Imagine this scenario: you are a normal person with a typical 9-5 job, living in, say, London (or any other Western capital). You go about your day, scrolling through your Twitter timeline while sipping your favorite Starbucks coffee.
As you scroll, you stop on a story published in a Rwandan newspaper titled '2024 Elections: Rwanda's nine presidential aspirants at a glance'. You read a little, then continue downwards and pause on another story about Rwanda. This time, the headline uses words like "autocratic," "dark side," "repressive," and "dictatorship."
As you shut off the Twitter app, you are left bemused. Is Rwanda an autocracy, or is it a democracy? Are Rwandans repressed, or are they players in their own political destiny?
If you were to believe the narrative about Rwanda and its leadership fronted by Forbidden Stories (and the consortium of European media houses it coordinated), you'd conclude that the country is a literal hell on earth for anyone daring to express themselves politically.
As I noted last week in my column, the goal of the well-funded, extremely coordinated media campaign is fourfold: "Destabilize Rwandans as they head to the general election; Pressure European politicians; Embarrass our tourism partners; and Fight the reality that the Government has bettered the lives of its people in very real ways.'
Interestingly enough, as Forbidden Stories coordinated and launched this media blitz that allegedly cost $2 million to fund (hopefully, the NGO will show some transparency and reveal the source of the funding as rumours have it that the money came from Kinshasa), 679 Rwandans threw their hats in the electoral ring, presenting their papers to the National Electoral Commission (NEC) for the positions of President of the Republic and Member of Parliament.
For the position of President, Oda Gasinzigwa, the Chairperson of NEC, received the candidatures from President Paul Kagame and Honorable Frank Habineza, representing RPF-Inkotanyi and the Democratic Green Party of Rwanda, respectively, as well as seven independent candidates: Herman Manirareba, Innocent Hakizimana, Thomas Habimana, Fred Barafinda Sekikubo, Diane Shima Rwigara, Jean Mbanda, and Philippe Mpayimana (who first stood in 2017).
The 675 parliamentary aspirants (too many to name individually here) included candidates from all the recognized political formations, ranging from RPF to the Ideal Democratic Party (PDI). In addition to the party-affiliated candidates, all sorts of people presented their candidatures to NEC, arriving on foot, by moto, and in SUVs.
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These Rwandans came in all shapes and sizes, figuratively speaking. We had a dreadlocked young man, wearing shorts, a young woman carrying an infant on her back, a visually-impaired candidate, and plenty of elderly candidates. Every segment of the Rwandan population was represented by at least one aspiring parliamentarian.
So, the question that must be asked is, what is Rwanda? Is Rwanda a one-party state, or is it a multiparty state? Is it a country led by a man no one dares stand against, or is it a country that welcomes the civic participation of all citizens, within the confines of the law, and urges them to express their political ambitions?
Fundamentally, is there political space, or is there none?
In my view, just a cursory glance at the diversity of the people running for office answers all the questions.
A terrorized people (which is what Forbidden Stories thinks Rwandans are) cannot be the same ones who gleefully present their documents to the Electoral Commission.
Terror doesn't manifest in enthusiastic political participation.
Pretending that it does is a falsehood of gargantuan proportions. And in July, the glee will be even more pronounced as millions of voters choose their president and members of parliament. There will be, as was in 2017, a "Climate of Cheer."
The author is a socio-political commentator
