The unfolding situation in the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s (DRC) eastern city of Goma has once again cast a harsh spotlight on the perils faced by journalists there. The M23 rebel group’s recent offensive has not only unsettled the already fragile region but has brought back familiar fears among the Congolese press. For years, local journalists have been juggling the risks of intimidation and direct attacks from both governmental and armed factions in the mineral-laden yet tumultuous eastern DRC.
As the M23, allegedly supported by the Rwandan military—a claim Rwanda vehemently denies—pushes on against DRC government forces, the drive to control reportage has intensified. Is this a struggle to protect national security or merely a thinly veiled attempt to silence dissent?
The storyline isn’t new. DRC ministers, in a worrying cocktail of misinterpretation and suppression, have equated journalistic endeavors with terrorism support. In this vein, they’ve suspended the credentials of Qatari-based Al Jazeera’s journalists and gone as far as threatening other media houses. The chilling implication? Perhaps in their view, not all stories deserve to be told.
The journalists in Goma, while sharing their plight with the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ), disclose living under a cloud of trepidation. At least three reporters have been recipients of menacing communications. Human rights organizations emphasize the mounting risk of violence against civilians, urging a proactive approach to their protection.
“The escalation of the long-running conflict in eastern DRC has exacerbated already harsh conditions for journalists covering the conflict. All parties must prioritize the safety of journalists,” declared Angela Quintal, head of CPJ’s Africa program. Her words resonate with a stark truth: censorship is ever a looming specter.
Consider Jonas Kasula and Jonathan Mupenda. As journalists for Labeur Info and Molière TV, respectively, they’ve been ensnared in a web of threats since January 9. Cryptic messages, reeking of surveillance, out of nowhere. One particular message, ominous in its simplicity, reminded them of the potential to “finish” them at the mere flick of an opportunity’s switch.
Their alleged misstep? A visit to Bweremana, a village 40 kilometers west of Goma, to cover escalating tensions. How does seeking truth spark such ire? One anonymous note coldly stated, “On the 31st [of December], you were in Bweremana with your colleague Jonathan. Know that your fate will be sealed.”
Then, consider Daniel Michombero, a freelance journalist. Upon sharing a photograph of his family on social media, he was met with hostile accusations of propagating “fake news” and suggestions that he better plan his escape. An escape—imagine the irony from one’s homeland.
But this isn’t an isolated tale of persecution. Michombero and his wife suffered an unwarranted assault in their very home by uniformed men following his critical analysis of the government’s handling of a volcanic eruption near Goma in 2021. Why do reporters penning the unvarnished reality become targets?
The government’s stance, meanwhile, mirrors that of other seemingly impervious regimes. DRC’s firm rebuke of media, daring to narrate the “alleged advances of terrorists,” led Christian Bosembe of the CSAC to threaten suspensions aplenty. In his words, “Terrorists have no right to speak in our country.” A declaration powerful enough to muzzle not just insurgents but, unwittingly, the press as well.
It wasn’t long before Justice Minister Constant Mutamba echoed the sentiment. Congratulating government troops for regaining territory, he remonstrated that anyone, journalists included, relaying the activities of undesirable elements would face severe repercussions, even the death penalty. Is fear truly mightier than the pen?
Even the international staple Al Jazeera felt the heat. An interview with M23’s leader led to a revocation of its journalists’ accreditation. The communication directive? Anything resembling “an apology for terrorism” could never be tolerated. Al Jazeera, for daring to share a perspective, received a three-month suspension for “destabilizing institutions.”
Such precedents echo globally, from Mali’s media suspensions to the Sahel’s tactical media controls. Governments have long flirted with narrative management. Most notably, remember the ban on Al Jazeera during the Israel-Gaza conflict, the label of incitement looming large over them.
Calls seeking clarifications from key figures like M23’s spokesperson Lawrence Kanyuka and media entities, however, went unanswered. Silence, it seems, has become the chosen refuge of many.
So, where does this leave the valiant storytellers of the Congo? In their endeavor to illuminate truth, they walk a tightrope, neither too close nor too removed from the flames of conflict, old and new. Their realities illustrate not just the price of stories unwritten but also the resilience of voices that refuse to be subdued.
Edited by Ali Musa, Axadle Times international–Monitoring
