“The Last American”: A Diplomat in Zaire

street demonstrations of solidarity with him and his political party, Le Mouvement Populair de la Revolution, pro-Mobutu and MPR music and programs on the radio and T.V., all made it quite impossible to ignore the message of who was in charge. This adulation was so constant and intense as to actually be almost a parody of itself. And Zairians-when sure they wouldn't be seen or heard-just loved to joke about it. But, the reality of it was no joke. One accepted, nay, rejoiced, in the MPR line . . . or else.

As part of the "adaptation" mentioned earlier, thousands of Zairians living in the Belgian-built cites surrounding Kisangani grew as much food as they possibly could for themselves. Riverine fish was relatively abundant, and cassava plots were to be found wherever one could be placed. I often thought, though, if shortages were "inconvenient" for us, they were much, much more burdensome for the Zairians who had no reliable sources for essentials and medicines. For months at a time, one could not even get an aspirin tablet in town. And the Zairians were much more vulnerable to the never-ending shakedowns by police and military. One did not see many expressions of "happiness" in that town, even at the bars.

Yes, bars flourished because beer was abundant. Why? No matter what else suffered from exploitation or just plain neglect, the government made sure the country's breweries never stopped producing. There were two enormous breweries in Kisangani, and we witnessed them being provided with everything from bottle caps to nails for beer crates by charter aircraft when other forms of delivery were impossible. And the Belgian managers were the best that could be hired from Europe. It may sound trite, but Mobutu, it was said, knew that as long as the beer flowed (and bottles of it could be used for currency, given the frequently questionable value of the Zaire's currency), the chances for discontent to feed violence were reduced. Yes, people always seemed edgy, apprehensive.

But, as we were often told, no one wanted a repeat of the horrific, Congolese-against-Congolese bloodletting that occurred earlier. People were still prepared to put up with extreme deprivation before taking to violence again, and a reliable supply of beer was no laughing matter for all concerned. This post-Lumumba legacy would change, however, but we were long gone by then.

3. The 70s, when you were there, was during

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