Rwanda is often and rightly held up as a model of post-conflict recovery. 32 years after the Genocide against the Tutsi, the country’s progress in rebuilding unity and social cohesion is undeniable.
The latest Rwanda National Unity Barometer reports levels of unity and reconciliation exceeding 95 percent. But numbers, however impressive, can obscure as much as they reveal.
Beneath these high levels of reported cohesion lies a more complex reality: Rwanda’s youth are not growing up in a post-conflict environment. They are growing up in the presence of its memory and, in many cases, its unhealed emotional legacy.
It is true that over the past three decades, Rwanda has made deliberate and sustained efforts to build unity around the memory of the Genocide against the Tutsi. Through national policies, civic education programmes, commemoration processes, and community-based initiatives, a strong and coherent narrative has been established: one that centres on remembrance, national identity, and the rejection of divisionism. Organisations such as International Alert have contributed to these efforts by supporting dialogue spaces, civic engagement platforms, and psychosocial support programmes. These initiatives have been instrumental in shaping a shared understanding of the past. Yet, while this national narrative provides an essential foundation for unity, it does not fully determine how memory is experienced, interpreted, or carried at the individual and family level.
And that memory is not abstract. It is lived, transmitted, and often unprocessed.
“How do we talk about the Genocide without transmitting hate? Without transmitting pain?” parents often ask in our dialogue spaces. The absence of clear answers leaves many families navigating this alone, caught between the fear of saying too much and the risk of saying nothing at all. In that space of uncertainty, young people grow up sensing what is not said as much as what is spoken. They carry questions, emotions, and tensions that are rarely fully addressed, yet continue to shape how they relate to themselves, to others, and to the country’s past.
This intergenerational transmission has consequences that are not always visible in public discourse. Youth may outwardly express strong national identity and commitment to unity, while internally navigating unresolved grief, anxiety, or confusion about their place within Rwanda’s history.
This dual reality matters. Because peacebuilding cannot rely solely on what is visible. It must also engage with what is carried beneath the surface.
At the same time, a new layer of complexity is emerging. Young people are increasingly exposed to competing narratives through digital spaces. Social media platforms circulate distorted versions of history, misinformation, and, at times, genocide ideology. Youth are navigating both strong messages of national unity and other external influences that can undermine them.
This is further reinforced by the broader dynamics in the Great Lakes region, where ongoing conflicts continue to mobilise and reproduce divisive ethnic narratives. These regional tensions permeate conversations, media, and identities, adding another layer of pressure on young people who must make sense of conflicting messages about history, belonging, and coexistence.
Peacebuilding cannot rely solely on what is visible. It must also engage with what is carried beneath the surface.
This creates a fragile equilibrium.
On one hand, youth are among the strongest drivers of Rwanda’s unity today. They participate in civic education programmes, community dialogues, and initiatives that promote reconciliation. They represent the success of sustained national efforts.
On the other hand, they are also the generation most exposed to inherited trauma and to new, competing ideologies.
Assuming that participation equals resilience would be a mistake. Taking part in programmes does not automatically translate into emotional healing. Dialogue, while essential, is not enough on its own. Without integrating psychosocial support, there is a risk that peacebuilding efforts remain at the level of discourse, without addressing deeper emotional and relational dynamics.
If Rwanda is to sustain its achievements, it must now confront a more complex phase of peacebuilding.
This requires a more deliberate investment in mental health and psychosocial support, particularly for young people, not as an add-on, but as a core pillar of peacebuilding. This includes equipping teachers and facilitators with trauma-informed approaches, creating safe spaces for youth to process difficult histories, and recognizing families as central spaces where both trauma and healing are shaped, and designing interventions that engage them directly rather than focusing solely on individuals.
It calls for equipping youth with the critical skills to navigate digital spaces, where narratives about Rwanda and the wider region are increasingly contested, and where the lines between truth, memory, and manipulation are often blurred. This goes beyond basic media literacy. It requires building skills that allow them to question sources, identify manipulation, and understand how narratives are constructed and sometimes weaponized.
Above all, it means acknowledging that unity is not only a political or social outcome. It is also an emotional process.
Rwanda has shown how a nation and its people can rebuild after unimaginable violence. The challenge now is different, but no less important: ensuring that the next generation is not only united in principle, but supported in carrying a past that they did not choose, yet continue to live with.
