An individual who is quite knowledgeable about the geography, history, and socio-political dynamics of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) recently submitted an article on the origins of the country's current crisis. With only light editing and a few adjustments to fit this publication's word limit for opinion pieces, I present the following insightful contribution: Anyone who has traversed much of eastern DRC—from Goma, Bukavu, Lulingu, Walikale, and Shabunda in the Kivus, to Kalima, Punia, and Kindu in Maniema, and further south to Manono, Kalemie, Kamina, Malemba, Kabondo-Dianda, and Lubumbashi in the greater Katanga region—will be struck by two things. The first is the stark level of poverty under which much of the population lives. The World Bank is certainly not exaggerating when it assesses that the DRC is the fifth-poorest country in the world—that is, under the current administration of President Félix Tshisekedi. The poverty is evident in the threadbare condition of people across the country and in the deplorable state of public infrastructure, such as dirt tracks masquerading as roads that become mud traps during the rainy season. The second is the near-complete absence of state authority. In such an environment, lawlessness quickly asserts itself. In the DRC, where lawlessness begins at the highest levels of government, there is no shortage of it. A good example is the countless roadblocks manned by armed men and dubious-looking officials whose principal function is to extort travellers, traders, and businesses. They do so with utter impunity because lawlessness has become a culture—part and parcel of the Congolese state. As a government, it has long ceased to pretend that its function is to provide public services and protect the public. Instead, it has morphed into a predatory entity whose primary function is to terrorise civilians. At independence in 1960, the Congolese inherited a country of extraordinary natural wealth. Before long, however, a deeply corrupt and kleptocratic system took hold. The state became an instrument of personal enrichment, patronage, and political survival, a tragic story that became all too familiar. It was in this environment that the notorious Congolese expression Article 15 gained currency: débrouillez-vous, meaning find a way to survive or fend for yourself. It came to represent something far more consequential: the informal philosophy that when the state could not or would not provide, people were expected to find their own solutions. For members of the security forces and public administration, this created particularly destructive incentives. When salaries went unpaid, were delayed, or were simply inadequate, soldiers turned to their guns, effectively becoming state-sanctioned armed robbers. For their part, officials used documents and official stamps as instruments for extracting bribes. These practices spread. They became pervasive. Eventually, they became the system. Thus, the DRC, formerly Zaire, became more severely affected by state failure than most countries on the continent. Under Tshisekedi, however, the rot has deepened, becoming more pervasive than under any of his predecessors. Under the current setup in Kinshasa, Tshisekedi and his cronies have grown obscenely rich by profiteering from the conflict in the east. They reportedly benefit from massive kickbacks linked to the procurement of weapons and other wartime expenditures. There is a profound irony in all of this. It is a government whose institutions exist on paper, but whose authority is fragmented, commercialised, and exercised through informal networks. Tshisekedi's government, however, also appears to understand the political value of physical isolation. The Congolese president seems deeply distrustful of infrastructure that could make the vast country more connected and, by extension, raise public expectations for better services. The logic is straightforward: a more accessible country is also more accessible to those who might challenge his authority. Roads can move commerce, but they can also move soldiers and facilitate rebellion by those who have grown weary of poor governance, corruption, and state failure. That is why Tshisekedi's approach to governance often appears transactional. He pursues the quickest opportunities to draw from the state treasury while doing little to build lasting institutions or infrastructure, all while conveniently blaming his failures on conflicts that he himself has little incentive to see resolved. The reasoning is circular: blame the wars, blame Rwanda for the wars, and the Congolese people are less likely to hold him accountable for his governance failures. It is Tshisekedism in a nutshell. Where there is no reliable connection between a village and its provincial capital, the state inevitably gives way to whoever controls the road, the checkpoint, the mine, the gun or the rebel movement. Yet few direct their frustration at the man in Kinshasa. Travelling through vast parts of the DRC can feel less like travelling through one country and more like travelling through a collection of territories loosely attached to a national capital. That, perhaps, is precisely how the ruler prefers it, because in such a situation very little effort at genuine governance is required. Otherwise, where would he find the time for the high life he so clearly enjoys?
