Congo Republic: Failure of a Fetish

Once on a state visit to Paris, Abbé Fulbert Youlou, President of the Republic of the Congo, shook hands with Charles de Gaulle and boasted: "Like you, I am irreversible." Last week, on the third anniversary of his country's independence, Youlou was reversed right out of office by an explosion of his people's pent-up discontent.

His country, the ex-French colony called the "other Congo" to distinguish it from its anarchic ex-Belgian neighbor,* has long seemed quiet and peaceful. But when it came, Youlou's exit had all the revolutionary trimmings, including a storming of the local bastille and a mob outside the palace howling for bread.

Rise to the Top. Habitually clad in a cassock often topped by a Homburg, and said to have carried a pistol in his robes, Youlou at 46 was one of the world's most unusual statesmen. A member of the Lari tribe—his name means "fetish which cannot be grasped" —he was reared by Catholic missionaries and in 1946 ordained a priest. Later, in defiance of orders from his superior, Youlou ran for the French Assembly (he lost) and was suspended by the church, is still forbidden to say Mass. Because of his suspension, he was acclaimed by his countrymen as a victim of discrimination and elected mayor of Brazzaville in 1956. Exploiting Congolese superstitions, he soon had many voters convinced that his personal fetish, a small yellow crocodile, had "the power." With the advent of independence, Youlou was elected Premier and President, promising his new nation "tomorrows that sing."

He ordered a Paris couturier to run up a wardrobe of cassocks, in colors from mauve to bottle green. He savored imported champagne by the case and constructed a luxury hotel; when asked how he financed it, he replied: "I am spending the savings of poor maman. She sold nuts and vegetables."

Rise of the Critics. Meanwhile the country's timber-based economy stagnated. This year France cut off its $1,100,000 annual dole, and Youlou raised taxes. Basic food prices doubled, and as bush people kept streaming into crowded Brazzaville, 19 out of every 20 Africans in the city were without work. Then Youlou made his worst mistake—he asked Guinea's demagogic, leftish President Sékou Touré for a visit. Instead of uttering niceties, the guest electrified the locals with denunciations of African leaders who turn wealthy bourgeois.

Last month Brazzaville's three trade unions, one of which is Communist, demanded reforms. Youlou promised labor a say in a new, single-party government that he planned to proclaim. Satisfied, the unions eased off. But fortnight ago, word began circulating that Youlou was about to renege. Promptly the unions called a general strike; last week, on the eve of the strike, two labor leaders were arrested.