Since the arrival of Christianity in Rwanda around 1900, churches—in particular the Roman-Catholic Church—have played a major role which was not just spiritual but political as well. During colonial rule until 1962 and under the two “Hutu” Republics (1962–94), the Church and most prominently the Missionaries of Africa (White Fathers) have actively participated in policy formulation and implementation. Their role in support of the powers that be has been the subject of a considerable number of publications.

This book examines how the Rwandan churches handled the memory of the 1994 genocide against the Tutsi, and shows their uncomfortable position during and after this dramatic event. Following a brief discussion of the preceding period, Denis addresses the role of the churches in the midst of the genocide. That role was ambiguous, to say the least, and in that sense the churches were the mirror of society: They were “agents, victims and opponents. They contributed to the genocide, fell victims of it and opposed it” (69). Religion was even instrumentalized in the genocide. Not only did many places of worship become massacre sites, but killers also claimed that God was on their side and sought legitimacy for their crimes in the Bible. The church leaders lacked prophetic commitment during the violence, and episcopal statements issued in the aftermath suffered from the same ambiguities. The Presbyterian Church was the only unambiguously confessing guilt.

Their closeness with previous regimes explains the churches’ initial atmosphere of confrontation with the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) after it took power. Denis describes the relation between the Catholic Church and the Rwandan state after the genocide as “uneasy and fraught with misunderstandings, but functioning despite this” (220). As the period covered by the book ends in 2000, it unfortunately doesn’t address the later improvement of the relation. However, the state–church alignment showed in a telling statistic: while before 1994 there was routinely one token Tutsi among the bishops, today five out of the nine bishops are Tutsi, including the head of the Rwandan Church, Cardinal Antoine Kambanda, a known RPF supporter.

Offering a very useful and exhaustive overview of events, positions, and statements, Denis’s book is a welcome addition to the existing literature. A major asset is the unearthing of little known primary sources from archival material, media reports and oral information obtained through interviews.

The author acknowledges that “history and memory are sensitive issues in Rwanda with legal implications” (9, with reference to legislation on genocide ideology and related offenses). The path of this very book indeed shows how delicate history writing is in Rwanda. Although by and large very sympathetic to the RPF, Denis also on some occasions departs from the regime’s “truths.” Thus he writes on page 3 that “an estimated 800,000 (mostly Tutsi) men, women and children” were exterminated during the genocide, while the official death toll is “more than a million Tutsi” (the scientific consensus is that around 500,000–600,000 Tutsi were killed). On page 102 Denis acknowledges that massacres of civilians were perpetrated by the RPF, an accusation deeply resented and denied by the regime.

The policing of the “truth” became clear when Denis launched the 2022 edition of the book in Kigali. Present at the launch, the Minister for National Unity and Civic Engagement Jean-Damascène Bizimana said that the “book should be corrected to tell the factual truth as it is.” For instance, the casualty figure of “only 800,000” was below the official toll of 1,074,017 Tutsi killed, and “not using the right figure is not a simple issue.” Bizimana also noted that Denis “seemed to imply that the RPF also committed crimes,” while “the RPF fought to end the genocide, that’s all” (“Bizimana requests revision of book analysing church’s role in Genocide,” The New Times [Kigali], May 7, 2022). Another commentator put forward advice on what the author “should correct or state more clearly before the book could be considered a true history.” History “must be told as it is [and] not be told in any other way” (J. Rwagatare, “Rwandans mind that their history is told correctly,” The New Times, May 10, 2022). As a result, the 2024 edition of the book, reviewed here, contains a strange “Addenda: note on genocide figures and their interpretation, and ‘alleged crimes of the RPF’” (viii), where the author meets these criticisms. For instance, “readers should note that while the book uses the phrase ‘alleged crimes of the RPF’ …, this does not mean that the author endorses any suggestion that such crimes were in fact committed” despite the fact that the reality of these crimes has been reliably established and is widely accepted.

This book usefully complements the extensive literature on the role of the churches, and more particularly the Catholic Church, since the advent of Christianity in Rwanda. Their closeness with those exercising state power is a constant thread, which—after a period of hostility in the wake of the RPF’s taking power—seems to have resumed.