Major-General Roméo Dallaire speaks to the press at the UN Headquarters in New York City in September 1994 following his command of the UN mission in Rwanda. [UN Photo]

Retired lieutenant-general Roméo Dallaire is a Canadian military icon. When he decided to donate his vast collection of letters, memos, documents and recordings in September 2024, no Canadian institution, not Library and Archives Canada or his alma mater the Royal Military College of Canada, was apparently interested in the archives. But, the United States Military Academy West Point in New York was and, thus, those Canadians who want to research the first-person accounts of the career of this extraordinary man have to go to the U.S. to do so. This is the very definition of irony.

Born in the Netherlands in 1946, Dallaire grew up in the east end of Montreal and joined the Canadian Armed Forces in 1964, attending Royal Military College and Collège militaire royal de Saint-Jean, earning a bachelor of science degree. He first came to the Canadian public’s attention in 1993 when he was appointed to command the 81-strong United Nations Observer Mission Uganda-Rwanda (which eventually grew to about 2,000) and the better-known United Nations Assistance Mission for Rwanda (UNAMIR).

Rwanda had been torn apart by a civil war between its government, largely comprised of the country’s Hutu ethnic group majority, and the rebel Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), largely representative of the Tutsi ethnic minority. When UNAMIR was established, the civil war had become static, with the two sides separated by a demilitarized zone secured by troops of the Organization of African Unity.

The intention was to establish a new provisional government, bringing the RPF into a coalition with the ruling majority until democratic elections were held. UNAMIR soldiers, armed only with personal weapons, were to keep the two sides apart until that happened. 

Dallaire and his assistant, Major Brent Beardsley, were the only two Canadians in the UN force. The rest of the peacekeepers consisted of 400 Belgian soldiers and a mixed group of predominantly African soldiers numbering about 2,000. 

Dallaire arrived in Rwanda in late 1993 to take command of the mission. He soon discovered the Hutu were using broadcast media to set the stage for a mass attack on the Tutsi minority. Dallaire also learned that Hutu were gathering arms, mainly machetes, that were likely going to be used in the looming resumption of hostilities. He briefed the UN headquarters in New York of the situation and sought permission to take pre-emptive action, but his request was denied.

On April 6, 1994, the presidents of Rwanda and Burundi, both Hutu, died when their plane was shot down over the Rwandan capital of Kigali. Chaos ensued. Throughout Rwanda, machete-armed Hutu hunted down Tutsi and slaughtered some 800,000 people in a little more than three months until an RPF attack overran Kigali in July and the Hutu regime fled.

Dallaire was virtually powerless to stop the genocide, particularly after 10 Belgian peacekeepers were captured, tortured and murdered by the Hutu in the immediate aftermath of the presidential deaths. Belgium subsequently withdrew its troops. Dallaire’s most important action was to try to protect Tutsi wherever he and his shrinking force could actually accomplish something.

No one is a prophet in their own country.

After Rwanda, Dallaire dealt with post-traumatic stress disorder. For years, he was haunted by what he had seen. In 2003, his book about the experience, Shake Hands with the Devil, was published. And, as he slowly recovered, Dallaire plunged into humanitarian work, particularly to publicize the plight of child soldiers. He also participated in the evolution of the Canadian military that continued well after the 1993 Somalia affair, in which Canadian peacekeepers had tortured and killed a local teen.

One of the lasting reforms to emerge from that process was the government’s decision that no Canadian military member could again receive a commission without a university degree.

Dallaire was appointed to the Senate in 2005 and served until 2014. And he has been showered with awards and honours, largely because of his wide-ranging humanitarian efforts.

But, as Dallaire said at the event held to celebrate the donation of his archives to West Point, “there is a saying in French, that no one is a prophet in their own country.”

What has been left unsaid is that this turn of events is further proof of how apathetic Canadians are about the military history of their country. In 1994, Dallaire found himself in the middle of unimaginable horrors and despite wanting to take action, he was hamstrung by the UN bureaucracy. Now his own country has passed on his legacy to another.

Check out David J. Bercuson’s new book, Canada’s Air Force: The Royal Canadian Air Force at 100, available now from University of Toronto Press.