In the early morning of June 28, a defiant Lawrence Kanyuka, spokesperson of the M23 rebel movement, stood in Bukavu, South Kivu, and addressed the international press with a blunt reminder: “It’s June 28—we’re still here. We’re not leaving the liberated zones.”
His statement, delivered just hours after the Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda signed a peace agreement in Washington DC, captures the central contradiction at the heart of the newly celebrated deal.
While President Donald Trump basks in global praise—or at least, in his own perception of it—the armed reality on the ground in eastern DR Congo remains unchanged.
Trump, who presided over the signing ceremony alongside Secretary of State Marco Rubio, called the accord “a wonderful Treaty between the Democratic Republic of the Congo and the Republic of Rwanda,” and claimed, with typical bravado, that the US had secured “a lot of the mineral rights from the Congo as part of it.”
In his long Truth Social post, Trump lamented that he would likely not receive a Nobel Peace Prize for this—or for other global interventions he claims credit for—but insisted, “the people know, and that’s all that matters to me!”
For Trump, it is all about his push for the Nobel Prize. For his America, it is all about the minerals.
What matters to the people in eastern DR Congo, however, is less clear.
Signed by the foreign ministers of Rwanda and DR Congo, the deal promised a cessation of hostilities, withdrawal of Rwandan troops, disarmament of all non-state actors, and the launch of a regional economic integration framework.
But it omitted one significant element: M23.
M23, a rebel movement of mostly Tutsi fighters, was not party to the agreement, and neither was there any reference to their immediate fate.
The group has, since January, taken control of strategic territories in North Kivu and South Kivu including swathes of Rutshuru, consolidating a de facto statelet with Rwanda’s alleged backing.
With a parallel government in place, the group has set up own tax regime in the mineral rich areas of their control, generating as much as $1 million per day. They have opened social services and are constructing infrastructure such as roads to boost trade in their area.
But the new deal, without mentioning them, is asking that they stop everything they are doing and step back to wherever they came from - like it was back in December 2023 when they had overrun North Kivu.
The UN, DR Congo government, and even Washington have accused Kigali of supplying arms, fighters, and logistical support to the group.
Rwanda denies this. Instead, it demands that Kinshasa dismantle the FDLR (Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda), a Hutu rebel group with roots in the perpetrators of the 1994 genocide.
For M23, the Trump-brokered agreement is a bypass—a deal between distant capitals, while those holding the land remain excluded.
President Paul Kagame, who did not travel to Washington but is scheduled to meet Trump later this year, has long offered his own critique of Congo’s dependency on external actors.
“If the owners of the natural resources go around begging, then you should know there’s something wrong with their minds,” Kagame once said, a remark widely interpreted as a jab at President Félix Tshisekedi’s reliance on Western mediation and willingness to trade sovereignty for geopolitical favour.
While Kagame’s government praised Trump’s effort, Rwandan Foreign Minister Olivier Nduhungirehe offered a cautiously optimistic tone at the signing.
“This conflict has been going on for 30 years,” he said.
“There have been many attempts at mediation, but none of them succeeded. This happened thanks to your leadership.”
But he added: “There is no doubt the road ahead will not be easy. Many previous agreements have not been implemented.”
The Congolese delegation, led by Foreign Minister Thérèse Kayikwamba Wagner, attempted to frame the treaty as a sovereignty-respecting accord.
“Peace is a choice, but also a responsibility… to protect sovereignty of states,” she said.
Yet the subtext was jarring: her government had just agreed to a deal brokered by a U.S. administration eager for minerals, with no presence of the actual group destabilising the east.
Critics like Dr Denis Mukwege, a Nobel laureate and prominent rights advocate in DR Congo, called the deal “opaque” and warned it rewarded Rwanda’s aggression.
“In its current state,” Mukwege posted, “the emerging agreement would amount to granting a reward for aggression, legitimising the plundering of Congolese natural resources, and forcing the victim to alienate their national heritage.”
Beyond the lofty language of peace and cooperation, the real prize lies underground. Eastern Congo sits atop vast reserves of tantalum, cobalt, gold, lithium, and copper—critical minerals for the global green energy transition.
According to the UK's The Guardian newspaper, the US, eager to wean itself off Chinese-dominated supply chains, has made no secret of its strategic interest.
“They’re so honoured to be here. They never thought they’d be coming,” Trump said of the Congolese and Rwandan delegations, before declaring, “We’re getting, for the US, a lot of the mineral rights from the Congo as part of it.”
Blunt, shameless theft if you call a spade a spade. Trump openly admitted the US is looting DR Congo’s resources under the guise of a “peace deal” with Rwanda.
This isn’t diplomacy, it’s colonial robbery in real time.
Analysts warn that such language echoes the colonial past.
“If this deal is about minerals and not justice,” said Dr Jacques Mboko, a political scientist at the University of Kisangani, “then it’s doomed to deepen rather than resolve the conflict.”
M23’s resurgence in 2022 was swift and brutal. Accused of war crimes, including mass killings and forced displacement, the rebels have portrayed themselves as defenders of Congolese Tutsis against the FDLR and hostile FARDC (Congolese army) units.
Their rhetoric echoes the early 2000s, when a prior iteration of the group was active.
The rebels claim to seek dialogue and political representation, not secession. Yet, their firm grip on territory, the building of parallel administrations, and continued clashes suggest otherwise.
“It is laughable to speak of peace while ignoring M23,” said a UN peacekeeping official in Goma, speaking on condition of anonymity.
“They’re the ones holding the ground.”
So far, the group has shown no sign of disbanding. On the contrary, their tone has hardened. “We control these zones not by accident, but by strategy,” Kanyuka said in Bukavu.
“We have created peace and order in territories Kinshasa abandoned long ago.”
For President Tshisekedi, the deal is a political gamble. With elections behind him and his legitimacy often questioned, he faces a conundrum: endorse an unpopular agreement that undermines sovereignty, or reject the only international lifeline he has amid ongoing military setbacks.
His bet appears to be that a US-backed accord will isolate M23 diplomatically. But that’s a risky calculation, especially if Rwanda continues to play a dual role: peacemaker in Washington, patron in Rutshuru.
More than 1 million Congolese have been displaced since M23’s return, according to UN agencies.
Many live in squalid camps outside Goma, with scant access to aid and under the constant threat of violence.
To them, Trump’s triumphalism is distant and meaningless.
The agreement's vague promise of a “regional economic integration framework” has drawn scrutiny. No details were provided on how this would function, who would lead it, or how border insecurity would be handled.
Historically, economic integration in the Great Lakes region has failed due to mutual distrust, weak governance, and conflicting national interests.
“Integration is not possible where arms are still speaking,” said Lillian Bisimwa, a Congolese journalist. “This is not an EU moment. This is a battlefield.”
In many ways, the Trump-brokered treaty symbolizes the contradictions of modern peacemaking: flashy ceremonies, vague communiqués, and no accountability mechanisms.
With M23 absent from the table, Rwanda and DR Congo signing pledges that sidestep the real drivers of conflict, and US interests seemingly prioritising minerals over justice, the groundwork for failure is already laid.
M23’s continued presence in eastern Congo, as their spokesperson put it, is more than symbolic—it’s proof that no deal signed in a Washington office can overwrite realities shaped by bullets, minerals, and decades of betrayal.
Unless future negotiations directly engage the armed groups and address historical grievances, this “wonderful treaty” may join the long list of forgotten accords in Congolese history—praised in the capitals, buried in the hills of Kivu.