Forty-nine years before Jesus of Nazareth was born in Bethlehem, Roman general Julius Caesar and his army crossed the river Rubicon—the waterway separating Gaul (modern-day France) and Italy.

They marched on Rome, ignited a civil war, overthrew the Roman Republic, and declared Caesar "dictator for life." The crossing was significant because Roman law prohibited a general from entering the Republic as head of an army, making such an act a declaration of war against the state.

Once Caesar crossed the Rubicon, there was no turning back. The die was cast. Since then, "crossing the Rubicon" has become an idiom signifying a point of no return.

On January 28, M23, the armed wing of the Alliance Fleuve Congo (AFC)—a Congolese movement led by Corneille Nangaa, the former head of the DRC electoral commission (CENI)—took over Goma Airport and the Grande Barrière, the main border crossing between the Rwandan town of Rubavu (formerly Gisenyi) and Goma, the Congolese city of two million.

With only minor skirmishes between M23 fighters and remnants of the DR Congo government’s fragmented coalition—comprising the national army (FARDC), the Wazalendo militia, the Burundian army, and the FDLR—the rebels are likely to have full control of Goma, the capital of North Kivu province, by the time you read this.

As expected, M23’s entry into Goma, despite the futile efforts of the UN, SADC, and around 1,500 European mercenaries, has triggered a media and diplomatic firestorm.

Western powers have universally condemned the group, issuing statements that call for (a) M23 to disarm and withdraw from Goma and the DR Congo, and (b) Rwanda to stop allegedly supporting M23. Some global leaders have also reportedly contacted our president, pressing for a diplomatic resolution.

Predictably, the mainstream media—including CNN, BBC, Sky News, and France24—has added its sensational spin, focusing on mineral, dead UN and SADC personnel, suspected Rwandan involvement, DR Congo sovereignty, and impending humanitarian crises.

Notably absent from their coverage is any mention of Félix Tshisekedi’s corruption, his refusal to honor signed agreements, or his rejection of the East African peace plan.

Nor is there discussion of the ethnic cleansing and cannibalism targeting Tutsis or the plight of Rwandophone refugees languishing in camps in Uganda and Rwanda.

Despite the international uproar, M23 now controls not only the majority of North Kivu but has also moved south into South Kivu—a region it did not enter even during its 2012 takeover of Goma. All of this was entirely avoidable.

When M23 took up arms in 2022, invading the DR Congo from Uganda (not Rwanda, as some allege) and capturing the border town of Bunagana, they requested negotiations with the government. Their demands?

That the DRC government honor its commitments, protect Congolese communities in North Kivu from the predatory FDLR, and facilitate the repatriation of hundreds of thousands of refugees from camps. Instead, the government opted for confrontation, labeling M23 as "Rwandans” and "terrorists.”

Rather than giving peace a chance, the DR Congo government chose the military route. The result? Two years of humiliating territorial losses, culminating this week in the fall of Goma. So, what now?

By taking Goma, M23 has crossed the proverbial Rubicon. Remaining outside the city’s environs might have kept them under the global radar. But by capturing Goma, they have made their presence undeniable, declaring, "We are here. We will not be ignored.”

They now stand at crossroads.

If they are forced out of Goma under military or diplomatic pressure, they risk losing all the territories they previously held and being expelled from DR Congo altogether, denied recognition as Congolese citizens with a right to a home.

For us, Rwandans, this would leave a dangerous, well-armed coalition poised at our border, ready to export their violence into our territory. Monday’s barrage of rockets and mortars fired into Rubavu by DR Congo government forces underscores this threat.

Close to 10 Rwandans lost their lives, and scores were injured. The situation could have been far worse if not for the RDF’s anti-missile defense system.

For other Congolese communities, M23’s defeat would mean a continuation of the status quo—a slow descent into despair as political leaders in Kinshasa enrich themselves, selling the country’s resources to the highest bidders.

On the other hand, if M23 holds its ground, direct negotiations with the government will become inevitable. Such talks could pave the way for a new, positive socio-political and economic dispensation in the DR Congo.

Refugees might return to their birthplaces, and foreign armed groups like the FDLR and ADF could be expelled from Congolese soil.

Of course, this outcome comes at a cost. The question is whether M23 is ready—and willing—to pay that price. I certainly hope they are.

I certainly know Rwanda will pay a price, either in money or international ‘goodwill’.

As a citizen, after seeing the bombs that were flung, indiscriminately, our way, I am willing to pay whatever price will be demanded of us for long-lasting peace along our borders.

The author is a socio-political commentator