"What if" History. Was peace possible for the newly independent Congo?

In this Blog Query I’ve been asked to play “What if” history, to imagine the possibilities for Lumumba had he not been assassinated in 1961.

I would like to say that I’m not really comfortable playing “What if” history. This challenge is one of the reasons why I decided to write on this query. I’ve only studied history enough to barely understand what did happen; I’m much less qualified to ponder what might have happened. I think it’s a statement about chaos theory that, in hindsight, virtually every outcome seems a natural, logical progression from preexisting (often known) factors, yet no one has yet devised a scheme or formula for accurately projecting the future. Even if all factors are known (which they cannot be, even in hindsight) how they work together to produce results remains a mystery. Often the outcome itself is up for debate. In a way, history itself might be said to be a study of the progression of cultural, political, and social causes and effects over long periods of time. One of the greatest reasons to examine the past is a desire to understand the present with an eye toward shaping the future. But it becomes very difficult for a rookie historian like me to look back on the same set of circumstances that produced an accepted outcome and theorize about how that outcome could be different.

All of these random thoughts bring me to Lumumba. It is a sad fact that this inspirational man was assassinated, but his death was the result of his situation. He seemed to have a real gift for oratory, coupled with a sincerity and clarity of vision that are the hallmarks of religious prophets more than politicians. Politicians must be savvy and often compromise. Lumumba was a bit naïve (who’s ready to be Prime Minister at 36?) and unwilling to work within the existing power structure. His clarity of vision uplifted his fellow citizens of the newly independent Congo, but alienated the entrenched elite in a nation where there were few people with the knowledge or education for national leadership. All of these circumstances existed within the larger context of a highly unstable, fragmented nation under the influence of world powers wishing to exert their authority too. It is no surprise that Lumumba was killed. It was certainly not a surprise to him.
But what if he hadn’t been killed? Could he have held the Congo together and established a working democracy? Would he have become a dictator like Mobutu? Where would he have led his country economically?

There is little I can say with confidence here, but I do have a few postulations. Lumumba’s desire for a unified Congo might have led him to become a dictator, but I doubt he would have been as ruthless or vicious as Mobutu would later be. Lumumba was too idealistic for that. He may have cut out basic freedoms in a trade for security, but what I know of him suggests that he was not one to lead his people to a slaughter. Also he did not seem to lust for power. I think he would have looked for democracy, but with the world set against him like it was, with great powers (the US among them) invested in seeing him fail, I doubt real democracy would have been much of an option for him.

He may have had to cut out freedoms for security, but most of his policies probably would have come from his idealism and lack of experience. With the West set against him, to establish order in the early sixties, he would have had to accept the help of the Soviet Union with all the strings attached. At worst, this arrangement could have resulted in a proxy war on Congolese soil because the Americans would have probably funded pro-Western insurgent groups. At best, socialist policies would run his economy into the ground. He doesn’t seem to be the type to treat the national treasury as his personal bank account, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t fall prey to the inefficiencies of central planning. Dr. Kwame Nkruma of Ghana comes to mind. Even though the rich resources of Congo would have put more resources at the disposal of Lumumba, all that mining requires heavy investment which Russia might not have been able to provide.

If Lumumba hadn’t cracked down militarily, his country surely would have fragmented, leaving perhaps three Congos or an independent state of Katanga. This outcome would have had serious repercussions for what would have been left for Lumumba. He would literally be stripped of most of his resources and basically left powerless without funds. Meanwhile, the entrenched rulers of Katanga would probably get rich with Western backing. After a while, reintegration might be possible with Katanga annexing the rest of Lumumba’s Congo. Then there would have been another cruel capitalistic dictatorship possibly on the scale of Mobutu’s regime. This outcome would have probably have been the worst for the Congo.

Really, it’s hard to imagine an outcome worse than what actually did happen with Mobutu’s rule. Ultimately, I don’t think Lumumba’s government would have been very successful, but I don’t think he would have put his people through what Mobutu did. Lumumba’s faults would probably have come from his best qualities; idealism with a free hand to rule tends to encourage well-meaning but destructive policies. Still, with the knowledge of the horrible rule of that warrior who left fire in his wake, one can’t help but wish for an honest naivety.

Two Challenges for Understanding Rwanda

As the 1990s were coming to a close, Philip Gourevitch did what few writers could in his book We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families. Through several years of hard research, coupled with long visits to Rwanda, he wrote a well-rounded, fair, and just assessment of the Rwandan genocide less than half a decade after it happened. This is no mean feat. Writing a book about the massacre before the tide of history has provided adequate emotional distance or even, as some would argue, the larger civil war of which it was a part had yet ended, was an exercise rife with peril.

The Rwandan killings have always been a controversial topic. Just four years before the publication of Gourevitch’s book, when there was still time to stop the slaughter, the nations of the world, acting (or, rather, not acting) through a powerless and impotent UN, bickered over the meanings of words and their responsibilities to Rwanda in light of the commitments they made in 1951 with the passing of The Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide. This document, inspired by the Holocaust, demanded action on the part of the international community to attempt to prevent the systematic extermination of any specific group of people, but the UN still chose not to intervene. In the face of such a complex human tragedy, still fresh in the consciousness of the small African nation, one might expect Gourevitch, in trying to explain the event, to use his unique vantage point to make accusations and place blame. With so much culpability to go around, some cynical readers might not be surprised if he chose to focus it on targets that might serve his own political ends or increase his own fame. Certainly oversimplifying the event in an attempt to fashion a logical explanation would have made his book easier to read, and a shoehorning of reality in to easily identifiable “victims” and “criminals” would have made his tale more palatable to a Western audience.

However, Gourevitch chose to take the high road and give his readers the story of the massacre that he received in the hundreds of different perspectives of the Rwandan people he interviewed for the book. His writing is curt, unemotional, matter-of-fact, and highly descriptive, his style reminiscent of Hemingway. He intersperses tid-bits of historical facts with the personal narratives of the Rwandans themselves. There is plenty of blame, but Gourevitch seems successful in meting it out fairly. He presents all points of view but is not ashamed to reveal his opinion when he feels he is hearing lies. But, by choosing to include the perspectives that he plainly thinks are false, Gourevitch reveals the deepest truth about the Rwandan disaster, namely, that there is no one reality, only perspectives. When the madness ends, both the killers and the victims must come to terms with it, even though no one believes that justice exists for such a crime. Readers should not expect any answers or great truths from Gourevitch because his opinion is that there are none to be gained. Still, his work ends with just the faintest glimmer of hope in the human race, though there is no hope for the ultimate end of the bloodshed.

An easy and sensible contrast can be drawn between “We wish to inform you” and the 2004 film Hotel Rwanda, directed by Terry George. Both works seek to foster greater understanding of the genocide in the modern West, but with completely different aims. Where Gourevitch gives often conflicting perspectives of many Rwandans from many different walks of life in an attempt to paint a broad and chaotic picture, George’s film focuses on one individual, Paul Rusesabagina, who was able to save 1,200 hundred Rwandans through bribes, subterfuge and influence in the Milles Collines hotel. The film packages his story neatly, if not always honestly, into a two-hour time frame for easy consumption by the audience. By changing details and oversimplifying characters and individual episodes, George ran the risk of trivializing the event. However, his direction, accompanied by the skillful writing of Keir Pearson and a great cast, highlighted by a fantastic performance by Don Cheadle as Rususabagina, all work together to create a successful film experience.

Gourevitch’s book gives the reader more to think about than Hotel Rwanda, and it is ultimately a deeper intellectual experience because it poses universal, yet unanswerable, questions. But for all its philosophical value, “We wish to inform you” does not have the emotionally cathartic quality of the film. George presents his audience with a character, a human, a person with whom it can relate, and Cheadle’s powerful acting allows the viewers to experience his struggle vicariously through him. Gourevitch shows his readers a situation in all of its anarchic viciousness and asks them to form an understanding of an event that they cannot possibly comprehend rationally. This challenge is indeed an important exercise for a Western audience that likes easy explanations. George presents his audience with the story of one decidedly realistic individual who is able to perform a heroic act in the face of extreme violence. His challenge to the audience is that he asks them to experience the torment that Rusesabagina must have felt which is, of course, also not easy for a Western audience so used to comfort and stability. Both works confront the audience, most of which was alive during the massacre, with its own ignorance and inaction in the face of unspeakable horrors. Even though the works differ in their fundamental approaches and goals, the experiences of both have important lessons for those who are willing to honestly engage with them.