General Kagame’s “Go to Hell” Speech: A Moment of Mourning Turned Into A Theatre Of Madness

By: Dr Theogene Rudasingwa

A Note to General Kagame

I have listened to many of your speeches over the decades—some I wrote myself, others I helped shape in moments of hope, triumph, and solemn remembrance. I have stood beside you as a fellow soldier, ambassador, advisor, speechwriter, and, for a time, as your chief of staff. But never—not even in the darkest hours of our nation’s recovery—have I seen you appear so shamelessly small, so unhinged, so publicly insecure, as you did during your recent outburst at the 31st commemoration of the genocide against the Tutsi.

I have listened to many of your speeches over the decades—some I wrote myself, others I helped shape in moments of hope, triumph, and solemn remembrance. I have stood beside you as a fellow soldier, ambassador, advisor, speechwriter, and, for a time, as your chief of staff. But never—not even in the darkest hours of our nation’s recovery—have I seen you appear so shamelessly small, so unhinged, so publicly insecure, as you did during your recent outburst at the 31st commemoration of the genocide against the Tutsi.

I am embarrassed, on behalf of all Rwandan people, that you should be called a Rwandan leader at a time when wisdom and discernment should be the qualifying credentials to lead.

April is the month when Rwanda bleeds afresh. It is when we, as a people, gather in sorrow and memory to remember the horror of 1994—not to re-traumatize or weaponize our grief, but to affirm our humanity, to recommit to our collective vow: Never Again. It is a time when leadership should rise to its highest calling—to comfort, unite, and guide a wounded nation toward healing and peace. But instead of leading your people in mourning, instead of binding the wounds of survivors and summoning the humility such a day demands, you took the podium and declared war: not against those who planned or deny the genocide, but against your critics, your erstwhile allies, and the very international community that has indulged, defended, and enabled your rule for nearly thirty years.

“Go to hell,” you spat at the West—not once, but as a mantra. You urged Rwandans to “itch for a fight,” to choose death over dignity, to die fighting instead of “dying like flies.” You conscripted the memories of the dead into your rage and cast the living as your shield. You turned our sacred space of remembrance into a theatre of fearmongering and defiance. That was not the voice of a statesman. That was not the voice of a leader grounded in truth or strength. That was the voice of a man unraveling, cornered by his own demons, terrified of reckoning.

Let me speak plainly, General Kagame. You have lost the last drop of any moral mandate to govern this wounded nation. Rwanda is not your possession. Its pain is not your weapon. The genocide does not belong to you. You were never its sole survivor, nor are you its only custodian.

To lead a nation scarred by atrocity, you must be a wounded healer who dares to acknowledge suffering on all sides, one who fosters truth, not fear; justice, not vengeance; reconciliation, not recrimination—peace with neighbors, not war and plunder.

A true leader does not pit survivors against the world or citizens against imagined enemies. A true leader does not tell his people that death is their best destiny. Rwanda deserves better than to be spoken to as cannon fodder in your war of political survival and plundering other African nations. Our youth deserve better than a narrative of endless war. They deserve a future grounded in peace, not paranoia.

Rwanda needs a path forward where memory is honored with dignity, not distorted for drama. Where we remember together, acknowledging the pain Rwandans inflicted on Rwandans. Where we walk together in restorative justice, healing, and truth-telling. Where we build bridges of peace with neighbors, not burn them down in rhetorical flames.

You chose fear over faith, rage over reflection. In doing so, you revealed that you no longer carry the spiritual authority, moral compass, or emotional sobriety to guide this nation. Rwanda is now a state without a statesman, a people forced to grieve under the shadow of a man who confuses power with wisdom and loyalty with silence.

Rwandans will not be silent. Not in the face of such betrayal. The souls we remember in April demand truth. And the living who remain deserve a future free from your fear.

Step aside, General Kagame, not for the West, not for your critics, but for Rwanda. For its dignity. For its healing. For its peace.