There is fear that the insurgency is igniting decades-old ethnic tensions, writes Edmund Sandersin Kitchanga, Congo
THE ROAD to Gen Laurent Nkunda's latest territorial conquest was lined with signs of the rebel leader's growing power but also of the devastation his insurgency has wrought.
Rebel fighters in stolen government jeeps patrolled past deserted army camps. A column of traumatised civilians, many of whom have been displaced three times in the past week, filed past decomposing bodies of government soldiers.
In one village they captured from the government, Nkunda supporters threw a victory party. Beleaguered residents of Rutshuru dutifully showed up and had the good sense to cheer for the new sheriff in town. But many acted as though they were living under occupation rather than liberation.
From his headquarters here in the steep, remote hills of eastern Congo, the tall, wiry rebel leader can survey the fruits of a two-month military campaign, which last week brought his forces on to the doorstep of the regional capital of Goma.
Nkunda, dressed in military fatigues and grasping a trademark eagle-headed walking cane as he received a group of foreign journalists, seemed to relish his standing as the latest African rebel to bomb his way into the international spotlight. "The international community is now coming to us," Nkunda told the journalists, who travelled through the jungle to interview him on Sunday in the village of Kitchanga. "Today, we are strong because now the international community understands."
A military man who occasionally preaches as part-time pastor, Nkunda has nearly doubled his territory since August and restocked his weapons with anti-aircraft guns and armoured carriers looted from army bases. Some fear that his military strength and strategic position, including about 5,000 fighters, pose a threat to United Nations peacekeepers in the region. Goma is headquarters for a 17,000-member UN peacekeeping force.
While Nkunda fights in the name of protecting ethnic minority Tutsis, almost 200,000 people in the past two months have been driven from their homes in a region where aid officials say more than one million have been displaced. Because most of the latest victims are Hutus, many fear the insurgency is igniting decades-old ethnic tensions that culminated in the 1994 Rwanda genocide.
Congo's northeast region, which in recent days saw thousands of panicked families flee displacement camps in fear of their safety, has been ravaged by unrest, disease and starvation for more than a decade. Rebels announced a unilateral ceasefire on Wednesday.
Some diplomats and UN officials are urging Congo president Joseph Kabila to hold direct talks with Nkunda, whom Kabila previously dismissed as a terrorist. Nkunda charged that the Kabila administration and international community had ignored his demands for face-to-face peace talks, lumping his rebel movement in with dozens of other militias that signed a January ceasefire agreement.
At the time, Nkunda reluctantly signed but, in the aftermath of his military victories, Nkunda said the deal must be renegotiated.
In addition to direct talks, Nkunda said he wants more control over government funds in the north Kivu region and replacements for the current governor and regional military commander. One aide hinted that Nkunda might like to be prime minister.
But Nkunda's ascent has come at a high price in a region that suffered one of Africa's worst humanitarian crises. More than 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were killed in Rwanda in 1994 during a three-month slaughter in which ordinary Hutus, armed by the government, turned against Tutsi neighbours, friends and even spouses.
Over the past 50 years, many Rwandan Tutsis and Hutus have relocated to the Democratic Republic of Congo, formerly known as Zaire.
Nkunda's recent campaign, aimed at crushing Hutu militias that crossed the border after carrying out the genocide, is fuelling a backlash against Tutsis. As Nkunda's forces moved towards Goma last week, hundreds of Tutsis fled the city and sought temporary refuge in the Rwandan border town of Gisenyi.
In recent days, Nkunda's forces have been accused of burning tents, looting displacement camps and restricting movement of displaced people.
In Rutshuru and surrounding rebel-controlled areas, displaced people accused Nkunda's troops of pushing them out of camps and ordering them to return home.
"Our first plan is to make them go home," Oscar Balinda, a rebel adviser in Rutshuru, said, referring to displaced area residents. Then he corrected himself: "To help them go home."
In many ways, the past decade of conflict in eastern Congo is an echo of the Rwandan genocide. After former Congolese dictator Mobutu Sese Seko gave genocide suspects sanctuary in eastern Congo, Rwanda's post-genocide government backed rebels who overthrew Mobutu in 1997.
A year later, Rwanda invaded eastern Congo. It again claimed it was striking against Hutu death squads known as Interahamwe, but many people believe that Rwanda wanted an excuse to illegally mine Congo's natural resources, including gold and coltan, used in mobile phones.
Nkunda said short-term human suffering, even of his own people, is unavoidable. "That's the cost of freedom," he said. Nkunda (41) got his military training while helping Rwandan rebel leader Paul Kagame overthrow the government. Today Kagame is the Rwandan president, but he denies supporting Nkunda.
People who have watched Nkunda's rise say he can appear a megalomaniac, at times unsure whether he wants to be seen as a statesman or strongman.
His popular support is also hard to gauge. His candidates performed poorly in the 2006 national election although, in recent days, some government officials and lawmakers have defected to his side. There's no question he has attracted support from a variety of ethnic groups, including Hutus, by tapping into public frustration over eastern Congo's worsening poverty and the perceived inaction by the government in Kinshasa.
But international diplomats have warned Nkunda that further military expansions will not be tolerated. From his strengthened vantage point, Nkunda is making no promises, saying the direction of his war will depend upon what he gets in future negotiations.
"No talks," he shrugged, "no ceasefire."