Home Voices Unmasking The Gardener: Genocide Convict Faustin Nsabumunkunzi’s Fall In The U.S.

Unmasking The Gardener: Genocide Convict Faustin Nsabumunkunzi’s Fall In The U.S.

With his face hidden behind a mask and his hands concealed in gloves, a genocide convict quietly reinvented himself as a peaceful gardener in the United States. He went even further, posing as a relative of the very people he exterminated, claiming to be a genocide survivor. This is the story of how Faustin Nsabumunkunzi evaded justice for over two decades, concealing the infamous face and bloodstained hands that still haunt the memories of Gisagara’s survivors

by Vincent Gasana
9:09 am

Faustin Nsabumukunzi in the USA

From the pseudo-scientific Hamitic, Nilotic, and Bantu racist theories to the sophisticated strategy of genocide denial, the planners and perpetrators of the 1994 Genocide Against the Tutsi borrowed not only the ideology of genocide from Europe but also the methods for evading justice, which they copied directly from the Nazi playbook.

Faustin Nsabumukunzi, a gardener and beekeeper living in a seemingly idyllic hamlet in New York, epitomises this disturbing narrative. Like many Nazis who sought refuge in South America for a quiet, hidden life, the sixty-five-year-old fled Rwanda and settled in Bridgehampton, USA. Like those fleeing Nazi hunters, Nsabumukunzi did not merely seek a new life; he aimed to completely reinvent his identity.

In Rwanda, survivors of the 1994 Genocide Against the Tutsi remember him as a local government official in Kibirizi, present day Gisagara District, in the southern province, who led the killings with enthusiasm. He even devised additional forms of torture for the victims, such as encouraging the rape of women and girls. He directed the notorious roadblocks where individuals had to be identified by their ethnicity, with those deemed to belong to the “wrong” group facing execution, often in ways that haunt the minds of decent human beings for a lifetime.

These grave crimes are not mere allegations. In 2008, Rwanda tried and convicted Nsabumukunzi in absentia, sentencing him to life imprisonment.

Upon arriving in the USA, where he hoped to live free from the long arm of the law, he lied, claiming to be a “survivor” of the Genocide Against the Tutsi and asserting that he had relatives who were murdered.

This claim is a common and grotesque tactic employed by many Rwandan mass murderers attempting to evade justice. The killers often portray themselves as victims, sometimes appropriating the stories of those they themselves murdered.

It was these lies that ultimately led to his downfall. “I know I am finished,” he reportedly declared upon his arrest, aware that the web of deceit would unravel with the slightest scrutiny.

When Nsabumukunzi applied for refugee resettlement in the USA in 2003, he had little choice but to lie. His options were either to confess to being a mass murderer fleeing the scene of his unspeakable crimes or to fabricate a tale of victimhood.

He followed the path established by other planners and perpetrators of the Genocide Against the Tutsi, and in a world largely indifferent to pursuing killers like him, he believed he had a good chance of evading justice. He nearly succeeded. In 2007, he received his green card, and he must have felt that everything was going according to plan. Confident, he applied for naturalisation in 2009 and again in 2015.

However, it was then that someone checked the veracity of his earlier applications, and the past came back to haunt him. Suddenly, the gardener and beekeeper was unmasked as the monster who had presided over death at the roadblocks in Rwanda thirty-one years ago. In his own words, he knew he was finished—his façade could no longer withstand the truth. No longer a beekeeper, he stood exposed as the mass murderer his intended victims in Rwanda had known him to be.

Ultimately, as with so many like him, no punishment could ever be severe enough. No penalty devised by humanity could atone for the suffering of his victims. Nonetheless, some measure of justice may offer a small balm for the wounds of the survivors.

Like many before him, Nsabumukunzi pleaded not guilty. Authorities granted him bail at $250,000, but imposed a restriction requiring him to wear a GPS tag and remain at home. His lawyer asserted that Nsabumukunzi was a “law-abiding immigrant who lost family during the genocide [the 1994 Genocide Against the Tutsi] and intends to contest the decades-old allegations.” However, he did not mention that his client had already been tried and convicted, albeit in absentia.

Over a thousand fugitives from justice for the Rwandan Genocide Against the Tutsi remain scattered around the world, many in Western countries. With very few exceptions, the global response has been one of indifference in bringing them to justice. Arrests like that of Nsabumukunzi provide hope that others accused in the Genocide Against the Tutsi have reason to keep looking over their shoulders.

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