Christian M. Kamunga
& Benedict I. B.Umba
A NATION can be blessed with natural wealth and still be held hostage. The DRC is a living paradox: mineral riches and human potential coexist with persistent poverty, institutional fragility, and a politics that too often resembles a contest of survival rather than a struggle over public good. The question this article returns to—again and again—is simple but unsettling: if constitutional law is meant to govern power, why does it repeatedly collapse when elites are involved?
We argue that corruption in the DRC is not merely a financial offence; it is the poison that contaminates the very wellspring of constitutionalism. In this context, the greatest barrier to rights is not the absence of constitutional language, but the systematic dismantling of its enforcing capacity. When elite actors control oversight, reshape accountability, and steer courts toward convenient outcomes, the constitution becomes less a shield for citizens and more a tool for elite endurance. The result is a familiar tragedy: people may be able to name their rights, yet they cannot reliably enjoy them.
Constitutionalism, however, cannot be reduced to legal drafting. Its real meaning is implementation: whether institutions can enforce duties, limit abuse, and protect those most exposed to state and private coercion. Corruption attacks that implementation at two levels. First, it corrodes formal structures by capturing institutions and politicising procedures. Second, it corrodes informal civic norms by teaching citizens that impunity is normal and consequences are selective. That lesson changes behaviour. When people stop believing in fair remedies, they disengage, and the social energy required for rights-advancing reform steadily evaporates.
The DRC’s constitutional architecture is not empty. The 2006 Constitution, revised in 2011, sets out accountability mechanisms for high authorities. Article 164 criminally places responsibility on the President and the Prime Minister for offences including corruption, embezzlement of public funds, and illicit enrichment. Article 99 also requires asset declarations by top officials before and after taking office, submitted to the Constitutional Court. In principle, these provisions create safeguards against predation by those who wield public power. In practice, however, the safeguards are weakened when enforcement is captured, disciplinary processes are politicised, and judicial impartiality becomes contested.
This is why the struggle against corruption matters for constitutional rights. Without credible accountability, constitutional guarantees remain theoretical. A right that cannot be protected during conflict becomes a promise without protection. When citizens see investigations used selectively, or prosecutions directed at some while others return unscathed to political life, the rule of law loses its credibility. And once credibility collapses, constitutionalism loses its social foundation.
The fall of Constant Mutamba illustrates this logic with brutal clarity. Appointed Minister of Justice in 2024, Mutamba quickly became associated with anti-corruption action and judicial reform. His investigations into alleged illicit enrichment by senior officials, including within the judiciary, threatened entrenched secrecy. One of the most politically sensitive actions involved reported Brussels luxury property allegations surrounding Prosecutor General Firmin Mvonde Mambu, the Prosecutor General at the Court of Cassation. Mutamba’s public announcement that his ministry would investigate the acquisition challenged the integrity of an institution that should protect legality rather than shield itself from scrutiny.