By Ewing Ahmed Salumu
In recent times, the term or label “Rwandan” has been used to justify violence, exclusion, and political score-settling. We are witnessing a dangerous generalisation of this label, applied to anyone who disagrees with those in power or refuses to follow the government line. Worse still, any critical voice, especially if it is not aligned with the regime, is quickly branded as Rwandan.
Is this new? No. A few years ago, the same label was used against the authorities in Kinshasa under President Joseph Kabila. Those who accused him of being Rwandan are now in control of the state. Yet the rhetoric has not changed. This political group, supported by part of the diaspora, has remained centred on this label, which has become both politically expedient and deeply discriminatory. To be called Rwandan is to be cast out of society. Friends distance themselves, fearing they too may be labelled. The term has become a tool of social and political disqualification.
In the past, Swahili speakers were primarily targeted. Today, the label has broadened. It now applies to anyone, regardless of their region of origin, who expresses a different opinion. This is the real trap, the trap of a discriminatory narrative. With a single word, a single name, one can be politically destroyed, or even physically eliminated, without anyone daring to protest, such is the immediacy of the demonisation. As if Congolese citizens from mixed Congolese and Rwandan families had neither a right to life nor a right to political engagement in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
Yesterday’s opponents, now in power, have along the way lost some of their former allies with whom they once insulted and branded other Congolese as Rwandan. The discourse has turned back on those who constructed it. Yet one question remains, and it is fundamental. Who invited the M23, perceived as Rwandan, to Kinshasa? Who invited Paul Kagame to Kinshasa? Who travelled to Rwanda and opened Congolese territory to the Rwandan special forces? Thanks to this collaboration, the RDF neutralised the leadership of the FDLR. Who, during periods of tension between Kinshasa and the opposition of the time, now in power, maintained relations with Rwanda?
And if our memory is not selective, through where did Étienne Tshisekedi pass in order to go and review Rwandan troops in Kisangani? We have not forgotten. Who was his driver during his passage through Bukavu? Did that make Étienne or Félix Tshisekedi Rwandan?
The label “Rwandan” has become a narrative weapon, used to demonise, isolate, and silence certain individuals. It is a weapon within a strategy of exclusion. One can be patriotic without endorsing the actions of those in power, because democracy rests on a plurality of opinions, tolerance, and respect for differences.
What we are experiencing today resembles political fiction more than a genuine national debate, a fiction built on stigmatisation and discrimination.
