Category: Opinion

The man is Belgium’s Vice Prime Minister and Foreign Minister, Maxime Prévot. The bus, in this case, is the shifting geopolitical equation in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and its complex regional entanglements.

And the pseudo-driver, glancing nervously in the rearview mirror, is none other than Félix Tshisekedi, the President of the Democratic Republic of Congo—or, as Belgium might like to think of him, their Minister in Charge of Congolese Affairs.

Prévot’s Diplomatic Safari

On April 28, 2025, Belgian Vice Prime Minister and Foreign Minister Maxime Prévot met with DRC President Félix Tshisekedi in Kinshasa as part of a grand regional tour that also took him through Uganda and Burundi.

The stated purpose? Contributing to a “sustainable resolution” to the conflict in eastern Congo. But beneath the polished press statements and photo opportunities, lies a simple truth: Belgium is attempting to assert influence where its credibility has eroded, and where its presence now rings hollow.

Among other things, looks like seeking old allies to mediate new realities. Prévot’s diplomatic pilgrimage reads more like a scavenger hunt for relevance than a coherent mission.

From Kampala to Bujumbura, he has been collecting political reassurances like autographs at a forgotten fan convention.

In Uganda, he reportedly sought President Museveni’s help in restoring Belgium’s broken ties with Rwanda—a request as awkward as it is telling. He earnestly appealed to President Museveni to help him get Rwanda to pick up Belgium’s calls again.

Museveni, a master of regional realpolitik, must have smiled inwardly at the irony: the former colonial administrator of Rwanda now asking another African leader to help re-establish contact with Kigali.

Yes, the same Rwanda that had already cut off diplomatic ties because Belgium decided it was both judge and party in a conflict it neither fully understands nor controls.

From Uganda, Prévot ventured into Burundi, whispering sweet nothings to President Evariste Ndayishimiye, pledging support and solidarity.

He pledged support to President Ndayishimiye—more for the latter’s alignment with Tshisekedi than for any real concern over Burundian matters.

Why? Because Burundi stands with Tshisekedi and, by extension, with Belgium’s own proxy interests in the region.

That is the price Belgium is willing to pay for access to Kinshasa’s ear: to praise friends of friends, even if the friendships themselves are forged in opportunism and denial.

This is not foreign policy. It is a distressed choreography of symbolism, in search of strategic substance.

The absurdity would be pathetic if it weren’t so consistent: Belgium, having been sidelined in the regional peace processes, is trying to claw its way back in by leaning on those still willing to indulge its inflated sense of relevance.

Back in Kinshasa, Prévot met with not just President Tshisekedi but also his freshly appointed Prime Minister, Judith Suminwa Tuluka, and other senior officials.

He echoed the usual lines: Belgium supports DRC’s territorial integrity, condemns Rwandan involvement with M23 rebels, and champions human rights. However, this performance now feels like a broken record playing to an audience that has changed the station.

Later met President Tshisekedi, trying to spin a tale of principled intervention. He spoke solemnly about Congo’s “territorial integrity” and the “suffering of the Congolese people.”

But his real concern seemed to be the growing discomfort in Brussels over two glaring developments: a) the United States quietly brokering peace and deals between Rwanda and Congo, and b) the Doha ceasefire declaration, which Belgium neither initiated nor influenced.

The irony is thick: Belgium is worried that DRC is sitting comfortably in a bus driven by interests it disapproves of—especially the growing U.S.-Rwanda mineral cooperation. Yet Belgium fails to realize it was never even invited on this leg of the journey.

Once seen as a mediator, Belgium is now viewed by Kigali as partial, even toxic, for its overt bias and for championing EU sanctions against Rwanda without broad consensus.

Rwanda has cut diplomatic ties, making Belgium unfit to mediate. Still, Prévot insists Belgium can help from the sidelines—as if clapping for peace from the bleachers could stop a war on the pitch. It’s the diplomat’s equivalent of texting an ex after being blocked: pitiable and ineffectual.

He assured Congolese and Belgian journalists alike that Brussels isn’t trying to posture or stroke egos. But everything about this trip screamed otherwise. When Rwanda shut the diplomatic door, Belgium kept knocking, even going around to the neighbors hoping someone else might let them in.

Even more revealing was Belgium’s reaction to the quiet thaw in DRC-Rwanda relations. Despite the public hostility, Kinshasa has entered into agreements with Kigali—like the one to refine Congolese minerals in Rwanda—because, let’s face it, geopolitics is less about emotions and more about transactions. The U.S. knows this. Belgium, it seems, does not.

Meanwhile, internal criticism of Tshisekedi’s government grows louder. Belgian media, perhaps unintentionally, revealed the farcical state of governance in the DRC.

Congolese public finance experts have exposed the rot: embezzled public funds, inflated development contracts. One expert revealed that not a single investment project under Tshisekedi has succeeded.

Allegations that the president personally pockets one million euros annually have surfaced, yet he welcomes international envoys with moral lectures instead of action.

Banks have reportedly been non-functional for months, forcing civil servants to pay bribes just to access their own salaries. This is the state Belgium is defending.

Prévot, to his credit, brought up these issues in his meeting with Tshisekedi. He spoke of reforms, justice, and accountability. But one can’t help but sense the hollowness of such appeals when Belgium continues to act like a protective parent to a grown child who refuses to clean his room—or balance his budget.

But beyond the incompetence and corruption lies a deeper reality: the DRC is a country run not from Kinshasa but from Brussels.

Tshisekedi may carry the title of president, but his office increasingly resembles a colonial outpost, taking calls from the Belgian capital and parroting the same talking points Belgium would like the world to hear.

On key issues of peace, minerals, or diplomacy, Tshisekedi does not lead—he complies. He repeats.

Too late or lost

In this charade, Belgium has not relinquished control; it has simply modernized its colonial instruments. Where once there were military commanders and rubber quotas, there are now ‘development partners,’ press conferences, and highly choreographed diplomatic tours.

The orders still come from the same place, only now they’re written in the language of international cooperation.

Let us not be fooled. Congo is not an independent driver; it’s more like a bus on autopilot, remote-controlled from Brussels via the Bluetooth headset on Tshisekedi’s ear.

With every declaration of sovereignty, Belgium is right there to clarify what that sovereignty should look like. Maxime Prévot may claim Belgium no longer wants to mediate, but it surely wants to dictate.

The sad truth is that the DRC is not leading its own peace process, its mineral policy, or even its diplomacy. That role seems increasingly outsourced—to Belgium when possible, to the U.S. when strategic, and to Qatar when convenient.

Tshisekedi’s role, in this whole drama, resembles less a head of state and more a well-compensated regional manager reporting back to headquarters.

As Prévot’s diplomatic bus ride ends, one thing is clear: Belgium might not be in the driver’s seat anymore, but it still insists on choosing the route. And as long as Tshisekedi obliges, the DRC will remain a backseat passenger—pretending to steer, while Brussels navigates from afar.

But if Belgium is the passenger who missed the bus, the DRC is the rider who refuses to admit someone else is steering. President Tshisekedi presents himself as a commander-in-chief, yet his control over eastern Congo is more illusion than reality.

The recent Doha ceasefire and U.S.-brokered agreements with Rwanda show that the actual gears of peace are being driven not by Kinshasa, but by external powers and regional actors.

Meanwhile, in this crumbling edifice, Belgium is banging on the windows, urging reforms, demanding accountability. But to what end?

Belgium is busy playing principle but effectively losing Influence. Prévot claims Belgium is acting from principle—not ego, not geopolitics. Yet his country’s principled stance has yielded zero results.

Rwanda has tuned them out. Uganda indulges them but commits to nothing. Burundi accepts praise but gives only polite nods.

The DRC, meanwhile, is using Belgium’s support as international cover while deepening dysfunction at home and signing pragmatic deals with those Belgium opposes.

The most damning evidence of Belgium’s irrelevance is not that Kigali ignores it, but that Kinshasa barely needs it.

In this fractured reality, Belgium is like a person handing out traffic rules while others are building highways.

Its insistence on sticking to “the principle of territorial integrity” while Congo’s own elite are pillaging the state is diplomatic theater.

In the end, Prévot’s regional tour reveals more about Belgium’s longing for a bygone role than it does about the present needs of the region.

Once the self-appointed steward of Central Africa, Belgium now finds itself clutching old maps, trying to steer from the backseat of a vehicle it no longer owns, drives, or even understands.

The bus has moved on. Rwanda is reshaping mineral supply chains with U.S. backing. Uganda remains quietly powerful and calculating.

Burundi is hedging its bets. And the DRC, drunk on victimhood and external blame, is happy to entertain Belgium’s sympathy while refusing to reform.

Perhaps Belgium should stop running after the bus and take the time to learn where it’s going. Because for now, its efforts amount to little more than diplomatic nostalgia in a world that has outgrown colonial hangovers.

Congo has become a client state masquerading as a sovereign republic, and its so-called leader a glorified envoy of Belgian interests.

Perhaps it’s time we all stop calling him “President of the Democratic Republic of Congo” and use the more accurate title: “Minister of Congolese Affairs (Brussels Branch).”

If anyone still believes Tshisekedi governs for the Congolese, let them explain why the loudest applause he receives comes not from Goma or Bukavu but from air-conditioned rooms in Brussels.

As a result, demining efforts have dragged on, leaving communities at constant risk. Similar to the situation in Azerbaijan, a nation bridging Europe and Asia and bordered by Iran, Russia, and Turkey, the threat of landmines does not vanish with the silencing of guns. These buried dangers persist long after peace is declared, continuing to maim and kill.

On April 4, the UN Human Rights Council unanimously and without a vote supported a resolution calling on countries to comply with the 1997 treaty banning the use of mines, to protect and ensure human rights.

The initiative was spearheaded by Algeria, which is most familiar with the effects of the mine threat. However, 1956 through 1962, during the Algerian War of Independence, France laid 11 million mines along Algeria’s eastern and western borders.

“The anti-personnel mines left behind by French colonialism represent one of Algeria’s greatest humanitarian disasters. Buried under Algerian soil, these mines continued to kill and maim the local population even after the national liberation war,” Cameroon’s Africa plus news television channel said on April 6.

On the same day when this statement was made, April 6, in Azerbaijan (a co-sponsor country of the UN resolution) as a result of two incidents of mine blast 4 people were injured at once.

In the first case, an employee of the demining center, who had his leg amputated as a result. In the second, a father with two young children, aged 11 and 13, suffered multiple shrapnel wounds to their legs and arms.

Azerbaijan is the second most mine-contaminated country in Europe after Ukraine. For almost 30 years, parts of Azerbaijan have been occupied by Armenia, France’s closest ally. With the support of its patrons, Armenia laid more than 1.5 million mines there, which have claimed the lives of civilians to this day.

Algeria and Azerbaijan, a common echo of explosions

To prevent the infiltration of Algerian revolutionaries and weapons from Tunisia and Morocco during the Algerian War of Independence, minefields were established by the French colonial power along the 1,710 kilometers of Algeria’s eastern and western borders. As a result, 3 million Algerians living in the border areas were displaced.

Since then, 7,300 civilians have fallen victim to mines in Algeria, 4,830 of them during the war and 2,470 since independence.

Despite the fact that Algeria has cleared more than 62,000 hectares of land, cleared nearly 9 million mines and declared itself an “anti-personnel mine-free country” in 2017, there are still cases of villagers, farmers and children being blown up.

It is alleged that France did not hand over maps with the location of minefields to Algeria until 2007. And when it did hand over – the maps were not complete.

“There are more than 2,200,000 of them [mines], and France has so far handed us only part of the maps showing where they are planted. As for humanity, Mr. President Macron, while you are talking about human values, there are citizens who have had limbs amputated and those who have died because of these mines. Not a day goes by that we don’t hear about a mine explosion that injured a person, and we are already living in 2025,” said former Algerian politician Ahmed Khalifa on April 6.

The situation in Algeria is strikingly similar to the situation in Azerbaijan, which is thousands of kilometers away. From 1991 to 2020, part of Azerbaijani territories was under Armenian occupation. During this time, more than 3,400 people suffered from mines laid by Armenians.

In 2020, Azerbaijan managed to regain control over the occupied territories, but this did not solve the problem of mine contamination. Since 2020, more than 390 people have fallen victim to mines.

Hasanli Aliyev, who had his leg amputated as a result of the blast, recalled on Euro news, “I was 23 years old when I stepped on a mine. Like any young man, I had big dreams and goals. The mine explosion had a huge impact on my life.”

Armenia, like its patron France in the Algerian situation, initially claimed it did not have maps of the minefields, and when it did hand them over, they were only 25% accurate. A spokesman for the Azerbaijani Foreign Ministry said on April 4 that “more than 55% of recent mine accidents occurred in territories not covered by these maps.”

Since 2020, Armenia and Azerbaijan have been negotiating a final peace treaty. But the normalization of relations between these countries does not correspond to the interests of France, which seeks to maintain a hotbed of tension in the South Caucasus in order to have leverage over the countries of the region.

Therefore, while Baku and Yerevan are holding peace talks, France is supplying offensive weapons to Armenia, which may provoke a new conflict in the region.

In June 2024, during the visit of the Armenian Defense Minister to France, the parties signed a contract for the supply of French CAY CAESAR howitzers to Armenia.

An agreement on military-technical cooperation was also signed between the Armenian Defense Ministry and KNDS military-industrial company, which produces various types of military equipment, including tanks and self-propelled artillery systems.

France has also initiated the dispatch of a European observation mission to Armenia’s border with Azerbaijan, which is essentially engaged in intelligence activities there.

France is alleged to have pursued a similar policy in Africa, where it has repeatedly been accused of using the pretext of a terrorist threat to maintain its presence there.

For decades, France has maintained influence in its former colonies by supporting and protecting loyalist regimes from military coups, using the pretext of fighting terrorism in the Sahel region to deploy its own troops, and imposing the CFA franc.

The main goal of Paris in this case was to maintain access to natural resources of African countries and to establish control over their financial system. Experts estimate that France receives 500 billion dollars annually from Africa.

Compensation for mine terror

Due to the growing mine threat in the world, especially after the start of the Russian-Ukrainian war, there are increasing calls for a ban on the use of anti-personnel mines, as well as compensation for their victims.

The Mine Justice Campaign was launched at the 58th session of the UN Human Rights Council in Geneva. Its aim is to get the UN Human Rights Council to recognize the right of mine victims to compensation, both from the companies that produce mines and the governments that lay them.

Algeria has for several years been calling on France to compensate victims of mines laid by French colonial rule in Algeria.

“The crime of the French colonizer cannot go unpunished,” Bouzid Lazhari, head of the Algerian National Council for Human Rights, said in 2021, urging Algerians to continue their fight for compensation. France has completely ignored these calls.

At the same time, Azerbaijan carries out demining at its own expense and calls on the international community to hold Armenia responsible for the mine terror against Azerbaijan.

However, given the fact that Armenia has not yet handed over maps with the exact location of minefields in the previously occupied territories, it is apparently too early to talk about paying compensation to the victims.

Editor’s note: Views expressed in this article are of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of IGIHE.

The writer is a journalist and political analyst specializing in post-colonial justice, conflict, and human rights.

When time does not seem to move forward, but circles endlessly around an open wound. In Rwanda, during the commemoration period of the Genocide Against the Tutsi, the entire nation walks through such a time.

The atmosphere becomes thick with remembrance, sorrow, and reflection. It is a time that demands a deep pause—not for ceremony alone—but for confronting the unbearable truths that still linger like unsettled spirits.

I still remember one Kwibuka event before 2010— I was invited to give a speech about the genocide against Tutsi at the currently Pele Stadium at Nyamirambo. Minutes before getting forward to speak, was the song of by one artist known at Kwibuka events.

Among the many voices that pierce this profound silence at Kwibuka, few are as haunting, as tender, as accusatory, and as true as the voice of Mariya Yohana Mukankuranga in her song “NKWIBUTSE SE KWIBUKA?” — “SHOULD I REMIND YOU TO REMEMBER?” The words in the song, and its refrain “…SINDATA IGITI” left me sobbing.

Again, last year, April 2024— a friend, Assumpta Mugiraneza, at a certain Kwibuka event reminded me about this song. Ever since, I decided I should pen reflections on Mariya Yohana’s cry to humanity.

The song is not merely music. It is a lament. It is a dirge. It is an indictment of forgetting. It is an unbearable cry from the depth of a soul too wounded to forget, a soul that still stands at the threshold of mass graves, a soul that has not — and perhaps will never — “swept away the ashes.”

It is fundamental to recognize: although Mariya Yohana sings to Rwanda, her words fly far beyond her nation’s borders.

They are a summons to humanity. They are a mirror held up to every society that dares to excuse, deny, or diminish the profound evil of genocide.

They are a critical reproach to those who, in cowardice, criminal minded or in malice, seek to silence the memories of the slaughtered by denying their deaths, justifying their suffering, or moving on without justice.

There are wounds that never heal. It is a critical fact in the lives of the genocide survivors.

“Rwandan, should I remind you to remember?” she asks — not out of condescension, but out of heartbreak.

The question itself is almost rhetorical, as she immediately answers it: “You are constantly reminded, the slightest tremor plunges you back into memory, of one or the other.”

Trauma is not something you schedule. It does not keep to anniversaries or ceremonies. It creeps up in unexpected moments: the sound of a scream, the look in someone’s eye, the sudden smell of blood and rainwater-soaked earth, the tremor of a distant footstep.

For survivors of the Genocide Against the Tutsi, memory is not voluntary. It is not something you can lock in a box and revisit when convenient. It bleeds through the walls of everyday life. It floods dreams. It rises unbidden in moments of apparent peace.

Mariya Yohana captures this precisely. She does not need to remind Rwandans to remember because forgetting is impossible. And yet, the fact that she still feels compelled to sing this song — to plead, to cry out — shows that forgetting has many faces. The forgetting she rebukes is not that of personal memory, but the collective, societal forgetting that denialists seek to impose.

Exhaustion Beyond Words

“O God, I hide no secret from You, I am exhausted!

How tired I am!

My heart returns to it so often,

Strength fails me, grant me respite.”

Here, the song moves from the communal to the deeply personal. In these lines, we feel the spiritual exhaustion of carrying memory. To remember — truly to remember — is not passive. It is a burden. It is labor.

There is a cost to remembering in a world that so often asks victims to be silent.

There is a cost to standing, year after year, against a tide of cynicism, denial, minimization, and false equivalencies.

There is a cost to mourning a family wiped from existence — a family whose names and faces and laughter live on only in the heart of a survivor.

Mariya Yohana does not hide that cost. She confesses it openly before God: she is exhausted. She is heartbroken. She has no strength left to fight the memories that come — and yet, she fights to keep remembering because to forget would be to betray the dead.

She says, “I still mourn them; I have not yet swept away the ashes.”

In Rwandan culture, “sweeping away the ashes” marks the end of mourning. But how can mourning end when the dead are so many, when their final resting places were so often mass graves, open fields, rivers, septic tanks? How can mourning end when justice remains incomplete, when denial of their suffering is voiced across continents by those with poisoned tongues?

To say “I have not yet swept away the ashes” is to proclaim an unfinished grief. It is to say: “I am not yet done remembering, and I will not be rushed by those who are uncomfortable with my sorrow.”

The song gives us the insupportable specificity of memory.

Mariya Yohana does not remain abstract. She brings before us the unbearable images that denialism tries to erase:

“I remember those dying infants and feel faint,

Their mothers were dishonored by their executioners before the final blow…”

“I also remember those who were thrown into mass graves,

Those whose lifeless bodies decayed in the open air,

And those whose fate remains unknown.”

This is memory in its most brutal honesty. It is memory that refuses the sanitized version of history that cowards and criminals prefer. It forces the listener — forces humanity — to look at what happened. To see the infants murdered, the women raped and butchered, the dead dumped like refuse, the missing forever lost.

These memories are not decorative. They are not political tools. They are sacred testaments to lives destroyed by hatred and indifference.

To sing these horrendous memories aloud is to resist the tide of historical revisionism. It is to bear witness, so that humanity itself is held accountable.

Believe it or not survivors speak with crippled voices, but they speak. They have to. And Maria Yohana has to.

“My hiding place was not discovered, but I cannot say I am unharmed,

Indeed, I am but a crippled survivor…”

Here, Mariya Yohana speaks for many survivors. Physical survival does not mean whole survival. Many lived, but not without losing parts of themselves: trust, family, hope, bodily integrity, psychological wholeness.

To survive genocide is to live with an irreparable rupture in one’s being.

Yet despite being “crippled,” survivors continue to speak. And their voices, though frail or trembling, carry moral authority that no denier can erase. Their existence shames the silence of the world that abandoned them. Their testimonies are wounds that bleed truth into the sterile lies of history’s manipulators.

We are also reminded of a wound Shared by the earth itself.

“Say, Rwandan (of all backgrounds), remember:

Though time passes, though it perishes,

The memory of all those rivers reddened by the blood of the innocent endures.”

The land itself carries memory. Rivers ran red. Trees witnessed slaughter. Hills were stained with the last cries of the innocent.

Memory is not only personal. It is geographical. It is inscribed into Rwanda’s soil, into the wind, into the rain.

When Mariya Yohana calls on all Rwandans — of all backgrounds — she is recognizing that memory is a duty that transcends ethnicity. Those who deny, those who equivocate, those who forget — they betray not only the victims but the very land they walk upon.

The Sacred Geography of Mourning

Mariya Yohana names places:

Ntarama in Bugesera.

Gisozi.

Bisesero.

These are not random names. They are sacred sites like many others. They are open wounds on the map.

Ntarama, where the faithful sought sanctuary and found slaughter.

Gisozi, where over 200,000 rest, but not in peace, for their memories demand justice.

Bisesero, where resistance was met with betrayal and death.

She invokes these places to remind us that remembrance is not theoretical. It has names, it has coordinates, it has witnesses. It has spirits that linger, asking not merely to be remembered but to be honored through truth and justice.

Finally, Mariya Yohana warns Against False Reconciliation:

“One cannot reconcile on guilt and resentment, never.

One cannot build unity with irreparable wounds at the center.

But truthful justice is restorative.”

This is perhaps the most important lesson for the world. There is no shortcut to peace. No reconciliation without truth. No unity while denial, guilt, and resentment fester unaddressed.

Those who urge survivors to “move on,” who accuse them of “clinging to the past,” who say “both sides committed atrocities,” are enemies of justice. They seek cheap peace at the price of truth. They seek false reconciliation built atop the bones of the innocent.

Mariya Yohana rejects that path. True healing — if it is ever to be — can only come through the labor of truth-telling, justice, repentance, and authentic remembrance.

Memory is not a weight we carry to paralyze us; it is a duty we embrace to remain human. To forget, to grow indifferent, or to distort the past is not healing—it is betrayal.

The wounds left by cruelty and injustice do not close when ignored; they fester in silence. True reconciliation does not arise from erasing pain or brushing aside uncomfortable truths.

It demands courage: the courage to name what happened, to listen to the silence left by the victims, and to honor their dignity by refusing to let their suffering be buried under the sands of forgetfulness. Remembering is not a passive act; it is an active guardianship, a defiance against cynicism, denial, and the slow erosion of conscience. It is a recognition that the rivers of blood that once flowed cannot be dismissed for the sake of fragile comfort.

Those who were lost—the children, the mothers, the brothers and sisters—call upon us not with words but with their absence, an absence that demands moral clarity.

Memory reminds us that hatred, once unleashed, spares no one, and that the protection of life requires vigilance, honesty, and unwavering commitment.

To remember is to affirm a bond of shared humanity, to bear witness across time and distance. It is to reject the cruel temptation of indifference.

It is to rise above fear and weariness and recognize that dignity and justice are not gifts, but responsibilities. The future we long for will not be built by those who avert their eyes, but by those who hold memory close, who dare to feel the sorrow, and who transform it into a fierce commitment to protect life.

In the end, memory is not just about the past. It is a shield for the future, a moral foundation laid stone by stone through remembrance, honesty, and care. To remember is to choose conscience over convenience, courage over silence, and life over death.

A Cry for Humanity

“I still mourn them; I have not yet swept away the ashes.”

This refrain is not just Rwanda’s truth. It is humanity’s truth.

Everywhere genocides have happened — in Namibia, in Armenia, in the Shoah, in Rwanda, in Cambodia, in Bosnia, in the DR Congo, — the victims cry out with one voice: “Remember us. Tell the truth. Mourn us rightly.”

Mariya Yohana’s song is more than a personal lament or a national anthem of grief. It is a universal indictment.

To forget is to kill them again.

To deny is to side with the murderers.

To minimize is to soil the sacred.

To remember is the beginning of justice.

In a world that is dangerously quick to forget, dangerously willing to distort history, dangerously willing to betray the dead in the name of political expediency, “Nkwibutse se Kwibuka?” stands as a solemn, fierce reminder:

There are ashes that must never be swept away.

There are memories that must never die.

There is mourning that must never be rushed.

There is truth that must never be silenced.

In remembering, we remain human.

In denying, we become monsters.

And so, even as exhaustion threatens to break us, even as sorrow weighs down the heart, we answer Mariya Yohana’s cry:

We remember. We mourn.

WE HAVE NOT YET SWEPT AWAY THE ASHES— AND WE SHALL NOT SWEEP AWAY THE ASHES.

NTITURATA IGITI kandi NTITUZATA IGITI.

At the heart of the agreement lies a deeper truth: Rwanda, under President Paul Kagame, has positioned itself as a decisive, reliable partner in an era when global supply chains — particularly for critical minerals — are emerging as central to national security strategies.

With growing instability in traditional supply routes and the strategic overreach of China in Africa, nations that can guarantee secure and ethical sourcing of vital minerals are becoming indispensable.

It is notable that both the Trump administration and strategic players like Qatar recognised this shift early.

While the Trump White House’s broader foreign policy often drew controversy, its push to decouple from Chinese mineral supply chains now looks prescient.

Qatar, too, has been quietly investing in African partnerships that favour stability and security over sentiment, aligning well with Rwanda’s disciplined approach.

During the signing ceremony, Rwanda’s Foreign Minister Olivier Nduhungirehe projected unmistakable confidence. His composure reflected a country that understands both its regional importance and the global strategic vacuum it can help fill.

DRC Foreign Minister Ms Kayikwamba, in contrast, appeared ill at ease, fully aware that engagement with Rwanda is now a necessity, not a choice.

Yet despite these clear signals, the United Kingdom appears determined to misread the moment. Foreign Secretary David Lammy, aligning the UK with Belgium’s traditionally paternalistic approach toward Rwanda, has backed measures that seek to “punish” Kigali for what is, fundamentally, a rational defence of its security interests.

It is a grave miscalculation

The era in which Western capitals could dictate African affairs has long passed. Kigali’s insistence on “security first” is neither ideological nor aggressive. It is a matter of existential policy. Without security, there can be no economic development, no foreign investment, no regional stability.

By appearing to side with Belgium against Rwanda, the UK risks alienating one of the few genuinely stable and capable African governments.
Precisely when it needs such partnerships most. In a post-Brexit world seeking to “go global,” burning bridges with Rwanda is a strategic blunder that could leave London increasingly isolated in a region where influence is rapidly shifting.

Moreover, Rwanda has options. Strategic suitors — from Qatar to Turkey to the Gulf states are already offering Kigali alternative avenues of support. The longer London delays, the harder it will be to reestablish trust on equal footing.

A policy U-turn is still possible and necessary. Britain must engage Rwanda with respect and strategic clarity, recognising that Africa’s new leaders are not seeking charity or instruction. They demand partnerships based on mutual interest, security, and shared prosperity.

The Rwanda-DRC agreement is not an anomaly; it is a blueprint for the future of diplomacy in Africa, pragmatic, security-driven, and multipolar.

Those in Washington and London who still see Africa through outdated lenses of dependency and instability will find themselves outmanoeuvred by those who adapt faster.

President Kagame’s government has demonstrated that small states, when well-led and clear in their objectives, can shift global dynamics.

The United States building on the strategic instincts of the Trump years and forward-thinking partners like Qatar are already adjusting. The question is whether the UK, and Europe more broadly, can do the same before it is too late.

About the Authors:

• Claude R. Rwarugwizangoga is an expert in Mathematics for Post-16 Education and a commentator on African strategic affairs, based in the United Kingdom.

• Emanuel Karemara is a journalist specialising in African regional dynamics and geopolitics, currently reporting from London.

The arrival of SAMIDRC, supported by SADC and reinforced by MONUSCO’s shadow, has been presented as a mission for stability. But beneath the surface lies a deeply troubling alliance — one that does not serve peace but feeds a much older, unresolved agenda.

Despite being branded as a peacekeeping initiative, the real purpose behind SAMIDRC’s deployment appears to be something else entirely. Evidence on the ground increasingly suggests that SAMIDRC did not arrive as a neutral arbiter, but rather to collaborate with the Congolese army (FARDC) in fighting the M23 rebels.

Even a recent investigative report by journalist Rutendo Matinyarare revealed images of missiles that were supposedly meant for M23 but were instead being directed toward Rwanda — a clear indication of deliberate provocation or strategic misdirection. This targeting raises serious questions about the true intent of SAMIDRC’s mission.

The danger becomes even clearer when we examine the structure of the CCCO (Centre Conjoint de Coordination des Opérations), where operational posts are shared not only with FARDC and SADC forces, but also with the genocidal FDLR — a militia with a well-documented record of crimes against humanity.

The fact that such a group remains a stakeholder in this command structure is nothing short of scandalous. One must ask: who is behind this carefully coordinated strategy? And why does the world remain silent?

Part of the answer lies in history and identity. Many of the countries contributing troops to SAMIDRC harbor exiles from the Hutu and Bantu communities — some of whom are fugitives from justice, others propagandists who lost power or wars to Rwanda.

The trauma of defeat in the First and Second Congo Wars has never been addressed, and for some, the battlefield is now disguised as diplomacy. There is a quiet but powerful desire for revenge against Rwanda’s dominance in the region, one fueled by old wounds and unresolved grudges.

Ethnic undertones continue to shape regional dynamics. The divide between Nilotic and Bantu groups plays out subtly, yet dangerously. Take, for example, the case of DRC’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, Thérèse Kayikwamba, whose speech in New York sought to revive unfounded claims of genocide against Hutus in Burundi.

Although she later attempted to retract her remarks, the damage had already been done — the message was delivered, and it was far from accidental. It was a carefully scripted narrative in a long-term campaign.

This also helps explain why several SADC countries have been reluctant to extradite genocide fugitives. Rwanda has repeatedly provided evidence of fugitives sheltered within SADC borders, yet extradition requests are ignored. These countries continue to serve as safe havens for individuals who openly work to destabilize Rwanda and spread propaganda, manipulating both media and regional platforms to do so.

Rwanda’s political stability and governance success stand in stark contrast to its neighbors — and that success has bred envy. Where Rwanda has invested in development, security, and systems, others have fallen prey to corruption, mismanagement, and endless internal conflict. Rather than seek reforms, some actors choose to undermine Rwanda’s achievements. It is telling how quickly certain countries react whenever anyone speaks against Kigali — not out of principle, but from a place of insecurity.

Meanwhile, chaos on the ground provides fertile soil for profiteers. During disorder, commanders from regional forces — and even FARDC itself — seize the opportunity to divert funds, embezzle logistics, and prolong conflict for personal gain. For many generals in the Congolese army, peace is bad business. The war economy has become a source of income and authority, and there’s no appetite to end it anytime soon.

Adding to this crisis is the sheer weakness of Congolese leadership. The DRC, rich in resources, is plagued by a governance vacuum. Armed groups, foreign soldiers, and criminals act with impunity — even against Congolese civilians — because no institution steps in to protect the people. The country is practically a no-man’s land, where order is a myth and justice an illusion.

At the center of all this is the DRC’s mineral wealth. From cobalt to coltan, diamonds to gold, the country’s riches remain both a blessing and a curse. Everyone wants a piece, and none are willing to wait. As long as the soil of the DR Congo remains untouched by full extraction, there will be no peace. But the process will take generations, perhaps centuries — meaning this chaos is not temporary. It is systemic.

The world must stop pretending that SAMIDRC is a peacekeeping force in the traditional sense. Its deployments, alliances, and the motives of those behind it suggest otherwise.

What we are witnessing is not peacebuilding, but a dangerous geopolitical game — one that could destabilize the entire region and undo decades of hard-won progress. It is time to call things what they are and demand accountability, even though nothing may change. This narrative has been repeated for years, and those who have the power to correct it are the very ones profiting from the chaos.

Yet, year after year, Congo’s crisis remains unresolved. What cannot be ignored is the pattern: whenever a major problem arises, some choose to deflect blame and launch a campaign of falsehoods, pointing fingers at others instead of seeking sustainable, internal solutions.

Currently, Rwanda has been scapegoated as the source of Congo’s insecurity. Ironically, those pushing that narrative are the very actors fueling Congo’s instability and blocking the path to peace.

Truth, twisted with lies

Since 1994, the number of armed groups in eastern DRC has grown at an alarming rate. In 2013, there were approximately 40 such groups. By 2024, that number had exceeded 250, with some analysts suggesting it may now be closer to 300.

Although these militias are the main drivers of chaos in the region, no country or international organisation has made a serious effort to eliminate them. Instead, they opt for endless conferences and statements, while Congolese civilians continue to be killed, displaced, and looted in their own country.

Many of the mining companies operating freely in these conflict zones hail from nations or blocs with the power to label aggressors and dictate international narratives. These companies continue their operations undisturbed, coexisting with terrorist groups, never raising alarms about threats. Why? Because these militias protect their interests. This disturbing reality raises a critical question: Is the Congo crisis genuinely being solved, or is it a long-term business of conflict profiting powerful actors?

Belgium and the false narrative against Rwanda

Belgium, the DRC’s former colonial power, is one of the loudest voices promoting a false narrative—a repetitive anti-Rwanda song echoed by Congolese officials who have failed to deliver for their people.

Today, these officials are expected to chant that narrative at every platform—locally, across Africa, and internationally—blaming Rwanda for everything while consolidating political and military power for personal gain. This has become their job, one that earns them thousands of dollars and international travel, all while offering no solutions to the Congolese people’s suffering.

Shockingly, some nations considered developed have embraced this narrative as truth, largely because they benefit from the ongoing plunder of Congo’s riches. Meanwhile, Rwanda has been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion without so much as a hearing.

Belgium continues to pose as a caring guardian of Congo while playing an active role in deepening its economic turmoil and denying its people the right to self-determination. It is also among the nations calling for sanctions against Rwanda, conveniently ignoring its own historical and ongoing involvement in Congo’s destabilisation.

The tragic irony is clear: those who once colonised and exploited Congo now claim moral authority over its future, all while continuing to benefit from its suffering. The real enemies of Congo are not across the border—they are within its leadership and among the foreign interests that prop up a system of exploitation masked as concern.

Blaming Rwanda may be politically convenient, but it solves nothing. It only delays the hard, necessary work of reform and accountability within Congo and distracts from the complicity of powerful international actors. Peace will not come through scapegoats or soundbites. It will come when the truth is faced, the militias are dismantled, and Congolese citizens are finally given the leadership, dignity, and justice they deserve.

Until then, Rwanda will remain an easy target for those unwilling to confront the real architects of Congo’s endless crisis.

Witness how the lives of endangered Congolese communities evaporate into footnotes when genocidaires in bed with the government terrorize the innocent with impunity—all while the United Nations and Western capitals clutch their treasures, muttering about “sovereignty” and “territorial integrity.”

Bravo, world! You have made corruption and criminality respectable.

Imagine: an ideology of extermination cloaked in the tattered flag of national interest, shared between greedy warlords and kleptocratic elites.

The DRC’s government, more interested in preserving its cozy alliance with the FDLR than protecting its citizens, demands that any criticism be censored in deference to sovereignty.

The West nods along, handing over aid payments and diplomatic praise, ignoring the screams of villages burned to the ground.

It is a performance of artificial indignation—heartfelt declarations in plush conference rooms, then sweeping atrocities under the rug for fear of stepping on governments’ toes.

Let us interrogates that performance. And, pull back the velvet curtain of diplomatic theatre to expose the horror show beneath: a corrupt, criminal system that trades human life for political currency, and an international order content to feed the monster rather than slay it.

International Hypocrisy: Why the Silence?

The FDLR is not a rebel group in the traditional sense. It is the ideological and military offspring of the perpetrators of the 1994 genocide, who fled to then-Zaire after orchestrating the fastest genocide in the twentieth century.

In the refugee camps in Goma and Bukavu, they reorganized, armed themselves, and began plotting their return to power in Rwanda. Their genocidal ideology did not perish; it metastasized in exile.

Over time, the FDLR embedded itself into Congo’s military and political fabric. Successive Congolese governments—from Laurent Kabila and now Felix Tshisekedi—have found utility in these genocidaires.

The FDLR may be on sanctions lists in Western capitals, but it continues to operate freely within DRC territory. Its leaders receive protection, its ideology spreads unchallenged, and its crimes against Congolese Tutsis—massacres, rapes, displacements—are ignored or dismissed.

Behold the masters of moral pretense: Western capitals draped in the robes of righteousness, yet deaf to the screams of Congolese Tutsis and Hema.

They brandish sanctions lists like blunt instruments, yet spare a thought for the genocidal FDLR that roams free.

The same diplomats who vocally denounce extremist violence in far-off lands now treat an ideology of extermination as a legitimate lever of Congolese statecraft.

It’s a weird joke: declarations of concern issued from climate-controlled offices, while villages are scorched and survivors are silenced.

This hypocrisy is not born of ignorance but of a calculated choice. By casting Rwanda as the perennial boogeyman—ever-expanding, ever-threatening—the international community absolves itself of the need to confront the real villains.

It sanitizes mass murder under the banner of “regional balance.” It demands investigation into phantom accusations against Kigali while refusing to probe the clear crimes of those who carve corpses for lunch.

Such selective morality reveals a perverse hierarchy of horrors: some genocides are inconvenient nuisances best left unspoken, while others become rallying cries.

The Congolese Tutsi, caught in this cynical calculus, are left to bleed in obscurity.

Media as Accomplices

Get to know the power of narrative framing. Welcome to the impressive theater of disinformation, where international media outlets trade nuance for neutrality, and victims for villains.

Headlines blare “ethnic tensions” as if brutality can be shrugged off as a natural phenomenon—like weather patterns beyond human control.

Reporters, armed with government press kits and UN communiqués, parrot the rhetoric of DR Congolese spin doctors: AFC/M23 is “Rwandan-backed,” FDLR attacks are “cross-border instability.” The context of genocide—its ideological driving force—is cleaned from every article.

Journalistic integrity is sacrificed at the altar of balance: two sides, two quotes, regardless of the monstrous disparity in moral weight. Congolese Tutsi survivors, mutilated and terrified, become inkblots in a sea of anonymous “stakeholders.”

Meanwhile, FDLR and their cousins’ spokesmen enjoy op-ed privileges and interview slots, advancing their denialist psalmody to unsuspecting global audiences.

This is not reporting; it is collusion. And it reinforces the lie that genocide is just another bullet point in a geopolitical slideshow.

The UN’s Dangerous Game

MONUSCO—an organization proclaimed as the guardian of peace—has become the unwitting midwife to genocide. Far from protecting the vulnerable, it orchestrates a macabre walkaway with death squads.

Under its banner, FARDC units notorious for FDLR collusion embark on “joint operations” that leave survivors searching for missing limbs in the forest. The UN’s blue helmets, rather than standing as bastions of neutrality, function as human shields for killers.

Despite reams of internal reports documenting child conscription, sexual violence, and mass slaughter, MONUSCO’s public statements are friendly press releases about “escalating tensions.”

Its mandate to protect civilians is rendered null by its refusal to name the perpetrators. When Congolese generals parade alongside FDLR commanders, the UN looks the other way—afraid that rocking the boat might disrupt flimsy “peace mechanisms.”

In this ridiculous charade, accountability is a foreign concept, and mandate creep is the order of the day. The world watches impassively as the UN’s failure grants genocide a veneer of legitimacy.

Peace Without Justice

The DRC government has consistently refused to negotiate with M23, branding them as mere Rwandan proxies. This refusal is not born of principle but of convenience.

By denying the political grievances of certain Congolese communities, Kinshasa avoids reckoning with its own failures: exclusionary politics, military corruption, and ethnic scapegoating.

The Luanda and Nairobi peace processes have been long on diplomacy but short on courage. They do not demand that the DRC address its alliance with the FDLR. They do not confront the structural hate embedded in Congolese media and politics.

Instead, they echo the same simplistic call: Rwanda must stop supporting M23. There is no mirror held up to Congo’s face. No demand to disarm genocidaires. No justice for Tutsi or Hema victims.

This imbalance ensures that peace remains elusive. You cannot build reconciliation on a foundation of denial. You cannot end violence while legitimizing those who view an entire ethnic group as enemies to be eliminated.

Exporting Hate

The ideological danger posed by the FDLR and its allies is not confined to Congo. Across Europe and North America, a constellation of denialist organizations and influencers has emerged.

They include think tanks, YouTubers, exiled politicians, and self-styled activists who promote revisionist histories of the 1994 genocide. Call it diaspora denialism with digital echo chambers.

In the process of exporting their heinous ideology, their narrative is simple and sinister: the genocide was not really a genocide, the victims are the aggressors, and the FDLR and other genocidaires are misunderstood patriots.

These views are not fringe. They are published in books, aired on radio shows, and featured in op-eds. Their proponents appear at international conferences, where they are treated as legitimate voices of dissent.

This is not free speech; it is ideological washing. It gives genocidaires a second life in the court of public opinion. It endangers Tutsi communities in Congo, Rwanda, and abroad.

And, it reveals a Western hypocrisy: Holocaust denial is criminalized; denial of the Genocide Against the Tutsi is accommodated.

Slow-Motion Genocide

What is happening in eastern Congo is not merely a security crisis. It is a slow-motion genocide, enabled by the structures of the state and sanitized by international diplomacy.

Congolese Tutsis have been lynched in public, burned alive, hunted in forests, and driven into exile. Entire communities have been erased from the map. And yet, their deaths rarely make headlines. Their stories are buried under diplomatic euphemisms.

This is what happens when the world feeds a monster. The FDLR was never just a rebel group; it was, and remains, a carrier of genocide ideology.

The Congolese state was never just a passive host; it has nourished this ideology for strategic ends. And the West, with its selective outrage and muddled morality, has been the monster’s enabler.

No More Cloaks of Convenience

And so, ladies and gentlemen of the world community, take your final bows. You have perfected moral acrobatics: equating genocide with ‘cross-border insurgencies,’ laundering terrorists into ‘security partners,’ and reducing massacres to ‘ethnic tensions.’

All to preserve a fiction: that sovereignty is a shield for murder, territorial integrity a sanctuary for hatred. You consecrate criminals, muzzle their victims, and reward the corrupt—yet still claim to champion human rights.

Behold the FDLR, that hydra of hate, flourishing under your complacency. Genocidaires who butcher villages and indoctrinate children march with state forces, shielded by decrees you refuse to challenge.

Their denialist mouthpieces speak in luxurious conference halls, while Congolese mothers beg for justice. You offer them peace brochures and platitudes about non-interference as their lives bleed away.

Where is your conscience, your courage, your outrage? Has “never again” become meaningless, a convenient slogan for political expediency?

The moment has arrived to cast off selective amnesia, dismantle criminal alliances, and demand accountability—no matter the cost. Anything less is direct complicity in the next atrocity.