Study
Study is an intellectual formation archive. Inclusion of a work does not mean the Center adopts every argument in that work as operational policy. The archive exists to sharpen judgment about sovereignty, dignity, power, and democratic governance.
The Center does not treat public-leadership formation as an accident. What we read, watch, and hear shapes what we are able to imagine, build, and defend.
Study gathers works that clarify the unfinished business of African sovereignty: films, books, essays, speeches, archives, and conversations that illuminate power, memory, empire, dignity, and the discipline required to govern.
Mtu Mweupe Karibu! White man, you are welcome.And so began our Trail of Tears. Though Mtu MweupeHas come and gone, he’s never truly left our shores—He sits in our tongue whenever we speak at home,We wear his clothes whenever we work and play—He ties our hands, so can never close the doors.
Speech at the Proclamation of Independence
- Delivered in French at the Palais de la Nation, Léopoldville (now Kinshasa), at the ceremony marking the Congo’s independence from Belgium.
- The original typescript — typed the night before, corrected in Lumumba’s hand the morning of the ceremony and again at the podium itself — was rediscovered in 2015 in the archives of Finoutremer, the former Compagnie du Katanga.
June 30, 1960. The official ceremony for the independence of the Republic of the Congo from Belgium, at the Palais de la Nation in Léopoldville. King Baudouin of Belgium spoke first, praising his great-grand-uncle Leopold II as a genius and the colonial period as the culmination of a civilizing mission. President Joseph Kasa-Vubu replied with formal courtesy. Patrice Lumumba, the new Prime Minister, was not on the program. He rose anyway, turned away from the King, and addressed the Congolese people directly.
He told them what eighty years of Belgian rule had actually been. Forced labor. The lash. Land taken at gunpoint. Black men who could not enter rooms reserved for whites. Black men shot, jailed, and exiled for asking to govern themselves. He named these things without metaphor, in front of the man whose family had ordered them. He addressed the audience as we, and meant the Congolese. He did not pretend the Belgians were guests in a shared history. He spoke of a future built by Congolese hands, with Congolese minerals, in service of the Congolese people.
The speech lasted about fifteen minutes. Western reporters were stunned. Belgian opinion turned against him within hours. Within weeks, Brussels and Washington had begun coordinating his removal. Within seven months, he was dead, his body dissolved in acid in a Katanga forest. The speech is not the only reason he was killed, but no honest account of his death can leave it out. It is the document that announced he could not be managed.
- Why did Lumumba speak when he was not on the program?
- What is the political function of naming colonial violence plainly, in public, on the day of independence?
- He addressed the Congolese people rather than the King. What does that choice of audience reveal about how he understood power?
- Read alongside Fanon: which of Fanon’s warnings does Lumumba’s speech anticipate, and which does it ignore?
- If you were given fifteen minutes on the day your country became free, what would you say?
Soundtrack to a Coup d’État
- Nominated for the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature, 97th Academy Awards
- Special Jury Award for Cinematic Innovation, Sundance Film Festival
The assassination of Patrice Lumumba in January 1961 is one of the founding wounds of postcolonial Africa. Soundtrack to a Coup d’État refuses to treat it as a closed chapter. It restores the global architecture around it: the United Nations chamber, the Belgian mining concessions, the Cold War intelligence services, and the American jazz tours sent abroad as cultural diplomacy while the same government was engineering the murder of an African head of government.
The film insists on a hard lesson. Sovereignty is not lost only through armies and coups. It is also undermined through culture, diplomacy, intelligence, money, narrative, and distraction. Grimonprez assembles archive, music, and testimony into a single argument: culture is never apart from coup.
The film is essential not because it is comfortable, but because it asks the question this Center was built to answer. What does it mean that the man whose name we carry was killed for refusing to surrender his country, and that the institutions which sanctioned his killing still shape the conditions of African political life today.
- What is the difference between independence and sovereignty?
- How does culture become an instrument of geopolitical power?
- What does Lumumba’s assassination teach about the cost of resource control?
- What must a new generation of African leaders understand about diplomacy, intelligence, narrative, and state power?
The Wretched of the Earth
- Published in 1961, the year of Lumumba’s assassination. Fanon died of leukemia in December of that year, at thirty-six.
- Two principal English translations exist: Constance Farrington (1963) and Richard Philcox (2004).
Frantz Fanon and Patrice Lumumba were born eighteen days apart in the summer of 1925, on opposite sides of the Atlantic. Both were dead by the end of 1961. Lumumba was assassinated in January at thirty-five. Fanon died of leukemia in December at thirty-six, having finished The Wretched of the Earth knowing Lumumba had already been killed. The book is therefore not a commentary on Lumumba’s death. It is its theoretical companion, written in the same year, in response to the same colonial order, with the same urgency, and arriving at the same diagnosis.
Fanon writes from inside the Algerian war of independence as a Martinican psychiatrist who joined the FLN. He treats colonialism as a total system: economic, military, cultural, psychological. He insists that decolonization is not a polite transfer of administration but a complete restructuring, and that independence without that restructuring produces a state which is sovereign in name and dependent in fact. The most enduring chapter, The Pitfalls of National Consciousness, describes with painful precision the African political class that would inherit the colonial state: its mimicry, its appetite for foreign capital, its hostility to its own people, its substitution of slogan for policy.
Sixty-five years later, Fanon’s warnings read less as theory than as forecast. The national bourgeoisie he described took power across the continent. The pitfalls he named, the single party, the strongman, the comprador class, the captured economy, the borrowed ideology, became the working conditions of African political life. The Center exists to answer the question Fanon posed and Lumumba died for: how does a people complete the work of decolonization after the flag has been raised.
- What is the difference between independence and decolonization?
- Who are the national bourgeoisie, and what is their function in the postcolonial state?
- What does Fanon mean by the pitfalls of national consciousness, and which of those pitfalls have been confirmed by African political history since 1961?
- What role does Fanon assign to the intellectual and the artist in the work of liberation?
- If Fanon and Lumumba were writing and governing today, what would they say about the present condition of African sovereignty?