In a development that has shaken the foundations of international jurisprudence and certainly not helped the hangover of the average Foreign Office mandarin, the Democratic Republic of Congo has formally dragged Rwanda before the International Court of Justice. Yes, you read that correctly. The DRC, a nation whose postal service is arguably less reliable than a carrier pigeon with a death wish, is suing its neighbour for alleged 'acts of aggression and violations of sovereignty.' Cue the slow clap from every barrister with a taste for African geopolitics and a healthy retainer.
The UK Foreign Office, ever the paragon of measured response, has issued a statement calling for 'peaceful resolution' and 'dialogue.' This is the diplomatic equivalent of a man in a tweed jacket telling two drunkards to 'please stop fighting in the Wetherspoons.' It is toothless, it is polite, and it will achieve precisely nothing. One can almost hear the gentle sigh of relief from Whitehall as they realise this particular hot potato is now someone else's problem, at least until the next round of sanctions or troop deployments.
Let us examine the sheer absurdity of this situation. The DRC, a country roughly the size of Western Europe, blessed with enough natural resources to fuel a dozen economies and cursed with enough corruption to sink a battleship, is crying foul over Rwanda's alleged meddling. This is akin to a man with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the foot suing a neighbour for sneezing too loudly. The history of the Great Lakes region is a tapestry of atrocity, greed, and the occasional misplaced UN peacekeeper. To expect a court in The Hague, with its lovely canals and well-stocked biscuit tins, to untangle this mess is both naive and deliciously ironic.
What will the ICJ do? They will empanel judges. They will hear arguments. They will issue a preliminary ruling that is ignored by both parties. They will then schedule a second hearing in a year's time, by which point the situation on the ground will have changed so drastically that the original complaint will be about as relevant as a 1990s mobile phone. Meanwhile, the real fighting continues, the minerals are smuggled across borders, and the people caught in the middle continue to die. But at least the diplomats can say they are 'engaging constructively.'
And what of Rwanda? President Kagame, a man who runs his country with the efficiency of a Swiss bank and the charm of a cornered badger, will no doubt profess his innocence and accuse the DRC of deflecting from its own internal failings. He is not wrong. But he is also not innocent. The RPF has been accused of supporting rebel groups, extracting Coltan under the cover of darkness, and generally behaving like a regional bully with a PhD in PR. Yet the West loves Rwanda, because it is stable and because it sends peacekeepers to places we do not want to go. Ah, the sweet perfume of realpolitik.
So where does this leave us? Stuck in a legal quagmire, that is where. The ICJ will deliberate. The Foreign Office will talk. The journalists will write. And the gin will flow freely, as it must, to numb the cognitive dissonance required to care about yet another round of African discord that will be forgotten by the time the next celebrity marriage collapses.
I propose a simpler solution: let the lawyers settle it with a boxing match. Two litigators, one ring, no holds barred. Winner takes all the Congolese Rubble and the Rwandan Coffee. It would be more efficient, more entertaining, and about as just as the current system. But I suspect the gentlemen in suits would disagree. They always do. Now, if you will excuse me, my G&T calls. The ice is melting, and so is my patience for this farce.
