Colonial Heritage

How to deal with the unequal distribution of ‘shared’ colonial heritage

With the French and German recommendations as guidance

Word count: 44, 472

Kato Declercq Student number: 01504409

Supervisor: Prof. Dr. Hugo DeBlock

A dissertation submitted to Ghent University in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts in African Studies

Academic year: 2019 – 2020

Table of Contents

1. Introduction 4

2. The Western way of collecting 8 2.1. Collecting before colonisation 8 2.2. Collecting during colonisation 10 2.3. The improper interest in ‘the other’ 16 2.4. A selection of disputed Belgian cases 20 2.4.1. The storm ‘Emile Storms’ rages through the Congo Free State 20 2.4.2. The secret of the buffalo mask of Luulu 21 2.4.3. The abduction by A. Delcommune of a famous Nkisi Nkonde 23 2.4.4. Léon Rom, the man who decorated his garden with human skulls 25 2.4.5. What is the story of the Ndop statues of the Kuba Kingdom 26

3. Restitution, source of loaded debate 28 3.1. Definition of restitution 30 3.2. Issues intertangled with restitution 33 3.2.1. First encounter with the French and German guidelines 35 3.2.2. Why should one consider restitution: proponents and opponents 41 3.2.3. Which objects are eligible for restitution 44 3.2.4. Who can claim and to whom should be restituted 50 3.2.4.1. About claimants and receivers 51 3.2.4.2. Who bears the burden of proof 55 3.2.4.3. Provenance research 57 3.2.4.4. Archives and access 60 3.2.5. When and how is restitution supposed to happen 64 3.2.6. The juridical aspect 70

4. Paving the way for restitution in the AfricaMuseum 77 4.1. Transparency and accessibility 79 4.2. Dialogue and collaborations 84

5. Conclusion 89

6. References 100

Ackowledgements

I would like to thank a few people whose help was vital in writing my master dissertation.

First and foremost I would like to thank my supervisor Dr. Hugo DeBlock for his indispensable assistance in writing this dissertation. I could always contact him with questions or concerns and I am very grateful for our smooth collaboration. He helped me in adjusting to my subject. Without his clear and honest feedback, this thesis would not have been possible.

Secondly, I would like to thank my parents for their advice and encouragement, their interest in my thesis subject, and our numerous thought-provoking discussions about restitution and decolonisation.

Thirdly, I would like to thank Marieke Olson for correcting my spelling mistakes and especially for her flexibility and dedication.

Lastly, I would like to thank my friends whom I could always turn to for support and who were there for me when I needed a break from writing.

1. Introduction

Macron's notorious speech in Ouagadougou on November 28th 2017 sparked international and intercontinental debate on how to deal with the colonial collections, often acquired under dubious circumstances and still housed in Western institutions today. The corresponding complex and sensitive restitution questions have resurfaced. Macron ordered a report to pave the way to effective restitution. Around the same time, the Deutscher Museums Bund drew up guidelines as well to address the hot topic. The debate is important and inevitable because, after all, restitution can be a starting point or part of a larger whole to create new, equitable relationships between former colonisers and colonised. Together, a new more assertive African generation, morally responsible feeling European descendants, and the African international community stand up to raise awareness for past wrongdoings. The West can no longer escape its historical, psychological, political, and economic responsibility for a traumatic past that still influences the present.

In this thesis, I examine the following research question: How are we, collectively, to deal with the unequal distribution of ‘shared’ colonial heritage, with French and German recommendations as guidance? Yet, whose heritage is actually being preserved in Western museums? Are the collections African or Belgian? From a purely legal point of view they are for the time being Belgian property, but are they also Belgian from a moral point of view? The well-established term ‘shared heritage’ is used for collections created by Africans and appropriated by Europeans. How are we to understand this ‘sharing’, knowing that the vast majority of the objects are housed in Western institutions, completely unequally distributed, and often acquired under dubious circumstances?

I endorse the statement of Hein Vanhee, a Belgian curator and historian at the AfricaMuseum, who stated that the “only meaningful interpretation of what a shared heritage may be, is when the common study and presentation of museum objects can forge a shared understanding of specific episodes or moments of the (colonial) past” (Vanhee 2016: 7, emphasis in original). Sarah Van Beurden, a Belgian historian and an associate professor of history at the Ohio State University, points out that the concept of ‘shared heritage’ implies equality and a certain justification for keeping the objects in Western institutions and that this ignores the unequal balance of power in which the collecting took place. “After all, the reality is that the possession of this material is currently not shared” (Blog University of Cologne s.d.). Yet, I still use the term in my discourse,

always placed between quotation marks, to remind and draw attention to this inaccurate notion and to decolonise this mindset.

How to deal with the presence of looted colonial objects is quite a challenge for the museums involved, for the governments of both the former coloniser and colonised countries, and for the society as a whole. After all, the colonial past can still be felt today in discriminatory and stereotyping practices, as current events make painfully clear.

I divide my dissertation into four chapters. In order to know how to deal with colonial collections, I investigate in the next chapter, placed in their respective colonial history, how objects ended up in Western institutions and, specifically, in Belgium, France, and Germany. I focus briefly on the colonial history of France and Germany to better place their guidelines on how to deal with colonial objects, but I go more in-depth into the Belgian past. From this, the following questions arise: Who did the gathering and for what purpose? Is there a difference between the way of collecting before and during the colonial period? Did the museums know, when a specific object came into their possession, under what circumstances the acquisition took place or from whom it came? I devote a separate section to the collecting of human remains due to its sensitive nature. In the last section, I unravel five Belgian cases illustrating the colonial violence that often accompanied the acquisition of objects to find out whether these looted items belong in Western institutions.

The question then arises, how are we, collectively, to deal with these disputed objects? For me, their restitution is an important and necessary step to take in the decolonisation process. Nevertheless, the restitution debate often provokes many reactions. I aim to explore this controversial dispute in-depth. I investigate in the third chapter issues intertangled with restitution, without striving for completeness, and address the following questions from different perspectives: Why should one consider restitution? Which objects are eligible for restitution? Who can claim restitution, and to whom should objects be restituted? When and how is restitution supposed to happen? I, then, end this chapter with the biggest barrier to overcome, namely, the juridical aspect of the debate. In elaborating on these factors which play a role in discussions on restitution, I make, at the same time, a critical comparative study between the French report ‘The Restitution of African Cultural Heritage. Toward a New Relational Ethics’ and the German guidelines ‘Care of Collections from Colonial Contexts’, which also address these concerns. I try

to approach each issue from as many angles as possible by means of international criticism. In addition, I attempt to include at each time Belgium’s state of affairs regarding the concern.

In the fourth chapter, I examine to what extent the AfricaMuseum in Belgium has decolonised its collections and exhibition management and has made restitution negotiable. I limit my research on the AfricaMuseum to a few parameters which are important in the decolonisation process. In this analysis, I confine myself to a number of observations without striving for completeness. First, I investigate whether the AfricaMuseum provides transparent information about disputed colonial objects and to what extent the available information is made accessible. Does the museum tell the right historical narrative and can it release its merely Western point of view? Next, I take a closer look at how the institution cooperates with diaspora and source communities. I determine whether Belgian guidelines would have been valuable for the museum to deal with the objects when they reorganised the permanent exhibition and whether instructions could be useful now to make certain adjustments.

I touch very briefly, in view of the recent events that I cannot and will not disregard, on the relationship between the historical suppression of the colonised and the ongoing fight against structural racism and discrimination in our present society, to illustrate that the need for decolonisation goes far beyond the mere restitution of objects, and the repatriation of human remains to the source communities. Restitution is only one step, nevertheless an important one, in the attempt to rectify the asymmetrical North-South balance.

Before I actually start I want to reflect on my positionality. Can I write as a white Western student about decolonisation and restitution, an issue white people are bored with today and from which black people still bear the consequences? How do I relate to a subject that does not affect me in a direct sense? Can I, as someone who has always had access to all possible knowledge, as a privileged individual of an asymmetrical history, überhaupt have an opinion on this matter? Even though I took the bachelor programme of African Languages and Cultures and the master of African Studies, where I learned to be more open-minded and to see history from a different perspective than from the dominant white view, I still wonder to what extent my consciousness, my way of thinking, has been transformed? How ingrained is my whiteness? How determining was and is the white environment in which I grew up? And, what impact does all this have on my master dissertation? I have, therefore, decided that in my dissertation I will try to include, as much as possible, African voices to examine all aspects from different points of view and to guard and

counteract my white thoughts. During the writing process, I have often wondered if it would not have been ideal to collaborate with an African student on this subject. I am sure this would have provided innovative insights. I hope this research can contribute to a more inclusive debate, key in our multi-diverse society of today. Black voices, as well as white voices, should be heard.

2. The Western way of collecting

In order to investigate how to deal with colonial collections, it is necessary to understand how these objects ended up in Western museums. I discuss the methods of collecting before and during colonisation to make a comparison. I provide an overview of the colonial history of France and Germany, in view of the study of their guidelines, but I go more in-depth into the Belgium’s colonial past. In a separate part, I examine how the controversial, sensitive collection of human remains landed in Western institutions. Finally, I illustrate how colonial violence led to the collecting of a number of disputed objects, which are currently preserved in Belgian institutions.

2.1. Collecting before colonisation

European knowledge of the world underwent a major shift from the 15th century onwards. The improvement of navigation systems, ships, and map-making techniques, among other things, made it possible to cross oceans and reach unknown continents (Arnold 1983: xi, 3). The Portuguese and Spanish navigators were among the first to discover new overseas territories in search of new trade opportunities in Africa and Asia (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 53). During the 15th and 16th centuries, Portugal established many permanent trading posts along the African coast. The relationship between the new settlers and the indigenous people was, in the beginning, based on exchange rather than on conquering the land and oppressing the inhabitants by force. In the age of discovery, the main goal of the Europeans was to achieve economic gain in a peaceful manner (Newitt 2001: 12). Over time, besides the trade in ivory, they participated in the lucrative African slave trade (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 36). The invaders of the newly discovered territories gradually introduced their Western cultural norms and, over time, even disrupted or destroyed indigenous social systems. The colonisers extracted many kinds of goods and raw materials from the discovered countries and transported them to Europe (Arnold 1983: 3-4). Eventually, the local population was both materially and morally robbed, but, as history proves, this was just the beginning. After the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus in 1492 and the finding of a passage to India by Vasco Da Gama, the interest of the Europeans was translocated to America and the Far East. The hinterland of Africa, after all, was difficult to penetrate, the rivers challenging to navigate, and many African diseases were deadly for Europeans (Ulens 2018a: 30- 31). Shortly after, the transatlantic slave trade from Africa to America really took off. It reinforced the import of indigenous artefacts and other items such as weapons and textiles to Western countries (Van Beurden 2015: 4).

From the 16th century onwards, cabinets of curiosities emerged in Europe (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 53). In these cabinets, all kinds of objects were displayed together, as there was no separation into categories. The curiosities could be natural objects, such as fossils, or handmade, aesthetically pleasing artefacts, such as jewellery. Those cabinets of curiosities offered a glimpse of the world on a small scale (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 53; Ahrndt et al. 2013: 12). Most bourgeois families owned such cabinets to demonstrate their standing and to show off their power, such as the Medici family in Florence, Italy. They built a small cabinet of curiosities inside the Palazzo Medici which is identified as the first museum in the 16th century (Jenkins 2016: 39-40).

At the beginning of the 17th century, old canonical documents were no longer sufficient as the source of all wisdom, the need for more scientifically verifiable knowledge increased. Private collections of exotic plants, newly discovered animals and varieties of natural artefacts had become more and more popular (Jenkins 2016: 43). Since the Enlightenment in the 18th century, the cabinets of curiosities changed into more specialised collections, such as natural-history collections and art collections (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 47, 53). It was also the time when emphasis was placed on the classification and categorisation of those goods (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 47). Many of the private collections formed the foundation for most of the well-known museums today. The private collection of Hans Sloane, consisting of more than 71,000 items, for instance, formed the basis for the British Museum (Jenkins 2016: 48). Despite the fact that large amounts of foreign objects had already made their way to Europe, the collecting still had to reach its peak with European colonialism.

I conclude that, before colonisation, the contacts with the indigenous people evolved from rather peaceful interactions to exchanges and trades based on unequal power relations over time. In the next section, it is shown that collecting on a large scale, often in a dubious way, culminated during colonisation.

2.2. Collecting during colonisation

This window on the colonisation period seems indispensable to me if I want to define the context of the restitution issue later on in this dissertation. In view of the juxtaposition or comparison of the restitution process in France and Germany, it is also necessary to interpret and evaluate the Belgium’s colonial history. Not only in former colonising countries, but especially the robbed communities of former colonies and the African international community struggle with the consequences of this ‘shared’ heritage. It is more than necessary to pay due attention to our common past. I try to provide a chronological overview of the colonial history of Belgium, France, and Germany, while paying attention to how African objects ended up in Western museums.

The colonial history of France started relatively early in comparison to Belgium and Germany. The French colonisation of Africa began with the occupation of Algiers in 1830 and was soon followed by the establishment of other small colonial outposts in North Africa (Butlin 2009: 79- 80). During the invasions, there were always opportunities to obtain local properties. The French invaders not only confiscated land but also indigenous possessions, such as an Algerian emblematical bronze canon from the 17th century. Today, the canon is still located in the French city of Brest (van Beurden 2017: 172). For Belgium, the interest in colonialism was sparked with the International Geographic Conference organised by King Leopold II at the Royal Palace in Brussels in 1876 (Catherine 2019: 239). During this conference, the Association Internationale Africaine (AIA), was installed with the objective to invent and demarcate the Congo region geographically. Leopold II legitimised this mission by arguing that the region was desperately in need of civilisation with regard to healthcare, welfare, and religion (Wastiau 2017: 462). In the period between 1879 and 1884, the Belgian committee of the AIA sent out five expeditions into Congolese territory (Catherine 2019: 239). The contested Lieutenant Emile Storms was the leading commander during the fourth expedition. We will meet Storms again in this dissertation as one of the aggressors of the Congolese people, as he looted Lusinga’s skull (Bouffioux 2018b). Unfortunately, the real intentions of King Leopold II, chairman of the AIA, were primarily to gain economic profit (Bouffioux 2019a). Already in 1879, King Leopold II founded the, ‘Association Internationale du Congo’ (AIC), as the successor to the AIA. The king had complete control over this new organisation (Ulens 2018b: 39).

Around the same time, ethnographic museums emerged throughout Europe with objects acquired mainly by explorers and international merchants. The first public ethnographic museum in France was the Musée d’ Ethnografie du Trocadero, which opened its doors in 1882 (Grognet 2013: 1). In Germany, the earliest ethnographic museums were established in Munich in 1862, in Leipzig in 1869, and in Berlin in 1873 (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 48). More than a decade later, Leopold II established the forerunner of the AfricaMuseum, the Colonial Palace, in Tervuren in 1897. These museums saw themselves as guardians of the cultural heritage of rapidly disappearing ethnic cultures. In European view, this legitimised the transportation of the enormous number of goods taken from the primitives to the civilised West. The scientists at that time, believed that these saved and secured items were evidence of human evolution. Explorers, therefore, intensely documented, collected, researched, and took inventory of utensils of daily life of indigenous people (Wastiau 2017: 466).

At the end of the 19th century, an important event in the history of European colonisation took place, namely the Berlin Conference, organised by German chancellor Otto von Bismarck, which lasted from November 1884 to February 1885. The African continent was, after all, the last continent to be colonised by the Europeans. The main goals of the conference were to create free- trade zones in Central Africa and to establish fixed borders between the new colonies (Wastiau 2017: 4). During the negotiations, King Leopold II cleverly took advantage of the rivalry between the superpowers of the day and was, thereby, able to claim the Congo Free State. The Berlin Conference sparked the colonial aspirations of the German Empire as well (Arnold 1983: 96). At first, chancellor Otto von Bismarck based his colonial empire on chartered private compagnies (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 30). His main objectives were to gain access to natural resources and to secure naval stations so trade could be expanded (Arnold 1983: 96). Lüderitzland, situated on the coast of what is now Namibia, became in April 1884 Germany’s first protectorate, and during the following year, Cameroon and Togoland officially became the next German colonial territories on the African continent (Arnold 1983: 98). The private German companies were able to conquer territories in West, East, and South Africa, as well as some islands in the Pacific, including a coastal area in China (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 30). Yet, the majority of those private companies went bankrupt by the end of the 19th century, so the German Empire was forced to adopt those conquered lands (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 30). From 1885 onwards, France was able to add some vast territories to their colonial empire, such as Ivory Coast, Senegal, and Mauritania, partly by means of treaties and partly through military interventions. The organisation and development of these French colonies were largely left to private investors who ran large concessions. Some of the

companies were notorious for treating their native workers badly. The exhausting work to extract the raw materials weighed heavily on the indigenous population. Extremely high taxes and abuse contributed to hatred of and resentment towards the colonisers (Butlin 2009: 82-83).

In the decade following the Berlin Conference, collecting all kinds of objects became a common practice. King Leopold II ordered his agents to acquire items to display in exhibitions to serve as propaganda tools and as physical evidence of successful conquests, but also to attract new investors to the Congo Free State (Van Beurden 2015: 25; Wastiau 2017: 462). The French state, as well, stimulated military personnel and civilians to collect various artefacts (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 50). In 1891, the German Empire formulated a bundesrat decision to demand the acquisition of all sorts of foreign objects (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 49). In general terms, I determined that three main groups gathered a huge number of artefacts.

The first one was the military forces. Military personnel were known for looting and gathering objects as war trophies such as weapons, ivory tusks, animal skins, … (van Beurden 2017 : 178- 179; Van Beurden 2015: 31). In Congo, Oscar Michaux, a Belgian district commissioner, looted one of the buffalo masks of the Luuba people in 1896, as I explain further on. Some of the military personnel even collected human skulls as war booty, as the Belgian officer Emile Storms did. One of the skulls, which is now preserved in the Royal Belgian Institute of Natural Sciences in Brussels, was of Lusinga, a leader of the Tabwa indigenous community (Bouffioux 2018a; Van Beurden 2015: 31-32). I will return to this case further on. French soldiers also acquired many precious objects; for example the French expeditionary army stole many treasures from King Béhanzin’s royal city Abomey, situated in present-day Benin, in 1892 (van Beurden 2017: 174). After hostilities, several French military officers, such as the colonel Alfred Amédée Dodds, gifted some of their war booty to the former Musée d’Ethnograpgie du Trocadéro. They gave twenty- seven items of the spoils of war to the museum. Those looted objects have been requested as restitution for many years (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 52). There are some German cases of distinct war booty as well. One example is the German consul Max Buchner who during violent clashes looted the boat prow of chief Kum’a Mbape in Cameroon and donated the spoil afterwards to the ethnological museum of Munich (van Beurden 2017: 74). Colonial officers and agents did not acquire objects by looting only; they also gathered various items through trade, gifts, and purchases (Van Beurden 2020: 351).

These early military explorations were often linked to scientific collection missions, which leads to the second major group of collectors, scientists (Van Beurden 2020: 352). After the First World War, Belgian scientists begun going on fieldtrips themselves because Congo became more stable in terms of safety. From then on, the scientific missions really took off in Congo, Burundi, and Rwanda. The military officer Armand Hutereau made, during his ethnographic expedition in Congo, plaster prints of body parts of indigenous people and sent a large number of human remains to Belgium (Couttenier 2009: 107). In 1928, a National Fund for Scientific Research was founded, which sponsored many missions, such as the expedition of Guy Malengreau who travelled through the colony, for one year, to research customary law (Mantels 2020: 341-342). Around the 1920s, the French started their scientific missions as well. The Institute of Ethnology at the University of Paris, financed by the Ministère des Colonies, sponsored thirty ethnographic expeditions to Africa. These missions were purely dedicated to the acquisition of ethnographic information and items. These forays were sometimes accompanied with extreme violence because of resistance by local populations. Occasionally objects were bought, but whether the prices were fair is disputable (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 55-57). In Germany, such organisations existed as well, for example, the German Association for the Exploration of Equatorial Africa, which sponsored about one hundred and fifty scientific expeditions to Africa between 1873 and 1900 (Penny 2002: 27- 28).

The third group, the European missionary congregations, were also major providers of objects from the colonies (van Beurden 2017: 180). King Leopold II sent missionaries, which were also called the founding fathers, to Congo to ensure the Belgian presence in the long term. King Leopold II and leaders of other European countries knew that their exploitation system would fail without a civilisation mission and religious conversions, so the missionaries were indispensable. The Belgian government was convinced that the Congolese world view had to be adapted to the Belgian one, so that the indigenous people could become decent labourers and consumers (Sindani 2017: 44, 66). While the Congolese people were converted to Christianity, they were asked to renounce their religious objects and practices. The conversion was often accompanied by large- scale iconoclasm. Interesting or aesthetic objects were, in some cases, not destroyed but instead sent to Europe, either to the congregation or to the museums (Wastiau 2000: 21). Sometimes missionaries collected objects for personal reasons, out of adoration for the artefacts, or out of interest in the indigenous communities (Van Beurden 2015: 34). Not only in Belgium but also in France, Germany, and throughout Europe, missionary museums popped up and displayed talismans, masks, and entire tombs taken by Catholic priests and Protestant vicars from African

communities (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 13). Later on, the museums themselves employed and instructed missionaries to gather specific information. Those missionaries contributed to the “knowledge production for the museum” (Van Beurden 2015: 36). Thus, military personnel, scientists, and missionaries were the three main providers of indigenous objects for Western museums in France, Germany, and Belgium. The acquisitions of colonial objects were often accompanied by oppression and violence. The local population was not only robbed of their objects but also of their cultural identity, religion, and freedom.

Belgium’s colonial situation was a special one because the Congo Free State was the property of only one man, King Leopold II. For years the king financed his private colony with his own funds, yet by 1890 these had become insufficient, so he had to take out loans from the Belgian State. He changed his policy to a system focused on the exploitation of ivory, and mainly rubber. He gave some parts of Congo to concession companies to attract investors and to save expenses. Since the colony still had many monetary issues, it was only when the prices for rubber skyrocketed that the financial situation of the Congo Free State stabilised (De Roo 2020: 39-40). However, King Leopold II’s new policy went hand in hand with unseen violence, oppression, and terrorism levelled against the local population. The Congolese were obliged to produce more rubber, and if they refused or did not produce a sufficient amount of rubber, villages were burnt and people were crippled or slaughtered. These inhumane assaults did not go unnoticed in the wider world. The British government was alerted multiple times by British citizens who reported the atrocities and maltreatment taking place in the Congo Free State (Etambala 2020: 292). In 1903, Roger Casement, a British consul and one of the first human rights activists, was sent by the British Minister of Foreign Affairs to the interior of Congo to draw up a report about the situation. At the beginning of 1904, his report describing his four-month trip in the hinterland of Congo was delivered to the members of the Berlin Conference. The document records in detail the abuses and mistreatments that the Congolese had to endure (Vellut 1985: IV). Leopold II fell into dishonour and lost the confidence of his co-signatories, which was partly the reason why, four years later, the king had to convey his Congo Free State to Belgium (De Roo 2020: 43). Leopold II’s regime not only faced international criticism, but also from the Congolese themselves. Many Congolese rebelled against the white oppression, such as the revolts of the Zande from 1895-1904 and those of the Tonga-Tonga from 1904-1921 (Sindani 2017: 40). Around the same time, rubber production declined due to international over-exploitation. Both the rubber vines and the indigenous people became exhausted. These factors such as the growing criticism and the lack of money led to the acquisition of the Congo Free State by the Belgian State in 1908 (De Roo 2020: 39). With the

take-over of the colony by the Belgian State, more colonials and tourists found their way to the Belgian Congo, which increased the trade in souvenir objects (Van Beurden 2020: 353). Colonials, such as engineers, teachers, businessmen and colonial administrators started collecting items as well depending on their interests and profession (Van Beurden 2015: 32-33). The Belgian State, however, was mainly concerned about the development of trade, the expansion of European plantations, investment in infrastructure, and the exploitation of mines (Sindani 2017: 44-45, 52). The colonial administration wanted to show that they cared about the Congolese by taking their needs into account; unfortunately, the use of violence did not completely disappear. Shortly after the abolition of forced labour, for instance, the Belgian government legalised it again because of the lack of labourers to work on plantations, in mines, or on road construction (Etambala 2020: 199-200; Seibert 2020: 133). So, the Belgian government tried to improve the lives of the indigenous people by investing in healthcare, religion, and infrastructure, nevertheless, the white oppression persisted.

At the beginning of the 20th century much changed for Germany. As early as in 1918, as stipulated in the Treaty of Versailles, written at the end of the First World War, Germany was deprived of all its colonies and mandate areas (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 31). The German colony East Africa was split into three parts. Tanganyika, present-day Tanzania, became a mandate territory of Britain, present- day Rwanda and Burundi became Belgium’s mandatory areas, while France and Great Britain each received authority over portions of Cameroon and Togo. The German colony of Southwest Africa became a mandate region dependant on the adjoining Union of South Africa (R. Bartrop & Leonard Jacobs 2015: 1003; van Beurden 2017: 178).

The mid-20th century European colonial situation seemed untenable. A confluence of different factors such as the two World Wars, the rejection of colonialism by the United States of America and the Soviet Union, and the emergence of various national movements in Africa itself led to the independence of multiple colonised countries, including Congo, in the 1960s (Dia Mwembu 2017: 24-25). The climax of European colonial expansion led to a collecting mania of all kinds of objects in the 19th and 20th centuries. The flood of ethnographic objects was, especially during the colonial period, massive and overwhelming. The influx of the items came from so many different directions and on such a scale, that even today, it is in many cases not easy to figure out when, why, and under which circumstances they ended up in Western institutions (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 47, 50). The Dutch female explorer Alexine Tinne and German zoologist Theodor von Heuglin, for instance, collected items in Khartoum, but they only listed the name of the ethnic group that

produced those artefacts. Sometimes false information was given about the origin of an artefact to increase the commercial value of an object (van Beurden 2017: 66). It is certain that the unbalanced relationship between the coloniser and the colonised created an unequal trading status between both. It is likely that many gatherers, like tax collectors or other administrators used their colonial power to obtain whatever they wanted (Wastiau 2017: 468). Given the way in which these objects were obtained, their true origin was often not recorded. Yet, museums seldom verified the way in which these items were acquired. If they had done the investigations, abhorrent truths would have been revealed (van Beurden 2017: 42-43, 66). For many artefacts, provenance research is necessary to determine in which way the objects were obtained.

After colonisation, the supply of African cultural heritage to Western institutions did not end, of course. The international art market has presented itself from then on as the main player in the relationship with museums (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 59). From the 1970s onwards, international treaties imposed measures to prevent illicit trafficking, but to this day, this phenomenon has not yet been eradicated. The International Council of Museums (ICOM) advises its members to make every effort to find out whether an item on offer has not been acquired illegally. In addition, museums may not exhibit objects of unknown or dubious provenance to make it clear that they disapprove of illegal trade (ICOM 2004: 9, 25).

I dedicate a separate part to why and how human remains were collected and landed in Western institutions. Before and during colonisation the curiosity for other people was sparked due to the increasing encounters with ‘the other’. Questions about race and classification popped up, and many scientists developed an interest in human remains.

2.3. The improper interest in ‘the other’

One of the founders of the classification and ordering of animals and plants was undisputedly the Swedish biologist Carolus Linnaeus, 1707-1778. This scientist developed a new method to classify species of animals and plants. The idea arose that this method could also be useful to order the human race (Van der Hallen 2018: 100). After the publication of Darwin’s ‘Origin of Species’, a new approach to the evolution of mankind sparked the interest of scientists in the 19th century. In the 18th century, some Europeans were already interested in ‘primitive’ cultures. In 1797, in ‘The Physical and Astronomical Art and Nature Animal Cabinet’ in Vienna, natives from

distant colonies were placed in scenographic depictions and shown to guests. One of the native Africans, a man named Angelo Soliman, was exhibited almost naked in a counterfeit tropical landscape (Ahrndt et al. 2013: 13, 14). At fairs in London and Paris, a Khoikhoi woman, named Saartjie Baartman, was owned by a British businessman, and exhibited as the ‘Hottentot-Venus’. Five years later, in 1815, she died in Paris and her remains were displayed in the Musée de l'Homme in Paris. Finally in 2002, the museum delivered her organs and skeleton back to South Africa for proper burial (Jones 2010: 139-140).

Figure 1. Les Curieux en extase ou les Cordons de souliers (Wikimedia Commons s.d.)

A director of the zoo of Hamburg collected and exhibited Nubian, Sami, and Inuit people at the end of the 19th century. They had to perform between the exotic animals. One of the most striking and incomprehensible attractions on the world exhibitions in 1885, 1894, and 1897 in Belgium was the exhibiting of dozens of Congolese people in a fake African village, as a living encyclopaedia of the colonial empire. These kinds of performances legitimised the so-called civilisation mission of King Leopold II (Vandebroek 2018: 115-117). Around 1860, physical anthropology became a specialty in the scientific world (Ahrndt et al. 2013: 14). At first, attention was mainly focused on superficial features, such as skin colour and skull shape. Physical anthropologists agreed that different human races could be classified, from the ‘primitives’ to ‘civilised men’, from the ‘African race’ to the ‘European race’ (Van der Hallen 2018: 100). Scientists strongly believed that the primitive races were the ultimate example of an early stage of the evolution of humankind. The possibility arose that those primitive tribes could become extinct soon and that it would be very unfortunate to lose this interesting evidence of human evolution (Ahrndt et al. 2013: 14). As a result, racial classification was used to legitimise the actions of the colonial authorities in the colonies (Van der Hallen 2018: 101).

In the mid-19th century, the German doctor and anthropologist Rudolf Virchow, founder of the Berlin Society for Anthropology, Ethnology, and Prehistory, argued that the observation of non- European people, undefiled by history and culture, could provide more insight in humanity than a study of Kulturvolker, such as the German people. An enormous supply of human remains was needed to support that evolutionary theory in an objective way (Faber-Jonker 2015: 285). Collecting human remains was already commonplace in previous centuries, mostly to exude wealth and as a curiosity, though not as a strictly scientific object. To compare anatomical measurements and different forms and shapes of skulls, the researcher needed as many human remains as possible, so vast quantities were gathered. Scientists even composed some guidelines for non-scientists to instruct them on how to collect human skeletons in a scientific way. These private collectors were additionally requested to bring hair samples, physical data, photographs, and drawings. Collecting human remains originating from deceased indigenous individuals was in most cases against the will of the local communities and was a very dishonourable deed, because, as in most cultures in the world, the connection between ancestors and descendants is very important (Ahrndt et al. 2013: 14).

Under the pretext of collecting for scientific purpose, the German military gathered a significant number of human remains in present Namibia. Felix Ritter von Lushan, an Austrian doctor and anthropologist, was nominated in 1885 as the assistant-director of the Ethnological Museum in Berlin. At the end of the 19th century and in the beginning of the 20th century, he organised a huge collection campaign of skulls to do research into human evolution (Jöbstl 2017). Most of the remains were harvested from the concentration camps where Nama and Herero prisoners were detained (Faber-Jonker 2015: 288). The indigenous Nama people and the neighbouring Herero people became the victims of a brutal repression by the German colonisers (Butlin 2009: 98). This aggression led to the first genocide of the 20th century in present Namibia, where eighty percent of the Herero and fifty percent of the Nama were slaughtered (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 31-32). During this genocide and the capture of the Nama and Herero people, the German military doctors gathered skulls and other human remains of the persons who had died of exhaustion and mistreatment in the camps. After the preparation and conservation of the body parts, they were sent to scientists in Germany. The way in which the skulls were obtained did not matter. Lieutenant Ralp Zürn, for instance, even made his men dig up skulls and skeletons, probably to obtain an extra financial bonus. The demand on the international market was high for such remains (Faber-Jonker 2015: 286-289). More than a thousand skulls originating from African colonies, mostly from East Africa, are still tucked away in German archives today (Staatliche Museen zu Berlin s.d.).

Nineteen skulls were repatriated to the Namibian authorities during a ceremony in the Französische Dom in Berlin, on August 29th 2018 (Duitslandinstituut s.d.).

Not only the Germans collected human remains. It was common practice among most colonial powers. In France, for example, the Algerian anthropologist Ali Farid Belkadi discovered Algerian human remains in a collection of the Musée de l' Homme in Paris. Although some of the remains date back to prehistoric times, most of them are from the mid-19th century. The skulls were taken by the French expeditionary army after a revolt in the Zaatcheh region. Recently, six skulls were identified as those of beheaded resistance leaders (Arabaci 2017; Henache 2018). There is no doubt that these skulls were brought to France as spoils of war. During his visit to Algeria in 2017, the French President Macron announced the repatriation of thirty-six of those stolen skulls (Diawara et al. 2017). The repatriation has not happened to date.

In the handwritten register of the Royal Belgian Institute of Natural History Sciences in Brussels two hundred and ninety-eight skulls, twelve foetuses, and eight skeletons, are listed, all originating from Central Africa. Whether these numbers are accurate is uncertain at this point in time, but the number of six hundred and fifty skulls circulates as well. What is definitely sure is that the museum houses many human remains derived from Central Africa (Bouffioux 2018c). The collectors were probably doctors, nurses, or soldiers, such as Alphonse Cabra, Armand Hutereau, or Emile Storms. The Secretary-General of the AIA, Maximillian Strauch, among others, insisted on collecting skulls. He recommended collecting as much data as possible, including the place of collection, the age of the person, ... (Couttenier 2009: 98). Most of the time, however, human remains were very poorly documented, and without further provenance research, identification is impossible (Ahrndt et al. 2013: 16). These obscure provenance notes may complicate or even prevent restitution. For decades bodies of indigenous people have been examined in a very disrespectful and ruthless manner and compared for scientific purposes. The fact that human remains were collected irreverently and callously leaves a bitter feeling, which repatriation can only partially make up for.

I now elaborate on a few emblematic cases of disputed objects which are preserved in Belgian institutions, whose provenance is largely clear and where for some of them unofficial requests for restitution and repatriation have already been made. The newspaper articles written by the Belgian journalist Michel Bouffioux, Rik Ceyssens’ research on the collections of Oscar Michaux and Maarten Couttenier's survey on the Nkisi Nkonde statue, among others, have revealed the hidden

history and have caused a lot of commotion. These cases illustrate the foregoing and, in particular, colonial Belgium’s violent way of collecting. Further, they show that these objects do not belong in Western museums and call for an answer on the question of how to deal with the unequal distribution of 'shared' colonial heritage.

2.4. A selection of disputed Belgian cases

2.4.1. The storm ‘Emile Storms’ rages through the Congo Free State

Emile Storms started in the Belgian army as a student bugler. Soon he was promoted to the function of corporal, and when he left for Congo in 1883, he was already a lieutenant. Lieutenant Storms was the leading commander during the fourth expedition of the AIA. This expedition took place between 1882 and 1885. It began in Zanzibar, and the region of Tanganyika Lake was the final destination (Bouffioux 2018b). In 1883, the military forces led by Storms managed to set up a stronghold, Mpala, in the neighbourhood of the village Lubanda. Lusinga Iwa Ng’ombe, the powerful ruler of the local Tabwa people, described as a sanguinary potentate by a Scottish explorer, soon came into conflict with Storms. The commander of the Belgian troops was very eager to take control over Eastern Congo (Roberts 2013: 9, 15-16). The local warlord, Lusinga, threatened to behead the first envoy his rival Storms would send, to which Storms replied that he would do likewise. An open war between the two fearless men came to a climax on December 4th 1884 (Volper 2018: 57). As a result, the villages under Lusinga were reduced to ashes, dozens of villagers were killed, and one hundred and twenty-five people were brutally captured (Couttenier 2009: 99). During the attack, Lusinga was promptly beheaded.

Figure 2. Lusinga’s skull (Bouffioux 2018a).

The ritual statue of Lusinga, along with all the other artefacts of the Tabwa people, were presumably taken during the pillaging, that followed the raid (Wastiau 2017: 470). The statue of Lusinga had a very prominent place in the social structure of the Tabwa community. Like Annette Weiner, an American anthropologist, says: “the object acts as a vehicle for bringing past time into the present, so that the histories of ancestors, titles, or mythological events become an intimate part of a person's present identity” (Weiner 1985: 210). Lusinga’s skull was placed, as a deterrent and warning, on a spear in the middle of Mpala. Lusinga’s skull was one of the three skulls that Storms took home to Belgium in 1885. They are now part of the collection of the Royal Belgium Institute of Natural Sciences (Couttenier 2009: 110).

Storms was keen not only to kill Lusinga but also to take as many statues and other cultural objects as he could. Afterwards, he used these objects and many other souvenirs of the Lubanda to decorate his house as a way to show off (Roberts 2013: 157, 187). The statue of Lusinga was exposed in a very prominent place in the billiard room of his house in Brussels. After Emile Storms died, his widow donated the statue together with many other objects to the AfricaMuseum, Royal Museum for Central Africa, in Tervuren (Volper 2018: 57). It was one of the masterpieces in the exhibition ‘Shaping Power’ at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art in 2013, but it was never restituted to its source community (Bouffioux 2018d). Not all the objects that Storms had gathered and stolen ended up in Belgium, as Storms noted himself. On June 6th 1885, his fortress near Mpala was set on fire, which resulted in a great deal of his collection of ethnographic and natural objects, minerals, ... being destroyed (Bouffioux 2018e). All these burnt objects, part of his war booty, were lost forever; neither the thief nor the former owners will ever see these objects again. Today, it is incomprehensible that at the end of his military career Storms gained the grade of Lieutenant-General and was honoured as a member of “the Order of Léopold and the Order of the Royal Lion of Belgium” (Roberts 2013: 233-234). Further on in my dissertation, I discuss the current claims for Lusinga’s skull.

2.4.2. The secret of the buffalo mask of Luulu

How the AfricaMuseum in Belgium received the Luba mask was a secret for many decades. Only in 2002, when its acquisition file was found in the archives of the museum, was it explained. It appears that the mask, together with seven hundred and fifteen other items, was bought from the widow of Oscar Michaux, namely Mathilde Mertens, in 1919. She demanded 12, 000 Belgian francs, which converts to the current market value of 54, 000 euros, which was an enormous

amount of money for the collection. For comparison, Mathilde Mertens also received an annual state pension of 3,000 Belgian francs (Ceyssens 2011: 95-96, 100).

The buffalo mask, currently preserved in the collection of the AfricaMuseum, was looted from a Congolese village, Luulu, during a violent expedition ordered by the Belgian district commissioner of Lualaba-Kasaï, Oscar Michaux, in the spring of 1896. He and Albert Lapière, his assistant and second lieutenant, together with their caravan reached the village of Luulu and destroyed it. They killed the inhabitants, who posed no threat to them, and looted many cultural objects. Lapière wrote down all of their brutal and barbaric actions and criminal facts very accurately in his journal. He described in detail the stolen mask and many other objects (Bouffioux 2019b). His journal, the primary source, proves that the mask was obtained in atrocious and violent circumstances.

Figure 3. The buffalo mask of Luulu, EO.0.0.23470, and the dairy of Lapière (Bouffioux 2019b).

Today the AfricaMuseum does not tell its visitors anything about the way in which their showpiece was acquired, although the violent and cruel acquisition of the objects has been known since 2002 thanks to the research done by the Belgian anthropologist, Rik Ceyssens (Bouffioux 2019b, 2019c). When the journal of Lapière was put up for sale at an auction in Brussels on October 4th 2019, it was the perfect moment for the AfricaMuseum to obtain such an important manuscript. If the manuscript was sold to a private collector, the evidence would disappear. You would assume that the museum did everything in its power to get their hands on this primary source, especially since the Luba mask is often used in exhibitions and in museum publications (Bouffioux 2019b). Eventually the auction of the manuscript was cancelled because a mutual agreement was reached. The primary source was bought by the Sindika Dokolo Foundation for 4, 000 euros. The owner of the Foundation, Sindika Dokolo, strives to restitute Congolese objects

back to Africa and has already returned some items. The Foundation wants to restitute or possibly lend the manuscript to the museum of Kinshasa to create awareness among the Congolese people and to spark a debate about the history of their own heritage (Bouffioux 2019d). Remarkable is the fact that, according to Rik Ceyssens, the AfricaMuseum already knew about the existence of the manuscript in April 2019, but due to e-mail problems, the museum was not able to contact the people in possession of the manuscript. What is even more remarkable is the fact that the AfricaMuseum did not want to pay 4, 000 euros for such an important primary source. Guido Gryseels, current director of the AfricaMuseum, mentioned to Michel Bouffioux, a Belgian journalist for Paris Match, that the manuscript was too expensive, which is in stark contrast to the 66 million euros spent on the renovation of the museum (Bouffioux 2019b). The museum does have a copy in its possession, but that has, of course, less value than the original. Moreover, it is not clear if the journal was copied in full (Bouffioux 2019j).

The AfricaMuseum published the book ‘Unrivalled Art: Spellbinding Artefacts at the Royal Museum for Central Africa’ to mark the opening of the museum in 2018 and placed the buffalo mask on the cover, but the content did not reveal much about the loaded history surrounding the mask, nor about the existence of the diary of Lapière (Volper 2018: 135).

2.4.3. The abduction by A. Delcommune of a famous Nkisi Nkonde

Near the village of Ne Cuco in the Bas-Congo, Alexandre Delcommune, a Belgian tradesman, managed to steal a very intriguing Nkisi Nkonde statue in 1878. Delcommune worked from 1875 onwards as an executive for the French trading company Daumas-Béraud et Cie in the port of Boma. Later, he became an officer of the Force Public. In a dispute between chief Ne Cuco and Delcommune, armed men employed by Delcommune destroyed the houses of Ne Cuco’s village. After this cruel suppression, Delcommune found the statue which was probably left behind by the fleeing inhabitants (Couttenier 2018: 84-85). The object was definitely acquired in a context of violence and dominancy; therefore, it can be catalogued without any doubt as war booty. The rational motive why Delcommune took this specific statue was not to steal an ordinary ethnic object or a souvenir, but to gain power over the indigenous people. The sculpture Nkisi Nkonde is for the locals a living creature, an ancestral sculpture, and it is a powerful statue that provides protection (Couttenier 2018: 83-85). Earlier he had hired Ne Cuco's fetish to scare the local people who robbed him, so he knew that the statue had a unique significance in the community (Volper 2018: 15). Soon after the theft of the Nkisi Nkonde, the community of Ne Cuco demanded its

restitution several times, but Delcommune stubbornly refused and took it with him to Belgium in 1883. King Ne Cuco was desperate and willing to pay a ransom to get it back, but even this could not convince Delcommune (Couttenier 2018: 85, 87).

Figure. 4 Nkisi Nkonde, EO.0.0.7943 (Schelstraete 2019).

In 1885, the trophy was displayed in an exhibition in Brussels, and many visitors were very enthusiastic. The statue was also part of the two hundred items at the exhibition Art of Africa that crossed the United States of America and Canada between 1967 and 1969. In the years after the exhibition, the restitution of this Nkisi Nkonde was again repeatedly demanded, in 1973 by Joseph-Désiré Mobutu, a former president of Congo, and more recently in 2016 by chief Baku Kapita Alphose. When Maarten Couttenier showed him a picture of the Nkisi Nkonde during his on-site research, the current chief declared that the statue can be reactivated and even regain its power (Couttenier 2018: 81, 87-88). The statue was one of the most prominent objects of the temporary exhibition ‘Unrivalled Art’ on the occasion of the opening of the AfricaMuseum in 2018 (Bouffioux 2019e). Only time will tell if the statue will ever be restituted to its community of origin and regain its social position.

2.4.4. Léon Rom, the man who decorated his garden with human skulls

Léon Rom joined the Belgian army when he was sixteen, but he started his career in the Congo at the age of twenty-five as a simple customs officer in service of King Leopold II’s colonial administration at the port of Matadi in 1886 (Hochschild 2020: 141). In the following years, he held multiple positions in the judicial colonial system and took part in a number of punitive expeditions against the Bakwa and the Luba people in the Kasaï. He was also involved in military actions trying to decrease the territory in the hands of Arab slave traders. After his victory against Rumaliza, an Arab slave and ivory trader, he was appointed as first commander of Kasongo, and the following year he even became commandant of Stanley Falls Station. The journalist E.J. Glave visited Rom in his station and witnessed excessively horrible acts of suppression and exploitation. He published an article about it in the Century Magazine. Glave wrote about the exploitation of the local population and about the twenty-one human skulls that Léon Rom used to decorate his flower garden with. The publication of the horrifying way in which Rom treated the indigenous people did not prevent Rom from receiving a badge of honour for his service (Bouffioux 2019f).

During the years Léon Rom spent in Congo, he gathered not only skulls but also other objects, such as ethnographic items and butterflies. After he returned to Belgium, Rom wrote a book, ‘Le Nègre du Congo’ which was published in 1899. It was a very racist and presumptuous work (Hochschild 2020: 151-152). Between 1901 and 1924, Léon Rom worked for the Compagnie du Kasaï (Bouffioux 2019f). He died in 1924 at his office of the former company in Belgium (Hochschild 2020: 284). After his death, his two hundred and eight objects were sold by his widow to the former Royal Museum of Africa on October 9th 1925. One of these objects is a mbwoongitwool, which is a little figurative statue made by the Kuba women. The label of this displayed object in the museum only mentions “Collected by L. Rom (1890s)”, yet there is no explanation about the way in which this artefact was obtained or the awful deeds Léon Rom committed (Bouffioux 2019f). Even in his biography on the website of the AfricaMuseum, nothing is mentioned of the violence Rom used to collect objects (Archives AfricaMuseum s.d.). According to Adam Hochschild, Léon Rom even became the inspiration for the character of Kurtz in the book ‘Heart of Darkness’ by Joseph Conrad, published in 1902, because of his aggressive and violent personality (Hochschild 2020: 149).

2.4.5. What is the story of the Ndop statues of the Kuba Kingdom

In the 17th century, the Kingdom of the Kuba became an important authority within the Congo region. The kingdom unified eighteen ethnic groups and stretched out over Western Kasaï. Today, the Kuba are best known for the figurative statues of their kings, also called Ndop. These royal statues are considered to be African masterpieces and are very much in demand around the world (Binkley 2018: 41). The Ndop statue of King Miko mi-Kyee was even sold in an auction for 45, 500 euros in 2001 (Aaoarts s.d.). How did these statues end up in the West?

Figure 6. Ndop statue of king Kot-A-Ntshey, EO.0.0.15256 (Bouffioux 2019f).

The Compagnie du Kasaï had the monopoly over the exploitation of rubber and other natural resources in the Kasaï basin since 1901 (Etambala 2020: 37). This corporation employed many dubious ex-agents of the Congo Free State, such as Alexandre Delcommune and Léon Rom. The agents of the Compagnie du Kasaï exploited the Kuba people in barbarous ways in order to increase their rubber production. For many decades the different Kuba Kings protected their royal statues, but when the new Kuba King Kot-A-Pey came to power, everything changed. During his reign, all the royal statues were dispersed over the world. King Kot-A-Pey collaborated with the agents of the Compagnie du Kasaï and with the administrators of the Belgian Congo, after its annexation by the Belgian State, to which he donated valuable items such as the Ndop statues. One of the crucial collectors of these items was Emil Torday, a Hungarian anthropologist. In 1908, King Kot-A-Pey gave him four Ndop statues, three of which ended up in the British Museum, and one is part of the collection of the AfricaMuseum in Tervuren. Another Ndop in the collection of the AfricaMuseum is the one of King Kot-A-Ntshey, which was a gift from the Compagnie du Kasai in 1913 (Bouffioux 2019a). We will probably never know what the exact circumstances

were in which Torday and other gatherers acquired these royal statues. Was King Kot-A-Pey concerned with the safety of the precious statues, and did he think they would be safer in Europe? Or was the king under political pressure to donate these treasures? It is clear that the he lost control over his kingdom. The private companies and the Congo Free State pillaged the region and exploited the Kuba people. Under the pretext of saving the Kuba’s cultural heritage, scientists such as Torday took a huge part of the Kuba identity abroad (Binkley 2018: 41?). A Ndop was displayed in the exhibition ‘Unrivalled Art’, yet in the catalogue there was no mention of the unknown circumstances in which the object was obtained (Binkley 2018: 41).

The colonial histories of France, Germany, and Belgium show many differences, as the nature, the duration, and approach to colonisation differed from country to country (Hoijtink 2019: 19). They also have much in common, namely the unimaginable display of white dominance and the unusually cruel looting of cultural identity of the colonised.

As the foregoing illustrates, colonial objects and human remains ended up in Western institutions in various ways. I noticed that the trades and exchanges with the indigenous peoples shifted over time from rather peaceful to more unbalanced transactions as a result of white dominancy. It was during colonisation that collecting on a large scale, often in dubious circumstances, reached its peak. Today, these colonial collections form the basis of an animated international debate about how Western institutions have to deal with their disputed items, which forces European countries to contemplate the unequal distribution of African artefacts housed in their museums. The restitution of the objects acquired under dubious circumstances is, for many people, not the only option, which I discuss later. For me, restitution or at least showing willingness for effective restitution is an important and necessary step to take in the decolonisation process. What we can say with absolute certainty and as Achille Mbembe, historian and political scientist from Cameroon, reminds us:

“Posséder de facto ce qui appartient à quelqu’un d’autre ne fait pas le droit. Il y a une différence entre ce qui est mien et ce qui est tien. L’écoulement du temps n’y change rien.” (Mbembe 2018)

3. Restitution, source of loaded debate

The debate on the restitution of cultural and historical objects that were dubiously acquired during colonisation and ended up in Western museums is currently taking place worldwide and is being discussed among academics, in the heritage sector, in the media, and in politics.

It is commonly known that former African colonies have repeatedly been asking for the restitution of their robbed cultural objects, which were taken during colonisation over decades. These claims, however, have mostly ended up unanswered, residing in the archives of Western museums, in the ministry of foreign affairs, and in the basements of the press (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 17). While the African states celebrated their independence, the French administration took the precaution to make the necessary arrangements to keep the acquired objects in French possession. Many African loans requested between the 1930s and the 1960s ended up in French museums and were never given back after independence (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 17-19). France was clearly not the only European nation to act in this way. Many independent states, however, did ask for the restitution of their stolen symbolic artefacts with the aim of creating a national identity. This resulted in sporadic restitutions and an especially large number of refusals, but it also saddled many Europeans with a sour and uncomfortable feeling (Catteeuw et al. 2019b: 309-310). It was only in 1978 when Amadou-Mahtar M’Bow, the director of UNESCO at the time, wrote ‘A plea for the return of irreplaceable cultural heritage to those who created it’ that the stuck-up, ingrained idea that the looted objects are the legal property of the West started to shift, which resulted in an opening towards restitution (UNESCO 1978). UNESCO even distributed restitution application forms at the end of the 1970’s to encourage and facilitate the act, but unfortunately most of these forms remained untouched (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 20). Bénédicte Savoy also discovered masses of blank forms during her archive research for the French report on restitution (Savoy 2019). Western museums clearly ignored the message in the 1970s, so we must regrettably conclude that even decades later little progress has been made. Since the early 2010s, a growing interest within civil society, both in Europe and in Africa, forced the restitution issues onto the political agenda (Sarr & Savoy: 2018 23).

On the one hand, a new African generation, more assertive than before, was standing up for the harm done to their ancestors; and on the other hand, European descendants were feel morally responsible for the damage caused by their forefathers. In addition, the African international community, the diaspora, is prominently present and active in the debate. In France, the

organisation CRAN, the representative Council of Black Associations in France, increased the pressure and caused progress in the matter. On the African Continent, the Afromet association in Ethiopia, AfricAvenir International in Cameroon, and the Zinsou Foundation in Benin, and many others, are making their populations aware of the debate. In Ghana, numerous articles on the topic have been posted on the informal website ModernGhana by Kwame Opoku, a Ghanaian former functionary of the United Nations and a militant writer. No Humboldt 21, among others, is fighting in Germany for the restitution of cultural objects and the repatriation of human remains kept in German institutions. In Belgium, Bamko-Cran, a non-profit organisation that, among others, fights against racism strives for change in the society and aims to tackle inequality by means of clear discourse and shocking actions. The Walloon journalist, Michel Bouffioux, wrote several articles in ‘Paris Match’, devoted to the subject of restitution and shook up both the readers and the politicians. Important initiatives are also being taken in the academic world by, among others, art historians, curators, and ethnologists. In addition, the disputed colonial collections have become the subject of dance performances, films, and literature (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 23-25). The Belgian performance ‘Black’, the first part of the 2019 trilogy ‘The Sorrows of Belgium’ directed by Luc Perceval, told the naked truth about the exploitation of Congo by Leopold II. In the film ‘The Legend of Tarzan’, released in 2016 under the direction of David Yates, Léon Rom embodies the colonial reign of terror. The movie is a social indictment of the darkest pages in Western history. Another Hollywood film related to the subject is on its way. Ben Afflec and Martin Scorsese will base their production on the 1998 bestseller ‘King Leopold’s Ghost. A Story of Greed, Terror and Heroism in Colonial Africa’ by the American journalist Adam Hochschild (Peeters 2019). In sum, on all levels of society and all over the world, restitution is a lively and hot topic. Macron's notorious speech in Ouagadougou on November 28th 2017, in which he announced that he would make every effort “to allow for the temporary or definitive restitution of African cultural heritage to Africa” accelerated the whole debate internationally (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 1). Several months earlier in Algiers, he already called colonisation “a crime against humanity” and he apologised to those “whom we have committed these acts” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 1). This was unheard of. The acknowledgement of wrongdoing and the apologies gave a boost to the process in the right direction.

With all these actions and initiatives around the world, politicians can no longer close, their eyes nor can they continue to postpone the difficult debate. As I want to explore this controversial dispute in-depth, I first frame the term restitution. Subsequently, I mention a few facts from which I extract some complex issues which seem to be inevitably intertwined with the act of restitution.

Drawing up guidelines for dealing with objects from a colonial context turns out to be necessary and is a stimulating component in the restitution and the decolonisation debate. In elaborating on these factors which play a role in discussions on restitution, I make at the same time a critical comparative study of the French and the German guidelines, which address these concerns. I include international criticism in every issue and repeatedly wonder what Belgium’s current state of affairs is on certain subjects concerning dealing with objects from colonial contexts. On the basis of the comparison between the French and German guidelines, I distil in the conclusion which key elements could be important for the drafting of Belgian principles.

3.1. Definition of restitution

‘Restitution’, ‘return’, ‘repatriation’, ‘gift’, all these terms refer to mechanisms of transfer, in this context, of cultural objects and human remains. It is striking that in texts dealing with the complex debate, these words are used interchangeably. It turns out that distinguishing between the concepts is nevertheless important and is accompanied by sensitivity, care, and equality.

In the Code of Ethics for Museums established by ICOM, a difference is made between the notions ‘return’ and ‘restitution’. The word ‘restitution’ instead of ‘return’ is used when it can be demonstrated that the object has “been exported or otherwise transferred in violation of the principles of international and national conventions, and shown to be part of that country’s or people’s cultural or natural heritage (…)” (ICOM 2004: 33).

Sarr and Savoy, the authors of the French guidelines, add an extra dimension, namely the recognition of wrongdoing. The act of restitution implies the recognition of, and the apology for, illegal possession of a property and the attempt to repair the situation (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 29). This statement is also endorsed by Kwame Opoku. According to his critical study of the Dutch principles ‘Return of cultural objects: principles and process’, the word ‘return’ in the title is totally misplaced. ‘Return’ is “used to signify the act of transmitting an object to the country of origin or person without any further legal implication” while ‘restitution’ is “used to signify not only a return of the physical object but also a recognition or admission of the fact that the initial taking of the object was wrong” (Opoku 2019a). ‘Restitution’ expresses the intention for new relations. It can be argued that when Europeans use the word ‘return’ instead of ‘restitution’ they deny, consciously, any guilt (Opoku 2019a). Achille Mbembe puts it in another way:

“Whether we like it or not, there is an inseparable link between the idea of restitution and that of justice and reparation. Any act of restitution or reparation involves the restoration of a right and the recognition of the damage caused. Yet (…) justice must not be made the instrument of revenge.” (Mbembe 2018)

Furthermore, when the words ‘gift’ or ‘return’ are used, no admission of misconduct is shown. In the 1970s when Belgium and the Netherlands ‘returned’ artefacts to the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and Indonesia, respectively, the transfer was defined as a ‘gift’ in both cases, formulating the act differently was not done because that would imply that the objects were improperly obtained (Catteeuw et al. 2019b: 310). At the colloquium about restitution on January 24th 2020, organised by the Académie Royal de Belgique, Bénédicte Savoy, one of the authors of the French guidelines, referred to Macron's speech in Ouagadougou in which the revolutionary use of the word ‘restitution’ implied a confession of guilt. For her, the notion has a historicity and indicates a “before, during and after” (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). Speaking about heritage, art, memory, and trauma contains automatically a pronounced emotionality (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). It is therefore not surprising that in the French report the word ‘restitution’ occurs three hundred and ninety-four times in comparison to ‘return’, which appears only seventy-five times. By using the notion ‘restitution’ in the title of the French report, ‘The Restitution of African Cultural Heritage. Toward a New Relational Ethics’, France takes a clear position. Restitution can mean a symbolic and economic readjustment (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 87- 88).

It is remarkable that in the guidelines for German museums, ‘Care of Collections from Colonial Contexts’, August 2019, the word ‘restitution’ only occurs thirty-nine times compared to the word 'return', which is mentioned one hundred and thirty-three times (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 6-179). In the previously published German guidelines of July 2018, ‘restitution’ occurs only nine times (Ahrndt et al. 2018: 4-124). Is the increased use of the word ‘restitution’ in the revised guidelines a reflection of a changed German attitude towards the importance of the recognition of wrongdoing? Have they been influenced by the French report, published between the two German versions or is it a result of the communication with the source communities, as I explain further? In the revised document, however, a whole section is dedicated to the ‘Recommendations for the return of objects’, yet, even here ‘return’ is not replaced by ‘restitution’ (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 144-157).

As ‘restitution’ has a far broader meaning than ‘return’, making the distinction between the terms is therefore extremely important, so I will try to use the concepts in the right context. The authors of the German guidelines and opponents of restitution often use the term ‘return’. Whenever I refer to their findings, I place this notion between scare quotes to point to the fact that, in my opinion, this word does not cover the full meaning.

The term ‘repatriation’ is generally used for the transfer of sacred objects and human remains to the homeland (Prott 2009b: xxiii). In America, as early as 1990, the Unites States Congress passed a law named the: Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGRPA), in which they choose to use the word ‘repatriation’. This law requires federal museums and institutions to repatriate human remains and associated objects to linear descendants (Colwell-Chanthaphonh & Nash 2010: 99). I will effectively use 'repatriation' when it comes to bringing back home human remains. In the context of my research, the word 'repatriation' is also loaded and contains the connotation of malpractice.

In addition to these nominal definitions, I wonder if the restitution process can actually mean a reparation. In an open letter addressed to Macron, Manthia Diawara, a Malian art historian and scholar, strives for reparation rather than restitution. In his view, restitution distracts from the real African problem, namely the still continuing spoliation of natural resources. People cannot close their eyes to the obvious link between the misery of Africans on the one hand and the prosperity of Western countries on the other. What Africa really needs is, according to Diawara, an economic development programme consolidated by the establishment of democratic institutions. After all, repair requires economic and moral justice. Restitution does not feed anyone, nor does it reconcile countries and races or end emigration. Reparation, on the other hand, can lead to a new creativity because, instead of thwarting, the different ethnic communities and nations will work together to create a new Africa (Diawara 2019). I discuss the common Western fear of reparation in terms of financial compensation for past wrongdoings later on. I can, in a way, follow Diawara’s point of view, but while he believes in restitution after repair I would rather plead for restitution while repairing. Restitution is an important step in the decolonisation process, an inseparable part of repair because it can help shape the identity of a nation. It can rectify an inaccurate wrong historical image and can help to establish future relations on an equitable basis. I elaborate on this further when I discuss the positive effects of restitution.

3.2. Issues intertangled with restitution

On the basis of a number of facts concerning the restitution debate, I try to distil some issues inextricably linked to restitution:

Emmanuel Macron, the French president, commissioned a study for two scholars to be delivered in November 2018, “to allow for the temporary or definitive restitution of African cultural heritage to Africa” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 1).

As late as 2016, France refused a legitimate request from Benin for the restitution of statues from the Abomey Palace on grounds of inalienability, considering it French State property (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 21).

Immediately after independence, Joseph-Désiré Mobutu, requested “the transfer of the ‘Museum of the Congo’ (the present-day Tervuren Museum) to Kinshasa (…)” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 18, emphasis in original). It took Belgium fifteen years to donate a mere one hundred and fourteen objects (Van Beurden 2020: 358). Some of the objects quickly ended up on the international art market.

Félix Tshisekedi, the current President of the DRC, does not wish to demand rapid restitution as he mentioned in his opening speech of the new National Museum of the Democratic Republic of Congo in 2019 (Gordts 2019).

Rwandan archivists asked for the digitisation of their archives housed in Tervuren and in the Royal Archives. Belgium started the project at the end of September 2018 (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 42). In December 2019, Congo asked for the restitution of the archives on mixed-race populations (Hope 2019).

In France, the law was circumvented to repatriate the human remains of Saartjie Baartman to South-Africa, and twenty-one Maori heads were repatriated to New Zealand (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 17). The Belgian government also received a claim at the end of 2019 from New Zealand to repatriate human remains of indigenous Maori people, yet to date this request have remained unanswered (Hope 2019).

The Congolese man, Thierry Lusinga NGombe, claims that he is a descendant of Chief Lusinga and, therefore, asks for the repatriation of the skull. A second request for Lusinga’s skull comes from a group academics of the Lubumbashi University who demand the repatriation of the skull on behalf of the Tabwa community, but the request has not yet been responded to either (Bouffioux 2019h; Bouffioux 2019i).

German museums denied the dark period of their colonial past for a long time, yet the Berlin Charité University Hospital was the first institution that repatriated some Herero skulls back to Namibia in 2011 (Shigwedha 2016: 201). Unfortunately, no specific law enabling the repatriation of human remains exists in Germany today, although ethical considerations often prevail over the restrictions of the existing legal framework (Ahrndt et al. 2013: 42).

What can be deduced from these facts? It is obvious that in the restitution debate all kinds of obstacles need to be removed. Restitution questions were and are not always answered. The first fact clearly shows the importance of political will and support and the potential of guidelines to open and effectively activate the debate on restitution. The phenomenon of inalienability makes restitutions almost impossible unless there is again that political will to circumvent existing laws. This apparently works for the repatriations of human remains, where ethical considerations of these sensitive collections take precedence over existing laws. Opponents raise arguments that African countries often cannot guarantee adequate care. Some are entangled in concerns about who can claim restitution, to whom can restitution be made, and who bears the burden of proof, which results in requests being shelved. Additionally, it has been shown that not all African countries are interested in recovering their heritage, or at least not immediately. Some African nation-states do ask for their archives to be digitised, which is apparently more readily achievable for museums.

Furthermore, it has become apparent that even more issues will arise when dealing with objects from colonial contexts. The aforementioned facts demonstrate the complexity of the debate and explain why, to date, the number of restitutions is limited in relation to the mass of African artefacts and human remains still housed in Western museums and their storage spaces. This unequal distribution of ‘shared’ heritage calls for more in-depth research into the issues mentioned. I investigate to what extent the French and German guidelines on how to deal with cultural objects from the colonial period provide the much needed answers. Before I tackle the

questions intertangled with restitution: Why should one consider restitution? Which objects are eligible for restitution? Who can claim restitution, and to whom should be restituted? When and how is restitution supposed to happen?

3.2.1. First encounter with the French and German guidelines

The main difference, when taking a closer look at the French and German guidelines, can already be deduced from the respective titles. The French report, ‘The Restitution of African Cultural Heritage. Toward a New Relational Ethics’, was established in November 2018, and it takes a clear stance in the restitution debate as promised in the title.

The Deutscher Museums Bund announced their ‘Guidelines on Dealing with Collections from Colonial Contexts’ in July 2018, but they released a second version, ‘Care of Collections from Colonial Contexts’, in August 2019. They focused on how to deal with colonial collections but not exclusively with the restitution issue. ‘Recommendations for the return of objects’ is just one of the many topics discussed. The second part in the title of the French report, ‘Toward a New Relational Ethics’, expresses the writers’ aim to reinvent the existing relations between France and its former colonies and to make by means of restitution a new starting point based on equal and ethical relationships (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 39-40).

Who draws up guidelines in Belgium’s neighbouring countries and on whose behalf? The French guidelines are a result of the project of restitution undertaken by Emmanuel Macron. The president of the French Republic is unequivocal in his letter of mission addressed to two scholars, Bénédicte Savoy and Felwine Sarr. Their task is to draw up guidelines through dialogue with all parties concerned, both in Europe and in Africa, to enable temporary or permanent restitutions of African heritage housed in France back to Africa (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 107-108). The German guidelines are drawn up by the Deutscher Museums Bund, so not at the request of the government. The aim is to provide the museums with a practical manual on how to deal with collections from colonial contexts and to sensitise everyone involved in the matter. A large part of the report consists of concrete questions straight from museum practice, to which advisory recommendations are given. The guidelines are very non-binding, so the museums make their own decisions based on the instructions, and much responsibility is placed on the museum staff itself (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 6).

The French report was published by two professors, Felwine Sarr and Bénédicte Savoy. Felwine Sarr is a Senegalese economist, while Bénédicte Savoy is a French art historian. Jos van Beurden, a Dutch journalist and specialist in looted colonial art, approves of the French report being written by one expert representing the former colonisers and another from the former colonies. This co- production provides balanced research into the possibilities for restitution and takes into account the desires of former colonies from the start (van Beurden 2018). Opoku, the aforementioned militant writer for the website ModernGhana, is very much in favour of this approach (Opoku 2019a). While the French report was well received in African states, it is still criticised in Europe. The lawyer Emmanuel Pierrat, states that President Macron is not the owner of the museum collections, so it is up to the democratic parliament to give its approval for restitution. He emphasises that the principle of inalienability is a reality that even the president cannot ignore (Dumont 2020). Other critics point out that the authors of the French report ignored the requests of the diaspora and have not consulted art market experts (von Oswald 2019). However, when Sarr and Savoy describe their working methods, they mention consulting representatives from both European and African art markets (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 102). Commentators from Northern Africa disapprove of the fact that the report is limited to sub-Saharan Africa, which excludes other French colonies (von Oswald 2019). The French recommendations focus on sub-Saharan Africa because at present the former French colonies in this area only possess ten percent of their cultural heritage, the rest is preserved in Western institutions (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 3). According to other critics, Macron gives the impression that the willingness for restitution was initiated by the political commitment of Western states. Here he ignores the decades-long struggle for restitution that African states have been waging since the 1970s (Busselen 2019: 387).

In Germany, on the other hand, the first guidelines, ‘Guidelines on Dealing with Collections from Colonial Contexts’ were drafted by fourteen members of the Working Group of the German Museum Association, among which directors of museums, curators, researchers, legal advisers, and the heads of the provenance department. In the working group, there was no representation of the diaspora or of a former colony. In the foreword they explain that this first version is an introductory one to set out the Deutscher Museums Bund’s position on how to deal with collections from colonial contexts. The intention is to present the results to international experts for discussion (Ahrndt et al. 2018: 4, 128). After the first publication, Jos van Beurden already noticed that the German guidelines were the result of a mere intra-German process, primarily intended to bring an equalisation of museum policy in Germany, thereby partly minimising the importance of dialogue with former colonies (van Beurden 2018). The guidelines were made

available for public discussion in the year prior to the second publication. In October 2018, a workshop took place where the international view was formulated. The authors also actively sought feedback from twelve experts from eleven source communities. A year later, in August 2019, a modified version ‘Care of Collections from Colonial Contexts’, was the outcome of the fruitful results of these interactions (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 6-7). Why did they not collaborate with the source communities from the start or does this indicate that the cooperation was initially not important enough? Did they come to this insight after being criticised? Did they first want to take a stance in the matter from a ‘white’ perspective? To what extent have the comments of the international experts been included in the second version?

Kwame Opoku points out that no progress has been made in the recent German guidelines regarding the restitution of artefacts looted during the colonial regime. He believes that the revised version still reflects the German view despite the stamp international perspective on the cover. According to him, the German guidelines reflect a willingness to discuss restitution, but they are even more eager to find other solutions such as long-term loans. This is diametrically opposed to the clear French position on restitution. The German guidelines place all the responsibility for the decisions with the museums, while in France the museums cannot decide for themselves since it is a State matter. In particular, it bothers him that, in general, the victims of the Nazi past are treated differently from victims of colonisation. It feels to him that Germans give priority to the Nazi victims and do not attach the same importance to the African situation (Opoku 2019b).

Strikingly, the French colonial history is not included in the French guidelines, although some symbolic events are mentioned, such as the looting in the royal city of Abomey in 1892 (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 52). In the German guidelines, on the other hand, a whole section is dedicated to European and German colonial history (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 35-62). I would assume that this background information is known to the target group, namely the museum staff. Maybe they aim for a wider, uninitiated readership. In my opinion, the colonial history and its atrocities cannot be repeated enough which gives immediately insights into why dealing with colonial collections is so sensitive.

The Deutscher Museums Bund devotes an entire chapter to ‘Decolonising collections and exhibition management’ emphasising the importance of dialogue and collaboration with source communities (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 70-88). The authors in the French report have chosen not to go in-depth into this matter.

It is noteworthy that the Deutscher Museums Bund, as the only one of Belgium’s neighbouring countries, developed ‘Recommendations for the Care of Human Remains in Museums and Collections’, in 2013. The specific guidelines were drawn up because, since the beginning of the 21st century, Germany has received an increasing number of demands for the repatriation of human remains (Ahrndt et al. 2013: 4). The German and French guidelines still differ on several points, as will become clear further on, but first I wonder what steps have already been taken in Belgium to draw up guidelines.

Belgium is known for its complicated political landscape. In Belgium, at the federal level, Zuhal Demir, the former State Secretary for Science Policy, founded a working group in September 2018 to investigate the status of human remains in Belgium and their possible repatriation. This working group was to examine whether the existing legal framework can be used in this context or whether additional legislation is needed. The findings of the working group will be presented to the government, and it is the government that has final say in this matter. George Dallemagne, the federal deputy for the Humanist Democratic Centre party, reacted by stating that he was not impressed with this initiative. He claimed that there is still no inventory and no political statement (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2018: 2-3). On the colloquium about restitution, on January 24th 2020, organised by the Académie Royale de Belgique, Yasmina Zian, a Belgian researcher, stated that no results of the federal working group are known to this day. She adds that there is no progress because currently there is no federal government with full authority (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). Meanwhile, in December 2019, the ‘Human Remains Origin(s) Multidisciplinary Evaluation’ (HOME) initiative started. It is funded by, the Belgian Science Policy Office (BELSPO) for a duration of two years. It concerns a multidisciplinary workgroup consisting of anthropologists, historians, social anthropologists, geneticists, law specialists, and computer scientists. They are required to evaluate the scientific, legal, historical, and ethical background of the human remains collection in Belgium. In order to create a complete inventory, they designed a survey, HOME Survey 2020, to collect all relevant documentation on human remains housed in Belgian public and private collections, so this is a work in progress (Royal Belgian Institute of Natural Sciences s.d.).

On a regional level, a resolution concerning translocalised works of art was voted on in March 2019 by the Chamber of Representatives. Originally, the resolution was meant to initiate a dialogue with the French state concerning the valuable paintings from Belgium's art patrimony, which were translocalised by the army of the French revolution, but the content of the resolution

was extended to the general problem of restitution of all illegally obtained African cultural goods. The aims of the resolution are, among other things, strengthening dialogue; creating an interdisciplinary working group consisting of Belgian, African, and European experts; and drawing up an inventory of African cultural objects in Belgian museums, including research into the conditions in which they were acquired. In addition, the resolution proposes to organise an international conference to find solutions through debate (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2019a: 2-3). In May 2019, the Académie Royale de Belgique appointed the aforementioned researcher, Yasmina Zian, commissioned by the Gouvernement de la Fédération Wallonie- Bruxelles, concerning the formulation of recommendations, on how to approach restitution issues (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). No results are known to date.

It is clear that there is some interest from different angles, but so far without any results. Yet, proponents of restitution are not waiting for political support and have launched their own initiatives. On September 27th 2018 Bamko-Cran, a Belgian non-profit organisation that fights against racism, asked together with thirty-five international co-signatories in an open letter to open up a debate about restitution. Among other things, the State-Secretary for Science Policy must renounce any property that was obtained illegally. They demand the restitution of stolen colonial objects and the repatriation of human remains. According to them, a group of multidisciplinary experts should develop that restitution plan. Financial compensation is also requested, as well as a moratorium on the reopening of the AfricaMuseum in Tervuren. Above all, they ask for official apologies from the Belgian State (DeStandaard s.d.b). Shortly after the open letter on October 16th 2018, Bamko-Cran organised, together with the French speaking parliament in Brussels, a debate on the ‘Restitution of African Cultural Properties: Moral or Legal Question?’. Immediately after, on October 17th, some researchers, experts from museums, academics, and representatives from the diaspora concerned about the subject launched a Flemish initiative supported by FARO, Vlaams steunpunt voor cultureel erfgoed, and have united in a working group on restitution. They wrote an open letter, ‘Restitutie moet kunnen’, signed by sixty-one national and international proponents, with views in the hope of making a positive contribution to the debate on the restitution of colonial objects and the repatriation of human remains. In addition to legal, historical, and moral arguments to justify restitution, they especially strive for open dialogue and more transparency. They call on the Belgian government to make financial resources available for provenance research. Research groups, operational within two years, must lead to concrete procedures for restitution. With regard to the repatriation of human remains, they request that museums pursue a proactive policy. They expect this process to happen within a five-year period.

They insist that digitisation, loans, and travelling exhibitions are important but secondary to the real core of the discussion, namely, the physical restitution of colonial objects (DeStandaard s.d.a). They strive for the establishment of general guidelines for museums regarding the management of colonial collections. The goal is to present the principles to the African stakeholders at the end of 2019 and subsequently, with some adjustments, to Belgian institutions. This project is ongoing, unfortunately has a delay due to the current pandemic.

It is obvious that Belgium is lagging behind, but the mentioned initiatives seem to offer perspective. The advantage is that the guidelines of neighbouring countries can serve as an example, and the useful principles for Belgium can be filtered out and supplemented. One can wonder if any balanced guidelines on ‘shared’ heritage can be achieved without immediate collaboration with all stakeholders. The French guidelines grew out of collaboration between representatives of the former colonised and coloniser, and from consultations with the source communities. The first German guidelines arose from domestic inter-museum discussions and were only externally tested and adjusted afterwards to result in a revised version. Belgium rather seems to follow the example of Germany but intends to draw up principles with the participation of the diaspora, and then submitting the results to the African stakeholders in order to adjust where advisable (D’hamers 2020). Are purely practical considerations at the basis of this Belgian decision? Does the long distance or the fact that Africans have difficulty obtaining visas, play a role? Yet, it remains a paradoxical situation. In short, the descendants of the thieve set guidelines on what to do with the loot and then submit them to the descendants of the robbed for approval. The pressing question is, therefore, who decides what will be included or adjusted in the final guidelines after consulting the source communities? Will all comments be processed until a consensus is reached, or is it again European ingrained supremacy that picks and chooses where the final version is concerned?

It is conceivable that the French top-down approach with a state-driven report potentially offers more guarantees for effective restitution. However, more than a year after publication, it appears that the promises France made have largely been unfulfilled, as I explain further on. Because of the current poor political support, Belgium is obliged to adopt a bottom-up approach. The working group can propose whatever they want, but it remains to be seen what value the politicians will attach to it and whether they will act upon it.

According to the Ghanaian Kwame Opoku, the following should be included when drawing up guidelines, at least if European States are well-intentioned: the acknowledgement of wrongdoing and apologies, a clear commitment and approach to restitution of looted items to the real owners along with a timeline, an effective act to demonstrate the willingness, shifting the burden of proof to the museums, and publishing and communicating museum inventories (Opoku 2019a; Opoku 2019b). The French report responds to almost all the aforementioned requirements and therefore has his approval. On the other hand, he is critical of the German report that still fails to demonstrate a clear political commitment. The Deutscher Museums Bund sees the guidelines as part of an ongoing process. A third revised version is announced on their website to the great frustration of Kwame Opoku who remarks that concrete restitutions are very rare while everyone is busy with provenance research and revision after revision of guidelines. He calls for effective action (Museumsbund s.d.; Opoku 2019b).

After this general comparison between the French and German principles, I try to answer the question of why one should consider restitution before I explore the issues inherent to the act in- depth, without striving to be complete.

3.2.2. Why should one consider restitution: proponents and opponents

“Culture is the soul of a nation. The illicit removal or destruction of cultural property deprives peoples of their history and tradition. Restitution is the only means that can restore damage and reinstate a sense of dignity.” (Mitsialis 2009)

The complex theme of restitution causes many emotions and different opinions. For proponents, decolonisation cannot be completed unless colonial collections are brought back to their place of origin. Former colonisers have the duty to actively participate in the restitution of cultural objects. Former colonies have the right to recover missing objects. Opponents precisely dispute the moral obligation to ‘return’ the objects because, after all, no existing legal framework requires the transfer. They point to the danger that the ‘return’ of one object can open up Pandora’s box and initiate a domino-effect. In the worst case scenario, restitution will lead to the emptying of Western museums. Moreover, they wonder if former colonies have the ability to take care of such precious objects (Catteeuw et al. 2019: 305). In the debate, some researchers attach importance to humanist values, others to a more pragmatic attitude, according to Yasmina Zian. The latter say that one should not make a process of history. Values and ethics change over time and emotions

should not take the upper hand (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). In my opinion, the pragmatic attitude is rather blunt and only serves to minimise, and even deny, the problem.

Why should Western states or museums consider restitution? Is it to get rid of their much- discussed burden? It is out of guilt or an attempt to make the past more transparent? Is restitution a way to liberate former European colonisers from their debts towards the colonised societies? Let us focus on the positive effects of restitution, which, in my opinion, far exceed the opposition raised by critics.

While the Deutscher Museums Bund does not attach much importance to describing the advantages of restitution, Sarr and Savoy mention it explicitly. They say that the act of restitution may partially straighten the existing asymmetrical imbalance; rectify a wrong historical image; give African youth access to their culture, which is a fundamental human right; and contribute to the development of their cultural identity. Above all, the act of restitution can establish future relationships on an equitable base. Restitution of cultural objects can help to recover and complete interrupted memory (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 2, 15). According to Moira Simpson, an Australian professor in social sciences, the return of sacred artefacts to source communities can have many positive effects, because indigenous people can provide an intangible meaning to the tangible returned objects, which she describes as “the re-socialisation of objects” (Simpson 2009: 122). In addition, return has the potential to improve the mental health of the source communities (Simpson 2009: 122).

Westerners made Africans believe that their history began with the arrival of the first colonisers in the 15th century. Before, that, they claimed, there was nothing (Bouffioux 2019g). New generations are emerging from this view which has been thrust upon Africa, as stated by Achille Mbembe, a Cameroonian philosopher. Restitution of their objects will close this chapter and will cause a cultural and artistic revival (von Oswald 2019). It is known that over ninety per cent of the material cultural legacy of sub-Saharan Africa is stored outside Africa. It is also known that sixty per cent of the African population is under the age of twenty. This youth group has the right, unconditionally, to have access to their artistic, cultural, and spiritual heritage. On the one hand, Western youth has the privilege of gaining knowledge through these objects whenever they want. The youth of Africa, on the other hand, is often even unaware of its existence (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 3-4). This historical asymmetry, this mismatch, has to be rectified in order to create a new

perception. To have access to one’s own heritage has been a human right since 1948. According to article 27 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights:

“1. Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits. 2. Everyone has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests resulting from any scientific, literary or artistic production of which he is the author.” (United Nations 1948)

Additionally, cultural heritage plays a role in building a national identity for young African states (Busselen 2019: 387). According to Placide Mumbembele Sanger, a Congolese cultural anthropologist, it is necessary for the Congolese to affirm their identity by discovering their past. (Sanger 2019: 471). The Congolese art collector Sindika Dokolo, also, emphasises that, to be able to look at the future, people have to know their roots (Bouffioux 2019g).

“Cultural heritage constitutes an inalienable part of a people’s sense of self and of community, functioning as a link between the past, the present and the future; it is essential to sensitise the public about this issue and especially the younger generation.” (UNESCO 2008)

In Belgium too, the importance of restitution is recognised. The signatories of the open letter ‘Restitutie moet kunnen’ point out the importance of restitution and refer to moral, historical, and legal arguments. Given that the Congolese today have limited or no access to their heritage, and given that art, heritage, and history are indispensable for emancipation and development, non- restitution is morally indefensible. Having systematically been refused requests for restitution since independence, and even before, is no longer tenable. The absence of a retroactive legal framework proves the continuing unequal distribution of power (DeStandaard s.d.a).

Why are opponents so afraid of restitution although the act can lead to a win-win situation. When it goes hand in hand with necessary dialogue and exchange, it should not be considered as a dangerous action or a painful struggle. On the contrary, it can only lead to a better understanding of the differences and similarities between cultures and, in a broader way, to a better understanding of each other (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 2). Moira Simpson also confirms that the process of repatriation of human remains and sacred objects can not only benefit the source communities but also the museum staff. In most cases, the collaboration results in a better

comprehension of the collection and in the elimination of the unequal distribution of power. As she mentions, repatriation can create a new sense of community (Simpson 1996: 245).

It is clear to me that restitution is more than necessary and inevitable, although I recognise that bringing home looted objects is not, as Mistialis says, in his quote at the beginning of this subsection “the only means” but a component of the reparation process (Mitsialis 2009). Yet, it is undeniable that the act is accompanied by many concerns and obstacles. Opponents try to use these worries as arguments to refuse or postpone restitution claims. The objections and counterarguments voiced by the opponents will be discussed in all further points of this chapter.

3.2.3. Which objects are eligible for restitution

In this section, I examine which objects are appropriate for restitution and how they are categorised according to the French and German recommendations. I formulate the most common objections surrounding this issue, such as curators' fear of empty museums, and the possible financial consequences. I elaborate on the opponents’ convictions of their being the saviours of the artefacts and guardians of the collections for all of humanity and, therefore, in their view, only long-term loans are negotiable. The question arises, was each appropriation of an object during the colonial period by definition a dubious, illegal act? A further question is, which objects qualify for restitution? Until the end of the 19th century, it was common practice, and even legal, for the conqueror to appropriate the spoils of war (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 9). How does the Deutscher Museums Bund deal with this historical fact? According to the German guidelines, a willingness to engage in dialogue with the source communities should be initiated:

“If the legal and the ethical standards of the time were already violated when the object was acquired, or if the circumstances under which it was acquired fundamentally contravene today’s ethical standards for museum acquisitions (…).” (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 148)

On the other hand, they point out that most authors of the guidelines disagree with some proponents of restitution who claim that the unequal power balance between colonised and colonisers can never have led to fair acquisitions (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 147). Kwame Opoku does not understand why the German authors presume that even one deal was made on the basis of equality, “the African was always in an inferior position” (Opoku 2019b).

In the French report, Sarr and Savoy drew up their criteria on the basis of the context in which the objects were taken: spoils, gifts, exploratory missions and scientific raids (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 58). This approach, in fact, is analogue to the 1998 Washington Conference Principles on Nazi- Confiscated Art. The type of the cultural object is irrelevant if removed as a result of the Nazi persecution and should therefore be ‘returned’ (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 145). For Sarr and Savoy, it is obvious that any object appropriated by force or under dubious circumstances should be restituted. This includes spoils of war and trophies gathered as a result of military aggression. Additionally, they recommend the restitution of objects collected in scientific expeditions, unless there is evidence of the owners’ full consent at the moment of the transfer of the object (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 54, 57-58). The same conditions are required for gifts donated “to the French museums by agents of the French colonial administration or their descendants” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 58-59). Some French museums still possess objects, once loaned from African institutions for exhibitions. According to Sarr and Savoy, there is no doubt that the time has come to return them unconditionally. Additionally, they recommend complementary research for those objects that ended up in the French museums after independence but presumably had been stolen before 1960. The authors’ focus on effective restitution is reflected in the recommendation that the restitution of a number of objects, the concrete list of which is included in the report, should take place immediately, within the first year after the publication of the report, to prove the French government’s sincere intentions (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 13, 61-66).

Germany takes a different broader approach and determines its criteria based on object categories. In order to evaluate a disputed object, they divide colonial contexts into three categories. By ‘colonial contexts’, they mean a broader period than the colonisation period itself in the 18th and 19th centuries. ‘Colonial contexts’ starts from the 15th century with European explorations and the Spanish conquest of America, and it does not end with the independence of the colonies. The inequality between rulers and ruled, the colonial thinking, makes the acquisitions of any object during that time span, loaded. That is why a thorough examination and raised alertness are necessary.

The first category holds ‘Objects from former colonial rule contexts’. In this category, they distinguish between two subcategories. The first subcategory includes objects from an area that was ‘(…) under formal colonial rule at the time of collection or manufacture, acquisition or export of the object’, the second subcategory deals with items ‘(…) used in an area under formal colonial rule. This use was related to colonial rule, colonial commerce or colonial life’. For example, items

acquired during the genocidal war between the German Empire and the Herero and Nama communities, are assigned under the first subcategory. Examples of the second subcategory are, among other things, flags, military items and colonial coins (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 26, 28).

The second category includes ‘Objects from regions which were not subject to formal colonial rule’, which means, appropriations from regions not under formal colonial rule but strongly influenced by colonial dominance (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 26, 28). For example, the Jiaozuo region in China was under formal rule by the Germans for sixteen years, until 1914. Yet in the beginning of the 20th century, China had to deal with a huge economic downturn, when many individuals, but also palaces, started to sell their art. China attracted many art dealers, including German soldiers. It was only after German colonisation, in the 1920s and 1930s, that the Far Eastern trade reached its peak, which is reflected in museum collections (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 29).

The Deutscher Museums Bund even provides a separate third category ‘Objects that reflect colonialism’, such as colonial propaganda, advertising products, and “works of the visual and performing arts” (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 30) German postcards, for instance, became propaganda tools for colonisation. The ‘superiority’ of the Germans was depicted on those cards using caricatured drawings, among other things. The Deutscher Museums Bund added this third category maybe because after the First World War, the German general, Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck, idealised the colonial era. The Nazi Party used similar means for their propaganda (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 31). Today, this propaganda reflects an extremely racist attitude. Objects designated to the first or second category are not per se questionable nor do they, according to the authors, have to be restituted by definition. Most subscribers of the German guidelines disagree with the gratuitous assumption that each object collected during the colonial period has a wrongful connotation attached to it (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 147).

With this categorisation, the German guidelines point out that, when dealing with these objects, a raised alertness and more in-depth research are mandatory. The items in the third category need a correct estimation of the purpose and possible impact inherent to the object (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 32). They argue for a case-by-case study in dialogue with the source communities in order to evaluate the precise circumstances from their perspective as well (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 147). Yasmina Zian is a proponent of these detailed German criteria, but she also sees disadvantages. After all, the guidelines place all responsibility on the museums to implement these principles in full. They have to develop their own strategies (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). Here lies the

danger that each museum will devise its own approach, which can result in a different restitution policy depending on the different museum managements concerned. There is no clear political commitment. In France, on the other hand, the initiative is taken by the President, and the criteria are accompanied by clear recommendations. Whether the instructions will be followed is another matter.

For some opponents no single object is eligible for restitution: I refer to the questions in the introduction: Whose heritage is preserved in the Western museums? Can we speak of a ‘shared’ heritage when the majority of African cultural heritage is not in Africa? Many museums today still use the juridical inalienability of their collections to narrow the notion of sharing to symbolic sharing, for example, by promoting sharing access to collections through digitisation and exhibitions to replace effective restitution. There is no doubt that for source communities only the physical object can represent the historical link between them and the creators (Vanhee 2016: 6). Some promote long-term loans or providing replicas to source communities as alternatives to shelve any ownership questions. The authors of the French guidelines stress that the proponents of the circulation of the objects in this way avoid legal problems. Sarr and Savoy are therefore strongly in favour of permanent restitutions (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 28). In my opinion, these replacements of restitution can be part of a possible cooperation if the source communities are the requesting parties, but they can never be substitutes for effective restitution.

In the German guidelines, however, the subscribers claim that some source communities are more interested in long-term loans, supplementing their collection, accessing their heritage through digitisation, and sharing knowledge instead of effective restitution (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 144). Howard Morphy, a British anthropologist, who is working with indigenous Australian communities says that they prefer digital restitution of images instead of the ‘return’ of the physical objects. Yet Howard A. Silverman, an American professor in the department African Studies at the University of Michigan, wonders what happens to the digitised object, what is the relation with respect to the original one, and whether the meaning is the same as the one associated with the physical item. These are valid concerns and should be kept in mind when considering digitisation (Silverman 2015: 6).

What about human remains preserved in our Western institutions? Both in France and in Germany human remains are definitely eligible for repatriation and should even be treated with priority. The Deutscher Museums Bund, developed separate ‘Recommendations for the Care of Human

Remains in Museums and Collections’, in 2013 (Ahrndt et al. 2013: 4). In Belgium, the signatories of the open letter ‘Restitutie moet kunnen’ argue for the development of a proactive restitution policy on the repatriation of human remains (DeStandaard s.d.a). There is a general consensus that the sensitivity of the handling of human remains requires ethical considerations that go beyond existing legal provisions (Ahrndt et al. 2013: 4, 42). Amade M’Charek, professor of anthropology at the University of Amsterdam, mentions in an article that “maybe we have to come to the agreement that the skeletal remains belong to all of us and are part of a shared past and present” (Zoetbrood et al. 2018). How can one think or speak about a shared anything when human remains? Such sensitive items clearly belong to the respective descendants.

What if all these cultural objects and human remains go back to the state or community of origin? A common Western fear is that restitution will open Pandora's box, resulting in a whole shift of cultural objects from Europe back to their provenance countries. Western museums will end up being empty and, therefore, redundant (Opoku 2013). In an article in Le Figaro, Julien Volper, curator of the ethnography department in the AfricaMuseum in Tervuren, argued in 2003 that in France and elsewhere people are waiting to turn museums “into tombs” by emptying them of their collections (Volper 2017). Philippe Robert-Jones, former curator of the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, stated that we should take measures for today but not for yesterday, and that the ‘return’ of cultural objects should not be retroactively applied because that would mean the end of the museums (Belgische Senaat 2003). I fully support Sarr and Savoy who disagree with the ubiquitous and paralysing fear of the empty museum. Through their guidelines, they want to achieve a rebalancing of the uneven division of cultural objects. According to them, enough objects will remain in Western institutes for the study of African art history. This is confirmed by the fact that there have been few official requests from African states to this day (von Oswald 2019). Kwame Opoku argues that no one wants to empty the Western museums. After all, it is about bringing home the emblematic artefacts (Opoku 2013). Guido Gryseels, the current director of the AfricaMuseum, agrees and adds that no African country wants all their cultural heritage back. Most of them want to protect their own collections first (Van Der Speeten 2018: D4). On the one hand, I understand that curators do not like to give up the objects they have studied and taken care of, but should they not realise that they are not the owners of the collections?

Some people in France are concerned about the financial consequences as a result of the expected emptying of the museums. For example, the thrones and the statues of the kings Ghézo, Glèlè and Bêhanzin, displayed in the Musée du Quai Branly-Jacques Chirac, attract more than one million visitors every year (Gbaguidi 2019). But then, I wonder whether these sceptics ever dwell on the fact of what this income could mean for African countries. Do they not realise that money is being made from objects that are not their property and that the income should go to the rightful owners?

Other conservative voices are convinced that the colonised should be grateful because the Europeans rescued and preserved their objects, which were otherwise ‘doomed’ to disappear. They state that without the collectors, ninety-nine percent of the objects currently residing in Europe would have disappeared in large quantities because of termites and religious burnings (Groux 2018). On the other hand, it is also true that some communities are pleased that their objects were taken in the past and carefully preserved, otherwise they could have been lost. For example, when the Yup’Ik Elders were involved in the preparations of the exhibition ‘Agayuliyararput’ at the current Ethnologisches Museum in Berlin in 1994, they showed no interest in regaining the objects, but mainly in sharing knowledge and experiences about their cultural heritage (Fienup-Riordan 2003: 39-40). It is true that Western museums have been able to preserve objects that otherwise may have disappeared, but this consideration should not impede the restitution debate. Other critics point to the danger that the one-way process of restitution would rule out long-term collaboration. Sarah Van Beurden, a Belgian historian and an associate professor of history at the Ohio State University, argues that after the physical restitution of objects joint exhibitions and co-curatorship would still be possible “but with African institutions as starting point” (Van Beurden 2018). Do not all stakeholders benefit when a good mutual understanding has been established?

The idea of ‘universal museums as guardians of civilisation' represents another questionable twist of thought to oppose restitution. In 2002, eighteen prominent (read Western) museums such as, among others, State Museums in Berlin, Louvre Museum in Paris, Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles endorsed the ‘Declaration on the Importance and Value of Universal Museums’ (Hermitage Museum s.d.). It was drawn up with the aim to emphasise their position as guardians of world heritage for all of humanity and to point to “the vital role they play in cultivating a better comprehension of different civilisations (…)” (Schuster 2004: 4). Geoffrey Lewis, then Chairman of the ICOM Ethics Committee, underlines that these universal museums gathered to take a defensive position against claims while representing themselves as the

indispensable guardians of the artefacts. Criticism came from all over. George Abungu, former director general of the National Museum of Kenya, says the DIVUM reflects the museum directors’ fears of empty museums. Moreover, he was shocked by the term 'universal museums', which according to the signatories of the declaration, are located only in Europe and North America. No non-Western national museum was asked to enrol in this select group. It is clear to him that those museums are not open to dialogue, let alone restitution. He calls for cooperation with the broader museum community instead of emphasising the already existing hierarchy (Abungu 2004: 5). A decade later it appears that the document has not achieved its desired goal, given that recently some signatories have already issued restitutions. The declaration is considered useless today, but according to Opoku, it is still an important document because it shows the boundless pretension of these museum directors and the ease with which they put themselves above morality and justice (Opoku 2013). These underlying ideas have not completely perished.

Bernard Muller, a French anthropologist, wonders whether we should not register the problematic objects on a list as ‘universal heritage’, with the undeniable juridical advantage that then they are no one's property. An international commission made up of representatives from all the countries involved should manage the list and consider restitutions on a case-by-case basis (Le Monde Diplomatique s.d.). George Dallemagne, a Belgian politician, advocates that the intention is to come to a so-called ‘common heritage’, keeping the collections in the Belgian museums but with the participation of an African scientific delegation (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2019b: 23). Does this not testify to a neo-colonial way of thinking?

Although, according to some, no single object is eligible for restitution and therefore all objects must remain where they are, it is clear that looted colonial objects can never be Western moral property. A subsequent question also arises, who can claim restitution, and to whom should objects be restituted?

3.2.4. Who can claim and to whom should be restituted

In this part, I first investigate what the findings of Belgium’s neighbouring countries are concerning the aforementioned questions. Secondly, I examine the question of who bears the burden of proof. Finally, I clarify the importance of provenance research and related archival research and its accessibility.

3.2.4.1. About claimants and receivers

One of the most difficult challenges in the restitution debate is probably the issue of with whom to discuss possible restitution.

In the French report, to respect “the sovereignty of the various nation-states” the act of restitution must take place between two states (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 82). It is up to the state of origin to bring the property to its rightful owners. Sarr and Savoy do not exclude the possibility of dialogue and direct collaboration between museums or universities (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 82). The fact that principally states can request restitutions and states should be the preferred negotiating partner causes much criticism. Herein lies the danger: unrecognised groups, such as ethnic minorities, have never had the opportunity to give expression to their wishes.

For Germany, individuals or groups, entire communities of origin, or other entities such as states and religious communities can make a claim. The requesting party has to deliver a description of their connection with the object. The Deutscher Museums Bund expects “competence of the party to conduct negotiations” (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 152). When the negotiating partner is an individual or a group of individuals, they have to provide the proof of ownership or legal succession “as this research would place too much strain on a museum’s capacities” (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 153). I will come back to this later. If the claim is made by the community of origin, their connection with the object has to be examined. This research may pose difficulties because, over time, changes may have occurred within those communities. In Germany, it is the responsibility of the museum and the body which oversees it, to make the decision regarding any ‘return’. The German Federal Foreign Office, the Federal Government Commissioner for Culture, and the Media have to be notified of the matter (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 144,149, 153).

Another question comes to mind: is it realistic that cultural objects are restituted to communities now forming changed societies, and can the items return to their original function? This concern is nonsense, according to Kwame Opoku. The former coloniser cannot show either “any continuity of beliefs or practice”, yet they feel it is their right to keep the objects in their institutions (Opoku 2019a). For example, the Museum aan de Stroom (MAS) in Antwerp owns a number of war flags from the Hans Christopher collection, of which there is no certainty who the original owner is. Additionally, the museum staff wonders whether a possible restitution is appropriate. Since independence, Indonesia, in its pursuit of becoming a nation, has suppressed its ethnic minorities.

If the flags are restituted, ethnic tensions could arise again (Catteeuw et al. 2019c: 488-489). In most cases, environments have been of course severely modified, but as Simon Njami, a Swiss author and currently curator at the Memorial Acte museum in Guadeloupe, mentions,

“(…) the return of objects does not mean restituting them as they once were, but re- investing them with a social function. It’s not about a return of the same, but of a ‘different same’.” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 30, emphasis in original)

According to Evelien Campfens, a Dutch expert in international cultural property law, who states in the Leids Universitair Weekblad that it is often difficult to determine who the rightful owner is. Should the Benin bronzes be restituted to the current state of Nigeria or to the Benin people? Sometimes the central government does not have a good relationship with its indigenous minorities, and then there is no guarantee that the objects will reach the rightful owners. This explains why the UN Declaration of 2007 promotes the question of restitution being posed by the indigenous peoples, not by the state (Bongers et al. 2019).

The Belgian federal government received two official requests for restitution at the end of 2019. The government of New Zealand requests human remains of indigenous Maori people, and Congo would like to have the archives on the mixed-race population restituted. Both are presently housed in the Museum of Art and History in Brussels (Hope 2019). In March 2019, the federal parliament approved a resolution on translocalised cultural objects. One of the demands was to set up an interdisciplinary committee to establish provenance research of disputed objects located in Belgian institutions (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2019a). David Clarinval, Deputy Prime Minister and Minister for Budget and Civil Service, wants to give absolute priority to the repatriation of human remains and points to the importance of dialogue with the country of origin. Unfortunately, in December 2019, Clarinval stated in The Brussels Times that he could not say as yet whether or when the requested restitutions could take place (Hope 2019).

In the open letter ‘Restitutie moet kunnen’, museums are asked to develop a proactive restitution policy with regard to human remains, within a time limit of five years (DeStandaard s.d.a). This standpoint, when adopted by the federal government, could be beneficial for the possible repatriation of Lusinga's skull. The skull, which is preserved in the Royal Belgian Institute of Natural Sciences in Brussels, has already been unofficially requested twice. In February 2019, Thierry Lusinga NGombe claimed that he is a descendant of Chief Lusinga and, therefore, asked

for the restitution of the skull. He would like to give his ancestor a dignified and respectful burial. The claimant is willing to undergo a DNA test to confirm his kinship. Camille Pisani, former director general of the Royal Belgian Institute of Natural Sciences in Brussels, also finds a DNA test necessary to guarantee kinship. She adds that all objects in federal institutions are State property and, as a result, cannot be expropriated without changing the legal framework (Bouffioux 2019h). A second request for Lusinga’s skull comes from a group academics from Lubumbashi University, who demand the repatriation of the skull on behalf of the Tabwa community. They form the Murumbi group, which consists of academics who represent many disciplines. The group includes some members with links to Chief Lusinga. The aim of the group is to study the Tabwa community and to restore their memory. They strive, in a statement dating March 27th 2019, for the repatriation of Lusinga's skull and express the hope that this act can improve the relationship between Belgium, the DRC, and in particular the Tabwa community that Chief Lusinga originates from (Bouffioux 2019i). Zuhal Demir, former State Secretary for Science Policy, states that repatriating human remains is a sensitive and complex topic. She has set up a working group to examine whether new legal rules should be added to the current legal framework to allow for repatriation. (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2018: 2-3). On December 3rd 2019 at the TAPAS conference about restitution in Ghent, Katrijn D’hamers, staff member cultural diversity at FARO, mentioned that, to date, there have been no results from this working group. The policy memorandum of the Flemish Prime Minister, Jan Jambon, in November 2019, does not mention anything about the restitution issue. It is clear that a federal initiative is necessary. To say that there is in Belgium’s complex political system little progress in the matter is accurate.

A second example is the case of the Nkisi Nkonde statue, preserved in Tervuren, which already has three unofficial requests for restitution. The first one came immediately after the theft from one of the nine Boma kings, namely Ne Kuko in 1878. Alexandre Delcommune, the Belgian officer who appropriated the statue as war booty, refused the restitution. Between 1967 and 1969, the Nkisi Nkonde statue was part of the travelling exhibition ‘Art of the Congo’ through the United States (Couttenier 2018: 84-85, 87-88). This particular exhibition triggered the anger of Joseph-Désiré Mobutu. He was reminded once again that Congo still had no control over its resources, even after independence, and that the country was unable to represent itself through its own cultural objects. This event brought the restitution debate back on the Congolese political agenda (Van Beurden 2015: 105). In 2016 when Maarten Couttenier visited Boma for a research project at the AfricaMuseum, the restitution of the Nkisi Nkonde resurfaced. Yet, neither the original owner, nor Joseph-Désiré Mobutu, nor the descendants have been able to obtain the

restitution of Ne Kuku’s statue to this time. The current informal demand from the source community will not be eagerly accepted due to difficult political, juridical, and practical obstacles, such as the current lack of a federal government with full authority and the fact that the disputed statue is property of the Belgian State. However, the restitution of the Nkisi Nkonde statue can mean a lot to the local community as chief Baku Kapita Alphonse explains. It is a powerful statue, as mentioned in chapter two, and it can easily resume its function when brought back home (Couttenier 2018: 81). In this case, ethical considerations could take precedence in order to authorise restitution. The previous examples illustrate that restitution is currently at a standstill in Belgium. Even the officially requested repatriation of the human remains of the Maori people has not been successful.

One might wonder, however, if all former colonies are interested in reclaiming their heritage. It turns out that not all African countries are requesting parties. Some African states are demonstrating indifference regarding their cultural heritage, but this should not prevent the West from taking action (Thomas 2017). Sarr and Savoy explain why there is a gap in African interest for restitution. In countries where objects were taken with violence, the memory is often very alive. In other African communities, the question of restitution is not under discussion because the removal of the objects did not happen during traumatic circumstances (Sarrr & Savoy 2018: 31). Placide Mumbembele Sanger, a Congolese cultural anthropologist, writes in the Volkskrant that the debate about restitution is not yet alive among the Congolese population, not even among academics and the press. Félix Tshisekedi, the President of the DRC, announced in September 2019 that the demand for restitution is for the time being not a priority, expositions and exchanges are more achievable (Gordts 2019; Sanger 2019: 469). Réginald Groux, founding president of the Museum of Art and History of Cultures of West Africa, and other critics, claim that African countries show no interest at all in their cultural heritage, “was it not for the commercial value that it represents” (Groux 2018). The lack of African art collectors, the lack of political interest, and the example of the objects that reappeared on the international art market after they were gifted by Belgium to Congo are evidence, according to these critics, of nonchalance and indifference (von Oswald 2019). Guido Gryseels, director of the AfricaMuseum, states that the first priority of the museums in Rwanda, Kenia, and Senegal is to obtain support for preserving the present objects or for completing their collection. No formal requests for restitution, addressed to the museum, have been made to date (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2019b: 19-20). Hugo DeBlock, a Belgian professor and doctor in art sciences, states that the fear of losing all objects is unfounded because

not all states or communities of origin want all their possessions back. Yet that should not allow Western institutions to remain apathic (DeBlock 2019: 279).

Determining who the rightful owner is turns out to be a difficult issue. Does the claimant have to prove that he is the rightful owner? Or, do Western institutions have to deliver the evidence that they legally own the object in question? Who bears the burden of proof? Provenance research is crucial, as I will discuss this further.

3.2.4.2. Who bears the burden of proof

Sarr and Savoy mentioned that in the French court, “good faith is always presumed and that it is up to the one who invokes fraud to prove it” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 84). The authors of the French report drafted their pieces of advice based on how objects were appropriated: objects acquired in military context, exploratory missions or scientific raids, gifts from private collectors, or items collected after independence. For the items belonging to the first three categories, restitution is recommended unless evidence of consent can be demonstrated. It is also recommended to positively answer restitution questions of objects belonging to the fourth category, which can be proven to have been obtained through illicit traffic. Despite the fact that the burden of proof lies with the claimant, it is striking that the authors refer, in a footnote exclusively belonging to the second category, scientific expeditions, that this advice “takes into account the evolution of the international juridical debate about the reversal of the burden of proof regarding the displaced or looted cultural goods” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 58). This principle is stated by the UNIDROIT Convention of 1995, adopted by the European directive 2014/60/UE of May 15th 2014 and is, according to Sarr and Savoy, applicable to the colonial context (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 58). Article 4 in the UNIDROIT notes that the holder of a requested object has to demonstrate that he or she “exercised due diligence”, at the time of the appropriation, in order to be entitled to compensation (UNIDROIT 1995: 3). In the European directive, this is formulated analogously (The European Parliament 2014: 3). Why Sarr and Savoy only mentioned this reference concerning the reversal of the burden of proof in one category out of four is unclear.

In Germany, it is up to the claimants to clarify the ownership or the legal succession, so the burden of proof is on them, not the current holders, “(…) as this research would place too much strain on a museum’s capacities” (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 153). The claimant can provide evidence by means of documents from registry offices, courts or church registers, but also academic literature, expert

reports, and photos can serve as evidence. When several claim to be entitled to the object, they have to fight this out among themselves to ensure “(…) that the museum is not drawn into any dispute within a group of claimants” (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 153). The authors obviously do not want to overload the German museum staff. They mention, as well, that some authors suggest reversing the burden of proof by analogy with the Handreichung concerning objects from the Nazi context. That statement assumes that any object appropriated in either the context of the Nazi persecution or the colonial period is presumed to be illegal unless the museum can prove otherwise. Immediately, this possibility was refuted in the guidelines by pointing out that in this approach it is forgotten that some source communities do not appreciate that their objects are merely seen in the colonial context. Secondly, this concept fixates on defeating past malpractice, which, according to them, is an exclusively German concern. I really wonder whether the contacted source communities have indeed agreed to this, when giving feedback on the principles, or whether their disapprovals (which I presume) have not been incorporated into the revised guidelines (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 146). For Kwame Opoku, it is clear that the refusal to reverse the burden of proof confirms that Germany does not consider the colonial regime as an oppressive system of violence and dominancy. Instead, as he underlines, the European institutions should prove that they obtained the object in a legal manner rather than placing the burden of proof on the claimants (Opoku 2019b: 5-6).

In Belgium, according to the civil law, the claimant must provide proof that he or she is the original owner (De Clippele). In the case of the claim for Lusinga’s skull, the descendant is willing to undergo a DNA test to confirm his kinship, as mentioned before. However, in practice, a DNA test is seldom useful as evidence, so it appears to be neither feasible nor conclusive. Camille Pisani, former director general of the Royal Belgian Institute of Natural Sciences in Brussels, points out that there are four or five generations between Thierry Lusinga NGombe and Chief Lusinga, so a DNA test cannot conclusively confirm kinship. This view has been refuted, however, by, among others, the American geneticist Mary-Claire King. She claims that modern laboratories are able to demonstrate an ancestral bond of four generations through genomic analysis (Bouffioux 2019h). Martin Vander Elst, anthropologist at UCL Louvain-la-Neuve, adds that DNA tests are only biological and do not take genealogical research into account and therefore do not pay the necessary attention to traditional kinship as a social act. The results of DNA tests are neither completely reliable nor objective and should be viewed with great caution (Bouffioux 2018f).

After the foregoing, one might question whether it would not be better to invest in dialogue and cooperation rather than arguing who should provide what, thereby losing much time in the process. Surely the aim is to compile any existing documents, whether in the possession of the source communities or in the European institutions, and to set up a joint search for missing information, all of which can achieve an unbiased result. It is, of course, true that African states or communities can only make requests if they know what is where, so provenance research, stocktaking, and especially making all the available information digitally accessible are extremely important.

3.2.4.3. Provenance research

A key factor in the restitution process is to determine the exact origin of objects that have come into the possession of Western museums in various ways. In the ICOM Ethical Code of 2004, ‘provenance’ is understood as “the full history and ownership of an item from the time of its discovery or creation to the present day, through which authenticity and ownership are determined” (ICOM 2004: 49). The International Council of Museums states that it is the task of museums to document each item of its collection, that is complete identification and description of each object, its context, provenance, condition, and current location. These data must be made available to all authorised users via an inventory (ICOM 2004: 14). As Jos van Beurden summarises, “Provenance is also called an object’s biography” (van Beurden 2018: 38).

What the authors of the French report understand by provenance research is the study “concerning the geographical and cultural origin of the object, its use, and the modalities of its acquisition from its original owner(s), the circumstances of its exit from its natural territory, and its entrance into the collections of a museum in France” (Sarr & Savoy 2019: 75). Compared to the ICOM definition, Sarr and Savoy emphasise the importance of research in the way of collecting. In the process of restitution one has to take into account the complications that will inevitably occur in provenance research. For Sarr and Savoy, it is obvious that no additional provenance research is needed when it comes to objects that have been appropriated through military aggressions, military personnel, active administrators, or scientific expeditions before 1960. This also includes loans from African institutions which were never returned (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 75-76, 61). They admit that some spoils of war are difficult to categorise as war booty because many of the collections brought to France were split up and ended up in different institutions, where they are confusingly inventoried as gifts. This obstacle is also mentioned by the authors of the German

guidelines (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 132). Additionally, military officials also collected cultural artefacts “outside the battlefields” which complicates the labelling as spoils (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 51). Even when it comes to gifts from private collectors, it is difficult to find out how they were originally obtained since they were often donated much later to the French institutions after the collector had passed away (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 58).

In the German guidelines much attention has been paid to provenance research. They stress the importance of critical interpretations of existing sources. Colonisers described their acquisition manners in the past from a different perspective than what we consider as wrongdoings today. Sometimes false information was given about the origin of an artefact to increase the commercial value of an object. Thus, an investigator has to adopt an attitude and must read between the lines. If the provenance of an object cannot be traced, museums must still make the documents available, however little there may be. In the future, other researchers can then work on the object, perhaps even using new available sources as the process is open-ended. Additionally, they emphasise that in provenance research, the knowledge of indigenous people can provide new and renewed insights. Establishing good contact with the objects’ countries or communities is therefore crucial. It is striking that, in the first version of the German guidelines under the subtitle ‘Researching’ from the chapter ‘General recommendations’, collaboration with source communities is something yet to be considered. One year later, in the revised version, this part is positively adapted, stating the input of source communities is essential (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 117). Permanent financial support is an indispensable factor in order to guarantee research into the origin in the long term (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 7, 89-90, 132). In January 2019, the German Lost Art Foundation provided funding for provenance research projects on collections from colonial contexts (German Lost Art Foundation 2019). This reflects that the German government supports and recognises the importance of research into the origin of objects. In March 2019, at the meeting of the culture ministers of all the sixteen German federal states, they agreed upon providing an ongoing support in research into the provenance of human remains and cultural objects from colonial contexts (The German federal government 2019: 5). Guido Gryseels remarks, a bit jealously, that in the Berlin State Museums, eight people are permanently employed to do provenance research. In Belgium, he can only dream of it because budgets in the culture sector are only being reduced (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). However in the German guidelines it is mentioned that structural budget cuts complicate the work of the scientific staff (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 7).

In sum, the German guidelines pay much attention to provenance research, a bit too much according to Kwame Opoku. Provenance research should focus on the essence, which means tracing ownership and transfers. For him, for example, research into the conditions of the producers is not relevant, is time consuming, and only slows down the process of restitution. Opoku argues that not all objects need provenance research for the purpose of restitution when it is obvious and common knowledge that they have come into possession under dubious circumstances. How can one justify the fact that a museum still has to carry out research on an object that has been in their possession for decades and then claim that there is no budget (Opoku 2019b)? He has a point; the white West never conducted any research in the past because it was completely unimportant from their point of view. In the meantime, research into the origin of objects is indispensable in the restitution debate. Prioritising provenance research of human remains is not enough, as it would be appropriate to investigate with urgency all dubious appropriated objects.

Provenance research can be very time consuming and expensive for certain objects. The provenance research on the Nkisi Nkonde statue, carried out by Maarten Couttenier, for instance, lasted six months. Mireille Holsbeke, current conservator of the MAS, Museum aan de Stroom in Antwerp, says that in the Belgian Senate, there are few objects in her North-American collection of which the provenance can be determined. Nevertheless, she wonders, are we then innocent? Not at all, as the issue of restitution is part of a much broader context in which Europeans dealings with non-Europeans are reflected both in the past and in the present. Therefore, she promotes collaboration between museums and source communities for the management and conservation of cultural items and advocates an approach that disregards legal obstacles in favour of ethical and moral principles (Belgische Senaat 2003). In 2019, Gryseels mentioned that 1,000 of the 125,000 objects in Tervuren can be categorised as spoils of war. For a number of works, it is not known how they were acquired; provenance research is therefore necessary (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2019b: 20). The subscribers from the open letter from the working group confirm that there is a great need in Belgium for in-depth research into the exact provenance of museum objects. This research, which must be carried out in both Belgium and Africa, naturally requires a budget, (deStandaard s.d.a) which will hopefully soon be provided by the Belgian government. Hugo DeBlock argues that provenance research offers an essential instrument to decolonise the objects (DeBlock 2019: 278).

It is clear that provenance research is important, but it is just as necessary to make a healthy assessment of what information is primordial, what is incidental, and what is already abundantly clear. All of this is in order not to unnecessarily delay restitution. A clear strategy with regard to prioritisation is indispensable. The input from source communities can be very valuable. No provenance research is possible without archives, of course, which brings us to the next subsection.

3.2.4.4. Archives and access

More and more source communities rightly want to know where their cultural heritage is situated so digitisation of archives and inventories can be extremely helpful. When communities of origin have access to the archives it can empower them and restore their cultural identity (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 6, 75; Van Mulder 2019: 439). The digitisation of archives can also be useful for the inexperienced audience. It is an easier, more approachable way to provide information about the context in which the objects were acquired and about the racist background ingrained in some of these items (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 142). To date, however, Western scholars have easier access to most archives than the source communities, which often do not have the ability to reconnect with their heritage and cannot share their knowledge due to the lack of access (Van Mulder 2019: 435- 436). For Kwame Opoku, the publication of inventories is a requirement, and it is what he expects from a restitution-minded policy. Moreover, he adds that it is important to inform the governments and communities involved of the existence of those inventories (Opoku 2019a). Transparency, making information accessible is not enough as William Hagan, an American author and professor emeritus of history at the University of Oklahoma, observes: “to be an Indian is having non- Indians control the documents from which other non-Indians write their version of your history (…)” (Fourmille 1989: 1). Digitisation cannot be seen as the ultimate solution; there is still a need for inclusivity and the decentralisation of the archives (Van Mulder 2019: 444).

In recent years, more and more institutions are changing their methods regarding their archive systems. Some of them use the concept of the ‘participatory archive’. It is an approach based on equality and inclusivity between the archivists, researchers, and the source communities. The involvement of these communities can lead to the empowerment of the society, to the inclusion of their opinions and wishes and it can contribute to the recovery of their memories. While this sounds promising, some critics point out that the initiative for this participatory approach often comes from Western archivists and researchers, not from the source communities. Some even

wonder if this method leads to the re-objectification of the native population. Researchers need to reflect on their collections as well as on their methods used for initiatives like the participatory approach, according to Bryony Onciul, a British professor of museology (Van Mulder 2019: 440- 441, 449, 451). Another trend is the emergence of the concept of the ‘inclusive archive’ to counteract the lack of interest in minority groups and to alter the perspective of the dominant group (Butler 2009: 57-69). The goal of this approach is to emancipate minorities and to contribute to a more diverse and versatile historiography. In Australia for example the Aboriginal communities can follow training courses supported by the Australian Society of Archivists to stimulate their historical knowledge because they can play an important role as mediator between the institutions and the Aborigines (Thorpe 2017: 904-906). Archives play an important role in the decolonisation process as platforms of collaboration and inclusivity.

Yet, what is the perspective of France and Germany on archives and digitisation? First of all, Sarr and Savoy mention that their guidelines only take into account the archives currently held in the public museums in France. Their principles do not include the administrative, military and diplomatic archives, yet the authors of the French guidelines strongly urge their restitution back to the countries of origin. In the second phase of their restitution timeline, they elaborate on the digitisation of all cultural objects and inventories housed in the French public museums. They want them to be accessible for everyone. This includes providing free access to films, sound records, and photos. Yet to date, no centralised inventory of the African heritage preserved in France exists (Sarr & Savoy 41-42, 67, 101). That is why Sarr and Savoy recommend the development of an open access online portal. They state that “free access to these materials as well as the free use of the images and documents should be the end goal” (Sarr & Savoy 2019: 67). This would mean that questions about the rights concerning the reproduction of photographs need to be adjusted, taking into account the requests coming from source communities (Sarr & Savoy 2019: 67-68). However whether the communities of origin will be actively consulted about their wishes with regards to the accessibility of their sensitive objects, photographs, or audio files is unclear. Maybe the communities of origin are not so comfortable with the ‘free access’ and ‘free use’ of all their materials. In a response to the French report, over one hundred signatories warn against simply adopting the recommendations on open access and digitisation and urge the French government to consult the African communities of origin, who are the only parties entitled to make decisions around these issues. In order to decolonise the French institutes, it must be recognised in collection management that, in addition to material heritage, digital heritage is equally important (Pavis & Wallace 2019: 115).

The authors of the German guidelines mention the importance of digitisation and inventories as well. They advise museums to devise a policy to provide open access to databases (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 119). They insist on the digitisation of the museum collections in the German language as well as in English. They claim that bilingualism will improve accessibility and exchanges with international museums and source communities (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 116). Dele Peters and Michele Pickover wonder, in their paper ‘DISA: an African perspective on digital technology’: Is the focus on the English language not a new form of cultural imperialism? Additionally, who decides the selection and what is mentioned (Peters & Pickover 2002: 14-20)? In the guidelines is stated that every German museum can determine their own standards for digitisation, but I think it will be very difficult for a source community, or any interested person, to find the information they need if there is no uniformity at all when every site or online portal looks completely different (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 116-117). The guidelines do talk about a “joint online platform”, as Sarr and Savoy mention in the French guidelines, yet such a platform still needs to be established (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 8). The Germans point out the danger of this open access. Providing free open access to all the objects can lead to disagreements with the source communities (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 119, 136). In the case of the publication of sensitive objects from colonial contexts, the German recommendations indicate the responsibility of the museum to respect privacy legislations to “protect the data privacy and the confidentiality of the information providers” (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 134). The museums consider that some communities do not want images of their sensitive cultural objects to appear in publications. Museums should partake in a dialogue and take into account the preferences and wishes of the communities of origin (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 125, 136). Fortunately, today there is archive software that can be adapted to the specific choices and needs of source communities (Brown 2014: 179). The German report also recommends that museums flag colonial items in their basic inventory lists and that those objects should be carefully stored, taking into account the opinions and requests of the source communities (Ahrndt et al 2019: 125-126). In the ‘Framework Principles for Dealing with Collections from Colonial Contexts’, agreed upon by the German culture ministers in March 2019, it is mentioned that the ‘Länder, municipalities and Federation’ will start initiatives to digitise their museum collections and to establish online platforms (The German federal government 2019: 3). In the German guidelines, it is noted that the classification and labelling of artefacts in inventories is based on Western principles. That is why the authors strive for a revision of the Western categorisation system in collaboration with the source communities (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 117). Yet not only the inventory systems but also the archives themselves need to be decolonised, as Melissa Bennett, the author of the article ‘Decolonising the Archive: Responsibilities for Researchers and Archive Professionals’ states.

According to her, decolonisation should start with the sharing of all the inventories with the communities of origin; secondly, archivists should restore their archives that got separated over time; and thirdly, archivists should correct past mistakes such as ‘negro’ written in the inventory lists. Eliminating such offensive and sensitive words is really necessary (Bennett 2020).

In the 1930s, the archives of the former colonies were carefully read and partly copied before they were made publicly accessible. Researchers could only consult those copies that proclaimed official truths (Lismond-Mertes 2019c: 60). In recent years, there have been more and more efforts to come up with a more transparent and collaborative archiving process. It is already a step in the right direction towards decolonisation and decentralisation. The involvement of the source communities is indispensable nowadays (Van Mulder 2019: 455-457). In 2003 Guido Gryseels recognised the importance of digitisations so that researchers and the public in Africa have access to the collection of Tervuren but he also stated that according to him, digitisation makes the physical location of objects less important. Whether he endorses this statement today is unclear (Belgische Senaat 2003). I cannot stress enough that digitisation of archives can by no means replace effective restitution, unless the respective source community is the requesting party. Yet if inventories are digitised it is much easier for communities of origin to request the restitution of certain objects, photographs or files. At the end of 2018, Belgium started with the digitisation of Rwandan archives housed in the AfricaMuseum in Tervuren and in the Royal Archives at the request of the Rwandan archivists (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 42). The current president of Rwanda, Paul Kagame, established a presidential commission to figure out which places in the world harbour Rwandan heritage. This is not an easy task because many inventories are not accessible or are not complete. To solve this problem, Guido Gryseels would like UNESCO to organise an international initiative to convince museums to make their inventories available (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2019b: 19).

In a conversation I had with Hein Vanhee, it was pointed out that in practice provenance research is often unfeasible work. He wonders if awarding a quality label would not encourage museums to optimise their archives. After all, archives will determine the final resting place of many objects in the future.

3.2.5. When and how is restitution supposed to happen

Emmanuel Macron said, in his speech in November 2017 in Burkina Faso, the following: “(…) within the next five years, I want to see the conditions put in place so as to allow for the temporary or definitive restitution of African cultural heritage” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 1). Sarr and Savoy took that into account and made a clear-cut three-phase timeline. One year was planned for the first phase and started immediately after the submission of the report in November 2018. It includes a presentation to the former colonised African states of the total inventory of cultural objects located in French institutions. Additionally in the first phase every effort has to be made to execute existing claims for restitutions. Sarr and Savoy compiled a whole list of cultural emblematic pieces that certainly belonged to this first phase. In the second stage, from spring 2019 until November 2022, sharing information and “intensive transcontinental dialogue” are central (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 66). The establishment of joint commissions, composed of representatives of France and the concerned African states, are recommended to examine and give advice on restitution claims and to give recommendations on how to display African items in French exhibits, among others. Their discourse on collaboration and dialogue with communities of origin, however, is limited to just a few pages of the voluminous report. Sarr and Savoy express in the third phase, starting from November 2022, the need for the continuation on welcoming future restitution claims. Macron’s five-year plan, should be open-ended. Yet, this requires political financial support, unlimited in time. They emphasise that the restitution process must be carried out in dialogue and should allow both parties concerned to make the necessary preparations (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 62, 66-69).

In January 2020, one year since the publication of the report, Bénédicte Savoy expressed her disappointment in her presentation to colloquium on restitution, organised by the Académie Royale de Belgique. It turned out that the recommendations for the first phase had hardly been followed. On November 17th 2019 Edouard Philippe, the prime minister of France, symbolically transmitted the sabre of El Hadj Omar Tall to the Senegalese president Macky Sall for five years (Simonis 2019). Emmanuel Macron announced an international conference to take place in Paris in April 2019. This conference eventually took place, on July 4th. Surprisingly, it turned out that the term ‘restitution’ no longer appeared in the conference programme, much to the frustration of the two authors. Sarr and Savoy were only invited at the last minute; however, they wanted to take the opportunity to question the absence of any reference to the report and the disengagement of the French government. Bénédicte Savoy notes that the inaction can be partly explained by the fact

that, shortly after the release of the report, other priorities emerged: the protests of the Gilets Jaunes were stirring up the country, and the drama of the Notre Dame fire took place (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). Emmanuel Pierrat, a French lawyer, claims that the affair with the gilets jaunes worked out well for Macron. After all, attention was now diverted from the great promises he made in Benin (Marbot 2020). Macron’s intention was revolutionary and ground- breaking and the French guidelines took a clear position, but unfortunately Macron has not been able to achieve his goal. What is given priority depends on the political will and the prioritisation on the agenda. It has been constantly shown in the past that in Europe the debate on restitution has never been of first concern whatsoever, let alone the act of restitution. Unfortunately there will always be more important events that overshadow the issue of restitution.

In the German guidelines, no specific timeline is proposed for restitution. They only formulate cautious suggestions for museums on how to deal with ‘return’ claims of objects with colonial context in their collections. Only when the claim of a specific item is legal will they confirm that its ‘return’ should happen, as soon as possible. However, the authors add that museums should not be pressed into making rash decisions. The authors of the German guidelines point out the importance of dialogue between a museum and the claimant(s) with the greatest possible transparency in the procedure. How long the process will take is one of the points to be discussed. The drafters of the German report do not recommend, like the French, which objects are eligible for an immediate restitution. The final decision relies on the competence the relevant museum. When examining collections, they do give a list for possible starting points, with which the institutions can determine their own priorities. Examining objects from a violent colonial context is at the top of the list (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 33, 150). Jos van Beurden, a Dutch journalist and specialist in looted art, wonders: If dialogue is so important for Germany, why is it not mentioned in the enumeration of the possible starting points for prioritisation when examining collections (van Beurden 2018)? According to Opoku the Germans lag behind France since Macron and the French report made a clear engagement and proposed measures to be effectively taken within a limited timeframe. He states that Germany fails to make a clear-cut political statement on the issue of restitution (Opoku 2019a). Meanwhile we know that clear engagement is no guarantee for effective action.

The authors of the open letter of October 2018 promise to have the general guidelines for the museum sector with regard to the management of the colonial collections ready at the end of 2019. To date, there has been no result. Yet, the other targets can still be achieved provided that by the

end of 2020 research groups for provenance will be operational and possible strategies for restitution will have been elaborated upon and that by the end of 2023, a proactive restitution policy with regard to human remains from Congo can be completed (DeStandaard s.d.a). The consequences of the current pandemic do not make it easy to honour pledges.

It is clear that the restitution of cultural artefacts remains difficult, but the repatriation of human remains, on the other hand, seems to get more attention, is politically more willingly accepted and prioritised both France, Germany, and Belgium. Sarr and Savoy briefly mention that there is a general consensus on the repatriation of human remains; therefore, this is probably not included in their three-phase timeline. Circumventing the law to allow the repatriation of, for instance, Saartjie Baartman and Maori heads show the willingness of the French government (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 17, 73). In 2018, for example, several German museums repatriated remains of the victims of the Herero and Nama genocides to Namibia. In the foreword of the revised guidelines, is mentioned that the ‘return’ of human remains has to be prioritised if there is a justified request. (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 7). In Belgium, too, the authors of the open letter ‘Restitutie moet kunnen’ advocate for a proactive restitution policy as mentioned above (DeStandaard s.d.a). However, although there are already several claims for Lusinga's skull, Belgium remains entangled in legal restrictions and ancestral research. The official claim for the Maori heads also remains unanswered to this day (Hope 2019). The successful repatriations in neighbouring countries prove that it is possible, but in Belgium it seems to be a long-term or even impossible task.

By recommending the restitution of several symbolic objects to Benin, Senegal, Nigeria, Ethiopia, Mali and Cameroon in the first phase, Sarr and Savoy express the sincere French intention to take immediate action (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 63). Germany, on the other hand, apparently avoids swift action and focuses mainly on provenance research. However, the French attitude has the potential to gain the confidence of the former colonised communities and, consequently, contributes to improving difficult intergovernmental relationships. The current neglect of the French report is hopefully temporary, with action being undertaken soon. I hope that Belgium will give priority in its guidelines to the restitution of disputed, emblematic, and already requested items as soon as possible. This important gesture would show that Belgium finally recognises past mistakes, and it would be an essential step in the decolonisation process. However, when Belgium is finally ready for restitution, how is it supposed to happen?

Some people have the dubious concern that the countries of provenance do not always have the means, the money, the level of security, or the volition to take care of the objects (Anrys 2015; Bongers et al. 2019). They argue that these countries often have politically unstable governments and that sometimes wars are waging (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2019b: 10). Is the scientific staff capable of taking care of the objects and will the works remain accessible to the general public and to researchers? It is true that the Royal Museum for Central Africa returned one hundred and fourteen ethnographic objects as a gift between 1976 and 1982 to the Institut des Musées Nationaux du Zaïre in Kinshasa. A large part of the objects was stolen from the museum and was sold on the black market (Reynebeau 2018: 48). Maarten Couttenier laconically responded to this, on December 3rd 2019 at the TAPAS conference about restitution in Ghent, stating that the buyers were mostly Europeans, and if African museum staff received a better salary, perhaps they would not sell anything.

On September 14th 2017, Julien Volper wondered paternalistically, in Le Figaro, if the restituted artefacts “would be kept properly in African museums, if kept at all” (Volper 2017). In 2018, Guido Gryseels stated in an interview with the journalist Michel Bouffioux, that one could discuss the restitution of a number of objects at least if a museum, on-site could guarantee good preservation and safety (Bouffioux 2018g). In March 2019, he repeated before the Chamber of Representatives that the necessary know-how to guarantee the preservation of the objects is currently lacking in the African museums and that this knowledge is a prerequisite to proceed with restitution (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2019b: 25). In Kinshasa on November 23th 2019, the former national museum on Mont Ngaliema was finally replaced by a new one, constructed by the Korean Agency of International Cooperation (Couttenier 2018: 80). Yet in January 2020 Guido Gryseels claimed at the colloquium about restitution, organised by the Académie Royale de Belgique, that storage space was provided for only 12,000 objects and therefore there is no room for the other 23,000 objects they currently own (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). In sum, can the infrastructure of the claimant countries ever be good enough according to Western criteria or standards? Do Western institutions actually have the right to impose conditions?

Sarr and Savoy do not deny that some museums are not yet ready to receive their objects, but it has already been proven in previous restitution cases that the countries in question are willing to then do everything to create the best possible circumstances for the preservation of the restituted items. They clearly state in the first phase of the restitution programme, described in their report, that the recipient countries determine when they are ready to receive (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 34, 63).

The authors mention that the representatives of the joint commissions, yet to be set up, will have to provide advice on a case-by-case basis in order to organise the restitution practically and to coordinate any exchange of know-how (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 68). The authors of the German report do not impose any conditions, but they stress again the importance of dialogue with the countries or communities to discuss case-by-case the practical measures to take for ‘return’ (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 154).

Kathleen Adams, an American socio-cultural anthropologist, proclaims that when Westerners impose conditions on source communities concerning the restituted artefacts, this testifies to a new paternalism. It is true that objects can get lost after restitution when no conditions are imposed, she states, yet she believes that one has to respect the desires of the communities of origin. How, for example, can we impose conditions on objects created by the indigenous communities with the intention of gradually disappearing “so that their internal life forces can return to the universe?” (Catteeuw 2019a: 60-63). Opoku, as well, denounces the neo-colonial and racist mentality of Europeans who impose conditions on possible restitutions and claim the right of oversight over cultural objects even after their ‘return’ to the provenance countries. He wonders whether there is much difference between the opponents of restitution and the proponents who attach conditions to the act (Opoku 2018). He indignantly adds that Western unwillingness and the restraint to restitute “must be analysed by psychiatrists and psychologists” (Opoku 2019a). The current minister of foreign affairs of Benin Aurélien Agbénonci, agrees and states that it is unjustified that Western countries put conditions on restitution. It cannot be that the robbed must justify to the descendants of the thieves how they are going to conserve their property (Gbaguidi 2019). In my opinion, conditions can never be imposed. After all, the objects may legally be Western property, but they certainly are not morally. The question then arises, is the West indeed the perfect guardian? The Royal Belgian Institute for Natural Sciences, lost one of the three skulls of tribal chiefs, who were beheaded between 1882-1885 in Congo (Bouffioux 2018f). The three skulls were transferred from Tervuren to the Royal Institute of Natural Sciences in Brussels in 1964. The acquisition files and other documents that would allow one to learn more about the history of these human remains have unfortunately been lost (Bouffioux 2019h). Moreover, was it not in Belgium where water leaked through the roof in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts (Van Synghel 2018)? How things can go wrong in Germany proves the following example. The expedition army of Emperor Willem II seized in China one hundred and ninety-seven flags in 1897 and took them to Berlin. During the Second World War bombing, one hundred and eighty flags were burnt in the museum. The former

East German prime minister, Otto Grotewohl, ‘returned’ the remaining ten flags to China in 1955 as a gift (Catteeuw et al. 2019: 306).

The concern whether the countries of origin can take care of their heritage seems to be common fallacy abused by governments to postpone restitution time and time again. Jos van Beurden, as well, wonders whether the Dutch are not trying to avoid the discussion about restitutions by constant insisting on the poor infrastructure of Indonesian museums (van Beurden 2017: 167). According to Opoku, many “liberal museum directors and intellectuals” are pro-restitution, but not without attaching many conditions (Opoku 2018). These descendants of the so-called European Enlightenment continue to interfere with how Africans should deal with their own property. This is a neo-colonial way of thinking. It is time to put these superior feelings aside and finally recognise the former colonies as adult states. It cannot be denied that objects are still disappearing from African museums, which are then eagerly bought by Western buyers. This sensitive subject is ideally discussed in an equal professional manner and should not be an obstacle to the restitution process (van Beurden 2017: 167, 224). No conditions should be imposed on the countries of origin, but at their request, and only then, should Western institutions be willing to share their experiences and preserving methods. Once again, establishing a healthy dialogue with the communities of origin is vital.

In this paragraph, I refer and elaborate further on the aforementioned reflection whether restitution can actually mean a reparation. There is a common fear that restitution will inevitably be accompanied by ‘reparation’ referring to repayment for past wrongdoings. When the announced ‘truth commission’ eventually starts in September 2020 to investigate the Belgium’s colonial past in Congo, Rwanda, and Burundi, it is more than conceivable that ‘reparations’ will also be discussed (Reynebeau 2020). At the beginning of 2019, the UN working group ‘Experts on people of African descent’, advised Belgium to officially apologise (Brussels Express s.d.). This call, however, was not answered probably mainly out of fear that confessing to guilt would result in damage claims. In 2019, Charles Michel, as prime minister at the time, apologised to the Métis children (children of Congolese mothers and Belgian colonials) who were abducted to Belgium during independence. Yet, the promised reparation never resulted in anything concrete (Samanga 2019). Recently, on June 30th 2020, the 60th anniversary of the independence of Congo, King Filip expressed his deepest regret to Félix Tshisekedi for Belgium’s atrocities in Congo. He chose not to use the word apology because according to him, the description deepest regret reflects more his personal feeling. Official apologies could have more legal scope (Vidal 2020). Kagabo Pilipili, a

Congolese historian, calculated in 1990 that Belgium owes US$500 billion to its ex-colony. In his open letter addressed to Macron, Manthia Diawara points out that restitution is not a priority. First of all, there must come an end to the ongoing plundering of all of Africa's resources. Africa has been "amputée de ses jambes" by Europe, as a result of colonisation, among others (Diawara 2019). He calls for a Macron Plan by analogy with the Marshall Plan which enabled the economic revival of several European countries after World War II. The Macron Plan should be financed by Europe and America who are the first to benefit from Africa’s natural resources. With the money an economic plan should be developed to re-launch Africa (Diawara 2019). Mbembe also states that restitution and reparation are inseparably linked. He strives for financial justification for the harm done (Mbembe 2018). Idesbald Goddeeris, a Belgian historian, calls “for us to be more aware of the impact of colonisation and to end the structures that still persist today (…) instead of having impossible discussions about compensation” (Goddeeris 2019).

So far, I elaborated on the issues interwoven with the questions why we should consider restitution, which objects are eligible, who can claim restitution and to whom should objects be restituted, and when and how is restitution supposed to happen. Yet, it turns out that the biggest hurdle to jump is the juridical aspect of the debate, as I explain in the following section.

3.2.6. The juridical aspect

Until the end of the 19th century it was generally accepted from a legal point of view that the conqueror was entitled to loot and appropriate the possessions of the conquered. Also in the 19th century, the confiscation of cultural objects and their juridical appropriation by the conquering states was inextricably linked to wars and colonialism (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 9-10). Restitution claims and the growing sense of moral obligation concerning the restitution of the illegally obtained objects are a pressing issue and oblige museums and all stakeholders to develop juridical solutions. I investigate whether international instruments or national legislation exist to make restitution feasible. Which option gives the best guarantee for success, traditional litigating or alternative procedures such as negotiating or mediating? In this analysis I examine some developments without striving for completeness.

One of the first efforts to protect cultural heritage was undertaken in 1954 after the devastation of the Second World War. The Hague Convention was established ‘For the protection of cultural property in the event of armed conflict’ (UNESCO 1954: 4). In the 1960s, when most African

countries became independent, the mindset of the United Nations changed in favour of the former colonies (Belgische Senaat 2003). This resulted in, among other things, the drawing up of the UNESCO Convention on ‘The means of prohibiting and preventing the illicit import, export and transfer of cultural property’ in 1970. The content offers an answer to the rise in thefts from museums, to the illicit import and export of cultural heritage, and to facilitate the restitution of looted objects. This treaty needs to be incorporated into national law before it can be enforced. (UNESCO 2018: 27; Belgische Senaat 2003) Twenty-five years later, this treaty is supplemented by the UNIDROIT Convention on ‘Stolen or illicitly exported cultural objects’ and reconciles the private laws of the member states concerning restitution of the misappropriated or illegal traffic of cultural objects. France ratified the 1970 UNESCO Convention in 1997, Germany in 2007, and Belgium in 2009 to this date. I would like to mention that the principles have not been implemented into Belgian national law. Ratification and implementation into national law, however, is important because after the passing of these acts, illegal trafficking becomes a crime. Belgium never endorsed the UNIDROIT Convention, neither have Germany or France to date. Many countries are reluctant to ratify this treaty because, among other things, it reverses the burden of proof (Belgische Senaat 2003). Where according to the UNESCO Convention the claimant has to proof that the current possessor acted in bad faith, the UNIDROIT protects the rights of the original owner, which means that the current owner must prove that he or she acted in good faith (UNIDROIT 1995: 3-4). Proponents of free art trade, among others, refuse to cooperate with this document that recognises that cultural objects are extensively looted and traded illegally, which makes restitution the only option. They put great pressure on the governments not to ratify this treaty (Belgische Senaat 2003). Are these conventions applicable in the case of objects looted in colonial context? Unfortunately not, since these instruments are intended for guidance in future conduct, they do not work retroactively. This means that objects taken before the date of implementation, 1972 for the UNESCO Convention and 1998 for the UNIDROIT Convention, are not subjected to the respective treaties (Belgische Senaat 2003). However, both conventions are important because they demonstrate an acquired understanding of the importance of protecting cultural objects against illegal trade. Those instruments show a clear preference for the restitution of looted items back to the original owners, rather than “for the legal validity of a bona fide acquisition” (Campfens 2014: 69, emphasis in original). In addition, the principles serve as a sensitisation and undeniable warning for art dealers, museum staff and for all people involved. They also encourage African states to draw attention to the responsibility of European countries to help them in their development by means of restitution, among other things (Busselen 2019: 365).

The non-retroactivity of the international instruments, the need to apply these principles on national level, “the validity of the good faith acquisition” in civil laws, and a number of other legal obstacles hinder restitution claims of colonial loaded items (Campfens 2014: 69, emphasis in original). A former ambassador of Nigeria states that there should not even be any legal interference because the displaced objects represent the soul of the people; therefore, it is a purely ethical question (Belgische Senaat). Over the past half century, many ethically based instruments have evolved. UNESCO has always promoted inter-state restitution of cultural objects, even before the implementation of the 1970 Convention (Campfens 2014: 72). This conviction was confirmed in M’Bow’s notorious ‘Plea for the return of an irreplaceable cultural heritage to those who created it’ in 1978 (UNESCO 1978). In order to offer a solution in respect of goods removed prior to 1972, UNESCO developed an intergovernmental committee in 1978 to facilitate a bilateral agreement for restitution claims. It does not apply the rule of law and can, therefore, act retroactively. The body can only provide advice in conflicts between states, and, as a mediator, already has been successful in a few cases, such as the restitution of 12,000 pre-Columbian items from Italy back to Ecuador in 1983. The Ecuadorian authorities confirmed that the moral support by the committee played a huge role in the success (UNESCO s.d.). Before the committee intervenes, it is assumed that previous bilateral negotiations between the states concerned have failed to lead to a mutual agreement (Campfens 2014: 81).

A growing ethical consensus in relation to the restitution of looted cultural objects is also reflected in the Code of Ethics for Museums drawn up by ICOM in 1999, updated in 2004 (Prott 2009a: 103 -104). The minimum standards laid down in the Ethical Code are mandatory for the ICOM members although the instrument is not legally binding. Museums are required to enter into dialogue with the source communities and to proceed to the restitution of cultural heritage taking into account “local, national and international legislation” based on “scientific, professional and humanitarian principles” (ICOM 2004: 33). The organisation also prohibits institutions from exhibiting objects of dubious origin to clearly show that illegal trade is rejected (ICOM 2004: 25). In 2007, another international guideline, the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, likewise designed from an ethical point of view, advocates enabling the restitution of ceremonial artefacts and human remains. According to this declaration indigenous peoples have the explicit right to their dislocated heritage, which was taken from them in violation of their laws and traditions without prior consent (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 104-105). Unfortunately, this declaration is again not legally binding. However, according to Lyndel Prott, an Australian expert in cultural

heritage law, this declaration shows the transforming attitudes concerning this sensitive topic (Prott 2009a: 105).

She points to alternative routes such as negotiation, mediation, and arbitration to address restitution claims successfully (Prott 2009a: 106). Evelien Campfens, a Dutch expert in international cultural property law, points out that vigilance is required when alternative routes such as mediation and negotiation are chosen instead of litigation. On the one hand, this alternative way of achieving a result can be the only option; on the other hand, the role of the persuasive party in the unequal power balance, political motives, or economic interests can lead to an unfair solution, especially when no neutral third party is involved. Legal principles remain key “if only by way of analogy” in order to reach a fair solution (Campfens 2014: 80-83).

Now that I have listed the international instruments which are in fact not useful for restitution of colonial items and the general trend in this field, I take a closer look at the French report, the German guidelines and the state of affairs in Belgium regarding their respective legal frameworks.

Sarr and Savoy point out that the principle hindrance to restitution in France is the concept of inalienability. All cultural items, including collections of public museums, cannot be transferred since they are state property. As a result, restitution is technically impossible. Yet, France was able to repatriate some human remains. The repatriation of the remains of Saartjie Baartman and the Maori heads was achieved by the application of the law of exception. This is a particular law that points to the unique nature of human remains and that is based on ethical considerations. Sarr and Savoy also point out that international laws do not provide an immediate answer to make restitution of colonial objects legally possible (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 72-73, 75). Therefore, they propose in their guidelines an alternative juridical apparatus that would make restitutions in the future more possible. They suggest a bilateral agreement of cultural collaboration with the countries of origin to legitimise restitution inscribed in the ‘French Cultural Heritage Code’, which will then have to be modified. This bilateral agreement would not only include artefacts which entered into museums, but archives as well. A joint commission of experts will assess the research files of the items and eventually decide if the items can be restituted (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 77-81). Sceptics find this proposal inapplicable and a result of exaggerated fantasy (Marbot 2020: 4). As mentioned before, France ratified the UNESCO Convention of 1970 on ‘The means of prohibiting and preventing the illicit import, export and transfer of ownership of cultural property’ in 1997.

Consequently, objects from illicit trafficking entering the museum collections after 1997 are not public property and are therefore eligible for restitution (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 74).

Can colonial heritage be restituted under German law today? It appears that current German national law does not facilitate restitution of colonial cultural heritage. The authors of the German guidelines point out that the development of both national and international legal instruments would be interesting. There is a general consensus that colonial objects can be restituted on ethical grounds, but the legal uncertainty remains as to whether the museums can make restitution decisions on this basis. At the meeting of the culture ministers of all sixteen German federal states, it was decided that restitution is permissible and that legal instruments will be created if necessary to assist in the restitution of objects from colonial contexts (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 105-106). Surely this offers a certain perspective. Concerning the repatriation of human remains, the separate German guidelines, ‘Recommendations for the Care of Human Remains in Museums and Collections’, established in 2013, lack a specific law on how to deal with repatriation requests. The demand to repatriate the Herero skulls to Namibia demonstrated the importance of putting ethical considerations before legislation. A number of repatriations have already taken place in 2011 and 2013.

What is the situation in Belgium? The collections of the Belgian Royal Institutes are inalienable property of the federal state. Museums can only decide on loans by themselves, whereas decisions on restitution can only be made by the Federal Minister for Science Policy, and they require the approval of parliament. Marie-Sophie De Clippele, a postdoctoral researcher in law and lecturer at the University Saint-Louis in Brussels, envisages three paths to achieve restitution for the colonial items that are housed in Belgian institutes. The logical path is by courtesy, but one must then be prepared to overcome many obstacles such as, among others, the inalienability of the collection, the statute of limitations, the often difficult traceable provenance, the long duration of a trial, and the different legal systems of the countries concerned. An alternative unilateral way to reach a solution is through the provision of an exception to the civil law, in which France has already succeeded for the repatriation of human remains (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). As Aurélien Agbénonci’s, the minister of foreign affairs in Benin states, “les lois doivent s’adapter aux réalités du temps” (Gbaguidi 2019). De Clippele also suggests the possibility of reaching a bilateral agreement, through negotiation, mediation, or arbitration. Most of all she pleads for dialogue to be entered into, cooperation with all stakeholders, the expansion of provenance research, and every possible effort to be made to reach a correct and fair solution. She notes a

positive political interest and legal evolution in Belgium. When Belgium ratified the UNESCO 1970 convention in 2009, however, a formal consultation platform was set up to enable transposition into national law by 2011 but to date, no results are known from this platform. In 2017 the Belgian Strategic Advisory Council on Culture (SARC) confirmed that Belgium is making little effort to prevent illicit trafficking of cultural goods (Vlaamse Overheid 2017). Political declarations do not always have concrete outcomes.

Nevertheless, some efforts are being made on different levels. As I mentioned before, Zuhal Demir, former State Secretary for Science Policy, founded a working group in September 2018 to examine the status of human remains conserved in Belgian institutions and their possible repatriation. This working group has to investigate whether the existing legal framework can be used in this context or if additional legislation is needed. The findings of the working group will be presented to the government, as it is the government that has final say in this matter. Yet, no results are known from this initiative to date (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2018: 2-3). In the same year, Bamko-Cran asked in an open letter that the government take out of State ownership of “property that is known to have been acquired through looting, theft, and murder (…)” (DeStandaard s.d.b). In the resolution of March 2019, the federal government is requested to strive for an international legal framework in which the restitution of cultural heritage between states is regulated (Kamer van volksvertegenwoordigers 2019a: 3). The beforementioned Flemish working group on restitution supported by FARO and the ‘HOME project’ focus on both the juridical aspect of disputed collections and human remains. I note that many initiatives are being taken; nevertheless, effective restitution is not forthcoming.

A large part of the collections housed in Western institutions were collected long before the existence of any legislation concerning the protection of cultural heritage. The lack of retroactive legislation today reflects the unequal balance of power that still persists between the North and the South (DeStandaard s.d.a). Yet, there is a growing moral consensus that stolen items need to be restituted (Prott 2009a: 103-104). It turns out that using the legal path to make restitution successfully is not the easiest way, as it involves a great deal of obstacles. Choosing an alternative path, such as through mediation or negotiation, offers advantages in reaching a mutual balanced solution, provided that the approach is inspired by law and preferably involves a neutral third party (Campfens 2014: 88). Lyndell Prott emphasises the importance of case-by-case treatment, a general mandatory procedure should not be, in her view, the only solution given the delicate

nature of the restitution of cultural heritage (Prott 2009a: 106). There is no doubt that dialogue and cooperation between all stakeholders are key to achieving a just and fair result.

After examining all of the issues associated with restitution it has become clear why the act of restitution can be an important step in the decolonisation process. After all, the debate on restitution calls into question the unequal balance of power, and when restitution actually takes place, this may partially redress colonial injustices. Guidelines can contribute to decolonisation by reshaping the ingrained pattern of thinking about how to deal with colonial objects. I try to distil in the conclusion what Belgium can learn from the recommendations of France and Germany to create its own principles on how to deal with colonial collections. My intention is not to solve the question but to draw attention to a number of key elements which I believe should have already been taken into account. First, I wonder what role the AfricaMuseum can play in this decolonisation process and specifically in paving the way for restitution. In addition, I question whether guidelines can offer an important contribution to this.

4. Paving the way for restitution in the AfricaMuseum

The roles assigned to a museum today are multifaceted, and they constantly have to adapt to the needs of an evolving society, increasing globalisation, and the changing nature of social relations and communication (Kratz & Karp 2006: 4). In fact, their original mission of merely safeguarding heritage has been superseded. Many actors, such as funders, academics, people who are represented in the museum displays, among others, rightly want to have a say, which, on the one hand, leads to fruitful collaborations and debates but, on the other hand, to tensions and conflicts, summarised as ‘Museum Frictions’ by Kratz and Karp (Kratz & Karp 2006: 1). The classic Western representation of ‘the other’ has been surpassed and is giving way to a participatory polyphony, a growing awareness and involvement of the diaspora and an opening to decolonisation and restitution (Bienkowski 2014: 37-39). Museum policies have to reflect the “world view and rights with regard to the ownership, representation and interpretation of material culture” (Simpson 1996: 266).

Sarr and Savoy dedicate only one sentence in their guidelines to the exhibiting issue of colonial objects. They mention that the intention is to establish joint commissions between France and the African states involved to formulate recommendations for exhibiting African items in French museums (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 69). In anticipation of any restitution, decolonising the museum practice is, however, important because through displays, visitors often uniniated, come into contact with colonial objects, so it is the museums’ task to tell the correct narrative.

The German guidelines were drafted by the Deutscher Museums Bund, so it is obvious that they spent an entire chapter on ‘Decolonising collections and exhibition management’. They insist on dialogue and collaboration between institutions and source communities (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 70). By decolonising collections, they mean a revision of the labelling and categorisation of colonial collections, which often reflect a Western point of view, and this needs to be done in cooperation with diaspora and the representatives of the indigenous communities. They propose to flag objects with colonial context to sensitise and raise awareness. Research should also be carried out in collaboration, and when publishing and making the findings digitally accessible, one must take into account the opinions and sensitivities of the source communities. By decolonising exhibition management, the authors mean the full involvement of the representatives of diaspora or the source communities when organising exhibitions. Where Sarr and Savoy merely assign an advisory role to communities of origin, the Deutscher Museums Bund aims to engage them fully in

exhibition management in order to share knowledge on an equal base, to correct stereotyping images, and to improve valuable relationships. ‘Returning’ objects is part of the decolonisation process, but again they state that not all objects of colonial contexts are by definition eligible. (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 117-120). The German guidelines stress how fruitful cooperation with source communities can be by including four inspiring cases from abroad, as they probably do not have any national examples yet (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 70-83).

When the AfricaMuseum reorganised its permanent exhibition, it could only invoke the ICOM principles. The revised version of the German guidelines was only published in 2019 after the reopening of the museum. The Code of Ethics for Museums established by ICOM, set minimum standards for its members regarding the responsibilities that they must assume in 2004 (ICOM 2004: 3). I notice that they are very much in line with the focal point in the German guidelines. I sum up the most relevant ICOM instructions in the context of my research, namely those principles that help pave the way to decolonisation and restitution. ICOM stipulates in art. 4.2 that museums should ensure that the information they present in displays and exhibitions is well- founded and accurate. In art. 4.6, it is stressed that any publication published by museums, whatever the medium, must be well-founded and accurate. In chapter 6 the Code of Ethics stimulates the development of partnerships with institutions in the countries of origin and collaboration with the communities from which their collections originate. When a government or a community applies for restitution, the museum concerned must immediately and responsibly cooperate, provided that the object was taken in violation of national and international treaties. In art. 2.20, it is underlined that the documentation of the museum collection must contain a “complete identification and description of each object, context, provenance, condition, treatment and current location” (ICOM 2004: 13, 25-26, 33-34). I explore whether the AfricaMuseum in Tervuren today conforms to these aforementioned important museum responsibilities, endorsed by ICOM. In this analysis, I confine myself to a number of observations without striving for completeness. Firstly, I investigate to what extent the AfricaMuseum provides and distributes transparent information about disputed colonial objects. Then I take a closer look at the extent in which the institution cooperates with diaspora and source communities. I investigate whether Belgian guidelines would have been valuable for the museum to deal with the objects when they reorganised the permanent exhibition, between 2013 and 2018, and whether instructions could be useful now to make certain adjustments to the exhibits.

After five years of renovation, the museum in Tervuren reopened on December 8th 2018. As this was an excellent opportunity to make a complete U-turn from a colonial propaganda museum to a decolonial institution, the expectations were high. At the time of the establishment of the museum, in 1898, the goal was to promote the ‘civilisation’ of the colony, to encourage scientific research, and to attract investors into the Congo Free State. Today, the director, Guido Gryseels, acknowledges that “the museum has long spread a message of Western supremacy deeply rooted in racism” (AfricaMuseum 2020a). The purpose of the renovation was to present a critical view on colonisation (Lismond-Mertes 2019a: 25). The renovated museum presents itself worldwide as the largest research centre on Central Africa in four areas: earth sciences, biology, history, and anthropology. According to the current director modern themes are now on display, such as biodiversity and sustainable development, rites and ceremonies, languages and music, and the long history of Africa and its colonial chapter. The museum wants to be a forum for debate and gives voice to Africans in the exhibits (Lismond-Mertes 2019a: 25).

At the reopening of the museum, Alexander Decroo, the former vice premier, mentioned the following in his opening speech: “The page we turn, we know, is the page of our colonial past as it was represented by the museum we take leave of today” (De Croo 2018). But has that page been turned completely?

4.1. Transparency and accessibility

Firstly, I take a close look at one of the most important museum task, namely providing well- founded and accurate information as ICOM prescribes.

During an interview in March 2018, before the reopening of the museum, Michel Bouffioux asked the museum director whether the violent circumstances in which some objects were acquired would be clearly indicated in the renovated museum. Guido Gryseels answered: Absolutely (…) there will be no taboos about this subject” (Bouffioux 2018g). However, in the book accompanying the opening exhibition of the AfricaMuseum: ‘Unrivalled Art’, the director says the following in his foreword: "These objects are among the ethnographic masterpieces of the AfricaMuseum” (Gryseels 2018: 7). In the same book, Julien Volper, curator of the exhibition, limits himself to the description of the fetish Nkisi Nkonde to:

“This Nkisi Nkonde was owned by one of the great chiefs of Boma, Ne Kuko, with whom Alexander Delcommune (…) had come into conflict. The importance of this statue was considerable: when the men of Delcommune had come into possession of it (…)” (Volper 2018: 15, own emphasis).

The exhibition clearly focuses on the artistic side of the objects. In the case of the Nkisi Nkonde, the ugly background of the violent and bloody behaviour of the dominant Delcommune is only articulated by the words “had come into conflict” and “had come into possession” (Volper 2018: 15). Why is nothing mentioned about the cruel appropriation and the restitution claims? Why has the in-depth provenance investigation by Maarten Couttenier been omitted? Gryseels states that the careful use of words in the exhibition and in publications such as ‘violence’ instead of ‘crime’ is a conscious choice because the museum wants to give the visitor scientific facts without adding an activist opinion (Lismond-Mertes 2019a: 30). Yet in my opinion, this is where the danger lies in that the use of euphemistic words can detract from the truth; moreover, withholding information equals a certain form of lying. Hugo DeBlock also criticises the lack of clarity regarding the disputed history and ownership discussions (DeBlock 2019: 278). In-depth explanations are also avoided concerning the aforementioned contested objects such as the Luuba-mask. Although the AfricaMuseum possesses a copy of the diary of Lapière, which reveals the cruel acquisition of the Nkisi Nkonde by Alexander Delcommune. One can only wonder why this information is not being reported to the public.

While at the museum, the visitor will not get a deeper explanation of the statues and masks in the ‘Unrivalled Art’ department. An uninitiated person cannot make a connection with the colonial history gallery literally on the opposite side of the building, where, admittedly, limited explanations are given about the ways in which certain objects were collected. Boris Wastiaux, director of the Musée d'ethnographie de Genève, also points out that museums, as public institutions, have a duty to make history comprehensible to a broad public (Wastiau 2017: 461). In Tervuren, however, the historical knowledge of the object is not always directly linked to the respective item in the exhibition, which only confuses the visitor. At the start of the museum tour, visitors enter the sculpture depot. The intention of this depot is positive because statues that used to be part of the permanent exhibition and that contributed to the stereotypical imaging of Africa have now been banished to a separate room in the basement. Yet, this space also provides limited information as to why the objects grouped together no longer belong in the new exhibition. An uninitiated visitor can never understand the whole context. Nowhere in the museum the link is

made clear between the way certain objects are collected, their altered position in the museum, and consequently the logical emergence of restitution claims. The interactive digital screens as well do not offer far-reaching explanations. Although this is contrary to the museum’s restitution policy, approved by the board of directors on January 31st 2020, published on the website, they state that, regarding the current debate on the restitution of African cultural heritage, the museum is taking an open and constructive stance (AfricaMuseum 2020b). Yet, the word restitution is absent in the displays today. No reference is made to the investigation Maarten Couttenier conducted into the Nkisi Nkonde for a period of six months, which included an on-site investigation. No mention is made of three informal requests to restitute this war booty, either, not in the catalogue, not in the temporary exhibition, not in the colonial history gallery and not in the museum inventory. For a museum that claims to be making an outright turnabout, attempting to achieve decolonisation after renovation, and taking into account the current international debate on restitution, this is really a missed opportunity.

Should not all opportunities be used to make the general public aware of the historically correct narrative? Should museums not be transparent with regard to all the provenance data on an object in their possession? The German guidelines raise the question of whether objects with a problematic background can be exhibited. The answer is affirmative, “at least if the issue is suitably addressed” (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 135). Is this unclear or absent explanation, this silence, a minimisation of Belgium’s violent colonial past, a reflection of the curatorial fear of opening Pandora's box as the result of making compromises, or is the aesthetic aspect more important than the ethical? Is it assumed that in-depth information is not important to the ordinary visitor? The American anthropologist Sally Price, however, points out not to underestimate the curiosity and the intelligence of the museumgoers. Some of them are eager to gain further insight (Price 2007: 163). The visitor is now supposed to be able to make the necessary connections. The intention is that the museum visitor can form an own opinion, says Gryseels (Lismond-Mertes 2019a: 26). I agree with this statement, provided that enough tools are offered. Additionally, and I cannot emphasise this enough, I hereby fully support Amandine Lauro and Benoit Henriet, both Belgian historians, who objectively state that transparently transmitting the past, historically correct, in all its stratification and complexity, is important for a better understanding of the present. Colonial history is essentially a terrible story of racial violence, the consequences of which African descendants still bear to this day (Vanthemsche 2019). Throughout history, there have been and still are numerous examples of communities or people who feel the uncontrollable urge to oppress and dominate over the so-called others: the domination of the Nazis over the Jews, the Han

Chinese over the Uyghurs, the Turkish over the Kurds are some examples. Among African communities, one example is the Hutu – Tutsi conflict in Rwanda. Colonial dominance in the past has created a huge global problem still felt today. Since colonisation, the oppression of people with African roots has become a structural system. The unequal distribution of power has both economic, humanitarian, and social consequences for Africans, and it has already led to countless confrontations. White people have made black people feel inferior, and this is so terribly ingrained that the feeling still exists and is experienced among black communities today. The recent incident with George Floyd in Minneapolis after a police action got out of hand, the reaction of the international movement #BlackLivesMatter in the United States and other countries, the iconoclastic views in England of the statue of the slave trader Edward Colston, and the smearing of statues of Leopold II in Belgium are essentially to be seen as the aftermath of slavery and colonial exploitation. Not that correct historiography will eradicate this form of discrimination and racism, but it can contribute to important insights into destructive power mechanisms in order to avoid conflicts, to prevent damaging acts, and to search for diplomatic constructive solutions (AfricaMuseum 2020a). As Bouffioux reminds us: "(…) le racisme, ce fils naturel de l’ignorance” (Bouffioux 2019b). We can at least expect that a museum that wants to decolonise will provide historically correct information and will not withhold any known data, such as the existing restitution requests. We should certainly bear in mind, as Kwame Opoku reminds us, that an historically correct display is not the same as restitution (van Beurden 2017: 219).

The AfricaMuseum admits that there is still much work to be done in the fields of inventory, digitisation, and provenance research. However, if you use the search function on the website of the museum to find more information about, for instance, the Nkisi Nkonde statue, you will arrive at the booklet in which a brief description of the statue is given, in English, Dutch, French, and German, with inventory number. Analogously, in the description within the catalogue of the temporary exhibition, ‘Unrivalled Art’, the atrocities are also described with concealing words and nothing is mentioned about the restitution claims. In the museum’s restitution policy, it is explained that they strive to digitise and make available online the inventory, archives, photographs, and films and to transfer them into digital form to the countries concerned. When all this should be finished is not included in the policy (AfricaMuseum 2020b). As an aside, I would like to mention that as early as 2003 Gryseels talked about urgently improving access to collections for researchers in Africa and even for the general public (Belgische Senaat 2003). To date, most of the archives of the AfricaMuseum are searchable through its database. Yet currently, as of August 2020, the search function is only available in French. A multilingual version is

planned to come online in the course of 2020. When I search for the key figures of the five aforementioned emblematic cases, I find a short description of the lifecycle of Alexander Delcommune and Léon Rom without any mention of their violent and cruel actions and, as far as Delcommune is concerned, without a link to the Nkisi Nkonde. In order to consult other documents related to the names, one can make an appointment. Via the link ‘Fonds Storms, Emile’, the extensive biography of Storms is available in which the bloody conflict with Lusinga is described, so only in the case of the aforementioned is the connection between the way of collecting the respective object and the collector made clear. It is a work in progress. In some countries, they even collaborate with the communities of origin in archives to achieve greater inclusiveness and equality. This participatory approach can have many positive effects, such as strengthening the community, taking into account their wishes, and helping to restore their memories (Van Mulder 2019: 437-439).

A glance at the online inventory of the ethnographic collection of the AfricaMuseum quickly reveals that the method of acquisition is not mentioned there either. See here, as an example, the Nkisi Nkonde statue with its current limited description, although it is fully known how the fetish came into the possession of Alexander Delcommune. In Germany, museums are even recommended to flag their colonial objects in the inventories (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 125-126). This seems like a good suggestion to draw attention to possibly disputed content of the collection.

Figure 7: Own foto of the Nkisi Nkonde in the online inventory of the AfricaMuseum

The AfricaMuseum also states in its intentions that, in the field of provenance research, the institute will give priority to the provenance research of its collections. African scientists will also be able to participate in this research through a ‘new Scientist-in-Residence programme and the Visiting Scientist programme’. What is missing in their policy is the notion that digitisation and provenance research should not distract attention away from physical restitution (AfricaMuseum 2020b). This comment is also important to include in the future guidelines so that museums cannot hide behind endless research and, thus, delay any restitution. In the French guidelines the authors go far with a concrete list for effective restitution of objects within a certain time limit, as I mentioned earlier. The German guidelines do not list anything but place all the responsibility with the museums. I hope that the Belgian instructions will at least formulate recommendations to proceed with restitution, including a time limit for the currently known objects that have already been informally (Nkisi Nkonde and Lusinga’s skull) or formally (the Maori heads and the digital archive on mixed-race populations of Congo), requested so that things can finally move forward. So far, the digitisation of the Rwandan archives is the only successful restitution act.

4.2. Dialogue and collaborations

Lastly, when I examine the AfricaMuseum with respect to the important aspect in the decolonisation debate, namely dialogue and collaboration with all the African voices, the museum's intention to cooperate with the African international community is apparent from the establishment of COMRAF, the museums’ African commission for consultation, in 2003. From the beginning of this century the AfricaMuseum aimed to increase the involvement of the diaspora by creating a contact zone (Ceuppens 2014: 93). Mary Louise Pratt, an American Silver Professor at New York University, defined the concept as follows:

“(…) where cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power, such as colonialism, slavery, or their aftermaths as they are lived out in many parts of the world today.” (Pratt cited in Ceuppens 2014: 94)

The committee consisted of representatives of the diaspora with the aim of advising the AfricaMuseum on all activities and exhibitions. During the preparations for the renovation, however, the cooperation with the six COMRAF appointees, les six was stopped to the great displeasure of Billy Kalonji, chair of COMRAF. He claimed that the museum must rely on cooperation with the diaspora if it really wants to decolonise (Busselen 2019: 379; DeBlock 2019: 272-273). Raymond A. Silverman, an American professor in the department African Studies at the

University of Michigan, argues that collaboration failures can turn into successes. Investigating the cause of a project fiasco may be even more important than evaluating why a project was successful. Important insights can be acquired that can activate a new dialogue and give a positive twist to the exhibition process. According to Silverman, one can learn a lot from failure. He points to the fact that one of the greatest challenges for museums is to relinquish part of their dominant position; this imbalance must be addressed. In order to decolonise museum practices, much time must be made available for negotiations. This should not be underestimated because a lack of time is the most common cause of collaboration failures. Therefore, Silverman advocates ‘slow museology’ (Silverman 2015: 2, 12-13). Maybe in Tervuren they do not invest enough time to really engage in dialogue or maybe they underestimate the time it takes to achieve a mutually beneficial result. Nevertheless, the brainwork for museum renovations started twenty years ago, which is plenty of time you would think.

In the development of the renewed permanent exhibition, the collaboration with contemporary African artists was not always easy. The museum itself was built to propagate the colony of King Leopold II and consequently has a number of symbols and statues which form an integral part of the heritage-listed building. These stereotyping images clearly interfere with the decolonial image the museum wants to project today. African artists were, therefore, asked to create installations that would offset this colonial propaganda. In this way, the Congolese artist Aimé Mpané wanted to form a contrast in the rotunda to the protected bronze statues representing stereotypical colonial imaging, using his wooden statue ‘The New Breath or the Budding Congo’.

Figure 8. Own photo of the adapted rotunda in the AfricaMuseum

According to the artist, his intention was to place the statue in the middle of the rotunda, exactly where the statue of Leopold II used to stand, on the star in the floor. The museum staff initially agreed to this, but eventually shifted the statue, without any explanation, from the centre to the sideline. Yet recently, the arrangement has been updated: Mpané confronts the aforementioned head with the wooden skull of Chief Lusinga, representing the traumatic past. Information boards explaining the two wooden statues invite the visitor to stand physically and mentally on the star between the two images, literally between a tragic past and the optimistic, hopeful future (Lismond-Mertes 2019b: 56). The story behind Lusinga is told briefly, but this time the cruel truth is revealed as follows: "the chief's head was cut off and taken to Belgium as booty of war." Yet, the restitution claims are still kept quiet.

Additionally, the sixteen bronze statues in the niches are fronted with semi-transparent canvases with digital prints confronting the dubious underlying statues. The aim of the RE/STORE project is to reinterpret history instead of erasing the past.

Figure 9. Own photo of a bronze statue with semi-transparent canvas

On the information panel next to the statue shown in figure nine, the following is noted: “While the generous, sensual body of the African woman seemed destined to serve the coloniser’s whims, the Congolese man was destined to devote his body’s near-perfect muscles to toiling relentlessly for the benefit of his white master”.

The re-approach to the rotunda testifies that the decolonisation of the museum is still a work in progress, but it also suggests that the staff is open to making improvements and adjustments. It is a pity, however, that the importance of finding a solution for these heavily contested stereotypical sculptures was only recognised after the reopening of the museum. This is an example of how concrete instructions for museums on how to deal with the exhibits of compromising objects could have guided the museum staff towards a solution right from the start of the renewed exhibition. While the museum’s cooperation with the African international community has not always been easy, collaborations with African countries seem to be more successful. In the 'Restitution Policy of the Royal Museum for Central Africa, January 2020' it is stipulated that the museum will continue to collaborate with the Institut des Musées Nationaux du Congo (IMNC), the Institute of National Museums of Rwanda (INMR), and the Musée des Civilisations Noires (MCN) in Dakar in terms of, among others, collection management, travelling exhibitions, and the digitisation of archives (AfricaMuseum 2020b). Working together is not always easy and represents a major challenge for the museum, the diaspora, and the source communities. ‘Museum Frictions’, to use the title of the book by Kratz and Karp, are normal, foreseeable, and can enrich the debate if approached positively (Kratz & Karp 2006: 1). I hope that the future guidelines, by highlighting the importance of cooperation with source communities and with the international African community, can contribute to the resumption of COMRAF and the further development of cooperation with the countries and communities of origin.

I conclude that the decolonisation of the AfricaMuseum is ongoing and that exhibiting will have to adapt constantly to changing ideas and current events in this multi-diverse society. Despite well- intended efforts, it turns out, in the limited matters I investigated in the AfricaMuseum, that it is difficult to set up an exhibition which is both acceptable to the former coloniser and colonised and is straightforward, especially in a building that breathes colonisation. It feels as if the way the exhibits were set up in Tervuren, at least for the sections I investigated, is a consequence of making compromises rather than a clear vision. An unambiguously maintained vision on decolonisation is currently hardly visible in the museum and cooperation with the diaspora has much room for improvement.

We can say that the museum attempts to comply with the instructions of ICOM, but adjustments still need to be made. The provision of transparent information needs to be completed in publications, in the museum’s displays, and in the inventory. Collaboration between the AfricaMuseum and institutions in the countries of origin seems to be successful, but cooperation

with the international African community and with source communities in the AfricaMuseum’s practice still has room for improvement. The re-approach to the rotunda is a hopeful evolution, but it testifies that decolonisation is an ongoing process. As Silverman states, museum management is “fundamentally processual in nature” (Silverman 2015: 2). By decolonising their collections and exhibition management, museums can raise a wide audience's awareness of the issues intertwined with colonial objects and, indirectly, pave the way for restitution. Museums can be spaces where bilateral collaboration with source communities can spark inventive ways of approach (Silverman 2015: 2).

5. Conclusion

The presence of a mass of colonial objects in Western institutions, often acquired under dubious circumstances, causes a great deal of commotion and poses a challenge to museums and the society as a whole today. Everything revolves around my research question ‘how to deal with the unequal distribution of ‘shared’ colonial heritage’. Whether or not restituting these disputed items to their country or community of origin is the main point of discussion in the heated debate. After all, restitution of colonial items is not an isolated issue but part of a larger global problem. Discriminatory and stereotyping practices, consequences of paternalistic behaviour during the colonial period, are still very present in many of today's societies.

In order to investigate the research question, I first had to find out how these objects ended up in Western museums. In chapter two, a brief overview of the colonial history of France, Germany, and Belgium, and specifically a description of why and how objects were gathered to enrich museum collections, illustrates that certain artefacts really do not belong in Western institutions. I noticed that over time the trades and exchanges with indigenous communities shifted from rather peaceful to transactions that were often the result of unequal power relations and even of unprecedented violence. It was during colonisation that collecting on a large scale reached its peak. This finding is highlighted by the narratives of a few emblematic Belgian cases of colonial collecting, namely the acquisition of Lusinga's skull, the buffalo mask, the Nkisi Nkonde, the Ndop statues, and the collections of Léon Rom. The hidden histories behind these appropriations have been uncovered by newspaper articles written by the Belgian journalist Michel Bouffioux, by Rik Ceyssens’ research on the collections of Oscar Michaux and by Maarten Couttenier's survey on the Nkisi Nkonde statue, among others. In these mentioned cases, the context in which the objects were collected is largely clear, but usually the precise provenance including the exact circumstances in which the objects were obtained are lacking, which poses one of the major problems in the restitution process.

The question of what to do with these unfairly obtained colonial objects is not a new one and has been posed since African nation-states celebrated their independence. Since the early 2010s, however, the African international community, journalists such as Michel Bouffioux, militant writers such as Kwame Opoku, film producers, the publications of the French and German guidelines, … forced the question onto the political agenda in both Europe and Africa (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 23-25). With all these actions and initiatives around the world, politicians can no

longer ignore this decolonisation urge, nor can they continue to postpone the difficult debate. The decolonisation process can only start if the West acknowledges past wrongdoings. Macron understood this need when in 2017 in Algiers he called colonisation “a crime against humanity” and he apologised to those “whom we have committed these acts” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 1). This was unheard of. The German government apologised to the Hereros more than hundred years after the fact (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 2). In Belgium, it took until June 30th 2020, the 60th anniversary of the independence of Congo, for King Filip unexpectedly to express his deepest regret to Félix Tshisekedi, the president of the DRC. He was the first Belgian king to recognise the atrocities of the Congolese colonial past (Vidal 2020).

There is not only the acknowledgement and the fact that restitution gives African youth access to their cultural heritage, which is a fundamental right; likewise there is a conviction that restitution can contribute to rectify the asymmetric North-South relation and restore the interrupted memory as well as aid in the shaping of their cultural identity. In spite of all this bringing back home stolen cultural objects appears to be of the utmost difficulty. The reason for this has everything to do with the many obstacles intertwined with restitution and the diverse, sometimes justified yet often unjustified, counterarguments raised by opponents, often simply to postpone effective restitution. Some persistent convictions clearly come from supporters of universal museums who still paternalistically think they are the protectors of the world heritage of all humankind, and that the infrastructure and know-how in the African countries will never be sufficient to preserve the objects safely. Some consider, for example, digital sharing, long-term loans and travelling exhibitions as perfect substitutes for restitution. The argument can be acceptable when agreed upon or on request of the respective community of origin, but it should be questioned and even refuted when it is used to deliberately keep the objects in Western institutions or to avoid ownership questions. Some concerns are justified, such as the fact that restitution is currently legally impossible due to inalienability, but others are often misused to block the debate. Being open to dialogue would solve much.

In chapter three, I analysed the French and German guidelines to see what recommendations they formulate for dealing with objects from colonial contexts and what position they take with regard to restitution. I also attempted to include at each time Belgium’s current state of affairs in regards to the matter. In examining the two reports on the basis of the questions regarding which objects are eligible for restitution, who can claim and to whom should be restituted, when and how

restitution is supposed to happen revealed a number of similarities between the two documents, but especially the different approach came to the fore.

A significant difference between both publications, is that the French report was ordered by President Macron, while the German guidelines are compiled on the initiative of the Deutscher Museums Bund. The French top-down report reflects the political will to improve international relations through restitution, while the German bottom-up report sees the guidelines as a way to sensitise and inform the institutions concerned and to offer practice oriented recommendations for the ‘Care of Collections from Colonial Contexts’. The principles serve as a basis on which each museum can formulate its own stance (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 12). The authors of the German guidelines, therefore, place all responsibility on the museums, while, according to the report by Sarr and Savoy, the French museums cannot act autonomously. The German principles are thus very noncommittal, which can lead to, for instance, the fact that one museum’s policy is aimed at effective ‘return’ while another promotes long-term loans. This ambiguity may cause confusion among claimants.

I further observed that the entire French report, ‘The Restitution of African Cultural Heritage. Toward a New Relation Ethics’, reflects a clear and resolute commitment pro-restitution, while the authors of the German guidelines emphasise that restitution is not the only way to deal with these items and that other possible routes should be discussed with the source communities, such as travelling exhibitions and long-term loans (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 144). The chapter ‘Recommendations for the return of objects’ is therefore just a fragment of the entire German report. In addition, the German authors choose to use the word ‘return’ in contrast to the French, who, by using the word restitution in the title make it clear from the outset that they acknowledge past wrongdoings since this underlying meaning is interwoven in the notion.

The French radical focus on restitution is further expressed in the recommendation that the restitution of a number of objects, the concrete list of which is included in the report, should take place immediately, within the first year after the publication of the report. The restitution of these emblematic artefacts must prove the French government’s sincere intentions. They emphasise explicitly that they do not want to impose the objects just like that; the recipient countries themselves determine when they are ready to receive them (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 62-63). The Deutscher Museums Bund does not set any time limits and does not propose a list of objects to be 'returned', neither in the short nor in the long term. According to them, a transparent dialogue

between claimants and the current possessors should make clear how long the process will last. In addition, they mention that “they are prepared to discuss the return of objects but are also willing and open to talk about other solutions” (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 144, 150). This shows little engagement for effective restitution, according to Kwame Opoku (Opoku 2019b).

When it comes to the question of which objects qualify for restitution, Sarr and Savoy take again a clear position. They drew up their criteria on the basis of the context in which the objects were acquired: spoils, gifts, exploratory missions and scientific raids (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 58). Germany opts for a different, very broad approach and determines its criteria on the basis of object categories: ‘Objects from the context of former colonial domination’, ‘Objects from regions not subject to formal colonial domination’ and ‘Objects reflecting colonialism’ (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 26-32). The authors of the French report assume that any acquisition in the military context, during scientific expeditions, or gifts to French museums by agents or descendants of the French colonial administration, are the results of an unequal power balance, certainly for the first category and for the last two as well, unless there is explicit evidence of full consent at the time of the acquisition. If not, no further provenance research is needed and restitution is required (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 50-59). Most subscribers of the German guidelines disagree with the gratuitous assumption that each object collected during the colonial period has a wrongful connotation attached to it. They argue for a case-by-case study in dialogue with the source communities in order to evaluate the precise circumstances from their perspective as well (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 147).

What both countries do agree upon is the conviction that human remains are definitely eligible for repatriation and should be treated with priority. In Germany, even separate guidelines have been drawn up regarding the care of human remains, which include a section on ‘return’. There is a general consensus that the handling of human remains requires ethical considerations that go beyond existing legal provisions (Ahrndt et al 2013: 4, 42). It appears that several repatriations have already taken place successfully in both France and Germany.

The authors of the French report prefer transactions to take place between two states in order not to disregard the sovereignty of the states concerned. They do not exclude the possibility of cooperation between museums or universities (Sarr and Savoy 2018: 82-83). In Germany, in addition to the source countries, also source communities or individuals can submit a request for restitution (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 152-153). The UN Declaration of 2007 promotes the view that the

question of restitution should be posed by the indigenous peoples, not by the state. Governments do not always have good relationships with their minorities (Bongers et al. 2019).

Yet, who bears the burden of proof? According to Kwame Opoku, shifting the burden of proof from the claimants to the Western institutions should be included when drawing up guidelines, at least if the European states have the sincere intention to recognise past violence and dominancy (Opoku 2019b). On the question of who bears the burden the proof, Germany again shows no clear commitment, and France does not take a clear position on this either. Both state that it is up to the claimants to clarify the ownership or the legal succession (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 153). In the French guidelines, it becomes unclear, when they mention specifically in their recommendations concerning objects collected in scientific expeditions, that this advice “takes into account the evolution of the international juridical debate about the reversal of the burden of proof regarding the displaced or looted cultural goods” (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 58). In the German guidelines, it is mentioned that some authors suggest reversing the burden of proof by analogy with the Handreichung concerning objects from the Nazi context. Any item appropriated during the Nazi persecution or the colonial period can be classified as illegal unless the institution can prove the opposite. Yet, reversing of the burden of proof was not eventually included in the recommendations (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 146).

Clear French commitment is also apparent when it comes to the legal aspect. Both the French and German authors note that at present there is no international legislation that works retroactively and no national legislation that allows restitution of colonial objects. Nevertheless, Sarr and Savoy suggest, in order to provide an answer to the problem of inalienability and to legally pave the way for restitution, an alternative legal system (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 77). Unlike the French authors, the German drafters do not take their own initiative. According to them, there is a general political consensus that restitution is permissible for colonial items on ethical grounds. It is up to the museum and the body which oversees it to make the decision regarding any ‘return’. In March 2019, at a meeting of the culture ministers of all sixteen German federal states, they agreed upon providing legal measures when needed (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 105-106).

According to Kwame Opoku, among others, the French’s resolute approach testifies to a clear commitment to pro-restitution in contrast to the German noncommittal approach, which is not very concrete (Opoku 2019a). Yet, at the beginning of 2020, Bénédicte Savoy confirmed that not many of the recommendations from the first phase have been realised, namely the restitution of

most of the emblematic items. It appears that France is failing to meet the proposed limits (Académie Royale de Belgique 2020). Are external factors causing the delay? Or is the report simply too driven, too idealistic, and therefore too unrealistic? It should be noted that not all countries are immediately requesting restitution. Perhaps Germany's slow, nuanced approach, which leave open all options, with a strong focus on dialogue with the source communities, offers more potential to build relationships in the long term.

The importance of dialogue and cooperation with source communities and making all available information transparent and accessible, is underlined in both reports but is more prominently present in the German guidelines, in all recommendations dealing with objects from colonial contexts with regard to research, publication, 'return' and especially exhibition. The French, on the other hand, only briefly summarise, on a limited number of pages of the voluminous report, that “an intensive transcontinental dialogue” is essential. They recommend the establishment of joint commissions between representatives of France and African states involved to evaluate restitution requests, among others (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 66-69). Recognising the importance of an approach to the debate from both an African and an European perspective, President Macron commissioned the Senegalese scholar Felwine Sarr and the French scholar Bénédicte Savoy to draft the report. This co-production offered the best guarantee for balanced research into the possibilities for restitution and took into account the desires of former colonies from the start (van Beurden 2018). To draw up their recommendations, they also contacted experts and political actors in France, Benin, Senegal, Mali, and Cameroon (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 91). The first version of the German guidelines was the result of an intra-German process to set out an initial stance, without any consultation with the African source countries or communities. Subsequently, this version was presented to twelve experts from eleven source communities, which one year later resulted in a revised second version, in which cooperation and dialogue are much more emphasised throughout the report (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 6-7).

Both countries advise open dialogue with the source communities involved to discuss possible measures to be taken in case of effectively bringing home the respective artefacts. Can Western institutions or governments impose conditions on recipient countries and claim the right of oversight over cultural objects even after their transfer to the provenance countries? That recipient countries would not be ready to receive objects in terms of infrastructure and know-how is a common objection from opponents in order to shelve restitutions. Sarr and Savoy do not deny this concern, but it has already been demonstrated in previous cases that the countries in question are

willing to do everything to create the best possible circumstances for the preservation of the restituted items. It is up to them to say when they are ready (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 34, 63). The French authors mention that the representatives of the joint commissions, yet to be set up, will have to provide advice on a case-by-case basis in order to practically organise restitution and coordinate any exchange of know-how (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 68). The authors of the German document also stress the importance of dialogue to discuss the practical measures to take for ‘return’ (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 154). They do not impose any conditions.

Both the authors of the French report and the German guidelines acknowledge the difficulty of provenance research and its neglect in the past. Provenance research is indispensable to the restitution process when discovering the exact origin of objects that have come into possession of Western museums in various ways. Research into the origin of objects, can serve to decolonise those objects (DeBlock 2019: 278). Objects accompanied with erroneous, incomplete, or no information at all or described from a different perspective or for another purpose make provenance research often full of pitfalls, time consuming, and sometimes even impossible. Yet, Sarr and Savoy state that no additional provenance research is needed for objects appropriated through military aggression, military personnel, active administrators, or through scientific expeditions before 1960 (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 75-76, 61). For them, the inequitable conditions that existed when taking possession of these objects are obvious. The German authors attribute a large chapter to provenance research. The fact that the German Lost Art Foundation provides funding for expensive provenance research projects on collections from colonial contexts reflects the recognition of its importance (German Lost Art Foundation 2019). Once again, the German commitment to cooperation is reflected when recommending to involve source communities in provenance research, since their knowledge can provide new and renewed insights, especially with regard to culturally sensitive objects (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 117). Kwame Opoku, however, warns that excessive research can slow down the process of restitution (Opoku 2019b).

Both France and Germany recognise the importance of making inventories and archives transparent. Source communities rightly want to know where their cultural heritage is located and what information is available. Both countries strive for digitisation and free open access to all information in such way that even laymen can make use of it (Sarr & Savoy 2018: 67; Ahrndt et al. 2019: 8). The German authors point out that there are dangers with granting open access without consulting source communities because, for example, they do not always want images of their sensitive cultural objects to appear online or in publications. That is why the German

Museums Bund puts so much emphasis on partaking in dialogue and bearing in mind the preferences and wishes of the indigenous communities (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 125, 136).

What is barely discussed in the French report, although the Germans devote an entire chapter to, is the recommendations on exhibition management. In a separate fourth chapter, I elaborated on this theme because, at the same time, I investigated to what extent the AfricaMuseum has been able to put into practice the ICOM principles related to transparency, accessibility, dialogue, and collaboration. Those elements are key to paving the way to decolonisation and reflect the willingness for restitution. Sarr and Savoy only mention in one sentence that they have the intention to create joint commissions between France and concerned African states to, among other things, formulate recommendations for exhibiting African artefacts (Sarr & Savoy 208: 69). They do not go into it any further. The Deutscher Museums Bund, on the other hand, dedicates an extensive part of their report to everything related to exhibition, which is of course part of their core business. Entirely in the spirit of ICOM, they point out that collaborations and partnerships with source communities on equal terms are key to ‘Decolonising collections and exhibition management’. Sharing knowledge can give more insight into stories linked to the objects, counteract stereotypes, and create valuable relationships. The authors steer the museums not only to consult with source communities but to involve them fully in collaborations related to display and research (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 74, 76, 85, 117).

On the basis of my limited research in chapter four, I can determine that the AfricaMuseum has attempted to comply with the principles of ICOM, and thus indirectly with the German guidelines, but improvements still must be made. I noticed that the museum does not always provide the full information with the exhibited objects, nor in publications and inventories, even when the data are known. It is unclear why they withhold any known information, such as the existing restitution requests of certain objects and the disputed way in which particular items were acquired. The AfricaMuseum seems to succeed in collaborative projects with African institutions, but in Belgium it does not appear to be easy to develop long-term collaborations with the diaspora. The re-approach of the rotunda, where recent adjustments have been made to further counteract stereotyping images, is a hopeful evolution, but it testifies that decolonisation is an ongoing process. As Silverman states, museum management is “fundamentally processual in nature” (Silverman 2015: 2). The availability of Belgian guidelines could have positively influenced the decolonisation process of the museum right from the start of the renovation. A straightforward policy and taking the necessary time to engage in collaboration and dialogue with the diaspora and

communities of origin seem to be crucial in order to further decolonise museum practices and to further develop the museum into a contact zone (Ceuppens 2014: 93).

From my research I can conclude that the drawing up of guidelines can encourage museums to reflect on and, by pointing out their duties, can effectively steer themselves towards decolonisation and restitution. Above all, guidelines, even when not binding, can be directional and, have the power to convince politicians and the public that restitution is more than just giving back; it forms an important part of decolonisation. Establishing principles has the potential to reactivate debate and to exert pressure to put restitution on the political agenda, and even to unlock budgets.

Yet, how alive is the debate in Belgium, especially among politicians? What standpoints will the working group adopt when drawing up future guidelines for dealing with 'shared' colonial heritage? The initiatives from the diasporic communities, such as the open letter from Bamko- Cran in 2018, the conference in collaboration with the French speaking parliament in Brussels, and Bouffioux’s newspaper articles in Paris Match pushed the debate into public and political attention. This led to initiatives such as the establishment of a federal working group in 2018 and the submitting of a resolution in 2019. However, so far no results are known to date. Belgium is clearly lagging behind in comparison with its neighbouring countries. The organisation of several conferences, such as the TAPAS conference in Ghent in December 2019, continue to stimulate the debate. The founding of the HOME project, the drafting of the AfricaMuseum’s restitution policy in January 2020, the Flemish initiative that set up a working group on restitution, and the open letter ‘Restitutie moet kunnen’ all give hope. Yet, the current absence of a federal government with full authority will not really facilitate the achievement of the objectives. The working group has the intention to draft principles on how to deal with colonial objects housed in Belgian institutions. But how will they proceed? When the drafters use the French and German recommendations as guidance, should they opt for the resolute, perhaps idealistic, coercive, pro-restitution approach of Sarr and Savoy, or should they go for the nuanced, cautious, perhaps more realistic, slower approach from the Deutscher Museums Bund where dialogue with the source communities is paramount, and where restitution is not the only option? Or, will the result be a mix of the two?

The bottom-up working group for the development of Belgian guidelines will have to provide answers to and take a clear position on the following difficult reflections, among others. Will they try to involve the source communities and the diaspora on equal terms in the creation of the principles from the outset? Will they include an overview of colonial history in their guidelines,

given that the parliament feels it is necessary to set up a truth commission to investigate the colonial past? Will the willingness for restitution be clear in future guidelines? How will they categorise which objects are eligible for restitution? What is to be done with the existing formal and informal requests? Will they recommend the swift restitution of emblematic artefacts to prove Belgium’s sincere intentions? Will they impose time limits to prevent restitutions from being shelved? Will they take a bold stance on the reversal of the burden of proof? Will they advise to engage in collaborations with source communities and diaspora to carry out provenance research and to revise the archives and categorisation system? Will they pave the way legally for restitution by concretely proposing an alternative legal apparatus in their report, as Sarr and Savoy did? Will they advocate an approach that disregards legal barriers in favour of ethical and moral considerations? Or, will they recommend alternative paths, such as mediation, negotiation, or arbitration, in order to reach a mutual balanced solution? Will they encourage museums to act proactively, not only when presented with a formal request from a recognised authority, as the AfricaMuseum has included in its restitution policy? Will they formulate recommendations to extend decolonisation in all areas of the museum practices including exhibiting?

I have not intended to provide answers on these reflections, but based on my research I can conclude that guidelines should already contain the following key elements. First of all, the report should point to the importance of the recognition of past wrongdoings, as it is the starting point in the decolonisation process. Secondly, a strong focus on research into the exact provenance should be recommended, of all items that have a possible dubious history to understand in full “the object’s biography” (van Beurden 2018: 38). Thirdly the principles should recommend that all available information needs to be made transparent and accessible as soon as possible to everyone involved both in Africa and in Europe, taking into account the sensitivities and wishes of the communities of origin. It is essential to know where and what information is available. Fourthly, the guidelines should reflect a clear and resolute engagement to open up to restitution, to restore and build relationships, and to pave the way for dialogue, with respect for the rhythm of the country or community of origin. Finally, the working group should make recommendations for the decolonisation of museum collections and exhibiting management with the German example and ICOM principles as guides. Telling the correct narrative, sharing knowledge, and striving for full collaboration with source and diasporic communities in every aspect of the museum practice should be the goal. In ideal collaboration partnerships, as Kratz and Karp explain, transparent communication on equal terms would be able to remove bureaucratic obstacles, cross-border issues, time management problems, and, in sum, all the frictions interwoven with this challenging

participatory decolonising process (Kratz & Karp 2006: 1). Investing time in collaborations, “slow museology” as Silverman argues, is vital to decolonise the museum practice (Silverman 2015:12- 13).

If future guidelines are based on the views expressed in the open letter ‘Restitutie moet kunnen’, to which I have often referred, they promise to become part of a document in which the majority of the aforementioned key elements will be present (DeStandaard s.d.a). If recommendations for exhibition management are added, based on dialogue and collaboration with source communities and diaspora, the guidelines can provide the needed answers to my research question: ‘How to deal with the unequal distribution of ‘shared’ colonial heritage’. As Maarten Couttenier summarises, at the aforementioned TAPAS conference about restitution in Ghent, Western “complacency should give way to humility” to be fully committed to encounter and joint action.

It is clear that political support is indispensable for financial support for provenance research and for collaboration initiatives with source communities and diaspora in the fields of research and exhibition. Political support is also indispensable to clear the way legally for effective restitutions (Ahrndt et al. 2019: 7-8). It remains to be seen what value politicians will attach to the future guidelines and whether they will act upon them. In any case, we have to acknowledge that restitution is only one component, albeit an important one, in the much broader context of reparation and decolonisation. Let us, in Belgium, start by making guidelines which, hopefully, will be drawn up in such a convincing way that political support follows and that they cause as much international commotion as the French report did. No doubt, the outcome, along with the recently announced truth commission, will keep the debate alive.

6. References

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