A Dying Colonialism

Works by Frantz Fanon

Published by Grove Press

Black Skin, White Masks

Toward the African Revolution

The Wretched of the Earth

A DYING COLONIALISM

FRANTZ FANON

translated from the French by

HAAKON CHEVALIER

With an Introduction by

Adolfo Gilly

Grove Press

New York

English translation copyright © 1965 by Monthly Review Press

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First published as Studies in a Dying Colonialism

Originally published in France as L’An Cinq, de la Révolution Algérienne © ١٩٥٩

by François Maspero

Published simultaneously in Canada

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-0-8021-5027-1

eISBN: 978-0-8021-6224-3

Grove Press

an imprint of Grove Atlantic

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Contents

Introduction

Preface

I. Algeria Unveiled

Appendix

2. This Is the Voice of Algeria

3. The Algerian Family

4. Medicine and Colonialism

5. Algeria’s European Minority

Appendix I

Appendix II

Conclusion

Introduction

Revolution is mankind’s way of life today. This is the age of revolution; the age of indifference is gone forever. But the latter age paved the way for today; for the great masses of mankind, while still suffering the greatest oppression and the greatest affronts to their dignity as human beings, never ceased to resist, to fight as well as they could, to live in combat. The combatant dignity of humanity was maintained in an unbreakable though not always visible line, in the depths of the life of the masses and in the uninterrupted fight—slandered, attacked, but alive in the very center of history—of little revolutionary vanguards bound to this profound human reality and to its socialist future, and not to the apparent omnipotence of great systems.

Today the great systems have died or are living in a state of crisis. And it is no longer the age of little vanguards. The whole of humanity has erupted violently, tumultuously onto the stage of history, taking its own destiny in its hands. Capitalism is under siege, surrounded by a global tide of revolution. And this revolution, still without a center, without a precise form, has its own laws, its own life and a depth of unity—accorded it by the same masses who create it, who live it, who inspire each other from across boundaries, give each other spirit and encouragement, and learn from their collective experiences.

This revolution is changing humanity. In the revolutionary struggle, the immense, oppressed masses of the colonies and semi-colonies feel that they are a part of life for the first time. Life acquires a sense, a transcendence, an object: to end exploitation, to govern themselves by and for themselves, to construct a way of life. The armed struggle breaks up the old routine life of the countryside and villages, excites, exalts, and opens wide the doors of the future. Liberation does not come as a gift from anybody; it is seized by the masses with their own hands. And by seizing it they themselves are transformed; confidence in their own strength soars, and they turn their energy and their experience to the tasks of building, governing, and deciding their own lives for themselves.

This is the climate in which the immense majority of mankind lives today in one way or another. Algeria has been, and continues to be, one of the great landmarks in this global battle. And Frantz Fanon’s book bears witness to Algeria’s role.

The book continues to have for the reader years afterwards the same freshness it had at the time it was written, because Fanon’s main preoccupation was not to document the facts of exploitation, nor the sufferings of the people, nor the. brutality of the imperialist oppressor. All this is demonstrated in passing. But his main interest has been to go to the essentials: the spirit of struggle, of opposition, of initiative of the Algerian masses; their infinite, multi­form, interminable resistance; their daily heroism; their capacity to learn in weeks, in days, in minutes, all that was necessary for the struggle for liberation; their capacity and decision to make all the sacrifices and all the efforts, among which the greatest was not giving one’s life in combat, perhaps, but changing one’s daily life, one’s routines, prejudices, and immemorial customs insofar as these were a hindrance to the revolutionary struggle.

Frantz Fanon died at 37, in December of 1961, days before the appearance of the first edition of Les Damnés de la Terre.¹ He was not a Marxist. But he was approaching Marxism through the same essential door which for many Marxist officials and diplomats is closed with seven keys: his concern with what the masses do and say and think, and his belief that it is the masses, and not leaders nor systems, who in the final analysis make and determine history. This is the dominant line of all of Marx’s analyses of historical events, whether in his articles on revolution and counter-­revolution in Spain, or in his moving pages on the centuries-old struggle of the Sicilian people, a struggle which has forged the character, the pride, and the silence of Sicily and which is at the root of its present and its future.

The masses resist and fight in a thousand ways, not only with arms in hand. These means include violence because in a world where oppression is maintained by violence from above, it is only possible to liquidate it with violence from below. Ultimately, once the struggle reaches a certain point, arms in hand are indispensable.

On November 1, 1954, a small group of Algerian leaders launched an armed struggle, breaking with a whole pattern of negotiation and procrastination established by the old leaders. In a very short time, they had the entire population behind them. The decision to take arms did not spring full-blown from the heads of this handful of leaders. They simply interpreted what was already there in the population as a whole. And the people, in tum, were influenced by revolutions in the rest of the world. In 1949 China tipped decisively and definitively the balance of world power in favor of revolution. In 1951 she risked her own existence to send hundreds of thousands of volunteers to support the Korean revolution. In 1954, Dien Bien Phu was a culminating disaster, marking the end of French domination in Indo-China. This was the signal for Algeria to launch her struggle. And in 1960–1961, the defeat of French imperialism in Algeria unleashed the great tide of African revolution.

The revolutionaries of Zanzibar took advantage of this uninterrupted chain of revolutionary struggles to realize one of the greatest deeds of the epoch: storming the center of power with a small nucleus, they expelled imperialism from a backward country with only 300,000 inhabitants. They took the road of socialist revolution, arms in hand, with no other support than the determination of the masses of Zanzibar—barefoot, poor, illiterate, armed as well as they could manage—and their own revolutionary courage.

Algeria was prepared by the incessant waves of revolution that inundated the world from 1943 onwards, and in its turn opened the gates to Zanzibar, to the Congo, Mali, Portuguese Guinea. The Algerian revolution shares with the revolutions that preceded it and with those that are continuing it, certain essential features which can be summed up in the words mass participation.

The women, the family, the children, the aged—everybody participates. The double oppression, social and sexual, of the woman cracks and is finally shattered; and its essential nature as the social oppression of the family as a whole is revealed. It is simply that its weakest parts—the children, the elderly, the women—must bear the most exaggerated forms of oppression. But in the revolutionary struggle, the relative weakness, the apparent defenselessness of these groups disappear. What was formerly a disadvantage becomes an advantage for the revolution. The old man or woman who walks with halting steps past the military patrol, the timid woman hiding behind a veil, the innocent-faced child do not seem to the enemy to be dangers or threats. So they can pass arms, information, medicine. They can prepare surprise attacks, serve as guides and sentries. They can even take up arms themselves. Every sort of cunning is a legitimate weapon to use against the enemy—and an embattled population is not composed solely of men but also of women, children, and old people.

This is true not only in Algeria or in armed struggle. The decision of the men never comes alone; it is never isolated. It is supported by the decision of the whole family, of the whole population, united for a common objective. When the striking worker occupies the factory, or makes a decision in a union meeting to stick to the struggle against all odds, it is not he alone who decides. Behind him are his wife, his children, his parents, the entire family supporting him, intervening and deciding with him. This is what happens in Bolivia in the great miners’ strikes; it happens in Argentina in the general strikes; it happened in the great struggles of the North American proletariat, as reflected, for example, in the film The Salt of the Earth.

It is in this kind of struggle that the woman stands firm in her own strength, throws all the energy she has accumulated during centuries of oppression, her infinite capacity to resist, her courage. It is in this kind of struggle that family relations change and the woman prepares for her role in the society that is being built. She also prepares for it in battle. This is what Fanon describes, and what he describes is no different from what the Chinese and the Cuban women did. The Algerian woman who carries arms or who participates directly in combat is like the wife of the Bolivian miner who takes up arms to defend the occupied mines or who keeps watch, gun in hand and dynamite at her waist, over the hostages taken by the miners to be exchanged for the liberty of their own imprisoned leaders. She is like the Guatemalan peasant woman who diverts the attention of the army at the cost of her own life, to cover the retreat of a guerrilla patrol in which her son, or her husband, or simply her neighbor is marching. This is the kind of life that is being lived and the kind of revolution that humanity is passing through today. And Fanon shows how, after it is over, the place of women can never again be the same as it was before. Women, like the proletariat, can only liberate themselves by liberating all other oppressed strata and sectors of the society, and by acting together with them.

To describe a revolution one doesn’t have to describe armed actions. These are inevitable, but what defines and decides any revolution is the social struggle of the masses, supported by armed actions. Fanon shows that this was the Algerian way. The guerrillas in the mountains, the army of liberation, did not defeat the French army militarily: it was the whole population supported by the guerrilla army which defeated and destroyed the imperialist enemy as a social force. For each Algerian soldier who died, says Fanon, ten civilians died. This indicates the mass character of the struggle. But it also indicates the complete impotence of an army, of modern weapons, and of all the tactics of powerful nations when it comes to defeating an embattled people with infinite initiative and inexhaustible heroism, a people capable of constant surprises and enormous tenacity. All mass struggles develop these features. The armed combatants, the guerrilla fighters, are only centers of support, of encouragement, of organization for this massive movement that reaches into every nook and cranny of the population.

For this reason, the power of each guerrilla fighter does not rest simply in himself, his weapon, and his army unit. He is the incarnation of the will of the people to struggle, of the resistance, of the anonymous and innumerable ways in which the people seek to harass and liquidate the oppressor and refuse to collaborate with him. This is the only magic the guerrillas have—that they are the representatives of a social force immensely superior to their own numbers and fire power, a social force that constantly encircles, attacks, and intimidates the enemy.

The capitalist and imperialist armies can go on dozens of ­mopping-­up operations and even achieve some relative successes, militarily speaking. But after the guerrillas have taken root to a certain point, they can no longer be liquidated. For the guerrillas have already become a way of life for the population, a part of its existence, and they will be renewed, reborn, and will go forward whatever the situation or the apparent power of the enemy. The French army announced time after time the final offensive and the last quarter hour. It was ruined, defeated—as before it had been defeated in Indo-China. It wasn’t simply the guerrilla arms that routed the French, but the constant action, the constant struggle of the entire population who fought them even to the point of listening to the radio and re-inventing the news, as the Guatemalan and Colombian peasants do today.

For the radio is an instrument of mass struggle. The counter­revolutionary forces believe they have discovered this also, and they use The Voice of America in Latin America as yesterday Radio Alger was used in Algeria. But the radio is an instrument of struggle only when what it says corresponds to what the masses feel and want. Then they accept it, take it, rely on it to further their cause. And when they cannot hear what it says, why they invent what it says—to the greater glory of the revolution. In contrast, the counter-revolutionary radio is not listened to; its voice is lost in a complete vacuum.

The Algerian people accepted the radio when it ceased to be an instrument of the enemy and was useful for the revolution. In the same way the Cuban people accepted literacy and achieved it in a year when this became a goal of the revolution, when they saw it was tied to their own concrete interests and not to those of capitalist governments. The transistor radio has been transformed into a revolutionary implement as powerful as the gun. In the mountains of Guatemala and Colombia, the peasants listen to Radio Havana or Radio Peking and live the life of the world revolution.

In Bolivia the miners have more than transistor radios. The principal mineworkers’ unions have their own radio transmitters. And the miners’ radios are one of the great instruments of progress in Bolivia. When there is an attempt on the part of the press and official radio to hide the fact of a miners’ strike by not reporting it, the miners’ radios inform all of Bolivia—and beyond, for they are short-wave transmitters that can be heard as far away as Peru and Uruguay. When the army tries to isolate one mining district from another, the miners’ radios communicate with each other and unite the different union locals. Via the radio the union members at one mine discuss agreements and situations with those at another. Via the radio, union propaganda is disseminated, as well as the programs and decisions adopted at meetings, calls to action, and proclamations. Via their radios the mineworkers’ militia is called together or the advances of the army are announced. Via the radio came the announcement of the defeat of the Bolivian army at the hands of the mineworkers’ militia in Sora Sora at the end of 1964. And because the miners have radio transmitters, the peasants acquire transistor radios in order to listen to them.

As in Algeria, the Bolivian miners defend their radio transmitters as part of their collective existence. Many unions have bought their transmitter with voluntary contributions of a day’s, two days’ and even three days’ wages per month from all the workers in the mine. The Bolivian miner earns $20 to $40 per month. One must consider his standard of living in order to understand what it means for him to give up a day’s or two days’ wages each month so that the union can get its radio. But then, the collective pride: Our union has a radio, too! When the government or the police have wished to silence or take by assault such a radio (officially they are prohibited, the government having declared them illegal—but in the mining districts the union and not the government commands) the response has been explosive. In Huanuni the miners took back their radio by mobilizing their militia and in retaliation they took over the municipal radio of the district as well, which from then on was controlled by the miners. Though they didn’t know it, Bolivian miners and Algerian masses were united in a single action for a single end. In this way, and not through books, business deals, or international assemblies is the present unity of humanity being forged and constructed.

Frantz Fanon tells how modern medical techniques, when they were brought in by imperialism, were resisted and rejected by the Algerian population—ignorant, obstinate, backward according to the cultured imperialists who were baffled by this rejection. But these same techniques were accepted with dizzying haste when the revolution adopted them. Culture, like truth, is concrete. And for the masses the most elevated form of culture, that is to say,