Latest / The History of Belgium: A Small Country with a Giant Colonial Legacy — Fexingo History / Belgium's Congo: The Lost Art of the Kingdom of Kongo
Transcript
- Lucas: We’ve spent the last few episodes untangling the economic and human costs of Belgium’s colonial rule, particularly in the Congo. But there’s another layer to this history that doesn’t always make the headlines, one that sits quietly in the halls of Brussels museums today. It’s about the things that were taken, not just the people who suffered. Luna: The artifacts themselves? Lucas: Exactly. Before we dive into the specifics of one man’s collection, I want to pause for a moment to acknowledge that these conversations are made possible by listeners like you. If you’ve been finding value in stepping back into these complex histories, consider supporting us at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It keeps the research deep and the ads out. Luna: That makes sense, especially when the topic gets heavy. Lucas: It does. And speaking of heavy topics, let’s talk about the Kingdom of Kongo. Most people know it as a pre-colonial entity, but few realize how sophisticated its court culture was before the Belgians arrived in force. It wasn’t just tribes; it was a centralized state with diplomatic ties to Portugal dating back to the fifteenth century. Luna: So they had a real royal court structure? Lucas: They did. By the time Belgian agents started arriving in the late nineteenth century, the Kingdom had been fractured by civil wars and internal succession disputes, but the symbols of its power remained potent. Thrones, ceremonial staffs, and bronze plaques weren’t just decor; they were sacred objects that held political authority and spiritual weight. Luna: And the Belgians saw them as trophies? Lucas: In many ways, yes, but it was more complicated than simple looting. Enter Paul du Bois, a Belgian ethnographer who visited the region in the early twentieth century. He wasn’t a soldier or a governor; he was an academic with a keen eye for what he called 'primitive art,' though his terminology reflects the biases of his time. Luna: He went looking for these objects specifically? Lucas: He did. Du Bois traveled extensively through the Congo Basin, purchasing items from local intermediaries, soldiers, and sometimes directly from communities facing the upheaval of colonial administration. He acquired over two thousand objects, ranging from ivory carvings to large wooden statues used in initiation rites. Luna: Two thousand is a massive number. Lucas: It is. What’s striking is that du Bois documented these items with meticulous care, photographing them and writing detailed descriptions. He believed he was preserving a dying culture, unaware or perhaps indifferent to the fact that his acquisition methods were accelerating the very fragmentation he claimed to study. Luna: Did he ever return any of them? Lucas: No, none of them. His entire collection was eventually sold to the Belgian state and ended up in what is now the Royal Museum for Central Africa in Tervuren. For decades, these objects sat in storage or were displayed in ways that stripped them of their original context, labeled only by generic terms like 'mask' or 'statue.' Luna: Stripped of their stories completely. Lucas: Completely. A ceremonial throne might be placed next to a fishing hook, both reduced to aesthetic curiosities. This decontextualization is part of why restitution is so difficult today. It’s not just about returning an object; it’s about restoring the knowledge system that gave it meaning. Luna: How do you restore meaning from thousands of miles away? Lucas: That’s the challenge for historians and curators working with descendants of those communities. Some institutions are beginning to collaborate with experts from the Democratic Republic of the Congo to re-examine these collections. They’re trying to piece together the oral histories that survived alongside the physical artifacts. Luna: Is there a specific item that stands out? Lucas: One of the most discussed pieces is a large nkisi figure, a type of power object used by healers and spiritual leaders. In the museum, it’s behind glass, silent and static. But in its original context, it was active, embedded with materials meant to invoke protection or justice. Seeing it now feels like seeing a language spoken without words. Luna: That must be haunting for the communities it came from. Lucas: It is. And it highlights a broader tension in European museums. Many of these collections were built during the height of imperial expansion, funded by governments eager to showcase their reach. The buildings themselves, like the palace in Tervuren, were designed to impress, creating a spectacle of conquest disguised as science. Luna: Architecture as propaganda. Lucas: Precisely. The Grand Palais in Antwerp, built for the 1894 Colonial Exposition, is another example. It was filled with displays of colonized peoples alongside their goods, turning human beings into exhibits. The line between the people and the objects they created was blurred intentionally to reinforce ideas of superiority. Luna: Do modern audiences still see it that way? Lucas: Increasingly, no. Younger visitors and scholars are questioning the narratives presented by these museums. There’s a growing demand for transparency about how objects entered the collections. Who owned them before? How were they acquired? Was there consent, or was there coercion? Luna: Coercion seems likely given the era. Lucas: Almost always. Even when purchases were recorded, the power dynamics were skewed. A village chief might trade a sacred mask for a button or a gun, under pressure from colonial authorities. The transaction looks legal on paper, but the equity is missing. Luna: So the paperwork tells a different story than the truth. Lucas: Exactly. Historians are now digging into the archives to find those gaps. We’re learning more about the intermediaries—local traders, missionaries, and colonial officials—who facilitated these transfers. Their roles complicate the simple villain-victim binary, showing us how deeply colonial structures penetrated daily life. Luna: It makes the history feel much more tangled. Lucas: It does. And it reminds us that history isn’t just about big events; it’s about the small, intimate exchanges that shaped our world. Every object in a museum has a journey, and for many Congolese artifacts, that journey involves trauma and loss. Luna: Are any of these objects being returned? Lucas: Some are. Belgium has begun discussions about repatriating certain items, though the process is slow and bureaucratic. It requires agreement from both the Belgian government and the receiving institutions in the DRC. It’s a start, but it feels inadequate given the scale of what was taken. Luna: Slow progress, but progress nonetheless. Lucas: Yes. And beyond physical returns, there’s a push for digital restitution. Sharing high-resolution scans and data allows communities to access their heritage even if the objects stay abroad for now. It’s a way of keeping the connection alive while fighting for full repatriation. Luna: That sounds like a practical middle ground. Lucas: It is. But we shouldn’t lose sight of the ultimate goal: justice. Restitution isn’t just about sending boxes across an ocean; it’s about acknowledging harm and respecting sovereignty. It’s about letting the Kingdom of Kongo speak for itself, rather than having it interpreted through Belgian lenses. Luna: Letting the history breathe again. Lucas: That’s a beautiful way to put it. As we wrap up, I think about the silence of those museum cases. They hold so much noise, so much history. Our job is to help the listener hear that noise, to understand that every artifact is a witness to a larger story. Luna: Thanks for bringing that perspective to light. Lucas: My pleasure. Next time, we’ll look at how music survived these disruptions, carrying rhythms that defied erasure. Until then, keep listening, and keep questioning the stories we’re told.