Participants from the Church of the Intercession's sports and recreation program at the entrance to the exhibition Kongo: Power and Majesty, with Bill Short, co-director of the Intercession Sports and Recreation Program (far left), Research Associate James Green (back), and group leader William C. Rhoden (far right).
Who would have thought that four-hundred-year-old artifacts could reach across generations and resonate with a group of young people in 2015?
That's exactly what happened this past October when a few lucky members of the sports and recreation program at the Church of the Intercession in Harlem toured the exhibition Kongo: Power and Majesty at the Met. Thanks to a generous invitation by Chris Gorman, a personal friend and the assistant administrator in the Met's Marketing and External Relations Department—as well as a remarkable presentation by Research Associate James Green—the exhibition came alive and taught timeless lessons about power, authority, and responsibility to the larger community.
A year before, Chris had introduced a different group from the Church of the Intercession to the Met's resident Kongo power figure—a side stop on a tour taking us to different parts of the Museum to show how sports have been depicted throughout history.
Left: Power Figure (Nkisi N'Kondi: Mangaaka), 19th century. Kongo peoples; Yombe group, Chiloango River region, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Republic of the Congo, or Cabinda, Angola. Wood, iron, resin, ceramic, plant fiber, textile, pigment; H. 46 1/2 in. (118 cm), W. 19 1/2 in. (49.5 cm), D. 15 1/2 in. (39.4 cm). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Lila Acheson Wallace, Drs. Daniel and Marian Malcolm, Laura G. and James J. Ross, Jeffrey B. Soref, The Robert T. Wall Family, Dr. and Mrs. Sidney G. Clyman, and Steven Kossak Gifts, 2008 (2008.30). Right: Detail view of the figure's stomach area, including the nails protruding from its body.
The figure is a physically commanding—and intimidating—sculpture of a Kongo leader who leans forward, hands on hips, as though to confront visitors to the gallery. Chris explained that it represented power and leadership in Kongo society and that it was the physical embodiment of a powerful spiritual force known as Mangaaka.
The Mangaaka figure's powerful spirit was invoked over time through hardware—they looked like nails and spikes—pounded into the carved wood figure by an array of petitioners who came before it to settle disputes.
Our group was so inspired that we decided to make our own power figure. Using the trunk of a tree, we made our own figure and put it in a prominent place in our recreation room.
Whenever a dispute arose between two individuals in the program, they worked out their disagreement, replicating what we imagined may have happened in a village. Then, using nails—the size depending on the seriousness of the conflict—the disputants came to an agreement and, before the group, hammered nails to symbolize that the agreement was binding.
Left: Power figure created by the participants in the Church of the Intercession's sports and recreation program in 2014.
From the limestone monument at the exhibition entrance, to the dynamic collection of fifteen monumental power figures, to elegantly carved ivories and exquisitely woven textiles, Kongo: Power and Majesty was instructive on so many levels.
"This is a lot to digest," one of the young men remarked when asked what he thought. "Overwhelming."
Our trip sparked conversation—and debate—about respect and responsibility to the larger community, whether that community is the classroom, a team, or the sports and recreation program at Intercession. The power figure illuminates a timeless principle of resolution.
View of the Mangaaka gallery in the exhibition. Photograph by Peter Zeray
On our visit to the exhibition, James made it clear that these power figures were held in such esteem that no one wanted to offend the guiding spirit of Mangaaka residing inside them. To do so was an affront not only to one individual but to the entire community. This was a major takeaway for our group.
A week after our visit, one of the participants, recalling this sense of responsibility to the community, actually apologized to the group for something he had done, and hammered a nail into our power figure, pledging that he would never make that mistake again.
On our way home, we speculated about the lives of the artists who designed the power figures in the exhibition. Did the Kongo artists of Central Africa imagine that centuries later, a group of young people from Harlem would be touched by these figures and the profound underlying meaning they represented?
Probably not. But the exhibition drove home the sobering notion that what we do today echoes across generations.