As multiple crises unfold across Africa, the intersection of conflict, climate, and geopolitics is becoming increasingly complex. Few understand this landscape better than Karine Oriot, a journalist whose work focuses on Sudan and the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). She reflects on what the world often overlooks, the power dynamics that sustain violence, and the urgent need for a more grounded, accountable international response.
From your perspective as a journalist, what are the most overlooked aspects of the crises in Sudan and the DRC?
One of the most overlooked aspects is how power operates at the local level — far from capitals and diplomatic tables. Real control is negotiated daily between warlords, local commanders, and civilians trying to survive under systems of informal taxation, justice, and displacement.
Then there is the war economy. These conflicts are financed by cross-border trade in gold, fuel, and minerals such as cobalt and coltan. What is rarely acknowledged is that foreign interests are deeply embedded in these networks — whether through mining concessions, arms supplies, or strategic alliances. Some global powers quietly benefit from this instability because it guarantees cheap access to resources and geopolitical leverage.
We also neglect the invisible wounds — the long-term trauma of survivors, the stigma they face, and the collapse of schools and health systems that perpetuate suffering. Urban displacement and secondary movements go largely unnoticed because they fall outside the humanitarian radar.
And finally, there is an information blackout. Journalists are silenced, the internet is cut, and entire regions disappear from global consciousness. What we do not see sustains the violence: the micro-economies, the foreign interests behind resource exploitation, and the silencing of communities.
How do these conflicts fit into the broader geopolitical dynamics of the region and the interests of external powers?
These are not isolated wars; they sit on the fault lines of energy transition, maritime security, and regional rivalries. Eastern DRC lies at the heart of global mineral supply chains —cobalt and coltan— and that makes it central to the world’s energy future. This attracts regional interference and shapes both corporate and state interests.
Sudan, meanwhile, is tied to Red Sea and Sahel realignments, while eastern DRC is entangled in Great Lakes rivalries. Borders are porous, alliances fluid, and power is constantly renegotiated.
External powers —Gulf states, Western governments, and emerging actors— compete for ports, bases, mining rights, and diplomatic leverage. Their policies often prioritize containment and access over civilian protection. The global energy transition only heightens these stakes, increasing demand for DRC’s minerals, while Red Sea insecurity raises the strategic value of Sudan’s coastline.
What role does media coverage —or the lack of it— play in shaping international responses to these crises?
Silence is a policy in itself. When the story fades, impunity grows.
Attention governs action: when coverage spikes, funding and diplomacy follow; when cameras leave, protection collapses. The problem is what I call narrative poverty — the reduction of complex realities into brief, episodic “crisis bursts” that strip away context and humanity. This leads to simplistic policy responses that do little to change conditions on the ground.
Without safe, sustained access for both local and international journalists, misinformation thrives, and atrocities go unverified. The stories that reach the world are fragmented and incomplete. What works instead are partnerships with local newsrooms, data and satellite verification, and survivor-led storytelling; these keep issues visible, credible, and human.
In your reporting, what stories of resilience or suffering have struck you the most?
People are not just surviving; they are organizing, often better than the systems meant to protect them.
In eastern DRC, I met a network of women rebuilding their livelihoods through micro-cooperatives that provide safe transport to markets. It is quiet, practical peacebuilding born from necessity.
In Sudan, displaced teachers run pop-up schools, so children do not lose another year of education. They use chalk, tarps, and sheer courage to keep learning alive.
And there was one mother who kept every document — health cards, police notes, testimonies — so that her daughter’s assault would not vanish into rumor. Her personal archive was a demand for justice, a refusal to let memory be erased. These acts of resilience are forms of resistance.
What lessons should the international community learn from the way Sudan and the DRC crises have been handled so far?
If we do not change the incentives —political, financial, and informational— we will keep funding emergencies instead of ending them.
Diplomacy, aid, and security assistance must be tied to measurable protection outcomes, not just ceasefire signatures. Following the money is essential: we need to target the logistics, brokers, and border points that sustain armed groups, and ensure transparency in mineral and fuel chains.
Regional diplomacy must widen the table —include civic actors, survivor groups, and local media, not only states and armed movements. Financing should be flexible and sustained, not bound by short grant cycles that abandon communities once the headlines fade.
Accountability must matter again. Support credible investigations and survivor-centered justice mechanisms that deter repeat offenses. And finally, protect the people who tell these stories. Without the safety and independence of local journalists, early warnings are missed, and the cycle of silence continues.
