War exposes many things. It reveals the true character of men, the fragility of institutions, the impotence of alliances, and the resilience of those fighting for survival. In eastern DR Congo, the world has witnessed a paradox that defies reason—a small but determined force, M23, standing unyielding against a coalition of FARDC, MONUSCO, the Burundian army, the FDLR genocidaires, SAMIDRC, European mercenaries, and an assortment of militia groups collectively referred to as the “Wazalendo.” An army reinforced by an alphabet soup of international backers has thrown everything at them—drones, artillery, tanks, combat aircraft—only to be met with one undeniable truth: an army with nothing to lose is impossible to defeat. And yet, the world looks on, indifferent to the root causes of the conflict. The European Union and the G7 issue statements dripping with moral pretension, condemning M23 as the aggressors while whitewashing the crimes of those who butchered Congolese Tutsi and razed their villages to the ground. The United Nations, after decades of spectacular failure in the region through its peacekeeping force, continues its expensive tradition of doing nothing useful, except serving as a logistical backbone for the very same forces that perpetuate the chaos. The Southern African Development Community (SADC), parachuting into a battlefield it does not understand, has offered more rhetoric than results. For years, M23 called for a political solution—only to be branded terrorists and foreigners in their own country. Yet, today, after years of arrogant defiance, after thousands of lives lost and millions displaced, Félix Tshisekedi finally concedes: negotiations with AFC/M23 are inevitable. What changed? Nothing, except reality catching up with delusion. From intransigence to humiliation For years, Tshisekedi has performed a bittersweet dance of contradictions. In February 2023, he stood before fellow African heads of state in Bujumbura and declared that all armed groups in eastern DR Congo were “patriots” except M23, whom he labeled terrorists. This was not merely reckless rhetoric—it was a deliberate wedge, a poison pill designed to ostracize one community, to portray Congolese Tutsi as foreigners and justify their persecution. Yet, fast forward to 2025, and the same Tshisekedi now recognizes M23 as a force he must negotiate with. How does one transition from denouncing a group as irredeemable foreign terrorists to accepting them as political interlocutors? Tshisekedi himself provided an answer, albeit unintentionally. In February 2025, speaking to his political family, was quoted by journalist Stanis Bujakera, admitting: “We have lost two battles (Goma-Bukavu), but not the war.” In that same breath, he blamed his own army for betrayal, announced a complete overhaul of the FARDC, and still insisted M23 were foreigners. A man who claims victory while admitting his forces have been routed. A leader who accuses his own military of treachery while insisting that his defeat is temporary. A president who, after years of dismissing negotiations, now clings to the very option he swore was an act of humiliation. Tshisekedi once boasted that negotiating with M23 would be an act of national disgrace. If humility is humiliation, what then is arrogance? Is it dignity to drag an entire nation into war over pride? Is it patriotism to sacrifice thousands of soldiers in a losing battle just to avoid sitting at a table? Is it wise to alienate a people from their homeland, only to acknowledge—years later—that they were always part of the solution? In the end, it was not M23 who sought to humiliate the Congolese state. It was Tshisekedi himself, who mistook defiance for strength, only to return to the very path he rejected. The Hypocrisy of the UN, EU, G7, and SADC: Allies in failure While Tshisekedi flounders in self-contradiction, his foreign backers have distinguished themselves in only one thing: spectacular hypocrisy. The European Union and G7, with their robotic condemnations of “Rwanda-backed M23,” pretend they have the moral authority to define aggression. The same European capitals that armed and trained Tshisekedi’s forces, that sanctioned Rwanda while remaining blind to Kinshasa’s ethnic cleansing campaigns, now express shock that the rebels they dismissed have proven unconquerable. The G7's statement on March 14, 2025, in Canada was a masterpiece of hypocrisy. With straight faces, they equated M23 with the genocidal FDLR, as if those fighting for survival and those fighting to exterminate a people were two sides of the same coin. Three of these countries—France, the UK, and the US—sit permanently at the UN Security Council, yet they pretend not to understand the forces they have empowered in the Congo. What does it say about the state of global morality when M23, whose existence is a direct response to the FDLR’s terror, is condemned in the same breath as the very butchers that displaced hundreds of thousands of Congolese Tutsi? Italy, a G7 member, had its own ambassador to the DRC assassinated by the FDLR in 2021, yet today, the same Italy sits in meetings nodding along as its allies whitewash the group responsible. And then there’s SADC—an intervention force that arrived with much fanfare, only to quickly discover that war requires more than just bravado and press conferences. SAMIDRC, SADC’s grand military coalition, entered the battlefield with high hopes but soon learned what FARDC and its predecessors have known for years: fighting M23 is not like fighting civilians. Within weeks, SADC troops found themselves bogged down, unable to secure major gains despite numerical and logistical superiority. By the time they realized they were merely another addition to a long list of failures, it was too late. The mission had become a burden rather than a solution, and their presence only added to the confusion of an already crowded battlefield. They forgot they were fighting people whose existence in their own country was in peril. There were men and women who could not be broken A bitter, belated realisation It was on March 23, 2025, over a cup of coffee when something came to mind. There is a reason why the insults have stopped. There is a reason why even Kinshasa has dropped the “terrorist” label. The men who endured the unbearable—five years in the mountains of Sarambwe—were forged in a crucible that no conventional army could withstand. While FARDC generals grew fat from embezzlement and foreign mercenaries counted their profits, M23’s fighters survived off determination, discipline, and an unshakable commitment to their cause. They braved biting cold, constant humidity, hunger, disease, the dangers of wild animals, and the insults of a government that sought to erase their existence. And yet, in 2025, they stand—not just undefeated, but stronger, bolder, and more resolute. These are not just fighters; they are survivors in the truest sense, men who have lost everything but refuse to surrender anything. And the world, for all its indifference, is now forced to recognize what should have been clear all along: they are a force that cannot be ignored. So, here we are. The insults have ceased. The dismissals have faded. And now, Tshisekedi—after years of empty bravado, after sacrificing thousands of lives for a pointless war—finally admits he must talk. Not because he wants to, but because he has no choice. The world, too, is slowly waking up from its delusions. The UN, the EU, and the G7 have spent years pretending that the AFC/M23 problem could be solved by sanctions, by military intervention, by political isolation. And yet, none of it worked. Why? Because the truth does not bend to convenience. Because a people fighting for their right to exist cannot be wished away. But make no mistake—this is not a moment of victory for diplomacy. This is a moment of exposure. Exposure of a Congolese government that wasted years on arrogance. Exposure of an international community that chose cowardice over courage. Exposure of a world that condemned the wrong people while coddling war criminals. The only tragedy is that all of this could have been avoided. Peace could have been negotiated in 2022. Lives could have been spared. A country could have been saved from yet another cycle of war. But no. Tshisekedi, in his boundless wisdom, decided to learn the hard way. And now, after all the bluster, after all the speeches, after all the pointless deaths, here we are—right back where we started. A leader humbled, a resistance vindicated, and a world forced to confront its own hypocrisy.
