens, we each play an important role in protecting and promoting truth in the wake of those who manipulate history to harm survivors and gain politically. But we must be discerning. When we learn, listen to and amplify survivor voices, we must focus on two main aspects. First, are people’s stories authentic? Second, are they dedicated to pursuing justice and peace, and not causing division and conflict?
Additionally, building peace is a long struggle. It cannot happen overnight, nor can we expect it to.
Genocide survivors from Rwanda teach us that it takes active dedication and ongoing, daily work from individuals and organisations to confront and challenge rising manipulation by those who seek to promote violence and conflict. Suffering in the world is increasing. Survivor stories and testimonies shared around the world during Kwibuka become even more important to inform analysis and prevention of modern-day crimes and human rights abuses.
By remembering and honouring the struggles and sacrifices made for the right to gather and remember, the international community and stakeholders dedicated to pursuing peace can learn from the forms of remembrance that transcend politics. This includes its critical role in protecting historical truth from manipulation, one of the most significant challenges faced today.
Samantha Lakin, PhD, is a specialist in comparative genocide and a Senior Fellow at The Center for Peace, Democracy, and Development (CPDD) at the University of Massachusetts Boston. Please note: the author is writing in her personal capacity as a genocide scholar, and her views do not represent those of her current employer.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
