On February 5, protestors marched in major Brazilian cities to demand justice. A young African man, Moïse Kabagambe, was lynched — tortured to death — on a beach in Rio de Janeiro in January. The alleged perpetratorsThey are working men and claim that they did not intend to kill the victim. The victim’s family, on the other hand, claims he was only asking to be remunerated for two days of work. The video footage captured the incident on video and it is not supported by any narrative.
To protesters, Kabagambe’s case went beyond the debate in court of whether his death was a homicide or an accident. Although the men involved claim they intended to punish Kabagambe for causing trouble, the video shows that the beating continued for several minutes after Kabagambe became unresponsive. The sheer physical stamina required for the act suggests that hate was the fuel.
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At the protest in São Paulo, African immigrants spoke of the disappointment they felt towards their reception in Brazil. Brazilians should be more welcoming to African brothers and sisters and treat them the same as their family and neighbours. From the Congolese community, there was rage, pain and frustration; speakers’ voices cracked and pitched with angst. They came looking for a better way of life, hoping to be accepted, but instead they were met with hostility and marginalization. Kabagambe’s case represents the rampant xenophobia Brazilians direct at Africans, remnant colonialism in labor relations and society at large, and the farce of racial democracy and meritocracy so often championed by Brazilian politicians.
Only to Face Violence in Brazil after fleeing violence in the DRC
Moïse Kabagambe was a Congolese refugee fleeing ethnic conflict, who arrived in Brazil as a child in 2014 with his mother and brothers. Kabagambe was employed at Barra da Tijuca in Rio de Janeiro’s wealthy suburb. He took drink orders from the beachgoers and delivered cocktails. According to his family, on January 22, he went to the Tropicália kiosk to ask for two days of pending wages. At the age of 24, he was attacked at his workplace and killed.
He was found at the beach where he was brutally killed. known as the “Angolan.” That’s like calling a Brazilian “Venezuelan” just because these countries are on the same continent. The lack of understanding about the circumstances which brought him to Brazil in the first place is already an injustice — one which will not be reversed with someone’s imprisonment.
The Second Congo War, which began in 1998 and ended in 2008, had already killed more than 5 million people. It is now considered the most violent conflict in history. deadliest since World War II. The first one happened right before, also in the ‘90s, and was a direct result of colonial and imperialist forces meddling with African leaders and exploiting ethnic differences in the region. Zaire, which is now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), was made into a rope in the tug-of-war between communist and anti-communist forces, until the dissolution of the USSR and of the U.S.’s interest in endorsing its leader.
After the CIA aided a coup to replace Patrice Lumumba with Mobutu Sese Seko in the mid ‘60s, the newly instated leader enjoyed robust financial and military aid from the United States for quite a while. Toward the final years of the Soviet Union, Seko leaned diplomatically towards China, and the U.S. began portraying his administrative tactics as “grotesque.” In fact, about seven weeks after the Los Angeles Times published a piece titled “U.S. Must Cut Ties to Mobutu,” the leader was forced into exile. One year later, DRC was in a new, worse war.
Kabagambe was created in the year that one war ended and another began. This was a time when many things were happening. 5 million children did not receive an education due to political turmoil — literacy levels were at their lowest, and child labor and exploitation at their highest. Throughout his youth, his country was under a so-called “peacekeeping” United Nations operation (MONUSCO) which did more to create a clandestine weapons industryRather than to prevent conflict. Brazil, with its police and military personnel, was one of the countries involved in this operation. Today, the MONUSCO force commander is a Brazilian general. the fourth officer from BrazilTo hold the position, it is the most represented country in terms the leadership of the operation.
Before all that, the Congo region had experienced atrocities under a Belgian dictatorship and its rubber industry. Between the tenth and first decade of 1800s and the beginning of 1900s, Africans were enslaved, mutilated, and killed under the colonial regime established by Belgian King Leopold I. Famine, disease and exploitation perpetuated by colonialism and its for-profit industries were responsible for the deaths of over half of the local population — uncountable lives.
Despite the incessant geopolitical opportunities, Congo has survived geographically. It also thrives culturally. According to the World Wildlife Fund, “The Congo Basin has been inhabited by humans for more than 50,000 years and it provides food, fresh water and shelter to more than 75 million people.” The Congo River is the largest in volume after the Amazon River. Its tropical forest, which is also the largest, is second only to the Amazon. As a Brazilian, our passion for preserving our most magnificent and precious asset ought to be extended to our ecological neighbor, since, together, our countries are the keepers of the world’s most important wilderness areas left on Earth.
Congolese writers and musicians have also discovered artistic expression as a way to boost self-esteem and control. KolingaToday, the Congolese group, is making feminist anthems. Last century, soukous and Congolese rumba hits became international classics, perhaps best represented in the Congo Revolution compilation “Revolutionary and Evolutionary Sounds From The Two Congos 1955-62.” Literature, in need of more translation and wider distribution, is even more moving and representative of the artistic tide of the nation. The poem “Second Dimension” by the Congolese writer Rais Neza Boneza, from his book, Nomad, Sounds of ExileThis is especially pertinent, perhaps even to Kabagambe and the Brazilian immigrant community. It speaks for itself.
Near his table is a glass water.
Through his window, he looks at passerby.
He watches and waits, waits and waits.His being is nourished by bitterness
Misunderstands
And false airs of ‘people’
He is a prisoner.He sits with his hands wrapped around his chin.
Solemnly think
His dreams are his escape.
The world of hardships
Travel in the vastnesses of the
Wild blue skyHe lies on his stomach, half-inquired, half-contented.
In this place of him there is no compassion
Evil stalks its prey;
Rancor sings the melody of the morningA stranger to his country
He melancholically sips from his glass–
A taste of freedom.
Marginalized and in need
He is not far from the wind of liberty.
He is a clandestine, never with an address.
He is not a nomad but a recluse living in the midst all of humanity.In his unbroken, crystal enclosure
He follows the sound of his silent screams.
He is a rock of madness. Only solitude can save him.He is a startle!
His heart beats quickly!
He gets out of bed!
Ah! It’s only a nightmare!
This is a nightmare Moïse Kabagambe and his family will not wake up from, nor will the African diasporic community at large be shielded from the inhumanity of such brutal acts. We can, however, as a society begin to see justice as something more: Justice means understanding, respecting, and appreciating the value in welcoming people into our societies. Justice is doing our best to fight against a geopolitical paradigm that promotes abuse and exploitation. Justice is thinking, asking, and feeling the humanity within all of us.
This article was previously published in an earlier version appears in Portugueseat Le Monde Diplomatique Brasil.
