The Congo: The Black Eagle & Other Birds

It was homecoming week for the hawks of the Congo. On foot and on bicycles, in rickety lorries or astride crimson farm tractors, some 6,000 of Moise Tshombe’s former secessionist gendarmes came swarming out of their hideouts in the bush to march triumphantly through East Katanga’s capital of Elisabethville. Another 2,000 — still armed and under the command of white mercenary officers — waited in Angola, just on the other side of the Congolese border, for orders from the Congo’s new Premier.

During the 13 months of his exile, Tshombe kept in close touch with his tough Katanga cops, paying those in Angola regularly and the boys in the bush when he could. It was well that he did, for he needs them now to stiffen the spine of the demoralized Congolese national army, which has been totally unable to quell Communist-encouraged tribal revolts in the eastern Congo. All it really takes to win a town is a long-distance telephone call. Usually when a rebel leader rings up his next target, the Congolese army contingent on hand flees before the rebels arrive.

Back to the Hospital. Meanwhile Tshombe received support of another kind. Into Leopoldville last week swooped a raptor well known to the gunrunners of the world: Colonel Hubert Fauntleroy Julian, 66, “the Black Eagle of Harlem.” A dandified, fast-talking Negro of West Indian birth and U.S. citizenship, Julian first became involved in African military causes in 1930 when he personally destroyed one-third of the Ethiopian air force. Of course, it consisted of only three air planes, one of which the Black Eagle managed to crash at the feet of Emperor Haile Selassie. After serving as an arms buyer for various Latin American countries, the Black Eagle showed up in the Congo, only to be arrested in 1962, then expelled by the United Nationsfor allegedly smuggling arms to Tshombe.

This time he brought something less dangerous: a set of goose-down pillows, “worth $75 apiece,” for Tshombe’s uneasy head. Explained the Eagle: “My wife didn’t want his head resting on the same pillows as Adoula’s.” He also brought a mysterious offer of $500 million to help resuscitate the economy, and a due bill of $24,000,which he claims Tshombe owes him for “services of an undisclosed nature” in 1962. But before he could either collect or deliver, Julian had to check into the very place where the U.N. detained him two years ago: a hospital now run by the Danes. As the colonel explained, rolling up the leg of his elegant grey trousers: “I go through five wars without a scratch. But coming down here in the plane a Coke bottle falls off the stewardess’ tray and wrecks my knee. If I weren’t a darky, you’d notice the discoloration.”

Task for a Prophet. While the Black Eagle treated his bruises, Moise Tshombe was busy inspecting more serious wounds. Off he flew to Central Kivu province where rebel tribesmen dominate an Iowa-sized area and threaten to spread even farther. Tshombe assured himself of a wild reception in the capital of Bukavu by lifting the “state of exception” and the tight 11 p.m. curfew. He responded to the enthusiasm by painting the future possibilities of Kivu tourism: “Many foreigners are waiting for peace to return here so that they can come to admire your flora and fauna.”

More realistically, he conferred with a rebel lieutenant and promised to send a delegation to talk with the leader of the Kivu revolt, Leftist Emile Soumialot. But such are the petty rivalries among the rebel leadership that even if Soumialot were to sign a ceasefire, many doubt that he could make it stick. For all the hope Tshombe’s appearance inspired in Kivu, an ominous mood underlay the superficially triumphant tour. One Kivu official bluntly warned Tshombe: “If you do not succeed, you are a false prophet.” The Premier’s bright grin disappeared for a moment. “You are so right,” he said. “After me there is nothing.”