Beyond the Signing Ceremony: Unpacking the High-Stakes DRC–Rwanda Deal at the White House

By Ephraim Agbo 

When pens touched paper in a heavily staged White House ceremony, the images were unmistakable: two presidents, a U.S. president playing host, and a pledge to end a conflict that has scarred the eastern Democratic Republic of Congo for decades. But beneath the spectacle of handshakes and official communiqués lies a maze of unresolved grievances, competing security logics and lucrative economic incentives — factors that have turned the Great Lakes into a conflict nexus and could determine whether this latest accord becomes a turning point or another footnote.

The core of the crisis: security fears versus resource competition

At its simplest, the dispute driving cycles of violence in eastern Congo reads like two overlapping narratives. For Kigali, the presence of armed groups tied to perpetrators of the 1994 genocide — notably the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR) — is framed as an existential threat that justifies cross-border operations and an assertive security posture. The FDLR’s history and its continued presence in eastern DRC have been central to Rwandan security calculations.

For Kinshasa and many international monitors, however, those security claims intersect with, and sometimes obscure, economic motives. The mineral wealth of the Kivus — gold, tin, coltan, cobalt — has long attracted military actors, informal networks and international buyers. Accusations that Rwanda benefits economically from instability, or from proxies operating inside DRC, have animated Congolese political rhetoric and informed UN and NGO reporting. The result is a conflict that is simultaneously ethnicised, strategic and highly rent-seeking.

The M23 puzzle: why exclude the rebels from peace?

Central to the fragility of any state-brokered settlement is the awkward reality that the principal non-state actor on the ground — the March 23 Movement (M23) — was not a direct party to the Washington ceremony. That exclusion matters. M23, a primarily Tutsi-dominated armed formation that re-emerged with force in recent years, controls territory, governs populations and has political demands that go beyond a bilateral diplomatic compromise. Independent investigators and analysts have repeatedly flagged evidence of Rwandan support for M23’s operations; Kigali denies direct control. That contradiction sits at the heart of why leaders signing a bilateral pact may struggle to stop fighting on the ground.

A top-down state-to-state pact assumes that removing interstate frictions will hollow out the insurgent’s raison d’être. But insurgencies are resilient: they adapt, entrench in local governance and derive resources from the very disorder agreements hope to remove. If the armed group that holds cities and checkpoints is not incentivised or compelled to lay down arms — and if accountability mechanisms are weak — the ink on the agreement will matter little to civilians living under curfew.

Guarantees, verification and the long memory of broken pacts

Regional diplomacy is littered with high-profile frameworks that failed to stop violence on the ground. The 2013 Peace, Security and Cooperation Framework — signed in Addis Ababa with broad African and international backing — promised a sequenced approach to stabilisation but struggled in implementation. That history understandably breeds local scepticism: people ask not whether the leaders can sign, but whether anyone can enforce the terms in the Kivus’ dense forests and rugged mountains.

Practically, success requires three interlocking and politically fraught steps: credible pressure on armed groups to withdraw; genuine demobilisation and reintegration; and durable mechanisms for monitoring and sanctioning transgressions. Who does the monitoring? MONUSCO, the UN mission long criticised for limited impact and contested legitimacy, has been described as outgunned and outmaneuvered; regional brigades or a new, well-mandated force might be necessary — but would require clear political will and resources. Public confidence hinges on visible, verifiable steps rather than promises alone.

The U.S. role: mediator, balancer — or self-interested player?

The United States’ decision to host and visibly shepherd the accord raises valid questions about motive. Diplomacy can be humanitarian, strategic — or both. Washington’s interest in stabilising eastern Congo is not only about preventing regional spill-over; it also intersects with broader geopolitical competition and supply-chain concerns for critical minerals used in batteries, electronics and defense industries. Western public- and private-sector appetite to secure alternative supplies has become a strategic objective, and stabilisation efforts that open access to resources will be read through that lens. Critics therefore question whether stability will be pursued primarily to facilitate extraction rather than to deliver justice, security and development for Congolese communities.

That duality — noble rhetoric and strategic interest — is not inherently malign. But the political economy of peace deals matters. Deals that prioritise rapid investment and mineral-sector access, without robust safeguards for local rights, revenue transparency and anti-corruption, risk reproducing the extractive logic that fuels cycles of conflict.

What to watch next: measurable tests, not photo-ops

A signing ceremony is a political instrument; implementation is a technical and political marathon. The immediate, observable tests will be tactical: will M23 vacate urban centres? Will Rwandan forces or proxies pull back? Will Kinshasa pursue credible disarmament of Hutu extremist formations implicated in cross-border attacks? The harder, structural questions — whether the DRC can extend legitimate governance into the east, whether livelihoods can be rebuilt, whether regional economies can be re-oriented away from illicit rents — will take years.

For ordinary people in towns like Goma, peace will be felt in concrete ways: the safe reopening of markets, radio stations broadcasting schools returning to normal, ambulances moving unmolested. If the White House signing is to translate into that reality, it needs fast, well-resourced sequencing: enforceable verification, inclusion of armed actors in transitional arrangements (or credible pathways to disarmament), legal and institutional reforms in Kinshasa, and binding guarantees that new investment routes will not entrench predatory networks.

Conclusion: ceremony is beginning, not end

The Washington deal provides a diplomatic frame and an opportunity — possibly the clearest international push yet — to change the calculations of key actors. But it is a first act, not the full performance. If the agreement is to end cycles of predation and grief, it must be followed immediately by transparent verification, inclusive local political processes, credible security arrangements and development tied to local needs. Without those, the images from the White House risk becoming another seasonal assurance that outlives its utility on the ground.

Above all, the region’s weary populations will judge success not by who smiled at the podium but by whether children can sleep without hearing the thud of mortars and whether families can return to homes that are whole. In the weeks and months ahead, the details — and their enforcement — will tell us whether this is a rare pivot toward lasting peace, or merely the latest turn in a tragic, familiar cycle.