In recent days, a number of photos and videos have been circulating on the internet, showing men and women covered in dust in scenes that are both shocking and artistic. Behind these productions lie the paradoxes between the lives of the people and the political and mining operators in the DRC.
"Creativity has always been the soul of our nation. When it is used by artists to bring about change and denounce injustice, it deserves to be applauded. I join their voice", says a Congolese editorialist.
Luilu is a town in Lualaba province, in the Mutshatsha territory, around 30 kilometres from Kolwezi, the provincial capital and world cobalt capital. Rich in mineral resources, Luilu is home to Kamoto Copper Company (KCC), a joint venture between the Swiss giant Glencore (75%) and the Congolese state-owned company Gécamines (25%).
But both it and the region are short of everything, including the basics. "In Kolwezi, finding water is a real challenge, and the inhabitants depend on the few boreholes. Electricity is unstable, and the Luilu-Kolwezi road is a real ordeal. Yes, people in Kolwezi are suffering. The image we show you doesn't always reflect reality," said a young man from the region.
VisitLuilu was launched spontaneously by a group of local comedians who wanted to alert the authorities to the advanced state of disrepair of the town's roads. Overall, it is a questioning of the environmental impact, the counterpart of local communities on the exploitation of strategic resources at a time when the Congo holds a large share of several raw materials.
"How can we explain that just 30 kilometres from Kolwezi, people are living in such a precarious state, even though they are literally sleeping on colossal wealth? This contrast between the resources of the subsoil and the misery of daily life is not only shocking, but unacceptable" said Joël Lamika, initiator of the Congolese consumer movement.
Professors from public universities in the Democratic Republic of Congo staged a sit-in in front of the Prime Minister's Office on Thursday to demand a direct meeting with the Prime Minister, Judith Suminwa Tuluka.
According to sources close to the delegation, the professors declined the offer of a meeting with the deputy head of cabinet of the head of government, arguing that only a deputy prime minister could represent the prime minister under the order of precedence.
This action is part of the persistent demands of the academic body for an improvement in their salary conditions, the honoring of commitments made by the government and the effective implementation of certain promised reforms.
For several weeks now, the teachers' associations have been exerting pressure in an attempt to obtain a frank dialogue with the country's highest authorities. Their categorical refusal to talk to a member of the Prime Minister's office reflects their desire to raise their voice and obtain political answers at the highest level.
No official reaction from the government has yet been received.
Tuver Wundi, JED's correspondent in Goma and Provincial Director of RTNC, is being held on the premises of the ANR in Kinshasa.
Concerned Journaliste en Danger (JED) reports that its correspondent in Goma and Provincial Director of the national radio and television station is being held by the Agence Nationale des Renseignements (ANR).
According to an official source contacted by JED, he is "being debriefed by the services".
Tuver Wundi had been in Kinshasa for several weeks, coming from Goma, the capital of North Kivu province, currently occupied by the AFC/M23 rebels.
The organization recalls that in March 2025, after the capture of Goma by the M23 rebels, Tuver Wundi had already been arrested and detained for several days by the AFC M23 intelligence services.
JED regrets this prolonged deprivation of a journalist's freedom. "The silence surrounding this arrest only fuels the concern of his family, his colleagues and the entire profession", stresses JED, which is calling for Tuver Wundi's swift release or, failing that, for transparent communication on the charges against him.
Colonialism never presents itself in its true, predatory form. It masks itself as an open hand, a benevolent force of intervention, even a civilising factor, when in truth it seeks nothing but the subjugation and exploitation of its target group for financial and political gain. Walter Rodney, a prominent West Indian Pan-Africanist, speaker and author, wrote extensively on the cyclical nature of colonialism, wherein it initially appears as a well-meaning involvement in the politics of a nation only to decisively hinder, or altogether sabotage the development of a victimised people. Rodney commonly refers to the case of the Congo, where the cycle can be seen initially through the initial interactions between the Kingdom of Kongo and Portugal, again the intervention of King Leopold and the following atrocities committed under the Congo Free state, once more with The Belgian Congo and finally reappearing with the assassination of Lumumba. Utilising Rodney’s writing, the cycle of colonialism can be observed once more with current events in the DRC and the states diplomacy with Rwanda and Uganda, where exploitative intentions are once more disguised under thin veils of righteousness.
For background, it is important to understand who Walter Rodney was both as a thinker and a person. Rodney was born in Georgetown, Guyana on the 23rd of March 1942, growing up during the country’s anti-colonial movement, led by the People’s Progressive party. Rodney’s own father was a member, providing him with an early exposure to the Marxist-aligned thought of the party. Rodney had an incredible academic upbringing attending Queen’s College, the most prestigious boys’ school in Guyana, winning an open scholarship studying undergraduate studies at the University of West Indies, Jamaica. In 1963, Rodney graduated with First Class Honors BA in History, moving across the Atlantic to London shortly after to study at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) for postgraduate studies, where he graduated at 24 with a PhD with Honors in African history. During his time in the UK, Rodney was mentored by CLR James and was an active member of the CLR James study group, emboldening his Marxist-leanings and fostering the development of his pan-Africanist thought. Rodney’s first teaching job stationed him in the University of Dar es Salaam in Tanzania in 1966, the city of Dar es Salaam being the base of many exiled African liberation movements such as the ANC (South Africa), FRELIMO (Mozambique) and the MPLA (Angola). Here, our thinker fully developed his Pan-Africanist perspective, which mixed with his Marxist upbringing to create his life-long anti-colonial thought. Rodney made significant efforts to empower the marginalized and impoverished, teaching working class people in depressed parts of Kingston and rural areas of Jamaica in 1968 to build Black solidarity and protest the growingly authoritarian government. For this, Rodney was banned from Jamaica, returning to Dar es Salaam in 1969 where he published his famous book “How Europe Underdeveloped Africa” among other revered works. In 1974, Rodney returned to Guyana amid conflict between the East Indian based Peoples Progressive Party (PPP) and African based Peoples National Congress (PNC) to assume an open professor position but was barred by the PNC Government, which saw him as a dangerous radical. This pushed Rodney to join the newly formed Working People’s Alliance (WPA), which campaigned against the PNC’s growing authoritarianism and offered a non-racial approach to a growingly racialised political climate. Rodney increasingly became a leading figure of the WPA, culminating in his state-ordered assassination by the PNC via car bombing on Friday the 13th of June 1980. Despite his life being cut short, Rodney’s works are still highly revered within pan-African and anti-colonial groups for their powerful messaging and detailed analysis of colonial systems.
Rodney’s references to the Congo comment on the cyclical nature of colonialism within the country, where colonial agents put on a façade of benevolence to get close to key actors and exploit gaps or tensions in indigenous state structures for material gain. This phenomenon can be observed first in interactions between the Kingdom of Kongo and Europe. In the wider colonial context Europe portrayed its emissaries in Africa as “explorers and missionaries bringing civilisation to the natives”, an image while appealing to many African rulers at the time such as the King of Kongo, is recognisably problematic today, as Rodney comments “There was a large and well-developed Congolese empire before the white man reached Africa.” Beneath this portrayal lay predatory interest, wherein Europe only really sought to ensure a secure stream of gold and revenues which they would use to power the colonial machine in the Americas, all the while keeping Africa in a vulnerable artificial position behind the rest of the world. Particularly, the nations of Europe asserted themselves as the middlemen of intra-African trade, exchanging their cheap and outdated consumer goods for African goods and trading them with other African states in the stead of their original traders, removing African financial independence and rendering them much weaker in the face of growing European demands. This also meant that Europeans could fill their slave ships with little cost to actual European resources. In the case of the Kongo, requests for European masons, priests, clerks, and physicians were met with Portuguese coercions to provide slaves. These pressures only worsened as Europe quickly began exploiting contradictions and contentions within the structure of the Kongo to “play one part of the Kongo kingdom against another”, filling their slave ship holds with prisoners of war as warring sides became desperate for funding to continue their long and tiring conflicts.
The cycle can be seen repeating once more during the rule of King Leopold, who took over the Congo under the guise of an anti-slavery mission against perceived slaver kings in Africa despite the European origins to the trade. In truth, King Leopold was a representative for a myriad of European nations interested in exploiting the Congo for its gold, copper, ivory, and rubber, with the anti-slavery mission giving Europe a larger license to exercise control over the Congolese state. King Leopold’s ‘benevolent’ rule over the Congo, was especially brutal, repressive, and greed-ridden, with its “labour policies” for Congolese workers masking horrific atrocities, such as mass mutilations, massacres and famines, inciting humanitarian outcries even from other European nations. King Leopold only expressed disdain at the widespread practice of removing hands of workers who did not meet quotas, complaining about how removing hands harmed his profits. At times more than a third of the capital produced in the Congo went out in the forms of profits for European businesses, all too often at the cost of Congolese lives, dignity, and freedom. By 1906, King Leopold himself had made at least $20 million from rubber and ivory trade in the Congo, highlighting the real, financial reasons for his imposition on the Congolese people and his continued support by Europe. The later Belgian annexation of the Congo Free state in 1908, while supposedly conducted in response to international pressure on the exploitation committed under King Leopold II, was only supported by Europe as Leopold had violated the agreements on free trade, once again showing the predatory interests hiding behind the noble projections of European intervention in Africa.
In the case of Lumumba and the Congo crisis, Rodney observes how the Congolese people had regained their political independence and reclaimed the political power of governing their own affairs that had been previously lost to white imperialism. The presence of anti-western and non-Eurocentric sentiments in Lumumba’s government concerned the West, sparking fears particularly within the US who saw a potential for communist/soviet influence in the Congo. There were also fears that these anti-western sentiments would push western companies out of lucrative areas in the Congo, especially Katanga, which was rich in copper, cobalt, and uranium. Belgium and its mining companies were distinctly worried by the possibility of losing access to these resources, resultantly supporting Moise Tshombe and the secession of Katanga through military training and deploying troops to ensure continued access to their mines and minerals. Outwardly, Belgium stated they had intervened to keep the peace and support their ally, hiding their financial angle in supporting Katanga. From this we can once again observe the cycle of colonists hiding their true intentions behind peaceful, noble causes depicted by Rodney.
Utilising Rodney’s analysis, one needs to approach the current crisis cautiously. Given the history of external actors and agents of colonialism saying one thing and doing another, the stated missions of all relevant forces in the ongoing conflict must be criticised; Is Rwanda really enacting ‘defensive measures’ when there is looming evidence of the state looting resources from the DRC and assisting the M23 group in their operations in the east? Are Uganda’s insistences that they both are protecting themselves from the chaos of the Congo and assisting in the fight against Rwanda factual when there are accusations of the army plundering gold and violating the rights of civilians? Is the UN telling the truth about the intent of MONUSCO when they have ignored multiple requests by the Congolese government for withdrawal and repeatedly fail to prevent conflict and arms proliferation? The cycle of colonialism has plagued the Congo since the first interactions between the Kingdom and European merchants and has stalked the progression of the country into the modern day. For the sake of Congolese livelihood, dignity and freedom, the cycle must be broken, and that starts with measuring what actors say against what they do in today’s conflict.
In the common memory of the Cold War and wider global anti-colonial struggles, conflict is often only discussed in either military or intellectual terms, resulting in a loop of covering armed struggles such as the Vietnam War (1955-1975) or the propaganda campaigns of the US, USSR and Non-Aligned movement to win the hearts and minds of global audiences. While these battlefields, armed and ideological, are indeed key to understanding this epoch, attention must be called to the fronts beyond this binary. Notably, music stood to be a particular area of contention, wherein opposing ideas of social organization, nationalism and sovereignty fought between sheet notes, and struggled within lyrical prose. To this end, the following blog will cover the journey of Congolese Rumba and through time into the modern day, highlighting an enduring Congolese wish for unity, peace, and independence despite its utilisation by Mobutu and the Kabilas for political gain.
Rumba itself originates across the Atlantic in Cuba, springing to life as a mixture of folk music from Spanish slavers and African captives taken to the island colony to fulfil its harsh production quotas. Of these slaves, 70% were trafficked from the Congo River basin, adding a distinct African foundation to the new musical style. Rumba found its way back to the Congo in the 1930s, as colonial officers hired Cuban bands such as ‘Orquesta Aragon’ to entertain them while they occupied their posts. Rumba Lingala, or Congolese Rumba, was born shortly following interactions between Rumba and Congolese music, melding the related styles into a musical common ground between Congolese people and Black diasporas. As stated by author Bob W. White in his article ‘Listening Together, Thinking Out Loud’, popular culture such as films, music and literature can act like a “coherence machine” for collective memory, providing groups with the tools to mobilize memory beyond the abstract into political consciousness without the lengthy individual process of unravelling the social world. Therefore, Rumba Lingala became a means through which Congolese communities could come to terms with their treatment and call for the unity and independence they desired, altering the organization of Rumba Lingala from original Rumba to better reflect these messages. In terms of lyricism, Rumba Lingala was originally exclusively sung in the four principal national languages of the DRC (Lingala, Kiswahili, Tshiluba and Kikongo), challenging the colonial imposition of the French language through asserting and popularising the use of their own. Generally, Rumba Lingala challenged colonial authority, encouraging a Congolese identity that ran along national rather than ethnic lines to combat colonial ‘divide and conquer’ tactics that had pitted groups such as the Kuba, Luba and Tetela against one another. Rumba Lingala sought to stimulate sentiments of shared destiny among the Congolese community, binding warring groups together to better campaign against colonial rule. To push this messaging, compositions were notedly repeated within songs to emphasise ideological messaging and ensure points made were hammered in. Observably, Rumba Lingala also has a marked loyalty to single tonality, close harmonies reflecting a desired sense of national Congolese community within songs themselves through providing all aspects of the music with equal footing. Congolese Rumba often relies on the use of call and response within its lyricism, construing a running dialogue on independence and unity and inviting audiences to join in on conversation. To highlight their progressive orientation, many Rumba bands called themselves jazz bands, a symbol of modernity and an explicit wish to maintain solidarity with Black Americans and other marginalised groups who had popularised Jazz. As it got more popular, Rumba Lingala’s liberationist messaging quickly spread through communities via a combination of utilising radio technology and “La Conjecture” – the Congolese social activity wherein communities listen to music together, making the messaging and organisation of music a much more communal matter. Resultantly, it was music before any propaganda campaign which popularised ideas of Congolese national liberation among the masses, keeping ideas of a unified and free Congo fresh within the minds of all the Congo’s people. Congolese Rumba slowly began to influence the music of other independence movements, showcased by E.T Mensah’s “Ghana Freedom” (1957) which incorporated Rumba Lingala’s iconic guitar patterns, Latin-style horns and call-and-response vocals into African Highlife to celebrate Ghana’s recent independence from the British. Furthermore, similarly to many Rumba Lingala songs which directly referred to independence movement leaders, ‘Ghana Freedom’ uses call-and-response vocals to mimic conversation about Nkrumah, construing him as the people’s leader and a hero of Ghana. Through this, Congolese Rumba had inseparably attached itself to African nationalist expression, becoming the musical foundation for anti-colonialist songs. Rumba Lingala’s political prowess was fully realised during the Year of Africa 1960, as Le Grand Kallé and L’African Jazz released the song “Indépendance Cha Cha” to celebrate the imminent independence of Congo. Indépendance Cha Cha became extremely popular and was lauded as the “First Pan-African hit” following its huge successes in French Congo and the rest of Francophone Africa and use by countries such as Rwanda for their respective independence celebrations. Over the years, Rumba Lingala had managed to establish itself as a powerful instrument of change and political consciousness, which unfortunately, following the Congo Crisis (1960-1965) increasingly began being appropriated by regimes to legitimate themselves in the eyes of the people for their own ends.
In the early years of the Second Republic, Mobutu launched his ‘Authenticité’ campaign, wherein the last vestiges of colonial influence would be cast aside, and a singular African Congolese culture would flourish through promoting African cultural values, names and titles, symbolised by Mobutu’s own name change from Joseph-Désiré Mobutu to Mobutu Sese Seko Koko Ngbendu Wa Za Banga. However, Mobutu found himself desperately needing to stabilise public opinions of him and his regime following his betrayal of Lumumba to Katangese forces during the Congo Crisis. Moving quickly to declare Lumumba as the First National hero of the Congo to placate present public outrage, Mobutu foresaw a route for legitimising himself as the next hero of the Congo through music, harnessing the influence of Congolese Rumba for his own gain. Bands such as O.K. Jazz were commissioned to create songs perpetuating controlled messages that positioned Mobutu in favourable lighting. Songs began to increasingly push both Pro-Lumumba and Pro-Mobutu messages, artificially establishing Mobutu as the destined successor of Lumumba and someone who could be trusted to continue his excellent work. This allowed Mobutu to lift opinion of him by attaching it to the much more popular figure in Lumumba, and better his standing as Ruler of the Second Republic. Going further, Rumba Lingala songs began to tie Mobutu to the idea of the Congolese nation itself, portraying the nation as a family in political organisation. This resultantly bound Mobutu’s rule and the Congolese nation together, falsifying a sense of essentiality to Mobutu’s rule to ensure the prosperity of the Congolese nation and demonising those who criticised the regime through likening it to betraying family. While efforts to stabilise his rule through music had empowered Mobutu, the success of propaganda through music became a double-edged sword to the Second Republic, as musicians gained enough political power not just to promote Mobutu, but implicitly criticise his rule, making music one of the few safe spaces for anti-Mobutu messages. Nevertheless, Mobutu managed to successfully harness the political influence of Congolese Rumba to solidify his rule and position within the Second Republic of Congo.
The trend of music as a political tool, albeit utilised on a much lower level, branches further into the Congo under the Kabilas, who endorsed musicians with political power in return for favourable songs. The best example of this is the late “Queen of Mutuashi” Tshala Muana and her relationship with both Kabila presidents. Tshala Muana rose to fame for her distinct style of Congolese Rumba, singing mostly in her native language of Tshiluba and dancing Mutuashi, the traditional dance of the Luba people as part of a loving promotion of her people’s culture in the wider world of Rumba Lingala. Muana often used her music as a platform for advocacy, giving the poor a voice and pushing for the rights of women and children. Through this, she preserved the original espousing properties of Rumba, while reapplying the centres of espousal to modern issues. Her most popular song “Lekela Mwadi” (1996) serves as a great example of this, speaking about the significant role women play in Congolese society, promoting women’s rights and achievements in the late years of Mobutu’s regime, where such discourse was obstructed by the enforcement of traditional silent, domestic roles for women. Notably, the lyrics portray the Congo in the microcosm of a village, depicting women as anchors of village community and therefore, Congo at large, mimicking pro-Mobutu motifs of the Congo as a village community for advocacy. Muana sings about often keeping things running politically and socially fall to women, making them instrumental to the survival of society. The line “Mukaji mufua bintu bibombe” – “when a woman dies, things fall apart” entrenches ideas of women as vital to Congolese society, highlighting the great loss to societal foundations when women die or are endangered. Muana was nominated into parliament by Laurent Kabila, fostering a lifelong loyalty to the Kabilas through their political support of her subsequent movements to enhance and protect the rights of women and children. Muana’s loyalty to the Kabila regime stood strong as power passed from Laurent to Joseph Kabila, with a lot of her following songs such as “Kabila very strong” pushing Pro-Kabila messages. Despite mass boycotts of her concerts in response to her support of Kabila, Muana maintained mass influence over Congolese music, helping to popularise Pro-Kabila sentiment even after his successor Felix Tshisekedi stepped forward. This ironically came back to bite her in 2020, when she was arrested due to her song “Ingratitude” having anti-Tshisekedi lyrics in it, claiming Tshisekedi had been an ungrateful mentee to Joseph Kabila and had strayed from the path preset by his predecessors. The following ban of the song from local radio stations proves that Muana’s messaging was deemed influential enough to be a risk to Tshisekedi and his regime, highlighting the continued prevalence of music in influencing Congolese politics.
Today, the sway of music over Congolese politics remains strong and Rumba Lingala remains a vehicle for voicing political strife, now often taking the form of samples for Congolese rap, as seen with Lexxus Legal and his Rumba backed hip-hop songs which criticise the current conditions of the Congo and call for social change. In 2023, the Amani festival in Bukavu featured a myriad of songs, some Congolese Rumba, to call for peace and reconciliation for areas affected by the recent conflict, especially Goma, where the festival was originally held, but had to be relocated due to M23 occupation. The festival provided young people with a chance to express their concerns and wishes, giving a voice to the underrepresented youth and once again displayed the survival of Rumba Lingala’s original function in franchising the disenfranchised.
Rumba Lingala, through the ages of the DRC, has shown its strength as a haven for anti-colonial dissent and defined itself as a herald of change, pushing for Congolese unity and peace. Despite tampering from several politicians, namely Mobutu, the core message of freedom and co-operation in the Congo has stood strong, allowing Congolese Rumba to remain an influential anti-colonial tool in current times. The music style’s evocative lyrics, use of call-and-response vocals and equal footing given to all aspects of a song has helped foster a common idea of Congolese community and disseminate the wishes of the people often left without a voice in the political world. If we are to take anything away from the continued impact of Rumba Lingala over Congolese politics, it’s that the voices of the people will be heard no matter what, if not in parliament than on the streets, and if not then, then it will find a home between the notes of music.
