The Land that Time Forgot

Tim Butcher’s Blood River is the story of what happens when an entire country loses their institutional memory. In 2004, Butcher followed the route Henry Stanley took through along the Congo River from Lane Tanganyika to the Atlantic Ocean. Stanley survived his three-year trek by the skin of his teeth, and though Butcher did a little better, the book hammers home the point that Congo circa 2004 was almost as isolated as it was in 1876.

The years in between saw colonization by King Leopold, extensive development, independence, dictatorship, and now, a return of sorts to the old ways. There is no rule of law; with no money coming in for maintenance, the jungle absorbs paved roads, factories and power plants with impunity. One of the books best metaphors finds Butcher stumbling across a half-century old railway car, fully intact, buried in the middle of the jungle.

Back home in my office chair, Butcher’s theme of the lack of institutional memory struck a chord with me. My institutional memory, or the institutional memory for what I cover, is archived online. Does this seem like that? Probably. There are only seven or so different types of stories in travel magazines. Likewise, even though we don’t know where Gael Greene’s restaurant reviews will end up, the Times ensures that Bruni’s takedown of Ninja will live on forever. I don’t ever have to forget it, even though I’d love to free up that brain space for something, anything else.

Which is all a way of saying that we should be mindful of repeating the mistakes of the past when they’re just a keystroke away.