Colette and Justin

A fair bit of the political history of the Congo is required to fully enjoy Colette and Justin, the thoughtful debut documentary from Alain Kassada. But without it, it still is possible to understand the film’s central point about knowing our heroes and our families—and the inevitable disappointment when one grasps the pathetic humanity of the people who occupy those two categories simultaneously.

At least, that seems to be what happens with Kassanda, whose initial idea was to get something about the lives of his grandparents on video after shoving a recording device in their faces. Along the way, a throwaway statement between grandma and grandpa reveals details of a war their daughter’s son hadn’t heard of. Programmers and platforms interested in historical stories of the West and of Africa should find this fitting. Imaginative acquisition execs interested in family stories will just as easily find a spot for this documentary.

For Kassanda, the story he is after gets worse when he discovers that his grandfather, one of his country’s élite, stands on the wrong side of the strain of Congolese history that places the heavily venerated Patrice Lumumba at the centre. Not that the old man considers that a fair assessment, as we learn when his grandchild quizzes him about a particular speech given by Lumumba. The way the old man sees it, certain parts of the story aren’t accounted for. He does appear to have a point but then again, he’s a survivor. They get to tell their tale.

Kassanda expresses his surprise at his grandfather’s stand. But his is the fate of offspring of the many corrupt or inept or self-serving or merely politically pragmatic personalities dotting Africa’s post-independence landscape. If these offspring ever take a break from their cushioned, heavily westernised lives to parse just where exactly their privilege originates from, they, too, may be in shock at the stories of their forebears.

In Kassanda’s case, the story begins really with Belgium, colonial powers and, after independence, invisible hands directing about everything. Versed in the diabolical powers of divide and rule, the Belgian authorities drew one ethic group closer and made the cream of that crop miniature versions of themselves via education and political power. Naturally, resentment built up in the other group.

And in failing to assuage the hurt of their brethren directly, Lumumba and his party made one of the great man’s two grave errors. The other was embarrassing the colonial powers with the truth at an event where only puffery, feckless speeches, or silence was required. That irreverence spurred the Belgians to action. Kassanda’s granddad, the Justin of the title, belonged to the group opposing Lumumba. Aggrieved, this group received millions from the Belgians and declared independence. It could never last long—their leader became a bit of a buffoon—but it was enough to lead to the demise of Lumumba and dreams of a new, improved Congo.

Kassanda delves a bit into the life of Colette—she represents women in the Congo who, being female and colonised, were at the “intersection of dominations”—but the intrigue for anyone who’s a student of Congolese political history is in Justin’s mouth. The old man explains how his people were not allowed to go past a certain level in the civil service that belonged exclusively to whites until they fought to get what they believed they deserved.

To solve the problem, the Belgians demanded that only the Congolese people who passed a certain exam could go past the stipulated level for Africans. Three people passed: Justin, a man whose name is now forgotten to history, and Lumumba.

But, of course, that shared success and devotion to excellence of a certain kind, as shown by Patrice and Justin, was insufficient when it came down to political matters. That might have been expected since, as Frantz Fanon wrote: “In colonial countries only the peasantry is revolutionary…it has nothing to lose and everything to gain.” Both men had too much to gain and too much to lose. This could be a hard-hitting documentary though the first-time director, who edits his film and directs his own photography capably enough, goes about it with a light touch.