This week, the world's eyes will once again be on Rwanda. April 6th marks 30 years since the start of the 1994 Rwandan genocide, one of the most horrific events in modern history. Close in time, but not unrelated, it has been over a year since I left Rwanda, returned to the United States, and was released after 939 days in captivity.
I have yet to talk in detail about what my years in Rwandan prisons were like, or the daily realities of Rwandan political prisoners who, like me, are imprisoned for exercising their freedom of expression. . It took many years of physical and emotional recovery, and I was finally able to put pen to paper again. I expect the healing process to continue for the rest of my life.
The experience of being kidnapped, tortured, imprisoned, and silenced by those I spoke out against is indescribable. Many times during my imprisonment, I believed that I would be forever silenced and that I would never see my wife, children, or grandchildren again. But today I am a free man. And as we face this important and difficult juncture, I am grateful to be able to join my fellow Rwandans in considering what we can make of this terrifying chapter in our shared history. Masu.
For me, and for many Rwandans, the 1994 genocide remains the focus of my life. For him in 1994, the months from April to July were a time of incomprehensible fear. This beautiful country has been dragged into hell by brutal violence and murder on a scale previously unimaginable. At some points in the crisis, as many as 10,000 people were being slaughtered a day, mainly with machetes and other crude weapons. Even 30 years later, and even for those of us who witnessed the killing firsthand, it is impossible to process the enormity of that depravity and loss.
At the time, I was the manager of the Hotel des Mille Collines in Kigali, Rwanda's capital, and I was trying to protect not only my young family but also the 1,268 people sheltering within the hotel's walls. Their courage and dance with the macabre death of our daily lives became the backdrop for the 2004 film Hotel Rwanda. The film showed us on screen compromising, negotiating, and pleading with potential executioners to keep the waiting militia at bay.
This experience is still difficult for each of us to relive. I'm grateful to have survived. I am also grateful for two personal lessons I learned from surviving this atrocity. Number one: never, never, never give up. This is what sustained me when I was kidnapped by Rwandan intelligence operatives in August 2020 and unjustly detained in Rwanda on suspicion of terrorism and other crimes, along with others critical of the current government. Second: Words are the most effective weapon when faced with those who seek to oppress and victimize others.
Both of these lessons remain with me today, as the world considers the current situation in Rwanda, 30 years after genocide brought humanity to its knees.
Rwanda is now seen by many countries as an important global partner, one that has courageously rebuilt itself into a prosperous and inclusive modern society. But it is becoming increasingly difficult to turn a blind eye to the imprisonment, even disappearances and killings of those who criticize or challenge the Rwandan government's authority. Rwanda's civil society today is largely devoid of independent journalists, human rights activists, and opposition political parties. This is not a reconciled or inclusive society. It is an authoritarian state.
The rest of the world needs to stop turning a blind eye. As an international community, we are facing the rise of authoritarianism and the cooptation of institutions intended to support fundamental freedoms such as freedom of the press, speech, and association. Around the world, politics is used as a means to foster division, and in some cases violence, to gain or maintain power. We continue to see that the fundamental human rights we have fought so hard for are only upheld by certain people in certain circumstances. And, as is often the case, the most vulnerable members of society end up paying the heaviest price. Rwanda today is not immune to these problems, lacking strong democratic institutions and free and fair elections.
I believe it is our role to speak up when the situation calls for it, to curb abuses of power, and to resist the erosion of fundamental rights. seek to reduce civil space and fundamental freedoms for their own political interests, choose to incite violence for profit, and openly engage in brutal wars for the sake of material wealth. It is essential to speak up for people. This is our job, even if speaking out puts us directly under fire, as it did for me and my family.
Thirty years after the Rwandan genocide, there is still room for hope. We see young Rwandans around the world continuing to advocate for true reconciliation and building a democratic Rwanda, despite the obvious risks. We can see the courage and unyielding determination of the women of Iran and Afghanistan and those who support them. We see the people of Myanmar, Ukraine, Syria and Sudan in open resistance against oppression and oppression. Their courage reminds us that it is our collective duty to oppose authoritarian regimes and policies and promote equality and, above all, peace.
This is my prayer and hope for Rwanda and beyond for the next 30 years.
Paul Rusesabagina was the manager of Kigali's Hôtel des Mille Collines during the Rwandan genocide, and his story was later told in the film Hotel Rwanda. He was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President George W. Bush in 2005. He is president and founder of his Rusesa Bagina Foundation in Rwanda.
The Times is committed to publishing Diversity of characters To the editor. Please let us know what you think about this article or article.here are some chip. And this is our email: letters@nytimes.com.
Follow the New York Times Opinion section. Facebook, Instagram, tick tock, whatsapp, X and thread.