Benguella, and in the shady by-paths of Catumbella, the traveller may at
any time penetrate the secrets of the tragedies which attach themselves
to the souls of men and women who have lost their freedom. The same
tragedies but with attendant secrets darker still, are locked within the
breasts of the slaves on the Portuguese cocoa islands in the Gulf of
Guinea. There by the roadside, on the banks of crystal streams, up in the
cocoa roças, and along the valleys thick with cocoa-trees, the traveller
has abundant opportunities for penetrating the secrets of the miserable
slaves.
[Sidenote: THE VOICE OF THE SLAVE]
Behind the mountainous coast of Angola, the town of Novo Redondo hides
itself in a hollow, as if ashamed of its history, or perhaps so that its
traffic in human beings during past centuries might escape the attention
of watchful cruisers. There, amongst a group of slaves and freemen, I met
a woman with a story more eloquent than others because it was also so
recent, so vivid and so forceful. She had not been long on the coast, for
only a few months ago she had for the first time witnessed the Atlantic
breakers tossing themselves with their impetuous fury on that strip of
rocky shore. The hour was that of the mid-day rest, and the woman was
sitting sadly apart from the other labourers. A glance at her attitude,
coiffure and other characteristics rendered her a somewhat singular
figure in that group of serviçaes, still there was a familiarity which
surely could not be mistaken—somewhere in Central Africa those cicatrized
arms, that braided head, had a tribal home.
“True, white man, I have come from far; from the land of great rivers and
dark forests.”
“How were you enslaved?” I asked.
“They charged me with theft and then sold me to another tribe, and they
in turn to a black trader. This man drove me for many ‘moons’ along the
great road until a white man at D⸺ bought me and sent me here.”
“Where am I going now? Who can tell? I suppose I shall be sold to a
planter.”
There was no need of the slave’s reiterated assertion that she had been
nearly ten months marching down to the coast; the locality of her tribe
was plainly set forth on the forearm by the indelible cicatrizing knife
of her race. The journey from the Batetela tribe of the Congo to the
shores of Novo Redondo cannot be much less than 1,500 miles. This was one
of the most recent cases we discovered and shows that the slave trade in
Portuguese territory is a question of the moment.
Fifty years ago, it is said, a ragged urchin ran the streets of San
Thomé, holding sometimes for a five _reis_ piece, sometimes for as many
kicks, the heads of mules and horses for the affluent slave-planters
of that island. That ragged urchin to-day possesses a mansion in three
capitals of Europe, and a stately car rushes to and fro with the
sovereign lord of some thousands of slaves. The sycophants, time-servers,
and others of the crowd of parasitic admirers, who cluster round this
august person, care little for the misery beneath that sordid splendour.
His wretched slaves spend their days from 5.30 in the morning until
sunset cultivating cocoa, that their master may fare sumptuously every
day in Europe, and finance dethroned Royalty which is not ashamed to use
these ill-gotten funds in half-hearted endeavours to regain a discredited
crown. The slaves know nothing of this; one thing only they know is that
when the bell rings at sunrise they must devote their energies to the
production of the cocoa bean until sunset, and that this weary monotony
has in it not a glimmer of hope of cessation.
Along that picturesque road, known as the Mother of God road
(philosophers might give us some reason why the slavers in all history
annex the Holy Virgin), we once met a group of slaves with a sadness
written on their faces which seemed almost to cry out, “We are lost
souls.”
“Are you well fed?”
“Yes, white man, we are fed.”
“Housed?”
“Yes.”
“Are you freemen?”
“No, we are only slaves.”
“Would you like your liberty?”
“Aye, would we not, but Master won’t liberate us.”
Amongst that group was one old man quite grey, who declared he had been
on the islands over thirty years, and his conversation so interested
me that I asked him to describe his journey to the coast. This, though
a story over thirty years old, was full of terrible interest. The old
man had by this time gained some confidence, and when speaking of the
district where he was first sold I became convinced that his home was in
the far hinterland of the Congo. With unexpected suddenness I startled
him by uttering one of the rhythmic morning greetings of his native
tongue. The old man started at first, as if struck with a whip, then,
like a man half awake, he appeared to reach after some unseen thing; then
at last it suddenly broke in upon him that the language he had heard was
the music of his boyhood; his wrinkled old face was wreathed in smiles,
his tired eyes lit up, and then in short animated sentences he poured
forth question after question.
“Oh! white man, tell me about Luebo, tell me about Basongo.”
“Tell me is Kalamba still alive?”
The impetuosity of the questions, the lively gestures, the hungering look
in those brown eyes showed how the old man thirsted for information of
his little village away on the banks of the broad Kasai.
[Illustration: SLAVES ON SAN THOMÉ.]
[Illustration: DISUSED SLAVE COMPOUND IN REAR OF HOUSE, CATUMBELLA.]
The island of Principe has a horror all its own, for it is infested with
the dread sleeping sickness. Conditions are so bad that the Portuguese
dare not send the free labourers from Mozambique, lest their current of
labour from that part of West Africa should take alarm and cease. White
men and women are fleeing from danger, but the authorities still keep
slaves within biting distance of the fever impregnated fly. Dr. Correa
Mendes, a courageous Portuguese medical authority, has urged that every
living animal should be killed as the only hope of saving Principe; but
none have yet dared to propose the liberation of the slaves.
The slaves of Principe present an even more melancholy appearance than do
those of San Thomé. They appear to possess an instinctive knowledge that
they are confined in a death-trap, and their appeals for liberation are
piteously violent.
I cannot readily forget a conversation with four young slaves on
Principe. Of these, but two had known freedom; the others had been born
of slave parents. On the features of one, the traces of sleeping sickness
in an advanced stage were plainly marked, and though still labouring at
his task, it was plain that death had already marked him for its own.
I asked the usual questions.
“Are you well fed?”
“Yes, Senhor.”
“Clothed and housed?”
“Yes, Senhor.”
“You are not flogged or beaten?”
“Oh! are we not!”
“But I am told the planters never beat you.”
“Tell me then, Senhor, how was this deep wound caused?”
In support of this statement the whole group of slaves chimed in with
exclamations and assertions that they were constantly flogged and beaten.
“Do you desire your freedom?”
“Senhor, why taunt us? Did you ever know an African who did not love his
home and country?”
“Well, I think there are people in Europe who will endeavour to
emancipate you.”
“Senhor, I fear when you get on yonder ocean, you will forget the poor
slaves of Principe and San Thomé!”
This latter reply was uttered with so desponding a note that I ventured
to make the slaves a promise, which British honour—no less than British
responsibility—should see fulfilled.
“Listen, I am now going to Europe and shall soon meet the liberty-loving
British people. I know how they detest slavery; I know how they will
struggle for your liberty. Take this promise yourselves—and pass the word
round the plantations to the other slaves—God helping us, we will set you
free within two years.”
The effect of this promise was good to behold, the eyes brightened, there
was an elasticity in movement and grateful word of thanks as the slaves
resumed their never-ending task. Even the slave in the fell grip of
sleeping sickness appeared to share in the joy of a freedom he could not
hope to experience.
Not all the slaves are purchased for plantation work, as the following
typical instances will shew. Beautiful black women have their price. The
day was indeed a hot one as I strolled along the shores of the Atlantic
below the mouth of the Congo, when a finely-built young woman met me.
Originally captured over 2,000 miles away, her fine figure and bright
features had obtained for her captor a high price as “domestic” for the
white man. To him it was nothing that she longed to exchange her captive
life for that home away in the far interior, or that the roar of the
waves was a perpetual reminder of the gentle lappings of the lake shore
of Tanganyika. The woman was his slave, purchased with “honest money”—his
slave until he ceased to want her, and then—well, he would sell her to
the nearest planter and buy another, for healthy young girls are always
marketable not only in Portuguese territory but in other parts of West
Africa.
Another day two white-clad European travellers might have been seen
moving in and out amongst the villages outside a Portuguese town of
Angola, exchanging greetings with half-dressed natives. Presently it is
realized that this is no casual visit of curious strangers, for it is
obvious that the white man’s handshake is but an excuse for a closer
scrutiny of the arm, the temple, or the chest, and the natives gather
round the travellers as they proceed from group to group. Something now
arrests attention, for the white man is sitting down amidst a party of
four or five women.
In a few minutes confidence has been gained, and the women submit to an
examination of certain marks cut years ago on their arms and foreheads.
The white man first tries a sentence in a tongue unknown to the group
of interested onlookers, but there is no response from those to whom
it was addressed. He tries another, and there is a sudden silence; all
eyes are directed to a woman who, after a faint cry of amazement, is
gazing fixedly into space, for the white man had by that sentence struck
a chord silenced by long years of sorrow and suffering. The woman gazed
on silently and intently as if trying to recall a half-forgotten past.
She travels in thought back over yonder mountains, across the hot plain,
and on by rippling streams and through valleys thick with ripe corn,
away across the Cuanza river, on for months to Lake Dilolo, where she
sees again as in a vision the white man who bought her from the native
slave-trader. In fancy she leaves the cornfields of Angola, crosses the
upper Kasai, and is away north beyond Lusambo, and westward to the little
Congo village with its deep green plantain groves and manioca fields.
A remark breaks the spell, and she realizes that it was but a dream, for
she is still a captive; but the white man speaking her native tongue is
no dream—he is still there speaking the language that sounds like the
far-off music of another life. The light of hope dawns in her eyes as she
turns on the traveller, pleading, “White man, can’t you take me home?”
[Sidenote: THE PLANTERS’ CASE]
It must not be supposed that all the San Thomé planters on the island
believe in, or defend, present conditions, any more than it must be
supposed that, without exception, they are habitually guilty of inhuman
maltreatment of the slaves. The charge of maintaining slavery most of
them emphatically deny, and in support of their contention point to legal
contracts which cover the original transaction by which the labour was
obtained. They also remind the investigator that the labourers are paid.
There are, however, some honest planters who admit that the original
“contract” was not altogether genuine, and the statements made by the
planters and the slaves respectively with regard to the wages paid,
differ so absurdly that one is compelled to dismiss both.
[Illustration: SLAVES ON COCOA ROÇA, PRINCIPE ISLAND.]
[Illustration: THE END OF THE SLAVE. TWO SLAVES CARRYING DEAD COMRADE IN
SACK TO BURIAL.]
To many managers definite acts of cruelty would be highly repulsive.
It is furthermore very obvious that not a few owners and planters do
everything which science and money can provide to make the lot of the
slave a happy one. The planters argue with much warmth and sincerity of
conviction that the labourers are better housed, fed, and clothed on
the plantations than they would be in their mainland villages. Their
melancholy demeanour and their insistent desire for liberty, the low
birth rate and frightful mortality amongst the slaves is put down very
largely to the gross obstinacy and stupidity of the enslaved negroes.
If the planters are questioned upon the desire of the slaves to regain
their liberty they reply that this would be an act of injustice because
many of the labourers have forgotten the districts from which they were
originally “recruited” and that even if complete repatriation were
carried through the men and women repatriated would probably fall a prey
to evil influences on the mainland.
The attitude assumed by the Portuguese authorities towards the question
of slavery in their West African colonies has hitherto been first of all
one of inferential denial that slavery exists, and secondly they call
attention to the elaborate regulations framed for protecting the natives
from any infringement of their liberties.
On paper, the labourers are contracted for short periods of service in
Angola and the cocoa islands; are said to have a happier lot than any
other contract labourers in the world; and that any who so desire are
free to return to their homes at the termination of their contracts.
A great deal more is on paper which, if practices only accorded with
the minimum of professions, would assure the cessation of slavery in
Portuguese West Africa.
Perhaps nothing written in the earlier days upon this question has
brought out so forcibly the “ownership” feature of labour conditions as
the disclosures made in the Cadbury—_Standard_ libel action. In that
trial Sir Edward Carson called attention to a circular forwarded to
Messrs. Cadbury referring to the sale of an estate in San Thomé. The
stock enumerated included one item, “Two hundred black labourers ...
£3555.” This gives the average price of the slaves as £18 _per capita_,
taking the sick with the healthy and the young with the old. Various
prices are quoted as the value of the slaves, but this depends, of
course, upon physique, sex and age. Mr. Joseph Burtt, the Commissioner
of the cocoa firms, gives £25 to £40, whilst Mr. Consul Nightingale
stated £50 as the average price. When in Portuguese West Africa several
of the slaves were even able to tell us the prices at which they were
purchased by the different middlemen, and occasionally even by Portuguese
themselves.
The evidence now to hand of the existence of both the slave-trade and
slavery is overwhelming.
[Sidenote: SIR EDWARD GREY’S “BEYOND DOUBT”]
On November 22nd, 1909, the Portuguese Foreign Minister called upon Sir
Edward Grey, apparently with the object of discussing this question,
and in conversation the Foreign Minister informed M. Du Bocage that
the information he “had received from private sources placed _beyond
doubt_[10] the fact that it had been the custom for natives to be
captured in the interior by people who were really slave-dealers; the
captured natives were then brought down to the coast and went to work in
the Portuguese islands.”
On the 26th of October last, Sir Arthur Hardinge, whose intimate
knowledge of slavery questions is probably unequalled, informed the
Portuguese Minister for Foreign Affairs that when he was in Brussels, he
“had heard serious complaints in official circles at Brussels of the way
in which slaves were kidnapped by Angola caravans from the Kasai district
of the Congo, which shewed that the charges made did not emanate solely
from missionaries or philanthropic sentimentalists.”
In July, 1909, an exhaustive series of regulations were issued from
Lisbon. The 139 articles covered almost every actual and conceivable
feature of the whole labour question, but as Mr. Consul Mackie pointedly
remarked—
“The Angolan native ... is contracted in a wild state under
circumstances of doubtful legality, and is so convinced that
he is a slave that nothing short of repatriation, which should
therefore be compulsory, would serve to persuade him that, at
least in the eyes of the law, he is a free agent. It would
obviously be useless to argue that the ‘serviçal’ is not a
slave merely because he is provided with a legal contract,
renewable at the option of his employer, in which he is
officially proclaimed to be free.”
The evidence, therefore, that the Portuguese colonial labour systems are
pure slavery is confirmed (a) In a British Law Court, (b) by the British
Foreign Minister, (c) by the British Consul on the spot, and (d) by Sir
Arthur Hardinge. Could anyone desire more emphatic evidence than is now
provided? and this does not exhaust the available sources, for even the
Portuguese themselves have now been forced to admit that the slave-trade
is very much in evidence.
Writing to Sir Arthur Hardinge on October 23rd last, the Portuguese
Foreign Minister admitted that there was—
“Slave-traffic with the inhabitants with Luando, in the
district of Lunda.... It was ascertained that in reality the
Bihean natives were in the habit of settling their debts and
disputes by means of ‘serviçaes.’ Two convoys proceeding from
Luando were captured, and the serviçaes handed over to the
delegate of the Curator concerned, to be retained until claimed
by their relatives, to whom the necessary notice was sent.”
It is instructive to note that the Portuguese Minister in this passage
makes no distinction between serviçaes and slaves, yet when unofficial
critics declare that in practice the terms are indistinguishable, they
are condemned for deliberately confusing the public mind. It is also of
importance to bear in mind that the Lunda Province is included in the
territories which come under the operations of the Berlin Act, whereby
every European Power is under the most solemn responsibility to secure
throughout these territories the abolition of slavery.
[Sidenote: PORTUGUESE OFFICIAL ADMISSION]
There is further the evidence, from a Portuguese source, in the fact that
in 1911 eleven Portuguese are reported to have been expelled for engaging
in the slave-traffic. The Governor of Angola informed Mr. Drummond
Hay that nothing severer than the order of expulsion was administered
owing to the lack of “conclusive evidence,” but four months later the
Portuguese Foreign Minister admitted that the Europeans “by the inquiry
were found guilty of acts of slave-traffic.” Sir Arthur Hardinge pointed
out that
“the 5th article of the Brussels General Act contemplated
severer penalties in the case of persons engaging in the
slave-trade than an order of expulsion before trial or a
prohibition to return to the colony, which such persons, if
convicted of a serious criminal offence there, would hardly
need.”
When, therefore, the long stream of unofficial testimony upon the
existence of the slave-trade and slavery in the Portuguese colonies is
confirmed in turn by the British Minister at Lisbon and by the British
Consul of Angola, and moreover when Sir Edward Grey, who always chooses
language with exceptional care, officially informs civilization that
the charges are proved “beyond doubt,” and finally when the Portuguese
authorities are driven to admit it, then surely the time has come
to cease gathering evidence and to set about some substantial and
far-reaching measures of reform.
To meet a situation which is a grave international scandal and a
potential menace to European peace, what do the Portuguese offer to
civilization? They claim good treatment of the labourers, humane
regulations and repatriation of the slaves.
It is common ground that the slaves upon the islands are, generally
speaking, well fed, housed and fairly well clothed, but the slaves
themselves are emphatic in their assertions that they are frequently
beaten. This the Portuguese deny, but those who know West Africa are
perfectly well aware that it is impossible to keep something like 40,000
slaves working on the cocoa farms at the rate of “a man per hectare”
without a considerable amount of “pressure.”
The regulations are exhaustive upon every feature of the labourer’s
life except emancipation, from the time he is “recruited” until he
is buried, but as Mr. Consul Mackie has recently pointed out, “The
absence of any (regulations) for the return journey in the event of
the labourer declining to accept the conditions of the contract is
somewhat suspicious.” That the keeping of statistical records is part
of the ordinary administrative routine is a common-place, but that this
elementary duty may be performed, a regulation was issued three years
ago, yet to this day that instruction has never been carried out, with
the result that no reliable information is possible with regard to the
birth and death rates.
[Sidenote: MORE REGULATIONS]
According to regulations, every labourer’s history is carefully recorded
and the fullest details endorsed upon the contract, yet in the case of
135 out of 163 slaves repatriated in the early part of last year it was
impossible to state how long they had been upon the islands. This is not
only a further evidence of the futility of Portuguese regulations, but
it constitutes additional evidence as to the fictitious nature of the
supposed “contract systems.”
To the tragedy of slavery on Principe is added the ever present horror
of sleeping sickness which is everywhere raging on the island. To the
lasting disgrace of the Portuguese Government it still permits the
retention of slaves on the island where conditions are so bad that, as I
have already pointed out, the eminent Dr. Mendes has advised the killing
of all the cattle on the island in the hope of checking the ravages of
the disease. Here again the Portuguese Government has been content to
meet the situation with paper “regulations,” which would be comic if
it were not for the distressing condition of these wretched slaves.
According to these regulations all the slaves “must wear trousers to
the heel, blouses with sleeves to the wrist, and high collars ... they
must wear on their backs a black cloth covered with glue!” It is barely
necessary to state that these regulations are openly disregarded in every
particular.
Finally the Portuguese point to their highly-regulated system of
repatriation. Sir Edward Grey and Sir Arthur Hardinge have emphasized
that “one excellent test” of a desire for reform “will be the rate and
method of repatriation.” Since the year 1888 some 67,614 slaves are known
to have been shipped to San Thomé and Principe from the Angola mainland,
but it is also known that a good deal of smuggling has been carried on.
Then, too, there are some slaves born on the islands prior to the year
1888, and these are claimed as the property of the planters. At the same
time the death rate has been very high and the birth rate extremely
low, with the result that the estimate of the slave—or according to the
Portuguese the Angola serviçal—population of about 37,000 is probably
fairly accurate.
In 1903 a repatriation fund was established with the object of providing
the repatriated slaves with a sum of money upon their landing again on
the mainland, and there was a further complicated arrangement which could
have no chance of being effectively carried out, whereby “recontracted”
slaves should receive their bonus in 6 per cent. instalments every
quarter. This was no philanthropic contribution, but actually represented
a regular deduction of 50 per cent. from the “wages” of the slaves and
serviçaes, until May, 1911, when the deduction was raised to two-thirds,
leaving the labourer only one-third, and as most of the slaves appear
to die prematurely, the benefit they receive from their “wages” is a
negligible quantity.
From the year 1903, when this fund was instituted, until 1907 these
deductions from wages were actually left in the hands of the planters. In
December, 1907, they admitted to holding £100,000—a not inconsiderable
capital fund for working their plantations. In 1908 the fund was
transferred to the Government bank, but in the autumn of that year it had
by some means, yet to be discovered, shrunk to about £62,000. After about
nine years’ working this fund stands to-day at approximately £100,000.
[Sidenote: METHODS OF EMANCIPATION]
In Sir Edward Grey’s despatch to Sir Francis Hyde Villiers of November
3rd, 1910, he pointed out that public opinion would be favourably
impressed with a “regular and satisfactory” method of repatriation.
During the early part of this year 900 slaves were repatriated to Angola
and 500 more were due to leave at the end of June. Probably, therefore,
it may be safely estimated that since 1908 something like 2000 will
have been returned to the mainland before the close of this year, but
even so this still leaves something like 35,000 still in slavery.
Though this “rate of repatriation” shews some improvement, it cannot be
regarded as satisfactory in view of the fact that unless it is materially
accelerated, it will take not less than twenty years to liberate the
whole of the slaves on the two islands.
Turning to the method of repatriation, it is clear that this is being
carried on in the most inhuman and barbarous manner. When we were at
Benguella, the condition of the repatriated slaves was so distressing
that we offered the Governor a sum of money to provide the miserable
creatures with food and medicine. This His Excellency could not receive,
nor could he allow the Curador to accept it.
The planters, realizing that civilization demands that “repatriation”
should take place, are just now permitting it, but they are at the same
time doing everything in their power to discredit it. There is some
evidence that they are only liberating the sick and worn out, for of
twenty-eight slaves recently liberated, whose ages were known, Mr. Consul
Drummond Hay tells us their average age was forty-two years, and their
period of labour on the islands averaged thirty-one years.
The Portuguese journal _Reforma_ in its issue of August 19th, 1911,
exposes in convincing language the condition and real objects of this
so-called repatriation:—
“The greater part of these ‘serviçaes’ were put on board
without being told what their destination was, and without any
money.
“The first batches that came here had some money—one of them
had 150,030 _reis_ (£30)—but the last lots arrived without any;
thus some were expatriated instead of being repatriated.
“These people did not bring a single penny, and it was through
charity alone that they received food and shelter. Almost every
one of these unfortunate people, who have done twenty years of
hard labour, arrived in ruined health, and some of them died
shortly after their arrival.
“It is probable that this form of repatriation is a stratagem
which will, on account of the protests that will be raised
against it in this province, enable the planters to argue that
repatriation is unproductive of any good results, and that the
truth is, as they have said all along, that people who have
once gone to those islands never want to leave them again, well
knowing that they could not find a better spot in this world.”
[Sidenote: THE “ARRIÈRE PENSÉE”]
The Brussels Conference of 1890 foresaw this danger and made provision
for it in Articles 52 and 63. The latter stipulated that:—
“Slaves liberated under the provisions of the preceding Article
shall, if circumstances permit, be sent back to the country
from whence they came. In all cases they shall receive letters
of freedom from the competent authorities and shall be entitled
to their protection and assistance for the purpose of obtaining
means of subsistence.”
Portugal was signatory with other European Powers to the Brussels Act.
Further evidence of the inhuman manner in which the slaves are
repatriated appeared in the Portuguese journal, _A Capital_, of June
last. The writer, Hermano Neves, reported that an officer on a Portuguese
ship informed him that in one trip there were 269 liberated serviçaes,
that of these unfortunate beings landed at Benguella only one was given
any money; the remainder, unable to obtain employment and without money
to buy food, were left to starve. “A few days later, there lay in the
outskirts of Benguella, out in the open, no less than fifty corpses;
those who did not or cared not to resort to theft in order to live had
simply died of starvation.”
How comes it that in spite of endless “regulations,” almost every line
of which boasts humane sentiments, and of a Government in Portugal which
blazes upon the housetops its devotion to the cause of human freedom,
these deplorable conditions prevail in the West African colonies? The
reason has been advanced without any equivocation for years, namely:—the
Portuguese colonies are out of control. Portugal may send a shipload
of regulations out of the Tagus every week and the planters will
welcome them—as waste paper. Some of us have said this for years and
have suffered the inevitable abuse, but with the publication of the
recent White Book, we actually find this contention corroborated by
the Portuguese Government. Senhor Vasconcellos, replying to Sir Arthur
Hardinge’s representations upon the abuses, admitted that:—
“The Governors whom he had sent out to give effect to its (the
Government’s) instructions had been to a great extent paralysed
by the power of vested interests.”
This is, of course, obvious to all those who realize the inner meaning of
the fact that within ten years the cocoa islands have had something like
twenty-five Governors. An admission of this nature by the responsible
Portuguese Minister goes quite as far, if not farther, than the most
extreme critic of Portuguese colonial administration.
The existence of slavery and the slave-trade now corroborated by
officials of the first rank in London and Lisbon, supported by Consuls,
and now by the Portuguese themselves, leaves no longer any need for
unofficial persons to spend further efforts in an endeavour to establish
the fact. Sir Edward Grey’s “beyond doubt” is in itself sufficient
for the great mass of sane men. With the breakdown of the Portuguese
regulations and the violation of international treaties, coupled with the
Portuguese admission that their colonies are out of hand, what can be
done to set free the slave in San Thomé and Angola?
[Sidenote: BRITISH SUBJECTS ENSLAVED]
The question is frequently asked what would be done if the slaves
were set free. We are told that to dump down on the West Coast of
Africa 40,000 penniless slaves originally drawn from homes in the far
hinterland, might involve great hardship. We all agree, for we now know
that thousands of slaves were obtained for Portuguese colonies from
Belgian Congo, through the help of the revolted Congo State soldiery—a
body of men numbering according to circumstances, from 1000 to 5000,
who only kept up their rebellion by purchasing slaves with arms and
ammunition from the Portuguese half-castes and natives. Again, no one
can read the thrilling story by Colonel Colin Harding in “Remotest
Barotseland” without being convinced that the Portuguese obtained many
slaves from British territory. Lake Dilolo, the greatest of all the
slave-markets, is but a comparatively short march from Rhodesia, and, in
view of local conditions, it is inconceivable that natives of British
Rhodesia have not been drawn into the slave-traders’ toils in that
region. This feature has recently received an emphatic confirmation
from Mr. F. Schindler, a missionary of over twenty years’ experience in
Angola. He writes:—
“I have seen thousands of slaves coming from the Belgian Congo
and Rhodesia being taken westwards by Bihean slave-traders
and in some cases by half-caste Portuguese, and both by
their tribal mark and by their speech I had no difficulty in
recognizing them as belonging to tribes that are not found in
Angola.”
How many of these slaves were, and are, enslaved on the mainland, and how
many ultimately found their destination to be the cocoa islands, it is
impossible to say, but we do know that generally it was the hinterland
native which the slave-traders shipped to San Thomé and Principe.
Moreover, some of us have seen these people of the Batetela and Kasai
tribes on the roads and plantations of the islands, the cicatrized arms,
legs, chests and backs plainly indicating their origin.
The first essential, therefore, is that of determining the countries of
origin of the slaves on the islands. To whom can this task be assigned?
Obviously not to the planters; it might be entrusted to a disinterested
Portuguese Commission, but others have responsibilities and vital
interests—Great Britain and Belgium would both possess, if not the right
of membership, certainly the right to watch proceedings on behalf of any
natives whom they had reason to believe had been obtained originally from
British or Belgian colonies.
[Sidenote: THE APPEAL FOR LIBERTY]
The planter holds that the slaves are happier on the islands than they
could ever be on the mainland; this interested and _ex parte_ statement
cannot obviously be accepted as final. The native, and the native alone,
should be allowed to determine his, or her, destiny. I admit it is
conceivable that a few slaves, for various reasons, would elect to stay
with their owners, and no compulsion should be put upon such to leave
the islands, but beyond all question the majority of the 37,000 slaves
have a deep-rooted and a passionate desire to return to the homes of
their birth. When visiting the cocoa islands in October, 1910, Mr. Consul
Drummond Hay sent his interpreter amongst the slaves to ascertain whether
they desired their liberty, and in his report to Sir Edward Grey says:
“My interpreter went among the Angola ‘serviçaes’ and his inquiries as
to whether they wished to be repatriated were mostly answered in the
affirmative.” This, be it remembered, was said by the slaves on what are
admittedly the show plantations. Take these slaves aside and engage them
in conversation, and before many minutes have passed, the appeal will
involuntarily burst forth, “White man, give us our liberty!”
Having ascertained the districts of Central Africa of those who desire
emancipation and a return to their villages, it should then be the
duty of the representatives of Portugal, Britain and Belgium, to see
to it that their respective subjects are quickly and safely returned.
Much has been made of the difficulties which would attend any schemes
of repatriation, but in many quarters these difficulties have been
purposely exaggerated. Given an honest desire to repatriate, the
task would at once become simple. Take first the Angola natives. The
Portuguese could, if they chose, send them back in batches of 50 or 100
for a given district; a body of such dimensions attaching itself to an
up-country caravan, travelling under official protection and possibly
with a small escort, would present too solid a company to permit of
attack. Moreover, officials, traders and missionaries, might all be
notified of such companies journeying from the coast and instructed to
aid them as far as possible. The Lobito—Katanga Railway Company would
doubtless be willing to give cheap passes to batches of slaves originally
secured from the different centres through which its line now passes. It
would be distinctly to their interest to do so, apart from humanitarian
considerations.
We now know that providing the Portuguese Government would set at liberty
the slaves originally captured from the upper reaches of the Kasai, the
Belgian Government is prepared to send ships to San Thomé to carry
them back to the Congo, transfer them to steamboats which would take
them back to their homes, or at least within a day or two’s march. This
journey could now be accomplished in less than a month, whereas several
of the slaves obtained from Belgian territory informed us that their
original journey in the chain gang to the coast had involved a tramp of
considerably over one year. There is reason to believe that not only
would Belgium undertake this task, but she would do so without requiring
any financial return whatever.
The third and probably the smallest section of the slaves on the
islands—British subjects—can assuredly present no difficulties. Great
Britain could with the greatest of ease collect her slaves at San Thomé
and transfer them to Rhodesia and Barotseland, via the Cape.
Portugal should be invited to send an international commission to West
Africa, composed principally of Portuguese, but with a British and
Belgian element, assisted by men experienced in the tribal languages and
cicatrices of the hinterland peoples. This commission to be empowered to
investigate the whole question and to issue freedom papers to all slaves
appealing for liberty. In view of the advertised hatred in which the
present Portuguese Government professes to hold every form of servitude,
such commission might easily be appointed in friendly co-operation
with the Powers primarily concerned. If this were done, the Portuguese
Government and nation would at once merit and undoubtedly receive the
warm appreciation and support of the civilized world.
[Sidenote: A GRAVE STATEMENT]
If, however, the Portuguese Government, after admitting their incapacity
to control their West African colonies, refuse the co-operation of
friendly Powers and maintain a system of labour which violates in several
respects international treaty obligations, it is obvious that, however
much Great Britain may regret it, she cannot continue an Alliance which
may at any moment involve her in a position of the utmost gravity.
It would be idle to overlook the extremely serious nature of the
statement made by Sir Edward Grey in the House of Commons on April 3rd,
1912. The Foreign Secretary then declared that the defensive treaty of
alliance between Great Britain and Portugal, though it had not been
confirmed since 1904, was, like all similar, treaties which, “not being
concluded for any specified term, are in their nature perpetual.”
Thus it would seem that if any one or more Powers signatory to the
anti-slavery clauses of either the Berlin or Brussels Acts, should awake
to their clear rights and solemn responsibilities and proceed by any show
of force to insist upon the abolition of slavery and the slave-trade in
Portuguese colonies, the maritime and land forces of Great Britain could
under this Alliance be forthwith summoned to protect these Portuguese
colonies against the “Aggressors.”
There are some things impossible to the strongest of Ministers, and the
Portuguese Government must realize that the British people, however much
they might desire to do so, cannot allow the continuance of an Alliance
with a Power which by persistent violation of international obligations
exposes not only herself, but her ally, to a defence of slavery and the
slave-trade. Now is the time for Portugal to accept the friendly advice
and help of Great Britain, but as Mr. St. Loe Strachey has recently said:—
“_Either the Portuguese must put an end to slave-owning,
slave-trading and slave-raiding in the colonial possessions
which we now guarantee to them, or else our guarantee must at
once and for ever cease._”
IV
THE FUTURE OF BELGIAN CONGO
Belgium for the time being is in the saddle, but for how long? Will
she prove strong enough, wise enough, great enough to bring order out
of the chaotic state of affairs into which her late ruler plunged the
Congo territories? It would require a bold man to give an unqualified
affirmative to this question. Cover several thousand miles of that
territory, live for months with the aboriginal tribes, discuss
administrative problems with Congo officials, watch the operations, and
listen to the conversations of the German and Portuguese merchants—and a
permanent Belgian control of the Congo becomes a matter of considerable
doubt.
Belgian Congo, the largest single political division of Africa—French
Sahara alone excepted—possesses land and climate of distinct features,
and, properly administered, could pour into the European markets raw
materials now demanded by many of our industries. The total area of the
old Congo State was just over 900,000 square miles, or eight times the
size of Great Britain and Ireland. A considerable proportion of the
territory is covered by a series of gigantic swamps, with ribs of dry
land and ironstone ridges dividing rivers and lakes. The whole of these
low-lying territories are covered with thick forest undergrowth, which
renders them impenetrable except along the native tracks. Throughout the
Equatorial regions it would be extremely difficult to discover a single
acre of open country, and in the territory covered by the Bangalla and
its tributaries it is only with difficulty that even a camping ground
can be obtained. Mobeka, the State Post at the confluence with the
main Congo, was actually built by gangs of forced labourers carrying
baskets of soil in an almost endless stream for a distance of nearly two
miles inland. This post was formerly the head-quarters of the notorious
Lothaire and it remains to-day a monument to the luxury with which he
surrounded himself; the carved woodwork from Europe, the doors and
windows, and general upholstery are indicative of the high favour, or
fear, in which this gentleman was held by King Leopold. Northward beyond
the Aruwimi and southward of the Kasai the character of the country
changes considerably. The eternal forests of the Equatorial regions give
place to rolling veldt or open plains. Instead of swamps and marshes
there are hills and valleys, although, unhappily, neither fertile nor
occupied by a virile or extensive population.
[Sidenote: ECONOMIC EXHAUSTION]
For nearly a quarter of a century the Congo territories have suffered
from uncontrolled exploitation. Twenty-five years ago the forests were
thick with mature Landolphia rubber vines. This species of rubber is
of very slow growth and probably some thousands of the larger vines
extend over 100 years. Scientifically tapped in the season, this great
vegetable asset would to-day have been almost unimpaired and the Congo
could still have continued pouring forth 5000 tons of rubber per annum
to Europe. Nothing of the kind was attempted; the stores of vegetable
wealth carefully husbanded by nature for generations were exposed to
ruthless plunder, the mad scramble for rubber at any cost to humanity
and common-sense denuded the forests. The vine growths of a generation
were hacked to pieces, and even to-day millions of dead fragments of vine
may be seen scattered all over the hinterland forests. Even the roots
were not spared, for the unhappy natives, driven to desperation by the
white rubber collectors tore up the roots and forced them to disgorge
their stores of latex. Rubber is still to be found, but in much smaller
quantities, in the Aruwimi district in the north, the Lomame and Lukenya
basins in the east, and also in certain districts in the Lake Leopold
region, but no merchant should to-day enter the Congo with a view to
making money from virgin rubber.
King Leopold knew all along what the Belgian Government now knows—that
the greatest economic asset of the Congo would have disappeared by the
time the Belgians inherited the colony, and he met the situation by
the issue of two decrees: one instructing all agents and Government
officials to lay down rubber plantations round every factory, and the
other promulgating heavy fines and penalties for the severance of
indigenous rubber vines. The latter decree was generally treated by
whites and natives alike as an instruction “_pour rire_”—a fact known and
probably anticipated by King Leopold. The instruction to lay down rubber
plantations happened to meet to perfection a feature in the system of
Congo State exploitation.
In those early days—from about 1897 to 1904—there might be seen at every
rubber collecting centre gangs of men, women and even children, chained
or roped together by the neck, and these were the hostages which were
being held by the “Administration” until a sufficiency of rubber had
been brought in to redeem them. Generally these hostages were captured
from amongst the old, the sick and afflicted, or even from the women and
children, the object being to force the young and able-bodied into the
forests to gather the rubber which would “redeem” the father, mother,
sister or child.
[Sidenote: THE CHAIN GANG]
The question which had hitherto confronted the officials was that of
finding work for the hostages, for the Royal Rubber Merchant was known to
favour every expedient which would strengthen the faith of the natives in
the dignity of labour. The instructions, therefore, to lay down rubber
plantations exactly met the situation, and the thousands of hostages
throughout the Congo were forthwith set to the task of clearing forests
and planting rubber. This removed from the wretched hostages their last
hope of prolonged liberty, for it became doubly advantageous to capture
and retain them. The slightest shortage of rubber was a sufficient
pretext for capturing more hostages and thus provide labour for the
plantations. A perfect equation was in this way maintained—if less rubber
came in from the forests, more hostages would be laying down this new
source of potential revenue. Tongue cannot tell, neither can pen portray
the miseries involved in the laying down of these plantations, but the
sight of the suffering natives can never be effaced from memory. The
Congo chain gang respected neither position, age nor sex, sickness or
health; it held fast alike the old chief, the weakly man, the young girl
and the expectant mother—a terrified mass of humanity trembling under the
dreaded crack of the whips. The sentry overseers regarded them as the
carrion of the Congo, for their relatives were guilty of the greatest of
all offences, inability to satisfy the impossible demands for rubber. The
infant in terror clung closer to the mother, as the woman winced under
the lash of the whip. The young wife brought forth her first-born in her
captivity and was left without any attention to battle with her weakness,
or to succumb. To make a recovery was to resume her work of rubber
planting within two or three days, with the new-born babe tied to her
back. Darker deeds, too, were committed, and some rubber trees of to-day
were literally planted in the blood of victims.
A writer, “Father Castelin,” greatly impressed with the wisdom of
this undertaking, but apparently caring nothing about its tragedy of
human suffering, estimated from documents placed at his disposal that
the “new source of revenue” which had been bequeathed to the Belgian
nation, provided 13,000,000 rubber trees. This “new source of revenue”
could hardly fail to provide an annual return of less than two francs
a tree, thus assisting the budget with an asset of more than a million
sterling per annum. This alluring prospect so impressed the new Belgian
Colonial Minister that he added to his difficult and recently acquired
administrative task that of rubber production on a “business basis.”
When Monsieur Renkin introduced his famous Congo reform bill, it
contained a proposal to extend the existing plantations by 50,000
acres. This in itself was a serious departure from recognized colonial
principles in that it wedded the newly acquired colony, for better or for
worse, to commercial undertakings. The whole enterprise from beginning to
end is beyond question a miserable fiasco.
In our recent travels we have visited large numbers of these plantations.
They are all of them characterized by neglect, the majority have been
abandoned and are everywhere falling a prey to rapidly growing forest
undergrowth. A considerable proportion of the trees, as if in protest
against the violence which their planting involved, are now drying up
from the roots. In spite of the millions of rubber trees planted in the
Congo, many of these being more than ten years old, no plantation rubber
has yet been profitably exported, nor is there any hope entertained by
the officials on the spot that plantation rubber will ever be an economic
success.
Inseparably interwoven with the exhaustion of the economic resources is
the exhaustion of the people themselves and the break up of their social
life. Stanley estimated the whole of the Congo population at something
over 40,000,000. This was, of course, the merest guess, but probably
the Powers at Berlin did commit to the care of King Leopold not less
than half that number, i.e. 20,000,000. To-day the official estimate
gives the total population at something under 8,000,000. It may be asked
whether I should estimate that more than 12,000,000 of people perished
under King Leopold’s régime. I can only reply—certainly not less. The
only ascertainable data upon which an estimate can be based would amply
confirm such a statement. Many towns whose population was known almost
to a man twenty-five years ago have disappeared entirely, and there is
not one town to-day but has lost over 75 per cent. of its population
within the last three decades. There is one redeeming feature, viz., that
since Belgian occupation there is some evidence that in several districts
the appalling death rate and low birth rate show signs of regaining a
more normal standard. This was the most apparent in the old sleeping
sickness areas, for we noticed that wherever the Belgian reforms had been
most completely applied, there the ravages of sleeping sickness appeared
to be more or less checked.
[Sidenote: SOME BELGIAN BLUNDERS]
When Belgium annexed the Congo, she for many months retained the old
Congo State flag; she still retains the sobriquet “Bula Matadi”; she
retained, and still retains many of the old Congo officials, and finally
she retained her interest in rubber. These indications did not escape
the notice of the natives who are never slow to detect circumstantial
evidence, to say nothing of the enlightening influence of the old witch
doctor! The consequence is that the natives distrust the new “Bula
Matadi” as much as they did the old one, for to many of them there is no
visible change. Thus Belgium finds herself in possession of a colossal
colony whose economic resources are exhausted, whose population has been
seriously diminished, and whose native tribes everywhere mistrust her
administration.
The foregoing features present Belgium with a problem not to be solved
easily by the most experienced and powerful of colonizing Powers.
International obligations, too, cannot but make that task more difficult.
The Congo must still work out its salvation under the guardian eye of
the fourteen signatories to the Berlin Act. It is still the duty of each
of these Powers to “watch over the moral and material welfare of the
native tribes.” Not only so, but the Congo colony is further restricted
by separate treaties with all the Great Powers, which together provide
a shoal of difficulties through which it will not be easy to steer the
Administration without disaster.
The Congo territories, however, are not without assets, which, in the
hands of a bold statesman, are capable of making Central Africa one of
the greatest wealth-producing areas of the Continent.
The first asset is in the riverine system of the Congo. The main river
has five large tributaries, each of which provides from 500 to 1000
miles of navigable waterway; the Busira, for example, 200 miles from
the mouth gives no soundings at a depth of 1000 feet. Each of these
in turn possesses numerous smaller, but still navigable tributaries.
Altogether this fluvial system renders water transport possible for
over 10,000 miles, whilst for large canoes and launches there is more
than twice the waterway. I know of no district, no matter how remote
from the great fluvial highway, which is removed more than four days’
march from a river bank. In some parts of the main river the width is
considerably over five miles, and in others it takes a canoe nearly half
a day to thread its way between the network of islands which cover the
river between north and south banks. There is, however, the outstanding
drawback that as a commercial asset the whole waterway is blocked at the
mouth, strictly speaking ninety miles from the ocean. There the cataract
region begins which has hitherto defied engineering skill. Between
Matadi and Leopoldville, a distance of just over 350 miles, seven such
natural impediments prove an insurmountable barrier to water transport.
This distance is covered by a railway which connects the lower river with
Stanley Pool, the upper river port. The line is undoubtedly a thing of
beauty, but travelling on it is certainly not a “joy for ever,” climbing
up almost impossible slopes, skirting ravines and lightly circling
mountain ranges—a triumph of engineering skill, whose construction,
it is estimated, cost a life a sleeper. Its 2 ft. 6 in. gauge and its
miniature rolling stock are, however, totally incapable of dealing with
the potential transport of a colony more than half as large as Europe.
[Sidenote: THE CONGO RAILWAY]
At present transport on the Congo railway is in hopeless confusion and
the merchant is fortunate indeed whose goods occupy less than a month
traversing that 350 miles, for the bulk of goods require six weeks
to reach Leopoldville, the port of Stanley Pool, from Matadi on the
lower river. When we were at Matadi there was still 1000 tons awaiting
transport, a small task for European and American freight trains, but
an entirely different matter on a line where we saw a Congo engine with
twenty tons only in her trucks make no less than three attempts up an
ordinary incline. The Congo railway, at present the only link between the
ocean and the Upper Congo, presents to the Belgian Government a two-fold
problem. The first question is whether it is possible to turn the whole
track into a broad gauge, capable of bearing heavier rolling stock with
reasonable safety—an initial problem of doubtful solution, and with it
the second is coupled. If this line were practically rebuilt, at immense
cost to the Belgian Exchequer, what reasonable guarantee has Belgium
that for all time the French Government will refrain from constructing a
railway from the seaboard of French Congo to Kwamouth on the confluence
of the Kasai with the main Congo? Given such a condition, it is all
over with the Belgian Congo railway. We know that many patriotic and
far-sighted Frenchmen are seriously considering this proposition. Then,
too, the French are great railway engineers, and I am informed that the
physical conditions of the country through which such railway would pass
are entirely good. If the French line were built, the Upper Congo would
be brought at least five days nearer Europe for passengers and mails,
while merchandise would probably save three weeks to a month in reaching
its destination.
Even if Belgium provided an unchallengeable connecting link between the
lower and upper reaches of the two fluvial systems, the Congo river is
beset with political potentialities of no mean order. It remains to-day
an international highway which presumably any five European Powers may,
if they so choose, bring under the control of a five-Power river board
of management. As an asset the Congo river is gravely depreciated by the
topographical features from Stanley Pool to the mouth which place the
whole Congo colony at the mercy of the Power which holds French Congo,
and thereby the highway to the ocean.
Given security of control and also of communication, what economic
future, actual and potential, is there for Belgian Congo?
[Sidenote: VEGETABLE ASSETS]
That rubber of the indigenous kind exists to-day in the recesses of
the forest is true. This, as I have said, applies especially to the
Aruwimi, Lake Leopold and Kasai regions, but only in comparatively small
quantities. This indigenous product finds a sale to-day only because of
the high prices which rubber has commanded during recent years. Many
manufacturers are now refusing to touch native rubber at all, because it
is so full of impurities. There are, indeed, many competent observers
who state that when in a few years’ time the yield of cultivated rubber,
coupled probably with a successful manufacture of synthetic rubber has
forced down the price of the better qualities, then the common and impure
varieties from West Africa will be driven out of the market altogether.
Of the various classes of rubber, that of the Congo is probably the
worst, consequently the future of the colony cannot be based on an
exploitation of the indigenous rubber latex.
Ivory has in the past figured largely in the Congo budgets, but the
ruthless exploitation of rubber had its counterpart in the wanton
destruction of elephants in order to obtain rapidly every tusk of ivory.
The old Congo State agents frequently sent out parties of soldiers in
search of elephants; to these men ivory took a secondary place to “meat,”
naturally, therefore, they cared very little for the ivory, and the
results of these battues were frequently deplorable. I remember once
witnessing one of these parties return with “meat” from two young female
elephants and in the canoes they had also brought with them the dead
bodies of two baby elephants which they had deliberately killed.
The two remaining products to-day are gum copal and palm oil. In the
closing year of the Congo State the former was certainly exploited _en
regie_, but mainly in those districts where exhaustion was overtaking
the rubber forests. The latter produce has never formed any appreciable
article of export.
Gum copal is to-day found in almost unlimited quantities in many parts of
the Equatorial Zone and throughout the towns and villages the traveller
meets natives everywhere engaged in its preparation. The gum taken from
the upper part of the tree and near the surface of the earth is excellent
in quality and much of it would easily command 1s. a lb. in Birmingham or
London. The natives, however, readily accept 2_d._ per lb. but with any
degree of competition prices would of course rise. Several companies are
buying to-day faster than they can export.
Whilst passing through the towns, we were frequently assailed with the
cry, “White man, won’t you buy our copal?” I questioned some of the
merchants upon the possibility of an early exhaustion and was informed
that in the Equatorial regions the exudation, if removed, replaced itself
within a single season. My observation of some hundreds of copal trees
in different areas leads me to regard this as a somewhat optimistic
statement. It is certain that considerable profit can be made from the
purchase and export of this virgin product, for at the rate now ruling it
can be purchased and transported to Europe at an inclusive cost of about
4_d._ per pound.
Palm oil exists all over the Congo. In many districts the palm forests
cover several square miles, but whether it can be produced at a profit is
somewhat doubtful.
[Illustration: GUM COPAL FOR SALE, UPPER CONGO.]
[Illustration: GOVERNMENT IVORY AND RUBBER, UPPER CONGO.]
There remain, therefore, but two actual virgin products possessing any
certainty of a future—copal, and the fruit of the palm tree; rubber can
only be regarded as an ever decreasing asset.
What, then, are the potential assets?
[Sidenote: OTHER ASSETS]
In the mineral world there are some possibilities in gold, diamonds and
copper, but all these are somewhat doubtful assets and contribute but
little to the general welfare of the community which must rest primarily
upon agricultural development.
Almost any tropical product will grow in the Congo, for the area is so
vast that it provides land suited in one part or another to coffee,
cotton, rubber, cocoa, hemp and corn. The product of the future will not
be determined only by the nature of the land upon which a given article
can be grown, but rather by the one that is most suited to the native
agriculturist.
The real difficulty is that few Belgians seem capable of thinking
anything beyond rubber on the one hand, and the native as a servile
labourer on the other. Colonial opinion in Belgium and on the Congo
itself appears to be firmly wedded to this restricted view of colonial
expansion. This circumscribed vision can comprehend the serf, the
labourer, or the domestic slave, but the free, industrious and successful
coloured citizen, carving out an economic future, in which the State
can indirectly share, is apparently beyond the mental horizon of most
of those who at present control the destinies of the Congo tribes. True
statecraft would have placed a halo round Annexation Day, making it
one of great rejoicing throughout the Congo by declaring that through
the action of a generous Administration rubber collecting by the State
would from that date cease for all time. But through lack of colonial
imagination this great opportunity for regaining the confidence of the
native tribes was thrown away, and the Administration rehoisted the old
Congo State flag with a miniature Belgian flag relegated to the corner,
at the same time letting it be known that upon rubber production—the
synonym of horror to the native mind—the future would depend.
The failure of the rubber cultivation enterprise is complete. Whatever
the man in the street may think, the Belgian Government knows that
Monsieur Renkin’s scheme for relieving the Belgian Exchequer has utterly
failed. The twenty to thirty millions of _productive_ rubber trees
dangled before the eyes of the Belgian tax-payer exist only on paper.
Cotton has been proposed, but what possibilities has cotton cultivation,
not only in the Congo but anywhere in West Africa, where it comes into
competition with cocoa or palm oil? Cotton requires that the worker
should toil under the fierce rays of a tropical sun; it demands constant
attention if it is to be kept free from weeds and undergrowth, and when
the harvest is gathered the native can never receive the financial reward
which attaches to palm oil and kernels or to cocoa. In a crude way the
West African is a careful mathematician, and though in his primitive
condition he knows nothing about square yards, acres and compound
interest, he can soon tell what products he can grow most profitably on a
given piece of ground—and cotton is not one of them.
[Sidenote: CONGO POSSIBILITIES]
If the Belgian colonial authorities could divorce themselves from rubber
and concentrate on cocoa they might yet turn the Congo wilderness into
a garden. A few enterprising Belgians have already seen possibilities in
the cocoa bean. Its cultivation is at present undertaken by the Belgian
Government, the Roman Catholic Missions, and by a few small companies.
The principal area is that of the Mayumbe, a compact territory between
the Belgian Congo and the Portuguese river, the Chiloango; there are
other plantations a thousand miles from the mouth of the Congo on the
banks of the Aruwimi and also of the main Congo, but these latter are
characterized by such neglect that no one regards them seriously.
It is difficult to imagine a tract of country more ideally suited to the
cultivation of cocoa than that of Mayumbe. The hills and valleys abound
in water-courses, the soil is good and the climate reminds the traveller
very much of the Gold Coast territories. Some of the plantations run for
miles along winding valleys, but the great trouble with Mayumbe is that
perpetual nightmare—common to the whole of West Africa—scarcity of labour!
Within three days’ steam of the Congo, the British colony of the Gold
Coast has solved the question of labour, has started an industry which
gives the native producer a return of over a million and a half sterling
per annum, has provided the European consumer with a great cocoa area
which twenty-five years ago produced little beyond internecine warfare
and jujus, and yet the Belgian Government has never even given a
practical consideration to this unique example of colonial expansion
which could so easily be applied to the Congo.
Rubber and cotton have but a small future in the Congo. Sisal, gold and
copper have a possibility, but cocoa, the products of the palm tree, and
any other vegetable oils, give promise of a real future, provided cheap
transport and sound statesmanship are forthcoming.
An oppressive sense of hopelessness affects the traveller in the Congo
as he speeds up and down those mighty rivers, across the numerous lakes,
or tramps through the silent forests. He sees the possibilities of that
land, the earth he treads gives forth an intoxicating odour of fertility.
The tribes amongst whom he lives and moves are nature’s children and the
little incidents of daily travel impress him with the fact that, given
a chance, those sturdy bodies and stout limbs could turn Congoland into
a paradise of affluence and luxury. Then, as he muses on these things
and dreams of ideal homes and villages, and tropical plantations pouring
forth exchange values of oil and cocoa for cotton goods and hardware, the
practical mind, like Newton’s apple, comes down to earth again and weighs
actualities and asks the pertinent question—“Can Belgium do it?”
The Congo demands large financial aid from the Mother country. This is a
fact which has never been realized by the ordinary Belgian—and he might
object if he knew. Even the British subject, whose colonial conception
has grown with him from childhood, has very little idea of the large
sums of money which are found by Great Britain towards aiding her Crown
colonies along the path of progress. Belgium cannot expect to run the
Congo successfully without large drafts from her home Exchequer; her
colony, measuring nearly a million square miles, will require at the very
least a million pounds sterling per annum for twenty years. Belgium can
beyond question find that sum of money, providing her people are prepared
to share the black man’s burden which their late Sovereign made so heavy.
The difficulty, however, is that King Leopold and his entourage made
such prodigious fortunes that the Belgian people have always regarded
the Congo as a veritable El Dorado. The Belgian colonial authorities
reiterated again and again, until quite a recent date, that the Congo
would never involve the nation in financial sacrifices. Couple this
impression, so wickedly fostered by politicians who should have known
better, with the fact that the Belgian has no colonial conception, and
the reader will agree that any statesman will have a difficult task in
persuading the Belgian nation to make large and continuous grants from
the Home Exchequer.
[Sidenote: BRITISH COLONIAL CONCEPTION]
The British conception rests upon a profound belief in the old
scriptural paradox: “He that loseth his life will save it.” The Colonial
Office in Downing Street does not, like its sister bureau—the Foreign
Office—display texts of scripture on its ceilings, and the Colonial
Secretaries might not in this material age admit scriptural guidance
in Imperial affairs, but woven into the fibre of our administration
is a basis of Christian philosophy which, though it admits occasional
incidents of a regrettable nature, yet pursues in the long run the
straight course of sacrificing men and money for backward nations and
countries, quite regardless of consequences. The cynic will say, “Yes,
with the certainty that the goose well cared for will lay golden eggs.”
Certainly, but that is part of the Divine contract for pursuing that
which is right. This, however, is what few Belgians understand—or
any other colonial Power for that matter—but it is part and parcel of
colonial statecraft without which tropical colonies at least can never be
a success.
The financial problem, difficult though it may be, is the easiest of
solution. That of finding the men is at present insoluble. This is,
in part at least, due to another fatal error made by Belgium when she
annexed the Congo—the retention in her service of all the old Congo
officials. They are there to-day, many of them pressing on to higher
positions in the colony. The fact that these men, trained to oppression
by King Leopold and openly upholding the old Leopoldian conceptions,
are still in high favour does not escape the quick-witted native, and
of course tends to alienate still further the native and governing
communities.
[Sidenote: LACK OF MEN]
There are, however, other dangers arising from this situation. These
“old hands” are educating the juniors, and in the process are instilling
into their young and inexperienced minds a dissatisfaction with present
conditions and emphasizing to them that the older system of “teaching
the natives the dignity of labour” was better all round. They are always
careful to add “without atrocities, of course,” but what they cannot see
is that the old Leopoldian system was impossible “without atrocities.”
It will be readily agreed that when the burden of the Congo begins
to make itself felt upon the Belgian nation these reactionaries—“Men
from the spot,” “Men of long experience”—will find a ready echo
throughout Belgium. Again, as in the financial position so also in the
administrative future of the colony, the call comes for the really bold
statesman, strong enough to break completely with the past and to clean
out of the Congo these _soi dísant_ administrators, who, incapable of
appreciating colonial requirements, should return to their original
employments of running music halls, tram driving, breaking stones on the
highway, ’bus conductors, waiters, bricklayers, clerks, and so forth.
“How,” I am often asked, “could these men be replaced?” First, the very
fact that such men are no longer in the service would undoubtedly attract
the better families of Belgium, for it may be remarked that many of the
merchant houses are able to obtain an excellent type of man. I asked
some of them why they did not enter the Government service, but almost
invariably I received this kind of answer: “What! join a service with A⸺
in it!” “What! accept a position under B⸺!” These replies were eloquent
and convincing to one who easily realized how utterly impossible it
would be for the better type of man to associate with “A⸺” and “B⸺,”
their records being so well known in the Congo, however much they might
be covered up at home. Here again is further evidence of the lack of
colonial imagination amongst the higher officials in Brussels. If Belgium
cannot find—as admittedly she cannot—a sufficiency of experienced men in
Belgium, cannot she find them in France and England? She can find them,
of course, in both countries, but hesitates to employ other nationalities
for the higher positions, with the result that very few men are prepared
to accept positions with futures “only for Belgians.”
A Scandinavian captain recently gave me a good example of the results
of this folly. He informed me that a friend of his reached Stanley
Pool one day with his ship after an up-river journey of three weeks.
Arriving at “The Pool,” as the upper river port is designated, the then
superintendent of the marine—who, it was openly stated, knew more about
the manufacture of cheap pickles than stevedoring—instructed him to load
up 90 tons of cargo and sail within three hours!
In vain the captain protested that it could not be done in the time, and
the only reply he received was a batch of natives hurried down to bundle
the cargo pell mell on board; they pitched the cargo into the holds in
any order and the captain heaved up his anchor and got away as instructed
“within three hours,” but the task of sorting the whole cargo at every
little post over that 1000 miles’ run, turned a normal journey of two
weeks into one of over a month. I cannot vouch for this incident, but it
is typically Congolese.
The Congo territories denuded of their stores of virgin wealth, with
no new sources in sight; the people decimated and disheartened; the
Home Government possessing no Colonial experience, and still worse no
Colonial conception; the local officials still firmly wedded to the old
theories, constitute anything but a happy augury for the future. That
Belgium possesses many men animated by the loftiest sentiments is beyond
question, but mere sentiment does not meet a situation which requires
a broad outlook, a large experience and real sacrifice both in men and
money.