Cobalt Red: How the Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives

The Introduction and Chapter 1 of Cobalt Red introduce the scope of the problem Kara is investigating and his methods of investigation into the Congolese artisanal cobalt mines. Kara calls into question the claims of corporations and the Congolese government about the working conditions in these mines, introducing the theme of The Exploitation in Artisanal Mines. Kara does not present his investigation as objective. Instead, he has an openly subjective point of view and wishes to advance a specific argument: He argues that the need for profit drives corporations and governments to overlook the human rights abuses in cobalt mining. Cobalt Red is written for a general Western audience, rather than an academic or a specialist one. Kara hopes to raise people’s awareness about where the minerals found in their electronic goods come from, and to inspire consumers to increase pressure on companies to improve working conditions in Congolese cobalt mines.

Kara is particularly inspired by the historical precedents of British colonial-era writers who drew attention to the human rights abuses in the Congo Free State in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. His citation of these precedents introduces another key theme, The Persistence of Colonialist Practices. He repeatedly cites and discusses the works of Joseph Conrad, E.D. Morel, and Roger Casement. Many of the chapters, including the Introduction and Chapter 1, open with epigraphs from these writers. These epigraphs emphasize the historical connection between the horrors of the Congo Free State, where Congolese people were murdered and mutilated in forced labor conditions to extract rubber, ivory, and other goods for the king of Belgium, and the contemporary conditions in the cobalt mines.

The British writers noted above used a polemical argumentative mode common to Victorian-era writing that drew on the pathos, or feelings of sentimentality and pity, that Western audiences might feel for helpless, exploited African subjects. For instance, the quote of E. D. Morel that opens the Introduction reads, “Such then was the main task: to convince the world that this Congo horror was not only and unquestionable a fact; but that it was not accidental or temporary, or capable of internal cure” (1). This epigraph and subsequent references to this writer and his colleagues establish that Kara is writing in a similar mode. The tone is firmly established by Kara’s claims such as, “Our daily lives are powered by a human and environmental catastrophe in the Congo” (5). In drawing a direct link between the “daily lives” of Western readers and the problems in the Congolese coal mines, Kara presents his exposé as a call to action, suggesting that readers can and should recognize a connection between Western consumerist practices and Congolese human rights abuses.

Kara supports his argument with a combination of straightforward background information, such as when describing how a lithium-ion battery works, historical comparisons, and on-the-ground-reporting. Kara’s historical research largely comes from sources on Congolese history written for popular audiences instead of a specialist one. For example, he cites Congo: The Epic History of a People by David Van Reybrouk (2014) and King Leopold’s Ghost by Adam Hochschild (1996) in the book’s bibliography. Kara draws upon these histories to discuss the legacy and effects of colonialism, arguing that “[c]enturies of European slave trading beginning in the early 1500s caused irreparable injury to the native population, culminating in colonization by King Leopold II [of Belgium], who set the table for the exploitation that continues to this day” (9). Kara thus uses earlier examples of colonialism to explore the connection between the past and how contemporary foreign entities exploit the Congo’s resources.

Cobalt Red is written in various narrative modes, including first-person reportage. In this way, Kara is the main protagonist in the book. The narrative is structured as if following Kara traveling along the road from Lubumbashi to Kolwezi and stopping at various mining towns along the way. Kara intersperses his research with his personal feelings and observations of what he sees at these sites. For instance, in the opening scene where the child has died, Kara writes:

I take one final look toward the child. I can see his face now, locked in a terminal expression of dread. That is the lasting image I take from the Congo—the heart of Africa reduced to the bloodstained corpse of a child, who died solely because he was digging for cobalt. (2)

This moment and others like them show Kara’s empathy for the people of the DRC and his grief at their suffering.

Kara also portrays himself as brave for venturing into remote mining communities under the watchful eyes of militias and soldiers to reveal the working conditions of Congolese miners. He writes, “I will take you there, just as I took the journey, down the only road that leads to the truth” (17). He writes in detail about his fear when he is threatened with guns by a militia in the only moment in the text when he is personally confronted by violence, which in his telling lurks in the background of all of his visits to the artisanal mines. The incident gives a sense of the dangers that he confronts in his reporting efforts.

Kara’s narration style is most evident in his descriptions of his on-the-ground research, which consisted of interviews with experts and locals as well as observational visits to several cobalt mines throughout Congo. Kara opens his narrative in media res by describing a shocking moment where soldiers warn away concerned villagers, and Kara himself, following the death of a child in what is presumably a mining accident. He writes, “What happened here must not be seen. There can be no record or evidence, only the haunting memories of those who stood at this place where hope was lost” (1). This is not strictly factual reporting but rather Kara’s assessment of the context and the heightened emotions of the scene. His writing style is meant to invoke pathos and create a sense of narrative momentum for his investigation. Kara further heightens the emotional stakes by using the literary technique of relating the setting to the events, writing, “The craterous landscape is obscured by a leaden haze that refuses the entry of light” (1)—the land will not let in the light, just as the soldiers who will not let the truth be seen.