Fanon and Paradox

The passage this response will deal with is the whole of page 2 of the chapter “On Violence”. It is a fascinating passage because of the many paradoxes it contains. Not only does Fanon challenge the normal meanings of words, he also seems to haze the line between reality, dream, and a future.

Fanon begins by describing decolonisation as “an agenda for total disorder”. The word ‘disorder’ has a negative connotation. It means, as Yeats would put it, “the blood-dimmed tide” will be loosed upon the world and “the ceremony of innocence” drowned. However, this use becomes ironic as Fanon puts into question the relativity of the term ‘disorder’ itself. What is seen as disorder, is seen from a particular perspective. Disorder for one, may be an ordering for another. Here the disorder would lead to chaos, for both the coloniser and the colonised. But the disorder would have its familiar connotation for the coloniser for it is the coloniser who is in power and stands to lose something. The colonised will have little to lose. Fanon here also subtly suggests the possibilities disorder might lead to. The present has to be destroyed or changed so that a different future might emerge.

Fanon moves on to elucidate the reason for disorder. Although he seems to regard disorder as a historical process and seems to be neutral about it, there is an implied urgency of the need for it. Words like “violence” and “exploitation” are hardly neutral terms. Decolonisation is needed because colonisation was based on a knowing “coloured by violence”. In other words, it was an order of violence – a disorder masquerading as an order, concealing its nefarious nature. Again, knowing is generally held to be a positive term – characterised by opening up, curiosity, and change. Here again Fanon challenges the normal meaning by arguing that this was a knowing through “bayonet and cannon-fire”. He thus demonstrates how exceptional the colonial circumstance is. The coloniser and the colonised know each other only through this window tinted by blood. To remove this violence, decolonisation is needed; conversely, to truly decolonise, violence is needed.

This brings us to his reasons for holding violence to be an inevitable part of the decolonisation process. The basic insight is that like must be undone by the like. Violence must be ended through violence, and not “a gentleman’s agreement”. The tragedy becomes the balm because it leads to a catharsis. This rather paradoxical formula can be explained by distinguishing the different ends of both violences. The coloniser’s violence was the original one. It aimed at continuing the exploitation; its violence was a continuous pursuit. The decolonising violence is a reactive violence – it aims to end the coloniser’s violence. Fanon seems to believe that this cleansing will lead to a newer human, “a newer rhythm”, and a “new humanity”. Power will change hands. This is Fanon’s dream – a new human will emerge. Yet it seems an impossible task. Can the trauma really be forgotten? Can violence really end violence? Who is this new human and how will they be formed? For Fanon, however, this dream is as valid as a fact. He has immense faith in it. Partly because he has to support his diagnosis – violence will end violence – but also because he seems to fervently desire this revolution of humanity. The present is a prelude to a reality which is a dream.