Luxembourg’s “African Moment”
Luxembourg has long cultivated an image of modest neutrality, a small state shaped by larger powers rather than an agent of global influence. Yet the historical record discussed by Dr. Kevin Goergen in a recent interview on CityNews’ Matters of the Moment complicates that narrative in ways that are both unsettling and overdue. His research reveals a Luxembourg that was not merely adjacent to colonialism but embedded within it, entangled in networks of power, privilege and exploitation that extended deep into Central Africa under Belgian rule.
Goergen frames Luxembourg’s colonial past not as a footnote to Belgian imperialism but as part of a broader transnational system. Luxembourgers, he explains, were present across multiple colonial empires, including Belgian, French, German and British territories. Still, their presence in the Congo stands out for its scale and intensity. While Belgian nationals formed the majority of the colonial population, Luxembourgers were a visible and active minority within the colonial apparatus.
This reframing matters because it challenges a convenient distancing. If colonialism is understood as a shared European enterprise, then Luxembourg cannot easily claim exemption on the basis of size or lack of formal empire. Instead, it must confront its participation in what Goergen describes as a trans-imperial project, one that relied on mobility, opportunity and the complicity of smaller states whose citizens sought advancement abroad.
Perhaps the most troubling dimension of Goergen’s research lies in his findings on interpersonal relations between Luxembourgish men and Congolese women. These relationships, often described euphemistically in older accounts, are revealed in archival records as deeply unequal and frequently violent. Colonial society was structured to privilege European men, granting them economic power and legal protection while leaving African women vulnerable to exploitation.
Goergen is careful to ground his conclusions in documented evidence. Colonial administrations kept records, sometimes with bureaucratic detachment, that nonetheless expose patterns of coercion and abandonment. Many Luxembourgish men arrived in the Congo alone, especially in earlier periods, and formed relationships that were rarely intended to be permanent. These unions were seldom recognized as marriages in any meaningful sense. Instead, they often took the form of informal domestic arrangements that served the needs of the men.
Children born from these relationships occupy a particularly stark place in this history. While a small number were acknowledged and even sent to Luxembourg, the majority were not recognized by their fathers. Goergen’s archival work reveals repeated cases of Congolese women petitioning colonial authorities for support, seeking acknowledgment or financial assistance. These records tell a story not only of individual injustice but of a system that normalized such outcomes.
The moral implications extend beyond the past. Goergen raises a question that resonates uncomfortably in contemporary Luxembourg. If descendants of Luxembourgers in countries like Brazil or the United States are offered pathways to recognition and citizenship, why are similar considerations not extended to those in the Congo? The disparity suggests not only administrative complexity but also a hierarchy of historical memory, where some migrations are celebrated and others quietly ignored.
The reluctance to engage with this aspect of history is not merely a political oversight. It reflects a deeper unease about national identity. Acknowledging an “African moment” would require Luxembourg to see itself not only as a victim of history but also as a participant in systems of domination. It would challenge narratives of innocence and raise difficult questions about responsibility, restitution and recognition.
Goergen’s research emerged in part from a political context shaped by the global resonance of the Black Lives Matter movement. In Luxembourg, as elsewhere, this moment prompted reflection and parliamentary debate about colonial legacies. The government’s decision to fund research into this history suggests an awareness of its importance. Yet research alone does not constitute acknowledgment. The question remains whether the findings will translate into public discourse and policy.
There is also the matter of silence. Goergen notes that certain actors, including missionaries, have left fewer traces in the archival record, not because they were absent but because their actions were less openly documented. This absence complicates the historical narrative but does not absolve it. On the contrary, it points to the limits of official records and the need for continued investigation.
What emerges from Goergen’s work is not a simple indictment but a call for clarity. Luxembourg’s involvement in colonial Africa was neither incidental nor insignificant. It was part of a broader European system that shaped lives across continents, often in profoundly unequal ways. Recognizing this does not diminish the nation’s achievements. It enriches its understanding of itself.
The question posed at the heart of this discussion is both simple and demanding. Is Luxembourg too fragile to confront its past honestly, even when that past is uncomfortable and unpopular. Or can it find the confidence to acknowledge its role in a shared history that extends far beyond its borders.
The answer will not be found in archives alone. It will depend on the willingness of institutions and society to engage with what those archives reveal.
By David Danisa.
This article is the first in a series examining Luxembourg’s colonial past in Central Africa, drawing on the research of Dr. Kevin Goergen, whose doctoral work spans European archives and extensive field study in the Great Lakes region.