Imagine Adolf Hitler sipping at a cup of tea in Kigali. Or, why not in Kabgayi! Sounds bizarre, right? Well, not to the ideologues of Rwanda's dark history. It seems the spectre of European fascism found a fertile tropical home, thanks to the Catholic-educated élites like Gregoire Kayibanda, whose warnings about the Tutsi echoed none other than Hitler’s own grim proclamations about Jews. Enter Theoneste Bagosora, one of the very few key architects of the 1994 Genocide Against the Tutsi. In late 1995, he sought to retroactively justify the indefensible in his document ‘President Habyarimana's Assassination or The Tutsi Operation to Regain Power in Rwanda Using Force.’ Bagosora lays bare the rationale for the genocidal ideology that culminated in the Genocide in 1994. Central to his justification is a recurring theme: that Tutsi refugees and their descendants, in seeking justice and a return to their homeland, were the architects of their own destruction. The irony? Bagosora’s reasoning is a Frankensteinian amalgamation of colonial-era racial science, Hitler’s anti-Semitic vitriol, and Kayibanda’s unholy fusion of the two. What he calls a warning was, in reality, an outright threat of annihilation—a policy that culminated in one of the most horrific genocides of the 20th century. Kayibanda: Rwanda’s Hitler in a cassock To understand Bagosora’s justification, we must revisit the roots of genocidal ideology in Rwanda. In his twisted narrative, Bagosora invoked Kayibanda's chilling 1963 message to Rwandan “emigrants” and refugees abroad—who had fled pogroms orchestrated by his regime, as a moral compass for mass murder. In his infamous message of March 11, 1963, President Gregoire Kayibanda proclaimed: Assuming you managed to blast your way into Kigali, just imagine the chaos of which you would be the first victims. (...) That would be the definitive, abrupt end of the Tutsi race. This was not a mere rhetorical flourish but a deliberate threat designed to instill fear and enforce submission. The language is eerily reminiscent of Adolf Hitler’s Reichstag speech of January 30, 1939: “If international Jewish financiers inside and outside Europe should succeed in plunging the nations once more into a world war, then the result will not be the...victory of Jewry but the annihilation of the Jewish race in Europe.” These unnerving statements, delivered under the guise of caution, were no mere warning. They were threats, and promises of annihilation—against Jews and Tutsi in different times. Both Kayibanda and Hitler couched their genocidal intentions in warnings about provocation. Both sought to position their respective ethnic or racial majorities as victims, while justifying preemptive violence against exposed minorities. The parallels are undeniable and are no coincidence. Kayibanda’s descent into fascist ideology was no accident. In the mid-1950s, he traveled to Europe on a Catholic Church scholarship to study journalism. While presumably learning the craft of reporting, Kayibanda absorbed the racial theories and nationalist fervor of postwar Europe—where the scars of Nazism were still raw. Rather than absorbing lessons of denazification, tolerance and reconciliation, Kayibanda appears to have drawn inspiration from Europe’s murkiest ideologies. By the time he returned to Rwanda, he was ready to apply these toxic lessons to local politics. His education bore bitter fruit in the form of the 1957 Bahutu Manifesto, a document that laid the groundwork for anti-Tutsi racial hatred. The 1957 Bahutu Manifesto, often hailed by Kayibanda’s supporters as a document of liberation, was in reality a blueprint for apartheid and genocide. Co-authored by Kayibanda and other Hutu extremists, the manifesto borrowed heavily from the pseudo-scientific racial theories propagated by Belgian colonialists and Catholic missionaries. It categorized Rwandans along racial lines, casting the Hutu as the oppressed majority and the Tutsi as foreign invaders. Two years later, in 1959—Kayibanda founded Party of the Hutu Emancipation Movement (PARMEHUTU), a political party that championed the so-called “Hutu Revolution” but whose name belied its true purpose: to institutionalize discrimination against Tutsi and lay the groundwork for their systematic extermination. Kayibanda’s 1963 warning was not an isolated outburst but part of a broader genocidal doctrine that began with the 1959 pogroms. These massacres, celebrated as the “Social Revolution,” displaced hundreds of thousands of Tutsi outside their country and set the stage for subsequent waves of violence. In November 1959, Kayibanda’s supporters, assisted by Belgian colonial powers, attacked Tutsi communities, killing thousands and forcing many into exile. The pattern repeated itself in 1963, when the Rwandan government used an alleged incursion by exiled Tutsi fighters as a pretext for mass killings. On Christmas Eve, Kayibanda’s regime launched a coordinated campaign of terror, slaughtering thousands of Tutsi civilians under the guise of “reprisals.” The message was clear: any attempt by the Tutsi to return to their homeland would be met with extermination. Kayibanda’s Doctrine of Extermination Fast-forward to 1994, and Theoneste Bagosora, a former Rwandan army colonel, assumes the mantle of chief apologist for genocide. In his document, Bagosora casts the Tutsi as provocateurs who “failed to heed warnings” and triggered their own demise. What it means, the December 28, 1993 arrival of RPF politicians in Kigali, escorted by a UNAMIR battalion, housed in the parliamentary building—was regarded as an intolerable provocation for Hutu extremists. To Bagosora and his type, the RPF’s adherence to the Arusha Peace Agreement was not a gesture of goodwill but a sinister plot to seize power. Bagosora’s logic hinges on a perverse reading of history. He cites Kayibanda’s 1963 message as prophetic, suggesting that the Tutsi’s refusal to remain exiled justified Hutu reprisals. This argument ignores the reality that the so-called “reprisals” were premeditated massacres, often incited by state-sponsored propaganda. By framing genocide as a defensive measure, Bagosora not only distorts history but also absolves himself and other perpetrators of responsibility. Bagosora’s reliance on Kayibanda’s rhetoric reveals the continuity of genocidal ideology in Rwanda. What began as colonial racial science evolved into a state-sanctioned policy of annihilation, culminating in the 1994 genocide. The Nazi connection The influence of European fascism on Rwandan politics cannot be overstated. Bagosora and Kayibanda’s ideology can best be described as tropical Nazism, a uniquely Rwandan adaptation of European fascism. The Bahutu Manifesto, often described as Rwanda’s Mein Kampf, framed the Tutsi as foreign invaders and existential threats to Hutu identity. Like Hitler, they viewed ethnic purity as the cornerstone of national identity. Like Hitler, they believed that the extermination of a minority group was not only justified but necessary for the survival of the majority. The genocides of 1959, 1963, and 1994 were not isolated incidents but part of a broader continuum of state-sponsored violence. Each wave of killing was preceded by warnings—thinly veiled threats that sought to blame the victims for their own deaths. Even in 1994, as the world looked on in horror, Bagosora and his allies continued to insist that the genocide was a defensive measure. They portrayed the Hutu as the victims of an international conspiracy, just as Kayibanda had done in 1963 and Hitler had done in 1939. Kayibanda’s Colonial/Catholic education further complicated matters. The terrible education, which wielded significant influence in Rwanda, played a key role in disseminating racist ideology. Missionaries reinforced the false dichotomy of Hutu as “indigenous” and Tutsi as “alien,” providing a theological veneer for ethnic cleansing. Mugesera: The river as a highway to death On November 22, 1992, Léon Mugesera addressed a rally in Kabaya with words that would later echo across Rwanda as a call to genocide. He addressed the Tutsi in Rwanda: “Your home is in Ethiopia,” he declared, “and we will send you back along the Nyabarongo River so you get there quickly.” This statement, at first glance, might seem like mere political hyperbole. But for those who understood Mugesera’s intent, it was a horrifying foreshadowing. The Nyabarongo River, which feeds into the Nile, would indeed become the vehicle for carrying thousands of Tutsi bodies. Mugesera’s speech transformed this river—a source of life—into a figurative deportation route, a grotesque symbol of his vision for a Rwanda purged of Tutsi. The language, veiled as a call to deportation, carried a sinister implication: the river wasn’t meant to transport living Tutsi. It was to become their watery grave. Mugesera's rhetoric stripped the Tutsi of their Rwandan identity, framing them as invaders who had no legitimate place in the nation. By painting the Tutsi as outsiders, he justified their eradication as not only permissible but necessary for the survival of Rwanda as a Hutu nation. For the record, the Nyabarongo was less a river and more a liquid conveyor belt of corpses during the genocide, feeding into the Akagera and eventually the Nile. A grim irony Mugesera would likely call efficiency. Kayibanda to Mugesera and Bagosora: A legacy of hate The rhetoric of Bagosora and Mugesera shared a common goal: erasing the Tutsi from Rwanda’s social fabric under the guise of a nationalist crusade. Bagosora's declaration that “the Tutsis are trouble” echoed Mugesera’s vision of a Rwanda purified of its so-called foreign invaders. The Tutsi were not neighbors, compatriots, or fellow humans—they were problems to be solved, preferably with machetes. Bagosora’s document is a scary aide memoire of how genocidal ideology endures and evolves. By invoking Kayibanda’s warning, Bagosora seeks to legitimize the 1994 genocide as a defensive act rather than the culmination of decades of state-sponsored hatred. This narrative not only distorts history but also perpetuates the cycle of denial and impunity. If Kayibanda was Rwanda’s Hitler, then Leon Mugesera and Bagosora were Rwanda’s Goebbels and Himmler, crafting propaganda to justify the unjustifiable. Their shared legacy is one of hatred, violence, and the systematic dehumanization of an entire people. And yet, Bagosora’s invocation of Kayibanda’s rhetoric exposes the absurdity of their ideology. After all, what kind of democracy threatens the extermination of an entire ethnic group? Fast forward to the 1990s, and Kayibanda’s disciple, Theoneste Bagosora, stood as a leading architect of the Genocide Against the Tutsi. His writings reveal a disquieting continuity in Rwanda’s genocidal ideology, one that tied the violence of 1994 directly to the warnings issued by Kayibanda decades earlier. Bagosora framed the Rwandan Patriotic Front’s (RPF) return to Kigali in December 1993 as a provocation, despite the fact that it was undertaken in accordance with the Arusha Peace Agreement. To Bagosora and his fellow genocidaires, the sight of Tutsi politicians entering the Rwandan Parliament under the protection of UNAMIR (United Nations Assistance Mission for Rwanda) was intolerable. On December 18, 2008 The Guardian published a story titled: 'If Tutsis died it was because the people were angry with them'. Journalist Chris McGreal, was quoting Theoneste Bagosora. The infamous architect of genocide dismissed the mass slaughter of Tutsi as a spontaneous eruption of justified anger. His argument? The victims had it coming, and besides, were they even dead? If that logic leaves you reeling, don’t worry—it’s just Bagosora's masterclass in the Orwellian art of blaming the victims while sharpening new weapons. During the 1994 Genocide Against the Tutsi, Bagosora was no mere passive observer. As a high-ranking military officer, he wielded both power and ideology like a conductor in a symphony of slaughter. Yet, in his interview, he smugly dismissed the atrocities: People say Bagosora did this or that, that I have the blood of the Tutsis on my hands. But where are all these people who were killed? If they died it is because they are rebels, or because the people were angry with them, he said. This statement exemplifies the genocidaire’s handbook of denial. First, invert reality—massacres become accidents, victims become aggressors. Then, sprinkle in victim-blaming to gaslight history. Finally, offer a terrifying encore: But it's true the Tutsis are trouble. They have taken over a Hutu country. We will fight them again until all the Tutsis are gone. Bagosora’s words ooze both arrogance and malice, laying bare the genocidal ideology that painted Tutsi existence as a threat. This rhetoric, strangely similar to that of Adolf Hitler's tirades against Jews, hinges on erasing humanity to justify extermination. In their eyes, the very existence of the Tutsi, let alone their participation in politics, was an existential threat to Hutu power. Thus, the genocidaires framed the RPF’s peaceful return as a prelude to war, conveniently ignoring their own decades of violence against the Tutsi. A comical farewell One might say that Bagosora and his predecessors were simply misheard. After all, who among us hasn’t resorted to mass murder as a form of self-defense? Surely, the Tutsi were being unreasonable when they refused to heed Kayibanda’s warning to remain exiled and invisible. And surely, the RPF was out of line for daring to return to their homeland under the terms of a peace agreement. Or perhaps, just perhaps, the genocidaires were not victims at all but architects of one of history’s most heinous crimes. Perhaps their warnings were not warnings at all but declarations of intent. And perhaps the world’s failure to hold these men accountable in the decades leading up to 1994 was not a failure of understanding but a failure of courage. Perhaps it is fitting to end with a relaxed twist. Imagine Bagosora and Kayibanda seated at a table in hell, sipping wine and debating whose warnings were more effective. “You paraphrased Hitler better than I did,” Kayibanda might quip. To which Bagosora, ever the military man, might reply: “Yes, but you laid the groundwork. I simply executed the plan.” As we reflect on the legacy of Bagosora and his ideological forebears, let us remember one thing: genocide is never justified, no matter how many warnings are issued. The tropical Nazis of Rwanda may have borrowed their rhetoric from Europe, but their crimes were entirely their own. And no amount of revisionism can change that fact. If there’s one thing Bagosora and his ilk have taught us, it’s that revisionism isn’t just denial—it’s a performance. And what a performance it is! Between blaming the victims, threatening future massacres, and claiming the genocide was merely an angry outburst, Bagosora crafted a narrative so absurd it would make even the most hardened conspiracy theorist blush. But here’s the twist: the world doesn’t need a Bagosora sequel. His legacy of hate and denial already permeates the rhetoric of modern-day genocide deniers. From academic charlatans to political propagandists, the script remains the same: blame the victims, rewrite the history, and sow seeds of division. History, of course, will not be so kind. For Kayibanda, Bagosora, Mugesera and their class, the only enduring legacy is one of shame—a cautionary tale of what happens when hatred is allowed to masquerade as patriotism. And for Rwanda, the lesson is clear: NEVER AGAIN. @TomNdahiro
