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The Guardian
05-07-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Has Trump taken leadership lessons from cold war-era Africa?
Ever since Donald Trump returned to power, pundits have struggled to find apt analogies for his style of governance. Some liken his loyalty demands, patronage networks and intimidation tactics to the methods of a mafia don. Others cast him as a feudal overlord, operating a personality cult rooted in charisma and bound by oaths, rewards and threats rather than laws and institutions. A growing number of artists and AI creatives are depicting him as a Viking warrior. And of course, fierce debates continue over whether the moment has arrived for serious comparisons with fascist regimes. While some of these analogies may offer a degree of insight, they are fundamentally limited by their Eurocentrism – as if 21st-century US politics must still be interpreted solely through the lens of old-world history. If we truly want to understand what is unfolding, we must move beyond Scandinavian sagas and Sicilian crime lore. I've found it increasingly difficult not to see striking parallels between recent events in the US and the rise of cold war-era dictatorships in Africa. It began with Trump's renaming of the Gulf of Mexico and Denali, which recalled how Mobutu Sese Seko, on a personal whim, changed Congo into Zaire in 1971. Geographical renaming has been extensive in Africa because of its history of colonialism, but now the US has started changing names too. Trump's deployment of national guard troops and marines to Los Angeles after protests over immigration raids also echoed Mobutu's preferred method for dealing with civil unrest: presidential guards patrolling the streets to crush protests. The blunt use of military force to suppress domestic opposition is a tactic associated with figures such as Idi Amin in Uganda, Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe and Paul Biya in Cameroon – albeit with deadlier consequences. Trump's aggressive deportation of undocumented Latino workers also resembles Amin's 1972 expulsion of Uganda's Asian minority. Amin framed it as a way to return economic power to 'the ordinary Ugandan', but it led to financial ruin. The embrace of bizarre, theatrical economic measures that look great on television but wreak havoc in practice is another striking parallel. Trump's tariffs, announced with patriotic fanfare on 'liberation day', evoke Mugabe's grandiose land reforms of the 1980s, which hastened Zimbabwe's collapse. Anti-intellectualism, egomania and delusions of grandeur were hallmarks of dictatorships in Africa. Ivory Coast's Félix Houphouët-Boigny built a replica of St Peter's Basilica in his home town. Jean-Bédel Bokassa crowned himself 'emperor' of Central African Republic. 'Marshal' Mobutu ensured that Concorde could land in his native village. A similar extravaganza of ambition has reached the US, with Trump accepting a luxury Boeing 747 from Qatar and hoping his face will be carved into Mount Rushmore beside George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln. The army parade in Washington on the day the US military turned 250 and Trump turned 79 was another moment of self-aggrandising narcissism. A populist personality cult and masculine pride often go hand in hand with deep paranoia and contempt. Trump's relentless war on academia and the free press fits squarely within this tradition. In Equatorial Guinea, President Francisco Macías Nguema outlawed the word 'intellectual' and prosecuted academics. Amin terrorised universities to the point of brain-drain. At first glance, viewing Trump as a westernised version of one of Africa's dictators may seem jarring. After all, his interest in the continent appears limited to its natural resources, not its political models. The trade tariffs and travel bans he recently unleashed have hit several African countries hard, and his cruel withdrawal of aid hardly suggests admiration for anything African. What's more, Trump has never set foot on African soil and reportedly dismissed the continent as a cluster of 'shithole countries'. Only when a raw materials deal is in sight does he spring into life, such as last week when a 'peace deal' between the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Rwanda was signed at the White House. 'We're getting, for the United States, a lot of the mineral rights from the Congo as part of it,' Trump said. But once the comparison between Trump and a cold war dictator is made, it becomes hard to unsee. And it shouldn't surprise us. The postcolonial dictator was, to a significant degree, an American creation. Sooner or later, it had to come home. The US supported repressive regimes unconditionally during the cold war, viewing them as bulwarks against communism – not just in Africa, but in Asia and Latin America. Dictators such as Ferdinand Marcos in the Philippines, Suharto in Indonesia, Augusto Pinochet in Chile and Jorge Rafaél Videla in Argentina remained in power for decades thanks to US backing. When the Soviet Union collapsed, the US abruptly abandoned these allies and championed the gospel of democratisation. Though the 1990s were rich in rhetoric about human rights, good governance and the rule of law, on the ground the spectre of autocracy never vanished entirely. We're now witnessing a startling reversal. With the demise of USAID and its retreat from a role promoting global democracy, it's not only that the US has turned its back on democratising countries in Africa and elsewhere – but that it has begun to imitate some of the worst historical examples of authoritarian rule. Viewing Trump's regime through the lens of cold war-era autocracies in postcolonial states offers a framework that is both alarming and oddly reassuring. If there is one enduring lesson from the history of autocracy in Africa, it is this: things can turn ugly, fast. Cold war dictatorships were ruthless, bloody and often ended in chaos and state collapse. Yet their histories also show that when courts are neutered and legislatures reduced to rubber stamps, civil society, independent media and the moral force of religious and academic institutions can emerge as the last formidable strongholds against tyranny. After all, sooner or later, dictators die, whereas collective efforts remain. David Van Reybrouck is philosopher laureate for the Netherlands and Flanders. His books include Congo: The Epic History of a People and Revolusi: Indonesia and the Birth of the Modern World
Times
13-05-2025
- Politics
- Times
Nick Kotch obituary: Reuters bureau chief
Clutching the sides of a speedboat bouncing across the Zaire river's choppy brown waters, the reporter Nick Kotch found himself roaring full throttle away from one of the biggest stories of his career: the May 1997 capture of Kinshasa by a rebel movement bent on overthrowing President Mobutu Sese Seko, the long-serving despot. Kotch and two colleagues from the Reuters news agency had heard they were about to be arrested for conspiracy. Having already spent ten hours in detention at the headquarters of the dreaded SNIP intelligence service — they could hear other 'guests' being tortured down the hall — and time sleeping on the British embassy's floor, a quick escape seemed in order. A friendly DHL representative provided the getaway boat. Days later, his
The Guardian
14-03-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Supermarket guards, truck drivers and ‘very big mistakes': the failed role of western mercenaries in the fall of Goma
In January, after the two-year siege of the Congolese city of Goma ended with victory for the M23 rebels and Rwandan troops, an ill-assorted group of nearly 300 white mercenaries were lined up to have their humiliating defeat televised. 'You must not joke with us,' barked Willy Ngoma, the M23's military spokesperson, at one man he'd ordered to sit on the ground with his hands clasped behind his head. The day before, on 28 January, the M23 militia and Rwandan soldiers had together captured the largest city in the eastern DRC. It was a spectacular defeat, not just for Congolese forces, but also for the Europeans whom the government had hoped would protect Goma. Congolese leaders have a history of employing white mercenaries. They led infamous campaigns against rebels in the turbulent years after independence from Belgium in 1960. Former Congolese dictator Mobutu Sese Seko also hired ex-Yugoslav mercenaries as his regime collapsed in the 1990s. In late 2022, with the M23 surrounding Goma, the DRC government hired two private-military firms. One, named Agemira, was made up of about 40 former French security personnel who provided intelligence and logistical support to the Congolese army. The bulk of the mercenaries came from a second firm headed by Horațiu Potra, a Transylvanian and former French legionnaire, known for handling security for politicians and mining sites in Africa. At their height, Potra's men in DRC, who were predominantly Romanian, numbered about 1,000. In security circles, they were known as 'the Romeos'. The operation was sloppy, marred by pay disputes and equipment shortages. It deployed ex-members of the security forces but also untrained recruits, such as supermarket guards, according to a one-year joint investigation from the Guardian, Romania's Public Record and Belgium's Le Soir. The Romeos also worked closely with local militias and participated in combat. As Congolese and allied military forces around Goma crumbled between 27 and 28 January, the Romeos made a run for the main UN base in the city centre, abandoning equipment, rifles and jeeps. 'They were imminently going to be killed,' says a senior UN official, who asked to remain anonymous. M23 fighters then arrived at the UN base and gave the Romeos two hours to surrender. Some scaled the walls of the adjacent Serena Hotel to look down into the compound, creating panic inside. 'It was a real, real crisis,' says the senior UN official, who added that high-stakes negotiations involving world presidents led to an extraction deal, an account confirmed by two other UN sources. After the M23 military spokesperson had finished scolding them, the Romeos boarded UN buses with caged windows. More than 280 mercenaries from the original 1,000 – many left before Goma's fall – were driven to the Rwandan border and flown home. At least four had been killed during their two-year deployment in North Kivu province. 'It was a circus,' says one Romanian ex-special forces member, who stayed in the DRC for only six weeks because conditions were so dire. In 2022, word had spread quickly in Romanian security circles that Potra was recruiting. Underpaid men with mortgages and families jumped at the opportunity. Some, like Potra, were ex-French foreign legionnaires. Some were just his mates. Others were security guards, or former (and serving) army or police, who sometimes took unpaid leave to sign up. On arrival in Goma, contractors signed a three-page contract. The salary was between $5,000-$6,000 (3,900-£4,600) a month, depending on seniority, according to four different contracts signed between 2022 and 2024 and seen by the Guardian. Initially, they signed with a UK-registered company called GPH La Role Ltd, owned by Potra's brother, before contracts were transferred to a Congolese-registered company, Amani Sarl. The contract was three months on, one month off, with no medical insurance. Potra's company provided a bulletproof vest and an AK-47. Any other equipment, the contractors had to buy for themselves. For Victor Railean, a Moldovan private security officer who first met Potra in 2019, this nonetheless represented a significant opportunity. He went to DRC to build a nest egg for his son, whom he loved 'madly', according to his sister Victoria Gonț. Railean was shot in February 2024 during an ambush in the volcanic hills about 15 miles (25km) from Goma. He died from his wounds. Vasile Badea, a former Romanian policeman, was also killed that day. Their group had requested extraction beforehand, according to WhatsApp voice recordings reviewed by the Guardian. One contractor told Potra during the battle: 'We can't move because they're hunting us with snipers. If we leave here they'll blow your head off.' A survivor of the ambush told the Guardian: 'Very big mistakes were made, they were pointed out, they weren't rectified. As a result, boys died.' Five contractors described a disorganised operation, with untrained and unsuitable recruits. Two western officials in Goma estimated that only about 30% of the contractors had served in the French Foreign Legion. 'When you bring in truck drivers, security guards and people over 60 … I realised this wasn't well organised, so I asked to go home,' says the recruit who described Potra's private military firm as 'a circus'. The contractors were deployed to fortified positions near frontlines in hills north of Goma and around a contested satellite town to the north-west. Officially, their contracts stated they would conduct 'training, qualification and certification of local security staff'. Felix Tshisekedi, the president of the DRC, has denied they were mercenaries, saying they provided 'coaching' on the battlefield. However, video footage and testimony points to a military operation. Sign up to Global Dispatch Get a different world view with a roundup of the best news, features and pictures, curated by our global development team after newsletter promotion There was a 'quick reaction force' to extract men under attack, teams flying surveillance drones and others coordinating artillery strikes. Romeos dressed in military fatigues fired heavy machine guns and operated mortars, according to footage. In some cases, they said they fired artillery themselves. One, with combat experience in Iraq and Afghanistan, says mortar teams fired at M23 positions during two weeks in spring 2024. He stopped participating in attacks because they were beyond his contract or pay grade. 'I [was] participating in military operations on the house [for free],' he says. Pay disputes were frequent among the Romeos. There were also tensions within the Congolese troops – paid about $100 a month – over the mercenaries' salaries. The DRC is among the five poorest countries in the world, according to the World Bank, and more than 70% of the population survives on less than $2.15 a day. According to four contractors, Potra's firm overcounted the manpower numbers. 'They were lying about our numbers. Instead of having 100 people in the field, they had 70,' said one contractor, explaining that he'd pretended to live in four different housing units to fool inspectors. Contractors also perceived equipment shortages as cost-cutting measures. 'In the end, the company's goal was profit,' said one. Neither Potra nor the Congolese presidency responded to requests for comment. The Congolese army spokesperson said he had 'no comment to make'. The M23 captured large territories in eastern DRC after launching an offensive in late 2021. In response, the DRC's weak army began relying on pro-government militias, collectively known in Swahili as Wazalendo – patriots. The Wazalendo range from unstructured groups to organised militias with thousands of fighters, such as the Alliance of Patriots for a Free and Sovereign Congo (APCLS) or the Coalition of Movements for Change (CMC), whose leaders face sanctions for crimes including the recruitment of child soldiers. The Romeos cooperated with local militias, providing money and ammunition, according to audio recordings and interviews. Some of the militias have been accused of war crimes, which could make the Romeos complicit, according to legal experts the Guardian spoke to. However, it is not clear which militia groups they cooperated with, as none of the fighters interviewed specified. One contractor says the relationship was strained 'until we started giving them money'. Security officials say the Romeos were aware of legal limits to their engagements. Contractors interviewed insist they weren't mercenaries. 'If you're from the west, you're a military contractor. If you're from the east, you're a mercenary,' scoffs one. Whether a military contractor is legally a mercenary is complex, but it can have consequences in jurisdictions such as France, which bans mercenary activity. Many Romanian instructors, as former legionnaires, have French nationality. 'These actors are multiplying and it's crucial to consider creating an independent investigative body that could support accountability efforts,' says Jelena Aparac, former president of the UN Working Group on the use of mercenaries. Last year, Potra hosted a journalist from Romania's public broadcaster to observe his men training Congolese troops. However, one contractor says that was set up: 'We only pretended to train people when the press came.' Another says he is struggling to find work after being labelled a mercenary. 'It's a problem we all have. Barely any of us can get hired now.' This independent investigation was supported by grants from Journalismfund Europe, the IJ4EU fund and the Henry Nxumalo Foundation and Viewfinder. These funders or any other of their partners are not responsible for the content published and any use made of it.
Russia Today
11-02-2025
- Politics
- Russia Today
Here's what NATO really fears in Africa
There was a time when the West spoke, and the world listened. Its newspapers were the arbiters of truth, its think tanks the producers of unquestionable wisdom, and its governments the self-appointed defenders of democracy. But today, something has changed – especially in Africa. The carefully manufactured Western narratives are no longer going unchallenged. From Mali to South Africa, from Kenya to Egypt, a new consciousness is rising: one that questions, one that refuses to be dictated to, and most of all, one that seeks to reclaim Africa's own voice. That, more than anything, is what terrifies NATO. Last month, NATO's Strategic Communications Center of Excellence (StratCom COE) released a report titled 'Russian Information Operations Outside of the Western Information Environment.' At first glance, it presents itself as a neutral study of Russian influence in Africa. But look closer, and it quickly becomes clear that this report is not about Russia at all. It is about NATO's fear of an Africa that no longer takes orders from the West. It is about the rising multipolar world, where African countries are no longer trapped in Western-controlled narratives but are engaging with alternative global powers such as China, India, and yes, even Russia. This is not just about media. This is about power. For decades, Western media has dictated Africa's story, crafting a portrayal of the continent as helpless, corrupt, and perpetually in need of Western intervention. Whether it was the BBC, CNN, or Reuters, these outlets acted as the gatekeepers of African truth, deciding who was a hero and who was a villain. But as African nations increasingly engage with alternative media sources, NATO sees a dangerous trend: its grip on Africa's narrative is slipping. And so, it reaches for an old, familiar tactic – fear-mongering. Read more Paradise of lies: How the West manipulates Africa through neocolonial media The report warns that Russia is 'filling an information vacuum' in Africa, using state-sponsored media such as RT and Sputnik to manipulate African minds. The assumption here is not only ridiculous but deeply condescending. It suggests that Africans are passive consumers of information, incapable of critical thinking, easily swayed by 'Russian propaganda.' This, of course, ignores the obvious: Africa does not need RT or Sputnik to tell it that NATO is an imperialist force. Africa has seen it firsthand. After all, who destroyed Libya in 2011, reducing one of Africa's most prosperous nations to a failed state where open slave markets existed for years? Who backed Mobutu Sese Seko in Zaire, who assassinated Patrice Lumumba, who orchestrated coup after coup to install leaders favorable to Western interests? It was not Russia. It was NATO. And now, NATO wants to lecture Africa about foreign interference? The hypocrisy is staggering. But let's be clear: the real issue here is not Russia. The real issue is that Africa is thinking for itself. The Western establishment cannot tolerate the idea of African nations making independent choices, whether that means trading with China, strengthening ties with BRICS, or engaging in military cooperation with Russia. The moment Africa steps outside the Western sphere of influence, it is accused of falling victim to foreign manipulation. Yet, when Africa was truly being manipulated – when the West was installing puppet governments, imposing structural adjustment programs through the IMF, and looting African resources through multinational corporations – NATO and its media allies had no problem with 'foreign influence.' The question then is this: What is NATO really afraid of? The answer lies in one word: multipolarity. For the first time in centuries, Africa is no longer locked into a single global power structure. The rise of China, the resurgence of Russia, and the growing influence of India and Brazil mean that Africa now has options. It no longer has to rely solely on Western financial institutions, military alliances, or media networks. And that terrifies the West because it means control is slipping away. Read more Dirty tactics: How the US tries to break China's soft power in Africa The NATO report accuses Russia of 'elite capture,' implying that African leaders are too naïve to think for themselves and are being manipulated into pro-Russian positions. This narrative is not only insulting but historically dishonest. If any global power has a history of manipulating African elites, it is the West. The United States, France, and Britain have spent decades ensuring that African leaders who defy their interests are overthrown, assassinated, or economically strangled. When Kwame Nkrumah advocated for African socialism and unity, he was deposed with Western backing. When Thomas Sankara tried to break Burkina Faso free from neocolonial control, he was assassinated. When Gaddafi dared to propose a gold-based African currency, he was murdered by NATO-backed thugs and terrorists. But what NATO fears most is not just political realignment – it is the battle over media and information. For too long, Western media giants like the BBC, The Guardian, and the New York Times have acted as the official narrators of Africa's history and politics. These outlets have controlled the perception of Africa for global audiences, ensuring that whenever Africa's story is told, it is told from a Western perspective. Now, with alternative media sources rising, that monopoly is collapsing. And this is precisely why Africa must go beyond simply rejecting Western narratives. Africa must own its own story. It is time for a radical Pan-African media revolution – one that does not simply react to Western propaganda but actively sets the agenda. This means: Creating a Pan-African media empire, with African-led journalism that tells African stories. Developing independent digital platforms that break free from Western-controlled tech giants like Facebook, Google, and X, which actively censor African resistance narratives. Investing in cooperative and state-funded, decolonized media institutions that prioritize Pan-Africanism, economic justice, and socialist policies over Western corporate interests. Reviving revolutionary journalism that educates African youth on their true history – not just the sanitized version taught in Western-sponsored textbooks. Read more The Western media is dying. What will take its place? During the Soviet era, the USSR played a crucial role in helping African liberation movements challenge Western imperialist narratives. Soviet radio broadcasts, literature, and educational programs provided African revolutionaries with an ideological framework that countered Western capitalist propaganda. Today, while Russia, China, and other emerging powers may have their own national agendas, they offer Africa something the West never has: a choice. And that is what truly terrifies NATO. The Global South is rising, and Africa is at its center. The West can no longer dictate who Africa trades with, who it partners with, or whose media it consumes. NATO's accusations of Russian disinformation are nothing more than a desperate attempt to reassert dominance over African consciousness. But the tide has turned. As Frantz Fanon once said, 'Each generation must, out of relative obscurity, discover its mission, fulfill it, or betray it.' Africa's mission is clear: Seize the narrative. Break the chains. Build a future free from Western control. And no NATO report can stop that.
Yahoo
07-02-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Congo's stylish sapeur movement goes beyond fashion
In the two Congos, there's a cultural movement by the Society of Ambience-Makers and Elegant People (Sape), known as 'sapeurs', who blend fashion, culture and social resistance. Though it was rooted primarily in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and the Republic of Congo, the movement is now spreading worldwide, through Congolese migration. As a researcher, I have studied Sape in its cultural, social and symbolic dimensions. Sape is far more than a fashion trend. Here are five key things to know about this movement. Sape emerged during the colonial era, first in Brazzaville and later in Leopoldville (now Kinshasa), when young Congolese began adopting and reinterpreting the clothing style of colonisers. This movement was not merely about fashion. It served as a way for people to express their self-worth and respectability in a context where it had been denied or diminished. Over time, it also became a subtle, yet powerful, form of resistance against colonial domination. This process continued after independence. It became a symbol of resistance to dictatorship, particularly under the regime of President Mobutu Sese Seko of Zaire (now DR Congo). He advocated for the rejection of western clothing in favour of traditional attire, but Sape persisted as a counter-cultural statement. The movement expanded to Europe with Congolese migration, in the 1970s and 1980s, where sapeurs reinterpreted European fashion — often incorporating vibrant colours and eccentric details — turning style into a tool of subversion. From the outset, it drew on diverse influences, including European culture, but transformed them to create a distinctly Congolese style. By adopting the clothes of the colonialists, young Congolese appropriated symbols of power and social status, while hijacking them to assert their own identity. Sape thus became a means of uplifting the value of Congolese culture under imposed cultural domination. Sape is often compared to 19th-century European dandyism – a 19th-century fashion trend that emerged in England for men who aspired to refinement and elegance. Sapeurs, with their designer clothes, bold colours and preoccupation with sartorial elegance, embody a modern, African version of this tradition. For them, Sape is more than just a way of dressing. It is a philosophy based on several fundamental principles: an expression of identity, the quest for excellence or refinement and cultural and social resistance. 'Sapology' imposes strict rules. These include respecting the colour trilogy – which stipulates that no outfit should feature more than three different colors (to ensure harmony and avoid discordant colour combinations), maintain rigorous clothing hygiene, and commit to constant elegance. For sapeurs, appearance is a powerful way to make an impression and stand out in an environment often defined by hardship. Elegance in dress isn't just about wearing expensive clothes, it also extends to behaviour. Sapeurs have a particular attitude – they use sophisticated language and refined gestures, and maintain an attitude of courtesy and respect. Some of their public posturing echoes that of European dandies, like a specific gait, often slightly stooped with crisscrossing steps, used to highlight the details of their attire, such as clothing seams, shoes and socks. Their way of moving and speaking is just as important as the clothes they wear. This performative aspect makes Sape a true living spectacle. At gatherings of sapeurs, participants compete in elegance and creativity, strutting as if on a runway. This transforms the streets where they gather into an open stage where everyone can express themselves and showcase their style. The Sape movement isn't confined to the streets of Brazzaville and Kinshasa. It has evolved into a global phenomenon, spreading first within the Congolese diaspora in Paris. It then expanded to other European cities where these migrants reside, such as Brussels. The movement has even reached American cities, like New York and Montreal. For Congolese living in western countries, Sape is a way of reconnecting with their roots and asserting their identity, in often challenging circumstances. It enables these members of the diaspora to create a positive identity at a time when discrimination and social precariousness are commonplace. In Europe's major cities, Sape serves as a way to resist social invisibility. Congolese migrants, often pushed to the margins of society, use Sape to make themselves visible, drawing attention to their presence and asserting their place by wearing flamboyant costumes. Sape is therefore a form of social protest, a way of defying the expectations of the host society. A key factor in the success and global recognition of the Sape movement is its strong connection to Congolese popular music. Artists like Papa Wemba and Aurlus Mabélé have played crucial roles in promoting 'the Sape'. They incorporated its aesthetic into their public personas and performances. In France and Belgium, Papa Wemba's concerts became major events for the Congolese community. These concerts provided an opportunity to showcase and celebrate the Sape movement. Congolese popular music has served as a vehicle for spreading the Sape ideals, popularising this lifestyle as a symbol of success. Within the world of Congolese popular music, Sape has risen to the status of a religion – Kitendi, the 'religion of fabric'. This religion has its pope, high priests, priests, priestesses, and countless devoted followers. Papa Wemba, often referred to as the 'King of Sape', was a charismatic figure who masterfully combined music and fashion to craft a powerful cultural identity. Every outfit he wore was meticulously selected to embody the elegance and prestige of Sape. Read more: By wearing clothes from prestigious brands, Papa Wemba made Sape a symbol of success for many young Congolese. He also contributed to the export of Sape beyond African borders. Sape is marked by an interesting paradox: it combines luxury clothing and a flamboyant lifestyle with often precarious living conditions. For many sapeurs, elegance is a goal that takes precedence over material comfort. Sapeurs invest a large part of their income in designer clothes, sometimes to the detriment of their daily quality of life. This sacrifice is seen as necessary to maintain their status within the sapeur community. For sapeurs, visibility and recognition are paramount. An invisible 'sapeur', they say, ceases to be a 'sapeur'. This highlights the movement's complexity. Sapeurs view themselves as kings without crowns, street aristocrats who use their appearance to challenge conventional ideas of wealth and status. Through Sape, they subvert traditional social hierarchies, emphasising that elegance and personal worth are not solely tied to economic means. Instead, these qualities are defined by one's ability to stand out through style, creativity and charisma. This article is republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit, independent news organization bringing you facts and trustworthy analysis to help you make sense of our complex world. It was written by: Sylvie Ayimpam, Aix-Marseille Université (AMU) Read more: Bold statement, or a product of misogyny? What Bianca Censori's 'naked dress' says about fashion on the red carpet DRC rebels take eastern city of Goma – why it matters and what could happen next Kinshasa's traffic cops run an extortion scheme generating five times more revenue than fines Sylvie Ayimpam does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
