“We’re not in Congo as a party to the conflict,” Burundi’s President Évariste Ndayishimiye recently claimed, pointing to a mutual defence agreement to justify the deployment of Burundian troops in South Kivu province. According to him, they’ll only withdraw if Kinshasa asks them to.
But there’s a snag: the AFC/M23, which is fighting the Congolese government, would beg to differ—both with Ndayishimiye’s characterisation of Burundi’s role in the crisis and with the idea of an open-ended military presence.
For starters, it’s difficult to argue that Burundi isn’t a party to the conflict when it has committed an estimated 10,000 troops to bolster President Tshisekedi’s war effort. Whether they arrived under the terms of a defence pact or not, their boots are firmly on Congolese soil, and their actions speak louder than any diplomatic nuance. Far from being neutral, Burundi’s presence only serves to internationalise the conflict.
Moreover, if the pronouncements of UN Secretary-General António Guterres and the recommendations of joint EAC/SADC summits are to be taken seriously, then the principle is clear: all foreign forces must leave the DRC. That includes Burundi. This isn’t just bureaucratic box-ticking—it’s the foundation of former President Joseph Kabila’s push for an inclusive inter-Congolese dialogue. And while SADC forces are being compelled to toe the line, there’s no reason why Burundi should be given a free pass.
What’s more, Burundi’s continued deployment in South Kivu poses an existential threat to the Banyamulenge community. Burundi has taken part in joint attacks against Banyamulenge alongside the FARDC, the state-backed Wazalendo militias, and the notorious FDLR—a group with a known genocidal track record. These attacks have only made a bad situation worse. Just look at what happened in October 2023 in North Kivu: 300 homes belonging to Congolese Tutsis were set ablaze in Nturo village while Burundian troops stood idly by. If that was not a warning sign of impending ethnic cleansing, it’s hard to say what is.
Most crucially, Burundi’s geographical position turns its alliance with Kinshasa into an existential challenge for the AFC/M23. Its foothold in the Rusizi Plain has enabled Wazalendo militias to launch sporadic, though often ill-fated, raids into rebel-held areas like Bukavu and even Kavumu. Meanwhile, Burundian operations in the highlands and midlands surrounding Uvira appear aimed at cutting off the AFC/M23’s support lines to Twirwaneho — the Banyamulenge’s local self-defence force. More recently, Burundi has begun moving troops across Lake Tanganyika to Baraka, effectively opening a new front against AFC/M23 forces, which are trying to consolidate their gains in Minembwe—this, after having largely neutralised Kinshasa’s drone and airstrike attacks.
In short, the situation on the ground has become a zero-sum game. The current standoff between Burundian forces and the AFC/M23 leaves no room for coexistence. It’s become painfully clear: in South Kivu, only one of them will remain standing. This could have been avoided, and perhaps the worst can still be avoided, but only if Burundi’s leaders swallow their pride and seek reconciliation with their soon-to-be neighbours.
Burundi’s geostrategic blunder
When the East African Community (EAC) decided to deploy troops to North Kivu province in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Burundi, alongside Kenya, was among the first to put boots on the ground. At first, everything seemed to be ticking along nicely. The ceasefire held, M23 had handed over much of the territory it had seized to EAC forces, and it looked like all that remained was to strike a political deal to tackle the root causes of the conflict. The idea was that the still modestly sized M23 force would disarm and enter a process of cantonment and reintegration.
As the then chairman of the regional bloc, President Ndayishimiye basked in the diplomatic limelight. He relished his role as a de facto mediator, delighted by the attention of international conferences and visiting heads of state. Burundi wasn’t exactly steering the peace process, but it was shaking off the international isolation it had suffered since the 2015 crisis.
All of that went up in smoke when President Tshisekedi ditched ceasefires and dialogue, opting instead to pursue a scorched-earth strategy to bolster his re-election campaign by pointing fingers and blaming Rwanda for his shambolic track record. Tshisekedi turned to the Southern African Development Community (SADC) for military backing, and Burundi quickly jumped ship. Flush with cash incentives from Kinshasa, Burundian leaders gave in to the perennial temptation to join a so-called Bantu alliance against the “Nilotic invaders”—a narrative fuelled by genocidal ideology that still echoes through the Great Lakes region.
Burundi threw in its lot with the offensive aimed at uprooting Congolese Tutsis. The consequences were nothing short of catastrophic.
What began as a conflict confined to North Kivu has now spilled into South Kivu. Burundi and its SADC allies overextended themselves and ended up overreaching badly. They were decisively defeated in North Kivu. Now, as SADC forces withdraw from the battlefield, Burundi faces the grim reality of either sharing a 236-kilometre border with a hostile force—AFC/M23—or fighting to the bitter end, with the risk that the conflict could spill over into Burundian territory. It’s the very definition of being caught between a rock and a hard place.
The humanitarian fallout has already reached Burundian soil. Tens of thousands of refugees have poured into the country. The needs are staggering, the resources scarce. Those Congolese who want to return home are met with draconian security measures at the border and palpable frustration from the authorities. When questioned by the BBC about it, Ndayishimiye quipped coldly that “the refugees should return to Congo the same way they came”—by swimming across the Rusizi River.
Burundi has paid a heavy price in this conflict. It shut its border with Rwanda, forfeiting valuable export revenue. Military defeats against the M23 have cost the country not just in terms of human lives, but also in prestige. And all for what? For Ndayishimiye—who had once made a bombastic speech in Kinshasa promising to help “liberate Rwandan youth”—to now cry wolf and accuse Rwanda of plotting to attack Burundi. In short, Burundi put a lot on the line, only to find itself sidelined: excluded from peace negotiations, snubbed in the US-backed mineral-for-security deal, and left to face the ire of neighbours with long memories.
Ndayishimiye had the chance to stand on the right side of history by backing the M23’s cause. More specifically, he could have stepped up to protect the Banyamulenge community—Burundi’s close neighbours—who were being singled out and targeted purely for who they are. Instead, he joined a genocidal coalition. In what will surely go down as a damning judgement before future generations, the only voice cheering on such folly is that of the former colonial power, Belgium, which has praised Burundi’s role in the DRC.
Burundi could have chosen to forge an alliance with Rwanda, a country with which it shares numerous challenges: overpopulation, landlocked geography, small size, and a scarcity of natural resources. As former Burundian President Colonel Jean Baptiste Bagaza once pointed out, the whole purpose of creating the CEPGL—an organisation linking Rwanda, the DRC (then Zaire), and Burundi—was to facilitate regional integration. The idea was for Rwanda and Burundi to help provide security in eastern Congo in exchange for access to the Congolese market and freedom of movement across borders.
There was also a strategic logic to it. With Rwanda and Burundi acting as natural trade corridors between eastern DRC and the East African coast—Kenya and Tanzania—they gained a degree of leverage over their larger neighbours. This helped shield them from the whims of coastal states, which have been known to cut or disrupt access to the sea during times of conflict and political tensions. These geopolitical realities remain, regardless of the ethnicity of the Burundian president or that of the Congolese leaders manning the border—an objective truth that gets lost in the murky waters of the region’s primitive brand of politics.
Clearly, unless Burundi finds a way to make peace with the M23, its access to the Congolese market will most likely remain highly restricted, and it risks further exclusion from regional development projects. The country could end up isolated and dangerously dependent on Tanzania. In short, it risks having neither peace nor prosperity.
