Understanding the Complex DRC Crisis

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” These words by William Faulkner eerily capture the reality of eastern Democratic Republic of Congo, where history continues to bleed into the present.

On a misty morning in 2019, 76-year-old Jean-Pierre Kamanzi stood at the edge of his small farm near Goma, pointing to the hills beyond. “My grandfather cultivated this same land,” he explained. “Before there were countries called Rwanda and Congo, there were just people living together.”

Rwandophone communities like Jean-Pierre’s have inhabited Eastern DRC for centuries. The artificial borders drawn during the Berlin Conference (1884-1885) sliced through existing communities with the casual indifference of European powers who viewed Africa as a chessboard rather than a living tapestry of interconnected peoples.

“Before the Belgians came,” Jean-Pierre continued, “disputes between neighbors were settled by elders. Now they’re settled with guns.”

His observation points to a historical truth: while cross-border communities existed peacefully for generations, colonial rule introduced ethnicity as a political weapon, planting seeds of division that would later blossom into violence.

The consequences of these historical divisions are painfully evident today. In January 2023, Marie Kubwimana watched helplessly as armed men looted her small shop in Rutshuru. “They wore different uniforms, spoke different languages, but they all took what they wanted,” she recounted. “Nobody protects us—not the government, not the UN soldiers who drive past in their white tanks.”

Marie’s experience illustrates eastern DRC’s governance crisis. More than 200 armed groups operate in a region where the state exists primarily as an idea rather than a service provider. While Kinshasa boasts grand ministries and official pronouncements, its actual governance footprint diminishes with each kilometer eastward.

A senior DRC military officer, speaking anonymously, admitted: “We don’t have the resources or political will to secure the east. It’s easier to blame Rwanda than explain to Congolese citizens why their government has failed them for decades.”

This governance vacuum exists paradoxically in one of the world’s resource-richest regions—a contradiction emblematized by villages without electricity that sit atop billions in mineral wealth. The absence of effective governance has created fertile ground for armed groups, including those with the most dangerous ideologies.

Among these groups, none carries a more troubling legacy than the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR). At a rehabilitation center in Kigali, former FDLR fighter Emmanuel Bizimana described his recruitment at age 14: “They taught us that Tutsis were cockroaches who needed to be exterminated. They said we would return to Rwanda triumphant to finish the work begun in 1994.”

The FDLR represents the living legacy of Rwanda’s genocide. Founded by perpetrators who fled justice, the group maintains the genocidal ideology that claimed over 1,000,000 lives in just 100 days.

In November 2022, UN investigators documented a particularly brutal FDLR massacre in Kishishe village. Survivors described fighters singing songs from the genocide era while systematically executing civilians identified as Tutsi. These weren’t random acts of violence but the continuation of a genocidal project temporarily interrupted in 1994.

Despite international sanctions, the FDLR operates with surprising freedom. “They control mining areas, collect taxes, and even set up roadblocks on main highways,” explained conflict researcher Dr. Nadia Musanase. “This doesn’t happen without tacit permission from someone powerful.”

That tacit permission appears to extend beyond mere tolerance. In mid-2021, Congolese army deserter Sergeant Kambale revealed to human rights investigators how FDLR fighters received new Belgian-manufactured FN SCAR rifles identical to those supplied to official DRC forces. “They weren’t stealing these weapons,” he emphasized. “They were receiving them through official channels, with serial numbers intact.”

This weapons transfer represents just one facet of a troubling partnership. Leaked intelligence communications showed Governor Peter Cirimwami warning FDLR commanders about planned operations, while drone footage captured FARDC Commander Maj. Gen. Alengbia Nzambe meeting with known FDLR leaders in a forest clearing near Kibumba in early 2022.

These aren’t isolated incidents but patterns that reveal a strategic alliance between certain DRC elements and forces committed to completing a genocide—a moral contradiction that has profound implications for regional stability, especially for neighboring Rwanda.

“The night they came, my husband tried to protect us,” whispered Claudine Uwamahoro, now living in Mahama refugee camp in Rwanda. She showed the machete scar running down her arm. “They said they were killing Tutsi snakes. My children still wake up screaming.”

Claudine is one of over 100,000 Congolese who have fled to Rwanda. Her experience highlights the human dimension of security statistics. The 16 documented cross-border attacks have left families shattered and communities living in perpetual anxiety.

Rwanda’s Minister of Defense, General James Kabarebe, explained his country’s perspective: “No nation would accept genocidal forces operating freely on its border. The international community expects Rwanda to forget its history and ignore clear threats. Would France tolerate Nazi remnants organizing on its border? Would the United States?”

This security dilemma plays out against the backdrop of international intervention that has struggled to achieve its stated objectives. In July 2022, residents of Bunagana watched as MONUSCO peacekeepers in armored vehicles observed but did not intervene as civilians were attacked. “They took photos with their phones,” said witness Pascal Hakizimana. “They had guns, tanks, everything—but they just watched.”

This incident epitomizes MONUSCO’s contradictions. Despite being the UN’s largest peacekeeping mission with over 16,000 personnel and a US$1 billion annual budget, its effectiveness remains questionable after 25 years of operation.

Former MONUSCO advisor Philippe Laroux described the institutional paralysis: “The mission operates under contradictory mandates—support the Congolese government while also protecting civilians, even when those civilians are being threatened by that same government’s partners. It’s diplomatically and operationally impossible.”

More troubling is documentation showing UN logistical support for FARDC units that collaborate with FDLR. “They provide fuel, transportation, and medical support to army units that turn around and coordinate with genocidal militia,” explained human rights monitor Sandrine Mukabakiga. “It creates a grotesque situation where UN resources indirectly strengthen genocidal forces.”

The involvement of international actors extends beyond the UN. The region has become a complex chessboard of foreign interests. South African troops deploy alongside European mercenaries, while Burundian forces operate in coordination with ethnic militias.

A European military contractor who served in eastern DRC from 2020-2022 offered this cynical assessment: “Everyone talks about protecting civilians, but look at where troops actually position themselves—near mining areas, transportation hubs, strategic crossroads. Protection is the alibi, not the objective.”

This foreign military presence often prioritizes geostrategic positioning rather than civilian protection. As Congolese civil society leader Patrick Mulemeri observed: “Foreign forces claim to be here to help Congo, but their headquarters are near mines, not refugee camps. Their actions speak louder than their press releases.”

The mention of mines inevitably raises questions about resources and economic motives—a topic often distorted in discussions about the conflict. The narrative of Rwandan mineral theft persists despite lacking evidence. Mining expert Catherine Lumamba explained: “Major extraction operations in eastern Congo are run by Canadian, Chinese, and European firms whose operations are well-documented. The idea that Rwanda is somehow secretly extracting major mineral wealth doesn’t align with documented supply chains.”

This focus on minerals often obscures more fundamental issues. As conflict mediator Thomas Ndayizigiye noted: “Resources matter, but this isn’t primarily about minerals. It’s about governance failure, historical grievances, and security dilemmas that would exist even if eastern Congo had no minerals at all.”

In diplomatic circles, Rwanda’s perspective often goes unheard. Ambassador Olivier Nduhungirehe articulated his country’s stance at a 2023 regional security conference: “Rwanda has consistently called for political solutions. We’ve participated in every peace initiative. But we maintain one red line—we cannot accept genocidal forces threatening our citizens from across the border.”

Rwanda’s traumatic history shapes its security imperatives in ways often overlooked by international observers. As security analyst Marie-Claire Ingabire explained: “For Rwandans, the FDLR threat isn’t theoretical—it’s the materialization of their worst national trauma potentially repeating itself. This existential dimension is frequently missing from international analysis.”

Despite the complexity and seeming intractability of the conflict, grassroots initiatives offer glimpses of potential pathways forward. In a small peace dialogue near the Rwanda-DRC border in early 2023, community leaders from both countries gathered away from cameras and political pressure. “We don’t need politicians to tell us how to live together,” said Congolese elder Joseph Muhindo. “Our communities intermarried for generations before these conflicts. We share markets, languages, and family ties.”

This grassroots wisdom points toward sustainable solutions that must include governance reform in DRC that delivers actual services to eastern provinces, genuine disarmament of all armed groups (particularly those with genocidal ideologies), economic development that benefits local communities rather than extractive elites, truth-telling about historical grievances and current collaboration with harmful actors, and cross-border cooperation that acknowledges shared security concerns.

A Rwandan elder in his 90s, Jeannette Murorunkwere, who has seen the times and the tides change for decades,  observed, “Lasting peace requires looking honestly at uncomfortable truths. No single narrative captures the complexity of this region. We must recognize legitimate security concerns on all sides while refusing to tolerate those who profit from perpetual conflict.”

The path forward requires moving beyond simplistic narratives to address the complex interplay of historical trauma, governance failure, and security dilemmas that keep this resource-rich region trapped in cycles of violence—violence that serves various interests but never those of ordinary citizens who continue to bear its heaviest costs.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​