The rebels of the M23 were about to take the city of Goma when I said goodbye to my friends there. Several of them are journalists. Leaving was still possible for them, but it was not an option, they explained to me. ‘This is our home. You don’t just leave it behind.’ On the first day of the offensive, they shared images of civilians moving into the city centre, looking for places to be protected. Then they themselves found themselves in danger. Looting soldiers and civilian militias robbed two of my journalist friends twice. After two days of hiding, peace seemed to be slowly returning. But the city woke up under a new regime, that of the Rwandan-controlled M23.
The rules had changed. Every journalist had to be re-accredited. The messages they shared from now on would be those of the new bosses. Attendance at the M23 press conference was mandatory. Criticism of M23 or Rwanda was now seen as Hutu extremism. In the meantime, they were told that the regime in Kinshasa could punish their presence at that press conference with the death penalty.
Most of my colleagues consistently describe themselves as peace journalists. A term we do not use, but it is very telling. If they choose a side in the turbulent war that has been tearing their country apart for 30 years, it is that of the citizen. They do not want to contribute to hatred, they want to be part of the solution. The current circumstances in which they have to work today make the task even more difficult. One of those peace journalists recently told me that he is afraid of his own words and therefore chooses to remain silent for a while. Another needed some time to heal from traumatic days, but then decided that he was more motivated than ever. Peace journalists like him are more important than ever.