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The 1994 Rwandan genocide marked a turning point not only in the history of that African country, but also for the international system and its means to prevent atrocities and hold perpetrators accountable. In just around 100 days, between April and July of that year, extremists from the Hutu ethnic community killed more than 800,000 people, the vast majority of them members of the Tutsi minority. The massacre unfolded before the eyes of the international community which, despite warnings from civil society and the initial presence of a peacekeeping mission, did not intervene decisively to stop it. That failure, alongside similar ones throughout the 1990s, subsequently drove the development of the Responsibility to Protect doctrine and the creation of the International Criminal Court. In this way, the Rwandan genocide left an enduring legacy for international efforts to protect civilians.
That legacy feels especially relevant today, as human rights are increasingly pushed to the margins of international politics. The universality of human rights means they belong to every human being, which is why any credible commitment to them requires their defense at the international level. Yet under the Milei government, Argentina has abandoned its traditional role as a champion of international human rights law and an active voice in multilateral forums — a role born, precisely, from its own “Nunca Más” (Never Again) legacy following the crimes of the last military dictatorship. So, Argentina did not participate in Rwanda’s most recent Universal Periodic Review (UPR) at the UN Human Rights Council. With that silence, it turns its back on everyone in Rwanda who wishes to speak freely, engage in pluralistic political life, and enjoy the protection of their fundamental rights and freedoms. Because Rwanda’s post-genocide transition did not lead to democratization.
Political power instead remained in the hands of the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF): a group, military in origin, that launched the Rwandan civil war (1990–1994), brought the genocide to an end, and subsequently turned into a political party. Its founder and leader, Paul Kagame, has governed the country since 2000 and is credited with achievements in reconstruction, economic development, and stability, which built on the RPF’s internal cohesion and relatively low levels of corruption. But that emphasis on cohesion and consensus comes at a steep price: it leaves no room for critical voices or open, pluralistic debate about history, memory, and transitional justice. Pluralistic politics more broadly are rejected by invoking the memory of the brief multiparty period of the 1990s, which helped give rise to extremist parties and the violent, genocidal atmosphere that followed. The narratives of unity that were central to Rwanda’s reconciliation thus became the scaffolding for authoritarianism.
Rwanda’s laws on genocide ideology — designed to prevent and punish the kind of hate speech that fueled the 1994 killings — have thus been criticized for suppressing freedom of expression and eliminating political opposition. Opposition leader Victoire Ingabire, for instance, was arrested and sentenced in 2010 to 15 years in prison on charges of genocide ideology and terrorism, after declaring her candidacy in that year’s presidential election. She was released after eight years but cannot run for office again or leave the country, including to visit her family abroad. Against this backdrop of repression of opposition figures, critical journalists, and free expression generally, Kagame has been reelected repeatedly, most recently with 99% of the vote in 2024. International indices consistently reflect this reality: V-Dem classifies Rwanda as an electoral autocracy, the Bertelsmann Transformation Index as a hard-line autocracy, Freedom House as not free, and CIVICUS rates its civic space as repressed.
Behind the democratic façade that lends the Kigali government a semblance of legitimacy, civic organizing is systematically suppressed to limit political participation and freedom of association, and to keep Kagame and the RPF in power. Political parties face significant barriers to formal registration; Ingabire’s party, Dalfa-Umurinzi, has never been able to register or contest elections. Opposition political activity also carries serious personal risk: since 2017, several opposition figures have died or disappeared under suspicious circumstances, and since June 2025, Ingabire and at least 15 members of her party have been arbitrarily detained. Civil society organizations face similar constraints. Despite the constitution explicitly ruling out prior governmental authorization for forming such groups, organizations must, in practice, align their activities with the government’s development priorities. Those working on governance, human rights, or security face particularly steep bureaucratic obstacles.
Freedom of expression is equally curtailed. Opposition politicians, journalists, and online content creators alike are exposed to vague legislation criminalizing the spread of false information, routinely wielded to silence criticism of public officials. Documented cases include the intimidation, detention, and imprisonment of journalists, as well as disappearances and deaths under suspicious circumstances. The result is a media landscape dominated by pro-government narratives, with some television and radio channels retreating entirely into music and sports programming to stay out of trouble. Many media workers have opted for exile, though even that offers no guarantee of safety.
Kigali’s repressive reach extends well beyond Rwanda’s borders. Through transnational repression, the government systematically silences dissent abroad, violating the rights of both the Rwandan diaspora and their relatives back home. A 2023 Human Rights Watch report documents killings, kidnappings, enforced disappearances, and physical assaults against Rwandans living overseas, and shows how Rwanda exploits international legal mechanisms, such as Interpol red notices, as tools of extraterritorial repression. These practices reveal a government that is acutely sensitive to its international image and reputation. After all, Rwanda receives substantial development aid and markets itself as a reliable partner on the world stage. That dependency should, however, give other states some leverage to attach human rights conditions to the relationship.
This is where the UPR process becomes important. The recommendations made to Rwanda during its review before the UN Human Rights Council can be a meaningful instrument for advancing human rights in the country. During the interactive dialogue on January 21, 2026, one hundred states put forward a total of 286 recommendations. Around 39 of these addressed civic space and the freedoms of expression, association, and peaceful assembly, submitted by 29 countries including Australia, Costa Rica, Slovenia, France, Greece, Indonesia, Ireland, Lesotho, Liechtenstein, Mexico, and Sierra Leone. Spain and Portugal additionally called for full political participation and free and fair elections. Argentina, however, did not participate.
This absence from the HRC is not a neutral stance, but an abandonment of human rights as a universal principle. More concretely, it abandons the people who speak truth to power, who risk everything to defend their rights and freedoms. Fifty years after Argentina’s last military coup, the country no longer defends international human rights law or the mechanisms built to uphold it. Rwanda’s history and the global legacy it produced should, however, inspire a foreign policy of solidarity and commitment to human rights.
