Exactly 30 years ago, Rwanda collapsed into a terror that is almost unimaginable and indescribable. Over 100 days, close to a million Tutsi were killed when neighbour turned on neighbour, Interahamwe militias mobilized to kill anyone they could find and the government conspired to violate its duty to protect its own people. Until then, the Holocaust stood as the singular example of the mechanized extermination of a community for the “mere” crime of existing. The Rwandan genocide added a tragic new understanding of the crime of crimes, one that has become synonymous with our contemporary understanding of genocide. Reconciliation is often presented as a gesture of forgiveness by a survivor following an act of contrition by a perpetrator. That is undoubtedly true at the inter-personal level, but at the societal level reconciliation is a product of writing a new, shared history, one that seeks to understand what happened, why it happened and how it will be prevented from recurring. That kind of macro-reconciliation can only be brought about through a multi-faceted approach that includes criminal accountability for those most responsible, the operation of truth-seeking mechanisms, and community initiatives between neighbours. Unfortunately, these mechanisms are talked about and argued over as though they are incompatible, when in truth they are mutually reinforcing and indispensable parts of a composite framework of reconciliation. I am honoured to have had the opportunity to work at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), and to have had the privilege of visiting Rwanda on numerous occasions. During those visits, I learned not only about resilience and optimism but also recalled the important role of international justice. Never again can someone say that genocide is not an enforceable crime, that heads of states are immune from prosecution, that rape is not a war crime or that it cannot constitute genocide, or that hate speech is invariably permissible in a war. The 62 people who were convicted by the ICTR represent much more than a number: they stand for a proposition that there is accountability for wrong no matter the title or rank of the perpetrator, that there is access to justice for victims and, perhaps most importantly, that communities can overcome and build a better future. The legacy of 7 April 1994 is tragic, but also optimistic if we raise our voice and say never again, wherever it may happen.