Music and a cell phone tax repeal show the power of the DR Congo’s next generation

The song ”Nini To Sali Te” (“We Tried Everything”) attacks the callousness and hypocrisy of so many politicians in the DR Congo.

Switzerland we aren’t. The Democratic Republic of the Congo remains a poor, corrupt, chaotic country. Just a few weeks ago, soldiers marched up and down the street of Kinshasa to help bottle up an attempted coup against President Félix Tshisekedi.

Why, then, am I optimistic about my country’s future? Because I can hear change—through the music now fashionable with young people.

Young Congolese musicians for decades either stayed away from politics or even took bribes to sing praise of whoever was in power. But now they are weaponizing their songs against the establishment and telling how our country can do better.

In another healthy development, young people recently were a major force in the repeal of a much-hated tax on cellphone use—further flaunting their power.

SOME HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

Before I go further, I’ll explain at least some of the root causes of the poverty and violence that the young people are up against.

The slave trade didn’t just uproot the DRC Congolese and other Africans from our homes and kill millions.

Among countless other disruptions, foreign traders brought into the Congo a flood of low-cost imported goods. Local crafts people lost potential markets. Besides, the Congolese lacked the education and training to compete even at home.

We paid for the goods—well, those we could afford—with our minerals extracted by foreigners. They shortchanged us, and just a fraction of Congolese benefited anyway. And the supposed coming of democracy, in the post-colonial days, didn’t help.

Too many local politicians were also crooked business people, making mining deals and others with foreigners for their own enrichment.

They cared more about dividing up the spoils and buying votes than about agriculture, roads, schools, factories, and other essentials (in a country split by countless ethnic differences).

At times, better-meaning politicians won out, earning the respect of other Africans. But our politics were mostly greed-driven. And paying off rumba musicians and others was part of the corrupt process.

The song "Candidat Na Biso Mobutu" by the late Franco is the perfect example with its chorus literally saying "Mobutu Sese is our candidate sent from God, beware of the devils—trying to convince you otherwise…"

Then our diaspora happened. Many thousands of Congolese scattered around the world to seek better economic opportunities. The musicians corrupted by sleazy politicians found they could no longer play live concerts in Europe and North America. Other Congolese threatened to sabotage the performances. Domestically, too, the disgraced sell-outs lost fans.

In line with the new mood, star musicians like rapper Bob Elvis started speaking against the broken promises of the older generation of politicians, from Joseph Kabila to the current president, Felix Tshisekedi.

The big message was this, in effect:

“Look around you: there is no water and no power, children are still dying of illness and malnutrition, poor road conditions, or expensive living. The development promised for decades is still delayed. And you leaders bear much of the blame. You lied and failed to live up to your rhetoric!”

An interesting example is the song ”Nini To Sali Te” (“We Tried Everything”) by the rap band MPR (Popular Revolution Music); the intro basically describes the obscure conditions in a country stuck in poverty 61 years after independence:

...I no longer have the strength to vote because elections haven't brought the change promised;

Hunger has become part of our identity;

Deputies live the good life in parliament but our life is a daily fight.

Young, outspoken musicians were real threats. They even influenced the young politicians, giving us new hope.

The Kinshasa political establishment panicked. The censoring of songs by Elvis and others followed. Imagine the folly of this! The same music was available on YouTube, which Congolese young people could enjoy on their cell phones. The government finally ended the tax.

THE HATED PHONE TAX

Tshisekedi’s government also imposed a new tax on cellphones—the very technology on which activists depended to get their message across, through music and more conventionally.

The tax was automatically lifted as you bought call time; the controversy was due to the fact that the service was apparently malfunctioning and people ended up paying more than what they should.

With new money from the tax, officials would raise more money for vote-buying and rewarding political cronies.

That was the idea, anyway. But the taxes were hated enough for enough opposition to develop for them to be repealed.

This was a big victory for young political activists and others.

Alas, only 20 percent or so of registered voters voted in the last presidential election in 2018, but maybe this will increase.

Wow—so much change in the air, with the sounds of hope and freedom!

I never thought I was into politics, but now I just might get more interested, thanks to our brave young musicians and the activists who inspired them.