Life in Congo: a new coup, new crisis

By Marc Lacey
The New York Times

Joseph Kabila became president of Congo in 2001.

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"We are ready to turn this city into a battlefield," threatened Maj. Eric Lenge, the ringleader, urging people to stay indoors, remain calm and wait for further instructions.

But Congolese know their coups, and few believe that this was a real effort to topple President Joseph Kabila. Rather, they say, it was subterfuge, a political game, an elaborate ploy to throw a chaotic country into even more confusion.

The government swiftly announced that it had put down the coup and that Lenge had fled. But some opposition newspapers suggest that an ally of Kabila may have orchestrated the whole thing to allow the president to solidify his power.

Lenge's 2 a.m. radio broadcast was but one sign that peace remained an elusive goal. He had been assigned to the presidential guard, an elite force whose primary mission is to protect Kabila, who took over in 2001 after his father was assassinated by a bodyguard. Since the failed coup, he has become a fugitive, although the government's pursuit seems halfhearted.

After his group took control of the radio station, they moved on through the streets to the power station and plunged the capital into darkness. Then Lenge and his renegades went to a military base near the airport, near the Congo River. The government then announced that it had the base, and Lenge, surrounded.

But he and his few dozen followers still escaped in a convoy of jeeps. The government then announced that it had a helicopter tracking him. But Lenge was spotted driving through the city, always well out of reach of the pursuing soldiers.

Eventually, he got away. The government announced at one point that he was near the border with Angola. A week later, government officials said he and his followers were still in the capital and were responsible for some early morning gunfire heard outside the U.S. ambassador's residence.

The country's top military man, Gen. Liwanga Mata Nyamunyobo, bristles at criticism of the way the coup was handled.

"You think I didn't react?" he said in an interview. "You wanted me to take a jeep with a gun and start chasing him — pop, pop, pop, pop? Is that how a general acts?"

The ham-handed pursuit is just one factor that has raised questions in the minds of many Congolese about Lenge's escapade.
 
Why would a man who was so close to Kabila, who stood by his side protecting him, not just shoot him if he wanted to topple the government? Why would a mere major try to pull off such a stunt with a few dozen men in a city full of soldiers?

The theories are many. Lenge was known for his aggressive ways and maybe he grew angry at his patron, the president, and acted impulsively. Or, more likely in the minds of many Congolese, maybe there was somebody who put Lenge up to the venture — either a presidential loyalist who wanted to help Kabila consolidate his power, or a hard-liner who wanted to scare the president.

Congo has endured plenty of turmoil in the recent past. It continues to try to put down an armed rebellion in the east led by military commanders who have refused to join a national army.

The damage from a recent outbreak of rioting still is visible around Kinshasa, the capital, and an armed uprising at the end of March attributed to former loyalists of the longtime dictator, Mobutu Sese Seko, left residents huddled in their homes.

Congo's government has been shaken but never ousted. The signing of a peace deal in South Africa last year has ended most of the fighting but has not erased the enmity. Congo's relationship with Rwanda remains particularly tense.

For now, a transitional government is ruling Congo. Kabila has four vice presidents, two of whom come from rebel movements that were trying until recently to take power by force.

There are 60 ministers and 620 Parliament members, representing a dozen factions. The unwieldy arrangement was intended to help the country get its footing after the long war.

So while the purported coup attempt raised more eyebrows than anxiety, the crises that might lie ahead worry Congolese the most. Elections loom as early as next June, and the recent outbreaks of violence are seen as opening salvos.

Dictatorship has trumped democracy for much of Congo's history, despite an active civil society that has jockeyed hard over the years for a say in the country's affairs.

"We have to expect the worst," said Jean Pierre Bosala, 42, a teacher turned street hawker who doubts the election will be held. "There are some politicians who are afraid that the elections might not go their way. Nothing would surprise me anymore."