When I read the joint statement by Senator Jeanne Shaheen and Senator Jim Risch on the Washington Accords for Peace and Prosperity in the Democratic Republic of Congo, I felt a deep responsibility to respond.
I write not only as a resident of New Hampshire and a member of the Mahoro Peace Association, which represents the Banyamulenge community at large, but as someone whose life has been profoundly shaped by the very conflict they describe. On behalf of MPA, and echoing the deep concerns of its president Douglas Kabunda,this response comes from collective pain and an urgent call for truth-centered peace.
I came to the United States because I was not safe in Congo. I am now a U.S. citizen paying taxes, serving my community in Concord and organizing for inclusion. I support peace, justice and dignity for all Congolese. But I cannot stay silent when political statements treat my people as an afterthought, or worse, as if our lives are secondary to abstract geopolitics and raw access to minerals.
Senator Shaheen’s statement frames the conflict in eastern Congo in terms of “illegal occupation” and expanding attacks by the M23. This language overlooks the deeply rooted history of marginalization, discrimination and state failure that made conflict inevitable.
For more than 30 years, Tutsi communities in eastern Congo, including the Banyamulenge, have faced exclusion from citizenship rights, political representation and protection under Congolese law. These injustices did not arise because of outside military support alone — they are the result of generations of denial of belonging and dignity to people who speak Kinyarwanda and have been scapegoated for political convenience within Congo.
The story of the Banyamulenge is one of centuries of presence, followed by decades of escalating violence that many scholars and human rights observers describe as persecution that risks rising to the level of genocide. Between 2017 and today, armed groups systematically destroyed more than three hundred villages in the historic Banyamulenge homeland of South Kivu, Uvira, Fizi and Mwenga territories. Community leaders report over 1,000 Banyamulenge killed since 2017 alone, with thousands more wounded, displaced or rendered unable to access food and humanitarian aid.
One of the most widely documented atrocities linked to this pattern of targeting was the Gatumba massacre in August 2004, when at least 160 Banyamulenge refugees were brutally murdered in a camp on the Burundi-DRC border. Attackers used automatic weapons, set fire to tents and killed civilians while hundreds were wounded and several went missing that night. This massacre left deep scars in the community and remains a symbol of unpunished violence against Banyamulenge individuals.
Historical documentation also shows other deadly waves targeting Banyamulenge civilians. For example, in the First Congo War in October 1996, reports indicate that several hundred Banyamulenge, including women and children, were killed in the Bukavu area by forces hostile to their community. These events are documented alongside decades of smaller-scale massacres under narratives that deny Banyamulenge Congolese identity and frame them as “foreigners” despite their long presence in the region.
These facts matter because when U.S. policymakers issue statements without historical context, they risk reinforcing narratives that justify violence or ignore the suffering of whole communities. The M23 fighters are often portrayed only as aggressors. But for many in eastern Congo, their emergence was a desperate response to exclusion and insecurity.
The Congolese state repeatedly failed to protect its Tutsi citizens, integrate them politically or deliver justice when their villages were attacked. When people have no voice at the table and no legal protection, they take up arms for survival. That is not to romanticize violence, but to recognize the reality of systemic oppression that Western policy has too often overlooked.
I stand with calls to halt atrocities and address humanitarian crises in eastern Congo. Every life lost is a tragedy. But peace cannot be negotiated by declaring one side criminal and another legitimate without addressing the root causes of the conflict. Peace requires justice and inclusion for those who have been pushed to the margins for decades.
My own story is a testament to these realities. I left Congo not because I sought opportunity alone, but because my life was in danger. I watched neighbors killed, homes burned, futures stolen. I carry that memory every day. When leaders in the U.S. speak about Congo without acknowledging the lived trauma of real people, it adds to a long history of global powers taking Congo’s wealth without protecting its people. Western demand for minerals like cobalt and coltan has driven exploitative dynamics that benefit multinational corporations far more than Congolese communities themselves.
Senator Shaheen’s statement, by focusing solely on stopping M23 and upholding an agreement, risks framing the struggle of Tutsi communities as aggression rather than survival. For people like me, who have rebuilt our lives in New Hampshire and across the United States, these narratives matter. They shape how policymakers understand our history and whether our experiences are viewed with dignity or dismissed as instability.
Peace in Congo is not a geopolitical bargaining chip. It is a human imperative. When leaders speak on these issues, their words carry weight. They must reflect complexity and affirm the dignity of communities like the Banyamulenge. My people deserve safety here in the U.S. and justice back home. We deserve voices in the conversations that shape our futures.
Fisto Ndayishimiye is a refugee, community organizer and youth leader based in Concord. He is the co-founder and executive director of the Young Adults Development Network, founder and director of Importance Leadership, and founder of One Concord.