Denial of genocide is not merely a post-crime defense mechanism it is an instrument to facilitate killing and perpetuate violence. It is an integral part of the genocidal process itself, enabling perpetrators and their supporters to overcome the psychological barriers that usually inhibit acts of extreme violence. By denying the humanity of their victims, perpetrators create a psychological and ethical distance that allows them to view their targets not as fellow human beings, but as objects of destruction. This process makes it easier to justify and execute acts of genocide, and denial serves as a powerful tool to rationalize such behavior long after the bloodshed has ended. Genocide is not a natural human act. The moral and psychological hurdles to taking a life, especially in mass numbers, are immense. Perpetrators must first desensitize themselves, stripping their victims of their humanity to the point where ethical considerations no longer apply. This is where denial plays a crucial role. It allows actors to overcome their inhibitions and commit acts of mass violence for the first time, ultimately breaking down psychological barriers. Denial does not emerge after the fact; it begins long before, in the form of dehumanizing propaganda that lays the groundwork for violence. In the case of the Genocide Against the Tutsi in 1994, Hutu Power ideologues engaged in a deliberate campaign of dehumanization, depicting their victims as subhuman threats. Tutsis were labeled as snakes or vermin, thus creating a moral distance between the perpetrators and the victims. By painting their victims as a threat to society’s well-being, Hutu Power ideologues succeeded in creating a climate in which violence against fellow citizens was seen as a necessary act of self-defense or national purification. The psychological and ethical distance created by this dehumanization made it easier for ordinary individuals to participate in the mass slaughter of their neighbors, teachers, and colleagues. When a group of people are dehumanized, their life ceases to be of value. As the victims are no longer viewed as human beings, the social and moral obligations that normally govern behavior towards fellow humans no longer apply. What remains is a sense of otherness so profound that the victims are seen not only as disposable but as dangerous objects that must be eliminated for the safety of society. In this way, perpetrators create a moral vacuum where the most basic norms governing human interactions can be suspended, making it easier to engage in violence and murder on an unprecedented scale. Denial as a psychological shield Denial, however, does not only serve as a tool to overcome the initial inhibition against killing. It also functions as a psychological shield that allows perpetrators to cope with the enormity of what they have done. After committing atrocities, the stress and guilt of having inflicted violence often lead individuals to rationalize their actions. Denial becomes the mechanism through which this is achieved, allowing perpetrators to dismiss their crimes as justified or even as nonexistent. By denying their role in the violence or by minimizing its impact, they absolve themselves of guilt, making it easier for them to live with the consequences of their actions. In fact, denial helps to reinforce a perpetrator's willingness to continue committing acts of violence. If they succeed in overcoming the psychological strain that the infliction of violence causes through denial, it is likely they will be able to engage in further atrocities. Once the perpetrator no longer views their actions as morally reprehensible, the psychological barriers to continued violence diminish, leading to the potential for repeated acts of genocide. Thus, denial perpetuates not just a single episode of violence, but a cycle of violence. Consequences of PARMEHUTU's denial The effectiveness of denial in perpetuating genocidal violence is starkly illustrated by the history of the pogroms against Tutsi in Rwanda. The Party for Hutu Emancipation—Parti du Mouvement de l'Emancipation du Peuple Hutu (PARMEHUTU) played a crucial role in the 1959 mass killings of Tutsi, and its refusal to acknowledge these atrocities enabled further violence against Tutsi in the following decades. The denial of these early massacres by ideologues like Anastase Makuza and PARMEHUTU’s godfather Bishop Andre Perraudin, coupled with a narrative of victimhood and national cleansing, laid the groundwork for the Genocide Against the Tutsi in 1994. In the 1960s, mass killings of Tutsis in Rwanda were systematically ignored by the perpetrators and the international community alike. PARMEHUTU leaders framed these massacres as political conflicts rather than acts of genocide, thus stripping them of their moral weight. This deliberate denial of the massacres in 1959 and again in 1963-1964 was instrumental in normalizing violence against the Tutsi population. By treating these crimes as inconsequential or even justified, the perpetrators created a climate of impunity that paved the way for the 1994 genocide. The lesson is clear: when early acts of genocide are denied, future acts become not only possible but probable. Even after the Genocide Against the Tutsi, denial remains a potent force in keeping the flames of genocidal ideology alive. Perpetrators and their sympathizers like Charles Onana continue to deny the scale, intent, and identity of the genocide’s victims. They distort facts, blame the victims, and perpetuate false narratives that absolve them of responsibility. In doing so, they maintain the social and political conditions necessary for future acts of violence. Denialism on trial From October 7-11, 2024, Charles Onana, a French-Cameroonian political scientist and journalist, is facing trial in Paris for denying the Genocide Against the Tutsi in Rwanda. Alongside him is his publisher, Damien Serieyx, head of Éditions du Toucan, a publishing house that released Onana’s controversial work. This trial, which also summons a host of historical witnesses, has sparked deep conversations about genocide denial, historical revisionism, and the lingering scars of the Genocide that claimed over a million Tutsi lives in just 100 days in 1994. Onana’s defense centers around his erroneous interpretation of the genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda 1994. In his book, Onana refers to the genocide in quotation marks, implying skepticism about its very nature. He argues that the genocide, as widely understood and legally recognized, is one of the “greatest scams in the history of the 20th century.” For Onana, the Rwandan conflict and the massacres that took place are not analogous to the genocide of Jews during the Holocaust, an inflammatory comparison that echoes some of the most troubling rhetoric employed by denialists worldwide. Onana’s central claims are twofold. First, he casts doubt on the notion of a premeditated plan by the Hutu regime to exterminate the Tutsi population. Second, he advances the theory that the violence was more a result of spontaneous anger and reciprocal massacres between Hutus and Tutsis rather than a systematic campaign of extermination. This attempt to reframe the genocide as an outburst of uncontrollable violence between ethnic groups has been a hallmark of denialist rhetoric since the end of the genocide, one that seeks to diminish the Hutu-led government's culpability. The book in question also introduces a dangerous dichotomy, pitting the genocide of the Tutsis against the Holocaust, a tactic that many denialists have used to downplay atrocities. This relativization of mass killings is designed to create doubt, employing statements such as “the conflict and the massacres in Rwanda have nothing to do with the genocide of the Jews.” The Holocaust, as noted by Philippe Hochmann, an expert called to testify during the trial, is often used by revisionists like Onana to make arguments against the genocide of the Tutsis. By saying, “I do not deny, but...,” revisionists like Onana adopt a familiar strategy: they acknowledge deaths but deny the existence of a concerted plan to commit genocide, as seen with Onana’s repeated references to supposed spontaneous anger. In Rwanda’s case, Onana and others like him argue that the violence erupted in the aftermath of the assassination of then-President Juvénal Habyarimana, whose plane was shot down on April 6, 1994, by members of his own regime. This version of events, however, ignores decades of Hutu Power ideology that had been fermenting genocidal hatred and meticulously planning the extermination of the Tutsi minority. It disregards evidence, including UN reports, eyewitness testimonies, and historical archives, that document a campaign orchestrated by the Hutu elite to exterminate the Tutsi population. Operation Turquoise and France’s role Much of the current trial also revolves around Operation Turquoise, a French military intervention launched in June 1994 at the height of the genocide. Operation Turquoise remains a highly controversial episode, particularly because France had long supported the Hutu regime responsible for the genocide. Onana’s work presents a favorable narrative of the French operation, describing it as a humanitarian effort aimed at saving lives. However, many historians and survivors argue that the operation was designed not to protect Tutsis, but to shield the genocidal Hutu government as it fled from the advancing Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), led by Paul Kagame. One of the witnesses called by Onana’s defense is General Jean-Claude Lafourcade, who commanded Operation Turquoise. Lafourcade, while not denying the genocide, paints a picture of the operation as one that saved nearly 10,000 Tutsis and more than two million Hutus fleeing the RPF, which he portrays as a ruthless force pursuing the fleeing population. This narrative is problematic, as it omits the fact that among the Hutu refugees were key leaders of the genocide who incited the exodus and planned to regroup for revenge. Lafourcade’s testimony, along with that of other defense witnesses like Johan Swinnen, the former Belgian ambassador to Rwanda, serves to reinforce the narrative that the genocide was not planned. Swinnen, while acknowledging that there were lists of Tutsis to be killed and weapons caches for the genocidal militias, insists there was no definitive planning of the genocide. Instead, he claims that the genocide emerged spontaneously following the assassination of Habyarimana. This line of argumentation seeks to downplay the years of preparation and hateful propaganda by the Hutu regime, painting the genocide as a reactionary event rather than a meticulously orchestrated campaign. Nazi and Hutu power apologists Hochmann’s testimony during the trial highlights the well-established tactics of denialism, drawing comparisons to Holocaust denial and its early proponents, such as a French art critique and journalist, Maurice Bardèche—one of the first to downplay the Nazi atrocities by claiming, “I do not defend Germany,” while his work did exactly that. Hochmann explains that the denial of the genocide of the Tutsis follows a similar pattern. Denialists, while not denying deaths, reject the idea of a concerted plan to annihilate the Tutsi minority. They instead emphasize “spontaneous anger” or the idea of “reciprocal massacres,” suggesting that the violence was mutual rather than one-sided. This rhetoric is dangerous because it distorts the historical record and undermines the legal and moral recognition of genocide. By suggesting that the Tutsi were equally responsible for the violence or that the killings were merely acts of spontaneous rage, denialists attempt to rewrite history in favor of the perpetrators. This strategy seeks to absolve the Hutu regime of the calculated and deliberate nature of their crimes, shifting the blame onto the victims themselves or suggesting that both sides are equally culpable. Joseph Matata, another witness for the defense, exemplifies this confusion. While initially identifying himself as a Tutsi, Matata later claims to come from a mixed marriage, further muddling his testimony. He presents an incoherent narrative that quotes a Tutsi cleric allegedly boasting about the supposed art of Tutsi deception. Such rhetoric echoes the perilous propaganda used by Hutu extremists before and during the genocide, which portrayed Tutsis as cunning manipulators who posed an existential threat to the Hutu majority. The larger implications of the trial Denial facilitates a dangerous cycle. It absolves perpetrators of guilt, rewrites history to minimize their crimes, and ensures that genocidal ideologies can survive in society. The refusal to acknowledge the truth of what happened allows genocidaires to maintain their hateful beliefs, ensuring that the poison of dehumanization continues to seep into public consciousness. In Rwanda, this denial is not just an insult to the memory of the victims, but an existential threat to future peace. It is why the fight against genocide denial is not merely a historical issue but a battle for the future, one that seeks to break the cycle of violence and ensure that genocidal ideologies are never given the opportunity to flourish again. The trial of Charles Onana and Damien Serieyx is not just about the denial of the Genocide against the Tutsi; it is part of a larger battle against historical reinterpretation and the dangerous consequences it has for truth, justice, and reconciliation. Genocide denial is a form of hate speech that fuels ongoing tensions and can incite further violence, as it prevents societies from coming to terms with their past and healing from trauma. In France, the country’s role in the genocide against the Tutsi has been a topic of heated debate, particularly in light of France’s close ties to the Hutu-Power regime. Operation Turquoise, while often framed as a humanitarian intervention, remains one of the most scandalous aspects of France’s foreign policy in Africa. The trial also exposes the moral and political contradictions of French involvement in Rwanda, with key witnesses struggling to reconcile their defense of France’s actions with the undeniable fact that many of those the operation sought to protect were the very architects of genocide. At its core, the prosecution of Onana and Serieyx represents a stand against the continued spread of denialist storylines that seek to distort the truth about one of the most horrific genocides in modern history. In Rwanda, where the legacy of the genocide continues to shape the political and social landscape, denialism remains a profound challenge. Survivors, many of whom live alongside those who perpetrated the genocide, face the added burden of seeing the history of their suffering manipulated and erased by revisionists like Onana. As the trial progresses, it will be crucial to see how the French judicial system addresses the broader implications of genocide denial and whether this case will set a precedent for holding revisionists accountable. For the victims and survivors of the Genocide Against the Tutsi, the fight for truth and recognition is far from over. This trial is a significant step in that ongoing struggle to ensure that history is not rewritten by those who would deny the very atrocities that defined it.
