Sexual violence in eastern Congo: dehumanising oppression of Congolese women

Sexual violence against Congolese women in the east of the Congo is not an aberration, but a strategy of systemic domination. In armed conflicts, women are always the first targets, not only physically, but also socially and economically. Oppression is, as it were, doubled in order to block any possibility of freedom or hope.

They’ve had enough. And so are we.

Sexual violence against Congolese women is neither an isolated incident nor a collateral consequence of the war. It is an instrument of domination, a means of asserting illegitimate power by crushing those who embody the stability and future of a society. In these conflict zones, instability and brutality are not accidents, they have become a mode of governance. An infernal spiral in which the systematic oppression of women is not just tolerated, but integrated as a political and military strategy.

Rape is not an uncontrolled act. It is used, claimed and orchestrated. It becomes a signature of violence, a proof of strength for men whose authority is based solely on terror. This violence is not confined to women’s bodies; it tears at the fabric of society, destroys the bonds of solidarity and shatters the balance of the community. They aim to destroy the very possibility of reconstruction and a future.

Congolese women are at the heart of congolese society. Not just as economic players, but also as social pillars: mothers, sisters, aunts, figures of transmission and resilience. Their presence structures the equilibrium of communities. This is precisely why they are targeted. When they are shattered, the whole of society is shaken, plunging the country into a cycle of chaos in which political instability becomes the norm rather than a temporary crisis.

This violence is a strategic weapon. It is not just barbaric, but a cynical calculation: to prevent any possibility of emancipation and reconstruction by destroying those who carry the hope of renewal.

When a woman experiences this level of oppression, even the most brutal oppression ends up looking like grace.

If you’ve survived bombings and repeated rapes, you can almost smile in the face of economic exploitation if it means escaping sexual violence. But the problem is that there is no escape. If you’re a woman, avoiding one form of violence inevitably means encountering another. And when you dare to rebel, what you are really doing is asserting a self-respect and self-esteem that is stronger than the oppression, stronger than the violence that sometimes hides behind social integration.

This is exactly what femininity allows: a path to personal wellbeing, a way of reorienting your life and understanding that everything is being done to ensure that, in one way or another, women are put in boxes. Even what could be a driving force for emancipation, like femininity, is hijacked, minimised and scorned. Yet it is in asserting yourself, in recognising your own being, that true strength lies.

What if your greatest power lived in your femininity? But for that to happen, you have to have the time to think about it, and these women don’t have the time.