** Kinshasa, March 9, 2025: agricultural ambition in the face of a tenacious reality **
In a country where history is paved with unwarmed promises, the Minister of Agriculture, Grégoire Mutshail Mutomb, advances like a gladiator on the arid field of Congolese agriculture. During a recent tête-à-tête with the president of the National Assembly, he pleaded for a law on seeds, stating slogans worthy of a modern time prophet: “It is time for the revenge of the soil on the basement. But are these words something other than an echo in the void of local issues? The reality on the ground is much more complex.
The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) is full of treasures, but if Katanga gold makes the fortune of a few, the fertile land that we go to Kinshasa often remains neglected. Mutomb is right to say that agriculture is essential to get the country out of poverty. But how can we hope to take advantage of our land, when we are chained by obsolete laws and a dilapidated bureaucracy? This law on seeds, which some qualify as crucial, is blocked by blurred legislative provisions which, as a bad memory, drag in the wake of agricultural policies.
But beyond snoring speeches and promises of support, there is an even more pressing question: which will really benefit this law on seeds? In a country where subsistence agriculture reigns supreme, can the imposition of regulation on the production and marketing of seeds really benefit basic farmers or does it promote multinationals and foreign seeders in search of a juicy market?
Critical lighting is essential. Historically, the DRC has often seen agricultural development projects come up against the resistance of local realities. For example, the famous integrated agriculture project of the late 90s, which promised to bring prosperity to thousands of farmers, left behind only a bitter taste of failure. The peasants, beyond their aspirations, will have to face economic giants who see in them only simple cogs of a trade system.
It is not enough to proclaim that the Congo should no longer “eat at the neighbor”. International companies, influenced by the logic of profit, could very well infiltrate local markets, at the risk of destroying the culture of small family farming. It is not a matter of common sense, but a question of survival. Who really plant these seeds? And what is the return on investment, not for multinationals, but for Congolese farmers, men and women who, every day, fight against poverty and precariousness?
The promises of Kamerhe, just as noble as they are, are accompanied by a huge burden: how to navigate between the interest of local farmers and the requirements of overall market players? If the seed law is adopted, how to guarantee regulation that is not a door opening to resource grabbing practices? The issues of this law are essential for sustainable and autonomous agriculture in the DRC, but they raise crucial questions about power and food sovereignty.
To this light, a bitter reality is emerging: in the DRC, it is not enough to stress slogans, it is also necessary to dig deeper to see if the soil shelters the seeds promoted or the vestiges of a heavy past. One thing is clear: if political solidarity turns into a simple promise, the farmers of the DRC will continue to feed their neighbors … while fighting to fill their own plate.
The ball is in the camp of parliamentarians. This is their moment of truth. Their choices will prove decisive not only for the future of Congolese agriculture, but for the very integrity of its land, so often abused and exploited.