Let’s stop pretending for once: Peace in Africa is a commodity, a price tag stapled to suffering, and once again, the highest bidder has walked away grinning. With a stroke of a pen in Washington, Trump did what countless global leaders, NGOs, and UN peacekeepers failed to do for decades—broker a peace. But don’t fool yourself with Nobel speeches or patriotic pomposity. This isn’t about dreams of stability for Rwanda or Congo. It’s the grandest land grab of our time, and it’s coated in lithium dust, blood, and hypocrisy.

Here’s the ugly truth: Congo bleeds, America banks. Under the blinding lights of the signing ceremony, two African nations, battered by decades of war and genocide fallout, were told to smile for their savior. Trump's face split into a self-satisfied grin as he bragged on camera, 'We’re getting, for the United States, a lot of the mineral rights from the Congo as part of it.' Not a word about Congolese lives buried under collapsed mines. Not a syllable about women violated, children orphaned, towns razed to feed the G7’s insatiable tech addiction.

This isn’t diplomacy. This is neo-colonialism in high definition. Instead of Belgian whips and Leopold’s cannons, we have fine print, mining contracts, and the West congratulating itself for buying peace—so it can rape the land a little more cleanly. The result? The moral outrage that paved the streets of BLM protests and #MeToo hashtags evaporates when profit is on the line and minerals keep iPhones buzzing.

Yes, Trump said the quiet part out loud, but spare me the shocked headlines. The entire Western supply chain depends on Congolese cobalt and coltan, while politicians tweet solidarity for democracy from Silicon Valley-funded offices. The same activists who wore DRC-flag pins for #BringBackOurGirls will now swipe Instagram stories on smartphones powered by Congolese misery.

Let’s be brutally clear: Peace imposed by the world’s most powerful, in exchange for control over the world’s hungriest, is not peace—it’s surrender. Denis Mukwege, Nobel laureate, called out the farce, decrying the deal as 'granting a reward for aggression, legitimising the plundering of Congolese natural resources.' He was right. But who listened? Not Apple. Not Tesla. Not you, scrolling on the minerals of martyrdom.

If this is stability, what hope exists for justice? For reparations? For anything but another generation learning the art of loss? America did not bring peace to Congo. America bought it—cheap.

Here’s a dare: Next time you boot up your phone or plug in your electric car, ask yourself—who paid the real price for this uneasy quiet? And does our civilization’s comfort truly excuse the world’s oldest, bloodiest transaction?