2025 Rwanda Delegation— Renata Tumusabire
Criminal Justice ‘25
I’m returning to Rwanda because the experience last year left a deep impact on me personally, academically, and spiritually. Rwanda’s story of resilience, healing, and unity continues to inspire me, and I feel called to go back to deepen my understanding of how a nation can rise from unimaginable tragedy with grace and strength.
As someone with Rwandan heritage, this journey is also deeply personal. It’s about reconnecting with my roots, honoring my ancestors, and engaging with the communities that carry so much wisdom and strength. I’m also returning to continue the conversations and relationships we began to listen, to learn, and to grow together.
Rwanda has taught me what hope in action looks like. I want to carry more of that with me and share it through my studies, my work, and my everyday life. This isn’t just a return it’s a continuation of a journey I feel deeply connected to.
Week 1 Introduction
This week, I encountered the most challenging emotional and spiritual experience of my life. Standing on the land where the blood of my people was shed, I was asked to consider something almost unimaginable: living alongside those who committed atrocities against you. The Rwandan Genocide is not just a historical event—it is deeply personal. My visit to the Nyamata memorial and a reconciliation village, left me with more questions than answers. But they also sparked a new sense of purpose within me as a criminal justice student.
I saw and heard things that many people—especially those who have never been here—could not begin to believe. Listening to stories told by survivors about the dead and standing in the very places where unimaginable things happened forced me to feel more deeply than I was ready for. It’s even harder knowing that my own family members might be buried here—and not knowing for sure breaks my heart again and again.
The genocide in Rwanda wasn’t just another genocide. It was fueled by systematic propaganda that pitted two communities—who had once been neighbors, lovers, and friends—against each other. That betrayal is what cuts the deepest. It was not random violence; it was calculated, manipulated, and ultimately embraced by people who once shared bread with their victims.
Echoes from Nyamata
Before 1994 we were good neighbors,
we were lovers,
but because of what you heard,
all of a sudden you hated me,
you hated my heart,
you hated my children, who were innocent.
They came in churches, bullets blazing,
saw no gender, no size,
saw no color—
all they saw were cockroaches and monsters.
But we were just family… right?
Or was it all pretend?
Have you always hated me secretly?
…………..
You can hear their echoes of cries,
test their fear,
touch their pain that still lingers in the air.
At Nyamata, I broke.
I stood before open caskets that held not just bones,
but broken dreams.
I saw the small clothes still stained—
the Sunday best, now eternal.
I read notes left by the living for the dead,
scribbled prayers folded with shaking hands,
“Mother, I miss you.”
“Brother, I hope heaven is softer than this place.”
One read, “I forgive you for dying on me.”
And I could no longer stand.
I crumbled where others had knelt.
Tears that I had locked away years ago
escaped without permission.
Not just for the ones who died—
but for the ones who had to live after.
How do you stitch up a heart torn in half?
How do you speak to bones and silence,
and not go mad with the weight of unanswered questions?
We were just neighbors,
just people,
but now we are witnesses—
to memory, to sorrow,
to survival.
Reflections from the Reconciliation Visit
Today, I went to a reconciliation village—where survivors of the genocide live side by side with the very people who committed the crimes. The experience challenged everything I believed about justice and forgiveness. The coexistence I witnessed is a living testimony to the Rwandan philosophy of Ubuntu—“I am because you are.” I admire the intention. “Mistakes are not corrected by other mistakes.”
Yet I struggle.
I still question whether these acts of forgiveness are genuine. Some perpetrators confessed to gain reduced sentences, or social acceptance. So how do we know if their remorse is true? Is forgiveness truly for the victim, or is it for the peace of the one who seeks it? When someone says, “They prayed and asked God for forgiveness,” it sometimes feels like a selfish act—done for their own soul, not because they’re ready to carry the pain of what they’ve done.
Critical Questions I Still Carry
Did they confess because they were sorry, or because they wanted the benefits of reconciliation?
Can we ever really know if remorse is genuine?
Was the hatred always there, just waiting for an excuse to be exercised?
If you once borrowed sugar from your neighbor, what changed that made you capable of slaughtering them?
Was the forgiveness a faith-based decision—for peace of mind, and not because the perpetrator actually deserved it?
These are the questions that haunted me, and I asked them not to judge, but to understand. I don’t believe reconciliation is easy. I don’t even believe it’s fully happened. I still carry doubt that true healing can exist after something so horrible. But what I do believe is that listening—without judgment—is a necessary first step.
The U.S. criminal justice system could learn from Rwanda’s example of reconciliation and rehabilitation. In the U.S., our system is largely punitive. We invest more in prisons than in restoring human dignity. Rwanda teaches us that justice is not only about punishment, but about the healing of broken hearts, the rebuilding of trust, and the regaining of dignity—from both sides.
As a criminal justice student—and a Rwandan—I can’t ignore the power in what I witnessed. I’m beginning to see a future where I could be a part of that change. I want to pursue a career where I help bring ideas like these into the justice system in the United States. Maybe we can move away from mass incarceration and toward something more human, more sustainable, and more compassionate.
Final Thoughts
I still don’t fully believe reconciliation is complete here. But I now accept that forgiveness—real, difficult forgiveness—is a process. And I believe the world can learn from Rwanda’s courage to try.
These are my personal thoughts and beliefs and feelings. I am not here to pass judgment—only God can do that. Last year, I had so much hatred for both sides. I refused to believe that it could be that easy to move past something so traumatic. But this year, I challenged myself to listen without judgment and listen as an outsider. And so I did.
I don’t know if I can ever fully understand it, but I am willing to keep listening. I want to believe in a world where survivors can heal and dignity can be restored. Rwanda may not be perfect—but it is a living lesson. And the world should be paying attention.