President Félix Antoine Tshisekedi of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) has mastered the art of bravado, strutting across the political stage with the air of a self-proclaimed savior. In the theater of DR Congolese politics, Tshisekedi dons the guise of a resolute warrior, valiantly tilting at windmills with a Rwanda-shaped lance. His rhetoric, laced with defiance and lathered in hyperbole, resonates less as a call to action and more as a performance designed for applause. His rallying cry against Kigali echoes through Kinshasa’s corridors of power, a convenient distraction from the crumbling edifice of his governance. The plot thickens, however, with the U.S. Secretary of State, Antony Blinken, who, in a December 27, 2024, press release, seems to have bought a front-row ticket to Tshisekedi’s farce. Blinken’s assertion that Tshisekedi is committed to the Luanda and Nairobi peace processes might have been hilarious if the situation weren’t so tragic. Not only does Blinken appear convinced that Tshisekedi is ready to tackle the genocidal FDLR—despite the DRC’s military being practically indistinguishable from them—but he also calls for M23 rebels and the Rwandan Defense Forces (RDF) to withdraw from their positions. Here’s the kicker: the RDF’s presence in the DRC is as unproven as the Congolese government’s capacity for reform. Meanwhile, the M23, Congolese citizens by all accounts, are being asked to withdraw to... where exactly? Uganda? The moon? Perhaps Blinken has taken a page from Tshisekedi’s playbook, buying into the absurd notion that the M23 are merely Rwandans in disguise, conveniently erasing their Congolese identity for the sake of maintaining Kinshasa’s delusions. This cocktail of confusion, denial, and scapegoating has bolstered Tshisekedi’s bravado, fueling his hollow chest-slapping and further entrenching his refusal to engage with the M23. If diplomacy were a dance, Kinshasa is stumbling while blaming the orchestra for its missteps. Scapegoating Rwanda: A well-worn script The contradiction at the heart of Kinshasa’s approach to governance is staggering. On November 30, 2024, a letter from the Angolan mediation optimistically announced that the government had agreed to dialogue with the M23 rebels, in line with the Nairobi Process. This fleeting promise of diplomacy was quickly erased by Foreign Minister Thérèse Kayikwamba Wagner on December 14, who declared that there would be no negotiations with the rebels. Tshisekedi himself doubled down on this stance, declaring with great fanfare—with a leader’s roar, in an empty jungle. On December 19, 2024, Tshisekedi once again climbed his rhetorical pedestal before members of his Sacred Union coalition, delivering yet another tirade against the M23 rebels. Describing them as pawns of Rwanda, he proclaimed, “Even if they conquer the entire national territory and reach my door, I will not relent!” The applause that followed seemed to confirm his belief in his own mythos—a lone defender of Congolese sovereignty battling external enemies. But behind the bombastic rhetoric lies a simple truth: Tshisekedi has no plan. His government clings to a disastrous alliance with the FDLR—whose atrocities in the region are well-documented. Yet this performance, designed to cast Tshisekedi as a fearless patriot, ignores the complexities of the very stage he commands. His bluster obscures the fact that M23 is not an imported rebellion but an outcome of unresolved grievances within the DRC. By painting Rwanda as the villain, Tshisekedi conveniently sidesteps the uncomfortable truth: his government’s failure to address systemic issues—corruption, inequality, and insecurity—has fueled the cycle of violence. Tshisekedi’s anti-Rwanda rhetoric has become his government’s default response to crises. Whether it’s instability in North Kivu, massacres in South Kivu, or genocidal killings in Ituri, Tshisekedi blames Kigali for every ill. His administration’s narrative is simple yet effective: Rwanda is the omnipresent bogeyman threatening the DRC’s sovereignty. This narrative serves multiple purposes. Domestically, it shifts blame from Tshisekedi’s leadership failures to an imaginary external foe, rallying nationalist sentiment and distracting from his administration’s incompetence. Internationally, it crafts a convenient storyline for an indifferent global audience that neither understands nor cares to investigate the complexities of the region. Rwanda becomes the villain in a tale that absolves the DRC of responsibility, conveniently ignoring the genocidal propaganda and hate-fueled killings within the country’s borders. Kinshasa’s posturing on the M23 issue is less about principle and more about political survival. Tshisekedi’s imaginary staring contest victory In a dazzling display of delusion at Mbujimayi, President Felix Tshisekedi delivered yet another comedic masterpiece, claiming that Rwandan President Paul Kagame fears him so much he can’t maintain eye contact. “When I went to Luanda, I knew that guy wouldn’t come,” Tshisekedi declared, chest puffed with bravado. “He avoids me. He’s afraid of me; he can’t look me in the eye. When I’m in front of him, I stare into his eyes, and he looks away.” One wonders if this is the same Kagame who calmly fields questions from global heavyweights, addresses thorny issues with forthrightness, and has built a nation renowned for its development and resilience—or if Tshisekedi was referring to a Kagame in his own private, parallel universe. The crowd at Mbujimayi, however, seemed convinced, perhaps as convinced as Tshisekedi is that staring contests are a cornerstone of international diplomacy. One political analyst was quick to dissect this eye-based diplomacy. She said, “It’s truly innovative—while other leaders rely on negotiations, policies, or, you know, actual results, Tshisekedi has mastered the art of intimidation through prolonged eye contact.” Some Congolese critics, however, weren’t as impressed. “If staring could solve Congo’s problems, maybe the roads would be paved, the economy would thrive, and M23 would have surrendered years ago,” quipped an opposition figure. I wish Tshisekedi knew that Kagame has better things to do for his country and Africa than play staring contests. But let’s not ruin the fantasy. In Tshisekedi’s world, the real issue isn’t governance, security, or economic reform. No, it’s that Kagame can’t handle his steely glare. Watch out, ladies and gentlemen. The man who wins imaginary staring contests is coming for global dominance—one delusion at a time. As Tshisekedi continues to hone his fearsome glare, one thing is clear: the DRC’s challenges won’t be solved with optics—no matter how intense the stare. The shadow of a dark future Meanwhile, Kinshasa’s elite operates far from the war-torn east, indulging in political theater. The opposition is equally complicit, embroiled in endless debates over constitutional revisions rather than addressing the pressing needs of the Congolese people. In this environment, war becomes a tool to deflect blame and consolidate power—a tragic irony for a country desperate for peace. Kinshasa’s refusal to heed calls for negotiation from the East African Community, the United States, and other stakeholders betrays an astounding arrogance. This rejection of mediation isolates the DRC further and ensures that the suffering in the east will continue. The FARDC’s collaboration with armed groups, including the FDLR genocidaires, reveals the government’s lack of moral clarity and strategic vision. Tshisekedi’s approach is a slow-motion disaster. By clinging to empty bravado and perpetuating anti-Rwanda rhetoric, his administration ensures that the DRC’s endemic governance issues remain unaddressed. The east will remain a killing field, its people trapped in a cycle of violence and neglect, while Kinshasa drowns in its own arrogance. Félix Tshisekedi’s presidency is a masterclass in political performance—grandiloquent speeches, bold declarations, and a relentless focus on external enemies. But beneath the theatrics lies a leader out of his depth, unable or unwilling to tackle the root causes of his country’s crises. As the applause fades and the smokescreens dissipate, Tshisekedi will face the true measure of his leadership. Will he rise to the challenge of genuine governance, or will he be remembered as the silverback statesman who roared loudly but achieved little? For the sake of the DRC and its people, one can only hope it’s the former. But for now, the theater of Congolese politics remains as tragic as it is farcical. The dead end of denial As the sun sets on 2024, Secretary Blinken's optimistic endorsement of Tshisekedi’s commitment to peace and readiness to confront the FDLR seems less like diplomacy and more like the punchline to a bad joke. Perhaps he believes, like Tshisekedi, that the M23 are not Congolese but Rwandan interlopers who can simply vanish into thin air. The question of where the M23 should “withdraw” remains unanswered, much like the broader question of Kinshasa’s capacity for meaningful governance. Meanwhile, Tshisekedi’s government continues to rewrite reality, substituting the DRC’s complex internal struggles with a cartoonish narrative of Rwandan aggression. It’s a performance fit for Kinshasa’s echo chambers but wholly inadequate for the world stage. History, however, will not be so kind. As the east burns, Blinken applauds from the gallery, and Tshisekedi basks in the glow of his own hubris, the Congolese people are left to wonder: How long will the world indulge this tragic comedy? The hollow chest-beating of Kinshasa may win fleeting applause, but it offers no solace to a nation on the brink. Only when the DRC confronts its homegrown challenges with honesty and courage can it hope to script a future worthy of its potential. Until then, Tshisekedi’s bluster and Blinken’s naivety will remain the sad refrain of a nation adrift.
