February 5: A King's Greed, A Boy Who Flies, and Walking on the Moon
February 5 connects three moments that span humanity's capacity for both cruelty and wonder—when a king disguised exploitation as philanthropy and initiated one of history's most brutal colonial regimes, when animated magic preserved the dream of never growing up for generations of children, and when astronauts walked on the Moon again after a mission that nearly ended in tragedy. These stories remind us that power unchecked becomes tyranny, that imagination offers escape from harsh realities, and that exploration requires learning from near-disasters.
The King's Private Horror
On February 5, 1885, King Leopold II of Belgium formally established the Congo Free State as his personal property—not a Belgian colony but his private possession, controlled through the International Association of the Congo. At the Berlin Conference, European powers had carved up Africa, and Leopold presented himself as a humanitarian bringing civilization and ending the slave trade. The international community, deceived by his rhetoric, granted him a territory 76 times the size of Belgium. What followed was one of colonialism's most horrific chapters: a regime built on forced labor, mutilation, and systematic terror to extract rubber and ivory for Leopold's personal profit.
Under Leopold's rule, the Congolese population declined by as much as 10 million people—half the territory's inhabitants—through murder, starvation, disease, and drastically reduced birth rates. His Force Publique soldiers enforced rubber quotas by taking hostages, burning villages, and cutting off hands of those who failed to meet demands. Missionaries and journalists eventually exposed the atrocities, creating an international scandal that forced Leopold to cede the territory to Belgium in 1908, though exploitation continued. The Congo Free State demonstrated how colonialism at its worst combined racism, greed, and unchecked power to create systematic atrocity disguised as civilization. The regime established on this day proved that the worst crimes can be committed under the banner of progress, that international complicity enables tyranny, and that the effects of such brutality echo through generations. Leopold's personal empire remains one of history's clearest examples of how absolute power corrupts absolutely and how the language of humanitarianism can mask genocidal exploitation.
Second Star to the Right
On February 5, 1953, Disney's Peter Pan premiered in theaters, bringing J.M. Barrie's beloved story of the boy who wouldn't grow up to animated life. The film had been in development for over a decade—Walt Disney had acquired the rights in 1939 but shelved the project during World War II. When production finally resumed, Disney's artists created a Neverland of stunning visual imagination: the glittering flight over London, the mermaids' lagoon, the ticking crocodile pursuing Captain Hook, and Tinker Bell's jealous sparkle. Bobby Driscoll voiced Peter, while Hans Conried brought theatrical villainy to Captain Hook, creating one of Disney's most memorable antagonists.
Peter Pan became Disney's most successful film since Cinderella, capturing something essential about childhood's desire to escape responsibility and preserve innocence. The film's songs—"You Can Fly," "Following the Leader," and "Never Smile at a Crocodile"—became standards, while Tinker Bell evolved into one of Disney's most iconic characters and corporate symbols. Yet the film also contained problematic stereotypes of Native Americans that reflect 1950s attitudes, elements that Disney has since acknowledged as offensive. Peter Pan endures because it taps into the universal fantasy of staying young forever, of a place where adventure never ends and morning never comes. The film that premiered on this day demonstrated Disney's ability to transform literary classics into animation that captures childhood's essence, proved that some stories transcend their original medium, and created characters so vivid they became cultural touchstones. Peter Pan's promise—"All it takes is faith and trust... and a little bit of pixie dust"—offered generations of children the dream of flight and freedom, even as they inevitably grew up.
Back to the Moon
On February 5, 1971, astronauts Alan Shepard and Edgar Mitchell stepped onto the lunar surface in the Fra Mauro highlands, becoming the fifth and sixth humans to walk on the Moon. Apollo 14 carried enormous significance—it was NASA's first lunar mission after Apollo 13's near-fatal oxygen tank explosion had forced an aborted landing and desperate return to Earth. Commander Shepard, America's first astronaut from the Mercury program a decade earlier, finally got his chance to walk on the Moon. Mission specialist Mitchell joined him for two moonwalks totaling over nine hours, while Stuart Roosa orbited above in the command module.
The mission targeted Fra Mauro specifically because it had been Apollo 13's intended destination—a site that could provide samples from deep beneath the lunar surface, ejected by the impact that created the Imbrium basin. Shepard and Mitchell collected 94 pounds of lunar samples, deployed scientific instruments, and conducted experiments that advanced understanding of the Moon's geology and formation. The mission's lighthearted moment came when Shepard, the 47-year-old commander, pulled out a makeshift six-iron golf club and hit two golf balls, which he claimed went "miles and miles" in the Moon's low gravity. Apollo 14's success restored confidence in NASA after Apollo 13's crisis, proving that lessons had been learned and that lunar exploration could continue. The moonwalk that began on this day demonstrated that setbacks need not end programs, that returning to difficult work after near-disaster requires courage, and that even in humanity's most ambitious ventures, there's room for playfulness—sometimes you hit golf balls on the Moon just because you can.
