Lire en Fête à Kinshasa
We are in the second week of the Celebration of Reading in Kinshasa Festival, sponsored by the French Cultural Center. On Monday afternoon, I gave a public presentation on my research, « L’Image Du Congo Dans la Littérature et L’Art Américain». In French. I spoke for 40 minutes. In French. And then there was almost an hour of questions and discussion. In French.
I spoke about the travels of African American missionaries in the Congo and their influence on novelists like Pauline Hopkins, artists like John Biggers, and intellectuals like W. E. B. Du Bois. I even translated two paragraphs of Du Bois’s “The African Roots of the War” into French for the occasion. I had a powerpoint presentation with lots of slides to show how the textile art of the Kuba, a group from the Kasai province which is southeast of Kinshasa, circulated in the US and influenced artists there. By the end, there were about 50 people in the auditorium, who seemed to enjoy themselves. I certainly had a great time. During the event, something really hit me. Where am I, and what I am doing here? After years of reading about and researching a place (or, more precisely, ideas about a place), being here has profoundly emotional moments.
Following the talk, there was a reception with some good fellowship. There were several animated conversations following up the formal post-presentation “débat.” During the débat, speakers introduced themselves--many of them were journalists, acknowledged me (“Monsieur Le Professeur”), and then read aloud a question from their notebooks. Several of the questions were very broad--Why doesn’t the US invest more in culture? Has the importance of Christianity in the Kasai region declined? (The first I am able to answer; on the second I am clueless.) Since most people wrote their questions during the talk (and I suspect some even before they arrived), several of them overlapped. There were two main themes. There were a lot of questions about “Why the Kuba?” I misinterpreted this to mean that they were wondering why people in the US were not interested in the art of other central African groups or why I chose to focus my attention on one relatively small group. Actually, as Alain, the Congolese director of the library where the talk was held, explained to me later, people were asking about the Kuba out of sincere interest because they know so little about them. I had mistakenly presumed that most people would be vaguely aware of Kuba textiles here, but that was not the case. Although a few artists in the audience spoke eloquently about the textiles, there is not a national consciousness in that regard. The second theme (which was repeated in a variety of questions) was how the Congo and Africa are perceived in the US today. The honest answer to this very good question is quite discouraging. So in response, I bemoaned the lack of information available in the US. Then, I talked about some positive interventions by Dikembe Mutombo and the late Philippe Wamba, author of Kinship. I talked about the popularity of Lumumba with poets in the 1960s, and mentioned that Raoul Peck’s bio-film of Lumumba had a modest audience a few years ago. But now, I am wondering if I was misleading in my optimism? Even though I began by positing that the Congo is largely unknown, why did I feel the need to point out some exceptions? Was I being defensive or dishonest? Should I have said very little is known and left it at that? Should I make some suggestions for improving the situation? In moments like these, I find myself questioning my own perspective and judgment. Even though certain things--books and movies--look encouraging through my eyes, are they arcane or insignificant? I know that I will continue to be asked these questions during my time here. Even at the reception, a few people invited me to speak to other groups (and I accepted all of the invitations). It is an honor to be sharing my work in the Congo, and I need to reflect seriously on the most honest answer to these questions.
I spoke about the travels of African American missionaries in the Congo and their influence on novelists like Pauline Hopkins, artists like John Biggers, and intellectuals like W. E. B. Du Bois. I even translated two paragraphs of Du Bois’s “The African Roots of the War” into French for the occasion. I had a powerpoint presentation with lots of slides to show how the textile art of the Kuba, a group from the Kasai province which is southeast of Kinshasa, circulated in the US and influenced artists there. By the end, there were about 50 people in the auditorium, who seemed to enjoy themselves. I certainly had a great time. During the event, something really hit me. Where am I, and what I am doing here? After years of reading about and researching a place (or, more precisely, ideas about a place), being here has profoundly emotional moments.
Following the talk, there was a reception with some good fellowship. There were several animated conversations following up the formal post-presentation “débat.” During the débat, speakers introduced themselves--many of them were journalists, acknowledged me (“Monsieur Le Professeur”), and then read aloud a question from their notebooks. Several of the questions were very broad--Why doesn’t the US invest more in culture? Has the importance of Christianity in the Kasai region declined? (The first I am able to answer; on the second I am clueless.) Since most people wrote their questions during the talk (and I suspect some even before they arrived), several of them overlapped. There were two main themes. There were a lot of questions about “Why the Kuba?” I misinterpreted this to mean that they were wondering why people in the US were not interested in the art of other central African groups or why I chose to focus my attention on one relatively small group. Actually, as Alain, the Congolese director of the library where the talk was held, explained to me later, people were asking about the Kuba out of sincere interest because they know so little about them. I had mistakenly presumed that most people would be vaguely aware of Kuba textiles here, but that was not the case. Although a few artists in the audience spoke eloquently about the textiles, there is not a national consciousness in that regard. The second theme (which was repeated in a variety of questions) was how the Congo and Africa are perceived in the US today. The honest answer to this very good question is quite discouraging. So in response, I bemoaned the lack of information available in the US. Then, I talked about some positive interventions by Dikembe Mutombo and the late Philippe Wamba, author of Kinship. I talked about the popularity of Lumumba with poets in the 1960s, and mentioned that Raoul Peck’s bio-film of Lumumba had a modest audience a few years ago. But now, I am wondering if I was misleading in my optimism? Even though I began by positing that the Congo is largely unknown, why did I feel the need to point out some exceptions? Was I being defensive or dishonest? Should I have said very little is known and left it at that? Should I make some suggestions for improving the situation? In moments like these, I find myself questioning my own perspective and judgment. Even though certain things--books and movies--look encouraging through my eyes, are they arcane or insignificant? I know that I will continue to be asked these questions during my time here. Even at the reception, a few people invited me to speak to other groups (and I accepted all of the invitations). It is an honor to be sharing my work in the Congo, and I need to reflect seriously on the most honest answer to these questions.
posted by irad at 11:42 AM
2 Comments:
Didn't know nothing bout Congo (or that there were two) except Heart of Darkness, which I don't even think I really had any sense of that being connected to a specific, real, historical, political, cultural place. it seemed more like a concept. Mobutu/Mugabe confused in my mind via New Yorker article a few years back. Saw When We Were Kings -- "Rumble in the Jungle" -- again concept, not a specific place. Kinshasa, a cool word. Lumumba bio-pic. A friend from Zaire. French teacher from Burundi (is still? on border with Rwanda and Congo) Still not quite there. My fiance goes to Democratic Republic of Congo. Ok--now I get it and I'm reading everything I can and understanding that my education began again when I met you. What I learned from you is, not only that Africa aint merely a concept (mobilized in utopian fantasies for American benefit). But that American connections to various countries and folk in Africa have been real and traceable and not the result of some collective psychodrama (think Beneatha in Raisin in the Sun). Mmm or not only that. The folks you talk about-- their concerns about the Congo make them so much richer than the sometimes petty multi-culti canons they are flattened into. Since I have learned about Congo, as everyont that knows you has, -- I mean the different regimes in what is now DRC, it's hard to imagine black diaspora history without this story as the way to understand the crisis of the confrontation between Europe and Africa. As the way to think about humanitarian movements. About labor, profit, greed and economic systems. As the way to think about the power of investigative journalism, witnessing, memory, conscience, evil. And the art...It's hard to imagine not knowing what I know now even though I remember this big old space of frustration in my mind where this kind of history should have been-- well, I remember one time in class I was trying to say that Marcus Garvey was important and wanting to know more but being told by my political science prof that there's nothing to know, he was a fool. I dunno, in Jamaica I used to go to the Marcus Garvey building -- he was always important to us. That building was the only reason I knew anything about him. And being Jamaican and having parents and grandparents that talk (Jamaican) politics and history all the time (in tones that sometimes suggested they were friends with these people though they weren't) is the only reason I had a little bit of a desire for a different perspective. But now it seems clear doesn't it that the story of black American struggles for freedom needs to be told in the context of what happened in Congo--and South Africa. It's even clearer that Congo is too big to serve as no context. None of these stories can be well-understood a part and reconfiguring these histories means knowing more and knowing in a different way.
And this why when you come home, your work will be so necessary.
Nicely written, "anonymous." (Hi!)
Ira, Maybe the honest answer to the question is exactly what you say in the blog. Most people don't know, there are these small signs, and you don't know if those signs will be significant or not, but you're doing your part.
I'm sure Monsieur Reitsma would be very proud of your French performance (that is if he's finally forgiven you for putting on those Groucho Marx glasses and sticking your finger up the plastic nose in class, maybe).
Power's back on in South Florida!
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