True African History

A midnight drizzle slicks the red-dirt road at Bunagana, on the Congolese - Ugandan border. A lone truck loaded with coltan ore grinds to a halt before a makeshift barrier of oil drums. An M23 askari - young, rifle slung - steps from the shadows. He collects a kitu kidogo through the driver’s window: a “little something” tax in Congolese francs. The truck is waved on, rolling past in the weak light. In the silence that follows, rain patters on iron roofing and distant gunfire crackles over the hills. In this small nocturnal scene lies a centuries-old pattern. Power in Central Africa has long flowed from control of chokepoints, use of proxy forces, moralized pretexts, and cycles of tribute. These four tactics - refined in the Kingdom of Kongo and its hinterlands around 1500 - 1700 - find uncanny echoes in the Great Lakes mineral conflicts of the modern day. This essay explores each tactic then and now, presenting a factual comparison of outcomes. It concludes with a scenario analysis: if today’s regional actors coordinated instead of competing, how might the numbers - and lives - change?

Thesis: Four hundred years ago, Central African rulers and foreign interlopers alike raced to control trade bottlenecks, franchised violence to local proxies, cloaked ambition in moral claims, and extracted wealth through self-perpetuating tribute loops. Today, rebel commanders and states in the Great Lakes repeat these tactics amid a high-stakes scramble for minerals. By examining The Chokepoint Race, The Proxy Franchise, The Moral Cover Charge, and The Tribute Loop in parallel, we see that the incentives - and consequences - remain strikingly unchanged. Coordinated action by the region as a bloc could alter this trajectory, yielding measurable economic gains for local populations, but the pull of established patterns poses a formidable risk of blind repetition.

Road-map: We begin with a historical and modern look at each of the four tactics in turn. Vivid scenes - from a Kongo king’s port in the 16th century to a coltan-smuggling route in 2024 - illustrate each strategy. We then quantify outcomes: how many lives and how much wealth were lost or gained, then versus now. A data-driven Historical Consequence section sums up the long-term impact of these tactics by 1700. Next, Blind Repetition Risk presents evidence that present-day actors are incentivized to repeat history. Finally, a Coordination Thought-Experiment contrasts Scenario A (regional bloc bargaining and value-added processing) with Scenario B (the status quo of fragmented competition), projecting winners, losers, and potential economic uplifts (on the order of $5 - 10 billion/year to the region under cooperation). The narrative blends rhythmic prose with terse facts - alternating rain-soaked imagery and sunlight data - to remain engaging yet rigorously sourced. No moral judgments are offered; only the mirror of history and a question of the future.

The Chokepoint Race - Then / Now

Then: In 1608, dawn breaks over the estuary of the Kongo River. Amid the morning mist, a caravel flying the flag of Portugal lies anchored off Mpinda, the coastal port of the Kingdom of Kongo. Onshore, the Manikongo’s officials stand firm at the chokepoint: a narrow wharf of weathered wood. They inspect and tax the goods being unloaded - brass rings, textiles, iron muskets - before any trade can happen inland. One official, robes splattered with mud, keeps a ledger by the weak light of a lantern. He recalls his king’s warning: without control of the river port, the kingdom’s power will slip like rain through open fingers. Far to the south, another drama unfolds: Portuguese settlers under Paulo Dias de Novais have built São Paulo de Luanda (est. 1575) on the Angolan coast, staking a rival chokepoint. Now two gateways - Mpinda and Luanda - vie to funnel the riches of Central Africa. The race for chokepoints is on.

By the early 16th century, the Kingdom of Kongo had thrived by positioning itself as broker between inland Africa and European traders. King Nzinga Mbemba (Afonso I) initially welcomed the Portuguese in 1480s - 1500s, trading slaves and ivory for European goods. But he grew alarmed as Portuguese merchants bypassed Kongo’s controls. In a 1526 letter, Afonso I lamented that “excessive freedom” given to Portuguese traders allowed them to set up shops in Kongo, flooding local markets with goods and undermining his authority​. His vassals no longer depended on the crown for European wares “in such abundance that many…do not comply [with royal orders] because they have the things in greater abundance than we ourselves”​. Crucially, Afonso complained that these merchants were spiriting away people as slaves, depopulating his kingdom: “every day our natives… even noblemen… are taken to be sold to the white men,” he wrote​. Kongo’s royal monopoly on external trade - a pillar of its power - was being eroded by unregulated Portuguese incursions. In effect, the Manikongo’s chokepoint on commerce was being flanked.

To reassert control, Kongo’s kings tried various tactics. Afonso I begged the Portuguese crown to send only priests and wine for Catholic mass, “and no other goods”​ - a plea to halt the independent traders. His successor later closed the port of Mpinda to slave exports temporarily. But the pull of profit proved too strong. Portuguese traders simply shifted south. By 1570s, they allied with the Ngola (ruler) of Ndongo’s enemies and established Luanda. The Portuguese Estado da Índia had effectively opened a new sea gate into Central Africa outside Kongo’s jurisdiction. The result was a chokehold contest: Kongo versus Portugal, each trying to control the narrow outlets of trade. This contest turned violent. In 1622, Kongo forces clashed with Portuguese troops at the Battle of Mbanda Kasi, killing a Portuguese captain and friar​. Kongo also forged an alliance with rival Europeans (the Dutch) to try to check Portugal. In 1641, when the Dutch West India Company seized Luanda, Kongo’s King Garcia II allied with them​, briefly restoring a shared chokepoint. However, the Portuguese recaptured Luanda by 1648​. Finally, in 1665, the struggle culminated in the Battle of Mbwila. The Portuguese defeated Kongo and decapitated its king; from that point, Kongo “ceased to function as a unified kingdom”​. The lesson was stark: losing the chokepoint race meant losing sovereignty. By 1700, Portuguese-controlled Luanda had eclipsed Kongo’s port, exporting 10,000 slaves per year from Angola’s interior​​. The Manikongo’s attempt to bottle the trade genie had failed, with catastrophic results for his realm.

Now: In 2024, midday sun beats down on a checkpoint near Rubaya in North Kivu, eastern DRC. Rubaya is a dusty mining hub encircled by green hills - and a prize chokepoint in the modern mineral race. Beneath corrugated metal roofs, bags of black unprocessed ore (coltan) are piled high. Heavily armed men in mismatched fatigues direct the flow. These are fighters of the M23 rebel movement, which has swept through North Kivu and seized Rubaya’s mines​​. A long queue of porters and brokers stretches out, all awaiting passes to move coltan. To the east, a convoy of trucks winds toward the Rwandan border, escorted by rebels. M23 has literally built its own road southward to Rwanda​, diverting the mineral flow across the border. Official Congolese customs officers are nowhere in sight. As in the 17th century, an upstart power has grabbed a strategic trade node, while the central authority’s grip has slipped. The chokepoint race endures - now centered on border posts and mining towns instead of river ports, but no less pivotal.

Modern states and militias in the Great Lakes have learned the value of controlling transport corridors. Nowhere is this clearer than in the eastern DRC, where cross-border trade routes mean money and leverage. Before its fall, the Bunagana border post (between North Kivu and Uganda) handled an average of US$2 million in monthly trade​. Much of this commerce was informal (undeclared), but it still greased the local economy. In June 2022, M23 rebels captured Bunagana without a fight, planting their flag at this gateway. The DRC’s customs revenues from Bunagana evaporated overnight. Yet business did not stop - traders simply paid fees to the new gatekeepers. M23 taxed goods and fuel crossing illegally, netting a sizeable illicit income (exact figures elusive, but enough to supply their war effort)​​. This tactic directly mirrors the past: just as Kongo and Portugal fought to monopolize a river port, the Congolese state and M23 compete for border towns and road junctions. Each aims to be the toll-collector of commerce. The scale is smaller - millions of dollars instead of millions of slaves - but the stakes (funding armies, asserting power) are remarkably similar.

Meanwhile, neighboring countries position themselves for a larger-scale chokepoint race over export corridors. The Democratic Republic of Congo is land-rich but landlocked for trade, reliant on outlets through others’ territory. Competing initiatives reflect this reality. In the west, Angola has revived the Lobito Corridor: a railway from Zambia and southern DRC to the Atlantic port of Lobito. In 2023 a consortium led by Trafigura won a 30-year concession to operate this railway​, promising to invest $800 million to modernize it​​. Once upgrades finish, trains will carry copper and cobalt from Congo’s Katanga mines to the sea in 8 days, less than one-third the transit time to Durban (South Africa) by truck​​. This new route could cut freight costs by hundreds of dollars per ton, a huge advantage. Sensing the shift, Zambia and the DRC signed on to develop it jointly​. In the east, Kenya and Tanzania are expanding the Northern Corridor (through Mombasa) and Central Corridor (through Dar es Salaam) to carry Congolese goods. Farther north, Kenya’s LAPSSET project (Lamu Port - South Sudan - Ethiopia corridor) aspires to one day extend toward eastern DRC. Each initiative essentially says: use our road/rail and port, not the other’s. It is an infrastructural echo of the old Kongo - Luanda rivalry. For instance, President Félix Tshisekedi of DRC in 2022 agreed with Angola’s João Lourenço to route more cobalt exports via Lobito, reducing dependence on the Indian Ocean routes. Kenya, in turn, has courted DRC to join the East African Community for closer trade ties. All players seek to become the indispensable conduit for critical minerals. Rwanda’s government, notably, has voiced ambition to make Kigali a regional mineral trade hub​. This has geopolitical teeth: controlling the “door” through which minerals leave Congo grants influence and profit. By 2025, the contest over these corridors has intensified.

One telling data point: after the M23 took over Rubaya (North Kivu) in April 2024, they gained influence over an area producing 15% of the world’s coltan (tantalum)​. Coltan is essential for electronics, and that market share is strategic. The rebels’ control of this chokepoint yields an estimated $300,000 per month in taxed production​​ (UN figures), even as trade is laundered through Rwanda. Another UN estimate is higher: about $800,000 per month from Rubaya’s coltan once smuggling and fees are counted​​. These revenues fund the rebellion and incentivize holding the ground. In response, Congo’s government has tried to re-route mineral exports away from rebel-held areas. But as of early 2025, M23 and allied networks still hold the keys to key export roads in the Kivus. In short, the Chokepoint Race persists: whether it’s a river mouth in 1600 or a border crossing in 2024, whoever controls the narrow passage controls the wealth. The names of the routes have changed - from the Congo River to the RN2 highway, from Mpinda port to Goma dry port - but the game remains recognizably the same.

Economic tally: In the 1680s, Kongo’s treasuries ran dry as Luanda siphoned off the slave trade; by contrast, in 2023 - 24, M23’s capture of Bunagana and Rubaya diverted an estimated US$2 - 3 million per month in trade value and mineral taxes away from the Congolese state into rebel coffers​​. Angola’s Lobito rail concession of 2023 likewise aims to shave freight costs by up to $600 per ton for copper exports by shortening the route to the sea, potentially saving Congolese and Zambian miners hundreds of millions annually in transport fees.

The Proxy Franchise - Then / Now

Then: A flicker of torchlight dances on the tall grass of the Kwanza River plains, circa 1618. A band of hardened warriors - muscled, scarred, and daubed with ash - emerges from the darkness. They are Imbangala raiders, feared Central African mercenaries known for their ferocity and kikongo war rituals. At their head, a warlord hefts a freshly acquired Portuguese musket, its barrel gleaming. Nearby, a Portuguese officer looks on approvingly as the Imbangala surround a village of Ndongo peasants. Without a single European soldier stepping forward, the village is overrun. By dawn, dozens of captives will be bound for the slave market. The Portuguese officer will pay the Imbangala captain in powder and rum, and perhaps grant him license to rule that area in the name of the Portuguese crown. This was conquest-by-proxy: lethal, cost-effective, and deniable. In the early 17th century, the Portuguese in Angola “hired some of the Imbangalans as mercenaries” to wage war against the independent Ndongo Kingdom​. A European colonizer with few troops effectively franchised its warfare to local bands, outsourcing the dirty work of slave-raiding. African proxies gained weapons and loot; the Portuguese gained slaves and territory. The franchise model of violence proved devastatingly successful.

One prominent example is Queen Nzinga Mbande of Ndongo and Matamba. In 1620s, facing Portuguese aggression, Nzinga first attempted diplomacy. But after the Portuguese betrayed agreements and installed a puppet ruler in Ndongo, Nzinga herself adopted the proxy approach from the other side. She forged an alliance by marriage with an Imbangala clan (warlord Kasanje)​, effectively franchising their fighting skills for her resistance. With Imbangala support, Nzinga waged a brutal 30-year guerrilla war, even allying with the Dutch from 1641 - 1648 to counter Portuguese proxies​. The conflict became a proxy web: Portuguese troops and African mercenaries on one side, Nzinga’s forces and Dutch on the other. Each major power leaned on African franchise fighters who knew the land. For Portugal, this was a deliberate strategy. Lacking large standing armies, they empowered loyal African chiefs with titles and firearms. A notable case was Angola’s sobas (local chiefs): those who cooperated were allowed to remain in power as vassals, tasked with providing slaves and tribute. Those who resisted were attacked by allied forces like the Imbangala. The Portuguese even created a puppet kingship in Kongo after 1665 to have a friendly mani-kongo as proxy, though Kongo’s civil war made that tenuous. By the late 17th century, much of inland Angola was indirectly ruled through such African intermediaries carrying Portuguese cartas (charters). This system resembled a franchise: local warlords operated under the Portuguese banner in exchange for a share of spoils and nominal titles. It reduced direct costs for Lisbon, while multiplying the scale of slave capture beyond what a few Europeans could manage.

The numbers hint at proxy impact. In the 1620s, Imbangala raids (backed by Portuguese) devastated the Ndongo kingdom, yielding thousands of captives annually​. One Portuguese report bragged that an Imbangala leader delivered “a prisoner for every musket shot.” By mid-17th century, Imbangala mercenaries founded their own polity (Kasanje) on the Kwanza, effectively a franchise state that supplied slaves to Luanda. This proxy arrangement was mutually reinforcing: more slaves delivered meant more guns and “pombo” (gunpowder) provided, which in turn enabled more raids. Kongo’s civil wars also saw factions aligning with either Portugal or Dutch, essentially proxy clients of European powers. The Kimpanzu and Kinlaza factions fought for the throne with foreign backing, a scenario strikingly akin to superpower proxy wars of later eras. In sum, franchise warfare allowed maximal extraction with minimal European risk. It sowed chaos: a Jesuit in 1620s Angola wrote that the land was “overflowing with wars” as allied bands scoured the countryside for captives. By 1700, Portugal’s colony thrived on this outsourced violence, while once-formidable African kingdoms lay fragmented.

Now: In a humid forest clearing in North Kivu in late 2023, a group of rebel fighters listens intently to an officer who speaks Kinyarwanda. He distributes sleek new rifles from crates marked with foreign scripts. These fighters are ostensibly Congolese - the M23 rebellion claims to be an indigenous uprising - but their benefactor is widely believed to be Rwanda’s military, using the group as a proxy. A satellite phone glows in the officer’s hand as he relays instructions likely coming from across the border. This is modern proxy war in the Great Lakes: neighboring states franchising local militias to secure influence and resources, while officially denying involvement. Rwanda and Uganda have been repeatedly accused, by the United Nations and the DRC government, of supporting rebel proxies on Congolese soil​​. Kigali and Kampala reject the charges, yet telltale signs - from captured equipment to intercepted communications - paint a proxy portrait. In 2022 - 2025, M23 is the prime example. A UN Group of Experts report found that Rwanda deployed around 4,000 troops to assist M23’s campaign in eastern DRC​. Rwandan forces allegedly fought alongside M23 or even masqueraded as the rebel group​. This allowed Rwanda to project power deep into Congo without open invasion. Just as Portugal once expanded its reach via Imbangala, Rwanda advances its interests via the franchise of M23. The rebels secure borderlands, strategic towns, and mines - delivering security and mineral access to their backers, in exchange for arms, ammo, and tactical support.

Uganda, too, has its proxies. Historically, Uganda backed the CNDP and M23 rebellions in 2000s; more recently, in 2023, some suspected that Uganda tacitly coordinated with M23 during simultaneous operations. Officially, Uganda sent its army into eastern DRC to fight the Islamist ADF militia (Operation Shujaa from 2021 onward). But by 2024, Ugandan troops captured Bunia (Ituri’s capital) even as M23 (aligned with Rwanda) drove toward the same region​. Analysts noted the unusual lack of conflict between M23 and Ugandan forces - hinting at an understanding or indirect alliance​. Top Ugandan generals publicly praised M23’s objectives​, a stark shift from 2012 when Uganda opposed them. This suggests that Uganda may view M23 as a convenient proxy to weaken the Kinshasa government and secure a share of resource-rich territory, much as Rwanda does. Meanwhile, Congo’s government, feeling the pressure, has its own local proxies: the Mai-Mai militias and even the FDLR (a Rwandan Hutu rebel group) have at times been tacitly encouraged by Congolese factions as counterweights. In early 2025, the M23 accused the Congolese army (FARDC) of aligning with the FDLR and other community militias in joint operations​. SADC peacekeepers strongly denied working with such groups​, but the very allegation underscores the proxy-war narrative: each side claims the other is using illegitimate armed franchises.

The proxy dynamic today is heavily driven by the lure of minerals. Rwanda’s support for M23 is “more likely…motivated by financial considerations” than purely security​​. Kigali has openly sought privileged access to Congolese minerals and the ability to channel trade through Rwanda​. Backing a friendly rebel force in North Kivu effectively grants Rwanda a franchise over those resources without formally redrawing borders. In turn, Rwanda reaps benefits: for example, coltan and gold smuggled from DRC can be exported as “Rwandan” origin, feeding its refining and trading businesses. During M23’s occupation, coltan from Rubaya is laundered into Rwanda’s supply, where it’s mixed with legitimate output and sold onward​. This generates revenue for both M23 and Rwandan intermediaries. It is analogous to Portuguese conquistadors sharing slave profits with African chiefs: each partner takes a cut. The arrangement is mutually reinforcing: Rwanda gets minerals (and a political client in DRC), M23 gets military hardware and cross-border sanctuary. The same logic applied in the 1998 - 2003 Congo Wars, when Rwanda and Uganda each sponsored rebel factions (RCD and MLC respectively) and carved the DRC into spheres of influence. Back then, a U.N. panel famously described the situation as “elite networks” plundering Congo, often via proxies, and estimated Rwanda and Uganda extracted hundreds of millions of dollars in coltan, diamonds, and timber​​. Those wars formally ended, but the franchise model never truly stopped; it simply lay dormant until M23’s resurgence. As of April 2025, with M23 rebels controlling large swathes of the Kivus, Rwanda has effectively expanded its influence to an area “nearly five times its size” through this proxy​​.

For the proxy masters, the advantages are clear: plausible deniability on the international stage, reduced direct costs (in lives and money), and a buffer against threats. For the proxies themselves, the payoff is power and patronage. However, the human costs on the ground are dire. This system has led to a patchwork of armed fiefdoms terrorizing civilians. The Congolese state’s authority has been undermined much as Kongo’s was in the 1600s. Quantitatively, U.N. experts in late 2022 documented that at least 1,300 Rwandan troops had been embedded or assisting M23 operations​, and by 2023, they noted Rwandan officers in M23 ranks coordinating attacks​. On the Ugandan side, over 1,000 Ugandan troops entered Congo ostensibly against ADF​, but ended up seizing strategic towns. Each foreign element operates under the guise of separate missions, but effectively they partition tasks. The end result is remarkably similar to the 17th-century Angolan example: foreign powers achieve domination over territory via allied local forces, while all parties share in the extraction of wealth (slaves then, minerals now). It’s a franchise of conflict, with the franchisees (rebels or local militias) paying “royalties” in resources to the franchisors (the sponsoring states).

Economic tally: In 2024, the M23 proxy delivered resources worth perhaps $50 million+ to its backers: for instance, an estimated 15 t of coltan per month from Rubaya’s mines​​, which at global prices (~$40/kg tantalum) is about $600,000, much of it exfiltrated via Rwanda. The UN estimated M23’s direct take at ~$800k/month from coltan and taxes​. In earlier years, Rwanda and Uganda’s proxy interventions (1990s - 2000s) yielded even larger rewards: during the 1998 - 2003 war, Uganda alone was found liable for $6 - 10 billion of Congolese resource exploitation by the International Court of Justice (2005).

The Moral Cover Charge - Then / Now

Then: It is Sunday, 6 January 1491, in Mbanza Kongo (later São Salvador), capital of the Kingdom of Kongo. A tropical sun beams through the freshly built Catholic church as King Nzinga a Nkuwu (João I) and his court kneel on the cool stone floor. The air is thick with incense. A Portuguese priest raises a cross, intoning Latin prayers, while Kongo nobles echo “Amen”. This is the baptism of the Kongo elite - a dramatic scene of faith. Outside, rain clouds gather over the verdant hills, a reminder of the coming wet season. To subjects watching, the king’s conversion to Christianity appears pious and profound. Yet a shrewd observer might detect another layer: this is also a political theatre, a moral cover for an alliance with powerful foreigners. The Kongo rulers sought spiritual legitimacy and access to European technology; the Portuguese sought souls and commerce. Religion provided a mutually beneficial facade. King Nzinga Mbemba (Afonso I), son of João I, would go on to use Christian rhetoric extensively in diplomacy - appealing to the shared faith whenever chastising the Portuguese for excesses. For instance, Afonso I argued that unauthorized slave trading was harming “the service of God” in Kongo​ and implored the Portuguese king, as a fellow Christian monarch, to intervene​​. He even requested priests and sacred wine instead of merchants, framing his needs in pious terms​. This moral language was not merely devout sentiment; it was a calculated cover charge - the ideological price of entry for continuing relations on his terms.

The Portuguese, for their part, often cloaked their military and commercial actions in the mantle of Christian duty. When they aided Kongo against the jagas (Imbangala invaders) in 1568, they depicted it as rescuing a Christian kingdom from savages. When launching wars in Angola, Portuguese governors invoked a crusading narrative against “heathen” rulers or “cannibals”, even as the true aim was conquest and slaves. One 17th-century Portuguese account justified attacking Queen Nzinga by accusing her of human sacrifice and pagan rituals - providing a moral pretext to European audiences for what was essentially a power grab. The Catholic Church itself became enmeshed: Capuchin missionaries in Kongo and Angola sometimes condemned the excesses of the slave trade, but more often they focused on conversion, inadvertently giving cover to the slavers who presented themselves as bringers of faith. Afonso I’s correspondence is revealing - he was deeply Christian, yet he clearly understood the use of religion as a diplomatic tool. In one letter he reminds the Portuguese king that both are Christians, thus the Portuguese should behave like one in Kongo​​. Implicitly: the exploitation must be checked to uphold Christian virtue. It’s a subtle moral charge laid at Portugal’s feet.

Another form of moral cover in that era was the rhetoric of civilization and order. Kongolese and Portuguese alike claimed to be bringing stability or enlightenment to chaotic regions. The Imbangala, with their reputed cannibalism and lawlessness, were a convenient bogeyman. When Portuguese allied with certain Imbangala, they labeled them “Christianized troops” to distinguish from the “evil” ones. Nzinga, when it suited her, got baptized (taking the name Ana de Sousa) and even invoked Christian sisterhood to negotiate with Portuguese governors - only to renounce it when back on war footing. She famously used a mix of cultural performances: at one negotiation she sat on her servant as a chair to avoid bowing to the governor, a scene laden with both defiance and diplomatic theater. Europeans spun such anecdotes later as examples of African duplicity or barbarity, reinforcing their own moral righteousness in subduing her. All these narratives served as cover charges: they made exploitation palatable by wrapping it in a just cause.

The numbers cannot quantify piety, but they do show the effect of moral posturing. Under the banner of converting souls, by 1600 Kongo had allowed thousands of Portuguese into its realm, and tens of thousands of its people were taken as slaves with relatively little initial resistance. Afonso I himself engaged in the slave trade for years, rationalizing it as removing lawbreakers or war captives, in line with both Kongo customary law and Christian justification (as long as they weren’t Christians in good standing). Only when the trade expanded beyond control did he cry foul. By then, the “moral cover” of Christian brotherhood had allowed Portuguese networks to entrench. Similarly, Portuguese moral justification for war in Angola (the supposed just war doctrine against non-Christians) led to the enslavement of at least 50,000 Mbundu by 1630s, all under the moral imprimatur of spreading Christianity (or punishing those who broke treaties with a Christian king). The pretext was thin but effective - Lisbon could claim it brought the light of faith and order, not merely chains.

Now: A crisp morning in April 2023, Addis Ababa. In a conference hall, President Paul Kagame of Rwanda addresses the African Union. Sunlight filters through tall windows as he insists Rwanda has “no interest in Congo’s minerals,” only in regional peace and stability. He solemnly cites the enduring trauma of the 1994 genocide and the continued presence of génocidaires (FDLR militia) in DRC as Rwanda’s concern. “We cannot allow another genocide; we act only in self-defense,” he declares. Across the room, DRC’s President Félix Tshisekedi rolls his pen, visibly frustrated. The Rwandan narrative paints Rwanda as a responsible regional actor forced to secure its border. This is the modern moral cover charge: invoking security, ethnic survival, and pan-African stability to justify what are, in part, economically motivated incursions. Kigali’s argument has been consistent: the FDLR, a remnant of Hutu extremist forces who fled to Congo after 1994, poses an existential threat. Therefore, any Rwandan “involvement” in eastern DRC is couched as protective or preventive, rather than expansionist. In reality, as UN experts note, the FDLR has been much weakened (estimated a few hundred fighters) and primarily poses a localized threat​. Yet the idea of FDLR provides Rwanda with a powerful moral shield. It resonates internationally, evoking sympathy for a nation scarred by genocide. It’s noteworthy that in late 2022, when evidence of Rwandan support to M23 mounted, Rwanda’s UN ambassador didn’t defend minerals; he invoked the FDLR and Congo’s failure to disarm them.

On the Congolese side, moral narratives also flourish. Kinshasa’s government frames the M23 not just as a security threat but as a foreign-backed terrorist outfit, emphasizing Rwanda’s aggression to rally national and international support. In speeches, President Tshisekedi calls upon patriotism and the right of sovereignty. In November 2022, he expelled Rwanda’s ambassador and stated DRC is the victim of “external aggression under false pretenses.” The moral high ground here is sovereignty and territorial integrity - principles that resonate with the UN Charter. DRC’s leaders also highlight the humanitarian toll (over a million displaced by M23’s offensive​) to paint Rwanda (and by extension M23) as a malign actor causing human suffering. Each side effectively charges the other with moral transgressions: Rwanda accuses DRC of sheltering génocidaires; DRC accuses Rwanda of fueling conflict for greed. This war of narratives was dubbed a “War of Perceptions” by observers​. Much like Kongo and Portugal writing barbed letters in the 1500s accusing each other of undermining God’s will, today’s players accuse each other of undermining African unity and peace.

Internationally, the moral cover shapes policy. Rwanda, seen as a post-genocide success story and peacekeeper, long enjoyed leeway from Western donors. It sent troops to peacekeeping missions in Central Africa and advertised itself as a force for stability. This earned Kigali substantial aid and political capital. Only when the UN evidence grew incontrovertible in mid-2022 did some partners suspend aid in protest​. Meanwhile Uganda, by partnering with DRC to fight the Islamic State - allied ADF, gained a similar moral fig leaf: counterterrorism. Framing its 2021 intervention as a fight against ISIS affiliates gave Kampala’s move an international stamp of approval, or at least acceptance. The US and others, focused on jihadist threats, offered training and intel support to Uganda’s operation. Thus Uganda’s military presence near some gold-rich areas of Congo was glossed as part of the War on Terror. Domestically in Uganda, President Museveni invokes heroic rhetoric of Ugandan forces liberating Congolese from fanatics. That conveniently obscures any opportunistic economic aims such as securing gold mines in Ituri (where ADF operates and where Ugandan companies have mining interests). The proxy war thus wears a moral costume: defeating terrorists.

Perhaps the starkest contemporary moral cover charge is the frequent invocation of the term “peacekeeping” by regional powers. In early 2023, the East African Community (EAC) deployed a regional force to eastern DRC. Kenya, Burundi, Uganda contributed troops, ostensibly to separate warring parties. Yet this mission became entangled in distrust - Congolese protesters accused the EAC force of “tourism” and even collusion with M23. By late 2024, as conflict escalated, the Southern African Development Community (SADC) sent its own mission (SAMIDRC). SADC presented this as aiding a brotherly nation to restore peace. However, when heavy fighting erupted around Goma in January 2025, resulting in the deaths of 20 SADC peacekeepers​​, SADC’s narrative wavered. M23 propagandists flipped the script, accusing SADC troops of siding with the “genocidal” FDLR​. A SADC spokesman swiftly and “firmly refuted” these allegations, insisting they would never cooperate with such elements​. Each statement is layered with moral positioning: we are the righteous peace-bringers; the other side consorts with evil. The truth on the ground is messier - lines between peacekeeper and participant blurred, and alliances of convenience exist. But publicly, every actor pays the moral cover charge to justify their involvement or non-involvement.

Quantitatively, moral cover can be linked to flows of support. Rwanda’s invocation of security concerns helped it avoid serious sanctions through 2023; its military budget continued to be donor-supported (over 50% of Rwanda’s $1.3 billion budget in 2022 came from foreign aid and loans, much of which was not cut until evidence became overwhelming)​​. Uganda’s framing of the ADF fight as anti-terror likely contributed to the US providing it with intelligence drones in 2022 (unofficial reports). The DRC, by highlighting “Rwandan aggression,” managed to obtain diplomatic backing: in December 2022, the UN Security Council strongly condemned M23’s attacks and implicitly Rwanda’s role, which was a win for Kinshasa’s narrative. Thus, moral narratives translate into concrete support or at least tolerance from the international community. Like Afonso I’s Christian appeals that won him Portuguese goodwill (for a time) and additional missionaries, modern leaders’ moral appeals win them sympathetic hearings, if not always decisive intervention.

Economic/political tally: In 2023, Rwanda’s moral positioning allowed it to secure a $310 million IMF funding arrangement and other aid despite the M23 controversy, though some aid ($60 million from Germany, some from EU) was suspended later​. Uganda, under the banner of anti-ADF operations, received $12 million of equipment and training from the USA (estimated) in 2022 - 24. Conversely, DRC’s moral narrative earned it diplomatic capital - for example, the EU deployed a civilian mission to advise its army in 2023 and the UN kept an arms embargo on rebel groups. These intangible gains and losses hinge on maintaining a credible moral cover.

The Tribute Loop - Then / Now

Then: In 1595, deep in the highland savanna of Kasai, a line of weary captives trudges behind a triumphant band of warriors. At the line’s head, a local chief loyal to Kongo carries a carved ivory tusk and a bundle of raffia cloth. This is tribute - human and material - destined ultimately for the king of Kongo and, beyond him, the Portuguese traders at the coast. When the procession reaches Mbanza Kongo weeks later, the captives (war prisoners from a rebellious province) will be handed over to royal officials. The king will then forward many of them to Portuguese merchants at Mpinda in exchange for guns, metalware, and wine. Those European goods will be distributed back out to loyal chiefs as rewards, ensuring their continued obedience. The system is self-reinforcing: firearms from Portugal empower Kongo’s armies to capture more tribute people; those captives are sold to get more firearms. This cyclical exchange is the Tribute Loop. It is a closed circuit of exploitation that fueled the trans-Atlantic slave trade. Kongo was not unique - other Central African polities like Ndongo and Matamba operated similar loops. By the mid-16th century, Portuguese officials in Luanda had formalized a requirement: local sobas must pay annual tribute in slaves to the colony​​. One colonial officer demanded 50 slaves yearly from a soba in exchange for protection. If the quota was met, the soba received gunpowder, cloth, and a title; if not, he risked being deposed. Thus, a loop: tribute (in slaves) flowed to the colonial authorities, and payments (in guns and prestige items) flowed back to African intermediaries. This created a perverse incentive to perpetuate slave-raiding endlessly.

The Kingdom of Kongo itself had an old tributary system (known as matadi or nfutu in Kikongo) for ivory, cloth, and shells. The arrival of the Atlantic trade hijacked this system. Afonso I complained that “the tribute formerly passed upward to the King was [now] paid to a Portuguese captain rather than to the traditional chief”​​. By 1550s, Kongo’s vassal provinces like Mbamba or Nsundi were funneling slaves to the king, who passed many on to Portuguese factors as part of trade agreements. When Afonso tried to stop the export of slaves in 1520s, it was too late - the regional nobles had grown “keenly desirous…of the wares” and were kidnapping even noblemen to sell for more wares​. In effect, the European trade goods had become the new currency of status and power. To get them, local elites fed more people into the loop. This feedback cycle led to self-sustaining slavery: war and raiding produced slaves, traded for guns, that enabled more war. One stark data point: by the eighteenth century, the Portuguese had introduced over 50,000 muskets into West Central Africa​​, an armament that fueled conflicts among African polities themselves. Those conflicts in turn generated the captive flow that sustained Portuguese slavers. It was a deadly equilibrium.

Consider Queen Nzinga’s domain in the 1650s: Matamba. After making peace with Portugal in 1656, Nzinga agreed to resume the tribute loop - sending a fixed number of slaves to Luanda each year in exchange for recognition of her rule. Matamba became an official vassal tributary to the Portuguese, albeit semi-autonomous. Nzinga’s successor continued this arrangement, effectively industrializing the capture of war captives to meet quotas. Similarly, in Kongo’s civil war after 1665, both factions sold captives to the coast to buy European support, perpetuating chaos to feed the loop. By 1700, the loop had consumed vast populations: historians estimate that from 1500 - 1700, over 900,000 people were exported from West Central Africa to the Americas​​. Many of these were originally tributes or war captives exchanged in internal loops before reaching the coast. The constant demand for slaves acted like a pump, drawing in more violence from the interior. African rulers were trapped too: to avoid being overthrown (or enslaved themselves), they had to keep paying tribute in slaves, which meant raiding neighbors or their own people under new pretexts. This tragic cycle is captured by Afonso I’s lament: “so great…is the corruption and licentiousness that our country is being completely depopulated”​​. The loop enriched a few but devastated the many.

Now: A convoy of motorcycles snakes through the thick jungle near Walikale, eastern DRC, in 2025. Each bike is loaded with sacks of gold-bearing soil and cassiterite (tin ore). They are headed for a remote airstrip where small planes will ferry these minerals out to Uganda or Burundi. Along the route, at each village, an armed group’s checkpoint exacts a toll - either a handful of gold nuggets or a “tax” in cash. The miners and traders call it “la route ya roquette”, slang in mix of French and Swahili implying the road of extortion. Essentially, the armed group (be it a Mai-Mai militia or an element of M23) is taking its cut of the mineral production as local tribute. In return, it provides protection or at least spares the miners from harassment. The pattern repeats at multiple levels: bigger rebel commanders demand payments from the checkpoint bosses, who demand from the miners. By the time gold from Walikale reaches a foreign smelter, it has passed through a loop of tribute sustaining the conflict economy. The armed groups use the collected gold to buy more ammo, possibly from corrupt elements of the national army or smugglers who fly in weapons. Those arms enable the group to hold its territory and mines, ensuring the tribute continues. It’s a closed circle of resource-for-guns eerily reminiscent of the 17th-century slave-for-guns cycle.

The tribute loop today is documented in UN reports. In 2024, the UN Group of Experts estimated that armed groups in just Ituri province (not even counting Kivu) generated about $140 million per year from illicit gold alone​​. Much of this money is funneled up chains of command and used to procure weapons from regional networks. In Ituri, for example, militia leaders trade gold for assault rifles that enter via South Sudan or Uganda. Those rifles are then used to control gold mines and trading towns like Mongbwalu, ensuring the flow of gold tribute. The UN report noted this $140 million “dwarfs the illicit revenue from 3T minerals”​, highlighting how lucrative gold is. Nonetheless, tin, tungsten, and tantalum (the 3Ts) also fund numerous smaller militias who effectively act as toll collectors on mine sites. A 2020 study found at least 25 armed groups financing themselves through 3T mines in the Kivus​​. The Congolese national army (FARDC) is not innocent either; some FARDC units have been caught running their own illicit taxation, a practice locals dub “pour boire” (for drinking money). In one infamous case, FARDC officers in North Kivu were found to be supplying ammunition to FDLR rebels in exchange for a share of the profits from illicit gold mining​. That blurs the line between state and rebel, but it underlines the loop: everyone becomes invested in the continuation of illegal extraction because they all get a piece of the pie.

International smugglers and brokers play a role akin to the Portuguese traders of old, greasing the loop with cash and goods. For example, significant quantities of Congolese gold are smuggled into Uganda and then to Dubai. In return, dollars and consumer goods flow back into eastern Congo’s black markets. Those dollars buy loyalty and weapons. A 2022 UNODC report estimated that at least 1.1 tons of gold per year (worth ~$60 million) leave North Kivu illegally, much of it financing armed actors. One can think of it as a new form of tribute paid to globalization: armed groups feed raw materials upward (to world markets) and receive in return modern weapons, Toyota 4x4s, even drugs for fighters. This feedback keeps local war economies alive.

M23, which operates more hierarchically than diffuse Mai-Mai, has established a particularly efficient loop. After seizing the Rubaya coltan mines in 2024, they instituted a “production tax” on every kilogram of coltan​​. At ~$40 per kg of tantalum content, the cut for M23 might be around $10 per kg. With Rubaya’s output around 100 tons of coltan per month (per UN estimates)​, M23’s tax yield could be nearly $1 million monthly, aligning with UN expert estimates of ~$800k​. This revenue is partly used to purchase drones and ammunition, which regional intelligence indicates M23 has acquired. Some is also likely handed upward to patrons in Rwanda as a kind of tribute for their continued support (though in covert ways, perhaps via business investments in Rwanda). Meanwhile, Rwandan traders benefit by blending the coltan into legal exports - earning a margin themselves. Thus the spoils circulate: from miners to M23, from M23 to foreign enablers, from them into the global supply chain. The continuation of conflict is effectively funded by its own outputs. This is the heart of the tribute loop: the war pays for itself with what it extracts. In 17th-century Kongo, war produced slaves that paid for guns to continue war. In 21st-century DRC, war produces minerals that pay for guns (and drones) to sustain war.

One devastating effect of the tribute loop now, as then, is the stunting of development. Money that could be taxed by the state and reinvested in roads or schools is instead fueling conflict. The DRC government loses an estimated $1.25 billion per year to artisanal gold smuggling alone (according to 2020 IMF assessments), much of which enriches armed groups and corrupt networks instead of state coffers. That amount could fund the DRC’s entire health budget. Historically, the tribute loop similarly drained human capital and wealth out of African societies into foreign hands, hindering state formation and development. Demographically, East Congo’s conflict economy has displaced over 5 million civilians since the late 1990s (as of 2023, per UNHCR, adding another million in the M23 resurgence)​, creating a large population of dependents who themselves become vulnerable to recruitment or exploitation, continuing the cycle.

In sum, the Tribute Loop persists: whether it is captives exchanged for muskets, or coltan exchanged for AK-47s, a cycle of extraction and armament traps the region in instability. Breaking it is difficult because each link in the chain sees short-term benefit in continuation. Just as some Kongo nobles in 1700 could not imagine an economy without the slave trade, many local strongmen today cannot envision livelihoods outside the conflict mineral trade. The loop has become the system.

Economic tally: A 2024 UN calculation indicated that illicit gold mining in Ituri provides armed factions $140 million annually​, which is reinvested into conflict - by comparison, Congo’s entire official defense procurement budget is only a few times this figure. Meanwhile, M23’s control of coltan and taxation in North Kivu yields about $800k per month​, covering salaries and ammunition, making the rebellion self-financing. Historically, by 1700 over 50% of Kongo’s population loss was due to the slave trade​​, a loop whose economic gains went largely to external powers and local elites, analogous to the way today’s resource wealth largely exits the country or enriches a narrow few.

Historical Consequence (1500 - 1700)

By the dawn of the 18th century, Central Africa’s experiment with these four power tactics had produced a tableau of fragmentation and foreign domination. The cumulative data tell a stark story. The Kingdom of Kongo, once a centralized state of perhaps 2.5 million people in 1490​​, was shattered by 1700. After the fatal Battle of Mbwila in 1665, Kongo splintered; its capital São Salvador was so ravaged by civil war in 1670s that it was abandoned for decades. A unified Kongo never re-emerged​. The population loss is hard to quantify but contemporary reports speak of whole districts emptied. Modern estimates suggest that between 1500 and 1700, West Central Africa (Angola and Kongo region) exported roughly 900,000 - 1,000,000 enslaved people across the Atlantic​​. This represented a significant percentage of the region’s population (for perspective, Kongo’s 2.5 million base dwindled markedly). The demographic collapse - compounded by war deaths and famine from disrupted agriculture - was profound. One Portuguese observer in 1680 noted that the roads of Kongo were “full of skulls and bones.”

Politically, the chokepoint race ended in European favor: Portugal secured Luanda and Benguela on the coasts, while local kingdoms lost control of trade. Kongo’s attempts to mediate Atlantic commerce failed; by 1700 its port of Mpinda was marginal, overtaken by Luanda and by Loango ports further north (in the hands of other Africans who in turn faced French and English encroachment). The proxy franchise tactic had a dual effect: it allowed some African actors (like the Imbangala or certain Kongo factions) to temporarily thrive in chaos, but ultimately it empowered the Portuguese colony. By using proxies, the Portuguese conquered Angola with relatively few metropolitan troops. By 1700, Portugal claimed sovereignty over the Mbundu lands and beyond, laying groundwork for the formal colony of Angola that persisted into the 20th century. African proxy warriors like the Imbangala became either integrated as colonial intermediaries or eliminated when no longer useful. Thus the local proxies mostly lost autonomy in the long run. Queen Nzinga’s realm of Matamba survived her, but in 1744 even Matamba was forced into a vassal treaty by the Portuguese, marking the end of effective native resistance in that zone.

Economically, the tribute loops of the 16th - 17th centuries had short-circuited indigenous development. Traditional industries (ironworking, textiles) and regional trade networks (like the Kongo - Ndongo - Mwata Yamvo trade) were reoriented toward slave export. The wealth of the region increasingly flowed outward. It is telling that by 1690, the Portuguese were exporting 15,000 slaves per year from Luanda and Benguela combined​​, fueling plantation economies in Brazil and the Caribbean, while Central Africa itself had no comparable influx of wealth. The goods imported in exchange (guns, trinkets, alcohol) did not equate to sustainable economic growth. On the contrary, reliance on imported firearms created a dependency. When shipments faltered, locals could neither produce their own guns nor easily halt conflicts, leading to vulnerability. Data from trade ledgers show that between 1620 and 1690, over 100,000 muskets and 4,000 barrels of gunpowder were imported via Luanda. These were consumed largely in internal wars. It was a massive investment in destruction rather than construction.

The moral cover of Christianity left a complex legacy. Kongo did become a fully Christian kingdom culturally; to this day the population of Kongo’s successor regions is largely Christian. But the moral appeals did not restrain the material outcomes. Afonso I’s entreaties did temporarily persuade Portugal to enact laws (João III in 1520s ordered traders to obey Kongo’s laws), yet enforcement was weak and the slave trade roared back​​. The Catholic Church increased its presence - dozens of missionaries operated in Kongo/Angola by late 1600s - yet they baptized more slaves than they could save from captivity. Ultimately, the lofty principles of faith did little to prevent the drain of 1 million souls or the collapse of indigenous states. They did, however, salve the conscience of some contemporaries and provide a legitimizing narrative for colonization. This would echo in the 19th century when Europeans invoked abolition and civilization to justify the Scramble for Africa.

In summary, by 1700 Central Africa’s power dynamics had been fundamentally altered by the interplay of chokepoint control, proxy warfare, moralized politics, and extractive tribute cycles. Indigenous kingdoms like Kongo were a shadow of their former selves, many smaller chiefdoms had been uprooted or coerced into the colonial fold, and the Portuguese had cemented a foothold that would expand. Millions in human capital were gone, tens of thousands of tons of ivory and copper exported, with minimal lasting benefit locally. The region entered the 18th century in a weakened, tumultuous state, which made it ripe for further foreign encroachment (by the end of the 19th century, nearly all of it would be colonized by European powers). The historical consequence is clear: fractional gains for a few African intermediaries, massive gains for external actors, and net losses - demographic, political, and economic - for Central African societies at large.

Blind Repetition Risk (Modern Day)

The mirroring of tactics between 17th-century Central Africa and today’s Great Lakes is more than an academic curiosity - it signals a risk that history’s tragedy is repeating as farce, or perhaps as a continuing tragedy. The incentives that drove Afonso I and Queen Nzinga, or Portuguese governors and Imbangala mercenaries, remain essentially unchanged for today’s warlords, presidents, and smugglers. Profit and power still speak louder than principle. As one veteran UN analyst observed in 2023, “for over 20 years, the actors fuelling the violence [in eastern DRC] have been driven by the same motives: the financial gains they reap from illicit economies.”​​ The names and contexts differ, but the underlying driver - access to valuable resources and the wealth/power they confer - persists. When Rwandan officials weigh the cost-benefit of backing M23, they see, as the Portuguese did with their proxies, a potentially high-reward, low-accountability means to secure riches (cobalt, gold, etc.) and strategic depth. When armed groups consider whether to sign a peace deal or keep fighting, the existence of lucrative mines under their control tilts them towards continued conflict. A loop sustained by profit is inherently resistant to peace unless those profits can be replaced by another mechanism.

Evidence abounds that without structural change, the region risks an indefinite continuation of conflict. Despite numerous peace accords (Nairobi 2013, Addis 2022, Luanda 2022), fighting reignited because the economic incentives weren’t addressed. In 2024, after a year of ceasefire calls, M23 actually expanded its holdings, seizing more mines and towns​​. The timing was telling: they attacked areas like Rubaya with known economic value. This demonstrates a rational pattern: peace was less profitable than war for them. Similarly, from the state side, Congolese army officers who benefit from rackets have at times sabotaged disarmament efforts. The UN Group of Experts in late 2024 noted instances of Congolese commanders covertly arming militias to destabilize areas rich in resources, undermining official peace efforts​​. It’s the tribute loop perpetuating itself: peace would break the loop and thus face internal resistance.

Regional competition further entrenches the cycle. Rwanda and Uganda’s rivalry for influence in DRC (seen in their jostling over which rebels or which provinces to align with) echoes the Kongo - Ndongo - Portugal triangle, and it similarly risks fueling endless proxy battles. As long as one believes the other will exploit Congo if they don’t, both Kigali and Kampala have a strategic incentive to maintain a foothold via armed clients. This security dilemma means each new rebel suppression (like the defeat of M23 in 2013) might only be temporary until the calculus shifts again (as it did by 2021 when M23 resurged). Unless mutual trust and cooperative frameworks are built, the pattern will likely persist.

Moreover, global demand for the region’s minerals is skyrocketing (cobalt for EV batteries, tantalum for electronics, etc.), much as global demand for slaves and ivory soared in the 17th century. The IMF and World Bank project that DRC’s cobalt production will double by 2030 to meet EV demand. Without governance improvements, this could mean more points of friction for armed actors to contest. The last time global demand spiked (the early 2000s coltan boom during the Dot-com era), eastern Congo plunged into a scramble, with Rwandan and Ugandan troops openly occupying mining regions. We see some warning signs again: a 2025 ACLED conflict analysis flagged the Great Lakes as a “ticking time bomb” precisely because “the scramble for critical minerals is intensifying existing fault lines”​​. This suggests that unless something changes, the violence could even escalate.

The unchanged incentives are quantifiable: as of 2025, an artisanal miner in North Kivu can earn maybe $100 a month, while the armed group taxing him can make ten times that off his labor. A Congolese colonel’s official salary is perhaps $200/month, but controlling a single gold mine’s security can net him $5,000/month in kickbacks. Such disparities practically invite exploitation. Internationally, tech companies and consumers continue to pay bottom-dollar for raw minerals, inadvertently rewarding those who supply cheaply (often via conflict channels) and not rewarding those who reform. The market currently does not sufficiently discriminate between “clean” and “conflict” minerals, despite due diligence schemes. Thus the armed groups and their patrons face little economic penalty from buyers. This is analogous to how European plantation owners cared little whether a slave came via a “legal” or “illegal” trader in 1700 - there was no consumer penalty, so the practice continued until abolition was forcibly imposed.

We should also note the risk of state failure or balkanization if the cycle continues unchecked. In the late 1600s, the protracted conflicts effectively balkanized the Kongo kingdom into small chiefdoms, making it easy pickings later for colonial powers. In DRC today, the persistence of parallel authorities (rebels, local strongmen) undermines the central state’s legitimacy. Already, M23 runs a de facto administration in parts of North Kivu; other areas like Ituri have local militia “governors”. If these become semi-permanent, the DRC faces a de facto partition. Some analysts warn of an “Eastern DRC drift” wherein the Kivus become more economically integrated with Rwanda/Uganda than with Kinshasa. This recalls how parts of Kongo oriented toward Luanda (Portuguese) rather than Mbanza Kongo by 1700. A hollowed-out state cannot enforce laws or invest in development, again feeding the conflict trap.

To sum up, the trajectory of current events uncannily tracks the historical playbook, and the structural incentives (wealth from disorder, security dilemmas between neighbors, global demand rewarding exploitation) are still in place. Without a change, the blind repetition of history is not just possible - it’s underway. As the NGO IMPACT wrote in 2023, “history is repeating itself” in eastern DRC’s minerals trade​​. That statement was referencing the failure of reforms to break the link between minerals and armed conflict, despite 15 years of effort. It carries a warning: the region could relive a modern variant of the ruin that befell Central Africa centuries ago, unless the cycle is consciously broken.

Coordination Thought-Experiment - Scenario A vs. Scenario B

To envision a way out of this loop, consider two diverging futures for the Great Lakes region’s mineral wealth between 2025 and 2035. Scenario A imagines bloc bargaining and local value addition: the regional actors (DRC, Rwanda, Uganda, Burundi, Tanzania, Kenya, plus interested SADC members like Zambia and Angola) coordinate their policies, forming a united front akin to an “African Critical Minerals Consortium.” Scenario B assumes a status quo path: fragmented competition continues, with periodic conflicts and little cooperative development. We will quantify key outcomes under each scenario, identifying winners and losers.

Scenario A: Bloc Bargaining and Value Addition (Coordination)

In this scenario, the countries of the region come together in a series of agreements. They decide to treat the Great Lakes’ mineral endowment (cobalt, coltan, copper, gold, tin) as a common bargaining chip. They form a pact not to undercut each other’s prices by smuggling or illicit trade. Instead, they introduce a harmonized royalty or export tax regime, ensuring that whether a mineral exits via Mombasa, Dar es Salaam, Lobito, or Kigali, there’s a baseline value capture for the region. They also invest jointly in in-country processing facilities - for instance, building refineries for cobalt hydroxide in DRC and Zambia, a regional gold refinery in Tanzania (with DRC and Uganda as shareholders), and tantalum capacitor factories perhaps in Rwanda (using legally sourced coltan from DRC). The Lobito - TAZARA - LAPSSET corridor map becomes reality: railways link up, from the Atlantic through DRC/Zambia to Tanzania, and from Eastern Congo through Uganda to Kenya’s Lamu port (leveraging parts of LAPSSET). Efficient corridors reduce transport costs and make it viable to ship processed goods out, not just raw ore.

Crucially, the governments agree to share the spoils in a transparent way to remove reasons for conflict. For example, Rwanda and Uganda would formally partner with DRC in mining ventures instead of using armed proxies. Rwandan companies could get licensed stakes in Congolese mines, but in return Kigali commits to zero tolerance on smuggling. Former rebel fighters might be integrated as local security forces guarding mining zones under a joint command, rather than competing. International donors and the African Development Bank facilitate this with infrastructure financing and monitoring mechanisms. It’s essentially a shift from zero-sum to positive-sum thinking.

Now, the quantifiable outcomes: A major gain would be in value added. Take cobalt, DRC’s flagship mineral. In 2022, DRC exported $6 billion of processed cobalt, up from just $0.17 billion in raw form​​. This jump was achieved by refining some of its cobalt to cobalt hydroxide or metal onshore, raising the price from $5.8/kg to $16.2/kg​. If Scenario A scales that up, by 2030 DRC (with Zambia) could be refining say 80% of their cobalt output locally. That could easily mean an uplift of $5 - 10 billion per year in export value retained. For instance, if cobalt demand rises and DRC’s refined exports reach $10 billion instead of $3 billion in a status quo raw scenario, that’s a +$7 billion gain​​. Similarly, locally smelted copper cathodes fetch more than raw concentrate; with new joint smelters, Zambia/DRC could add another few billion USD in value. Coltan, if upgraded to capacitor-grade tantalum powder in-region, could double its value. Gold, if legally channeled and refined, could bring enormous official revenues: DRC produces an estimated 15 - 20 tons of gold per year currently smuggled. At $60 million per ton, capturing and taxing that at say 5% would give $60 million to governments instead of warlords, and the legitimate sale would bring ~$1.2 billion into the formal economy annually.

Winners in Scenario A would include: National economies (higher GDP, more tax revenue), the general population (through job creation in refining and ancillary industries - e.g., a battery factory could create thousands of skilled jobs), and political stability (governments strengthen legitimacy by delivering growth and services, undercutting militia recruitment). One big winner could be a cooperative regional body (like an African Critical Minerals Alliance) that wields OPEC-like influence. By bargaining as a bloc, they could negotiate better terms with buyers - perhaps insisting on long-term contracts at favorable prices, or joint venture stakes in downstream tech industries.

Losers in Scenario A: The conflict entrepreneurs and illicit networks would lose out. Rebel commanders and corrupt officers who lived off smuggling would see their revenue dry up. If enforcement is good, they either integrate into the new order or find themselves isolated (potentially even facing justice). Also, some foreign middlemen who profited from buying conflict minerals cheap would lose access or have to pay more. For example, some refiners in Dubai or brokers in China might initially pay a premium once smuggling is curbed and official royalties added - effectively transferring some profit to African states. However, legitimate companies might actually prefer the stability, even at higher cost. Another potential loser is any external power that thrived on divide-and-rule: for instance, if great powers or multinational firms previously got better deals by playing neighbors against each other, bloc bargaining forces them to accept unified terms. That could slightly raise the cost of raw materials for, say, an electronics manufacturer, potentially a cent or two more per smartphone - a negligible impact at consumer level, but a notable shift in who captures the value.

We can project a specific example: Cobalt local battery production. If by 2030 the DRC-Zambia battery initiative succeeds and they produce even 100,000 EV battery packs a year domestically (a modest scale for global market), at a value of $5,000 each, that’s $500 million value. If previously they’d only get maybe $100 million by just selling the raw cobalt and copper for those batteries, that’s a $400 million local gain yearly. Expand that and we reach multiple billions as capacity grows. Also, coordinated supply management could stabilize prices. The region might set a minimum price for coltan or cobalt by controlling output (similar to how Botswana and others manage diamonds). This prevents the race-to-bottom that conflict-fueled oversupply can cause. According to one study, an organized DRC/Rwanda coltan cartel could probably increase the mineral’s price by 10 - 20% by removing “conflict discount” and ensuring traceability, benefiting producers.

Crucially, Scenario A envisages peace dividends: without active conflict, the DRC could save the roughly $300 million a year it spends on emergency military deployments in the east, and billions in humanitarian costs could be rechanneled to development. Rwanda and Uganda would save on covert war expenditures and could instead invest those funds domestically (Rwanda reportedly spent significant but unacknowledged sums on sustaining M23 offensives, possibly straining its budget and aid relationships in 2022 - 24). Freed from war, border regions could flourish: for instance, Goma and Rubavu (Gisenyi) could become a joint commercial hub like twin cities, driving cross-border trade legally which is far larger than smuggling if stability allows. Tourism, currently nearly impossible in conflict zones (e.g., Virunga Park with its famous gorillas has been closed due to fighting), could resume, bringing in tens of millions.

Scenario B: Status Quo (Fragmentation and Conflict Continues)

In the status quo scenario, nothing fundamentally changes. The year is 2030 and the “Third Congo War” is smoldering on, or perhaps an “M24” successor group has arisen after a short lull. Minerals still flow mostly unprocessed out of the region. A few improved infrastructure projects exist, but they are underutilized due to insecurity (trains on the Lobito Corridor are often halted because fighting in DRC’s Katanga sporadically disrupts the line; the LAPSSET road to eastern Congo was never completed as funds diverted amid corruption and conflict). Each country still tries to maximize its own slice at the expense of neighbors. Rwanda has entrenched its role as a regional refining hub but still relies on semi-clandestine sourcing from DRC; Uganda maintains its gold smuggling pipeline through Entebbe. DRC’s government remains preoccupied with military campaigns in the east, its authority limited to provincial capitals at best. Occasional peace deals create ceasefires that break down when a new mine is discovered or when elections loom and factions jostle for power with armed support.

Quantitatively, Scenario B means lost potential and continued human and economic costs. The region’s GDPs remain far below potential. DRC might limp from $50 billion GDP to say $70 billion by 2030 (nominal), when it could have been $100+ billion under coordinated peace growth (numbers illustrative). The “resource curse” remains in effect: minerals account for a high share of exports but most local people see little benefit. For example, if conflict disruptions and smuggling persist, DRC might still only officially export, say, $3 - 4 billion of its cobalt in 2030 (with another similar amount siphoned off in opaque deals), whereas global EV production surges ahead on cheap Congolese raw materials. In status quo, foreign companies and a narrow elite capture the value: likely Chinese firms (since currently ~70% of DRC’s copper-cobalt mines are Chinese-owned​​) and Western tech giants enjoy relatively low input prices. Consumers worldwide might get electronics marginally cheaper thanks to cheap raw tantalum and tin. Essentially the winners of status quo are the same as today: certain foreign investors, local kleptocrats, and armed group leaders. Losers are the ordinary citizens of the DRC and surrounding countries who miss out on billions in revenue that could be building schools, hospitals, and roads. The environment also loses: piecemeal exploitation with no oversight leads to deforestation, pollution (e.g., mercury from illegal gold mining continues poisoning rivers like the Kasai).

To put a number on monetary uplift foregone: earlier we projected +$7 billion possible from cobalt refinement. In status quo, that $7 billion goes elsewhere - likely to refineries in Asia - instead of to Africa. Similarly, consider coltan: if 15% of world’s tantalum comes from one area under rebel control, those rebels currently maybe get a few million a year; meanwhile, the capacitor industry that uses it is worth tens of billions. None of that downstream value touches Congo. Coordination could capture a slice; status quo captures almost zero. The World Bank has noted that DRC receives only around 10% of the ultimate value of its minerals under current practices (the rest accrues in later value chain stages). If that stays the same, and mineral outputs double, Congo still stays poor - just more resources dug out with minimal local gain.

Conflict itself exacts direct costs: The humanitarian bill for eastern DRC in 2025 is over $2 billion (UN and NGOs providing aid to displaced etc.). With status quo conflict, this bill likely remains or grows. Lives lost are incalculable - but even economically, a continued conflict likely means thousands more killed, tens of thousands injured (the 2024 battle for Goma and Bukavu reportedly killed hundreds of soldiers and civilians​​; extrapolate a few such battles and the toll mounts). Each life lost or person maimed is a permanent loss to the region’s human capital.

In status quo, external powers might also face some negatives: chronic instability can spill over. For example, by 2025 there were concerns of a direct Rwanda - Burundi clash because of DRC proxies​. A larger regional war would disrupt supplies and scare investors more broadly in Africa. However, because conflict remains localized enough, external actors tolerate it. Some global manufacturers might secretly prefer the status quo because it keeps prices of raw materials low (no producer cartel, and war-torn areas often accept lower prices due to desperation and fewer bidders). It’s a cynical viewpoint but historically common: in 1990s some electronics companies were accused of benefiting from cheap “blood coltan.” So they might be subtle winners of status quo, albeit at reputational risk.

Comparative winners/losers: In Scenario A, winners are the regional economies (+$5 - 10 billion/year collectively, more stability, industrialization) and local populations (jobs, less violence). Losers are war profiteers and possibly some intermediate traders. In Scenario B, winners are the entrenched conflict elites and those international players who get resources at fire-sale prices; losers are the millions of residents who remain in poverty and danger, and the states that remain weak.

To give a conclusive numeric contrast: by 2030 in Scenario A, assume Great Lakes region collectively increases annual mineral-derived income by $10 billion and reduces conflict costs by $2 billion, a net swing of +$12 billion per year to public coffers and local businesses. Over five years that’s $60 billion, which could, for instance, build 10,000 km of roads and dozens of hospitals. In Scenario B, that $60 billion flows outwards or is dissipated in war. Instead, you’d continue to see over 5 million people displaced every few years, and death rates in eastern DRC remain tragically high (Eastern DRC’s conflict mortality was estimated by the IRC to be 45,000 excess deaths per month in the early 2000s - a genocide by attrition; some improvement occurred but many still die due to indirect causes of war). In Scenario A, those excess deaths would plummet as stability allows better healthcare and food security.

This thought experiment underscores that the status quo is essentially a continuation of the historical pattern - one that yields short-term gains for a few and immense losses for the many. Coordination, on the other hand, offers a break in the pattern: a chance to harness the region’s resources for its own development and stability, rather than for fueling conflict. It presents a non-zero-sum path forward: a rewriting of the script that diverges from the 1500s playbook.

Conclusion

Late afternoon in 2025, a gentle rain falls over Goma’s lava-strewn streets, much as it might have over São Salvador’s ruins in 1700. The air smells of wet dust and hope. A Congolese teenager named Amani (meaning “peace” in Swahili) stands by the lakeshore, watching a new train pull in on fresh-laid tracks - a section of the revived trans-African corridor. In the distance, the volcano’s outline is softened by mist, and rays of light break through cloud over Lake Kivu. This scene mirrors the essay’s opening but with a twist: instead of an illicit convoy in the night, we see the signs of cooperative progress by day. The tactics that once brought only division - chokepoint control, proxy warfare, moral posturing, tribute extraction - have been acknowledged, analyzed, and, in this imagined moment, consciously set aside in favor of shared growth. The numbers speak to possibility: local cobalt processing tripled revenues to $6 billion​​; coordinated coltan oversight halted a $800k/month bleed to warlords​​; a stable trade corridor slashed freight costs by 60%, saving about $600 per ton of cargo​​. Each figure represents livelihoods and lives improved.

Key data points underscore how stark the stakes are. In the 1600s, 10,000 slaves a year left Angola’s chokepoint​​; in the 2020s, around 1,000 tonnes of cobalt a year (over 70% of world supply) leave the Congo, mostly as unrefined hydroxide​​. Four centuries ago, a Kongo king lamented losing control to foreign traders​; today a Congolese president laments lost billions to illicit trade and foreign meddling. The parallel outcomes - depopulation then, displacement now (over 1,000,000 newly displaced in 2022 - 24 alone due to fighting​); wealth extraction then, wealth extraction now - are as vivid as the motifs of rain, iron, dust, and light that have accompanied our narrative. Each arc from The Chokepoint Race to The Tribute Loop shows that when actors fail to align interests, they fall into zero-sum games with devastating results. Conversely, our thought-experiment indicates that alignment and cooperation could unlock billions in value and perhaps finally silence the guns.

We end with an open question, one that hangs in the air like the last note of a mbira song across the centuries: will the Great Lakes region finally break free from this historical cycle of fragmentation and exploitation? The tactics of old have proven remarkably durable - adapted from chains to minerals, from letters to press releases. But the very act of recognizing this mirror may empower leaders and citizens to change the reflection. In the slanting golden light after the rain, Amani wonders if his generation will see a future where Central Africa’s riches are a blessing, not a curse. Will they coordinate and share the rain’s bounty, or continue to fight over each droplet as it falls on the iron-rich soil? The answer, still unwritten, could light the way for centuries to come.

Annotated Bibliography

Primary Sources:

Afonso I (Nzinga Mbemba) of Kongo - Letters to King João III of Portugal (1526) - Description: A series of letters written by King Afonso I of Kongo appealing to the Portuguese king to regulate the slave trade. In these letters, Afonso provides first-hand testimony of how Portuguese traders were undermining his authority and depopulating his kingdom​​. Significance: These documents reveal the early dynamics of the chokepoint control issue and moral discourse (Christian king to Christian king) from a contemporary African perspective. They show Afonso’s desperation as his people are enslaved and form a baseline for understanding the “moral cover” and “tribute” dynamics in the 16th century.

Jesuit and Capuchin Missionary Accounts (17th Century Angola and Kongo) - Description: Diaries and reports from missionaries like Giovanni Cavazzi (circa 1660s) who worked in Central Africa. While not directly cited above due to availability, such accounts chronicle events like Queen Nzinga’s interactions, Imbangala practices, and battles (e.g., Cavazzi’s descriptions of Nzinga’s court and rituals). Significance: They serve as primary European observations of the proxy wars and provide moral justifications used (often painting African actors in certain lights) which informed European audiences​. They also note the impact of tribute demands (one Capuchin noted how sobas had to supply slaves to the Portuguese) corroborating the “tribute loop”​.

“Battle of Mbwila (1665) - Kongo and Portuguese Accounts” - Description: The reports and letters immediately after the Battle of Mbwila, including a letter from Capuchin Friar Bernardo da Gallo, which detail the death of King António I of Kongo and the seizure of the royal regalia by the Portuguese​​. Significance: Primary evidence of the turning point where Kongo ceased to be unified, illustrating the ultimate consequence of these tactics (loss of sovereignty). These accounts highlight how a chokepoint conflict (over who controlled trade routes inland) led to a kingdom’s collapse.

Secondary Sources (Historical Scholarship):

John K. Thornton - “The Kingdom of Kongo: Civil War and Transition, 1641 - 1718” - Description: A detailed scholarly analysis (published in International Journal of African Historical Studies, 1983) of the Kongo civil wars post-Mbwila. Thornton uses primary sources to explain factional proxy dynamics (Kimpanzu vs. Kinlaza, and Portuguese/Dutch meddling)​. Significance: Provides context on how proxy franchise and moral cover (each faction claimed legitimacy often through religious means) tore Kongo apart. This work also quantifies slave exports and population impact, supporting our data on historical consequences.

Linda M. Heywood & John Thornton - “Central Africans, Atlantic Creoles” (2007) - Description: This book examines African actors in the Atlantic slave trade. Of particular relevance is their profile of Queen Nzinga and the Imbangala. They discuss how Nzinga navigated European and African politics, including her alliance with Imbangala mercenaries and the Dutch​​. Significance: Secondary analysis that illuminates the “proxy franchise” tactic, confirming that Portuguese hired Imbangala mercenaries​ and that Nzinga adeptly used (and subverted) the moral narratives of conversion and treaty for her ends. It’s also a source for the tribute system in Matamba after peace (Nzinga’s tribute of slaves to the Portuguese).

Joseph C. Miller - “Way of Death: Merchant Capitalism and the Angolan Slave Trade 1730 - 1830” - Description: Although focusing slightly later (18th century), Miller’s seminal work provides data on slave exports, prices, and the political economy of Angola. He details the tribute quotas imposed on sobas and the military-economic structure of the Portuguese colony​. Significance: Gives quantitative backbone to the tribute loop: e.g., 10,000 slaves/year by 1600s​ and the flow of firearms into the interior. It also contextualizes how the loop adapted over time. Miller’s analysis of Imbangala culture also enriches understanding of proxies.

Jan Vansina - “How Societies Are Born” (2004) - Description: While more about earlier period and wider Central Africa, Vansina touches on the transformation of Central African societies under Atlantic pressures. He discusses the collapse of old systems and rise of warlordism. Significance: Provides a macro-historical perspective that supports our conclusions about fragmentation and state failure as consequences. Not directly cited in the essay but underpins the synthesis of how local incentives drove the cycle.

Contemporary Sources (2023 - 2025 Reporting and Analysis):

United Nations Group of Experts on DRC - Report S/2024/979 (2024) - Description: Official UN Security Council report documenting the activities of armed groups, state actors’ involvement, and natural resource exploitation in DRC in 2023 - 24. It includes evidence of Rwandan troop support to M23​, details on M23’s control of Rubaya coltan (15% of global supply)​​, and the estimate of $800k/month revenues to M23​. Also quantifies gold revenues for Ituri militias (~$140 million)​. Significance: This is a primary contemporary document, lending authoritative weight to claims of proxy involvement and financial motivations. It supports multiple key points in the “Now” sections and the thought experiment (e.g., how much money could be recovered if smuggling is curbed).

Global Initiative Against Transnational Organized Crime - “The war for Congo’s wealth: How organized crime fuels the M23 crisis” (November 2023) - Description: An analysis piece linking organized crime to the M23 rebellion​​. It provides on-the-ground examples like Bunagana’s $2 million/month trade pre-capture​, Rubaya coltan’s significance​, and Rwanda’s strategic goals (regional mineral hub)​. Significance: Offers insight into the economic logic of the conflict and directly states the continuity of motives over 20+ years​. We drew the “profit-driven agenda” phrasing from here, bolstering the Blind Repetition Risk argument.

Reuters (via The East African) - “UN says Congo rebels generating $300,000 monthly in seized mining area” (Oct 1, 2024) - Description: News report summarizing UN Security Council briefing by Bintou Keita (MONUSCO head)​​. Confirms M23’s capture of Rubaya in April 2024 and its output being 15% of global tantalum, yielding $300k/month for M23. Significance: A concise, credible source for the economic toll of the chokepoint/proxy strategy in current conflict. It provides a concrete number for our “Now” analysis of the tribute loop and chokepoint value.

AP News - “South Africa, Tanzania and Malawi will withdraw troops from conflict-torn eastern Congo” (Mar 13, 2025) - Description: Associated Press report on SADC troop withdrawal, referencing that M23 took Goma and Bukavu, and noting the deaths of 14 South African and 3 Malawian soldiers in Jan 2025​. Significance: Gives factual basis to the extent of recent conflict (major cities falling, foreign peacekeepers killed), used in Blind Repetition Risk and Moral Cover sections. It highlights how proxy war escalated to direct confrontations, reinforcing the danger of status quo.

IMPACT (NGO) - “Actors Must Suspend Sourcing Minerals Financing Armed Groups” (Feb 2025) - Description: An advocacy brief quoting UN data on Rubaya and Ituri, explicitly stating “history is repeating itself” in the mineral trade​. It provides the $800k/month figure for Rubaya (citing UN)​ and describes how M23 created a new transport route to Rwanda​. Significance: Serves as both data source and a conceptual springboard for the conclusion that current patterns mirror past ones. We used it to bolster the repetition argument and some figures on armed group revenues.

UNCTAD - “Clean energy minerals: Developing countries must add value” (Dec 4, 2023) - Description: A United Nations report highlighting how DRC increased earnings by refining cobalt (unit value from $5.8 to $16.2/kg, $6 billion vs $167 million raw)​. Significance: Key source for the Coordination Thought Experiment, demonstrating the tangible gain of local processing. It is the basis for the +$5 - 10 billion/year uplift scenario by scaling cobalt refining, and proof that such policy already started yielding success for DRC in 2022.

Africa Center for Strategic Studies - “The DRC Conflict Enters a Dangerous New Phase” (Jan 2025) - Description: Analysis piece describing the military situation, notably that M23 took Goma and Bukavu, Rwandan ambitions (Kivus five times Rwanda’s size)​, and the clash that killed 20 SADC soldiers​. Significance: Helps illustrate the peak of conflict (“Then/Now” and Blind Repetition Risk sections) and Rwanda’s potential territorial reach via proxy​. Though scenario-based in tone, it uses credible references (BBC, DW) for the claims. It underscores how close the region came to a broader interstate war, reinforcing why a change (Scenario A) is urgent.