Paul Kagame Shuts Down 4,000 Churches and Mosques, Says Religion Has Become Big Business in Afric

Rwandans woke up to a wave of shock and debate when President Paul Kagame moved to shut down more than 4,000 churches and mosques across the country, a sweeping decision that has stirred conversations far beyond Rwanda’s borders.

In a continent where religion is tightly interwoven with daily life, Kagame’s action felt like a thunderclap—bold, unexpected, and impossible to ignore. But the president insisted the move was overdue.

According to him, the explosion of religious centers in Rwanda has created a system where too many so-called pastors and prophets prey on poverty, turning faith into a cash machine and vulnerable citizens into customers.

Kagame’s message was clear: “Most of these churches are exploiting innocent people. Church has become business to those creating it.” It was a direct, unapologetic accusation delivered at a moment when many African nations are questioning the role of religion in governance, development, and societal welfare.

The president didn’t mince words about what triggered the crackdown. He argued that while thousands of new religious centers appear every year—often founded by untrained or self-declared spiritual leaders—very few contribute meaningfully when real crises hit.

During disasters, economic hardships, or even local conflicts, Kagame said these same institutions suddenly become invisible.

Places that once promised miracles, deliverance, and supernatural breakthroughs rarely show up with food, shelter, or any tangible support when people truly need help. Instead, he suggested, too many of them thrive on fear, hope, and desperation, draining the little that struggling families possess.

For Kagame, this was no longer an issue of spirituality; it had become an issue of national stability.

But behind his tough stance lies a broader vision. Kagame urged religious institutions to return to the roots that once made them pillars of African communities: education, health care, moral development, and social progress.

He insisted that faith “should uplift people, not impoverish them,” challenging church founders and imams to build schools rather than personal empires, to support hospitals rather than monetize prophecy, and to strengthen communities rather than fracture them with false promises.

It was a call that sounded less like an attack on religion and more like an attempt to clean up a fractured spiritual marketplace.

Online, reactions ignited almost instantly. On X, users split into two emotional camps. Some praised Kagame for doing what many African leaders fear to attempt—confronting the powerful religious industry that has grown like wildfire across the continent.

They argued that too many churches operate with no qualifications, no accountability, and no intentions beyond filling seats and collection baskets. Rwanda, they said, was simply setting a much-needed example.

Others, however, viewed Kagame’s decision as authoritarian overreach, questioning whether the closures infringed on freedom of worship. Some worried that genuine religious communities would suffer for the sins of exploitative ones.

But even critics admitted that the rapid, unregulated growth of churches in many African nations has created messy ethical and social questions, where the line between spirituality and business is increasingly blurred.

Yet the most powerful conversations came from ordinary Africans who shared personal stories of being manipulated, financially drained, or mentally burdened by deceptive spiritual leaders.

Testimonies surfaced of families selling land, draining savings, and borrowing money just to sow “seeds” or pay for deliverance sessions. Others spoke of young people pressured into abandoning school because a prophet declared that education was a “worldly distraction.” Kagame’s decision reopened these painful memories, turning the national conversation into a mirror reflecting problems that have simmered across the continent for years.

Still, Rwanda’s leader did not deny the importance of faith. In fact, he acknowledged religion’s deep cultural roots and crucial role in shaping values. But he insisted that respect for religion cannot excuse exploitation.

If a church cannot meet basic safety standards, cannot contribute to community development, or cannot prove that it exists for something more meaningful than profit, then, in Kagame’s words, it has no place leading the minds and souls of citizens. His goal, he said, was not to erase faith but to protect it.

The move comes at a time when African youths are increasingly questioning authority, tradition, and the institutions that once guided their parents’ generation. Social media has amplified stories of failed prophecies, church scandals, financial extortion, and unqualified spiritual leaders who reinvent themselves as motivational speakers, miracle workers, or lifestyle coaches.

Kagame’s crackdown lands right in the middle of this cultural shift, giving many young people a voice in a debate they feel has been avoided for too long.

Whether the rest of Africa will follow Rwanda’s example remains to be seen.

For now, Kagame has sparked a conversation that is spreading across borders and forcing citizens, governments, religious leaders, and critics alike to confront a difficult question: What is the true role of religion in a modern society fighting poverty, inequality, and underdevelopment?

Rwanda has taken its position. The rest of the continent is now watching.