Two Kings, One Man

In Tuesday’s Rude Awakening edition, I wrote about how Donald Trump seems to be melding mercantilism and libertarianism into his strange brew. Libertarianism is for his domestic policy, and mercantilism is for his foreign policy.

That got me thinking about another head of state who had two different personalities: one kindly face for his beloved domestic subjects and one utterly evil face for his foreign slaves.

Now, please understand I’m not at all comparing Donald Trump to the murderous King Leopold III of Belgium. Not even in the slightest. Donald Trump was clearly antiwar in his first administration. I expect that to be a hallmark of his second administration if Joke Biden’s boneheadedness doesn’t get us blown up before then.

And yet, King Leopold III skipped over in most American history books, is worth exploring. Unlike William Wilberforce, who goaded the British Empire into ending slavery, King Leopold III used the Congo Free State as his personal fiefdom to finance his grandiose projects at home.

His subjects were willfully ignorant of his escapades.

History has a cruel sense of humor. It often elevates men to positions of great power, only to reveal, in time, the rot beneath their crowns. Few examples are as stark — or as disturbing — as the legacy of King Leopold III. He was a man adored by his people but condemned by history for the horrors he oversaw in the Congo Free State. This contradiction is both puzzling and revealing, exposing how the façade of nationalism and public image can mask atrocities of unimaginable scale.

A King of Contradictions

As with many monarchs, Leopold III was part of a narrative crafted in his favor. To the people of Belgium, he was a devoted monarch. Under his reign, Belgium was a cohesive and prosperous place — a small European nation doing its best to sail through the turbulent waters of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

But history, as it often does, peels back the veneer. While Leopold III enjoyed the admiration of his subjects, he orchestrated one of the darkest chapters in colonial history. In the Congo Free State — a personal fiefdom he controlled rather than a Belgian colony — the pursuit of rubber profits led to the systematic exploitation, enslavement, and mass murder of millions of Congolese.

The Economic Mirage

Leopold’s Congo was a well-oiled plunder machine. His agents extracted vast quantities of rubber and ivory, which fueled Belgium’s economic ascent. The profits didn’t just line Leopold’s pockets; they paid for grandiose infrastructure projects in Belgium — glittering palaces, urban beautifications, and public works that seemed to affirm his “benevolence” as a ruler. For many Belgians, these visible signs of prosperity blinded them to the suffering that formed the foundation of their newfound wealth.

Here’s the rub: either by ignorance or indifference, Belgian citizens turned a blind eye to Leopold’s methods. The propaganda machine portrayed the Congo as a civilizing mission. In reality, it was a killing field.

Atrocities in the Congo

Leopold’s private militia enforced rubber quotas with brutal efficiency. Villages that failed to meet these quotas were burned, and their inhabitants mutilated or slaughtered. The infamous image of Congolese men and women with severed hands — a grim tally kept by colonial agents to account for spent bullets — has become a symbol of Leopold’s reign of terror.

It’s estimated that 10 million Congolese people perished under Leopold’s rule. The region’s population decreased by 50% in little more than a generation. The Congo Free State wasn’t just a humanitarian crisis — it was one of history’s great genocides.

Love and Cognitive Dissonance

Yet, at home, Leopold was revered. His public persona as a visionary monarch captivated Belgians, who remained largely ignorant of the horrors abroad. His ability to deflect scrutiny reminds one of “Teflon Ron.” He accused critics of his Congo policies of being unpatriotic and anti-Belgian. His popularity persisted even as reports of atrocities trickled into European newspapers.

Why? The answer lies in the psychology of nationalism. People are often willing to overlook — or justify — horrors committed in the name of their nation’s progress. Leopold played his cards expertly, convincing his subjects that the Congo’s suffering was exaggerated but necessary for Belgium’s rise. In truth, Leopold increased Belgium’s wealth at the cost of human lives on a staggering scale.

Lessons Learned

It begs us to confront some highly uncomfortable truths about power, human life, and human beings. Yes, Leopold III was evil. But evil is not the flip side of good; it is the absence of good. Power is a very potent cup to which drinkers of certain kinds are susceptible. Belgians’ willingness to prioritize national prosperity over ethical concerns and self-sanitize events is a cautionary tale that echoes throughout history.

The lessons from Leopold’s Congo remain relevant today. Governments and corporations still exploit the developing world for resources, especially “scrambling for Africa.” The beneficiaries of this exploitation — consumers, shareholders, and political elites — often rationalize or ignore the cost.

Electric car drivers seem entirely okay with where their lithium comes from.

Wrap Up

Leopold III’s story isn’t just a historical tragedy. It’s a warning. When wealth and progress are built on the backs of the vulnerable, the prosperity they create is a hollow, rotten, gilded lie.

The awakening came too late for the millions who suffered under Leopold’s reign.

For us, there’s still time to heed the lesson.

But will we?