Disasters happen. But it seems to me that we can all learn from our own mistakes. A little honest reflection can allow even a catastrophe in our lives to become a pivotal moment: a point at which we change our behaviour or take a different direction. Yet when we confront mass killings, the horror can be so overwhelming that we do not want to look, listen or read about it. We turn away. Some even deny that it happened.
On 14 December 2012, a gunman murdered twenty children, all aged six or seven, and six members of staff at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. Afterwards, the American broadcaster Alex Jones promoted the false claim that the massacre was staged and that grieving relatives were actors. Families already suffering an unimaginable loss were subjected to harassment and threats by people who believed these lies.
Relatives brought civil proceedings against Jones and were awarded substantial damages. Yet, according to reporting in August 2026, they had still collected no money from him, while he continued broadcasting on other platforms. Nearly fourteen years after the shooting, their grief had been compounded by years of abuse and legal battles. It hurts the heart to think of them. What can one say—and what on earth has been learned?
Justice matters. When the scale of suffering beggars belief, we must resist the temptation to avert our eyes. Examining what happened gives us a chance to recognise warning signs, confront failures and prevent further harm. Otherwise, history becomes a dreadful repeating record, and we seem continually surprised to hear it playing again.
On 11 January 1994, General Roméo Dallaire, commander of the United Nations peacekeeping force in Rwanda, sent an urgent cable to his superiors. Drawing on information from an insider in the Interahamwe militia, he warned of preparations for attacks on Tutsis, political assassinations and the killing of Belgian peacekeepers to provoke Belgium’s withdrawal. The informant reported being ordered to register Tutsis and suspected that this was preparation for their extermination. This was almost three months before the genocide began.
The warning did not produce an effective preventive response. Worse still, after the killing had begun, the UN Security Council voted on 21 April to reduce the peacekeeping force drastically. At the very moment civilians most desperately needed protection, international support was being withdrawn.
The genocide unfolded on the night of 6 April and into 7 April 1994, following the shooting down of President Juvénal Habyarimana’s aircraft. Habyarimana was Hutu and had signed a peace agreement providing for power-sharing with the predominantly Tutsi rebel movement and opposition parties. Hutu extremists opposed that settlement. Within half an hour of the aircraft’s destruction, roadblocks were being established to identify Tutsis. The assassination became the trigger for organised mass killing.
An estimated 800,000 people were killed over roughly one hundred days. The principal targets were Tutsis, but moderate Hutus and others who opposed the extremists were also murdered. Extremist radio broadcasts spread hatred, encouraged killing and helped direct the violence.
Yet alongside this terrible history are accounts of extraordinary courage. Those stories deserve to be remembered too.
General Dallaire remained in Rwanda with a greatly reduced peacekeeping contingent, trying to protect civilians amid the slaughter. Their efforts are credited with saving approximately 32,000 people. That was no small achievement. Nevertheless, he returned to Canada deeply traumatised and developed severe post-traumatic stress disorder. He has spoken openly about surviving four suicide attempts. With treatment and support, he went on to serve as a Canadian senator, write about his experiences and campaign for veterans’ mental health and the prevention of the recruitment of child soldiers.
Then there was Zura Karuhimbi, a Hutu woman who sheltered more than one hundred people, mainly Tutsis, in and around her home. About sixty-nine at the time, she exploited the attackers’ fear of witchcraft, pretending that supernatural forces would punish anyone who harmed those in her protection. It was an ingenious way for an unarmed woman to confront armed killers. In 2006, she received Rwanda’s Campaign Against Genocide Medal, although she continued to live in poverty. She died in 2018, aged approximately ninety-three.
We cannot undo these atrocities. But we can listen to warnings, challenge lies and refuse to look away. These stories reveal how cruel human beings can become—and how astonishingly courageous others can be. Remembering both matters. Perhaps the most useful lesson is that, even in terrible circumstances, the choices individuals make can save lives.
