The spectacle of President Kagame and President Tshisekedi awkwardly shaking hands in the U.S., with American officials cheering loudly in the background, was less a moment of reconciliation and more a staged performance of influence.
Peace was not negotiated in Goma, Nairobi, Addis Ababa or Arusha—places that carry the scars of conflict and have invested deeply in resolving it. Instead, it was signed abroad, choreographed for cameras, and presented as a foreign-sponsored breakthrough. A regional crisis became a photo-op, and that is not peace.
The Washington accord shows U.S. interests as much as regional aspirations. Its celebrated clauses on investment and “economic partnership” sit uncomfortably alongside quiet assurances of access to Congo’s cobalt, copper and coltan.
These are the minerals the world is scrambling to control. For Washington, securing critical mineral supply lines away from rival global powers is strategic.
For Congo, those minerals are its future. When peace comes bundled with extraction privileges, it is legitimate to ask whether ending violence was secondary to commercial positioning.
What is most disturbing is how African institutions were sidelined. The African Union applauded from a distance, the East African Community issued supportive statements, and regional envoys posed for congratulations, yet none convened, drove or owned the settlement.
Africa’s most complex conflict was mediated, sealed and celebrated outside Africa. When continental bodies watch from the gallery instead of chairing the table, sovereignty becomes symbolic.
History warns us vividly. Libya was declared “stabilised” by powerful outsiders. Its aftermath is still tragic. Sahel states were stabilised by external forces, only to later reject them and rebuild their own terms of security.
Western-led interventions come packaged with intentions, but those intentions are rarely free of strategic benefit. Africans suffer the consequences long after headlines fade.
Worse still, fighting resumed even as the document’s ink dried. Armed groups were not signatories, were not consulted meaningfully and did not consent. Peace that excludes those holding territory and weapons becomes a statement, not an outcome.
Families in displacement camps, survivors of conflict-based violence, children living in insecurity. They do not experience peace through televised signing ceremonies.
Real peace would start at home. Negotiations held on African soil, mediated by African structures, anchored by regional guarantors, and monitored transparently.
Its economic clauses would face parliamentary scrutiny, not be hidden in sealed annexes. Civil society, local leaders, affected communities—and yes, even non-state armed actors—would be part of design and implementation. Peace must not be transacted like a mining concession.
Whether the Washington agreement survives will not depend on the glamour of its signing, nor on foreign applause. It will depend on whether fighters disarm, communities return home safely, minerals benefit citizens rather than distant shareholders, and regional institutions enforce compliance.
Africa must stop outsourcing its conflicts. The Great Lakes region deserves solutions grown on its own soil, shaped in its own capitals, and defended by its own institutions.
Anything less is managed peace—temporary, fragile, and externally owned. African conflicts need African custodianship. If this agreement is to matter, it must now cease being Washington’s project and become Africa’s responsibility.