For decades, France has perfected the art of working in the shadows, securing its interests in Africa through black markets, corrupt networks, and unofficial dealings. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, a country blessed—and cursed—with an abundance of cobalt, gold, oil, and uranium, Paris has always found a way to keep its hands in the game. Officially, France speaks the language of diplomacy, democracy, and human rights, but beneath the surface, its real interest has always been access, control, and economic dominance.
Now, as the DRC teeters on the edge of deeper instability, France sees an opportunity. Not to help, not to stabilize, but to secure its own position. A distracted government in Kinshasa, obsessed with a manufactured enemy in Rwanda, makes it much easier to cut deals in back rooms and boardrooms. And into this volatile mix steps Thierry Mariani, a man who knows the value of chaos.
Mariani, a seasoned operator in the world of backdoor agreements, is not in the DRC for sentimental reasons. His reputation as a fixer for French economic interests precedes him. Wherever he appears, deals follow—most of them wrapped in layers of ambiguity.
As he moves through Kinshasa, shaking hands and whispering in ears, his mission is clear: to secure France’s long-term stake in the country’s vast mineral wealth. Gold, cobalt, and most crucially, uranium. The official line is that he is here to support the DRC, to reinforce ties. But history has taught us otherwise.
The timing of his visit is no coincidence. The DRC’s government, fresh from elections, is weak, scrambling to maintain authority, and desperate for powerful friends. France has stepped forward, not with solutions, but with incentives. The price? A blind eye turned toward certain transactions, strategic partnerships framed as aid, and a deepening of Kinshasa’s dependence on its former colonial patron.
The most useful distraction, of course, is Rwanda. Blaming Kigali for the DRC’s problems has become a national pastime in Kinshasa. Every failure, every military setback, every internal division—it all leads back to Rwanda, at least in official rhetoric. This narrative serves many masters. It allows President Tshisekedi to deflect from his own shortcomings, keeps the public’s anger directed outward rather than inward, and, most importantly, provides cover for the quiet, deliberate takeover of Congolese resources by foreign powers. France, naturally, amplifies this rhetoric. The louder the accusations against Rwanda, the less attention is paid to who is truly benefiting from Congo’s instability.
And France is not alone in this. Western economies are swarming like vultures, each eager to secure its piece of the DRC’s vast wealth. It’s a feasting season. Belgium, Canada, the UK, Germany—all of them are scrambling, cutting their own deals, pushing their own agendas. The noise is deafening. Statements of concern, diplomatic visits, and lofty pledges of solidarity mask the true intent: a ruthless competition for minerals. In this game, morality is nothing more than a slogan. They are here to take, to extract, to ensure that no competitor—whether China, Russia, or even a resurgent African power—gets too much control.
The hypocrisy is suffocating. While these powers jostle for control, eastern DRC is drenched in blood. Rebels are slaughtering innocent people, their violence a grotesque background to the resource grab. And when these same rebels shell Rwanda, when the DRC amasses deadly weapons, preparing for more destruction, the Western capitals suddenly fall silent. There are no urgent meetings, no condemnations, no press releases. The only sound is the quiet hum of extraction machinery, the discreet signatures on contracts, the muted conversations in hotel suites where the real deals are made.
And yet, France’s role in this region’s troubles goes back much further than current affairs. In 1994, as the genocide against the Tutsi in Rwanda came to an end, it was France that ensured thousands of perpetrators escaped justice. Under the cover of “Operation Turquoise,” a so-called humanitarian mission, French forces provided a corridor for genocidaires to flee into what was then Zaire. These same forces later rebranded themselves as the FDLR, the militia responsible for decades of violence in eastern Congo and cross-border attacks on Rwanda. The DRC’s persistent instability has roots in that moment, in France’s decision to shelter mass murderers instead of bringing them to justice.
Decades later, Paris has yet to acknowledge the full scope of its actions. It will not speak of the chaos it helped to seed, nor will it admit the role of the FDLR in the region’s suffering. Instead, it chooses silence. Conveniently, this silence is matched by Kinshasa’s refusal to dismantle the very group that has terrorized its own citizens. In this twisted game, France wins, the DRC’s leadership secures its temporary political survival, and the people of eastern Congo remain trapped in an unending cycle of war.
The hypocrisy is striking. While France postures as a defender of Congolese sovereignty, it does so while shielding the forces that have brought devastation to the region. While it pretends to stand in solidarity with Kinshasa, it does so with the intent of deepening its economic grip. And now, as if to crown this deception, Thierry Mariani, a French lawmaker in the EU, publicly brands Rwanda as an “invader”—a label as cynical as it is convenient.
Mariani, like many before him, is playing a calculated game. His words are not born out of concern for the Congolese people but out of a need to protect French interests. The more the world fixates on Rwanda, the less it notices the real scandal: the plundering of the DRC by those who claim to be its allies. The extraction of uranium, the looting of gold, the quiet manipulation of contracts—all of it continues, uninterrupted, beneath the noise of political theatrics.
For ordinary Congolese citizens, the cost of this arrangement is measured in more than just economic terms. It is measured in lives lost to conflict, in opportunities stolen by corruption, in the endless promise of sovereignty that never quite materializes. And all the while, the real powers at play remain unseen, their influence exerted not through force, but through quiet, deliberate maneuvering.
In the end, the question is not whether the DRC can regain its sovereignty. The question is whether it will ever realize who truly stands in the way.