My post is related to Yisa's suggestion that the artist must do violence to representation for "a kind of healing can occur, within the individuals who approach art either from the standpoint of the artist or from that of the audience."
In class the notion of "violence" in nationalistic poetry was brought up: the birth of the new nation state is forged through a poetry which "does violence" to existing language: in this way, the colonisers language is now re-arranged to speak of the native's experience, or the native's language breaks out of its traditional form/content and addresses issues of modernity and the nation. The old laws in the state of representation are broken; new laws are formed, and the state of poetry is symbolic of the nation state.
In this sense, violence is not only destructive, but also productive; nonetheless what it produces does not transcend violence, merely re-arrange it. Fanon's act of writing/narrating "On Violence" comes to mind, it is a violent gesture turning the colonisers Hegelian dialectic and the language back against them.
I suggest that Forster's "A Passage to India" also does violence to representation, but in a different way: through a process of “erasure”, which problematises any mode of representation’s hold on reality. In the novel, events which are described off-handedly become significant (Mohammad Latif’s bribing of Antony), events that seem central are then made to seem trivial (Mrs Moore’s epiphany in the caves), actions that reconcile also further division (Aziz’s collar stud).
What does this violence produce? I suggest it opens the possibility for a state of interpersonal relationships that is immediate and somehow beyond language (or at least, the rhetoric of coloniser/colonised). One glimpses this inexpressible state in Aziz's affection for Mrs Moore/Ralph/Fielding, who resorts to a mere platitude: "You are an Oriental".
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Look to your right?
I saw this under Announcements. I think it will be more visible as a blog post. :)
"How To Write with Style".
http://www.blogger.com/post-delete.g?blogID=2691619011176305304&postID=7132120958427383943
In a nutshell:
"How To Write with Style".
http://www.blogger.com/post-delete.g?blogID=2691619011176305304&postID=7132120958427383943
In a nutshell:
1. Find a subject you care about
2. Do not ramble, though
3. Keep it simple
4. Have guts to cut
5. Sound like yourself
6. Say what you mean
7. Pity the readers
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial...
I'd really like to find and read "Notes on the English Character" because I think it would shed a lot of light on A Passage to India at least in terms of ethos. I think this essay's included in the collection Abinger Harvest but I can't even find snippets of it online, alas.
So uh, I actually had a chunk to post before I realized, thanks to your posts, that I'd read Fanon's "The Negro and Language" as opposed to "On Violence". Brilliant. Anyway. Violence is specular rather than diffuse. This polemical tract wasn't enlightening as much as it was refreshing; I think it reaffirmed what we already knew/studied/suspected, without mincing words. The act of consuming (or consummation, even) is central: the colonists want to possess and perpetrate while the colonized masses want to eradicate and replace. Nietzsche, Wagner and Hitler all had something in common: they looked upon leadership as sexual mastery of the "feminine" masses. This rape, I think, underpins the reading. Colonization or decolonization: it is merely a power struggle. Reading A Passage to India throws up various parallels: 'You're superior to them, anyway. Don't forget that. You're superior to everyone in India except one or two of the ranis, and they're on an equality.' You can't deny the racism inherent in colonialiam by corollary, the violence inherent in colonialism. In Zadie Smith's article, Furbank calls Forster the "great simplifier". Both the text and the reading assigned this week ARE simplified; let's recall Fanon's easy dismissal of the colonial world as a "compartmentalized" world. He proceeds to divide that world into two to (I really think) better facilitate his theory that the colonial world is "a Manichean world" in which, of course, violence reigns. There is a certain implicit violence in smashing the colonized to smithereens, by laying their moral code flat on a rock and taking a hammer to it. That is what Fanon means by absolute evil, that values are, in fact, "irreversibly poisoned and infected as soon as they come into contact with the colonized." We see this stain rearing its ugly head in A Passage to India. Best example for me? "Like most Orientals, Aziz overrated hospitality, mistaking it for intimacy, and not seeing that it is tainted with the sense of possession." Seriously, this made me sad guys.
I think it was Fielding who persisted in wanting to see Adela, citing the reason that 'on the off-chance of her recanting before you send in that report and he's committed for trial, and the whole thing goes to blazes' to the Police Superintendent. Fielding wanted to ask her himself, because he believes in Aziz, because she is "among people who disbelieve in Indians." Just a few lines before, the Police Sup had paternalistically said "when an Indian goes bad, he goes not only very bad, but very queer" and proceeded to remind Fielding that the "psychology here is different." Ergo, Fanon's binary system is at play in Forster's novel too, in addition to the babel that association with the Other invariably produces.
I think it was Nadia who posted on the aesthetics of violence. It is both ironic and intriguing to me that we're essentially debating how the relation of masters and slaves should be consciously aestheticized this week. Forster wrote, using a character as a mouthpiece that there is no such person in existence as a general Indian. I really liked that line, and though I find him no Naipaul, I think A Passage to India really reaffirmed the sentiment that all representations of India are ultimately autobiographical. There wasn't anything particularly Indian in the text (colonial and racist, yeah), even the nationalist struggles were shunted in the back, but a lot of Forster shone through. In conclusion, violence induces ruptures, entices with the promise of transgression of boundaries, and when inflicted, paves the way for modernist aesthetics, because modernism was a response to the chaos of our world, our answer after having been exposed to reinterpretation and acceleration and existential, dare I say it, angst to alienation, loss, absurdity and meaninglessness. Individual subjectivity tends to glomp to solidarity and the intimacy of violence is a primal bond. This revolutionary consciousness is present in both Fanon's reading and Forster's (albeit muted/incarnated in another form as evinced by the ending) novel.
So uh, I actually had a chunk to post before I realized, thanks to your posts, that I'd read Fanon's "The Negro and Language" as opposed to "On Violence". Brilliant. Anyway. Violence is specular rather than diffuse. This polemical tract wasn't enlightening as much as it was refreshing; I think it reaffirmed what we already knew/studied/suspected, without mincing words. The act of consuming (or consummation, even) is central: the colonists want to possess and perpetrate while the colonized masses want to eradicate and replace. Nietzsche, Wagner and Hitler all had something in common: they looked upon leadership as sexual mastery of the "feminine" masses. This rape, I think, underpins the reading. Colonization or decolonization: it is merely a power struggle. Reading A Passage to India throws up various parallels: 'You're superior to them, anyway. Don't forget that. You're superior to everyone in India except one or two of the ranis, and they're on an equality.' You can't deny the racism inherent in colonialiam by corollary, the violence inherent in colonialism. In Zadie Smith's article, Furbank calls Forster the "great simplifier". Both the text and the reading assigned this week ARE simplified; let's recall Fanon's easy dismissal of the colonial world as a "compartmentalized" world. He proceeds to divide that world into two to (I really think) better facilitate his theory that the colonial world is "a Manichean world" in which, of course, violence reigns. There is a certain implicit violence in smashing the colonized to smithereens, by laying their moral code flat on a rock and taking a hammer to it. That is what Fanon means by absolute evil, that values are, in fact, "irreversibly poisoned and infected as soon as they come into contact with the colonized." We see this stain rearing its ugly head in A Passage to India. Best example for me? "Like most Orientals, Aziz overrated hospitality, mistaking it for intimacy, and not seeing that it is tainted with the sense of possession." Seriously, this made me sad guys.
I think it was Fielding who persisted in wanting to see Adela, citing the reason that 'on the off-chance of her recanting before you send in that report and he's committed for trial, and the whole thing goes to blazes' to the Police Superintendent. Fielding wanted to ask her himself, because he believes in Aziz, because she is "among people who disbelieve in Indians." Just a few lines before, the Police Sup had paternalistically said "when an Indian goes bad, he goes not only very bad, but very queer" and proceeded to remind Fielding that the "psychology here is different." Ergo, Fanon's binary system is at play in Forster's novel too, in addition to the babel that association with the Other invariably produces.
I think it was Nadia who posted on the aesthetics of violence. It is both ironic and intriguing to me that we're essentially debating how the relation of masters and slaves should be consciously aestheticized this week. Forster wrote, using a character as a mouthpiece that there is no such person in existence as a general Indian. I really liked that line, and though I find him no Naipaul, I think A Passage to India really reaffirmed the sentiment that all representations of India are ultimately autobiographical. There wasn't anything particularly Indian in the text (colonial and racist, yeah), even the nationalist struggles were shunted in the back, but a lot of Forster shone through. In conclusion, violence induces ruptures, entices with the promise of transgression of boundaries, and when inflicted, paves the way for modernist aesthetics, because modernism was a response to the chaos of our world, our answer after having been exposed to reinterpretation and acceleration and existential, dare I say it, angst to alienation, loss, absurdity and meaninglessness. Individual subjectivity tends to glomp to solidarity and the intimacy of violence is a primal bond. This revolutionary consciousness is present in both Fanon's reading and Forster's (albeit muted/incarnated in another form as evinced by the ending) novel.
regardless of race, language or religion
Much has already been said about how the modernist aesthetic re-enacts a form of violence upon narrative and textual means of representation and understanding. I’d just like to point out a further relationship between violence and aesthetic systems that struck me while reading Fanon (and thinking about Auerbach). Fanon writes that colonized masses “intuitively believe that their liberation must…and can only be achieved by force” (33).
Inhabiting as they do a pervasive structure in which colonial dominance (in economic, cultural and political fields, as described by Fanon) prevent the subject from confronting the coloniser as an equal, the outright rejection of such structure seems to be the only means available for levelling the playing field. In PI for example, Aziz knows the result of his trial has already been foretold; his legal, social and cultural standing are more than enough to ‘prove’ his guilt. On the other hand, physical violence, in all its bloody reality, represents not only a rupturing of these oppressive structures, but also allows the battle between coloniser/colonised to be fought in a kind of primordial state of pure physicality, a kind of lacanian Real where social constructions and the (false) inequalities that they bring are abolished. An oblique reference to this can be seen in Adela’s observatin of the punkah, whose “strength and beauty…[and] physical perfection” is likened to a go’ d in contrast to the “cultivated, self conscious and conscientious” Assistant magistrate opposite him (205). Physical violence, in other words, provides the interface where men can meet as equals and reverse the stifling hierarchies that colonialism spawns. ( I was actually thinking of Pahlanuik’s Fight Club, which might help demystify what I think has been a rather convoluted paragraph)
Does "violence" really cleanse?
i found Fanon's essay rather annoying because of it's generalisations so I'm going to try to attempt to examine one of his many general statements. On page 51 of the reading, "On Violence", it is suggested that at the individual level
If one looks at this from a general point of view, it definitely seems true. The colonised finally pose a threat to the dominant force, and in that threat, they experience a sense of power. However, at a very very fundamental level, I find that not to be the case in Forster's A Passage to India. . No doubt, the British characters in the novel seem to all beat a hasty retreat to Britain - Moore, Quested and eventually Fielding; a sort of symbolic surrender to the Indians. Yet, it seems it is Aziz who suffers the most in the aftermath. He is paranoid, suspicious, angry and desires to escape into a reclusion. In conclusion, I like the Aziz at the end of the novel less than the Aziz at the beginning. Violence has not cleansed Aziz. It gives him a new stubborn hatred of the British which seems myopic and bitter. It almost costs him Fielding's friendship. He does not seem a better man for it, only holding on to the notion that one can "Never be friends with the English!".
I found the last few paragraphs of the novel very powerful as Fielding and Aziz finally and plainly lash out at each other as symbols of the Enemy, yet their embrace at the end binds them, suggesting the core of humanity. The listing of physical structures "the rocks, the temples, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Guest House" come between them, suggesting the impossibility of shaking off the historical burden that has not cleansed but instead tainted the friendship between an Englishman and an Indian. Violence, in my simplistic opinion, has not cleansed but tainted, politicised and embittered a sweet intelligent man.
My question is this: To what extent was this a necessary reality check and what, do you think,is Forster's intention?
violence is a cleansing force. It rids the colonized of their inferiority complex, of their passive and despairing attitude. It emboldens them, and restores their self-confidence.
If one looks at this from a general point of view, it definitely seems true. The colonised finally pose a threat to the dominant force, and in that threat, they experience a sense of power. However, at a very very fundamental level, I find that not to be the case in Forster's A Passage to India. . No doubt, the British characters in the novel seem to all beat a hasty retreat to Britain - Moore, Quested and eventually Fielding; a sort of symbolic surrender to the Indians. Yet, it seems it is Aziz who suffers the most in the aftermath. He is paranoid, suspicious, angry and desires to escape into a reclusion. In conclusion, I like the Aziz at the end of the novel less than the Aziz at the beginning. Violence has not cleansed Aziz. It gives him a new stubborn hatred of the British which seems myopic and bitter. It almost costs him Fielding's friendship. He does not seem a better man for it, only holding on to the notion that one can "Never be friends with the English!".
I found the last few paragraphs of the novel very powerful as Fielding and Aziz finally and plainly lash out at each other as symbols of the Enemy, yet their embrace at the end binds them, suggesting the core of humanity. The listing of physical structures "the rocks, the temples, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Guest House" come between them, suggesting the impossibility of shaking off the historical burden that has not cleansed but instead tainted the friendship between an Englishman and an Indian. Violence, in my simplistic opinion, has not cleansed but tainted, politicised and embittered a sweet intelligent man.
My question is this: To what extent was this a necessary reality check and what, do you think,is Forster's intention?
Fanon and Forster- who's being more wretched?
Before I start, I just want to say that it’s quite amusing how as the weeks pass by, blog posts are beginning to look more and more like mini-research papers. (“,)
Anyhow, let’s break down the person who is currently the wretched of my life, Frantz Fanon. I first encountered Fanon in my South Asian lit class last semester, albeit a shorter version, and I must say what struck me most was the difficulty I had in mapping Fanon onto Forster. Because Fanon mapped perfectly onto many of my texts in that module, including more recent works like Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss and Salman Rushdie’s Fury. I remembering being taken aback by his writing style because the brother was so fierce but I also remember being persuaded by him, as in, I believed that violence was the way to go if the colonized wanted freedom (no offense to Mr.Gandhi). But somehow, I felt like his binaries could not be imposed onto Forster’s novel all that readily thanks to characters like Mrs Moore and Fielding. Furthermore, I can’t completely swallow the idea of doing violence onto colonist characters in the novel, including people like Mrs. Turton and even Major Callendar who is rumoured to have tortured a native in the novel.
Is it because its fiction and Mrs Turton is so obviously caricatured while what Fanon talked about were real people, like that creep Lacoste, stepping over others? Or is it because Fanon wrote by aligning himself with the oppressed while Forster wrote standing outside both camps and as a neutral party? Maybe the neutrality comes to him easy precisely because he himself had to never endure such oppression. Because what we get in Passage is not violent colonization, or violent decolonization for that matter. The riots are mentioned in passing- in short, violence is relegated to the background in Passage. Is Forster imposing his own kind of violence by not fully elaborating the struggles the colonized went through?
In Passage, we get to see relationships, we get to see interaction, motives and presumptions about each community formed by the other. In this sense, I could map Fanon onto Forster but even then I feel like the former falls short. Fanon talks about how the colonist fabricates the colonized subject. But I believe that fabrication or stereotyping, can be expected of anybody. All of us do it, we judge a person on looks, on the kind of community he hails from, his friends, his grades, etc. And that is what Forster shows, how both sides fabricate each other.
On Fanon and Forster
I don’t know if I’m the only one not at all impressed by the overtly “brimstone and fire” tone Fanon employs in his essay, propounding “On Violence” so violently and definitively. I found his essay quite a pain to read in fact, in part due to the awkward direct French translations in the essay, but largely because of his ironically dictatorial, absolutist tone that I feel would not have been out of place in the dialogue of Foster’s colonial officials as they discussed Indians and why they act they way they do. I think what this essay really lacks is substantiation and examples, particularly in the first part to back up his claims, so it makes it hard to trust and agree with. But in fairness and not to quibble too much, I did feel that he did raise some thought-provoking issues that served as a springboard in my process of thinking about the novel.
Some ideas I had while reading the essay: I was struck by the point made by Fanon on page 7 concerning the “use of zoological terms” (7) by the coloniser in order to “dehumanise the colonised subject” (7). I was instantly reminded of Forster’s descriptions of the English in the lead-up to the trial of Adela, where Forster subtly animalises them, hence turning the tables on the colonisers, particularly in the court trial scene, where Major Callendar “growls” (221) and where there is a cool contrast between the behaviour of the English who are less than dignified in their behaviour in court and that of the Indian barrister, Amritrao, to some extent Das the Magistrate and notably the Untouchable (proletariat figure) manning the punkah, who is likened to a “god” in that chapter. Rather than a clear-cut binary, Forster breaks down the Manichaean dualism that colonialism has built up through his portrayal of the “colonised subject”, “colonised intellectual” and the coloniser. Therefore, I would like to suggest that Forster’s text be seen as part of or in and of itself a decolonising force, in this rejection of the dualisms that colonialism thrived upon.
Another thing that struck me about Fanon’s essay was definitely his take on the issue of violence and retaliation of the colonised upon the coloniser. I found the perspective on the concerns of “bread and land” (Fanon 14) worthy of some attention as it reminded me what I’d learnt at A level history about the starving Russian proletariat in the aftermath of the Russian Rev, as “bread and land” became scarce and exorbitantly priced. From what I barely remember of A level history (4 yrs ago, so bear with me), the aftermaths of both the French and Russian Revolution were marked with economic disasters that disproportionately disadvantaged the proletariat rather than the bourgeoisie as they continued to serve their own individual economic needs. Therefore, it could be said that it was a replacement of the monarchical/ imperial classes with another power-hungry class at the top and in fact really no revolution after all. I get this sense therefore that Fanon is implying the same idea for the colonialized intellectual classes and suggests therefore that physical violence is the only means for the repressed (psychologically, socially and economically) colonised subject to totally counter traces of colonialism. Mere anarchy is the answer for Fanon.
Side note: This also led me to think about Singapore as a post-colonial country. We did after all gain our independence from the "colonialist" via the negotiations and leadership of the "colonial intellectuals". The British colonisers left a legacy of many things in Singapore that have come to be historicised in our Singapore history as boons of our colonial past, global trade capitalism being one of them. And as we all know, this has been carried on by our political leaders, motivated by what else but economic prosperity. "...today the national struggle of the colonized is part and parcel of an entirely new situation. Capitalism..." (26) So concerning this "struggle", is Fanon then suggesting we take up our pitchforks (more like bbq skewers) to rid ourselves fully of colonialism? Hmmm....
Fanon's pen is mightier than your sword
What struck me, and disturbs me, about Fanon’s “On Violence” is the aggressive style and tone that he adopts in writing the chapter. The words he uses are very harsh and violent and Fanon doesn’t mince his words, attacking and driving home his point again and again. Perhaps he meant for his readers to be disturbed by his style, and to think about the points he raised. Fanon definitely had an agenda in mind when he wrote this, and I think he does achieve it as far as anti-colonialism goes; but whether it still resounds with readers today I’m not too sure. Perhaps for those who share a similarly violent de-colonization background in their fight for independence (which brings to mind all those Southeast Asian histories that I studied in JC—remember the Vietnamese and the Burmese?), but coming from a Singaporean background, the violence he portrays doesn’t strike a strong chord in me, probably because what we’ve studied is Singapore’s rather mild de-colonization process (even the fight with the communists pale in comparison with what Fanon portrays here). Yet, keeping in mind that Singapore didn’t have it all that bad, I had to control my discomfort over his writing and finish the reading. I must say that Fanon’s work is rather revolutionary in itself (which reminds me of Aziz’s poem that Godbole liked the most), and after reading the chapter, I had to go and search for some background information of him out of pure curiosity.
What interested me was that he was ‘born into a mixed family background: his father was the descendent of African slaves, and his mother was said to be an illegitimate child of mixed race’ (from Wikipedia, not the best source to cite from but oh well) and he himself was a victim of racism from the French which formulated his entire anti-colonialism framework. I was also struck by his uneasy relationship with the French language, which he wrote in Black Skin, White Masks, ‘To speak . . . means above all to assume a culture, to support the weight of a civilization’ (17-18); for Fanon, as was what we’ve previously discussed, the adoption of the colonizer’s language is a violence done to oneself because in doing so, he has absorbed the French’s culture and way of thinking which then conflicts with and alienates his blackness. So, since his article was originally written in French, his presentation of anti-colonial sentiments in a particularly violent style in the colonizer’s language is interesting because in doing so, he is performing violence towards the colonizer using their own language and words rather than using an ethnic language. In “On Violence”, what is more fascinating is his avocation of the peasants as true revolutionaries because ‘it has nothing to lose and everything to gain’ (23) as opposed to other classes because the peasants are the only ones who don’t see any improvements in their situations whether the country is colonized or de-colonized. Considering the plight of Third World countries in the world today, I’d say Fanon’s observation is a rather sharp and sound one.
The biggest nugget I took away from this chapter is the idea of ‘absolute violence’ and the belief that violence begets more violence, but the only way to end it all is absolute violence which destroys everything, leaving behind a clean and blank slate. Only then can the world truly move on from the endless cycle of violence done to and done onto.
On another note, I wonder how much of this reading constitutes Fanon’s voice, and how much of it is the translator’s? Because I’m quite sure some things were lost in translation, and I can’t help but question if we will gain a different sense and understanding in reading the original rather than the translated. Alas, I don’t know French so I guess I’ll never know.
-Yuen Mei-
What interested me was that he was ‘born into a mixed family background: his father was the descendent of African slaves, and his mother was said to be an illegitimate child of mixed race’ (from Wikipedia, not the best source to cite from but oh well) and he himself was a victim of racism from the French which formulated his entire anti-colonialism framework. I was also struck by his uneasy relationship with the French language, which he wrote in Black Skin, White Masks, ‘To speak . . . means above all to assume a culture, to support the weight of a civilization’ (17-18); for Fanon, as was what we’ve previously discussed, the adoption of the colonizer’s language is a violence done to oneself because in doing so, he has absorbed the French’s culture and way of thinking which then conflicts with and alienates his blackness. So, since his article was originally written in French, his presentation of anti-colonial sentiments in a particularly violent style in the colonizer’s language is interesting because in doing so, he is performing violence towards the colonizer using their own language and words rather than using an ethnic language. In “On Violence”, what is more fascinating is his avocation of the peasants as true revolutionaries because ‘it has nothing to lose and everything to gain’ (23) as opposed to other classes because the peasants are the only ones who don’t see any improvements in their situations whether the country is colonized or de-colonized. Considering the plight of Third World countries in the world today, I’d say Fanon’s observation is a rather sharp and sound one.
The biggest nugget I took away from this chapter is the idea of ‘absolute violence’ and the belief that violence begets more violence, but the only way to end it all is absolute violence which destroys everything, leaving behind a clean and blank slate. Only then can the world truly move on from the endless cycle of violence done to and done onto.
On another note, I wonder how much of this reading constitutes Fanon’s voice, and how much of it is the translator’s? Because I’m quite sure some things were lost in translation, and I can’t help but question if we will gain a different sense and understanding in reading the original rather than the translated. Alas, I don’t know French so I guess I’ll never know.
-Yuen Mei-
“You taught me language, and my profit on’t is I know how to curse”
[I thought this quote from Caliban - typically thought to be Shakespeare’s figure for the native – was kind of apt because cursing = a violence against language]
It seems to me that Fanon’s polemical chapter stands not only as an exposition on the physical violence endemic in colonialism; on a more meta level, it performs violence of another sort – the (re)writing of narrative with the intention of usurping existing ones.
I would particularly like to consider this violence of narrative in light of Sartre’s preface to Fanon’s book when it was first published in 1961. On a basic level, Fanon is writing back to Empire, retaliating in much the same way as the natives physically do in his text. What I find interesting, though, is the way in which he does it: he literally sets out a historical narrative, a semi-detached observation of the flow of events in the interaction between settler and native (which later evolve into the capitalist West and the Third World). It is a mode of narrative highly reminiscent of Marx and Engels - the opposition of dialectics, the progression of society from capitalist to Communist - and I think it is a deliberate move on Fanon’s part. Besides his clear socialist and anti-capitalist slant, he is hijacking the Marxist narrative of violent revolution, change, and historical progress and moulding it to fit the colonial context. These connotations would not have been lost on the Western audience. Sartre says: “Fanon is the first since Engels to bring the processes of history into the clear light of day” (13), and indeed by presenting his argument as “history” Fanon clearly places the days of settler-native in the past. Now is the time of change and native violence, the time when colonial narratives get rewritten or erased to prepare the way for the tabula rasa of the new nationalist narrative.(Again to quote Sartre: “…in the past we made history and now it is being made of us”.)
The idea of conflicting and rewriting narratives is not new – one could say it marked the ‘soft’ side of imperialism: rewriting the rules, the history, the understanding of the East to fit Western frames. This is clear in Passage to India, in which Adela’s original narrative of what happened in the Marabar caves clearly trumps whatever narrative Aziz or his lawyer can weave in his defence. Yet at the same time, what happens in the caves is immaterial; what matters is the divergence of narratives that Forster can give us, for in the end the micro-narratives of the text are woven into a macro one by Forster with India as his main narrative. Interestingly though, Forster’s India narrative is essentially an unknowable (to repeat the point from last week), empty one for him to fill, like a blank canvas for him to paint or the empty echo of ‘boum’.
I think it may be too reductionist to say that this is Forster’s way of still imposing a (white) master narrative on his text (despite the multi-faceted view he presents), but you could draw a parallel with what Sartre does in his preface. While he seems to be trying to take Fanon’s point of view, the fact that he feels he has to explain Fanon’s points and make an appeal to his Western brethren turns his preface into an enwrapping, paratextual narrative for a reader of Fanon’s text. Pick up the book and you are reading Fanon first filtered through Sartre, as Passage to India becomes India filtered through Forster.
However, my question is: is it only in the nature of colonial-colonised narratives to be violent? Or is narrative in itself violent in the sense that it can be rewritten, taken apart, re-angled? I think modernism emphasizes this point best in the way that it fragments narrative (a form of violence against the unitary narrative) and breaks it up; in the same way, then, perhaps Fanon’s opposition and fragmentation of Western/historical narrative makes it deeply modernist – in spirit if not in form.
It seems to me that Fanon’s polemical chapter stands not only as an exposition on the physical violence endemic in colonialism; on a more meta level, it performs violence of another sort – the (re)writing of narrative with the intention of usurping existing ones.
I would particularly like to consider this violence of narrative in light of Sartre’s preface to Fanon’s book when it was first published in 1961. On a basic level, Fanon is writing back to Empire, retaliating in much the same way as the natives physically do in his text. What I find interesting, though, is the way in which he does it: he literally sets out a historical narrative, a semi-detached observation of the flow of events in the interaction between settler and native (which later evolve into the capitalist West and the Third World). It is a mode of narrative highly reminiscent of Marx and Engels - the opposition of dialectics, the progression of society from capitalist to Communist - and I think it is a deliberate move on Fanon’s part. Besides his clear socialist and anti-capitalist slant, he is hijacking the Marxist narrative of violent revolution, change, and historical progress and moulding it to fit the colonial context. These connotations would not have been lost on the Western audience. Sartre says: “Fanon is the first since Engels to bring the processes of history into the clear light of day” (13), and indeed by presenting his argument as “history” Fanon clearly places the days of settler-native in the past. Now is the time of change and native violence, the time when colonial narratives get rewritten or erased to prepare the way for the tabula rasa of the new nationalist narrative.(Again to quote Sartre: “…in the past we made history and now it is being made of us”.)
The idea of conflicting and rewriting narratives is not new – one could say it marked the ‘soft’ side of imperialism: rewriting the rules, the history, the understanding of the East to fit Western frames. This is clear in Passage to India, in which Adela’s original narrative of what happened in the Marabar caves clearly trumps whatever narrative Aziz or his lawyer can weave in his defence. Yet at the same time, what happens in the caves is immaterial; what matters is the divergence of narratives that Forster can give us, for in the end the micro-narratives of the text are woven into a macro one by Forster with India as his main narrative. Interestingly though, Forster’s India narrative is essentially an unknowable (to repeat the point from last week), empty one for him to fill, like a blank canvas for him to paint or the empty echo of ‘boum’.
I think it may be too reductionist to say that this is Forster’s way of still imposing a (white) master narrative on his text (despite the multi-faceted view he presents), but you could draw a parallel with what Sartre does in his preface. While he seems to be trying to take Fanon’s point of view, the fact that he feels he has to explain Fanon’s points and make an appeal to his Western brethren turns his preface into an enwrapping, paratextual narrative for a reader of Fanon’s text. Pick up the book and you are reading Fanon first filtered through Sartre, as Passage to India becomes India filtered through Forster.
However, my question is: is it only in the nature of colonial-colonised narratives to be violent? Or is narrative in itself violent in the sense that it can be rewritten, taken apart, re-angled? I think modernism emphasizes this point best in the way that it fragments narrative (a form of violence against the unitary narrative) and breaks it up; in the same way, then, perhaps Fanon’s opposition and fragmentation of Western/historical narrative makes it deeply modernist – in spirit if not in form.
the diabolical aspect of decolonisation
The novel seems to hint at the presence of universal values such as love. This is represented by the birth of a child at the beginning of Part 3. This birth is interesting because it not only has very strong Hindu and Christian resonances, but also conflates both religions. "Infinite Love took upon itself the form of Shri Krishna, and saved the world" (257). Here, Jesus Christ who is born into the world to save the it, takes the form of Lord Krishna- who is often worshiped in several forms, one of them being as the Child God. Just as Krishna is the Child God is Jesus also the Child God, both of whom represent the infinite love that can save the world. Through this, I think Forster is trying to highlight the transcendental quality of virtues and values (that both the British and the Indians believe in) such as that of Love and Moral Courage (as exemplified earlier on by Fielding). Yet, this is sadly not recognized by the characters at all. Fielding does not recognize the 'christian slant' to it. "Do you know anything about this Krishna business?" (285) he asks Aziz. While Aziz is simultanously unable to explain it to Fielding, finally brushing it off. "Don't spoil our last hour with foolish questions. Leave Krishna alone, and talk about something sensible" (286).
Through this, I think Forster suggests the impossibility of an equal friendship between the British and the Indians. The reason for this can perhaps be explained by Fanon's article. He suggests that "decolonization unifies this world by a radical decision to remove its heterogeneity, by unifying it on the grounds of nation and sometimes race" (10) Perhaps Passage to India is similarly trying to reveal this same diabolical aspect to decolonization, that it "unifies" the world by (ironically) classifying people into 'types' and categories, therefore disallowing friendships across classifications, when instead a 'true-blue' decolonization should be one that unifies the world based on universal values such as Love and Sacrifice.
Even towards the end of the novel, Forster hints that there are complications to nation-building or decolonization. When Fielding asks Aziz whom he would rather have instead of the English as governors of his country, Aziz surprisingly replies "the Afghans. My own ancestors." (287) This contradicts the idea of India as a nation, "rid of foreigners", where "Hindu and Moslem and Sikh and all shall be one" (287). It is violence according to Fanon, that cleanses the world of these categories, yet when this violence has achieved "national liberation, the masses allow nobody to come forward as the 'liberator'" (51). Similarly, perhaps the novel is suggesting that when the Indians have worked as one to get rid of the foreigners, there will then be another problem hindering nation-building- that of civil strife, as the Indians begin to choose race over the nation.
Through this, I think Forster suggests the impossibility of an equal friendship between the British and the Indians. The reason for this can perhaps be explained by Fanon's article. He suggests that "decolonization unifies this world by a radical decision to remove its heterogeneity, by unifying it on the grounds of nation and sometimes race" (10) Perhaps Passage to India is similarly trying to reveal this same diabolical aspect to decolonization, that it "unifies" the world by (ironically) classifying people into 'types' and categories, therefore disallowing friendships across classifications, when instead a 'true-blue' decolonization should be one that unifies the world based on universal values such as Love and Sacrifice.
Even towards the end of the novel, Forster hints that there are complications to nation-building or decolonization. When Fielding asks Aziz whom he would rather have instead of the English as governors of his country, Aziz surprisingly replies "the Afghans. My own ancestors." (287) This contradicts the idea of India as a nation, "rid of foreigners", where "Hindu and Moslem and Sikh and all shall be one" (287). It is violence according to Fanon, that cleanses the world of these categories, yet when this violence has achieved "national liberation, the masses allow nobody to come forward as the 'liberator'" (51). Similarly, perhaps the novel is suggesting that when the Indians have worked as one to get rid of the foreigners, there will then be another problem hindering nation-building- that of civil strife, as the Indians begin to choose race over the nation.
Intellectual Violence
In "On Violence" Frantz Fanon writes that "during the struggle for liberation, when the colonized individual touches base again with his people, this artificial sentinel is smashed into smithereens. All the Mediterranean values, the triumph of the individual, of enlightenment and Beauty turn into pale, lifeless trinket...Those values which seemed to ennoble the soul proved worthless because they have nothing in common with the real-life struggle in which the people are engaged." (11) It's clear that the process of colonization inflicts on its subjects violence of an intellectual nature, on top of the physical. To colonize is to impose the colonizer's value and ideological systems onto the colonized, so as to ensure a totality of control. Not only are subjects to be physically controlled and managed (with policing systems and violence) but they are to be persuaded into their own subjectivization through an interpellation into their colonizer's value systems. As such, the colonized subject both ensures and reinforces his own colonization--much as the Indian upperclass does in A Passage to India. They are to be convinced that the colonizer's ideals and values are superior to their own, and therefore a valid basis for colonization in the first place.
We see an example of the imposition and manipulation of values on an individual and not national scale with Fielding and Aziz, when the former tries to persuade Aziz not to sue Miss Quested for her money. Aziz persists in his irrational preference for Mrs. Moore over Miss Quested even when, as Fielding points out, "Miss Quested anyhow behaved decently this morning, whereas the old lady never did anything for you at all, and it's pure conjecture that she would have come forward in your favour." (209 of my Borders edition) Aziz responds with "'Is emotion a sack of potatoes, so much the pound, to be measured out? Am I a machine? I shall be told I can use up my emotions by using them, next.'" And eventually, Fielding is able to manipulate Aziz successfully by raising "a questionable image of [Mrs. Moore] in the heart of Aziz, saying nothing that he believed to be untrue, but producing something that was probably far from the truth." (215) Fielding believes that it is logical and fair to let Miss Quested off the hook for what she has sacrificed in telling the truth in court. But Aziz's feelings and actions are motivated by irrational emotional impulses, such as his love (and Orientalization--hence, idealization) of Mrs. Moore whom he had met only three times, and his lack thereof for Miss Quested.
My point here is, that there is clearly a mismatch in what is valued and upheld in the colonizer and colonized societies, and that colonization intends to bypass and totalize this difference as part of its mechanism in an act of violence. Certainly, value systems differ as a consequence of the standard of living and level of progress of the respective societies. While white societies look to values such as freedom, individual choice and so on, because they have attained a certain level of affluence which allows them to look beyond everyday bread and butter issues, colonies are usually in a backward stage of development which correspondingly impedes this development in value systems. (Although whether what works for white colonizers necessarily would work for colonized subjects remains to be seen of course.) I've often personally experienced this divide, when on my exchange in Canada, I'd have discussions with Europeans about how things like freedom of press and expression, individual will and political freedom can be insignificant in light of more immediate pressing needs such as the economic and social demands on the individual of living in a competitive and populous country such as China. Of course, they didn't get me and I didn't get them but at least I tried!
In A Passage to India, we do see a reverence or at least a respect for the Indian culture and what its people value. The message of the novel seems to amount to a compromise, that peoples and societies differ and while we may never reconcile these differences, we can agree to disagree. It's very clear in both the novel and Fanon's essay that colonization is a propagator of conflict, division and violence that would never allow such compromise.
We see an example of the imposition and manipulation of values on an individual and not national scale with Fielding and Aziz, when the former tries to persuade Aziz not to sue Miss Quested for her money. Aziz persists in his irrational preference for Mrs. Moore over Miss Quested even when, as Fielding points out, "Miss Quested anyhow behaved decently this morning, whereas the old lady never did anything for you at all, and it's pure conjecture that she would have come forward in your favour." (209 of my Borders edition) Aziz responds with "'Is emotion a sack of potatoes, so much the pound, to be measured out? Am I a machine? I shall be told I can use up my emotions by using them, next.'" And eventually, Fielding is able to manipulate Aziz successfully by raising "a questionable image of [Mrs. Moore] in the heart of Aziz, saying nothing that he believed to be untrue, but producing something that was probably far from the truth." (215) Fielding believes that it is logical and fair to let Miss Quested off the hook for what she has sacrificed in telling the truth in court. But Aziz's feelings and actions are motivated by irrational emotional impulses, such as his love (and Orientalization--hence, idealization) of Mrs. Moore whom he had met only three times, and his lack thereof for Miss Quested.
My point here is, that there is clearly a mismatch in what is valued and upheld in the colonizer and colonized societies, and that colonization intends to bypass and totalize this difference as part of its mechanism in an act of violence. Certainly, value systems differ as a consequence of the standard of living and level of progress of the respective societies. While white societies look to values such as freedom, individual choice and so on, because they have attained a certain level of affluence which allows them to look beyond everyday bread and butter issues, colonies are usually in a backward stage of development which correspondingly impedes this development in value systems. (Although whether what works for white colonizers necessarily would work for colonized subjects remains to be seen of course.) I've often personally experienced this divide, when on my exchange in Canada, I'd have discussions with Europeans about how things like freedom of press and expression, individual will and political freedom can be insignificant in light of more immediate pressing needs such as the economic and social demands on the individual of living in a competitive and populous country such as China. Of course, they didn't get me and I didn't get them but at least I tried!
In A Passage to India, we do see a reverence or at least a respect for the Indian culture and what its people value. The message of the novel seems to amount to a compromise, that peoples and societies differ and while we may never reconcile these differences, we can agree to disagree. It's very clear in both the novel and Fanon's essay that colonization is a propagator of conflict, division and violence that would never allow such compromise.
space and empire
It really tickles me that a few weeks ago we were all going on about Levine’s satirical tone, when the whole time the real deal was just sitting there, in Fanon’s work. Talk about writing to slam. I’ve read segments of this article before but the absolutist and highly convinced tone still catches me every time. Many things stand out in this article, some of them written in a fairly amusing way—for instance the examples of colonial vocabulary which the article raises: “quintessence of evil”, “absolute evil”, “innate depravity”—reminding us of how the colonized are (unreasonably) cast in the role of barbarians to justify colonial rule. Indeed, Fanon’s “If we leave, all will be lost, and this land will return to the Dark Ages” mirrors Ronny’s “We’re out here to do justice and keep the peace”, and both narratives suggest that both speakers are misguided, either through Fanon’s over-the-top tone which cues us to roll our eyes at the statement, or Mrs Moore’s gentle chiding that Ronny is wrong.
Anyhow, I’ve gotten distracted. My intended posting was really about the concept of space. I like the fact that, simply put, an Empire is really all about space. The more space you take up, the less space there is left for your competitors, the more powerful you are because the pie can only be split so many ways. Also, having a large empire also means having a large mass of troops at your disposal if one ever felt like waging a war. In economic terms, that also means you have more natural resources. If the wealth of a person is measured by the size of the house he/she lives in, then the strength and authority of an empire is measured by the amount of space it spills, spreads, sprawls across. Look at the British club and enclave in Passage, and see how they vary from the native’s parties and living conditions. Fielding’s house is neat as a pin, but Aziz’s is cluttered and little more than a squalor. Fanon sums this binary up by saying that “the colonist’s sector is clean and smooth, without a pothole, without a stone” while the colonized sector is “a world with no space”. No space! Without space, one does not have power, and having a cluttered space only implies that one lacks the ability to consolidate or organize that power.
The negotiation of space is also what first set the colonizer and the colonized apart—not just because they hail from separate spaces, not just because one came to invade the other’s space, but because after the former invaded and settled in the latter’s country he segregated his side from the Other side. Just as the Islamic tradition segregates the men from the women via purdah, the colonizer separated himself from the colonized with cultural inventions. We can read this as alluding in some way to the colonizer as being the masculine presence (free to roam the public sphere) and the colonized as the feminine one (held behind purdah)—perpetuating the ideology that the East is effeminate and the West has to masculinise it through a colonial mentoring of sorts.. Or we could choose to see it from a more ironical perspective—mainly that while purdah’s segregation is meant to protect women from men, colonial segregation is meant to protect the colonizer from the colonized. Note how this reading also suggests a highly insecure empire, where the colonizer is always in mortal fear of being overthrown, of decolonization. And the way Fanon goes about describing (excessively so) the process and potential of decolonization, the colonizer does seem to have reason to fear.
$$$
Reading Fanon's "On Violence" has got me thinking about the terms "Modernism" and "Postcolonialism" in another way tonight.
But let me first say the first half of the essay was rather pessimistic and dreary to read! Generally, "On Violence" came across as a very angry and vengeance-seeking text, and Fanon's constant reiteration that violence is the only way the colonised can break free of the colonisers' grip was like another gloomy touch to an already gloomy (rainy) Thursday evening. This is obvious when he writes that "between oppressors and oppressed, force is the only solution" (32), or that there exists only a "single combat between the colonized and the colonist" which is "clearly and plainly an armed struggle" (42). Surely violence could not be the be-all and end-all?
As a result of all this pessimistic talk about violence, I began searching the text to see if Fanon offered an alternative to violence. Surprisingly, Fanon does offer such an alternative, which actually makes him sound rather schizophrenic. I wonder if he deliberately started the essay pessimistically for dramatic effect. The second half of the essay suddenly shifts its focus to the practical plight of the nations seeking independence. This is where the term “Postcolonialism” took on a new meaning for me. “Postcolonialism” has always had the connotation of nations seeking independence struggling against their colonial masters, but now I am thinking also in terms of post-colonial; of what literally happens in real time and real places after colonisers withdraw from the colonised nations. For example, Fanon astutely points out that these young/new nations seeking independence are facing difficulties from all sides - the immediate problems of a sudden withdrawal of law enforcement, administration, infrastructure and capital (i.e. $$$), and also the gargantuan task of having to build their nation all over again:
They also face the challenges of etching their presence in a modern (and this was where “Modernism” took on a different meaning for me too), capitalist world. The young nation “sees the modern world penetrate the remotest corners of the interior, he becomes acutely aware of everything he does not possess” (34).
So instead of violence, Fanon seems to be proposing (if I'm not mistaken!) an alternative that might actually help the de-colonising nations. He proposes the "redistribution of wealth" (55), and then goes on to list his many grievances against the colonisers' "capitalist exploitation" (55), saying how "[c]olonialism and imperialism have not settled their debt to us once they have withdrawn their flag and their police force from our territories" (57). I thought this all made sense, especially relating back to Passage. After all, what are the British in Forster’s India without their native slaves to wait on them; what is their military if not for the Indians who enlisted and made its numbers?
However, I have a problem with this money-as-compensation proposition of Fanon’s. How is it possible to measure in dollars and cents years of invasion, exploitation, forced slavery and many other immeasurable forms of “violence” that the colonisers have done to the colonised? How much money will ever be enough to soothe such anger as Fanon's? He claims that “moral reparation” (58) is not enough, and immediately I think of today's developing African nations that are receiving plenty of NGO and UN aid, but are nevertheless still heavy in debt. The thing is, how can money ever right moral wrongs? Now, Fanon sounds just like the Indians in Passage who keep demanding poor Adela compensate her accusation of Aziz, and it leaves me wondering if these new/young nations, in their bid to re-create themselves, fall in the same trap everyone, coloniser or colonised, gets caught in: the trap of Capitalism.
-edit- Melissa (refer to post above) says empire is all about space. I think empire is all about money!
But let me first say the first half of the essay was rather pessimistic and dreary to read! Generally, "On Violence" came across as a very angry and vengeance-seeking text, and Fanon's constant reiteration that violence is the only way the colonised can break free of the colonisers' grip was like another gloomy touch to an already gloomy (rainy) Thursday evening. This is obvious when he writes that "between oppressors and oppressed, force is the only solution" (32), or that there exists only a "single combat between the colonized and the colonist" which is "clearly and plainly an armed struggle" (42). Surely violence could not be the be-all and end-all?
As a result of all this pessimistic talk about violence, I began searching the text to see if Fanon offered an alternative to violence. Surprisingly, Fanon does offer such an alternative, which actually makes him sound rather schizophrenic. I wonder if he deliberately started the essay pessimistically for dramatic effect. The second half of the essay suddenly shifts its focus to the practical plight of the nations seeking independence. This is where the term “Postcolonialism” took on a new meaning for me. “Postcolonialism” has always had the connotation of nations seeking independence struggling against their colonial masters, but now I am thinking also in terms of post-colonial; of what literally happens in real time and real places after colonisers withdraw from the colonised nations. For example, Fanon astutely points out that these young/new nations seeking independence are facing difficulties from all sides - the immediate problems of a sudden withdrawal of law enforcement, administration, infrastructure and capital (i.e. $$$), and also the gargantuan task of having to build their nation all over again:
"[W]hat we actually see is the colonizer withdrawing his capital and technicians
and encircling the young nation with an apparatus of economic pressure." (54)
They also face the challenges of etching their presence in a modern (and this was where “Modernism” took on a different meaning for me too), capitalist world. The young nation “sees the modern world penetrate the remotest corners of the interior, he becomes acutely aware of everything he does not possess” (34).
So instead of violence, Fanon seems to be proposing (if I'm not mistaken!) an alternative that might actually help the de-colonising nations. He proposes the "redistribution of wealth" (55), and then goes on to list his many grievances against the colonisers' "capitalist exploitation" (55), saying how "[c]olonialism and imperialism have not settled their debt to us once they have withdrawn their flag and their police force from our territories" (57). I thought this all made sense, especially relating back to Passage. After all, what are the British in Forster’s India without their native slaves to wait on them; what is their military if not for the Indians who enlisted and made its numbers?
However, I have a problem with this money-as-compensation proposition of Fanon’s. How is it possible to measure in dollars and cents years of invasion, exploitation, forced slavery and many other immeasurable forms of “violence” that the colonisers have done to the colonised? How much money will ever be enough to soothe such anger as Fanon's? He claims that “moral reparation” (58) is not enough, and immediately I think of today's developing African nations that are receiving plenty of NGO and UN aid, but are nevertheless still heavy in debt. The thing is, how can money ever right moral wrongs? Now, Fanon sounds just like the Indians in Passage who keep demanding poor Adela compensate her accusation of Aziz, and it leaves me wondering if these new/young nations, in their bid to re-create themselves, fall in the same trap everyone, coloniser or colonised, gets caught in: the trap of Capitalism.
-edit- Melissa (refer to post above) says empire is all about space. I think empire is all about money!
Boumshead Revisited
Last week, I was highly ambivalent about A Passage to India, in part because of Forster's sweeping generalisations of both the white administration and the natives despite that "there is no such person in existence as the general Indian." (XXX, 232) Reading Fanon this week, it dawns upon me that perhaps if I apply his fundamental tenet, that "the colonial world is a Manichaean world," (6) to Passage, I might be able to alleviate my "echo," as it were. Fanon's colonial world is a "compartmentalised world, this world divided in two," (Fanon, 5) and it is this world that Forster writes of, a world of binaries for which generalisations thus must hold. For the natives, "he too generalised from his disappointments - it is difficult for members of a subject race to do otherwise;" (II, 6) for the colonisers (and this is already a kinder view), "all unfortunate natives are criminals at heart, for the simple reason that they live south of latitude 30." (XVIII, 143) Mrs Moore's "Christian tenderness had gone" (XXI, 172) in the face of "boum, it amounts to the same," (XXIII, 180) but as she leaves India, "'I have not seen the right places,' she thought," the "untouched places," (181) and "longed to stop" at even Bombay, "the huge city which the West has built and abandoned with a gesture of despair" (182) - India's final words to her are "'So you thought an echo was India; you took the Marabar caves as final? They laughed, 'What have we in common with them, or they with Asirgarh? Good-bye!'" (182) Perhaps India is right, there are "a hundred Indias," (I, 8) India is itself irreducible; then perhaps Fanon is too right, it is colonialism that reduces it to "a world compartmentalized, Manichaean and petrified." (15) Then, too, Forster is right: his generalisations are by definition truth in a Manichaean world, and the Westerners of whom I complained defy his stereotypes merely "new-comer[s]" not yet "fatigued" by that "hostile" Indian soil (II, 11) - thus it is that the Western "Oriental" Mrs Moore must go mad, Adela must depart, and even Fielding must eventually cease to be "the renegade" (XXIV, 192) and "thro[w] in his lot with Anglo-India by marrying a countrywoman." (XXXVII, 279) The Manichaean world that colonialism creates is what makes it so that Fielding and Aziz "must inevitably part," and it is only when colonialism and the Manichaean binaries of coloniser and colonised are "driv[en]…into the sea" (282) that "[Fielding] and [Aziz] shall be friends." (282) Problem solved! Except not, for "my echo has come back again badly." (XXIV, 184)
My ambivalence has spread to Fanon. In "On Violence" he too generalises - rather, if it is said Forster generalises, Fanon fairly dictates. His writings are as Manichaean as the colonialised world he speaks of - in his unyielding insistence upon the definitive thoughts and actions of 'the colonised', 'the intellectuals', 'the coloniser', 'the European nations', slowly but surely it becomes impossible to stave off uncomfortable comparisons to the blundering, insula, Western anthropological studies that Gikandi and Levine had raised, and indeed, McBryde's very own "Oriental Pathology, his favourite theme." (XXIII, 189) To compare thus nevertheless appals me - it seems to align Fanon with the very colonisers he raged against, to make of him an early-Aziz who at once seeks to "shake the dust of Anglo-India off his feet" (II, 10) and yet "felt important and competent" to have the English as "his guests." (XIII, 113) Somewhere, Fanon is spinning in his grave; I hastily attempt to rectify my trespass and grant the benefit of the doubt: of course, the world of which he speaks is a colonised one, Manichaean due to the colonialism, like Forster's, and of course his writings would too be thus Manichaean, how could it be otherwise in such a world? Treacherously I cannot help but continue to think perhaps to re-enact this Manichaeanism in his text makes it a self-fulfilling prophecy, as compartmentalising as the colonisers, as imperative as to which is the right - the only - way…Fanon still spins - enough. I cannot bear to accuse him of complicity, perhaps it would suffice to conjecture that the tone, the structure of his writing bears testament to his theory - colonialism stains the colonised; we are still brimming with anger, slowly smashing the barriers and statues of this psuedo-petrified world. This is my decision now, but perhaps by the end of this course, it'll be Fanon instead that I'm smashing. But now, yes, now I cannot bear it, and neither can I bear to smash Forster - which brings me to my next thought "On Violence." Forster's colonised India bears much resemblance to Fanon's Manichaean world, and yet the most important aspect of Fanon's colonialised world appears to be largely, as I mentioned in my last blog posting, elided in Passage - that of violence. Next to Fanon's 'manifesto,' the lack of outright violence in Passage seems ever more underscored. Fanon is of the colonised, Forster of the coloniser - even this alone would suggest that after all is said and done, Forster still writes through Western eyes, that he elides the political currents, the Indian violence, because - what? Any number of reasons, he did not think them significant enough, he did not want to give the Indians too much credit, it all boils down to the idea that he has "reduced" India in spite of his words. But as I said, I cannot bear to smash Forster now, and instead I will propound: I have not read much Forster but of what I have, I can barely imagine him writing directly of war. Maybe it's just not his "thing." Instead of colonialism, I see his elision of violence as more of modernism. Instead of reduction, I prefer to think of it as perhaps a kind of metonymy. There is, I think, much to thrash out and dispute if one were to read Forster through Auerbach, but nevertheless, to simplistically lift wholesale: "it is precisely the random moment which is comparatively independent of the controversial and unstable orders over which men fight and despair; it passes unaffected by them, as daily life. The more it is exploited, the more the elementary things which our lives have in common come to light." (552) Rather than the bloodiness of the riots, Forster pins the crux of the novel and its Manichaean colonial tensions on perhaps such a (once again, relatively) random moment: an event that may or may not have happened, a trial that dissolves and an urge to violence that diffuses. "The Marabar caves had been a terrible strain on the local administration; they altered a good many lives and wrecked several careers, but they did not break up a continent or even dislocate a district." (XXV, 206) This, perhaps, more than the blood and thunder, is what (hopefully) displays to one that "the strata of societies and their different ways of life have become inextricably mingled," (Auerbach, 552) so, perhaps, one day the coloniser and the colonised "shall be friends." Aziz's conclusion, after all, shows that Forster is not unaware of the need on the native's part for the violence of which Fanon speaks: "if it's fifty five-hundred years we shall get rid of you; yes, we shall drive every blasted Englishman into the sea." (XXXVII, 282)
These blog posts are getting way too long for my rapidly disintegrating study schedule - the next one will (have to) be shorter, but I just have to finish off with (another) clarification. What I meant by stating in class that the novel takes pains to establish that the characters are "not-gay" was really, being the sort of person who can't bear to smash Forster, simply that, for a novelist who seemed to have taken pains to conceal his own orientation from the public audience all his life, I can't help but feel like we're rebuffing his pains in possibly concluding that Fielding and Aziz were friends largely because they're 'gay for each other' (you gotta admit that was taking over the entire discussion for a bit…). Not that I'm not saying it can't be a factor, especially considering the highly homosocial if not homoerotically charged conclusion with its "myriads of kisses," (279) just that I feel it mightn't have been supposed to be a factor so obviously and easily considered by the audience Forster intended, who weren't supposed to know about his homosexuality. Just a little consideration of the possible intention of the author - which, I know, I know, is an outdated concept…
My ambivalence has spread to Fanon. In "On Violence" he too generalises - rather, if it is said Forster generalises, Fanon fairly dictates. His writings are as Manichaean as the colonialised world he speaks of - in his unyielding insistence upon the definitive thoughts and actions of 'the colonised', 'the intellectuals', 'the coloniser', 'the European nations', slowly but surely it becomes impossible to stave off uncomfortable comparisons to the blundering, insula, Western anthropological studies that Gikandi and Levine had raised, and indeed, McBryde's very own "Oriental Pathology, his favourite theme." (XXIII, 189) To compare thus nevertheless appals me - it seems to align Fanon with the very colonisers he raged against, to make of him an early-Aziz who at once seeks to "shake the dust of Anglo-India off his feet" (II, 10) and yet "felt important and competent" to have the English as "his guests." (XIII, 113) Somewhere, Fanon is spinning in his grave; I hastily attempt to rectify my trespass and grant the benefit of the doubt: of course, the world of which he speaks is a colonised one, Manichaean due to the colonialism, like Forster's, and of course his writings would too be thus Manichaean, how could it be otherwise in such a world? Treacherously I cannot help but continue to think perhaps to re-enact this Manichaeanism in his text makes it a self-fulfilling prophecy, as compartmentalising as the colonisers, as imperative as to which is the right - the only - way…Fanon still spins - enough. I cannot bear to accuse him of complicity, perhaps it would suffice to conjecture that the tone, the structure of his writing bears testament to his theory - colonialism stains the colonised; we are still brimming with anger, slowly smashing the barriers and statues of this psuedo-petrified world. This is my decision now, but perhaps by the end of this course, it'll be Fanon instead that I'm smashing. But now, yes, now I cannot bear it, and neither can I bear to smash Forster - which brings me to my next thought "On Violence." Forster's colonised India bears much resemblance to Fanon's Manichaean world, and yet the most important aspect of Fanon's colonialised world appears to be largely, as I mentioned in my last blog posting, elided in Passage - that of violence. Next to Fanon's 'manifesto,' the lack of outright violence in Passage seems ever more underscored. Fanon is of the colonised, Forster of the coloniser - even this alone would suggest that after all is said and done, Forster still writes through Western eyes, that he elides the political currents, the Indian violence, because - what? Any number of reasons, he did not think them significant enough, he did not want to give the Indians too much credit, it all boils down to the idea that he has "reduced" India in spite of his words. But as I said, I cannot bear to smash Forster now, and instead I will propound: I have not read much Forster but of what I have, I can barely imagine him writing directly of war. Maybe it's just not his "thing." Instead of colonialism, I see his elision of violence as more of modernism. Instead of reduction, I prefer to think of it as perhaps a kind of metonymy. There is, I think, much to thrash out and dispute if one were to read Forster through Auerbach, but nevertheless, to simplistically lift wholesale: "it is precisely the random moment which is comparatively independent of the controversial and unstable orders over which men fight and despair; it passes unaffected by them, as daily life. The more it is exploited, the more the elementary things which our lives have in common come to light." (552) Rather than the bloodiness of the riots, Forster pins the crux of the novel and its Manichaean colonial tensions on perhaps such a (once again, relatively) random moment: an event that may or may not have happened, a trial that dissolves and an urge to violence that diffuses. "The Marabar caves had been a terrible strain on the local administration; they altered a good many lives and wrecked several careers, but they did not break up a continent or even dislocate a district." (XXV, 206) This, perhaps, more than the blood and thunder, is what (hopefully) displays to one that "the strata of societies and their different ways of life have become inextricably mingled," (Auerbach, 552) so, perhaps, one day the coloniser and the colonised "shall be friends." Aziz's conclusion, after all, shows that Forster is not unaware of the need on the native's part for the violence of which Fanon speaks: "if it's fifty five-hundred years we shall get rid of you; yes, we shall drive every blasted Englishman into the sea." (XXXVII, 282)
These blog posts are getting way too long for my rapidly disintegrating study schedule - the next one will (have to) be shorter, but I just have to finish off with (another) clarification. What I meant by stating in class that the novel takes pains to establish that the characters are "not-gay" was really, being the sort of person who can't bear to smash Forster, simply that, for a novelist who seemed to have taken pains to conceal his own orientation from the public audience all his life, I can't help but feel like we're rebuffing his pains in possibly concluding that Fielding and Aziz were friends largely because they're 'gay for each other' (you gotta admit that was taking over the entire discussion for a bit…). Not that I'm not saying it can't be a factor, especially considering the highly homosocial if not homoerotically charged conclusion with its "myriads of kisses," (279) just that I feel it mightn't have been supposed to be a factor so obviously and easily considered by the audience Forster intended, who weren't supposed to know about his homosexuality. Just a little consideration of the possible intention of the author - which, I know, I know, is an outdated concept…
Violence
The problem I have with the advocacy of violence in decolonization is that there is something inherently primal, chaotic and mad in the use of force. This can be seen in the story by Cesaire, where the rebel describes the night where the slaves murdered their masters – “We were running like lunatics; fiery shots broke out…We were striking. Sweat and blood cooled us off. We were striking amidst the screams and the screams became more strident and a great clamor rose toward the east…” (Fanon 46) Also in Passage to India – the mob rise up against the English during the trial with a kind of irrational fervor, as they begin chanting “Esmiss Esmoor” – and after the trial they start a riot, “entirely desirous of [Major Callendar’s] blood, and the orderlies were mutinous and would not let him over the back wall…” (222)
If modernism is about consciousness, then violence as something senseless and totalizing seems to go against the principles of modernism, for violence also indicates a complete erasure of rationality and reason, and a perhaps a return to primeval chaos, to un-consciousness. Another disturbing thing is the necessity of annihilation in the practice of violence. Violence does not only destroy the colonizer, it also implies an annihilation of the colonized “self”, as how Fanon puts it, a cleansing force. “[Violence] rids the colonized of their inferiority complex, of their passive and despairing attitude.” (Fanon 51) But again, annihilation of “self” could be a destruction of consciousness and of ridding oneself of any sense of values and moral reasoning. The ironic twist, of course, is that violence is the language of colonialism. And if violence indicates an erasure of reason, then the entire colonial project of spreading reason and civilization collapses.
[Finally, when I think of Fanon’s argument that in decolonization, one must be “determined from the very start to smash every obstacle encountered”, I am reminded of the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia. It’s not exactly related to decolonization, but during this period, the Khmer Rouge were calling for complete change, abolishment of foreign influence, all cities were emptied and people moved to the countryside, all forms of traditional art were destroyed and replaced. It was basically, annihilation, and starting things from ground zero. The sense I get is that, to “smash every obstacle”, and to find ways and means of annihilating the colonized ruler, will only lead to massive and disastrous consequences, like that of Khmer. ]
If modernism is about consciousness, then violence as something senseless and totalizing seems to go against the principles of modernism, for violence also indicates a complete erasure of rationality and reason, and a perhaps a return to primeval chaos, to un-consciousness. Another disturbing thing is the necessity of annihilation in the practice of violence. Violence does not only destroy the colonizer, it also implies an annihilation of the colonized “self”, as how Fanon puts it, a cleansing force. “[Violence] rids the colonized of their inferiority complex, of their passive and despairing attitude.” (Fanon 51) But again, annihilation of “self” could be a destruction of consciousness and of ridding oneself of any sense of values and moral reasoning. The ironic twist, of course, is that violence is the language of colonialism. And if violence indicates an erasure of reason, then the entire colonial project of spreading reason and civilization collapses.
[Finally, when I think of Fanon’s argument that in decolonization, one must be “determined from the very start to smash every obstacle encountered”, I am reminded of the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia. It’s not exactly related to decolonization, but during this period, the Khmer Rouge were calling for complete change, abolishment of foreign influence, all cities were emptied and people moved to the countryside, all forms of traditional art were destroyed and replaced. It was basically, annihilation, and starting things from ground zero. The sense I get is that, to “smash every obstacle”, and to find ways and means of annihilating the colonized ruler, will only lead to massive and disastrous consequences, like that of Khmer. ]
Forster and colonialism
Where does Forster stand in the issue of colonialism? This was one of the questions that was brought up during the seminar last week and after reading the novel, I think Forster maintains a very ambivalent stand in the issue of colonialism throughout his novel. He takes sides with neither the colonized nor colonizer but rather, maintains a more neutral stance in portraying the issue of colonialism. Hence neither side is vilified nor valorised totally. This is evident for example in Forster’s oscillation between painting the colonized Indians in a more unfavourable light and painting them in a more sympathetic light. For example in Chapter XIX, the readers witness how Godbole wishes to return to his birthplace to “start a high school there on sound English lines, that shall be as like Government College as possible” because “at present there is only vernacular education” (165). Here, what is implicit in Godbole’s decision is that he deems “vernacular education” as being inferior to the supposedly “sound” English education and to further compound matters, he even wants the school to be named after Mr Fielding or “King-Emperor George the Fifth” (166)! Not only does Godbole (unconsciously or not) view his country as being subordinate to the coloniser’s, he even wants to acculturate his own people to become part of the coloniser’s country rather than to his own! Here Forster paints the Indians in a more negative light, showing how they too are complicit in their own colonisation; Forster adopts a more nuanced view in showing which party is culpable in perpetuating colonialism.
However, despite this more negative depiction, Forster later swings to portraying the Indian society in a very redeeming light, and this is particularly evident in Chapter XXVII. Forster writes, “Civilization strays about like a ghost here, revisiting the ruins of empire, and is to be found not in great works of art or mighty deeds, but in the gestures well-bred Indians make when they sit or lie down. Fielding, who had dressed up in native costume, learned from his excessive awkwardness in it that all his motions were makeshifts, whereas when the Nawab Bahadur stretched out his hand for food, or Nureddin applauded a song, something beautiful had been accomplished which needed no development…When the whirring of action ceases, it becomes visible, and reveals a civilisation which the West can disturb but will never acquire…” (236). In this short paragraph, Forster effectively undermines the association of the coloniser with civilisation and instead shows how the colonised can in fact be more civilised than the coloniser with his “excessive awkwardness” (236). This nuanced portrayal of the colonised is also evident in Forster’s portrayal of the coloniser and all these are suggestive of Forster’s ambivalent stand in the issue of colonialism. He depicts the issue in all its complexities and does not risk reducing the issue of colonialism into a binary of neat but oversimplified compartments.
As opposed to Forster, I think Fanon is more absolute in how he depicts colonialism. While I agree that to a very large extent, the colonised have been victimised by the colonisers, I think Fanon overly victimises the colonised while vilifying the colonisers such that the binary between coloniser and colonised becomes too stark. When readers read of how the colonised have “to work themselves to exhaustion while a contemptuous and bloated Europe looks on” (55) or how Fanon calls for the European masses to “wake up, put on their thinking caps and stop playing the irresponsible game of Sleeping Beauty” (62), it becomes all too apparent which side Fanon is on and which side he condemns. This lack of grey areas (something very intrinsic to reality) makes me question if Fanon has perhaps been too absolute in his portrayal of the issue of colonialism, while failing to acknowledge that not everything can be seen simply in black and white.
-sarah
However, despite this more negative depiction, Forster later swings to portraying the Indian society in a very redeeming light, and this is particularly evident in Chapter XXVII. Forster writes, “Civilization strays about like a ghost here, revisiting the ruins of empire, and is to be found not in great works of art or mighty deeds, but in the gestures well-bred Indians make when they sit or lie down. Fielding, who had dressed up in native costume, learned from his excessive awkwardness in it that all his motions were makeshifts, whereas when the Nawab Bahadur stretched out his hand for food, or Nureddin applauded a song, something beautiful had been accomplished which needed no development…When the whirring of action ceases, it becomes visible, and reveals a civilisation which the West can disturb but will never acquire…” (236). In this short paragraph, Forster effectively undermines the association of the coloniser with civilisation and instead shows how the colonised can in fact be more civilised than the coloniser with his “excessive awkwardness” (236). This nuanced portrayal of the colonised is also evident in Forster’s portrayal of the coloniser and all these are suggestive of Forster’s ambivalent stand in the issue of colonialism. He depicts the issue in all its complexities and does not risk reducing the issue of colonialism into a binary of neat but oversimplified compartments.
As opposed to Forster, I think Fanon is more absolute in how he depicts colonialism. While I agree that to a very large extent, the colonised have been victimised by the colonisers, I think Fanon overly victimises the colonised while vilifying the colonisers such that the binary between coloniser and colonised becomes too stark. When readers read of how the colonised have “to work themselves to exhaustion while a contemptuous and bloated Europe looks on” (55) or how Fanon calls for the European masses to “wake up, put on their thinking caps and stop playing the irresponsible game of Sleeping Beauty” (62), it becomes all too apparent which side Fanon is on and which side he condemns. This lack of grey areas (something very intrinsic to reality) makes me question if Fanon has perhaps been too absolute in his portrayal of the issue of colonialism, while failing to acknowledge that not everything can be seen simply in black and white.
-sarah
Of Violence and Friendship
Fanon states that “the colonial world is a compartmentalized world” in which the colonists and colonized are fundamentally divided by race. The colonists impose their superiority through violence and intimidation in the form of the police or through education which instills acceptance of their subjugation. However, the compartmentalization of a country does not seem to be simply about race. In Passage, India is presented as fragmented and unknowable even within the natives. The Hindu-Moslem divide as seen in Aziz’s reference to “Slack Hindus . . . Nothing Sanitary” (p 63); the subtle but distinct caste divide when Aziz shares a game with “a stray subaltern”. Aziz’s comment that “nothing embraces the whole of India. . . that was Akbar’s mistake”, suggests India’s disunity even before the colonists arrived. The difference here is that Indians are united in their shared experience of a common oppressor and all other religious and caste differences are pushed beneath the surface of this overpowering tyrant.
If we see colonization as the rape of a country, and the country that emerges in the aftermath of colonialism as the ‘bastard-child’ of the offence/crime, this ‘child’ signifies a new life - a beginning. I’m not suggesting that it is possible to start anew on a clean slate, no, that is impossible. The ‘child’ carries with it the legacy of violence and trauma of the ‘rape’ but nevertheless, there is a future that awaits negotiating between absolute rejection of its colonial past and etching out a future that benefits the ‘child’ best. Which is the better life? The “primitive” pre-colonial days or the industrially/educationally more advanced post-colonial future, we do not know, but what we do know, is that we can never return to the ‘untainted’ pre-colonial days of the past. The dream of meeting the oppressors on a level playing field seems rather pessimistic seen from the perspective of Passage.
Aziz appears to think that violence is necessary towards achieving an even field in which the English and Indians can co-exist in peace. This supports Fanon view’s that violence is the only possible solution towards decolonization and the rehabilitation of the oppressed man.
“. . . we shall rid of you, yes, we shall drive every blasted Englishman into the sea, and then . . . you and I shall be friends” (p306)
Fielding and Aziz, the only hope in bridging the gap between the colonists and colonized, inevitably part and in fact become increasingly incompatible. They can never achieve true friendship as the imbalance between colonists and colonized is too great. The humiliation from the violence of colonization is too deeply ingrained to be eased by two individual’s affections for each other.
“. . .socially they had no meeting-place. He had thrown in his lot with Anglo-India by marrying a country-woman, and he was acquiring some of its limitations, and already felt surprise at his own past heroism. . . . Aziz was a memento, a trophy, they were proud of each other, yet they must inevitably part.” (p303)
To the question if Aziz and Fielding can ever be friends. . .
“No, not yet”
“No, not there”
No, not ever? . . .
Fanon states that “the colonial world is a compartmentalized world” in which the colonists and colonized are fundamentally divided by race. The colonists impose their superiority through violence and intimidation in the form of the police or through education which instills acceptance of their subjugation. However, the compartmentalization of a country does not seem to be simply about race. In Passage, India is presented as fragmented and unknowable even within the natives. The Hindu-Moslem divide as seen in Aziz’s reference to “Slack Hindus . . . Nothing Sanitary” (p 63); the subtle but distinct caste divide when Aziz shares a game with “a stray subaltern”. Aziz’s comment that “nothing embraces the whole of India. . . that was Akbar’s mistake”, suggests India’s disunity even before the colonists arrived. The difference here is that Indians are united in their shared experience of a common oppressor and all other religious and caste differences are pushed beneath the surface of this overpowering tyrant.
If we see colonization as the rape of a country, and the country that emerges in the aftermath of colonialism as the ‘bastard-child’ of the offence/crime, this ‘child’ signifies a new life - a beginning. I’m not suggesting that it is possible to start anew on a clean slate, no, that is impossible. The ‘child’ carries with it the legacy of violence and trauma of the ‘rape’ but nevertheless, there is a future that awaits negotiating between absolute rejection of its colonial past and etching out a future that benefits the ‘child’ best. Which is the better life? The “primitive” pre-colonial days or the industrially/educationally more advanced post-colonial future, we do not know, but what we do know, is that we can never return to the ‘untainted’ pre-colonial days of the past. The dream of meeting the oppressors on a level playing field seems rather pessimistic seen from the perspective of Passage.
Aziz appears to think that violence is necessary towards achieving an even field in which the English and Indians can co-exist in peace. This supports Fanon view’s that violence is the only possible solution towards decolonization and the rehabilitation of the oppressed man.
“. . . we shall rid of you, yes, we shall drive every blasted Englishman into the sea, and then . . . you and I shall be friends” (p306)
Fielding and Aziz, the only hope in bridging the gap between the colonists and colonized, inevitably part and in fact become increasingly incompatible. They can never achieve true friendship as the imbalance between colonists and colonized is too great. The humiliation from the violence of colonization is too deeply ingrained to be eased by two individual’s affections for each other.
“. . .socially they had no meeting-place. He had thrown in his lot with Anglo-India by marrying a country-woman, and he was acquiring some of its limitations, and already felt surprise at his own past heroism. . . . Aziz was a memento, a trophy, they were proud of each other, yet they must inevitably part.” (p303)
To the question if Aziz and Fielding can ever be friends. . .
“No, not yet”
“No, not there”
No, not ever? . . .
Fanon, Forster, Violence
Fanon’s ‘On Violence” makes quite an exciting read. The never-ending violence between the colonizer and the colonized, the strategies they each employ against one another, and how the colonized undergoes a transformation (from “thing” to man) during the violent process of decolonization.
However, putting Fanon and Forster together, Forster’s A Passage to India is not as violent, but a rather nullifying experience. Forster has this knack of building up dramatic tension only to flatten it. The expected climatic experience after all that dramatic tension is not fulfilled. If we read Fanon into Forster, I would say that the trial of Aziz would have been the linchpin to the violent process of decolonization, but it was not.
However, we do get a sense that decolonization is in its infancy. Aziz’s victory made the Indians “aggressive. They wanted to develop an offensive, and tried to do so by discovering new grievances and wrongs, many of which had no existence" (245). Also, the victory led to a unification of sorts between the Hindu and Moslem (251). There are several changes on the colonizer’s side too, such as the Political Agent no longer having as much power and influence as before (280)
Yet, it is always made clear that the violent decolonization process is not going to happen.
The colonizer’s Repressive State Apparatuses are still in place, in the form of surveillance.
Although decolonization is not happening on a large social scale, we do see the character of Aziz develop from a “thing” into a semblance of a “man”. I say ‘semblance’ as Aziz did not become the radical and violent colonized rebel suggested by Fanon. Aziz merely affirms his cynicism of his oppression as a colonized subject. Looking back, he acknowledges that “[t]his pose of ‘seeing India’ which had seduced him to Miss Quested at Chandrapore was only a form of ruling India; no sympathy lay behind it” (292).
I think that Forster has presented a far more realistic account of decolonization as compared to Fanon. I quite agree with the possibilities that Fanon suggests with regards to the whole decolonization process, but it is unsatisfying as it is also reductive. Fanon’s decolonization process is like a step-by-step “An Idiot’s guide to Decolonization”, colonized and colonizer relationships are over-simplified as he views them both as items/objects/units (inflexible), rather than humans (flexible). What disturbs me most is perhaps that he does not consider the forging of friendships/relationships/love etc between the colonizer and the colonized possible other than a violent relationship. He argues that the colonized is always waiting for a chance to replace the colonizer, whereas Forster suggests to us the possibility of a union between the colonizer and the colonized.
However, putting Fanon and Forster together, Forster’s A Passage to India is not as violent, but a rather nullifying experience. Forster has this knack of building up dramatic tension only to flatten it. The expected climatic experience after all that dramatic tension is not fulfilled. If we read Fanon into Forster, I would say that the trial of Aziz would have been the linchpin to the violent process of decolonization, but it was not.
“The Marabar Caves had been a terrible strain on the local administrations; they altered a good many lives and wrecked several careers, but they did not break up a continent or even dislocate a District” (223).
However, we do get a sense that decolonization is in its infancy. Aziz’s victory made the Indians “aggressive. They wanted to develop an offensive, and tried to do so by discovering new grievances and wrongs, many of which had no existence" (245). Also, the victory led to a unification of sorts between the Hindu and Moslem (251). There are several changes on the colonizer’s side too, such as the Political Agent no longer having as much power and influence as before (280)
Yet, it is always made clear that the violent decolonization process is not going to happen.
"British officialism remained, as all-pervading and as unpleasant as the sun; and what was next to be done against it was not very obvious" (245, 246).
The colonizer’s Repressive State Apparatuses are still in place, in the form of surveillance.
"The Criminal Investigation Department kept an eye on Aziz ever since the trial -- they had nothing actionable against him, but Indians who have been unfortunate must be watched, and to the end of his life he remained under observation" (279).
Although decolonization is not happening on a large social scale, we do see the character of Aziz develop from a “thing” into a semblance of a “man”. I say ‘semblance’ as Aziz did not become the radical and violent colonized rebel suggested by Fanon. Aziz merely affirms his cynicism of his oppression as a colonized subject. Looking back, he acknowledges that “[t]his pose of ‘seeing India’ which had seduced him to Miss Quested at Chandrapore was only a form of ruling India; no sympathy lay behind it” (292).
I think that Forster has presented a far more realistic account of decolonization as compared to Fanon. I quite agree with the possibilities that Fanon suggests with regards to the whole decolonization process, but it is unsatisfying as it is also reductive. Fanon’s decolonization process is like a step-by-step “An Idiot’s guide to Decolonization”, colonized and colonizer relationships are over-simplified as he views them both as items/objects/units (inflexible), rather than humans (flexible). What disturbs me most is perhaps that he does not consider the forging of friendships/relationships/love etc between the colonizer and the colonized possible other than a violent relationship. He argues that the colonized is always waiting for a chance to replace the colonizer, whereas Forster suggests to us the possibility of a union between the colonizer and the colonized.
Cursory Thoughts on Violence
Violence is a given in any practice of art. Given, as all art is complicit with the idea of representation. There can be no art that is not at some level sensed or experienced. The aim of the artist, then, is to transcend the idea of art as mere objective correlative of that impulse of violence, to “exploit” violence – to do violence unto violence – so that a kind of healing can occur, within the individuals who approach art either from the standpoint of the artist or from that of the audience.
But does such a philosophy imply the definite knowing of the original object being assaulted by these modes of representation? Can one commit violence on what does not fully exist? Does nothingness exist, or does it not? These questions arise out of an engagement with conceptual violence, for violence can be apprehended in two ways: conceptual violence and actual violence. Conceptual is what exists in the mind: it is a storyteller of the purest kind, weaving fiction out of what the mind imagines exists or does not exist. Actual violence, on the other hand, lives outside the body, is experienced as an aspect of the sentient interface between the body and the actuality that defines the world of everyday events. Actual violence manifests as something impossible to negate; it is registered as bodily experience, for it is registered through the body, its senses.
To say two kinds of violence exist does not imply mutual exclusivity, for a definite relation connects them, for a wound to the body is also a wound to the mind: think of “six million” and the bitter smell of almonds stirs within your nose.
-- Yisa
But does such a philosophy imply the definite knowing of the original object being assaulted by these modes of representation? Can one commit violence on what does not fully exist? Does nothingness exist, or does it not? These questions arise out of an engagement with conceptual violence, for violence can be apprehended in two ways: conceptual violence and actual violence. Conceptual is what exists in the mind: it is a storyteller of the purest kind, weaving fiction out of what the mind imagines exists or does not exist. Actual violence, on the other hand, lives outside the body, is experienced as an aspect of the sentient interface between the body and the actuality that defines the world of everyday events. Actual violence manifests as something impossible to negate; it is registered as bodily experience, for it is registered through the body, its senses.
To say two kinds of violence exist does not imply mutual exclusivity, for a definite relation connects them, for a wound to the body is also a wound to the mind: think of “six million” and the bitter smell of almonds stirs within your nose.
-- Yisa
Convergences in Fanon’s and Forster’s anti-colonial sentiments
Although both Forster and Fanon were thinkers from distinctive cultural backgrounds and drastically different socio-historical contexts, their anti-colonialist sentiments with regard to the relations between the colonizers and the colonized seem to converge.
(Forster was writing from an empowered position of a British colonial in the 1920s, a time when the British hold over India (although challenged) was still flourishing. On the other hand, Fanon (as a mixed “native” with African roots, from the French colony of Martinique) wrote his polemic in the 1960s as a disempowered colonized subject reacting to the turbulent process of global de-colonization and the then on-going violent Algerian struggle for national independence from French colonial rule.)
Fanon’s understanding of the inherently violent nature of relations between the colonizer and the colonized can be compared with Forster’s exploration of the possibility of a friendship between the British colonizers and the Indian colonized in A Passage to India.
Fanon argues that the relationship between the colonist and colonized is defined by violence, emphasizing the necessarily violent nature of decolonization, where the national liberation of the colonized from the Manichean colonial world cannot be achieved through a “rational confrontation of viewpoints” or any forms of “compromise”, but only through a total revolution driven by “absolute violence.” Fanon’s aggressive call to arms is evident when he proclaims that “the work of the colonized is to imagine every possible method for annihilating the colonist. […] For the colonized, life can only materialize from the rotting cadaver of the colonist.” The violence expressed by the colonized in retaliation towards the colonist is warranted because colonization is a military enterprise in which “direct intervention by the police and the military ensure the colonized are kept under close scrutiny and contained by rifle butts and napalm.” In retaliation to the regime of colonial violence which destroyed the pre-existing social fabric of the colonized country, the eradication of the colonial world has to be “unconditional, absolute, total and seamless.” Nothing short of an absolute and revolutionary demolition of the colonial superstructure will do.
Fanon’s call for the complete destruction of colonialism is echoed in Forster’s novel, which suggests that an English-Indian friendship is only possible when the process of decolonization is complete and India is liberated from the clutches of British colonial rule. The mutual violence that characterizes the relationship between the colonist and the colonized is evident in Forster’s novel. The colonial administrator Ronny emphasizes the need to employ force in the governance of India, asserting that India is not a drawing room and the English are not in India to be pleasant, because “[the English] have something more important to do.” I interpreted “something more important” to mean the “holding of this wretched country by force.” Fanon’s point about the metaphorical violence that the colonist inflicts upon the colonized through the dehumanization of the colonized subject is also evident in how Ronny regards the colonized as what Fanon terms the “hysterical masses, blank faces and shapeless bodies”-- objectified faceless masses without any individuality. This is most evident in the scene in which he “dropped in” on the tea party that Aziz and Professor Godbole invite Miss Quested and Mrs Moore to. Although both Aziz and Godbole address Ronny deferentially, Ronny systematically ignores them because the natives are to be neither seen nor heard. As the narrator wryly puts it, the relationship that Ronny has with the Indians “is an official one.” As private individuals, he always “forgets them.” Forster’s novel also highlights how the physical and metaphorical violence directed by the British provokes a similarly violent reaction from the Indians. Aziz’s bitter call for the complete demolition of the colonial enterprise is militaristic:
“Down with the English anyhow. […] if it is fifty five hundred years we shall get rid of you, yes, we shall drive every blasted Englishman into the sea”
Similarly, Forster’s novel also demonstrates Fanon’s point about the irrational and violent retaliation from the colonized. Fanon argues that “the colonized is dominated but not domesticated. He patiently waits for the colonist to let his guard down and jumps on him. The muscles of the colonized are always tensed and ready to change his role from the hunted game to that of the hunter.” This is evident in how Aziz and the Indian community became “aggressive” after Aziz’s victory in the courtroom. The Indians plotted to “develop an offensive on the British”, and “tried to do so by discovering new grievances and wrongs, many of which had no existence. The narrator attributes this spurt of irrational violence as a natural corollary of the “usual disillusion that attends warfare” (between the colonizers and the colonized).
Forster’s novel also concurs with Fanon’s argument that it is not possible for an Englishman and an Indian to be friends in the context of British colonialism, due to the fundamental assumptions of racial inequality that the colonial enterprise is premised on. Although the initial friendship between Fielding and Aziz seems to epitomize Forster’s utopian vision of liberal humanism (they are apparently able to transcend racial prejudices and treat each other with respect and good will), Forster soon reveals their friendship to be unsustainable in the face of the harsh realities and inequalities endemic to colonialism. The friendship falls apart after Aziz is accused of attempting to rape Adela, and their estrangement is exacerbated by the external social circumstances and cultural prejudices perpetuated by the binaristic Manichean worldview that governs colonialism. Although there is mutual admiration and respect, their own respective communities pull them apart through mutual stereotyping. The end of the novel illustrates Fanon’s argument that a true friendship can only be established on grounds of egalitarianism and a thorough demolition of the inequity of colonialism. Although Aziz and Fielding desire friendship, the horses that they were riding took divergent paths, while the gloomy landscape of India symbolically rejects the possibility of a friendship before decolonization.
(Forster was writing from an empowered position of a British colonial in the 1920s, a time when the British hold over India (although challenged) was still flourishing. On the other hand, Fanon (as a mixed “native” with African roots, from the French colony of Martinique) wrote his polemic in the 1960s as a disempowered colonized subject reacting to the turbulent process of global de-colonization and the then on-going violent Algerian struggle for national independence from French colonial rule.)
Fanon’s understanding of the inherently violent nature of relations between the colonizer and the colonized can be compared with Forster’s exploration of the possibility of a friendship between the British colonizers and the Indian colonized in A Passage to India.
Fanon argues that the relationship between the colonist and colonized is defined by violence, emphasizing the necessarily violent nature of decolonization, where the national liberation of the colonized from the Manichean colonial world cannot be achieved through a “rational confrontation of viewpoints” or any forms of “compromise”, but only through a total revolution driven by “absolute violence.” Fanon’s aggressive call to arms is evident when he proclaims that “the work of the colonized is to imagine every possible method for annihilating the colonist. […] For the colonized, life can only materialize from the rotting cadaver of the colonist.” The violence expressed by the colonized in retaliation towards the colonist is warranted because colonization is a military enterprise in which “direct intervention by the police and the military ensure the colonized are kept under close scrutiny and contained by rifle butts and napalm.” In retaliation to the regime of colonial violence which destroyed the pre-existing social fabric of the colonized country, the eradication of the colonial world has to be “unconditional, absolute, total and seamless.” Nothing short of an absolute and revolutionary demolition of the colonial superstructure will do.
Fanon’s call for the complete destruction of colonialism is echoed in Forster’s novel, which suggests that an English-Indian friendship is only possible when the process of decolonization is complete and India is liberated from the clutches of British colonial rule. The mutual violence that characterizes the relationship between the colonist and the colonized is evident in Forster’s novel. The colonial administrator Ronny emphasizes the need to employ force in the governance of India, asserting that India is not a drawing room and the English are not in India to be pleasant, because “[the English] have something more important to do.” I interpreted “something more important” to mean the “holding of this wretched country by force.” Fanon’s point about the metaphorical violence that the colonist inflicts upon the colonized through the dehumanization of the colonized subject is also evident in how Ronny regards the colonized as what Fanon terms the “hysterical masses, blank faces and shapeless bodies”-- objectified faceless masses without any individuality. This is most evident in the scene in which he “dropped in” on the tea party that Aziz and Professor Godbole invite Miss Quested and Mrs Moore to. Although both Aziz and Godbole address Ronny deferentially, Ronny systematically ignores them because the natives are to be neither seen nor heard. As the narrator wryly puts it, the relationship that Ronny has with the Indians “is an official one.” As private individuals, he always “forgets them.” Forster’s novel also highlights how the physical and metaphorical violence directed by the British provokes a similarly violent reaction from the Indians. Aziz’s bitter call for the complete demolition of the colonial enterprise is militaristic:
“Down with the English anyhow. […] if it is fifty five hundred years we shall get rid of you, yes, we shall drive every blasted Englishman into the sea”
Similarly, Forster’s novel also demonstrates Fanon’s point about the irrational and violent retaliation from the colonized. Fanon argues that “the colonized is dominated but not domesticated. He patiently waits for the colonist to let his guard down and jumps on him. The muscles of the colonized are always tensed and ready to change his role from the hunted game to that of the hunter.” This is evident in how Aziz and the Indian community became “aggressive” after Aziz’s victory in the courtroom. The Indians plotted to “develop an offensive on the British”, and “tried to do so by discovering new grievances and wrongs, many of which had no existence. The narrator attributes this spurt of irrational violence as a natural corollary of the “usual disillusion that attends warfare” (between the colonizers and the colonized).
Forster’s novel also concurs with Fanon’s argument that it is not possible for an Englishman and an Indian to be friends in the context of British colonialism, due to the fundamental assumptions of racial inequality that the colonial enterprise is premised on. Although the initial friendship between Fielding and Aziz seems to epitomize Forster’s utopian vision of liberal humanism (they are apparently able to transcend racial prejudices and treat each other with respect and good will), Forster soon reveals their friendship to be unsustainable in the face of the harsh realities and inequalities endemic to colonialism. The friendship falls apart after Aziz is accused of attempting to rape Adela, and their estrangement is exacerbated by the external social circumstances and cultural prejudices perpetuated by the binaristic Manichean worldview that governs colonialism. Although there is mutual admiration and respect, their own respective communities pull them apart through mutual stereotyping. The end of the novel illustrates Fanon’s argument that a true friendship can only be established on grounds of egalitarianism and a thorough demolition of the inequity of colonialism. Although Aziz and Fielding desire friendship, the horses that they were riding took divergent paths, while the gloomy landscape of India symbolically rejects the possibility of a friendship before decolonization.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Impulses of Modernism and Imperialism
Folks complain of their posts getting longer; mine keep getting shorter. Way to buck the trend, me?
- Yingzhao
Violence against an absolute
For me, as i continued to finish off Forster's novel, the thing that struck me the most was the breaking down of the absolute- an absolute colonizer, an absolute colonized subject, and thus an inability to clearly substantiate or define anything. Largely differing from Fanon, who seems to present us with binaries, and manichean aesthetics which "compartmentalise" the whole colonial context very neatly, Forster continues to wage war against such a representation. When the narrator so knowingly admits in the novel, " and the night that encircled them, absolute as it seemed, was itself only a spurious unity, being modified by the gleams of day that leaked up round the edges of the earth, and by the stars", to me this is symbolic of the breaking down of the whole notion of a whole or absolute; that any sense of englishness or indianness will always never be constant or definable simple because it is constanly being translated and mediated through various different tongues and representations.
Hence, to fanon, this binary is very clear, and he presents a very homogenised colonial and colonized community, where the colonized are always "reduced to the state of an animal" by the colonizer, and the colonizer is always feared or looked up to with envy by the colonized. Yet, Forster challenges this with his characters like Fielding and Aziz, who do not readily fit into Fanon's theories and conventions. So perhaps violence in modernism is really a violence against simple generalisations, and an attempt to represent communities, but which are made up of very distinct individuals who who do not necessarily conform to what is expected of their community. However then the problem arises when we also realise that any act of violence projected onto a community only strengthens it, like Fanon suggests. Similarly, any attempt of Forster's to break down definitions seems to. on the contrary define and attribute very specific qualities to the very things he claims transcend definition.
Hence, to fanon, this binary is very clear, and he presents a very homogenised colonial and colonized community, where the colonized are always "reduced to the state of an animal" by the colonizer, and the colonizer is always feared or looked up to with envy by the colonized. Yet, Forster challenges this with his characters like Fielding and Aziz, who do not readily fit into Fanon's theories and conventions. So perhaps violence in modernism is really a violence against simple generalisations, and an attempt to represent communities, but which are made up of very distinct individuals who who do not necessarily conform to what is expected of their community. However then the problem arises when we also realise that any act of violence projected onto a community only strengthens it, like Fanon suggests. Similarly, any attempt of Forster's to break down definitions seems to. on the contrary define and attribute very specific qualities to the very things he claims transcend definition.
"mankind and flowers": a passage to violence
(this is a fairly ambitious post, please bear with me)
Aziz's interest in religious poetry appears to be a throwaway characteristic of the bourgeois intellectual. Yet this emphasis on aesthetic experience is one of the central intertwined strands of the novel, along with friendship, religion and nationalism. There is a moment early on in the novel where Aziz while ill, with Haq, Hamidullah and Syed Mohammed gathered around bed, recites lines from Urdu poet Ghalib. The narrator notes the effect, that "[l]ess explicit than the call to Krishna, it voiced our loneliness nevertheless, our isolation, our need for the Friend who never comes yet is not entirely disproved" (IX). Note the shift in the use of pronouns: it appears Forster identifies with and also wishes his readers to simultaneously grasp with him how Urdu poetry, in the scope of its aesthetic effects, is appreciable by all humans who should have universally felt that existential loneliness, that dismal solipsism that besets each human being. And furthermore, how does Muslim poetry stand as a call to a rival Hindu deity?
I think, unlike Fanon who felt African colonial subjects could be united on "the grounds of nation and sometimes race" (10), Forster might be suggesting art as a means for resisting heterogeneity; aesthetic experience as coterminous with religious experience, a transcendental means of galvanizing mankind towards something greater than ourselves. But art and its effects are never as straightforward as we might like it to be, else all of India, nay, all of the world, would have been united by poetry recitals. Later on in the same passage in IX, Aziz notes that sometimes poetry "only increased his local desires" for women. At the heart of this aesthetic experience is the desire to fully know, and to be fully known by, another person. Yet Forster, throughout his novel, seems to be underscoring the difficultly of this, with the cryptic echo, the ninety-nine names of God, the breakdown of Adele's and Ronny's romance, and the failure of Aziz's and Fielding's friendship. Poetry, given its elliptical nature, expresses itself in terms of an omission, a kind of meaningful void that at first appears meaningless (like the Marabar Caves). Wallace Stevens said that "the nobility of poetry is a violence from within that protects us from a violence without", and I think Forster, in leveraging upon Urdu religious poetry to expose the longings and desires of the soul, consciously resists that violent call to arms that is central to Fanon's essay, and batters the inner self in search of redressal from all the schisms and divisions that keep man and man apart.
Aziz's interest in religious poetry appears to be a throwaway characteristic of the bourgeois intellectual. Yet this emphasis on aesthetic experience is one of the central intertwined strands of the novel, along with friendship, religion and nationalism. There is a moment early on in the novel where Aziz while ill, with Haq, Hamidullah and Syed Mohammed gathered around bed, recites lines from Urdu poet Ghalib. The narrator notes the effect, that "[l]ess explicit than the call to Krishna, it voiced our loneliness nevertheless, our isolation, our need for the Friend who never comes yet is not entirely disproved" (IX). Note the shift in the use of pronouns: it appears Forster identifies with and also wishes his readers to simultaneously grasp with him how Urdu poetry, in the scope of its aesthetic effects, is appreciable by all humans who should have universally felt that existential loneliness, that dismal solipsism that besets each human being. And furthermore, how does Muslim poetry stand as a call to a rival Hindu deity?
I think, unlike Fanon who felt African colonial subjects could be united on "the grounds of nation and sometimes race" (10), Forster might be suggesting art as a means for resisting heterogeneity; aesthetic experience as coterminous with religious experience, a transcendental means of galvanizing mankind towards something greater than ourselves. But art and its effects are never as straightforward as we might like it to be, else all of India, nay, all of the world, would have been united by poetry recitals. Later on in the same passage in IX, Aziz notes that sometimes poetry "only increased his local desires" for women. At the heart of this aesthetic experience is the desire to fully know, and to be fully known by, another person. Yet Forster, throughout his novel, seems to be underscoring the difficultly of this, with the cryptic echo, the ninety-nine names of God, the breakdown of Adele's and Ronny's romance, and the failure of Aziz's and Fielding's friendship. Poetry, given its elliptical nature, expresses itself in terms of an omission, a kind of meaningful void that at first appears meaningless (like the Marabar Caves). Wallace Stevens said that "the nobility of poetry is a violence from within that protects us from a violence without", and I think Forster, in leveraging upon Urdu religious poetry to expose the longings and desires of the soul, consciously resists that violent call to arms that is central to Fanon's essay, and batters the inner self in search of redressal from all the schisms and divisions that keep man and man apart.
Painting a Picture,well kind of.
(just a reminder, my page numbers are from some SUPER OLD edition )
Painting a picture:
A Passage to India for all its delving into religion, landscape, colloquialism and a myriad of description of clothes and culture still remains as a book of the West. In this sense, we see some resonance in Fanon’s idea that “the colonizer fabricates the colonial subject”(Fanon, 2). This seems to occur both within the book, where the British have a clear, set view of the Indians; “there you have the Indian all over: inattention to detail; the fundamental slackness that reveals the race” (CH8:80) as well as beyond the book, i.e. Forster as a British writing about India. This idea perhaps goes beyond just the question of Western exoticization of the East, or even of a possible skewered and/or inaccurate description, but leads us to ask the following:
(i) whether or not
(ii)and to what extent
we should question
(I)the validity of representing (II)and the right to represent
something/someplace/someone(s) that is not of the self in modernist fiction that ambitions to incorporate a certain mimesis.
Could the fact that Forster’s novel is a fiction be a certain cover under which to blur the lines between expression of feelings toward the whole colonialism/imperialism/empire building notion and a certain escapism on his part to express the other-worldliness of the East in that “licentious Oriental imagination”(CH31:267)?
In the later parts of the novel we see Aziz shedding a certain layer of his insecurity when he becomes a little more outspoken( possibly smarting from his ordeal) when he says “ ‘Discussion of the past is useless.’he said, with sudden sharpness in his tone”(CH30:262-263). This departure from Fanon’s suggestion that “the colonized subject is constantly on his guard and made to feel inferior” (16) suggest that in the later parts of the novel we see a very different India in terms of its inhabitants, both British and Indian. They perhaps, do not move any closer together nor any further apart, but grow increasingly different in their own realms. What I found very apt about Fanon’s “On Violence” was the description of “Atmospheric violence: this violence rippling under the skin”(Fanon 31) as reflecting Post-trial Chandrapole. While there is uneasiness, it is not overbearing and everyone moves on in their own roles; Adela leaves, Fielding retreats from his ‘middle ground’ between British and Indian to mingle more with English women and eventually marries, Ronny returns to his job. There is certain wariness and a general lack of goodwill to each other except for due course in civility and propriety, which rings a bell with Levine’s point on the British ‘law and government’ being ‘the noblest expression of humanity’(Levine 104).
I guess what I’ve been wondering about this week is the idea behind the idea of a place being about its people, in this case about India being about both the British and the Indians( and how they act/are portrayed/received). It struck me that when Fielding was asked about seeing the “Real India”, he said “ try seeing Indians” ( CH3: 27). Do people make a place, and does it only encompass the natives? Or is the idea that we are supposed to take away remain that of how and who treats the natives is what really matters?
*help me out, im abit confused!
Intellect and the Violence Capital
Reading the last ten chapters of Forster’s Passage to India and Fanon’s On Violence, I could not help but notice that even after minor triumphs and victories in the resistance of the colonized against the colonizers, the intellectuals relapse into a mode of complicity with the oppressors. Escaping the direct rule of the British in Chandrapore to a state of autonomy, Mau, ruled by a Rajah and advised by the British, Godbole and Aziz remain shackled to the whims of British “advice” on developing education and administration.
Fanon explains how the educated Native traverses the “good versus evil” space of the Manichaean colonial world. This “colonized intellectual” does not make intellectual gains by assimilating the oppressor’s culture and education, but merely “pawn[s] some of his own intellectual possessions”(13). By having the colonizers’ intellectual training, such a colonized individual moves upwards into a middle-ground between the colonizers and the colonized. Aziz and Godbole likewise perform such a role as described by Fanon. They find their existence incongruent with the masses, and yet not really British. Aziz thinks “I am an Indian at last”, but at the riverside celebrations he finds himself detached and watching afar with Ralph Moore. Godbole experiences a collective belonging with the Indian masses at the Temple’s ceremony of Shri Krishna’s birth, yet reverts to a sense of an “individual clod”(282). Both characters’ sense of individualism is described by Fanon to be the effect of hegemony by the colonizer (11).
Does such intellect then give the educated Native a false sense of representation? In his angry ranting throughout On Violence, Fanon seems to be aware of such a painful truth that the end of it, he is representing the rights of his land and his people in the language of the colonizers. The fact that he can only put through his argument eloquently in French is another violence that is within his own class, within himself. While Fanon describes the colony as a “compartmentalized world” that is “divided in two” and inhabited by different species”(5), this may be the linguistic violence that sets the educated Native apart from his brethren, apart from the cultural and physiognomical differences dividing the colonized space into three general compartments of the savage Native, the educated Native and the White man.
This then leads on to how the middle compartment of the educated Native acts as a damper to the resistance of the savage Native against the colonizers. Fanon describes the educated Natives to be opportunistic and self-preserving. Yet, such capitalist leanings are less evident in Aziz and Godbole. Sure enough, Aziz has to mind the upbringing of his children Godbole has to earn his keep, but their bourgeoisie ambitions and the need to represent the colonized become a violence in the Self of the educated Native.
But one thing is for sure, that the fragmentation of the colonized social strata prevents the pooling of resources for resistive violence. Fanon describes the capitalist colonizers’ vast violence capital to be overwhelming and seemingly infinite, as compared to the Natives’ primitive and puny violence capital. Short of an all-out attrition war, the resistances of the colonized by violence seem doomed before any action. The mediating, negotiating educated Native class functions to prevent that apocalyptic attritional suicide, as well as the continued pipeline to the siphoning of violence capital from the colony to the metropolis. This leeching is described by Fanon to be how “Europe’s well-being nad progress were built with the sweat and corpses of blacks, Arabs, Indians and Asians”(53). The tax collection and trade in Forster’s colony space serve as the parallel to such transfers of capital.
Thus, the control and usage of violence capital and hegemonising of educated Natives can be seen as a form of capitalist enterprise. In fact, more important than the economic measures to derive the dollars and cents from the colonies, colonial powers are seen to be economizing the values of the violence capital to retain the power politics of the colonization machinery, as such strategies ensure the continued profitability of controlling the colony.
- Weiquan
Fanon explains how the educated Native traverses the “good versus evil” space of the Manichaean colonial world. This “colonized intellectual” does not make intellectual gains by assimilating the oppressor’s culture and education, but merely “pawn[s] some of his own intellectual possessions”(13). By having the colonizers’ intellectual training, such a colonized individual moves upwards into a middle-ground between the colonizers and the colonized. Aziz and Godbole likewise perform such a role as described by Fanon. They find their existence incongruent with the masses, and yet not really British. Aziz thinks “I am an Indian at last”, but at the riverside celebrations he finds himself detached and watching afar with Ralph Moore. Godbole experiences a collective belonging with the Indian masses at the Temple’s ceremony of Shri Krishna’s birth, yet reverts to a sense of an “individual clod”(282). Both characters’ sense of individualism is described by Fanon to be the effect of hegemony by the colonizer (11).
Does such intellect then give the educated Native a false sense of representation? In his angry ranting throughout On Violence, Fanon seems to be aware of such a painful truth that the end of it, he is representing the rights of his land and his people in the language of the colonizers. The fact that he can only put through his argument eloquently in French is another violence that is within his own class, within himself. While Fanon describes the colony as a “compartmentalized world” that is “divided in two” and inhabited by different species”(5), this may be the linguistic violence that sets the educated Native apart from his brethren, apart from the cultural and physiognomical differences dividing the colonized space into three general compartments of the savage Native, the educated Native and the White man.
This then leads on to how the middle compartment of the educated Native acts as a damper to the resistance of the savage Native against the colonizers. Fanon describes the educated Natives to be opportunistic and self-preserving. Yet, such capitalist leanings are less evident in Aziz and Godbole. Sure enough, Aziz has to mind the upbringing of his children Godbole has to earn his keep, but their bourgeoisie ambitions and the need to represent the colonized become a violence in the Self of the educated Native.
But one thing is for sure, that the fragmentation of the colonized social strata prevents the pooling of resources for resistive violence. Fanon describes the capitalist colonizers’ vast violence capital to be overwhelming and seemingly infinite, as compared to the Natives’ primitive and puny violence capital. Short of an all-out attrition war, the resistances of the colonized by violence seem doomed before any action. The mediating, negotiating educated Native class functions to prevent that apocalyptic attritional suicide, as well as the continued pipeline to the siphoning of violence capital from the colony to the metropolis. This leeching is described by Fanon to be how “Europe’s well-being nad progress were built with the sweat and corpses of blacks, Arabs, Indians and Asians”(53). The tax collection and trade in Forster’s colony space serve as the parallel to such transfers of capital.
Thus, the control and usage of violence capital and hegemonising of educated Natives can be seen as a form of capitalist enterprise. In fact, more important than the economic measures to derive the dollars and cents from the colonies, colonial powers are seen to be economizing the values of the violence capital to retain the power politics of the colonization machinery, as such strategies ensure the continued profitability of controlling the colony.
- Weiquan
Response to: Aesthetic of Violence
What I understand to mean by the term “aesthetic of violence” is giving form, shape and meaning to violence, which in turn, attempts to rationalize and intellectualize what would otherwise be considered an irrational and intangible act.
Irrational because violence begets violence. There is a sort of senselessness in the cycle of violence in Fanon’s essay; “Terror, counter-terror, violence, counter-violence”. (47) An endless chain of reactions with no end in sight. This irrationality of violence is further reiterated when Fanon states that “colonialism is not a machine capable of thinking, a body endowed with reason. It is naked violence and only gives in when confronted with greater violence.” (23)
The intangibility of violence arises from its close alliance to the almost primal instincts of Man- “the colonized’s way of relaxing is precisely this muscular orgy during which the most brutal aggressiveness and impulsive violence are channeled, transformed and spirited away.” (19) Here, violence is seen as a raw impulse that escapes the bodily confines.
Modernism, in its attempts of representations and re-presentations, proceeds in a similar fashion with the aestheticizing of violence, in the sense that both seek to give form to something, which ultimately, lies beyond our grasp. There are countless blog posts about polyphonic voices and the “knowability” of things which touch on this particular aspect of modernism adequately. What I would like to add, is perhaps for us to consider Plato’s Theory of Forms (my very basic understanding of the theory, might I add, through past class seminars) into our discussion on Modernism. This is particularly so, when dealing with Forster’s A Passage to India and the notions of a “real” India (interestingly enough- all countries start with a capitalized letter). Simplifying his theory- it basically states that all objects that we see are mere copies/imitations/shadows of an original. This implies that what we perceive are mere representations of the Real- which is precisely why the “real” India eludes Adela or Mrs Moore.
Irrational because violence begets violence. There is a sort of senselessness in the cycle of violence in Fanon’s essay; “Terror, counter-terror, violence, counter-violence”. (47) An endless chain of reactions with no end in sight. This irrationality of violence is further reiterated when Fanon states that “colonialism is not a machine capable of thinking, a body endowed with reason. It is naked violence and only gives in when confronted with greater violence.” (23)
The intangibility of violence arises from its close alliance to the almost primal instincts of Man- “the colonized’s way of relaxing is precisely this muscular orgy during which the most brutal aggressiveness and impulsive violence are channeled, transformed and spirited away.” (19) Here, violence is seen as a raw impulse that escapes the bodily confines.
Modernism, in its attempts of representations and re-presentations, proceeds in a similar fashion with the aestheticizing of violence, in the sense that both seek to give form to something, which ultimately, lies beyond our grasp. There are countless blog posts about polyphonic voices and the “knowability” of things which touch on this particular aspect of modernism adequately. What I would like to add, is perhaps for us to consider Plato’s Theory of Forms (my very basic understanding of the theory, might I add, through past class seminars) into our discussion on Modernism. This is particularly so, when dealing with Forster’s A Passage to India and the notions of a “real” India (interestingly enough- all countries start with a capitalized letter). Simplifying his theory- it basically states that all objects that we see are mere copies/imitations/shadows of an original. This implies that what we perceive are mere representations of the Real- which is precisely why the “real” India eludes Adela or Mrs Moore.
(Side note: I find the idea of echoes within Forster's text particularly interesting with regards to this. An echo is a reflection/mimicry of the original sound. The echoes made in the Marabar Caves are however, unrecognizable as it sounds nothing like the original- a resounding "boum". This makes it all the more disconcerting to Mrs Moore and to me as well. And yet, I can't wrap my mind around the idea of why Forster makes the echoes as such- existential anxieties aside?)
Is it safe to suggest then, that it is with a certain sense of self-awareness that modernist writings take to only presenting traces of that which lies beyond our perception in the first place?
The Wretch of My Week
Frantz Fanon's "On Violence", was an aggravating piece to consume and dissect.
For the first few pages it was easy to see his line of argument.
I found his style of writing concise and compelling, and saw much relevance to Forster's A Passage to India in terms of:
The two "species" - the colonists and the colonized; the "compartmentalized world" as exemplified by the divided landscape and divided spheres in which the two "species" operate in Passage; the violence imposed upon the colonized through the (militant) gaze (4); how the "colonist turns the colonized into a kind of quintessence of evil" (6) - Aziz and so forth.
And what I found interesting (as well as confusing) was:
"The "thing" colonised becomes a man through the very process of liberation" (2) - Then what was this "thing" before it was colonized? If it was not colonized in the first place, would it be a man/woman? The colonized man is only reduced to the status of a "thing" in the act of colonization.
"The cause is effect: You are rich because you are white, you are white because you are rich" (5) - I know this is important somehow, but why? Does this in anyway apply to Passage?
"The ruling species is ... "the others"" (5) - I found this interesting, it became clear to me that somehow I've always seen the native as the other.
However as his argument developed over the several, many pages... I began to lose track of his point and had to search for key points. I found the latter part of this reading not particularly useful to the study of Passage as it began to talk about the liberation of the colonized and post decolonization. Granted this, the reading did raise several useful ideas: the venting of pent-up muscular tension (20) and the multiple uses for violence (51).
Another thing I found interesting is his advocacy (is this too strong a word?) of violence - "[i]t is naked violence and only gives in when confronted with greater violence" (23). This violence is also seen in his language: "to destroy the colonial world means ... demolishing ... burying it ... banishing if from the territory" (6), "bulldozing" (16), etc...
In some way, he hurls his arguments at us, his readers. He pounds his reader with argument and example one after another, and I think it's his violent language/style that compels me to feel more sympathetic towards the colonized (not that I am not sympathetic).
Perhaps, Fanon's use of violence in terms of language/style is his way of confronting the violence done unto the colonized.
Angel.
For the first few pages it was easy to see his line of argument.
I found his style of writing concise and compelling, and saw much relevance to Forster's A Passage to India in terms of:
The two "species" - the colonists and the colonized; the "compartmentalized world" as exemplified by the divided landscape and divided spheres in which the two "species" operate in Passage; the violence imposed upon the colonized through the (militant) gaze (4); how the "colonist turns the colonized into a kind of quintessence of evil" (6) - Aziz and so forth.
And what I found interesting (as well as confusing) was:
"The "thing" colonised becomes a man through the very process of liberation" (2) - Then what was this "thing" before it was colonized? If it was not colonized in the first place, would it be a man/woman? The colonized man is only reduced to the status of a "thing" in the act of colonization.
"The cause is effect: You are rich because you are white, you are white because you are rich" (5) - I know this is important somehow, but why? Does this in anyway apply to Passage?
"The ruling species is ... "the others"" (5) - I found this interesting, it became clear to me that somehow I've always seen the native as the other.
However as his argument developed over the several, many pages... I began to lose track of his point and had to search for key points. I found the latter part of this reading not particularly useful to the study of Passage as it began to talk about the liberation of the colonized and post decolonization. Granted this, the reading did raise several useful ideas: the venting of pent-up muscular tension (20) and the multiple uses for violence (51).
Another thing I found interesting is his advocacy (is this too strong a word?) of violence - "[i]t is naked violence and only gives in when confronted with greater violence" (23). This violence is also seen in his language: "to destroy the colonial world means ... demolishing ... burying it ... banishing if from the territory" (6), "bulldozing" (16), etc...
In some way, he hurls his arguments at us, his readers. He pounds his reader with argument and example one after another, and I think it's his violent language/style that compels me to feel more sympathetic towards the colonized (not that I am not sympathetic).
Perhaps, Fanon's use of violence in terms of language/style is his way of confronting the violence done unto the colonized.
Angel.
Heart of Violence: Binaries Under Fanon's Eyes
Fanon’s intense, indeed vitriolic text “On Violence” predicates itself upon the setting up of dualistic binaries that come into antagonistic conflict: he envisages colonial society upon a Hobbesian atmosphere of perpetual war and violence between the colonizer and the colonized; and a Hegelian master-slave dialectic where the colonizer’s entire “validity” (2) is derived from the economic and social superiority that he has qua the colonized, and where the violent and intense counter-resistance that the colonized offer can only make sense against the antithetical backdrop the colonial machinery affords. Indeed, Fanon states that colonial reality is a compartmentalized one, drawn around boundaries and binaries that cut across social, economic, political and cultural lines and modes of identification. However, these boundaries, while serving the purpose of classifying and ordering reality also sediment forms of oppression and violence that Fanon cries out against: in this world, “the colonized subject is always presumed guilty” (16), and he is always “dehumanized” (7) as such.
I feel however, that just as Fanon’s text illustrates how violence, in its myriad forms, is enacted upon the body and reality of the colonized subject, Fanon’s own analysis does its own violence upon the people whom he is writing about: he seems to want to reduce all levels of colonial reality and indigenous forms of expression into a violent response towards colonial repression. Thus, he codes the “ecstasy of dance” (19) in terms of the “supercharged libido” and the “stifled aggressiveness” (20) that suggests repressed violence that only make sense within the context of the Manichean struggle against the colonizer. Using this overtly Freudian terminology, Fanon reduces and thematizes all of the colonized into vectors of unconscious forces that one day will overwhelm the establishment with an unprecedented show of force. Is there not something chilling in Fanon’s frequent references to the positive value of the violence of the oppressed as “praxis” (21), and as the only means through which colonial authority can be destroyed, without essentially speaking a different language from that of the oppressors, and thus essentially replicating and repeating the ideological structures that have been foisted upon them?
Fanon’s text also, in its translatability, enacts the ambiguity of the above position: in its readability, it partakes of European discourse through translation no matter how much its own themes give voice to resistance against colonial hegemonic values. I suggest that a better alternative can be provided by the critical resources afforded by deconstruction, where the notion of established binaries itself carry from within the seeds of its own dismantling. Reading this into Forster’s novel, we see how the institution of the court, as an apparatus of the English and thus a means of entrenching these fixed binaries that Fanon talks about, must inherently have a degree of instability and undecidability if it is to function as an institution: Aziz’s acquittal is an example of this. The indianization of Mrs. Moore’s name into “Esmiss Esmoor” (250) becomes an illustration of how the dominant language can turn into its Other as such. Can we then appropriate Fanon’s notion of violence by thinking of modernism as doing violence to established modes of aesthetic representation and language; where language now enacts its own failures in totalizing a form of reality that is objectively stable and (in Fanon) hierarchal, as in the radical linguistic experimentation of something like Joyce’s Finnegans Wake?
I feel however, that just as Fanon’s text illustrates how violence, in its myriad forms, is enacted upon the body and reality of the colonized subject, Fanon’s own analysis does its own violence upon the people whom he is writing about: he seems to want to reduce all levels of colonial reality and indigenous forms of expression into a violent response towards colonial repression. Thus, he codes the “ecstasy of dance” (19) in terms of the “supercharged libido” and the “stifled aggressiveness” (20) that suggests repressed violence that only make sense within the context of the Manichean struggle against the colonizer. Using this overtly Freudian terminology, Fanon reduces and thematizes all of the colonized into vectors of unconscious forces that one day will overwhelm the establishment with an unprecedented show of force. Is there not something chilling in Fanon’s frequent references to the positive value of the violence of the oppressed as “praxis” (21), and as the only means through which colonial authority can be destroyed, without essentially speaking a different language from that of the oppressors, and thus essentially replicating and repeating the ideological structures that have been foisted upon them?
Fanon’s text also, in its translatability, enacts the ambiguity of the above position: in its readability, it partakes of European discourse through translation no matter how much its own themes give voice to resistance against colonial hegemonic values. I suggest that a better alternative can be provided by the critical resources afforded by deconstruction, where the notion of established binaries itself carry from within the seeds of its own dismantling. Reading this into Forster’s novel, we see how the institution of the court, as an apparatus of the English and thus a means of entrenching these fixed binaries that Fanon talks about, must inherently have a degree of instability and undecidability if it is to function as an institution: Aziz’s acquittal is an example of this. The indianization of Mrs. Moore’s name into “Esmiss Esmoor” (250) becomes an illustration of how the dominant language can turn into its Other as such. Can we then appropriate Fanon’s notion of violence by thinking of modernism as doing violence to established modes of aesthetic representation and language; where language now enacts its own failures in totalizing a form of reality that is objectively stable and (in Fanon) hierarchal, as in the radical linguistic experimentation of something like Joyce’s Finnegans Wake?
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