By: THE TRUTH SEEKER 

“For the mind that knows is a mind that is free,” the UI anthem reads. On the University campus, identity is often forged in pride, not just in knowledge. Move through the halls, and you will hear the chants” Greatest Katangites!, Greatest Zikites!, Greatest Awoites! etc.” These are not just names, they are identities worn with more pride than any student ID card.

But while the chants echo around the University, they raise a crucial unanswered question. Zik and Awo are heroes of Nigeria. But what about Katanga? The name is shouted with the same local pride, but it does not come from Nigerian history. It comes from a real far place, thousands of miles away. And the story of the original Katanga is not a story of student unity. It is a story of war, secession, and a treasure trove of minerals that the world was and is still willing to kill  for.

They call it Katanga as a synonym for Independence. But the real story of Katanga is not one of simple patriotism. To understand the real pride, one must first understand the real past. And the past of Katanga is not a history, it is a crime scene with too many suspects.

Katanga is a region in the South Eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), a country rich with mineral resources. Its capital, Lubumbashi, is one of the nation’s largest cities, and the entire region has long been a nexus of economic power. It also known for its copper wealth, which fueled ancient trade networks and modern colonial exploitation.

From pre-colonial kingdoms to a short-lived secession in the 1960s, and ongoing tensions, the Katanga story is intertwined with the wider narrative of Congolese independence, Cold War battles, and resource curses.

The Price of Independence

Most of the time, the truth hides behind the facade. Only through the test of character can we justify a leader’s action. The 11 days which followed after the colonial independence of Democratic Republic of the Congo in June 1960 were marked by the rapid disintegration of national authority, characterized by army mutinies, civil strife, and foreign military intervention, culminating in the secession of its wealthiest province.

Just a day after independence, civil strife erupted between rival ethnic groups (the Bakongos and Bakavas), resulting in 50 injuries and 200 arrests in cities like Léopoldville and Luluabourg. The strike also led to a curfew that ended the celebration of the colonial independence. Four days later, the Congolese army mutinied in Thysville against the Belgian-dominated officer corps. This mutiny quickly spread to the capital, Léopoldville, and Elisabethville in Katanga, as Congolese soldiers refused to take orders from the Belgian officers who had failed to implement the expected rapid Africanization of the leadership.

It was recorded that on July 10, Belgian paratroopers attacked Elisabethville without the permission of the central government, reportedly killing 25 people. Similarly, on July 11, Belgian naval forces heavily bombarded the city of Matadi. Behind this whole drama was a man who fueled the fire that could have ruined a premature independence. Moïse Tshombe

On the same day as the Matadi bombardment, Katanga Province, declared its secession and independence under Moïse Tshombe.

This action, supported by Belgian business interests and Belgian troops, was engineered to escape the political control of the new African leaders and retain control over the region’s lucrative mining resources. The successful secession of Katanga, which supplied 75% of Congo’s mining production and 50% of its national budget in 1960, meant national economic death for the central government led by Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba.

The secession was largely driven by Belgian business interests and Belgian nationals who sought to retain control over the region’s lucrative mineral assets, including copper, uranium, and cobalt, amid rising tensions with the new Congolese government.

Tshombe, who was known to be close to the Belgian industrial companies, engineered Katanga’s secession in order to escape the political control of the new African leaders of the Congo. The declaration was made under the protection of Belgian troops and with the support of Belgian business interests and over 6,000 Belgian troops.

The secession was viewed by the Congolese central government and much of international opinion as an attempt to create a Belgian-controlled puppet state run for the benefit of mining interests. And the question remains to what end Moïse Tshombe?

History is said to be seen from two different lenses but even recorded transcend narratives. The price of independence was not just economic. It was paid in blood. This secession was not a clean political break, it directly led to one of the most infamous, tragic events of the post-colonial era. Patrice Lumumba, the prime minister of the newly gained independent Congo republic paid with his life. The secession bankrupted a new government. It made the country ungovernable.

In desperation, Lumumba turned to the Soviet Union for help, which, in the Cold War, was a death sentence. It painted a communist target on his back for the West. He was overthrown, captured, and his enemies had to decide what to do with him.

They flew him to Katanga and delivered him to Moïse Tshombe, his enemy. On January 17, 1961, Lumumba was executed in Katanga, with (as history has shown) the knowledge and support of Belgian and other foreign agents. But Lumumba was the only one who paid the price for Tshombe’s new state. This new Katangese nationalism needed to define who was a True Katangese.

And in the process, it defined an enemy within. The Baluba ethnic group, who lived in northern Katanga but were largely seen as loyal to Lumumba’s central government, became targets. What followed was a brutal campaign of ethnic cleansing, often called the Baluba Massacre.

Thousands were killed, and tens of thousands were rounded up and forced into squalid neutral zones or refugee camps, effectively purged from their own homes. So, the price paid for independence wasn’t just a single political assassination.

It was a violent, internal war, built on an ethnic nationalism that has been conveniently forgotten. This is the bloodstain at the crime scene that echoes the sacrifice of men under the greed of a puppet.

The tragedy of 1961, of a leader assassinated over mineral wealth was not new. It was a bloody echo of how Katanga’s colonial history began 70 years earlier. The name Katanga itself dates back to the pre-colonial Yeke kingdom, ruled by King Msiri (1830-1891). Through him, a formidable empire was built, controlling the region’s copper. But this era of dominance ended violently with European incursions. In a rivalry between Belgium’s King Leopold II and Britain’s Cecil Rhodes over that same copper-rich soil, Msiri was assassinated in 1891 by a Belgian agent. His fall led to the fall of the Copper Empire. The Belgians took control of the copper then, and 70 years later, they backed Tshombe’s secession to keep control of it.

Lesson to be learnt

Hinged on our independence is the patriotism of fearless heroes whose stories call to inspire, not to weaken our cause. In the name we bear, our identity, lies the consciousness we carry.

The students of the Great Independence Hall of Residence, University of Ibadan, who chant Greatest Katangites! are right to seek an identity of strength and independence. But the history of their chosen name is not one of inspiring ‘fearless heroes’ like Lumumba, Zik, or Awo.

It is the name of a crime scene, paid for with corporate money and stained with the blood of an assassinated prime minister and the victims of an ethnic purge. It is a name whose history, from King Msiri to Patrice Lumumba, is a warning. A story of how a ‘pride’ in wealth and separation can be used by outside forces to tear a nation apart.