By Ewing Ahmed Salumu
Brussels, often described as the Congolese capital of Europe, is not only the seat of the institutions of the European Union. For several decades, it has also been a major crossroads for the political, social, and cultural interactions of the Congolese diaspora. The city brings together a wide range of Congolese actors: students, artists, traders, political activists, opposition figures, and ordinary citizens in transit.
Since the 1960s, the Porte de Namur district, better known as Matonge, long embodied this meeting point. Almost every Congolese arriving from the Democratic Republic of the Congo made, and still makes, a symbolic stop in Brussels, particularly in Matonge, to reconnect with a familiar atmosphere. Once a space mainly frequented by students, the neighbourhood gradually welcomed musicians, street vendors, and then a more diversified commercial activity.
Today, it must be acknowledged that Congolese traders have largely disappeared, replaced by Indian and Pakistani shopkeepers who have become the main economic actors in the area. An evolution that recalls, not without historical irony, the dominance of markets in the eastern Congo by Asian traders before independence.
But this is not the central focus of this text. What is most striking today is a more troubling phenomenon: the displacement of Congolese conflicts, political practices, and excesses onto Belgian territory, despite Belgium being a state governed by the rule of law and a recognised democracy. Because it hosts all strands of the Congolese diaspora, Brussels is increasingly seeing its public space, I emphasise public space, transformed into a field of aggressive political confrontation, where pluralism of opinion and peaceful debate become difficult, if not impossible.
I was deeply shocked to witness Seth Kikuni, a political opponent who has already faced the Congolese justice system on several occasions and was forced into exile, being aggressively confronted by compatriots in a Brussels restaurant. Such a situation is unacceptable. Political life must be able to unfold in peace, without intimidation or pressure.
In the same vein, Seth Kikuni was accosted alongside Don Pierro L., a close associate of Katumbi and SK Della, and Claudel-André Lubaya, the son of the late Guillaume André Lubaya, a Congolese politician and victim of the so-called “Easter plot”, assassinated in 1968. These incidents are all the more troubling given that the practice known as lumbe lumbe, associated with dark periods in the history of the Congolese diaspora, appears to persist despite the change of power in the DRC.
The examples are multiplying. One can cite the case of Pero Luwara, who survived only thanks to his physical build. He himself testified publicly on television. There is also the case of Boketshu Wayambo, a former ally of those in power who has since become one of their most vocal critics. He was publicly humiliated, stripped naked, filmed, and the footage was circulated on social media, accompanied by an audio recording that has since become infamous: “Ma Dadieeee! Ma Dadieee!”. Other individuals are targeted as well, sometimes in complete silence, without media coverage or apparent protection. The practice is now spreading like an oil slick, extending beyond Belgium to other European countries. Clear warning signs have been issued concerning people targeted within the Schengen area, including figures such as Irenge Baelenge, who does not reside in Belgium but has been threatened elsewhere.
This situation raises a direct and legitimate question for the Belgian government: how does Belgium protect Congolese political opponents present on its territory? What concrete measures are taken in response to the targeted attacks they face? How can a state host people in political exile without being able to guarantee their safety, when the risks are known and documented?
From the perspective of Belgian law, these situations raise a serious issue of compliance with the state’s constitutional and international obligations. Article 22 of the Belgian Constitution guarantees the right to respect for private and family life, which includes personal security. Article 19 protects freedom of expression, while Article 26 enshrines the right to peaceful assembly. Any intimidation aimed at preventing political expression constitutes a direct violation of these fundamental freedoms. At the European level, Belgium is bound by the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR): Article 2, the right to life; Article 3, the prohibition of inhuman or degrading treatment; Article 10, freedom of expression; and Article 11, freedom of assembly and association.
The case law of the European Court of Human Rights clearly establishes that the state has not only a negative obligation, not to violate these rights, but also a positive obligation to protect them, particularly when individuals are exposed to known and targeted risks.
Must we wait for the irreparable before Belgium sends a strong signal against these practices? Are we witnessing mere negligence, or a tacit green light given to certain groups? Why, in the past, were firm decisions taken, notably after the attack on Moïse Katumbi, while today, in the face of repeated assaults, no visible response seems to follow? These questions inevitably lead to another: are we seeing a two-tier approach? If so, the responsibility of the Belgian government is engaged, even through silence. And that is deeply worrying.
Democracy rests on the plurality of opinions and on peaceful debate. Yet what is unfolding today in Brussels looks more like a political stew, in which intimidation, symbolic violence, and sometimes physical violence are mixed together, with the intervention of thugs operating in a space that should, on the contrary, guarantee freedom and security.
Brussels cannot become an extension of Congolese political excesses. If it truly wishes to remain a haven of peace, it must refuse to become an imported political quagmire.
