'I think they understood.' Faustin Linyekula says it, very quietly, a little apologetically almost, to his fellow actor at the end of the performance Congo. In the main hall of Frascati, where Princess Beatrix is also seated, a slightly relieved laugh sounds. Shortly before, Daddy Moanda Kamono had erupted in an increasingly desperate tirade against our common past. Us, that would be us, the descendants of the Europeans who made a few strokes on the map of central Africa in Berlin in 1884 and 1885, and them, children of survivors of one of the most gruesome passages in colonial history.
This year's Holland Festival is experiencing one of its most powerful editions ever. This is not only in the bold choice of Stockhausen, but certainly in the contribution of the two associate artists, William Kentridge and Faustin Linyekula. The latter was awarded the Prince Claus Prize in 2007, which is why he still maintains good relations with Beatrix. The performance Congo, a widely recognised highlight of this artist's oeuvre, was Friday night the impressive culmination two weeks dedicated to art in this former private playground of King Leopold II of Belgium.
Condom monster
The afternoon before, at the Ketelhuis, there was the premiere of a documentary made by two Flemish and two Congolese filmmakers: Collectif Faire Part. A bit of a laborious film, but that is at the same time the subject of this series of portraits of Congolese performance artists who - dressed as condom monsters, beer cans or mobile phone maps - try to teach the inhabitants of Kinshasa something about their country's history as a supplier of raw materials for pretty much the entire industrial and digital revolution. During the film, and also in the follow-up discussion, more became clear about the background to this remarkable collaboration: money. The Flemings brought the much-needed budget for their Congolese colleagues, which the Congolese government itself does not have.
That reluctance of the Congolese government to invest in its own film or theatre culture puts local artists in an interesting catch-22. After all, the recent history of this part of Africa has been defined by Europeans. They bought the land for a few beads, they extracted and still extract raw materials for batteries without significant payment, as well as the raw materials for their greatest stories. Stories that simultaneously erased the history that was there before.
Black Panther
Conrads Heart of Darkness, which plays in Congo, was the model for Coppola's Vietnam epic Apocalypse Now, Black Panther appears not to be seen as African by every Congolese either, and David van Reybroeck wrote his great breakthrough work Congo also from Belgium about what happened there. Now two Belgians are coming again to make their film with stories from Congo. But in this collective, Congolese artists themselves collaborate, and a fair price is paid. This is how Congo's own story, told by Congolese, comes closer.
Earlier, Faustin Linyekula said he settled in a Congolese provincial town for this reason: 'Aid workers always leave when the project is finished, they don't build anything. I come to stay.' He looks for stories, seeks out artists and drills wells or builds electricity. Not to save the country, but to make performances. That he also happens to provide a small urban neighbourhood with water and electricity in the process is a nice bonus.
Surprised
In Congo, dancer Linyekula, narrator Daddy Moanda Kamono and singer Pasco Losanganya cut a totally absurd history, told from the astonished position of the victims, who are actually as much outsiders to this whole story as we are. This strangely creates a bond. Of course, as a white inhabitant of Europe, you carry the past with you, but, the makers stress again and again, you cannot hold children responsible for the actions of their parents. You can, however, hold those children responsible for their own actions and thoughts, and this show manages to convey that perfectly. After all: our mobile phones and electric cars run on batteries for which the raw material is still mined by slaves in Congo. Although these days that is called market-based payment.
'Congo' is not an accusatory performance, but one that makes me painfully aware of the unprecedented cruelty of history. The cry for help, the furious lashing out of Daddy Moanda Kamono at the end of his narration, is perfectly justified. the country we now call Congo has been ravaged to the bone and robbed of thousands of years of history by our ancestors, who saw the local population as a somewhat intrusive form of local wildlife, rather than a culture with which to establish relations.
Retrieved
'I think they understood.' Those soothing words from Faustin Linyekula may apply to the audience at Frascati. A few hundred people now understand better what it is all about, thanks to the Holland Festival. Outside that bubble, unfortunately, the world is still different. There, our kind of people are still fighting the symptom of the disaster we ourselves caused in Africa, instead of giving this second largest continent of our planet a chance to rediscover itself.
That the helping hand is now being extended to us by an African artist is actually something we should be deeply ashamed of.
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