Latest / The History of Belgium: A Small Country with a Giant Colonial Legacy — Fexingo History / Lovanium 1925: Congo's First University and the Colonial Mind
Transcript
- Lucas: We've talked a lot about the harsh side of Belgian rule in Congo — the rubber terror, the forced labour, the chicotte. But there's another side that's more ambiguous, and I think it's worth exploring: the story of Lovanium University. Luna: Wasn't Lovanium founded by the Catholic Church? Lucas: Exactly. In 1925, the first stone was laid on a hillside about 20 kilometres from Leopoldville — today's Kinshasa. It was a joint project between the University of Louvain in Belgium and the colonial administration. The idea was to create a 'civilising' institution, a place where a small number of Congolese could be moulded into Western-educated elites — what they called évolués. Luna: Évolués — literally 'evolved ones'. That term always struck me as patronising. Lucas: It was deeply patronising. To become an évolué, a Congolese man had to prove he spoke French fluently, wore European clothes, converted to Christianity, and renounced 'customary' practices like polygamy. Only then could he apply for a 'carte de mérite civique' — a card that granted him a few legal privileges, like being judged under Belgian law instead of customary courts. It was a tiny window of inclusion, but it also reinforced the idea that Congolese culture was inherently inferior. Luna: So Lovanium was part of that system — a place to produce model évolués. Lucas: Yes, but it also became something else. The first students arrived in the 1930s, and the curriculum was deliberately limited — mostly medicine, agriculture, and theology. The administration didn't want Congolese studying law or political science, because that might give them ideas. But even within those constraints, the university fostered a sense of intellectual community. Students read French literature, debated philosophy, and slowly began to question the colonial order. Luna: Did the colonial authorities notice this? Lucas: They did, and they weren't happy. There's a famous story from the 1940s: a group of Lovanium students wrote a satirical play mocking a pompous Belgian administrator. The performance was shut down, and the students were nearly expelled. But the rector, a progressive priest named Monseigneur Grison, defended them. He believed that education should cultivate critical thinking, even if it made the colonisers uncomfortable. Luna: So the church and the state were at odds over education. Lucas: Often, yes. The colonial administration wanted docile clerks; the missionaries wanted souls — and sometimes that meant teaching people to think for themselves. By the 1950s, Lovanium had produced the first Congolese doctors, the first Congolese lawyers, and even a few engineers. And many of these graduates would become the leaders of the independence movement. Joseph Kasa-Vubu, the first president of independent Congo, studied at a seminary that fed into Lovanium. Patrice Lumumba, though he didn't attend the university, corresponded with its professors and read its publications. Luna: It's paradoxical — the colonisers created the very people who would dismantle their system. Lucas: Exactly. And that's the heart of the Lovanium story. It wasn't just a tool of colonialism; it was also a space where Congolese intellectuals could imagine a different future. There were student strikes in the 1950s over racial segregation in the dining halls, petitions for more African faculty, and clandestine political discussions. The university became a microcosm of the tensions tearing at the entire colony. Luna: Speaking of tensions — I'm reminded of how this kind of critical thinking often depends on spaces that are free from commercial pressures. And it makes me think of how this show itself is an ad-free space, supported by listeners who value that independence. Lucas: That's a good point. We're able to explore these nuanced stories without interruption because of people who contribute at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It's not a big ask — just a way for those who find value in the show to help keep it going. Luna: Yeah, it's a small gesture that makes a real difference. Anyway, you were saying about the student strikes? Lucas: Right. So in 1956, there was a major incident: the student body published a journal called 'La Voix du Congolais' — the Voice of the Congolese — in which they demanded equal pay for African professors and the end of segregated housing. The administration compromised on some points but stood firm on others. The students didn't win everything, but they learned how to organise and protest. Luna: And that experience proved crucial after independence, I imagine. Lucas: Absolutely. When Congo became independent in 1960, Lovanium alumni filled the new government's ministries. The first Congolese Prime Minister, Patrice Lumumba, appointed several Lovanium graduates to his cabinet. And even after the chaos of the 1960s — the coup, the assassination of Lumumba, the rise of Mobutu — the university remained a centre of intellectual life, though it was eventually nationalised and renamed. Luna: So the colonial education project had a legacy that outlasted colonialism itself. Lucas: In a way, yes. Lovanium trained the people who would run the country, for better or worse. But it also embodied the contradictions of Belgian rule: a system that preached progress but practised exclusion, that taught equality but enforced hierarchy. Standing on that hillside today, you can still see the old colonial buildings alongside the newer ones — a physical reminder of how education can be both a tool of control and a seed of liberation. Luna: It's a story that doesn't fit neatly into a heroic or villainous narrative. Lucas: No, it doesn't. And that's what makes it worth telling. The history of Belgium in Congo is full of these uncomfortable, ambiguous moments — and Lovanium is one of the most striking.