Reciprocal Bases of National Culture and the Fight for Freedom
Colonial domination, because it is total and tends to over-simplify,
very soon manages to disrupt in spectacular fashion the
cultural life of a conquered people. This cultural obliteration is made
possible by the negation of national reality, by new legal
relations introduced by the occupying power, by the banishment of the
natives and their customs to outlying districts by colonial
society, by expropriation, and by the systematic enslaving of men and
women.
Three years ago at our first congress I showed that, in the colonial
situation, dynamism is replaced fairly quickly by a
substantification of the attitudes of the colonising power. The area of
culture is then marked off by fences and signposts. These
are in fact so many defence mechanisms of the most elementary type,
comparable for more than one good reason to the simple
instinct for preservation. The interest of this period for us is that
the oppressor does not manage to convince himself aŁ the
objective non-existence of the oppressed nation and its culture. Every
effort is made to bring the colonised person to admit the
inferiority of his culture which has been transformed into instinctive
patterns of behaviour, to recognise the unreality of his
'nation', and, in the last extreme, the confused and imperfect character
of his own biological structure.
Vis-à-vis this state of affairs, the native's reactions are not
unanimous While the mass of the people maintain intact traditions
which are completely different from those of the colonial situation, and
the artisan style solidifies into a formalism which in more
and more stereotyped, the intellectual throws himself in frenzied
fashion into the frantic acquisition of the culture of the
occupying power and takes every opportunity of unfavourably criticising
his own national culture, or else takes refuge in setting
out and substantiating the claims of that culture in a way that is
passionate but rapidly becomes unproductive.
The common nature of these two reactions lies in the fact that they both
lead to impossible contradictions. Whether a turncoat
or a substantialist the native is ineffectual precisely because the
analysis of the colonial situation is not carried out on strict lines.
The colonial situation calls a halt to national culture in almost every
field. Within the framework of colonial domination there is
not and there will never be such phenomena as new cultural departures or
changes in the national culture. Here and there valiant
attempts are sometimes made to reanimate the cultural dynamic and to
give fresh impulses to its themes, its forms and its
tonalities. The immediate, palpable and obvious interest of such leaps
ahead is nil. But if we follow up the consequences to the
very end we see that preparations are being thus made to brush the
cobwebs off national consciousness to question oppression
and to open up the struggle for freedom.
A national culture under colonial domination is a contested culture
whose destruction is sought in systematic fashion. It very
quickly becomes a culture condemned to secrecy. This idea of clandestine
culture is immediately seen in the reactions of the
occupying power which interprets attachment to traditions as
faithfulness to the spirit of the nation and as a refusal to submit.
This persistence in following forms of culture which are already
condemned to extinction is already a demonstration of
nationality; but it is a demonstration which is a throw-back to the laws
of inertia. There is no taking of the offensive and no
redefining of relationships. There is simply a concentration on a hard
cor of culture which is becoming more and more shrivelled
up, inert and empty.
By the time a century or two of exploitation has passed there comes
about a veritable emaciation of the stock of national
culture. It becomes set of automatic habits, some traditions of dress
and a few broken-down institutions. Little movement can
be discerned in such remnants of culture; there is no real creativity
and no overflowing life. The poverty of the people, national
oppression and the inhibition of culture are one and the same thing.
After a century of colonial domination we find a culture
which is rigid in the extreme, or rather what we find are the dregs of
culture, its mineral strata. The withering away of the reality
of the nation and the death-pangs of the national culture are linked to
each other in mutual dependences This is why it is of
capital importance to follow the evolution of these relations during the
struggle for national freedom. The negation of the native's
culture, the contempt for any manifestation of culture whether active or
emotional and the placing outside the pale of all
specialised branches of organisation contribute to breed aggressive
patterns of conduct in the native. But these patterns of
conduct are of the reflexive type; they are poorly differentiated,
anarchic and ineffective. Colonial exploitation, poverty and
endemic famine drive the native more and more to open, organised revolt.
The necessity for an open and decisive breach is
formed progressively and imperceptibly, and comes to be felt by the
great majority of the people. Those tensions which hitherto
were non-existent come into being. International events, the collapse of
whole sections of colonial empires and the
contradictions inherent in the colonial system strengthen and uphold the
native's combativity while promoting and giving support
to national consciousness.
These new-found tensions which are present at all stages in the real
nature of colonialism have their repercussions on the
cultural plane. In literature, for example, there is relative
over-production. From being a reply on a minor scale to the
dominating power, the literature produced by natives becomes
differentiated and makes itself into a will to particularism. The
intelligentsia, which during the period of repression was essentially a
consuming public, now themselves become producers.
This literature at first chooses to confine itself to the tragic and
poetic style; but later on novels, short stories and essays are
attempted. It is as if a kind of internal organisation or law of
expression existed which wills that poetic expression become less
frequent in proportion as the objectives and the methods of the struggle
for liberation become more precise. Themes are
completely altered; in fact, we find less and less of bitter, hopeless
recrimination and less also of that violent, resounding, florid
writing which on the whole serves to reassure the occupying power. The
colonialists have in former times encouraged these
modes of expression and made their existence possible. Stinging
denunciations, the exposing of distressing conditions and
passions which find their outlet in expression are in fact assimilated
by the occupying power in a cathartic process. To aid such
processes is in a certain sense to avoid their dramatisation and to
clear the atmosphere. But such a situation can only be
transitory. In fact, the progress of national consciousness among the
people modifies and gives precision to the literary
utterances of the native intellectual. The continued cohesion of the
people constitutes for the intellectual an invitation to go
farther than his cry of protest. The lament first makes the indictment;
then it makes an appeal. In the period that follows, the
words of command are heard. The crystallisation of the national
consciousness will both disrupt literary styles and themes, and
also create a completely new public. While at the beginning the native
intellectual used to produce his work to be read
exclusively by the oppressor, whether with the intention of charming him
or of denouncing him through ethnical or subjectivist
means, now the native writer progressively takes on the habit of
addressing his own people.
It is only from that moment that we can speak of a national literature.
Here there is, at the level of literary creation, the taking up
and clarification of themes which are typically nationalist. This may be
properly called a literature of combat, in the sense that it
calls on the whole people to fight for their existence as a nation. It
is a literature of combat, because it moulds the national
consciousness, giving it form and contours and flinging open before it
new and boundless horizons; it is a literature of combat
because it assumes responsibility, and because it is the will to liberty
expressed in terms of time and space.
On another level, the oral tradition - stories, epics and songs of the
people - which formerly were filed away as set pieces are
now beginning to change. The storytellers who used to relate inert
episodes now bring them alive and introduce into them
modifications which are increasingly fundamental. There is a tendency to
bring conflicts up to date and to modernise the kinds
of struggle which the stories evoke, together with the names of heroes
and the types of weapons. The method of allusion is
more and more widely used. The formula ' this all happened long ago ' is
substituted by that of ' What we are going to speak of
happened somewhere else, but it might well have happened here today, and
it might happen tomorrow'. The example of Algeria
is significant in this context. From 1952-3 on, the storytellers, who
were before that time stereotyped and tedious to listen to,
completely overturned their traditional methods of storytelling and the
contents of their tales. Their public, which was formerly
scattered, became compact. The epic, with its typified categories,
reappeared; it became an authentic form of entertainment
which took on once more a cultural value. Colonialism made no mistake
when from 1955 on it proceeded to arrest these
storytellers systematically.
The contact of the people with the new movement gives rise to a new
rhythm of life and to forgotten muscular tensions, and
develops the imagination. Every time the storyteller relates a fresh
episode to his public, he presides over a real invocation. The
existence of a new type of man is revealed to the public. The present is
no longer turned in upon itself but spread out for all to
see. The storyteller once more gives free rein to his imagination; he
makes innovations and he creates a work of art. It even
happens that the characters, which are barely ready for such a
transformation - highway robbers or more or less antisocial
vagabonds - are taken up and remodelled. The emergence of the
imagination and of the creative urge in the songs and epic
stories of a colonised country is worth following. The storyteller
replies to the expectant people by successive approximations,
and makes his way, apparently alone but in fact helped on by his public,
towards the seeking out of new patterns, that is to say
national patterns. Comedy and farce disappear, or lose their attraction.
As for dramatisation, it is no longer placed on the plane
of the troubled intellectual and his tormented conscience. By losing its
characteristics of despair and revolt, the drama becomes
part of the common lot of the people and forms part of an action in
preparation or already in progress.
Where handicrafts are concerned, the forms of expression which formerly
were the dregs of art, surviving as if in a daze, now
begin to reach out. Woodwork, for .example, which formerly turned out
certain faces and attitudes by the million, begins to be
differentiated. The inexpressive or overwrought mask comes to life and
the arms tend to be raised from the body as if to sketch
an action. Compositions containing two, three or five figures appear.
The traditional schools are led on to creative efforts by the
rising avalanche of amateurs or of critics. This new vigour in this
sector of cultural life very often passes unseen; and yet its
contribution to the national effort is of capital importance. By carving
figures and faces which are full of life, and by taking as his
theme a group fixed on the same pedestal, the artist invites
participation in an organised movement.
If we study the repercussions of the awakening of national consciousness
in the domains of ceramics and pottery-making, the
same observations may be drawn. Formalism is abandoned in the
craftsman's work. Jugs, jars and trays are modified, at first
imperceptibly, then almost savagely. The colours, of which formerly
there were but few and which obeyed the traditional rules
of harmony, increase in number and are influenced by the repercussion of
the rising revolution. Certain ochres and blues, which
seemed forbidden to all eternity in a given cultural area, now assert
themselves without giving rise to scandal. In the same way
the stylisation of the human face, which according to sociologists is
typical of very clearly defined regions, becomes suddenly
completely relative. The specialist coming from the home country and the
ethnologist are quick to note these changes. On the
whole such changes are condemned in the name of a rigid code of artistic
style and of a cultural life which grows up at the heart
of the colonial system. The colonialist specialists do not recognise
these new forms and rush to the help of the traditions of the
indigenous society. It is the colonialists who become the defenders of
the native style. We remember perfectly, and the example
took on a certain measure of importance since the real nature of
colonialism was not involved, the reactions of the white jazz
specialists when after the Second World War new styles such as the
be-bop took definite shape. The fact is that in their eyes
jazz should only be the despairing, broken-down nostalgia of an old
Negro who is trapped between five glasses of whisky, the
curse of his race, and the racial hatred of the white men. As soon as
the Negro comes to an understanding of himself, and
understands the rest of the world differently, when he gives birth to
hope and forces back the racist universe, it is clear that his
trumpet sounds more clearly and his voice less hoarsely. The new
fashions in jazz are not simply born of economic competition.
We must without any doubt see in them one of the consequences of the
defeat, slow but sure, of the southern world of the
United States. And it is not utopian to suppose that in fifty years'
time the type of jazz howl hiccupped by a poor misfortunate
Negro will be upheld only by the whites who believe in it as an
expression of nigger-hood, and who are faithful to this arrested
image of a type of relationship.
We might in the same way seek and find in dancing, singing, and
traditional rites and ceremonies the same upward-springing
trend, and make out the same changes and the same impatience in this
field. Well before the political or fighting phase of the
national movement an attentive spectator can thus feel and see the
manifestation of new vigour and feel the approaching conflict.
He will note unusual forms of expression and themes which are fresh and
imbued with a power which is no longer that of
invocation but rather of the assembling of the people, a summoning
together for a precise purpose. Everything works together
to awaken the native's sensibility and to make unreal and inacceptable
the contemplative attitude, or the acceptance of defeat.
The native rebuilds his perceptions because he renews the purpose and
dynamism of the craftsmen, of dancing and music and
of literature and the oral tradition. His world comes to lose its
accursed character. The conditions necessary for the inevitable
conflict are brought together.
We have noted the appearance of the movement in cultural forms and we
have seen that this movement and these new forms
are linked to the state of maturity of the national consciousness. Now,
this movement tends more and more to express itself
objectively, in institutions. From thence comes the need for a national
existence, whatever the cost.
A frequent mistake, and one which is moreover hardly justifiable is to
try to find cultural expressions for and to give new values
to native culture within the framework of colonial domination. This is
why we arrive at a proposition which at first sight seems
paradoxical: the fact that in a colonised country the most elementary,
most savage and the most undifferentiated nationalism is
the most fervent and efficient means of defending national culture. For
culture is first the expression of a nation, the expression
of its preferences, of its taboos and of its patterns. It is at every
stage of the whole of society that other taboos, values and
patterns are formed. A national culture is the sum total of all these
appraisals; it is the result of internal and external extensions
exerted over society as a whole and also at every level of that society.
In the colonial situation, culture, which is doubly
deprived of the support of the nation and of the state, falls away and
dies. The condition for its existence is therefore national
liberation and the renaissance of the state.
The nation is not only the condition of culture, its fruitfulness, its
continuous renewal, and its deepening. It is also a necessity. It
is the fight for national existence which sets culture moving and opens
to it the doors of creation. Later on it is the nation which
will ensure the conditions and framework necessary to culture. The
nation gathers together the various indispensable elements
necessary for the creation of a culture, those elements which alone can
give it credibility, validity, life and creative power. In the
same way it is its national character that will make such a culture open
to other cultures and which will enable it to influence and
permeate other cultures. A non-existent culture can hardly be expected
to have bearing on reality, or to influence reality. The
first necessity is-the re-establishment of the nation in order to give
life to national culture in the strictly biological sense of the
phrase.
Thus we have followed the break-up of the old strata of culture, a
shattering which becomes increasingly fundamental; and we
have noticed, on the eve of the decisive conflict for national freedom,
the renewing of forms of expression and the rebirth of the
imagination. There remains one essential question: what are the
relations between the struggle - whether political or military -
and culture? Is there a suspension of culture during the conflict? Is
the national struggle an expression of a culture? Finally, ought
one to say that the battle for freedom, however fertile a posteriori
with regard to culture, is in itself a negation of culture? In
short is the struggle for liberation a cultural phenomenon or not?
We believe that the conscious and organised undertaking by a colonised
people to re-establish the sovereignty of that nation
constitutes the most complete and obvious cultural manifestation that
exists. It is not alone the success of the struggle which
afterwards gives validity and vigour to culture; culture is not put into
cold storage during the conflict. The struggle itself in its
development and in its internal progression sends culture along
different paths and traces out entirely new ones for it The
struggle for freedom does not give back to the national culture its
former value and shapes; this struggle which aims at a
fundamentally different set of relations between men cannot leave intact
either the form or the content of the people's culture.
After the conflict there is not only the disappearance of colonialism
but also the disappearance of the colonised man.
This new humanity cannot do otherwise than define a new humanism both
for itself and for others. It is prefigured in the
objectives and methods of the conflict. A struggle which mobilises all
classes of the people and which expresses their aims and
their impatience, which is not afraid to count almost exclusively on the
people's support, will of necessity triumph. The value of
this type of conflict is that it supplies the maximum of conditions
necessary for the development and aims of culture. After
national freedom has been obtained in these conditions, there is no such
painful cultural indecision which is found in certain
countries which are newly independent, because the nation by its manner
of coming into being and in the terms of its existence
exerts a fundamental influence over culture. A nation which is born of
the people's concerted action and which embodies the
real aspirations of the people while changing the state cannot exist
save in the expression of exceptionally rich forms of culture.
The natives who are anxious for the culture of their country and who
wish to give to it a universal dimension ought not therefore
to place their confidence in the single principle of inevitable,
undifferentiated independence written into the consciousness of the
people in order to achieve their task. The liberation of the nation is
one thing; the methods and popular content of the fight are
another. It seems to me that the future of national culture and its
riches are equally also part and parcel of the values which have
ordained the struggle for freedom.
And now it is time to denounce certain pharisees. National claims, it is
here and there stated, are a phase that humanity has left
behind. It is the day of great concerted actions, and retarded
nationalists ought in consequence to set their mistakes aright. We,
however, consider that the mistake, which may have very serious
consequences, lies in wishing to skip the national period. If
culture is the expression of national consciousness, I will not hesitate
to affirm that in the case with which we are dealing it is the
national consciousness which is the most elaborate form of culture.
The consciousness of self is not the closing of a door to communication.
Philosophic thought teaches us, on the contrary, that it
is its guarantee. National consciousness, which is not nationalism, is
the only thing that will give us an international dimension.
This problem of national consciousness and of national culture takes on
in Africa a special dimension. The birth of national
consciousness in Africa has a strictly contemporaneous connexion with
the African consciousness. The responsibility of the
African as regards national culture is also a responsibility with regard
to African-Negro culture. This joint responsibility is not
the fact of a metaphysical principle but the awareness of a simple rule
which wills that every independent nation in an Africa
where colonialism is still entrenched is an encircled nation, a nation
which is fragile and in permanent danger.
If man is known by his acts, then we will say that the most urgent thing
today for the intellectual is to build up his nation. If this
building up is true, that is to say if it interprets the manifest will
of the people and reveals the eager African peoples, then the
building of a nation is of necessity accompanied by the discovery and
encouragement of universalising values. Far from keeping
aloof from other nations, therefore, it is national liberation which
leads the nation to play its part on the stage of history. It is at
the heart of national consciousness that international consciousness
lives and grows. And this two-fold emerging is ultimately the
source of all culture.
Source:
Reproduced from Wretched of the Earth (1959) publ. Pelican.
Speech to Congress of Black African Writers, 1959
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