In a world where leaders inspire through courage and strength, where national pride is safeguarded by the unity of a country’s armed forces, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DR Congo) offers a masterclass in turning such ideals on their head. Picture this: The Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, President Felix Tshisekedi, inspects what is supposed to be a guard of honor. However, instead of Congolese soldiers standing tall, he is flanked by European mercenaries—easily spotted thanks to their skin colour—tasked with ensuring his personal security. Beside them, we hear murmurs of FDLR genocidaires in Congolese uniform, a bitter irony considering these are individuals infamous for their role in one of history’s darkest chapters of their country of origin—Rwanda. In this curious tableau, the symbolism of sovereignty and national unity is drowned in an ocean of absurdity. But why should this surprise us? In Tshisekedi’s DR Congo, what would elsewhere be a source of shame has been elevated into a virtue. What should be a national embarrassment is spun into a badge of honour. These mercenaries, alongside FDLR genocidaires dressed in Congolese military uniform, form the trusted bulwark around the President. The sight of foreign mercenaries guarding a head of state would be laughable elsewhere, but in the DR Congo, it’s a feature, not a bug. Trust in his national army is replaced with reliance on foreign guns-for-hire and individuals infamous for their past crimes in the Genocide Against Tutsi. While the absurdity might seem unbearable to an outsider, in the DR Congo it is the kind of insanity that masquerades as strategy. Meanwhile, the Congolese national army—the very institution tasked with safeguarding sovereignty—is relegated to playing second fiddle. Is it loyalty that’s missing? Or is it trust? Either way, this weird dependency reveals a leader who seems more comfortable outsourcing his safety than fostering national cohesion. It’s almost as if the country has come to believe that outsourcing its security is the ultimate solution, like hiring a babysitter for a child that keeps running into traffic. Welcome to the DR Congo, where sarcasm is not just a concept but a governing principle. Scapegoating Rwanda: A convenient distraction No analysis of Tshisekedi’s governance is complete without discussing his favourite scapegoat: Rwanda. From his government’s rhetoric, you’d think Rwanda is the architect of every Congolese woe, from poverty to potholes. Of course, no political absurdity would be complete without the chorus of international actors providing moral cover. In the first days of January 2025— European Union, the United Nations through MONUSCO's Bintou Keita, and even the U.S. State Department’s Spokesperson Miller, seem all too eager to indulge this narrative. They all take turns issuing disorienting press releases that read like Kafkaesque scripts. They are all bitter M23 has captured the town of Masisi which has been the base of FDLR. Complicity? Just asking a question I don't expect an answer. Their declarations consistently scapegoat Rwanda for the Congo’s internal problems while ignoring the elephant in the room—the Congolese government's refusal to address legitimate grievances from its own citizens, particularly the M23 rebels. Why care about Congolese when some European guys are enjoying a fat pay from Tshisekedi as soldiers of fortune? Press releases flow with the same refrain: Rwanda must stop backing the M23 rebels, and the M23 must withdraw from areas they control. But here’s where the logic unravels—no one bothers to specify why they should withdraw, to where, or even how this would resolve the deeper issues plaguing the country and the region. The absurdity deepens with the expectation that M23 should abide by a ceasefire agreement to which they are not a party. It’s as though international stakeholders have decided that mercenaries and FDLR genocidaires in Congolese uniforms are somehow more legitimate representatives of the Congolese state than M23, whose grievances have been clear and consistent for years. Hypocrisy reaches its peak when none of these press releases address the Congolese government’s stubborn refusal to negotiate with the M23. The rebels have long articulated their grievances, yet Tshisekedi and his backers behave as though these grievances don’t exist. How does one solve a problem they refuse to acknowledge? Sun Tzu or Orwell? Perhaps President Tshisekedi and his supporters have found inspiration in the words of Sun Tzu: “Disorder arises from order, cowardice arises from courage, weakness arises from strength.” Or maybe they’re just channeling the dystopian logic of Animal Farm, where failure is rebranded as virtue. After all, in the DR Congo, abnormalities are not just normalized—they’re celebrated. Consider the spectacle of Tshisekedi vowing to crush the M23 rebels while simultaneously relying on foreign mercenaries and genocidal militias to maintain his own safety. This isn’t just a failure of leadership; it’s a masterclass in political theater, where the script is written by incompetence and the applause comes from sycophants. Perhaps, Tshisekedi and his handlers fancy themselves as followers of Sun Tzu’s wisdom, twisting his lessons on disorder and strength to justify chaos and incompetence. The international community, for its part, seems content to play along. By failing to acknowledge the underlying issues—ethnic discrimination, governance failures, and the complicity of genocidal forces—the United Nations, the U.S., and the EU effectively endorse the status quo. It’s as though they’ve taken a page from Orwell’s Animal Farm, where doublethink reigns supreme: All Congolese are equal, but some Congolese are more equal than others. Or, let us say, FDLR genocidaires, the Burundi soldiers and European mercenaries are more Congolese than AFC/M23! Don't be surprised if DR Congo spokesperson, Patrick Muyaya holds a Press Conference to clarify that those considered mercenaries, are actually Missionaries of good news and hope from Europe. Or maybe, Tshisekedi and his flatterers draw inspiration from George Orwell’s Animal Farm, where failure is rebranded as triumph, and absurdity becomes a way of life. In Tshisekedi’s Congo, political blunders and internal contradictions aren’t obstacles to overcome; they are badges of honor. Why else would a leader who can’t trust his own military to protect him, and who relies on individuals with a genocidal past, feel confident incriminating Rwanda for his failures? This chaotic logic also infects his international allies. The UN, EU, and U.S. State Department seem locked in a competition to produce the most illogical policy positions. They demand the withdrawal of M23 from territories under its control but fail to question the presence of genocidaires within the Congolese army. They insist on ceasefires without addressing the fundamental issues fueling the conflict. Meanwhile, the Congolese people remain trapped in insecurity, poverty, and a governance system that prioritizes scapegoating over solutions. The Normalization of Chaos and Failure The tragedy of the DRC is not just that its leaders fail to lead but that their failures are normalized, even celebrated. Tshisekedi’s reliance on mercenaries and genocidaires, his scapegoating of Rwanda, and his refusal to engage with the grievances of his own citizens all paint a picture of a leader more interested in maintaining power than solving problems. His allies in the international community, rather than holding him accountable, enable this farce by parroting his narratives and ignoring the underlying issues. And yet, this is the reality of the DRC. In this theater of the absurd, the audience is expected to cheer for the hero even as he fumbles every scene. In the end, Tshisekedi’s Congo is less a functioning state and more a theater of illogicality. It is a place where failures are fêted as virtues, where national unity is forfeited on the altar of mercenary contracts, and where the blame for internal problems is conveniently shifted onto neighbors. Possibly Tshisekedi’s true genius lies not in his governance but in his ability to turn silliness into the new normal. If the Congo’s current predicament were a novel, critics would dismiss it as too far-fetched. A President who mistrusts his own army, an international community that blames everyone except the real culprits, and a rebel group demonized for daring to articulate its grievances—these are not the makings of a coherent plot but of a tragicomedy. The punchline? Tshisekedi’s supporters and international backers seem convinced that scapegoating Rwanda will somehow solve the DR Congo’s myriad problems. Finally, the DR Congo’s tragedy is not just the normalization of absurdity but the celebration of it. When failure becomes a virtue and hypocrisy a strategy, one can only wonder: who will write the next chapter of this farce? Perhaps Orwell himself would struggle to imagine it. In this auditorium, the audience—both Congolese citizens and the international community—is left wondering whether to laugh or cry. But who needs coherence when chaos is the order of the day? Welcome to the DR Congo, where irony reigns supreme, and absurdity is a way of life.
