by Ralph Riegel
The Congo quickly became a byword for the evils of colonialism and the exploitation of African peoples. Stung by international criticism, Belgium eventually took formal control of its king’s African possession in 1908 and launched a process of reform, though it proved painstakingly slow.
Józef Konrad Korzeniowski, better known to the world as the Anglo-Polish author Joseph Conrad, who was a first-hand witness of events in Leopold’s colony, penned the book Heart of Darkness in 1902. The novel immortalised the horrors of both colonial brutality and exploitation, and instantly became one of the most revered books in English literature. In later years, Conrad said that what happened in the Congo in the last decade of the nineteenth century stained the conscience of all humanity. It is impossible to put an exact figure on how many Congolese died to sate Europe’s rubber demands but the figure could be as high as eight million.
By the First World War, Belgium’s wild rubber industry was in rapid decline as the world turned to cheaper alternatives for auto-mobile tyres. But the Congo’s vast natural resources still continued to pour north to Brussels to fund lavish buildings, palaces and gardens throughout Belgium. Congolese exports now included diamonds, copper, uranium, timber and ivory – all of which dramatically helped boost the Belgian economy.
Interest also switched south to the Congolese province of Katanga where vast mineral resources were discovered. Led by the giant Anglo-Belgian mining multi-national, Union Minière, Katanga became a magnet for European and American mining and mineral firms and vast fortunes were made. Leopold’s monopolistic approach to the Congo was transformed into a corporate free trade onslaught, which targeted everything of value in the sprawling state.
The vast mineral wealth of Katanga made it one of the most profitable mining locations in the world. The preservation of these wealth streams suddenly became a cause for concern both in Brussels and in corporate boardrooms around the world. Yet, there was little official concern for Congolese natives who, the colonial authorities argued, were well served with missionary schools and the efficient white-run administration.
The advent of the post-colonial world after the Second World War – largely under American direction – meant that nationalism could no longer be ignored in sub-Saharan Africa. The problem was that whereas the British and French – albeit reluctantly – had recognised the impossibility of maintaining colonial administrations in the face of a tidal wave of nationalism, Belgium was largely ambivalent. In the 1940s, one Belgian official proposed a move to independence for the Congo over a thirty-year period. He was laughed at by colonial experts who thought a figure of eighty to one hundred years was more apt. Disastrously, the disdain shown for independence by key Belgian personnel led, in turn, to more radical rhetoric from Congolese nationalists and their leaders.
All the while, the British and French moved to put structures in place to ease the rapid transfer of their former colonies to independence. The Suez crisis had been proof-positive that the old imperial world was now dead. Britain and France had combined to try to crush Egypt over the nationalisation of the Suez canal in 1956. Yet, despite the support of Israel and dramatic military victories for the old colonial powers, the United States had forced Britain into a humiliating climbdown, and both France and Britain withdrew from Suez. Egypt’s President Abdel Nassar hailed the event as a triumph and both African and Asian colonies looked on in amazement at the changing world order. Meanwhile Paris and London, still recovering from the shock of the Suez crisis, worked to ensure that Africans had experience in positions of administration before the transfer of power.
Tribal rivalries and the fact that Europe’s colonial powers had often carved out African states with little or no regard for history or ethnic concerns meant that the move to independence was always going to be fraught in many countries. Yet London and Paris, despite repeated mistakes, ignorance and arrogance, at least recognised that preserving the status quo was now impossible. Belgium, on the other hand, did little or nothing to accelerate preparations for independence in the Congo. Belgian administrators – supported by powerful industrial interests – were anathema to the new breed of pro-independence politicians who were likely to emerge as the Congo’s new leaders.
Africans were excluded from all senior positions of authority in the Congo, while parts of the capital, Leopoldville, were restricted to white Europeans only. The highest rank a black Congolese soldier could rise to in the army was that of sergeant – and the 25,000-man Force Publique, or Congolese army, was commanded by 1,135 Belgian officers. In the entire army there was not a single commissioned Congolese officer in 1958. In the Congolese civil service in 1955, there were just three African managers in positions of any semblance of power. Many Belgians automatically presumed that after independence the new fledgling country would simply retain its existing administrative and commercial cadre out of sheer necessity.
Writing in David O’Donoghue’s excellent collection of essays, The Far Battalions, one Congolese clergyman, Rev. Daniel Diafwila, described King Leopold II as little more than a thief and warned that the single worst element of the Belgian administration was its blunt refusal to place Africans in any position of responsibility. ‘One of the worst aspects of the colonial system was the total exclusion of African people from politics and urban administration. In 1959, the French President Charles de Gaulle, delivered a speech in Brazzaville calling for the start of the emancipation process for the African nations. The Belgian colonialists were greatly surprised by this and would not agree to hand over control of the country’s riches to the people of the Congo,’ he wrote.
But riots in Leopoldville badly frightened the Belgian admin-istration in 1959. In an effort to ensure the Force Publique would maintain its discipline after independence, its commanding officer, Lt General Émile Janssens, bluntly – and insultingly – spelled out to Congolese soldiers what would happen. He simply wrote on a blackboard in a military briefing room: ‘Before Independence – After Independence’. In other words, there would be no change. Badly paid, worried about their futures and furious over the lack of promotion opportunities, soldiers in some military units chose to revolt.
Brussels then looked south to Paris and saw that even the mighty French were struggling to cope with a vicious civil war in Algeria. The lesson was obvious: if Paris could not militarily contain a revolt in one of France’s own departments (Algeria was not considered a colony but an actual part of France), then what hope did little Belgium have in fighting a nationalist uprising in a country bigger than western Europe?
Having dragged their feet on independence for decades, Belgium now moved with astonishing, if not reckless, speed. It was announced that the Congo would receive its independence within twelve months. On 30 June 1960, Congo celebrated its independence day and Belgium’s King Baudouin attended a special ceremony at the Palais de la Nation in Kalina, a district of Leopoldville which, in colonial times, was strictly reserved for white Europeans. The final part of the ceremony saw Congo’s newly elected Prime Minister, Patrice Lumumba, a well-educated trade unionist and former post office clerk, deliver a key speech.
King Baudouin – who had been on the Belgian throne for a decade – was still a relatively young man and delivered a speech prepared for him by his courtiers and advisers. In it he wished the Congo well in its independent future but, controversially, he chose to exalt Belgian achievements and particularly the legacy of King Leopold II. Baudouin chose to publicly endorse the family version of Leopold’s achievements while ignoring the African opinion that he was a ruthless robber baron. ‘The independence of the Congo constitutes the culmination of the work conceived by the genius of King Leopold II – undertaken by him with tenacious courage and continued with perseverance by Belgium. Do not compromise the future with hasty reforms. Do not replace the structures that Belgium hands over to you [today] until you are sure you can do better,’ the king declared.
The speech may have salved Belgian consciences, but it infuriated the Congolese
who regarded Leopold as the worst face of European colonial exploitation. However, most Congolese leaders realised that the Palais de la Nation ceremony was a dangerous place to debate history and politics. Congo’s president, Joseph Kasavubu, swallowed his anger and delivered his mundane prepared speech. His only concession to the occasion was to omit a special thanks to King Baudouin for having agreed to attend the ceremony.
Patrice Lumumba – visibly shocked by the king’s speech – had taken copious notes and, with the ceremony about to conclude, stunned everyone present by striding to the rostrum. Lumumba had been omitted from the official programme, but encouraged by a Belgian friend, Jean Van Lierde, decided to walk up to the podium and make an impromptu speech – one of the most important, if not most consequential, speeches in modern African history. Lumumba had been irked by the Belgian king’s condescending remarks and launched a fiery attack on the exploitative nature of the colonial system. He roundly criticised Belgian actions over the years, particularly those of King Leopold II, a direct ancestor of the current Belgian ruler. The prime minister laughed at Belgian claims of having ever helped the Congo and described the past century for the huge African country as one of ‘humiliating slavery which was imposed upon us by force. We have known harassing work, exacted in exchange for salaries which did not permit us to eat enough to drive away hunger, to clothe ourselves, or to house ourselves decently, or to raise our children as creatures dear to us.
‘We have known ironies, insults, blows that we endured morning, noon and night, because we are negroes. We have seen our lands seized in the name of allegedly legal laws, which in fact recognised only that might is right. We will never forget the massacres where so many perished, the cells into which those who refused to submit to a regime of oppression and exploitation were thrown.’
Lumumba’s speech was a disastrous miscalculation. As he strode angrily from the rostrum, the room erupted in consternation. The Congolese present cheered Lumumba to the rafters, but the Belgians seethed in outrage at the prime minister’s claims and the fact that their king had been so publicly humiliated. King Baudouin was deeply embarrassed and his courtiers initially pressed him to stage a walkout in protest. A gala luncheon had been prepared, but this was stalled for almost two hours while Belgian officials went into a conclave to debate what to do next.
The king eventually emerged and attended the reception, but the atmosphere – despite the steamy summer heat – was icy. Lumumba and the royal entourage pointedly ignored each other until the king retired to his official residence. Powerful Belgian military and industrial officials were incensed and decided then and there that if Lumumba was the face of an independent Congo, then that face urgently needed to be changed.
‘The king was very angry. The Belgians wanted nothing to do with him [Lumumba] after that. People say it was this speech that brought his end,’ Van Lierde later told the BBC World Service.
Lumumba – a magnetic figure whose emergence as one of the Congo’s independent leaders had upset other more established rivals – revelled in the congratulations he received for his speech from fellow Congolese. He even took steps to ensure the speech was typed out in the form of a press release and distributed to various parts of the country. However, the prime minister had tragically misjudged the moment. Rather than assessing the most politic course of action, Lumumba indulged his emotions and decided to hold a mirror up to Belgian actions in Africa over the previous century. However justified those emotions and sense of outrage at colonial exploitation might have been, the royal ceremony was an exceptionally dangerous place to engage in fiery rhetoric. While he may not have instantly realised it, Lumumba had just played directly into the hands of his sworn enemies – both European and Congolese.
In 1956, Patrice Lumumba was a humble post office clerk about to launch a doomed career as a beer salesman. Within four years he was ranked amongst Africa’s most charismatic post-independence leaders and was prime minister of one of Africa’s biggest countries. Lumumba had emerged in Congolese politics as the head of the Mouvement National Congolais (MNC) which, unlike other pro-independence groups, aimed more for a national Congolese settlement rather than a deal which favoured one tribal group over another. A talented orator, Lumumba quickly outshone his leadership rivals and such was his popular support that a meeting in Belgium in January 1960 to discuss the independence proposal could not take place because other Congolese leaders refused to take part unless Lumumba, who was serving a six-month sentence in prison for inciting a riot in Stanleyville, was released.
However, Lumumba had an unfortunate talent for making enemies – particularly amongst powerful Belgian commercial interests who felt his emotional stump speeches heralded African communism. Lumumba made no secret of wanting the Belgians out of the Congo immediately and repeatedly said so in speeches to thronged Congolese political rallies. He saw no reason for the retention of white officials and was determined that the Congolese would fully take charge of their own affairs.
He also managed to alienate several key figures within the Congolese nationalist movement – several of whom viewed this young charismatic man, who appeared to have a long career ahead of him, as a direct threat to their own future leadership ambitions. Worst of all, Lumumba’s contacts with the Soviet Union – which, viewed with the hindsight of half a century, were naïve and innocent enough – were sufficient to worry the United States. This ultimately ensured that Lumumba had few friends with influence in the administration of the most powerful country on earth. In the end, the CIA seemed as eager as the Belgians to get rid of Lumumba. CIA Director Allen Dulles – one of President Eisenhower’s closest confidants – dismissed Lumumba as ‘a mad dog’.
Lumumba was so frustrated at the ongoing failure of the US and UN to force Belgium to fully withdraw from the Congo – and specifically the rich province of Katanga – that he accepted an offer of help from Moscow. A consignment of Soviet transport planes, military trucks and, the CIA suspected, Kalashnikov guns was dispatched to the Congo. It was only token support, but was enough to push CIA analysts over the edge. Even the American ambassador in Leopoldville began referring to the prime minister in correspondence as ‘Lumumbavitch’.
Chief amongst the prime minister’s domestic rivals was Joseph Mobutu, a would-be journalist who was attending college in Belgium when the independence movement accelerated. Mobutu lacked Lumumba’s oratorical skills and populism. He also lacked, by 1959/60, any major credibility within the Congolese independence movement. Unlike Lumumba and others, Mobutu hadn’t been jailed nor had he suffered for his anti-colonial views in the 1950s.
However, Mobutu was shrewd enough to perceive that the powerful interests Lumumba had alienated were fully capable of destroying him, so he slowly set about building a power-base should Lumumba fall. Crucially, Mobutu also recognised that the dominant power in the world was the United States – and that US backing was vital for any African regime that wanted to enjoy longevity.
Mobutu boasted an oft-underestimated intellect as well as a deep appreciation of the power the army offered. He had been one of the best students at a Christian Brothers missionary school before he ran away and was forcibly enlisted in the Congolese National Army (ANC) for a seven-year term. Here he obtained a different kind of education and learned at first hand just what a powerful weapon the military presented to those willing to wield it.
During his term in the army Mobutu was an avid reader and secured old newspapers and books from his Belgian superior officers. By continuing his studies in this way, he was able to secure work as a journalist when he left the army. It is interesting to note that Mobutu’s favourite books were those by Charles de Gaulle, Winston Churchill and Niccolo Machiavelli – men who had grasped the true meaning of political power and knew precisely how to properly wield it. What very few people knew was that Mobutu had also worked as a police informer, reporting to Belgian colonial officials on the activities of some of his Congolese nationalist colleagues.
Iron
ically, the decision to promote Mobutu was made by Lu-mumba. It was an action that ultimately destroyed him. The prime minister was badly shaken by unrest within the Force Publique and determined to rid himself of all its Belgian officers. Congolese soldiers who had never risen above the rank of sergeant now suddenly found themselves promoted to that of major and colonel. Lumumba’s cousin, Victor Lundula, was plucked from obscurity to become a major-general while Lumumba, impressed by Mobutu, appointed him chief of staff, holding the rank of colonel. It was an incredibly short-sighted and, ultimately, disastrous move for Lumumba. With one stroke, he had placed the single most important source of power in the Congo outside his own direct personal control.
Should Mobutu prove a loyal ally, all would be well. But should Mobutu prove ambitious or ruthless, he had just been handed the keys to the state. The changes resulted in chaos and the Force Publique, more than anything else, contributed to the carnage that spread throughout the new republic. Mobutu wasted no time and, as chief of staff, ensured that the new Congolese officer class was loyal to him and not Lumumba or the fledgling government.
Within months, Mobutu had used the military to undermine Lumumba, isolate the prime minister’s remaining allies and strip him of all real power. Lumumba was now effectively defenceless in the face of his enemies. Mobutu – unheard of before 1959/60 – was now Congo’s ‘Cher Colonel’ (Dear Colonel) and beloved of the troops whose futures he now promised to massively enrich.
Lumumba was also held personally responsible for the horrific orgy of violence that unleashed itself across the Congo. White farmers in isolated rural areas were the first targets of the Congolese who were determined to take revenge for decades of colonial abuses. Reports of murders and rapes flooded into Leopoldville, Elisabethville and ultimately Brussels. Belgian politicians later determined that 291 European women – mostly Belgians – had been raped by Force Publique troops who were now rampaging throughout parts of the country. Thousands of Belgian estate owners abandoned their holdings and fled for their lives to Congo-Brazzaville, northern Rhodesia, Uganda and Angola. In Brussels, responsibility for the carnage was laid at the Congo prime minister’s