On July 13, 2025, The Guardian published an article with the speculative and loaded title: “Rwanda and Russia look to lock in influence as CAR president eyes third term.” Written from Abidjan, Ivory Coast—not from Bangui, where the realities of the Central African Republic (CAR) actually unfold—the piece demonstrates not just journalistic sluggishness, but something far more insidious: the enduring, unrepentant racism embedded in Western narratives about African agency. That the reporter, Eromo Egbejule, sat comfortably in Abidjan and opined for London about affairs in CAR only reinforces the absurdity. The further he was from Bangui, the more distorted his view became. Had Eromo allowed common sense to prevail, he would have avoided the moral and intellectual farce of equating Rwanda’s disciplined, multilateral security engagement in CAR with the brutal shadow operations of Russia’s Wagner Group. But instead, he reached for an all-too-familiar and offensive template: the condescending assumption that African nations cannot act independently, strategically, or ethically unless supervised by their former colonisers. This is not journalism—it is storytelling weaponised to undermine African independence. It is an old editorial habit trying to be like a geopolitical analysis. A relic of a time when white men in London or Paris told the world what to think about Africa while silencing Africans themselves. The Guardian’s editors should be ashamed of letting their platform be used to recycle this smug paternalism. Let’s call this kind of writing what it is: a colonial spontaneous effect. A mental habit so profoundly rooted in Western institutions, media included, that any show of African capability is seen not as promising, but as threatening. When Western countries intervene militarily, it is portrayed as “stabilising.” When they dictate the economic policies of sovereign states, it’s called “assistance.” But when Rwanda—a geographically small, landlocked, better say land-linked African nation that emerged from the horrors of a genocide to become one of the most well-organized and visionary actors on the continent—deploys troops under legal, multilateral or bilateral arrangements to stabilise brotherly African state, it is portrayed as “expansionist,” “dubious,” and part of some dark, strategic collusion. This is both intellectually dishonest and morally indefensible. A daring falsehood Egbejule’s article presents Rwanda and Russia as two sides of the same coin, competing for influence over CAR. This is a deeply cynical equivalence—and a dishonest one. Rwanda’s engagement in CAR is built on transparent bilateral agreements with the CAR government. Its deployment of troops has been conducted in accordance with United Nations mandates, with explicit authorization from the African Union. The Rwandan Defence Forces in CAR operate in daylight, not shadows. The RDF are not mercenaries. They are not looters. They are not there to extract minerals under cover of chaos. Russia’s Wagner Group, by contrast, is a private military corporation whose operatives have been accused of war crimes, pillaging and torture for profit. They function outside international law, beyond accountability. To lump Rwanda’s disciplined, internationally endorsed presence with Russia’s soldiers of fortune, is a factual misrepresentation and an affront to reason. Worse still, it is the kind of equivalence that degrades African-led peacekeeping and peacemaking as fundamentally distrustful if it isn’t coordinated by former colonizers. That is the true danger of The Guardian’s editorial line—it elevates colonial thought over contemporary evidence, and in doing so, sows suspicion against African solutions to African problems. Beyond security Rwanda’s role in the Central African Republic is far more expansive than just security deployment to patrol the country. Rwanda has a wider vision in CAR—contributing to the rebuilding of CAR’s shattered institutions, training local security forces to professional standards, investing in agriculture, telecommunications, infrastructure, and fostering governance reforms. There is nothing secretive about it. No hidden playbook. No private army. These are not the actions of an opportunistic empire. They are the actions of a country that knows what collapsed statehood looks like—and is committed to helping its fellow African nation escape the same abyss. But in the world according to The Guardian, an African country with a clear plan, a well-ordered army, and a moral compass is too good to be true. It must be hiding something. Because in that worldview, Africans are children who never grow up—perpetual wards of a benevolent West. This is the racism that dares not speak its name, but manifests in every suspicious adjective and every ominous speculation. Western duplicity Let us hark back to some inconvenient truths. When France propped up Emperor Jean-Bédel Bokassa—a despot who crowned himself with stolen French taxpayer money and fed opponents to crocodiles—it was called “Françafrique.” When Paris dictated monetary policy to its former colonies through the CFA franc, it was termed “partnership.” When Britain divided nations and installed puppet governments across Africa and the Middle East, it was “civilisation.” When the United States launches drone strikes across sovereign nations, or conditions aid on military cooperation, it is for “regional security.” When Rwanda does far less, but does it transparently, it’s “suspicious.” This is the disgusting double standard that Egbejule’s piece lays bare. When the white North acts, it is compassionate hegemony. When the black South acts positively, it is predatory maneuvering. The Guardian’s real discomfort is not with Rwanda’s actions, but with Rwanda’s independence. With its refusal to play according to the script. With its ability to stabilise regions without asking for permission from the Metropoles. That discomfort is now being dressed up as journalistic curiosity—but its nakedness shows. Perhaps the most insulting aspect of this article is its implicit framing of African nations—particularly Rwanda—as incapable of strategic thought unless supervised. This is the colonial logic revived: Africa cannot act unless acted upon. By questioning Rwanda’s motivations, not on the basis of facts or outcomes, but on the mere basis of geopolitical suspicion, The Guardian effectively tells its readers that African countries should remain recipients of help, not providers of it. What an arrogant, shameful proposition. Rwanda and CAR have the right—indeed, the obligation—to build strategic alliances and act in defence of regional stability. That is not an “ambition.” That is leadership. And Africa sorely needs more of it. Rwandans are not asking for immunity from criticism. Rwanda is not perfect. No country is. But criticism must be grounded in evidence, context, and honesty—not guesswork, insinuation, and recycled colonial anxieties. Rwanda’s engagements in CAR are: Multilateral (backed by the UN and AU; transparent (with bilateral agreements published and debated); and, measurable (with tangible results in stability, development, and reform). So let The Guardian assess these facts. Scrutinize the details. Visit Bangui, and rural CAR—not just Abidjan. Investigate with rigor. But do not insult our intelligence by pretending to conduct journalism when the intent is clearly narrative engineering. A closing word Africa is not a backdrop for Western morality plays. It is a living, thinking, complex continent—capable of shaping its own destiny. Rwanda, in CAR and beyond, is not acting as a proxy for Russia, or anyone else. It is acting on its vision of responsibility, solidarity, and regional peace. That The Guardian refuses to recognise this is not Rwanda’s failure. It is The Guardian’s. This article did more than smear Rwanda’s efforts. It declared open hostility toward the idea that Africans can be strategic actors in their own right. That is the actual scandal. It is tragic—how some African journalists have become unsuspecting couriers of colonial anxiety, smuggling Eurocentric suspicion back into African discourse with the stamp of “journalism.” What Eromo Egbejule wrote is not dignifying; it is lacking in originality, shallow, and smacks of an internalized inferiority complex disguised as reporting. Sitting comfortably in Abidjan, penning condescending narratives about Rwanda’s role in Bangui, he channels not the voice of Africa, but the ghost of colonial gatekeepers. And The Guardian? It continues its old role with new ink—casting Africa as incapable, Africans as suspect, and African-led solutions as inherently flawed unless rubber-stamped by Whitehall, Quai d’Orsay, or Capitol Hill. This is not watchdog journalism. It is watchtower surveillance, where Africans are examined for daring to govern, to intervene, to lead. Real journalism in the 21st Century demands proximity to truth, not geographic convenience or recycled prejudice. What we witnessed instead was an editorial circus, with Eromo juggling half-baked speculation while The Guardian clapped from the colonial balcony. But Africa is awake. And no, it doesn’t need a foreign babysitter—or local ventriloquist. Africa needs dignity. And dignity starts with refusing to play along when the script is condescending, the plot colonial, and the storyteller complicit.
