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The Socialist opposition declared that the fuse for the mutiny of the Force Publique had been set off by the martinet behavior of General Emile Janssens, 58, its commander before independence. "The man is a military blockhead," conceded one Cabinet minister. Janssens had long opposed training the Congolese for officer rank, habitually referred to both Belgian and Congolese politicians as "stupid rabble." He treated Lumumba with contempt, once remarked: "With my 25,000 soldiers, I can rule the Congo if I want to." Last week, a slender, mustachioed man in a rumpled suit, he marched into Brussels' Place du Trome, stood stiffly at attention before the bronze equestrian statue of King Leopold II, founder of the Congo.
Saluting the statue, he barked: "Sire, Us vous I'ont cochonne [Your Majesty, they fouled it up for you]." Leopold II might well have understood him. When the Congo was his private igth century domain, Leopold drained it of wealth by measures of repression and brutality that shocked the world at the turn of the century. The Force Publique had been the King's method of keeping the natives in check. Its troops were literally whipped into shape. Those who survived became efficient, if robot, soldiers who were trained to snap to attention and salute any passing white man. Because there were never enough "volunteers" for the low pay and hard discipline of the soldier's life, village authorities fell into the habit of "appointing" local trouble makers as candidates for the army.
The Belgians always sent soldiers belonging to one tribe into the territory of other tribes so that there would be little fraternization with the population. The soldiers learned that the best way to pacify people was to treat them roughly. Last week part of the Congo's trouble was that the troops had learned that lesson too well.