CONGO: A Night on the Town

For days Patrice Lumumba prowled the balcony of the Premier’s residence, staring down at the U.N. troops that guarded it. “Neutralized” by Military Boss Joseph Mobutu and threatened with arrest by President Joseph Kasavubu, Lumumba commanded only the residence he lived in. Last week he decided to venture out to tour the town. Despite the guards, the getaway was simple. Lumumba arranged for friends to send over three American cars, and everybody piled in for an evening of fun and politicking at the Leopoldville bars and nightclubs.

Just Like Gandhi. At the first stop, Lumumba ordered six cases of beer and distributed them with a free hand to all comers. Moving to another nightspot, he gaily twirled a comely Congolese lass around the dance floor, then prevailed on her to join his touring troupe. Someone in the group produced a bottle of Grand Marnier, and from then on the gulps of beer were alternated with slugs of orange liqueur. By the time Lumumba and friends weaved into the lounge at the Hotel Regina several drinks later, the whole party was flying high. As astonished diners gaped and journalists grabbed for their pencils, Lumumba cried: “I am going out of my house tonight to die like Gandhi … If I die, it will be because the whites have paid a black man to kill me … I made Kasavubu head of state; now he is nothing but an outlaw. Mobutu is an imperialist, a fascist.” Later he told the newsmen: “You journalists, you can go anywhere. Fetch Kasavubu. Fetch Mobutu. Tell them Lumumba challenges them to a duel!” Then Lumumba’s voice fell to a mumble, and he tottered off to bed, muttering: “Tomorrow I will die with the people, I will be the people’s hostage.”

Sputtering with rage, Colonel Mobutu sent 200 troops next morning to ring Lumumba’s “official” residence. “Lumumba has thrown down a challenge to me and I have accepted it,” said Mobutu. “Lumumba must be arrested.” When the U.N. troops at Lumumba’s door refused him entry, Mobutu raced off to have a bitter argument with U.N. Chief Rajeshwar Dayal, who feared the U.N.’s sternly neutral reputation would be jeopardized if he handed Lumumba over to his enemies.

From Manhattan, the U.N. Secretary-General firmly backed Dayal’s stand.

Dozing on the Lawn. In the Congo, the rule seems to be: when in doubt, issue an ultimatum. This time the ultimatum came from Justin Bomboko, once Lumumba’s foreign minister and now head of the high commissioners temporarily in charge of Mobutu’s government. Warned Bomboko: “If tomorrow morning the U.N. has not delivered up Lumumba to the Congolese National Army, the army will assume its responsibilities. If we fight the U.N., well, we fight the U.N. We have delayed long enough.” But as usual in the Congo, when the zero hour arrived, nothing happened. Mobutu and his men backed down, and the threatening Congolese soldiers at Lumumba’s house relaxed their trigger fingers and began to doze on the lawn.

Soon Lumumba’s scheming friends were again slipping in for conferences with their leader. Almost immediately trouble began in the streets. In the heart of the city a carload of Lumumba men jumped on three of Mobutu’s high commissioners, carrying two of them off, beating the other with fists and stones. Three hundred Lumumba demonstrators marched on U.N. headquarters, disbanded only when Congolese police moved in, swinging rifle butts and clubs.

Rumors spread that Lumumba was preparing a major bid to regain power. The harassed Colonel Mobutu, who celebrated his 30th birthday last week, had his own troubles: 120 paratroops he had ordered to Leopoldville to help arrest Lumumba declared themselves fed up with the capital’s confusion, and despite Mobutu’s pleas, went back to their camp at Thysville.

As long as the embattled contenders refused to negotiate with each other and the U.N. prevented them from eliminating each other, no decision seemed in sight. Thus the U.N., by its even-handed impartiality, found itself unhappily helping to perpetuate the Congo’s empty, dangerous drift.