Latest / The History of Belgium: A Small Country with a Giant Colonial Legacy — Fexingo History / The 1946 Léopoldville Riots: When Congolese Soldiers Demanded Equality
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've covered a lot of Congo's colonial history — the rubber terror, the mining exploitation, the religious movements. But one thing we haven't touched on is what happened right after World War II, when Congolese soldiers came home expecting something different. Luna: Expecting what, exactly? Lucas: Well, during the war, the Belgian government had mobilised tens of thousands of Congolese troops in the Force Publique. They fought in Ethiopia, in Burma — alongside the British and Americans. And they were promised that their service would be rewarded. Better pay, more rights, perhaps even citizenship. Luna: But I'm guessing that promise didn't hold. Lucas: It didn't. When they returned to the Congo in 1945 and 1946, they found the same old colonial order — white officers paid ten times what they earned, the same humiliating pass laws, the same forced labour on public works. And the biggest slap in the face: the Belgian government awarded a special medal, the Croix de Guerre, to white veterans, but not to black ones. Luna: That's infuriating. What happened next? Lucas: Tensions simmered through late 1945. Then, on February 21, 1946, it boiled over at Camp Tshatshi in Léopoldville — that's now part of Kinshasa. Several hundred soldiers of the 1st Battalion refused to obey orders. They locked themselves in their barracks and presented a list of demands to their commanding officer: equal pay, equal rations, equal promotion opportunities, and the right to wear the same medals as white soldiers. Luna: So it was a mutiny, but a very disciplined one. Lucas: Exactly. They weren't trying to overthrow the government. They were saying: we fought for Belgium, now Belgium should treat us as equals. The ringleader was a sergeant named Antoine Monga, a veteran of the Burma campaign. He became the spokesperson for the mutineers. Luna: What did the colonial authorities do? Lucas: At first, they tried negotiation. Governor-General Pierre Ryckmans — who was considered relatively liberal — sent General Émile Janssens, the commander of the Force Publique, to talk to them. Janssens was a hardliner, a man who would later, in 1960, famously write 'Before Independence = After Independence' on a blackboard. He had no sympathy for the mutineers. Luna: So it went badly. Lucas: It did. On February 23, Janssens ordered the camp surrounded by loyal troops with machine guns. He gave the mutineers an ultimatum: surrender or be fired upon. When they refused, he ordered an assault. The fighting lasted several hours. By the end, at least forty Congolese soldiers were dead, and many more wounded. Several mutineers were executed after a drumhead court-martial. Luna: Forty dead — and this is the army that was supposed to be loyal. Lucas: Right. The mutiny shook the colonial administration. They had always relied on the Force Publique as the ultimate guarantor of order. If the Force Publique itself could rebel, the whole system was vulnerable. The mutiny also attracted attention in Belgium. Socialist and liberal politicians demanded an inquiry. The minister for colonies, Robert Godding, actually introduced some reforms — he raised black soldiers' pay, created a path to become non-commissioned officers, and allowed them to wear the Croix de Guerre after all. Luna: So the mutiny achieved something. Lucas: In the short term, yes. But the reforms were half-hearted, and the underlying racial hierarchy remained. The mutiny is often seen as a precursor to the much larger Léopoldville riots of 1959, which directly led to independence. But it's also a story about the betrayal of veterans — a pattern you see in many colonial armies after WWII, from Algeria to Vietnam to Kenya. Luna: This is one of those episodes that makes you rethink the whole idea of the 'good war' from a colonial perspective. Lucas: Absolutely. And it's a reminder that the Congolese were not passive victims. They organised, they demanded, they fought for their rights. The mutineers of 1946 — men like Antoine Monga — are heroes in a story that Belgium has mostly forgotten. Luna: Speaking of remembering — I know this show takes a lot of research to put together episodes like this. If listeners want to support that work, is there a way to do that? Lucas: There is. It's a small gesture, but it really helps keep the show ad-free and focused on the history. If you're able, you can buy us a coffee at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. And if not, no pressure — just being here and listening is enough. Luna: Yeah, every little bit helps. So back to the mutiny — what happened to Antoine Monga after the crackdown? Lucas: Monga was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. He was sent to the notorious prison at Boma, where he spent the next fourteen years. But he survived, and when Congo gained independence in 1960, he was released. He lived to see the end of Belgian rule, though I don't think he ever received any official recognition for his role. Luna: It's striking how these rebellions are almost always crushed, but they still plant seeds. Lucas: They do. The 1946 mutiny didn't topple the colony, but it changed the psychology. After that, every Belgian officer knew that their own soldiers could turn on them. And the Congolese soldiers knew they had power if they united. That memory fed into the independence movement, and it's something later leaders like Patrice Lumumba could draw on. Luna: Was there any coverage of the mutiny in the Belgian press at the time? Lucas: Very little. The colonial administration imposed strict censorship. But word spread through the Congolese grapevine — the so-called 'radio-trottoir' or pavement radio. And within the Force Publique, the story was passed down from soldier to soldier. So the mutiny became a kind of legend, a proof that resistance was possible. Luna: It's amazing how oral history keeps these events alive. Lucas: Yes. And that's one reason why, even today, many Congolese remember the mutiny of 1946, while most Belgians have never heard of it. It's a typical case of colonial amnesia. But if you go to Kinshasa and you ask about Camp Tshatshi, old veterans will still tell you about Antoine Monga. Luna: What about the camp itself? Does it still exist? Lucas: It does. Camp Tshatshi is still a military base in Kinshasa. After independence, it became the headquarters of the new Congolese army. But the buildings from the colonial era are still there, including the prison where mutineers were held. It's a site full of layered history. Luna: It's incredible how much history is embedded in a single place. Lucas: That's often the case in Congo. Every city, every camp, every railway station has stories of violence, resistance, and survival. The mutiny of 1946 is just one chapter, but it's a revealing one — it shows the limits of colonial power and the agency of colonised people. Luna: And it's a reminder that the fight for equality didn't start with the independence movement of the 1950s. Lucas: Exactly. It started much earlier, in barracks and plantations and mines. And it was led by ordinary people — soldiers, workers, farmers — who refused to accept the world as it was given to them. That's a legacy worth remembering.