In 1994, nearly 800,000 people were murdered in Rwanda in just about one hundred days. Most were Tutsi. Many were moderate Hutu. They were hacked to death with machetes, beaten with clubs, shot, burned, hunted in churches and schools where they believed they were safe. It was one of the fastest, most efficient genocides in human history.
And much of it was organized, directed, and energized not by secret military orders or shadowy conspiracies—but by a radio station.
Radio Télévision Libre des Mille Collines, known as RTLM, did not simply report the genocide. It helped create it.
To understand Rwanda in 1994, you must understand RTLM. And to understand RTLM, you must confront one of the most damning truths of modern history: the genocide was not inevitable, and the world did not fail because it did not know. It failed because it chose not to act.
Rwanda Before the Killing
Rwanda is a small, densely populated country in central Africa. For decades before 1994, it carried deep scars from colonial manipulation. Under Belgian rule, ethnic categories—Hutu and Tutsi—were hardened, racialized, and weaponized. Identity cards labeled people permanently. Political power oscillated violently. Grievances accumulated.
By the early 1990s, Rwanda was tense but not doomed. A civil war between the Hutu-led government and the Tutsi-led Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) had already displaced people and created fear. Yet peace talks were ongoing. A fragile agreement, the Arusha Accords, had been signed. UN peacekeepers were deployed under a mission called UNAMIR, led by Canadian Lieutenant-General Roméo Dallaire.
The genocide did not erupt from chaos. It was planned.
The Birth of RTLM: Hate With a Microphone
RTLM began broadcasting in 1993. On the surface, it sounded modern, energetic, even fun. It played popular music. The hosts joked, laughed, used slang. It appealed especially to young Hutu men.
But beneath the humor was poison.
RTLM relentlessly portrayed Tutsi as enemies, invaders, traitors, and cockroaches. They were blamed for economic hardship, political instability, and the civil war. The language was dehumanizing by design. When you call people insects long enough, killing them begins to feel like sanitation rather than murder.
This was not random hate speech. It was coordinated propaganda.
Broadcasters named names. They identified where people lived. They instructed listeners on how to kill efficiently. They praised those who participated. They mocked those who hesitated.
RTLM did not just incite violence—it guided it in real time.
When roadblocks went up, RTLM told listeners where to set them. When people tried to hide, RTLM revealed their locations. When militias faltered, RTLM shamed them back into action.
The radio became a weapon more effective than guns.
“Cut the Tall Trees”
One of the most chilling phrases broadcast repeatedly was “cut the tall trees.” It was code. Tutsi were stereotyped as taller than Hutu. The phrase transformed mass murder into a metaphor, making it sound like agricultural work rather than genocide.
Listeners did not misunderstand.
They picked up machetes.
They went door to door.
They killed neighbors they had lived beside for years.
And all the while, the radio played on.
April 6, 1994: The Spark
On April 6, 1994, the plane carrying Rwandan President Juvénal Habyarimana was shot down. Within hours, roadblocks appeared. Death squads mobilized. Lists were activated.
The genocide began almost immediately.
RTLM went into overdrive.
This speed alone should have been proof to the world that what followed was not spontaneous ethnic rage. It was a coordinated extermination campaign waiting for a trigger.
Roméo Dallaire: The Man Who Tried to Stop It
Lieutenant-General Roméo Dallaire arrived in Rwanda with a mandate that was fatally weak. UNAMIR was authorized to monitor peace, not enforce it. His troops were lightly armed. His rules of engagement were restrictive. His warnings were ignored.
Months before the genocide, Dallaire received intelligence about weapons caches and extermination plans. He requested permission to seize the weapons. The UN said no.
As the killings began, Dallaire begged for reinforcements. He asked for authorization to intervene. He requested permission to jam RTLM’s broadcasts.
The UN refused.
The United States, still traumatized by the deaths of soldiers in Somalia, wanted no involvement. Belgium withdrew its troops after ten Belgian peacekeepers were murdered. Other nations followed.
Instead of sending more troops, the UN reduced UNAMIR’s force from about 2,500 to roughly 270 soldiers—during an active genocide.
The message to the killers was unmistakable.
No one is coming.
Jamming the Radio: The Option the World Rejected
Perhaps the most unforgivable decision was the refusal to jam RTLM.
Technically, it was possible. Western powers had the equipment. The radio transmitters were known. Even a partial disruption would have saved lives. Survivors later testified that without RTLM’s guidance, many attacks would not have occurred or would have been far less coordinated.
But officials hesitated.
Some argued that jamming a radio station violated free speech. Others claimed it might set a precedent. Some said it was too complicated. Others simply did not care enough to push the issue.
While diplomats debated principles, people were being slaughtered in churches.
Free speech became a shield for mass murder.
“Shake Hands with the Devil”
After the genocide, Roméo Dallaire wrote Shake Hands with the Devil, a memoir that remains one of the most devastating accounts of moral failure ever recorded. The title comes from a phrase he used to describe negotiating with the architects of genocide—men who smiled, joked, and spoke calmly while organizing slaughter.
Dallaire was forced to interact with killers because diplomacy demanded it. He was ordered to remain neutral in the face of evil. He watched children butchered while being told intervention was “not his mandate.”
The psychological toll was immense. Dallaire later suffered from severe PTSD and attempted suicide multiple times. He has said that the memories never leave him—not the bodies, not the screams, not the knowledge that so much could have been prevented.
His story exposes a brutal truth: neutrality in the face of genocide is not moral restraint. It is complicity.
The Scale of the Horror
By the time the RPF defeated the genocidal government and ended the killing, approximately 800,000 people were dead. Some estimates are higher. Entire communities were erased.
The speed was staggering. Rwanda killed a larger percentage of its population in three months than the Nazis did in years.
Most of the killing was done not by professional soldiers, but by civilians—teachers, farmers, shopkeepers—mobilized through fear, propaganda, and social pressure.
RTLM provided the soundtrack.
Justice, But Too Late
After the genocide, the international community scrambled to respond—belatedly. The International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) prosecuted several RTLM broadcasters. For the first time in history, media figures were convicted for genocide.
The court recognized a crucial truth: words can be weapons.
RTLM executives and announcers were found guilty of direct and public incitement to genocide. The verdicts set an important legal precedent. But they did not bring back the dead.
Justice arrived after the graves were full.
What Rwanda Teaches the World
The Rwandan genocide shattered comfortable myths.
It showed that genocide does not require ancient hatred. It can be manufactured quickly with the right tools.
It showed that modern technology—even something as simple as radio—can become a mass killing instrument.
It showed that international institutions designed to prevent atrocities can fail catastrophically when political will is absent.
And it showed that knowing is not the same as acting.
The world knew.
The world watched.
The world did nothing.
RTLM’s Legacy in the Age of Social Media
RTLM is not just history. It is a warning.
Today, we live in a world where information spreads faster and farther than ever. Hate speech travels instantly. Dehumanization can go viral. Algorithms amplify outrage. Lies travel faster than corrections.
RTLM was a prototype.
It demonstrated how media can transform fear into violence, neighbors into enemies, and ideology into bloodshed. The platform has changed, but the mechanism has not.
The question Rwanda leaves us with is not whether genocide can happen again.
It is whether we will recognize it in time—and whether we will act when recognition demands courage.
The Uncomfortable Truth
The most disturbing aspect of Rwanda is not the brutality of the killers. It is the normalcy of the decision-makers who chose inaction.
No secret cabals were required. No lack of intelligence. Just indifference, risk aversion, and bureaucratic paralysis.
RTLM shouted its intentions into the airwaves.
Roméo Dallaire sent cables.
NGOs warned.
Journalists reported.
And still, nothing.
Remembering Is Not Enough
Every April, Rwanda commemorates the genocide. The world says “never again.” Memorials are built. Speeches are given.
But remembrance without responsibility is hollow.
The lesson of RTLM is not just about Rwanda. It is about how easily words become weapons when power is unchecked and humanity is stripped away. It is about how silence can be as deadly as hate.
And it is about the cost of refusing to “shake hands with the devil” only when it is convenient.
Because in 1994, the devil was not hidden.
He was on the radio.
And the world let him speak.