Latest / The History of Belgium: A Small Country with a Giant Colonial Legacy — Fexingo History / The Silent Complicity of Belgian Architects in Congo
Transcript
- Lucas: For anyone stepping into this conversation with us through the years, you know we’ve spent a lot of time on the political upheavals—the riots, the speeches, the sudden departures. But today, I want to shift our gaze away from the streets where people marched and toward the streets themselves, and the walls that divided them. Luna: You mean the physical layout of the cities? Lucas: Exactly. Specifically, how Belgian architects and planners designed colonial cities to enforce a rigid racial hierarchy through brick, concrete, and zoning. It’s a story about how space itself was weaponized to keep one group dominant and another subordinate, long before the term apartheid became synonymous with South Africa. Luna: So the buildings were part of the control system? Lucas: Precisely. Take Elisabethville, which is now Lubumbashi, the capital of the mineral-rich Katanga province. In the late 1940s and early 1950s, as the colony prepared for its eventual transition, there was a massive push to modernize the urban center. The goal wasn't just efficiency; it was visibility. They wanted the European quarter to project an image of invincible order and civilization, while pushing the African population into designated zones that were often underserved by infrastructure. Luna: Was this planned from the beginning of the colony? Lucas: It evolved. In the very early Congo Free State days under Leopold II, the separation was less about grand boulevards and more about basic containment—keeping laborers near mines or railways. But by the mid-twentieth century, under the Belgian administration, it became sophisticated urban theory. You had architects who were trained in Europe applying modernist principles, but filtering them through a lens of strict social control. Luna: Who were some of the key figures driving this design? Lucas: One name stands out: Victor Bourgeois. He was a prominent Belgian architect and urban planner who worked extensively in the Congo during the 1950s. He didn't just build houses; he conceived entire districts. His work in Elisabethville was part of a broader movement among Belgian intellectuals who believed that good urban planning could manage social tensions—but only if those tensions were managed by keeping groups strictly apart. Luna: That sounds chillingly logical for the time. Lucas: It was. Bourgeois and his peers argued that mixed neighborhoods led to friction, so the solution was spatial segregation. They designed wide avenues in the European sector, like the Avenue du Roi Baudouin, lined with spacious villas, ample greenery, and high-quality paving. Meanwhile, just miles away, the African quarters were often laid out with narrow, winding paths, lacking running water or proper sewage systems. The contrast wasn't accidental; it was pedagogical. It taught every resident their place simply by walking down the street. Luna: Did the Africans resist this layout? Lucas: They did, often through informal means. While the official plans restricted where they could live and work, many Congolese developed vibrant, dense communities in the permitted areas. They adapted the spaces, creating markets and social hubs that defied the sterile order the planners envisioned. There were also legal challenges. As the independence movement grew, educated Congolese lawyers began challenging the legality of these zoning laws in court, arguing that they violated basic rights of property and movement. Luna: What about the financial backing for all this construction? Lucas: The money came largely from the Société Générale de Belgique, the massive financial holding company that controlled much of the colonial economy. They viewed the city not just as a home for administrators, but as a showcase for Belgium's 'civilizing mission.' If you drove through Elisabethville in 1955, you were supposed to feel the superiority of European culture. The architecture was meant to be a permanent statement of Belgian permanence, even as cracks in the imperial foundation were becoming visible. Lucas: We deliberately don't run ads on these episodes because we believe deep historical context matters more than quick clicks. If you value that approach, the link is buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. Luna: It really helps keep the research rigorous without corporate interference. Lucas: It does. And it allows us to spend time on topics like this, which might not make headlines elsewhere. Now, back to those buildings. When independence finally arrived in 1960, the physical landscape of the city didn't change overnight. The large villas and administrative blocks remained standing, but their inhabitants changed rapidly. Luna: Did the new government tear them down? Lucas: Mostly no. In fact, many of the symbols of colonial power were repurposed. Government ministries moved into the former residences of colonial officials. The museums and schools stayed open, though their narratives shifted. However, the underlying inequality of the infrastructure persisted. The African quarters still lacked the same level of municipal services, creating a disparity that would fuel further unrest in the decades that followed. Luna: So the physical divide outlasted the political one. Lucas: It did. Today, in Lubumbashi, you can still see the scars of that planning. The wealthy areas remain largely in the sectors designated for Europeans, while poorer communities occupy the margins. It’s a stark reminder that urban design isn't neutral. It carries the DNA of the power structures that created it. Even after the flags change, the streets often remember who was allowed to walk on them freely. Luna: That’s a powerful way to end on the physical reality of history. Lucas: I think it’s crucial. We often talk about colonialism in terms of laws and kings, but it was also built into the ground beneath our feet. Understanding that helps us see how deeply embedded those hierarchies were—not just in policy, but in the daily experience of living in a city. Luna: It makes you look at your own city differently. Lucas: Absolutely. Every neighborhood has a story of who was included and who was excluded. In Belgium’s case, that story was written in stone across the Congo. It’s a complex legacy, one that continues to shape the social fabric of Central Africa today.