Latest / The History of Belgium: A Small Country with a Giant Colonial Legacy — Fexingo History / Belgium's Royal Loot: The Congo Art Heist
Transcript
- Lucas: We’ve spent a lot of time lately talking about the physical violence of the Congo Free State — the rubber quotas, the severed hands, the sheer brutality of Leopold’s regime. But there’s another layer to that legacy, one that lives on in the quiet halls of Brussels museums today. It’s not just about people; it’s about the sacred objects that were taken, or bought under extreme duress, and how they’re still sitting in glass cases. Lucas: Specifically, I want to talk about the Kuba Kingdom and the specific collection amassed by Paul du Bois. If you’ve never heard of him, he was a Belgian civil servant who served in the Congo in the 1920s, long after Leopold’s personal rule ended, but right in the thick of the colonial administration. He didn’t just collect souvenirs; he built what is arguably the most significant collection of Kuba art in the world. Luna: Did he actually go into the villages himself? Lucas: He did, but the context matters. By the 1920s, the Force Publique had already crushed most organized resistance, and the colonial state was consolidating its power. Du Bois wasn’t leading a raid like we saw with earlier expeditions, but he was operating in a landscape where the Kuba chiefs had no real leverage left. He purchased items directly from local leaders, often exchanging them for goods that were valuable in the colonial economy but held little monetary worth in Europe. Lucas: The problem is that these weren’t just decorative mats or wooden stools. The Kuba have an incredibly complex artistic tradition where every object has a spiritual or political function. A Nkisi figure isn’t just a carved statue; it’s a vessel for spiritual energy, used by healers to mediate conflicts or cure illnesses. When du Bois shipped these back to Belgium, he stripped them of that context entirely. Luna: So he turned sacred tools into museum decor. Lucas: Exactly. And he labeled them as such. In his correspondence, which we have access to now, he refers to them as 'curiosities' or 'art objects,' completely ignoring their active role in Kuba society. He even wrote letters home boasting about how easy it was to acquire these pieces because the local populations were eager to trade them for modern goods. It sounds like simple commerce, but remember the power imbalance. These were men living under colonial rule, deciding what to sell to survive. Lucas: The collection ended up at the Royal Museum for Central Africa in Tervuren, just outside Brussels. For decades, these objects sat there, presented as static examples of 'primitive art.' Visitors would walk past a magnificent Kuba cloth or a powerful Nkisi figure and see only the craftsmanship, never understanding the ritual life that created it. It was a second erasure: first the removal from the village, then the removal of meaning. Luna: It feels like the same pattern as the rubber extraction. Lucas: It is. It’s extraction of value, whether that’s labor or cultural capital. But here’s where it gets really interesting, because the story doesn’t end with the museum shelves. In recent years, the Democratic Republic of the Congo has been pushing hard for the return of these objects. They aren’t asking for replicas; they’re asking for the actual items, arguing that these are part of their national heritage and their spiritual identity. Lucas: The Belgian government and the museum directors have been resistant. Their argument usually revolves around preservation and universal access — the idea that these objects are safer in Brussels than in Kinshasa, and that people all over the world should be able to see them. It’s a classic colonial defense, dressed up in benevolent language. Luna: But the DRC says those arguments don't hold water anymore. Lucas: They don’t. Museums across Europe are facing similar pressure. The British Museum with the Benin Bronzes, the Humboldt Forum in Berlin with artifacts from Benin and beyond. The tide is turning. We’re seeing more negotiations, more temporary loans, and yes, some permanent returns. But for Kuba art, the path is complicated because so much of it is scattered across private collections in Europe, not just in public museums. Lucas: I found a letter from Paul du Bois to a colleague in Antwerp where he discusses a specific shipment of Nkisi figures. He mentions that he had to negotiate with three different chiefs to get the full set. He writes about how one chief refused until he offered a rifle. That single detail changes everything. It’s not a fair trade; it’s coercion disguised as negotiation. Luna: A rifle for a sacred spirit vessel. Lucas: Precisely. And when we look at those objects today, we need to ask ourselves what we’re actually looking at. Are we seeing art? Or are we seeing evidence of a crime? Because if we accept the colonial narrative, we see art. If we listen to the Kuba people, we see stolen heritage. The distinction is vital for how we handle these conversations now. Lucas: There’s also the question of restitution versus compensation. Some institutions offer money instead of returning the objects. That’s been rejected outright by many African governments. You can’t buy back your own soul, as it were. The request is always for the physical return of the items, so they can be used again in ceremonies or displayed in Congolese museums where the context is understood. Luna: It’s about restoring the connection, not just the object. Lucas: Yes. And that’s why the work of historians like me, and activists in the DRC, is so important. We have to dig up those old letters, those shipping manifests, those purchase receipts. We have to show exactly how these things got here. Because once you prove the coercion, the moral argument for return becomes undeniable. Lucas: It’s slow work. Legal battles take years. But the momentum is shifting. The Musée royal de l'Afrique centrale has started new collaborations with Congolese scholars. They’re bringing experts from Kinshasa to help interpret the collections. It’s a start, but it’s not the same as giving the objects back. The gap between collaboration and restitution is huge. Luna: How do we bridge that gap? Lucas: By changing the metric of success. Right now, European museums measure success by attendance numbers and loan fees. They need to measure it by ethical responsibility. If an object was taken under threat of violence or extreme economic pressure, its presence in a European museum is illegitimate, regardless of how pretty it is. Lucas: We’ve talked about the Force Publique and the chicotte, the whips used to enforce labor. But the white gloves worn by curators handling these stolen artifacts are just another tool of control. They preserve the object while silencing its voice. And now, that silence is breaking. Luna: Do you think the DRC will get them back? Lucas: I think parts of it will. Some items might stay in Europe for legal reasons, but the trend is clear. The era of keeping colonial loot hidden in Western basements is ending. The Kuba Kingdom is fighting for its memory, and they have allies in places like Brussels who are finally listening. Lucas: If you’ve been stepping into history with us episode by episode, you know we try to bring you stories that matter, without ads interrupting the flow. That stays ad-free is listener support — buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It helps us keep digging into these archives and finding the voices that were silenced. Luna: And keep telling the truth about how these things happened. Lucas: Exactly. Thanks for supporting the show. Now, let’s look at one final piece of that puzzle. There’s a specific type of Kuba mask that du Bois collected, called a Bwadi bwa Kifweve, and it has a strange relationship with modern Belgian politics. Luna: Politics and masks? Lucas: It sounds absurd, but bear with me. During the 1960s independence movement, these masks were revived as symbols of Congolese identity. They weren’t just historical artifacts anymore; they were political statements. Belgian authorities tried to ban their use in public gatherings, fearing they’d incite unrest. So the very objects Belgium took became tools of resistance against them. Lucas: It’s a poetic irony. They stole the symbol, but couldn’t steal the meaning. Today, those same masks are being used in protests in Kinshasa, demanding justice for the descendants of those who suffered under the colonial regimes we’ve discussed. The connection is unbroken. Luna: They reclaimed the symbolism. Lucas: They did. And that’s the most important part of this story. You can move the object, you can lock it in a vault in Tervuren, but you cannot erase the cultural power it holds. The Kuba people are still here, their art is still alive, and their demand for justice is still loud. Lucas: As we close out this deep dive into Belgium’s colonial legacy, I’m left wondering how many other collections in European museums are waiting for this same reckoning. How many other 'curiosities' are actually cries for help? It’s a question we’ll carry forward as we look at other colonial powers and their own hidden histories. Luna: Until next time, Lucas.