“Kagamenize”: A Word I Should Not Have Had to Invent

There are words we create to celebrate insight, beauty, or progress. This is not one of those words.

Rwanda’s President Paul Kagame responds to Larry Madowo’s questions by redirecting scrutiny into moral defense — a textbook case of Kagamenizing.

Kagamenize refers to a corrosive, well-rehearsed pattern: the use of personal or historical suffering to silence criticism, the manipulation of public sympathy to shut down scrutiny, and the calculated use of victimhood to secure dominance. The structure was inspired in part by a definition shared by Bassem Youssef for the term "Zionise":

@Byoussef · June 13Zionise, verb: To gaslight someone with such shameless narcissistic psychopathic audacity that you deny reality to their faces while simultaneously playing the victim; engaging in endless circular debates that go nowhere and displaying a complete loss of empathy and basic humanity

I borrowed from Youssef’s structure—not the content—but his ability to capture a powerful, performative form of abuse in a single word. I borrowed not the subject, but the precision—the ability to name a behavior that thrives on moral immunity. I applied it to Rwanda because the tactic is deeply embedded in the country’s political structure under Paul Kagame. Genocide remembrance is only one layer. In Kagame’s Rwanda, nearly every form of dissent—whether it involves questioning the ruling party, addressing political prisoners, criticizing election procedures, or naming those in exile—is suppressed under the pretense of safeguarding national unity. What emerges is a regime that enforces a culture of fear and holds an unyielding grip over both national and personal memory. The state decides what may be remembered, how it may be spoken of, and who may speak. In such an environment, disagreement is treated as betrayal, and truth becomes whatever reinforces the official narrative. When memory itself is controlled, so is meaning. That is why this word had to exist.

To Kagamenize is to seize control over the moral and discursive field in which power and truth circulate, displacing critique by reconfiguring it as an attack on sanctified suffering. It is to turn legitimate criticism into sacrilege by cloaking oneself in pain—whether personal, historical, or symbolic—and to demand that this pain be treated as unquestionable authority. It means invoking suffering not to invite empathy, but to suppress dissent. It is the calculated performance of emotional truth used to block political or ethical accountability. When someone Kagamenizes, they do not argue their position—they fortify it with the appearance of moral injury so that opposing them feels cruel, even when it is correct. Empathy is not what is being offered here. It is emotional coercion, deliberately engineered to shield power from consequence.

Seeing the Pattern

In his recent interview with CNN’s Larry Madowo, President Kagame was asked directly whether Rwandan troops were operating in eastern DRC alongside the M23 rebel group. His reply was: “I do not know,” a remarkable statement coming from a head of state. Moments later, he added, Kigali was ready for "confrontation,” reinforcing Rwanda’s willingness to act forcefully while distancing himself from accountability. This dual gesture—denial paired with defiance—is emblematic of how Kagame manages international scrutiny: not by addressing it, but by reasserting moral and strategic superiority.

Kagame flatly denies the existence of political prisoners, insisting repression is a foreign invention. The case of Victoire Ingabire Umuhoza, sentenced to 15 years after returning to run for president, is emblematic. Charged under laws criminalizing 'genocide denial and revisionism', her trial drew international condemnation as politically motivated. Kagame calls it justice. In interviews and public speeches, he derides exiled opponents as criminals or traitors, thereby delegitimizing their narratives before they can be heard. One prominent example is Dr. David Himbara, Kagame’s former policy strategist turned critic. Forced into exile, Himbara has survived multiple assassination attempts. His case is a study in how the regime recasts proximity to power as betrayal the moment loyalty ends. During election seasons, he frames his near-total electoral victories not as suspect, but as proof of national unity. Each instance follows the same pattern: to criticize is to destabilize; to dissent is to betray.

Kagame’s strategy is not limited to isolated topics. It is embedded in the very fabric of political communication in Rwanda. Public concern about judicial independence, media freedom, or even past atrocities is systematically reframed as either divisive or dangerous. The effect is cumulative: power centralizes, and history becomes state-managed. Emotion becomes a currency the state alone is allowed to spend.

Kagame’s discourse—and that of his most loyal adherents—casts dissent as moral transgression. Power is sacralized and positioned as the exclusive guardian of historical legitimacy. Kagamenize manifests here as a regime of truth in which opposition is erased at the level of meaning itself. To disagree is not to offer an alternative view—it is to violate an imposed moral order.

Kagamenize is not exclusive to Kagame or his inner circle. It is a rhetorical weapon adopted across contexts—by politicians, institutions, and individuals who seek to disarm critique through the performance of victimhood.

A Broader Symptom

You have likely encountered this behavior elsewhere. It is increasingly present in public discourse across borders, institutions, and ideologies.

It is the politician who responds to policy critique with tearful stories of sacrifice, dodging every question. It is the corporate executive who lays off thousands of workers while calling the decision “personally devastating,” as though emotional strain absolves ethical responsibility. It is the influencer who, when confronted with valid criticism, suddenly invokes childhood trauma or mental health struggles—not as context, but as a deflection.

These are not isolated instances of dishonesty or fragility. They are deliberate—sometimes conscious, sometimes not—attempts to reverse the moral balance of a situation. They create a dynamic in which power protects itself not with force or logic, but with the selective display of pain.

And the rest of us are left unsure how to respond.

Why Name It?

I am not a scholar. I do not speak from a position of authority. But I believe language shapes what we see, and without a word for this particular mode of manipulation, it is far too easy to remain silent in its presence.

Kagamenizing is not simply lying, because lies can be challenged. It is not simply playing the victim, because sometimes victimhood is real. It is the act of using that real or perceived suffering as insulation against responsibility. It often works because it preys on our better instincts—our desire to be kind, to be fair, to withhold judgment in the face of another’s pain.

And because of that, it is particularly dangerous. It weaponizes the very empathy that should protect the vulnerable and turns it into a shield for the powerful.

I do not want this word to spread as a meme or a buzzword. I want it to serve as a quiet warning. A tool for noticing. Nothing more.

How It Sounds

Here are some ways this word might find use:

He Kagamenized the meeting—cast himself as a victim of disrespect and turned every critique into a personal attack.The corporation Kagamenized its layoffs—highlighted executive stress to deflect anger over job cuts.The government Kagamenized again—called criticism of its abuses an affront to national suffering and shut the conversation down.

A Closing Thought

To name a mechanism of power is not to stand above it, but to acknowledge one’s implication within it. Kagamenize does not emerge from distant observation; it is shaped by the same moral terrain we all inhabit. This is not an accusation directed outward, but a diagnostic lens that reveals how power circulates through sentiment, language, and memory.

Recognition is not absolution. But it is a beginning. Naming the pattern allows us to interrupt it—not with outrage alone, but with clarity and responsibility.

You may reach me at @GabrielN53444, though I do not expect—or require—a reply.