The death of former Rwandan politician, businessman, and administrator Protais Zigiranyirazo in Niger last week turned the spotlight on one of international justice’s most complex chapters.
Known simply as Monsieur Zed (“Mr Z”), the brother-in-law of Rwanda’s former president, Juvénal Habyarimana, died not as a convicted war criminal, but as a man who had been legally cleared of genocide charges and yet remained imprisoned by circumstances beyond any court’s control.
He was acquitted of all charges by the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) Appeals Chamber in November 2009 and should have walked free that day. Instead, he spent the next 16 years of his life in various forms of detention, dying under effective house arrest in a compound in Niamey, Niger, still fighting for the freedom the courts had said was rightfully his.
Zigiranyirazo wasn’t just any defendant. As the president’s brother-in-law, he was closely connected to Rwanda’s political elite. After his arrest in Belgium in July 2001, the ICTR first accused him of crimes against humanity and later amended the charge to committing genocide against Tutsis between April and July 1994 in Kigali and Gisenyi. On December 18, 2008, Trial Chamber III convicted Zigiranyirazo of genocide and extermination as crimes against humanity and sentenced him to 20 years in prison.
However, on November 16, 2009, the Appeals Chamber reversed Protais Zigiranyirazo’s convictions and entered a verdict of acquittal. The court cited serious factual and legal errors in the Trial Chamber’s assessment of his alibi and other evidence. It found that there had been a miscarriage of justice, and ordered his immediate release.
The decision was certainly a great relief for the defendant, but it was not universally well-received.
“This acquittal decision shocked the Rwandan nation and the Rwandan people and perhaps also Zigiranyirazo himself: he knows he’s not innocent,” said Tharcisse Karugarama, Rwanda’s Justice Minister at the time.
Yet legally, innocence is precisely what the court had declared. And that’s where Zigiranyirazo’s nightmare began.
Stateless and unwanted
He and seven other ICTR-acquitted or released persons were soon to learn a harsh lesson – that being exonerated by an international tribunal doesn’t guarantee freedom or automatically mean you can return home and go on with life as usual. Certainly, Rwanda was not ready to accept back Zigiranyirazo, André Ntagerura, Tharcisse Muvunyi, Anatole Nsengiyumva, Alphonse Nteziryayo, Francois-Xavier Nzuwonemeye, Innocent Sagahutu, and Prosper Mugiraneza as free citizens, instead viewing their presence as politically toxic. Western nations, despite their vocal support for international justice, were equally reluctant to offer sanctuary. No country wanted them.
The eight men found themselves in legal limbo – too dangerous for some countries, too innocent for continued detention, yet with nowhere to go. They were caught caught between the judicial finding of innocence and the political realities of post-genocide reconciliation efforts and became what advocates called “the stateless”, human beings caught between political realities and legal principles.
ALSO READ: Elusive Sanna Manjang continues to rob Gambian victims of hope for justice
In December 2021, Niger finally agreed to take them in from the Tanzania-based United Nations International Residual Mechanism for Criminal Tribunals (IRMCT), the successor institution to the ICTR and the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), but this wasn’t the freedom they’d been promised. Instead, they found themselves confined to a house in Niamey, guarded by police, supposedly living “freely and permanently” but in reality, still without papers and genuine freedom.
A pattern of deaths
Zigiranyirazo’s is the third death among the eight men transferred to Niger – Muvunyi died in June 2023, and Nsengiyumva in May 2024. This mortality rate raises questions about their living conditions and care, though these men weren’t technically prisoners but individuals awaiting full integration into Nigerien society. The reality, as described by their lawyer Peter Robinson, paints a grimmer picture.
“Indeed, with the death of Protais Zigiranyirazo, three of the eight men transferred to Niger have now died in the house in Niamey to which they had been confined,” Robinson explained in an email to Journalists for Justice (JFJ).
“Last year Judge Joseph Masanche of the Mechanism issued an order to show cause why the men could not go back to Rwanda. We all filed submissions explaining the dangers they faced there. Judge Masanche has not issued any decision on his order to show cause in over a year,” added Robinson, who has spent over two decades defending clients at international criminal tribunals.
Life in limbo
The reality of these men’s lives reads like something from a Kafka novel.
Describing their daily routines, Robinson said: “The men’s freedom of movement has eased somewhat, and they are able to leave their residence from time to time. The police remain stationed at their residence but will escort them to various places around town for medical appointments, groceries, etc.”
But even these small freedoms come with humiliating restrictions.
“The government of Niger has so far refused to return their residence papers, so they have no way to open bank accounts, obtain goods on credit or any other forms of normal life,” the lawyer noted.
He added that the UN Registrar has been trying to help, providing rent and subsistence since the men cannot support themselves. They remain under an expulsion order that has been “in limbo” for more than three years, unable to establish any semblance of normal life. “The Registrar has been trying to convince the Niger government to provide them with such documents, but so far with no success.”
The system’s failure
Perhaps most damning is Robinson’s assessment of the international justice system’s response: “The Registrar’s efforts to find them another country have all but stopped as there are no prospects for success in this venture so long as Rwanda objects to their resettlement anywhere.”
This reveals the paradox of international criminal justice. Courts can declare someone innocent, but if powerful states object to that innocence, legal findings become meaningless. Rwanda’s continued opposition to these men’s resettlement effectively overrides judicial decisions made by international tribunals.
“It is indeed a major injustice to be detained after you have been acquitted or served your sentence,” Robinson stated. “The Mechanism has been completely powerless to remedy this injustice over the past four years.”
The Association of Defence Counsel practising before the International Courts and Tribunals (ADC-ICT) described Zigiranyirazo’s situation in their press release dated August 12, 2025, as representing “one of the most pressing and unresolved issues facing the international justice system.” They argued that “continued restrictions on liberty after acquittal, or after the completion of a sentence, not only violate fundamental human rights but also undermine the credibility of the very institutions mandated to uphold justice.”
This isn’t hyperbole. When judicial decisions intersect with sensitive post-conflict political realities, including the concerns of survivor communities who may question acquittals, implementation becomes fraught. And if no country honours those acquittals, the decision risks becoming meaningless. The very premise of international criminal justice is then thrown into doubt: what’s the point of fair trials if the verdict only matters when it’s convenient for powerful states?
The irony in Zigiranyirazo’s fate is that he was accused of being one of the architects of the genocide in Rwanda, yet his acquittal was ignored by the very international community that created the courts that tried him. Meanwhile, other genocidaires who were never caught continue to live free around the world, their crimes unpunished and their movement unrestricted.
The eight men in Niger became unwitting pawns in a larger game of international politics, their legal status subordinated to diplomatic convenience. They were neither guilty enough to deserve continued punishment nor innocent enough to enjoy genuine freedom.
ALSO READ: New status conference to ponder Kabuga’s fate
Behind the legal complexities lies a simple human tragedy. Zigiranyirazo spent his final years confined to a compound in Niger, dependent on UN handouts, unable to live a normal life despite being legally innocent. His family couldn’t visit easily, he couldn’t work or travel, and he died knowing that his acquittal had proven worthless.
The remaining five men in Niger face the same fate. They wake each day knowing that their legal innocence means nothing, that they remain prisoners of international politics rather than international law.
Time for accountability
The ADC-ICT called for “urgent and concrete measures to ensure that acquitted persons and those who have completed their sentences can enjoy the full freedom to which they are entitled.” This isn’t radical – it’s basic justice.
Zigiranyirazo’s death should prompt the international community into action. The fate of the Rwandan men stranded in Niger exposes the fundamental hollowness of international criminal justice when political considerations override legal findings. If acquittals can be ignored, trials risk becoming meaningless exercises in legal theatre. The challenge lies in balancing respect for judicial decisions with acknowledgment of the complex emotions and concerns of post-genocide societies. Finding solutions that honour legal findings while addressing legitimate concerns of all parties – including survivor communities, host countries, and the individuals themselves – remains one of the unresolved challenges facing international criminal justice.
The international community created these tribunals to ensure accountability for the world’s worst crimes. But accountability works both ways. When courts acquit someone, that decision must mean something, or the entire system risks losing its legitimacy.
