From Professor to Prisoner

Scholars at Risk: Literature Professor Felix Kaputu escaped death in a Congolese prison cell thanks to the efforts of human rights activists.

Two years ago, Pro­fes­sor Felix Ulombe Kap­utu’s only com­pany was the rats in his cell, fat from feas­ting on rot­ting corpses.

Impri­so­ned in Kins­hasa, the capi­tal of the Democra­tic Repub­lic of the Congo, his skin had taken on a green hue from star­va­tion and his blood pres­sure was dan­gerously low. Blis­ters that had for­med in the back of his throat from dehy­dra­tion made it dif­fi­cult to swallow. Dis­traught, hungry and panic-stricken, but most impor­tantly innocent, this accom­plis­hed and admi­red pro­fes­sor was accu­sed of endan­ge­ring natio­nal security and con­se­quently impri­so­ned under aby­s­mal conditions.

Felix Ulombe Kaputu (photo: Emmanuelle Françoy)
LASTING LOVE: Even though there is a loom­ing death sent­ence for Pro­fes­sor Felix Ulombe Kaputu’s life, he still longs for the green hills of his home­land. “I can think of not­hing else but going back to the Congo,” he said. (Photo: Emma­nu­elle Françoy)

Today, Pro­fes­sor Kap­utu is a visi­ting assi­stant pro­fes­sor of lite­ra­ture at Purchase, State Uni­ver­sity of New York, after spen­ding last year as a resi­dent rese­arch scho­lar at the Du Bois Insti­tute for Afri­can and Afri­can Ame­ri­can Stu­dies at Harvard.

His lips are cur­led up in a care­ful, almost shy smile, but his eyes speak of suf­fe­ring and loss. While he is safe in the US thanks to aca­de­mic and finan­cial assi­stance from the New York Insti­tute of Inter­na­tio­nal Edu­ca­tion and the guidance of the Scholars at Risk (SAR) network, he is still wor­king on coming to terms with what hap­pe­ned in Lubum­bashi on a beaut­i­ful spring day in April 2005.

A treache­rous meeting
Born in the south of the Congo, Kap­utu was raised in a coun­try that, not unlike many countries in Africa, still suf­fers from the back­lash from colo­nia­lism. More than ten mil­lion people are esti­mated to have died during the bru­tally exploi­ta­tive reign of King Leo­pold II of Bel­gium, part of a cen­tury of Bel­gian rule. The Congo was never able to estab­lish a stable govern­ment after the Bel­gi­ans abruptly wit­hd­rew in 1960. The elected Prime Minis­ter Pat­rice Lumumba was overthrown that same year with US and Euro­pean sup­port for a cold war ally, Mobutu Sese Seko. Since then there have been many bloody inter­nal con­flicts in the Congo, which even­tually cul­mi­nated in a civil war that las­ted four years and took more than four mil­lion lives.

The gene­ral insis­ted Kap­utu was acting as the mas­ter­mind of a 20.000-man rebel army

Child sol­di­ers make up ten per­cent of the army. Vio­lence against women, inclu­ding rape and for­ced sexual slavery, con­ti­nues to soar and more than one thou­sand people die every day from star­va­tion and law­lessness. As Kap­utu learned first hand, mem­bers of the security for­ces are often poorly trai­ned and paid, and com­mit serious human rights abuses.

While at Lubum­bashi Uni­ver­sity, Kap­utu was wor­king as an associate pro­fes­sor of lite­ra­ture when the Direc­tor of Pro­vin­cial Security reque­sted a meeting one April mor­ning in 2005.

“This was not unusual and I sus­pec­ted no dan­ger,” Kap­utu said. He was often cal­led in to coope­rate and assist in mat­ters of state in con­junc­tion with his rese­arch. “I was actually excited that the direc­tor was inte­re­sted in my work,” Kap­utu added.

But the meeting was any­thing but cor­dial. Kap­utu was inter­ro­gated by a gene­ral and accu­sed of having bought and smugg­led weapons while atten­ding a con­fe­rence on reli­gion and gen­der dif­fe­ren­ces in Japan. The gene­ral furt­her insis­ted Kap­utu was acting as the mas­ter­mind of a 20.000-man rebel army that inten­ded to declare inde­pen­dence for the pro­vince of Katanga.

Kap­utu had bought not­hing more than a karate suit and a couple of books in Japan and was baffled by what he was hea­ring. “The claim was so absurd, I did not know how to react,” he recalled.

Kap­utu then over­heard the gene­ral tel­ling some of the guards, “You have to really make him suf­fer — and don’t worry if he dies. He’s of no use to the president.”

Aby­s­mal con­ditions
The mor­ning of his cap­ture, Kap­utu had woken up at home as a dis­tin­guis­hed pro­fes­sor — by day’s end, he was a pri­so­ner in a small, dark, flea-infested hol­ding cell. It would be mon­ths before his wife and three daugh­ters would know of his whe­re­abouts and sud­denly panic set in. “I was con­vin­ced that this was it. But the next day I was at peace and ready for whate­ver would happen.”

Kap­utu suf­fers from high blood pres­sure and was not only depri­ved of food, water and com­mu­ni­ca­tion with the out­side world, he was also denied medi­cal care. “We were given a plas­tic bottle to uri­nate in, but after days wit­hout water that need vanis­hed,” he continued.

The Con­go­lese aut­hori­ties seem intent on silen­cing scholars, intel­lec­tuals and poli­ti­cal opponents

The day he was impri­so­ned more than 60 men, doc­tors, lea­ders of oppo­sition par­ties, mili­tary lea­ders and the son of a pre­vious prime minis­ter joined him in jail. They were ille­gally detai­ned incom­mu­ni­cado for two weeks in Lubum­bashi. Two weeks later, on 17 May 2005, 15 of the most high pro­file pri­so­ners were trans­ferred to the Makala cen­tral pri­son in Kinshasa.

“Here you are no lon­ger a pro­fes­sor,” warned the pri­son war­den when Kap­utu arrived. “I am put­ting you in a cell reserved only for the most dan­gerous cri­mi­nals,” he spat and slam­med shut the heavy metal door behind Kaputu.

The con­ditions in the pri­son were aby­s­mal. The stench from rot­ting corp­ses linge­red in the small room with no light and no cei­ling. During a storm the roof had blown off, allowing rain­wa­ter to col­lect in putrid pudd­les on the floor. When family mem­bers came to visit the pri­so­ners, the guards would advise them not to waste their money.

“Once he is in here he is alre­ady dead,” they told them. Pri­so­ners had been detai­ned, for­got­ten about and left to die in these cells before.

Any­thing but for­got­ten
On the out­side, how­e­ver, Kap­utu was any­thing but for­got­ten. On 26 May, Amne­sty Inter­na­tio­nal issued a “Tor­ture and ill-treatment/medical con­cern” based on the ille­gal impri­son­ment. Human rights groups and colle­agues around the world lob­bied tire­les­sly for Kaputu’s release. But it was one jour­na­list in par­ti­cu­lar, Ghislaine Dupont, repor­ting for Radio France Inter­na­tio­nale, who ensu­red that the pres­sure on the govern­ment was con­stant. She was relent­less in her quest for answers. Where were the weapons? The sol­di­ers? The trai­ning camps? Dupont’s repor­ting, coup­led with pres­sure from Amne­sty and other human rights advo­ca­tes pres­su­red the Con­go­lese govern­ment into releas­ing Kaputu.

Felix Ulombe Kaputu (photo: Emmanuelle Françoy)
FREE AT LAST: Thanks to tire­less efforts from Amne­sty Inter­na­tio­nal, a relent­less repor­ter and other human rights acti­vists, Pro­fes­sor Felix Kap­utu was freed from impri­son­ment in the Congo and is today wor­king at Purchase, State Uni­ver­sity of New York. (Photo: Emma­nu­elle Françoy)

After more than four mon­ths in pri­son, Kap­utu was freed and he retur­ned to work the following day. How­e­ver, his excite­ment at the pro­s­pect of teaching again waned quickly when he noticed there were sol­di­ers out­side the lecture hall guar­ding the door. It became clear that he would never again be free to teach and con­ti­nue his rese­arch under this admi­ni­stra­tion. The northern pro­vince of the Congo was intent on get­ting rid of intel­lec­tuals from the south and replacing aca­de­mics with their own appoint­ments. Kap­utu sus­pec­ted that the rea­son he was incar­ce­rated in the first place was because of his close affi­lia­tion with the for­mer pre­si­dent of Lubum­bashi Uni­ver­sity who was an oppo­sition mem­ber of the rebel orga­niza­tion, Rally for Con­go­lese Democracy. Kap­utu later assis­ted with his escape to Bel­gium; an act that resulted in Kaputu’s death war­rant in the Congo.

News of pro­fes­sors, acti­vists and jour­na­lists who just “hap­pe­ned to dis­appear” were all too com­mon. Now, more than ever, his life was in dan­ger. He made sure to always be accom­pa­nied by stu­dents when in pub­lic and took to never sle­e­ping in the same place two nights in row. “Once you are accu­sed, it’s fore­ver,” Kap­utu said.

“I am lucky to have learned so much from this suffering”

He nee­ded to leave. Through con­tacts at the Ame­ri­can Embassy in Kins­hasa, Kap­utu mana­ged to get a visa before he esca­ped to the US via South Africa. Later he was infor­med that the offi­cial who gave him the exit stamp from the Congo was impri­so­ned for let­ting him leave the coun­try. Once in the US, a colle­ague at the uni­ver­sity referred Kap­utu to Scholars at Risk.

Silen­cing scholars
“I am not a poli­ti­cian, I am a uni­ver­sity pro­fes­sor, that is enough in a human life,” Kap­utu said. His hope is that intel­lec­tuals and scholars can one day coope­rate with the govern­ment on impro­ving the situa­tion in the Congo. But cur­rently, the aut­hori­ties seem intent on silen­cing scholars, intel­lec­tuals and poli­ti­cal oppo­nents. Kap­utu, rat­her than suc­cum­bing to self-censorship like so many of his colle­agues, insis­ted on teaching his stu­dents how to think cri­ti­cally, strive for truth and achieve gen­der equality.

“I grew up in a poor family and I have wor­ked very hard to get this far,” Kap­utu con­ti­nued, stres­sing the word “very” and pau­sing for a second. He tur­ned around and glanced at the books­helf on the wall in his office, bur­sting with books on myt­ho­logy and the his­tory and people of the Congo. “I could have left but I deci­ded not to,” Kap­utu said, almost inaudi­bly and added, “In fact, my inte­rest in the Congo can not just be extin­guis­hed, it is a part of my life.”

Kap­utu is not only grie­ving the loss of his mot­her­land, he is also fil­led with worry about the safety of his wife and three daugh­ters who are still in the Congo. Because of him, they are under surveil­lance at all times. Kap­utu has not seen them since the mor­ning of his arrest and he never got to say good­bye to his deceased mot­her who suf­fe­red a stroke on the day he was arrested.
It looks like Kap­utu is in the US to stay, at least for a while. Purchase Col­lege is pre­pared to assist in any way it can. For now Kap­utu has to live in the moment and take every day as it comes. While he takes great joy in teaching, his wounds from the time spent in pri­son have not yet hea­led. With a death war­rant loom­ing in the Congo, it would not be safe for him to return.
He still feels threate­ned, even in the US.

“I very much panicked,” Kap­utu said after atten­ding a con­fe­rence in Man­hat­tan recently. The Con­go­lese govern­ment dele­ga­tion was in the same city. “I did my best to avoid mem­bers from the dele­ga­tion; I am not ready to face them,” Kap­utu explained.

He knows he has no choice but to stay in the US, even though all he can think about is going back to the Congo.

“It was not easy to accept this,” Kap­utu said, and added softly, “But, you know I am lucky to have learned so much from this suffering.”

Pro­fes­sor Felix Ulombe Kaputu

  • Rece­i­ved his Master’s of Arts degree in Uga­ri­tic and Middle Eas­tern Myt­ho­logy from the Uni­ver­sity of Lubumbashi
  • Awar­ded his PhD. in 2000, spec­ia­li­zing in gen­der issues, reli­gion, and uni­ver­sity pedagogy
  • Rese­arch con­cen­trated on gen­der issues and the impact of reli­gion, par­ti­cu­larly in Cen­tral Africa
  • Reci­pi­ent of inter­na­tio­nal grants and awards from the Bel­gian CIUF-CUD (2001, 2005), the Inter­na­tio­nal Associa­tion of Oral His­tory (2002), Fulbright (2003), the Japa­nese Foun­da­tion (2005), and the Inter­na­tio­nal Associa­tion for the Study of Reli­gion (2005)

About the aut­hors:
Mari­anne Ons­rud Jawanda is the Nor­we­gian editor-in-chief for the Nor­way Times, based in Pel­ham, New York.
Emma­nu­elle Françoy is a French pho­to­grap­her and artist, based in Pel­ham, New York.

This article was ori­gi­nally pub­lis­hed in Glo­bal Know­ledge no. 2, 2007.

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